Note: for suggested soundtrack for reading the following post click here.
Despite my best attempts (hello, hefeweizen!), during quiet moments on this trip my mind has been busy. I suppose it’s to be expected considering all of the things going on – in the world, during this trip and in my life. I had a motivating thought, though, the other day and it keeps rising to the surface: this one very moment may be the only chance. The only chance for what? Everything.
When I was in the Black Forest and the sky was spitting at me, I ran up a damn big hill because I recognized that I might not have that opportunity again. What if I never made it back to that special place? What if I was fortunate enough to visit again but my body wasn’t capable of making that climb again on my own two feet? The moment was now and I needed to live it. I ran.
I had a similar thought in Nuremberg – when was I ever again going to have the opportunity to run around the medieval walled center of this beautiful city? Recognizing that all had aligned to provide me with that experience inspired me to make the effort to put my sneakers on and get out there. I was rewarded by the universe with sun on my face and lightness in my heart.
But, it’s not all about running, even for me. It’s about realizing that we each only get one chance at now, that these exact circumstances will never again be replicated. How do you honor that? Are you guilty of postponing life waiting for the “perfect” moment while this one very moment right now goes unrealized? When are you going to wise up?
How many pairs of jeans do you own? According to the results of a recent Google search the average American woman owns 7 pairs. Personally, I have 9 pairs, but there really are only 4 pair that are in regular rotation. I think that means I could weed out a couple of pairs out, yet I hesitate to do that because each pair serves a purpose. It’s just that their purpose may not arise with much frequency.
For instance, I have a pair of Levi’s that I bought almost 15 years ago at an outlet in Maine. They’re the most “mom” jeans that I own despite the fact that they’re men’s jeans. I’m a smaller size now and they slide down my hips without a belt, but they are my official “project” pants duly spattered with paint and broken in in a way that takes years. I’ve got to keep them.
Speaking of sizes, the variety in jeans sizing is definitely evidence of the trend in recent years to flatter women with vanity sizing. I pretty there’s a range of more 5″ in waist size between my oldest and newest jeans and, while I did lose some weight, I don’t think it was really that dramatic. Wouldn’t it be amazing if there were a true standard in sizing?
According to a website that I found the average price paid for a pair of jeans is $45.32. Although that number seems a little on the low side to me, it is accurate for me and the last two pairs of jeans I purchased – a Gap pair of skinnies for $20 on super sale and the Citizen of Humanity pair I picked up at Anthropologie on super sale for $65. The latter pair is my current favorite pair and I legitimately called 3 Anthropologie stores in 3 different states trying to score an additional pair in a smaller size because they are so damn comfortable. Confession: I’m a bit obsessed with them.
How much do you typically spend on a pair of jeans? The most I’ve ever spent on jeans is about $100. It was definitely a splurge, but they were on sale at Marshall’s and I’ve had them for at least 10 years. That averages out to $10 a year – a bargain for a pair of Seven for All Mankind jeans, don’t you think?
How old is your oldest pair of jeans? Do you have a range in sizes to rival the Continental Divide? Do you have a favorite pair? What is the most money you’ve ever spent on a pair of jeans?
It’s 7:55 in the morning. Sunday. Since getting out of bed, I’ve taken Jeter out, sorted laundry and started a load in the wash, made cupcakes (from a box), waffles (from scratch) and changed the sheets. Is this normal? I mean, on my day “off?”
As the cupcakes cool and the laundry spins, I read the paper(s) and have a second cup of coffee. This is my time to breathe.
The rest of my day involves more laundry, frosting those cupcakes, some house cleaning, organizing myself (and everyone who depends upon me) for a quick trip to the city, driving three 12 year-olds to a climbing gym for a little belated birthday celebration and a longish run. And, as I look out the window and see the cloudless blue sky, all I can do is wish that there were more hours in the day to live.
Yeah, you. My reader. It’s been more than 7 years, 2 domains and a divorce since DelSo was born. Over the years I’ve shared a lot of my life and self here, in print. You, as a reader, have come to know me on some level from my words. What makes you return here (assuming you’re not new around these parts) and read what I write? Let me remind you of some of what I’ve related to you in the hope that you might feel inclined to share with me – who you are, reader? Why are you here?
There have been so many miles – more plane rides than I could have ever imagined, along with runs and races and road trips. I’ve explored cities with my boys and my girlfriends and solo. My feet have run in a half dozen different countries and probably about the same number of states.
My home has evolved from a house with two full-time parents to one of three part-time children. There have been physical improvements, rooms repurposed and painted, new rugs and furniture rearranged. It feels different. After a refinance or two, I know it’s mine.
I’ve written about books I’ve read and movies and concerts I’ve seen. Increasingly, politics and my dismay with our current leadership have been topics I’ve felt compelled to write about.
My children and the challenges of being a parent frequently provide fodder for posts. While the joys outweigh the frustrations, parenthood remains a roller coaster ride that keeps me on the edge of my seat with a scream threatening to escape. It’s a heart racing ride.
Sometimes I cook or bake and post recipes and photos of the fruits of my labors. Food and wine are a big part of my life and I’ve happily shared my experiences with you. Oh – and there’s that wine bar that I own.
There have been times when I wrote with sadness or anger, but I think I mostly write from a place of understanding and acceptance. Balance and moderation are woven throughout much of what I write.
Health and wellness have been covered and the miracle of menopause has been mentioned. The heartbreak of addiction and the threat of cancer have been present. I’ve learned to ski and have found bliss in pigeon pose in a room heated to 100+ degrees.
It’s all here – my life. Not perfect, not necessarily what I ever imagined it to be, but a life that I feel grateful for in a city that I have come to love.
Will you tell me why you visit my life?
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Confession: I have too much stuff, particularly clothing. These days when I look at the two-sided garment rack which is stationed outside of the closet large enough for me to step inside of, I feel weighed down and vaguely embarrassed. It’s too much.
I’ve defended my consumerism with numerous excuses – I lost weight and needed clothes that fit, I must have to different wardrobes to meet the needs of both my day and evening jobs, I rarely pay full price for anything and many of the pieces come from consignment shops or clearance sales, I consign my clothes a couple of times a year…
Whatever. In a world where too many have nothing, I have too much.
But, I’m feeling stuck. My avenue for consigning my clothes has hit a dead end since the store I previously worked with is no longer selling clothing. The idea of exploring other options overwhelms me right now and finding an alternate sales venue feels impossible in my current, crazed life. Maybe you have a suggestion?
Since I haven’t been able to dispose of my clothing without feeling as if I wasted money with my initial purchase, I’m working to commit to not buying new garments. Even when the sale is tremendous and the item “perfect,” I’m walking away empty handed. Buying new things isn’t filling me with joy right now, so why bother?
As weeks in a new year quickly move along, I feel myself trying to get another angle on lightening my load. Maybe It’s time to take an afternoon to make a few piles of clothes which I am willing to weed from my wardrobe, no matter the cost. You know, sorting everything into categories such as Not Worn in a Year/No Longer Fits or Flatters/In Need of Tailoring or Cleaning or Repair and then being relentless.
The idea of actually doing this is growing more exciting than formidable and I’m almost there. I’ll let you know how it goes.
On my very first trip to Europe, in 1988, I made a new friend, A. He was wearing leather bike gear, with a scruffy face and charming English accent. The attraction was immediate. We made a connection that led to numerous transatlantic flights and were lucky enough to explore a few amazing cities together. It’s a time in my life that I recall warmly.
The last time I saw my friend, A, was almost 25 years ago, in London. He helped sort out accommodations for my brother and me and we got to spend an afternoon or two together, along with his towheaded two year-old son. He was married then and seemed contented. Again, happy memories of a lifetime ago.
We maintained a correspondence, old school, with paper, envelopes and stamps, for quite a few years after that last in person visit. Although the details are hazy after so many years, I recall receiving a letter telling me he was sick, maybe a brain tumor and the prognosis was dire. It was goodbye.
Life was wild with young children and new careers, and I accepted the news with sad resignation, too busy to immediately follow-up. Of course, I’ve wondered over the years about him, and his family, and have taken half-hearted stabs at trying to locate him in the digital age. I looked for an obituary online but never found a word about them. Until last week.
After happening upon a memento from a trip I had once taken with my departed friend, I impulsively searched Facebook for his name and came up empty. I changed my search to the name of A’s son. Immediately, a photo appeared – A’s face, but a version far younger than I ever had known A to be. His son.
I clicked on the link and found the obituary, not of A, but his son. Oh, no. The tow -headed boy had grown into a too young to die young man. Almost 7 years ago A’s son had died while serving in Afghanistan. There were photos of the funeral and I saw an older than I had ever imagined A. I struggled with sadness and relief.
Sometimes the real heartbreak comes long after the breakup.
- Troy has some really nice homes (while running a 5K).
- Apparently when he isn’t playing golf, Donald Trump plays”pussy grabbing.” It’s a sport that only gets discussed in locker rooms, but is played where ever famous men find vulnerable women. Sounds fun, right?
- It is possible to check out events in three different counties in a single day without completely exhausting one’s self.
- The more often I drive to Kinderhook the shorter the ride feels.
- Fall foliage season seemed to take a long time to start this year, but is moving very quickly.
- Samascott Orchard is very welcoming upon arrival but feels kind of militant when you depart.
- I haven’t met a Nine-Pin cider that I don’t like.
- Coming across an abandoned hair weave on the sidewalk when I’m running always makes me uncomfortable.
- The Half Moon Market is a terrific gathering of artisans in a beautiful space that should be used more frequently.
- My goal of running a 1,000 miles this year is within my sights.
Filed under Albany, drinking, Events, Exercise, friends, holidays, Local, News, Random, road trips, running, sunday, Troy, upstate New York