Sunday, June 27, 2010


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I am not a morning person. Never was and never will be even after raising 3 babies. I'm not the rise-and-shine-bright-eyed-sing-in-the-shower-embrace-the-morning-with-open-arms-and-a-big-smile kind of person. Far from it. Ray discovered the morning monster I am when we had to share my car after he totaled his truck in an accident. For two months he drove me to work and I thought that was going to be the death of me. Or him. He is non-stop-Mister-Chatty-Patty-laugh-rap-sing-a-long-to-the-radio-at-the-top-of-his-lungs morning person. There were many times during that ten-minute morning ride to work that I had visions of karate-chopping his head out of the window just to shut him up. In turn, he christened me Ms. Grumpy. 

When I signed up for Team In Training I knew what I was getting into. The schedule CLEARLY stated that our Saturday morning training began promptly at 7 a.m. which meant I had to give up one day of sleeping in. We are now at week 6 of training and waking up at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning is still pretty brutal. But this morning as selfish Nannette had a battle of wills with selfless Nannette I realized I had NOTHING, absolutely nothing, to complain about when there were little girls like Celeste and Alyssa undergoing chemotherapy and radiation to battle Leukemia. So I told myself what I always told my kids: Buck up little buddy and shut up! I got my daily grande Pike (my horn-retracting elixir) at Starbucks and headed toward Bolsa Chica beach where we were going to have our first real training, running miles instead of minutes. Long miles. Like five long miles. But who's complaining, right? 

Once I join my team my whole attitude changes and within minutes I am on FIRE! I couldn't have asked for a better team and feel incredibly blessed to pound the pavement with them. Of course, I chose THIS day to bring my camera along and document our run. No, not my point-and-shoot camera since I don't own one but my buddy, the Canon! I jogged by Chuck, one of the mentors, and he said, "You know, they DO have smaller cameras!" I managed to run/jog/walk 5.77 miles today as I captured my Team In Training! 

Robert, a mentor, leads us in stretches before we run. 

Off we go! 

Training at the beach has its perks for the California girl in me, especially one who isn't a morning person. With each mile I am privy to early morning risers, appreciating their surroundings, loving life and living it. 
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I salute all my teammates, coaches, and mentors who make me feel proud to join them in the race to save lives! Please click on the link below to donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and help my team and I raise money to end cancer! 






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Thursday, June 3, 2010

Sometimes, Ignorance isn't bliss

I entered my company's break room in my usual zombified state on a quest to silence my angry digestive system. I didn't pay attention to the two women conversing in front of the coffee machine. There are always sentinels standing guard ensuring no one pilfers the water as the coffee slowly brews. (That's what the corporate beast does to fine, upstanding citizens of America.) I studiously ignored them as I waited for my breakfast to warm in the microwave but my ears perked up when I overheard one of the women declare to her friend, "I'm so disappointed in my kids I will refuse to watch the grandkids when they come." I pretended to be engrossed in the contents of the microwave, but fought the urge to turn around and inform her she will be missing out on the most joyous of God's gifts. She wouldn't believe me, anyway. How can you miss something you never had? 

I wish I could snap a finger, bob my head, or wave a wand and shove her in my shoes. I wanted her to experience my own version of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride the past two weeks beginning with calling 911 on Ray's mom. In the year and a half we've been together,  I have watched him care for his terminally ill mother 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  I can only pray my own son would be as attentive to me when I graduate to the geriatric stage. My heart breaks for him when I helplessly watch as he maneuvers through this difficult chapter in his life. There is nothing I can do except stand by his side for moral support. 

Enter two-year-old Rylee Sage, my quirky, full-of-life granddaughter. With her own blend of sunshine, laughter, love, and bubbly joy she quickly banishes the dark, oppressive weight bearing down on us. She does what I cannot do--provides Ray a brief respite from his pain. 


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Rylee embodies the stuff our dreams used to be made of. When your days are filled with fear, darkness, worry, despair, hospitals, sickness, and disease, hope becomes an ethereal vision. So tell me, unknown woman in the break room, how can you forsake a treasure just because your own needs haven't been met? You have no idea, woman, the soothing balm of a grandchild's peal of laughter.

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Standing in the middle of his backyard, Ray quietly mumbled something I almost didn't hear.
"She brings so much life in this house, you don't even know." Oh yes, yes I do know. I just wish the woman in the break room did.

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