The Home Stretch

Are any of you runners?
I used to be.
In high school, (I may have mentioned this before) I ran the 800 meter and the 1600 meter for our high school track team for one season.
I was not an especially fast runner (which is fine for both of these events) and while I am not now nor was I then "built" for running, I was in great shape and better-than-average endurance.
I actually only ran track so that conditioning for volleyball and basketball would not be so, well, hellish. But it turned out that track was fun.
I had a couple of friends who ran track and were really good, and I made more friends that season of running.
Our coach was not a lot of fun and his shorts were inappropriately short, but he was fair and a good trainer for us.
Over the course of the season, I got some help from new coaches - working on my stride and changing things I naturally did to improve my times in both events.
And so, while I hated the actual act of running, I loved being on the track team.
And I loved gaining an understanding of the language of running.

Home stretch. 

It's a phrase that is used fairly often, so it's probably one you are somewhat familiar with, even if you don't know exactly what it means. But the home stretch is this:

For example, let's pretend you are running the 1600 meters (also known as the one mile event).
On a standard running track, one mile is four laps. The finish line is usually on one of the long, straight sides rather than in the curve. So when a runner speaks of the home stretch, he or she is talking about the very end of that last lap - as you come around the last curve, you reach down deep and get that last little bit of *umf* and for those last few meters, you kick it up a notch as you stretch toward the finish line. You're in the home stretch.

So that's where I find myself today - in the home stretch.
My final semester of my under graduate career began this week.

Back in August of 1998, starting my under graduate career and expecting to finish in that four year window was something that seemed like a no-brainer. Something that I had expected to do ever since that 2nd grade field trip to Clemson University.
But life happens and things change. And while I was very, very close to completing my undergraduate degree when I left school in May of 2003, I did not.
And it took eight years for me to find a way back to school.
It was not easy.

• Back in August when I walked in to my first college class in eight years, I was (by far) one of the oldest students in my Statistics class (BTW - made a C!! Yay!). 
• Back in August when I walked in to my first college class in eight years, I had not had Algebra I & II since 10th grade. My "college math" class does not even count.
• Back in August when I walked in to my first college class in eight years, I did so knowing that when I got home my children and husband would want to hear how it was. 
• Back in August when I walked in to my first college class in eight years, I did so knowing that I have people counting on me - not to make Dean's List (which is awesome) but to finish what I started. 

And now here I am.
In the Home Stretch.
Kicking it in to high gear to finish well and strong what I started 14 years ago.
*phew*
One week down, 15 weeks to go.

Happy New Year 2012

I thought about making some resolutions of Things I Want to Change in the Year 2012 ... And then I remembered how hard it is for me to make changes. So instead of resolving to change things, I resolve to do my favorite things more often in this new year ... Here are a few of the things I can't wait to do!

• I will love more ... My husband, my children, my family, my friends.
• I will laugh more often ... with those I love and by myself.
• I will enjoy moments with those I love ... I will worry less about the small stuff and will stop to play with my children - puzzles, games, Legos, tag; I will enjoy the moments with my husband and slow down to appreciate the time we have together.
• I will read more books with meaning. Taking suggestions now, so make yours.
• I will cook at home and teach my children what little I know, and I will make time to cook with my Mom.
• I will spend time with friends ... Don't worry, I'll drive to Clemson, or Lyman, Columbia, Charlotte ... Where are you, Friends? And if you're just down the street, we're having dinner or meeting at the park - but we're getting together!
• I will plan the Girls Trip we keep talking about and we'll do it (maybe it will be a couple of years, but lets get to planning!)
• I am going to walk the dogs farther and more often.
• Blog more often! I promise!

2012 is going to be great and I can't wait to share it with those I love and with those I will come to love!

Some things to come ...

 More ballet and tap

 More awesome piano music

 More celebrations with family and friends

Happy New Year!

Grandma

My Grandma was not an easy woman. She couldn't be. Her parents died when she was little girl, leaving she and her siblings to be raised by the oldest brother. They worked hard in tobacco fields in unbearable heat in the low-country of South Carolina. When she was older, she married my Papa. He was an alcoholic who, on a good (sober) day was a good Daddy to his five children. On a bad day, he spent his paycheck on booze. My Grandma had to work hard to care for their five children.

By the time I was born in 1970-something, my Grandma already had 11 grandchildren. My cousins were several years ahead of me — elementary or junior high school. I missed out on a lot of not-so-good years, since by the time I was born my Papa was (mostly) sober. I am also sure I missed out on a lot of important things, like knowing my cousins while I was growing up (although we're making up for that now, I think — all of us being adults now).

While my Grandma was not traditional, or soft, she was loving. And she desired for all of us — her children, grandchildren (13) and great-grandchildren (10 when Grandma passed away in 2002; 20 as of today) — to be successful. 


But tonight's post is more of a fun one. At least for me. 


My sister and I would spend several weeks during the summer break with my Grandma. We loved it. We had tons of freedom (as long as our lights were out and we were in bed when Grandma was); we got to ride horses with cousins, learned to drive cars on dirt roads and got to go to the beach at least once a week. We also got to help Grandma in her garden, feed and water the chickens, goats and guniea fowl and help with meals and cleaning. 


But again, I digress. 


My Grandma was fun. She told jokes, acted silly with us and sang songs while teaching us a lot about how to work hard and respect others.


Tonight I found this recording of a song my Grandma used to sing to me. I actually thought that she'd made it up. It would have been cool if she had, but I'm glad to have this since I don't have a recording of her singing it. 


Enjoy.

(Almost the) Best Gift, Ever

(borrowed this photo of The Great Pee Dee River in Marion County, SC from www.csrasportsman.com)

 

My Daddy grew up in a tiny town in the Low Country of South Carolina called Gresham. My Grandma lived all of her married life in Gresham, and so every summer, every Thanksgiving and lots of times in between, we made the four hour car trip from the Upstate to Gresham.

On the way, my sister and I would mostly sleep, read, or argue. My Mom seemed to be forever painting her toenails. And Daddy drove. We'd leave on Friday afternoon when he got home from work, so it was usually pretty late when we got there. And as much as we couldn't wait to see Grandma, there was a great thing that had to happen before we got to Gresham. We had to cross the Great Pee Dee River.

My Papa died when I was in the third grade. I wish I could say that I have incredible, vivid memories of him, but I don't. 

My Papa, he walked with a limp because he was born with a club foot. 

My Papa drove an old green truck but I don't remember the make or model, if I ever knew.

As an adult I've learned a lot about the man who was my Daddy's Father, many things that hurt my heart and have changed the way I thought of my Papa. 

But one thing I am certain about is that as an "old man" he was proud of us - his grandchildren. Years after he passed away, I would sneak and go through the treasures he left behind. Pictures of my cousins (most of whom were in high school or college when he passed away), newspaper clippings, notes written on scraps of paper about one or the other of us, art work from school or church. I remember being jealous that my older cousins had more time to make him proud, that he'd made note of them.

But the real, hard and fast memories I have of him are few. I remember the smell of his pipe; how he'd ask us to help him take off his shoes; that he put his contacts in at the kitchen table; that Grandma always spread newspaper under his plate at the kitchen because he was so messy. 

One thing that I recall vividly about my Papa was his love for the Great Pee Dee River. He loved the River so much; maybe more than he loved some of his own family. It was not a thing he could wrap up in a pretty bow or put away towards a college education, or put in a trust toward our futures. But it was a gift that he gave each of us at some point.

Grandma and Papa had taken us to the Country Kitchen for a bottled Pepsi, then to the River to check Papa's traps. He was showing us things along the riverbank - what I don't recall now - but he told us (my sister and I) - that the River was his, and that he was giving it to us, to his "Grans". I don't remember him telling us what we were supposed to do with the River, and as a very little girl I remember wondering how I was supposed to hold on to it - it was, after all, a pretty big gift. I know now that the River is a part of my family: A friend who welcomes us each time we cross her bridge, an integral part of the story of my family's life. And I know that while the Great Pee Dee River is mine, it has also belonged to my Daddy, to his sisters and brother, to my cousins, and now to my children. But just like it can't be wrapped up in pretty paper, it can't be caught and held. It's ever-changing, shifting ... working its way to the sea.

stealing from Pat Conroy's The Prince of Tides ...

"... the moon lifted a forehead of stunning gold above the horizon, lifted straight out of the filigreed, light-intoxicated clouds that lay on the skyline in attendant veils. Behind us, the sun was setting in a simultaneous congruent withdrawal and the river turned to flame in a quiet duel of gold ... The new gold of moon astonishing and ascendant, the depleted gold of sunset extinguishing itself in the long westward slide, it was the old dance of days in the Carolina marshes, the breathtaking death of days before the eyes of children, until the sun vanished, its final signature a ribbon of bullion strung across the tops of water oaks. The moon then rose quickly, rose like a bird from the water, from the trees, from the islands, and climbed straight up --gold, then yellow, then pale yellow, pale silver, silver-bright, then something miraculous, immaculate, and beyond the silver, a color native only to southern nights "