Running Commentary: #8
July 24, 2012--Tuesday
The day before Laura and family were to return from the coast, I was, once again, standing on the grassy knoll, overlooking the high school track, staring, and making up my mind what running drills I could talk my body into doing. Pin-pointed at the end of the stare, I noticed a host of young, lean, trim, male teenage football hopefuls, being pushed through systematic, physical drills. What a puzzling sight; the coaches were a visual oxymoron; they were fat. Looked like the only calories they were burning were blowing a whistle. Watching the contradiction gave me good reason to stall my workout for a few minutes. I never did make sense of it.
July 25, 2012--Wednesday
Glory be to humidity. I could have entered a wet T-shirt constest after the first twenty minutes. Probably wouldn't have won a prize, though.
Laura was back from the coast, full of stories and new information. For the first time, I heard about her love of fishing; A River Runs Through It? She loves this movie! Other days were spent sand castle building. To the beat of our feet, the castle building process was explained, along with a mention of disappointment that the guy giving castle building lessons was all booked. I learned sand-sculptors scooped up sand and let the water drain from the grains in order to create solidity. This part of the process was not working the days Laura was on the job because white grass seaweed strands had woven themselves throughout the sand; the water couldn't drain; the sand coudn't compact.
The sand castle report was coming at about the fifty minute mark. I had slowed to a walk; mental concentration was getting tough; humidity was playing bandit with energy; queasy tummy; definitely time to head back to water. Silence took over.
I call Laura, Top-Shelf Science Teacher. This satisfies my tendency to give people nick-names. Replacing names, I think, comes from an age old practice of American Indians to joke by changing names to identify Whites by various perceived characteristics. Today, I think my habit simply excuses my inability to remember people's names. Instead of Top-Shelf Science Teacher, though, we could just call Laura, TSST. This satisfies the popular need to reduce the English language to acronyms; the purpose being, to exclude and confuse others--or maybe, it's nothing more than mental laziness.
Laura is always devising interesting ways to teach science--to the young and old. This morning, she was into The Karate Kid and Mr. Miyagi's 'wax on' and 'wax off' lesson to Daniel-san. Laura had transferred Mr. Miyagi's car waxing lesson from Karate to the heavens. By moving the right hand in a right handed circular motion, one could remember the moon was getting bigger--it's waxing phase; the left hand, moving in a left handed circular motion meant the moon was in a waning phase, or getting smaller; clever teacher.
Considering my disappointing slow-down, we agreed tomorrow would be a rest day. New plan--meet at the track. Laura wanted to look at the football coaches.
Interesting reading: Portraits of "THE WHITEMAN" Linguistic play and cultural symbols among the Western Apache. Keith H. Basso with a foreword by Dell Hymes. 1992. Cambridge University Press.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Running Commentary: #7b
Running Commentary: #7b
July 20, 2012--Friday
Slow-Mo today. Laura and family have abandoned Austin. They've headed to the Texas coast for an early 'adios' to summer.
Free time is disappearing; back to school days are looming. So, I've been given a five day test on self-discipline and perseverance--hold the line on daily running--'Suck It Up.' Bill Saporito wrote a great article, Survival of The Fitness, in the latest Time. It was all about what it takes to win the Olympic gold. It's not the most athletically gifted; it's all about mental toughness, enduring pain, and who works the hardest. Made me think we shouldn't have had a banner stretched across America's skies, "Mission Accomplished." Better to have a new one flying, saying, "Work Harder!"
On the morning before the leaving-for-the-coast farewell run, Laura told me that both her husband's and mother's car batteries had died--on the same day. She thought it odd and not a coincidence. Probably caused by the Solar Cycle 24. Her guess was, the neighborhood was sitting in a pocket of magnetic field weakness and the Earth needed the energy juice from car batteries to keep circling. Now, while she hadn't had time to do a house-by-house canvass for a dead battery count, Laura thought it was, on the spot, a pretty darn good working theory. We laughed, grabbed an ice cube and took off. Success! We located nonsense to start the run with a smile.
Before we'd turned the corner of the first block, here came more news from Laura. "I told the girls yesterday, that after 30 minutes of T.V., they had to turn it off and find something else to do for the rest of the day. After the whines came a surprise, They created and filmed YouTube movies for the rest of the day."
Whoa! T-Time. We've entered a magic zone. Like in the valley of Technologies of Expressions.
"Uh...how did they make a movie? On what," I asked, Laura.
"On their cell phones, silly."
"Well, you know I told you it took me three days to figure out how to post my first picture on Facebook, and I was so proud of myself, I've still got the feeling, and not wanting it spoiled, I haven't tried to post another since."
I guess my comment wasn't worth a follow-up because Laura just ignored me. Time to change talk-run tempo, anyway. We were coming in for our first water break.
"You know the air is getting dirtier.I can measure the quality of what we're breathing by bath taking. There are black flecks on the bottom of the tub after the water drains. This wasn't the case a few years ago. I know it's all the gunk flying in the air. The sweat in the hair traps it.Good thing I've got straight, grow forward, Indian hair, the polluted air debris just slides right out with a good shampooing."
Laura wasn't too interested in talking about hair pollution. Actually, the range of talk topics was light. Had to have been because when I later thumbed through my little spiral where I take notes at the water breaks on what we've talked about, the pages were blank. This was just a 'get it over with' and 'get on with it,' kind of morning.
July 22, 2012--Sunday
Walking to the high school track this morning, I spied a dime, half-way buried in the dirt. Did I bend over to pick it up? Of course I did. To me, dimes are precious.
Growing up, in our house in the hollow, there was no radio to touch the outside world. No music. No telephone. Just the Saturday afternoon movie in town, where mother would put me and my two sisters, so she could go buy groceries, with a stop-over at the ice plant to buy the family block of ice for the week. My hand can still feel the dime I was given to buy my ticket to get into the theatre and see the magic--Roy Rogers. Lash LaRue. The Lone Ranger. Red Ryder. Black and White images filling the screen with action. My fingers were squeezed so tightly around a thin piece of silver. Sometimes I kept it in my mouth to make certain I would never lose it.
In every single movie, the White cowboys or White army always won. No one ever explained to me why the Indians were always made to play the enemy. In those day, though, if you were on the enemy side, you lost.
On those going into town Saturday's, ever so often, regardless of all my protective rituals, my show money would disappear. And, when this happened, the only thing left to do was while away time by walking and exploring the few blocks of the town's main street until mother finished her Saturday errands. So, this morning, I stopped and picked up the dime and walked toward the track, on my way to run, listen to music, and explore a new morning.
July 20, 2012--Friday
Slow-Mo today. Laura and family have abandoned Austin. They've headed to the Texas coast for an early 'adios' to summer.
Free time is disappearing; back to school days are looming. So, I've been given a five day test on self-discipline and perseverance--hold the line on daily running--'Suck It Up.' Bill Saporito wrote a great article, Survival of The Fitness, in the latest Time. It was all about what it takes to win the Olympic gold. It's not the most athletically gifted; it's all about mental toughness, enduring pain, and who works the hardest. Made me think we shouldn't have had a banner stretched across America's skies, "Mission Accomplished." Better to have a new one flying, saying, "Work Harder!"
On the morning before the leaving-for-the-coast farewell run, Laura told me that both her husband's and mother's car batteries had died--on the same day. She thought it odd and not a coincidence. Probably caused by the Solar Cycle 24. Her guess was, the neighborhood was sitting in a pocket of magnetic field weakness and the Earth needed the energy juice from car batteries to keep circling. Now, while she hadn't had time to do a house-by-house canvass for a dead battery count, Laura thought it was, on the spot, a pretty darn good working theory. We laughed, grabbed an ice cube and took off. Success! We located nonsense to start the run with a smile.
Before we'd turned the corner of the first block, here came more news from Laura. "I told the girls yesterday, that after 30 minutes of T.V., they had to turn it off and find something else to do for the rest of the day. After the whines came a surprise, They created and filmed YouTube movies for the rest of the day."
Whoa! T-Time. We've entered a magic zone. Like in the valley of Technologies of Expressions.
"Uh...how did they make a movie? On what," I asked, Laura.
"On their cell phones, silly."
"Well, you know I told you it took me three days to figure out how to post my first picture on Facebook, and I was so proud of myself, I've still got the feeling, and not wanting it spoiled, I haven't tried to post another since."
I guess my comment wasn't worth a follow-up because Laura just ignored me. Time to change talk-run tempo, anyway. We were coming in for our first water break.
"You know the air is getting dirtier.I can measure the quality of what we're breathing by bath taking. There are black flecks on the bottom of the tub after the water drains. This wasn't the case a few years ago. I know it's all the gunk flying in the air. The sweat in the hair traps it.Good thing I've got straight, grow forward, Indian hair, the polluted air debris just slides right out with a good shampooing."
Laura wasn't too interested in talking about hair pollution. Actually, the range of talk topics was light. Had to have been because when I later thumbed through my little spiral where I take notes at the water breaks on what we've talked about, the pages were blank. This was just a 'get it over with' and 'get on with it,' kind of morning.
July 22, 2012--Sunday
Walking to the high school track this morning, I spied a dime, half-way buried in the dirt. Did I bend over to pick it up? Of course I did. To me, dimes are precious.
Growing up, in our house in the hollow, there was no radio to touch the outside world. No music. No telephone. Just the Saturday afternoon movie in town, where mother would put me and my two sisters, so she could go buy groceries, with a stop-over at the ice plant to buy the family block of ice for the week. My hand can still feel the dime I was given to buy my ticket to get into the theatre and see the magic--Roy Rogers. Lash LaRue. The Lone Ranger. Red Ryder. Black and White images filling the screen with action. My fingers were squeezed so tightly around a thin piece of silver. Sometimes I kept it in my mouth to make certain I would never lose it.
In every single movie, the White cowboys or White army always won. No one ever explained to me why the Indians were always made to play the enemy. In those day, though, if you were on the enemy side, you lost.
On those going into town Saturday's, ever so often, regardless of all my protective rituals, my show money would disappear. And, when this happened, the only thing left to do was while away time by walking and exploring the few blocks of the town's main street until mother finished her Saturday errands. So, this morning, I stopped and picked up the dime and walked toward the track, on my way to run, listen to music, and explore a new morning.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Running Commentary #7a
Running Commentary: #7a
July 17, 2012 - Tuesday
Joel called last night. He had just scrolled through Running Commentary #5 and was horrified to read his grandfather Sunday was abusive and his grandmother Sunday, Polish. Miriam emailed after reading #5, commenting that through the thick and thin of our forty year friendship, she was shocked to learn 'that' about my father. Apologies to all. I can see my arrangement of words wasn't quite right. The descriptions were for Laura's mother and father.
Joel, your grandmother Sunday was mainly English, German, and a little bit of Irish.
The following published synopsis of your grandfather Sunday was so then and remains true today:
My grandfather, Andrew Sunday (full-blood), and great-grandfather, Sheriff Jess Sunday (full-blood), were involved in the Cherokee communities and Cherokee politics (Bumpers & Littlefield, 2004). Before Removal, direct descendents of my great-grandmother represented the Old Cherokee Nation politically (Starr, 1984, p. 584-585). My father's public political service to the Cherokee Nation came later in his life. However, throughout his life, my father was a friend, advisor and educator to untold numbers of Cherokees. He was elected member of Ross Swimmer's and Wilma Mankiller's Councils. Unfortunately, my father unexpectedly died during his third term of office.
Trusting the above erases all confusion, horror, and shocks. Now, daddy may have 'tippled' now and then. But, physically abusive? Never. This is not the Cherokee way.
July 17, 2012 - Tuesday
Joel called last night. He had just scrolled through Running Commentary #5 and was horrified to read his grandfather Sunday was abusive and his grandmother Sunday, Polish. Miriam emailed after reading #5, commenting that through the thick and thin of our forty year friendship, she was shocked to learn 'that' about my father. Apologies to all. I can see my arrangement of words wasn't quite right. The descriptions were for Laura's mother and father.
Joel, your grandmother Sunday was mainly English, German, and a little bit of Irish.
The following published synopsis of your grandfather Sunday was so then and remains true today:
My grandfather, Andrew Sunday (full-blood), and great-grandfather, Sheriff Jess Sunday (full-blood), were involved in the Cherokee communities and Cherokee politics (Bumpers & Littlefield, 2004). Before Removal, direct descendents of my great-grandmother represented the Old Cherokee Nation politically (Starr, 1984, p. 584-585). My father's public political service to the Cherokee Nation came later in his life. However, throughout his life, my father was a friend, advisor and educator to untold numbers of Cherokees. He was elected member of Ross Swimmer's and Wilma Mankiller's Councils. Unfortunately, my father unexpectedly died during his third term of office.
Trusting the above erases all confusion, horror, and shocks. Now, daddy may have 'tippled' now and then. But, physically abusive? Never. This is not the Cherokee way.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Running Commentary: #6
Running Commentary: #6
July 15, 2012--Sunday
Today's goal: run one hour and twenty minutes.
During the last stretch, Laura led us into the round-de-round of a cul-de-sac. My mind was hollering to my feet--"Stop!" I looked to heaven and yelled, "Give me a vial of mental toughness.!!" The miracle of miles spent working hard appeared. The 'quit' was gone.
The things Laura and I talk about! Some topics are forgotten or voluntarily redacted from print. Sometimes the word sounds are familiar, with the same stories being told over and over; their re-telling underscoring the importance of a message or lesson.
The rhythm of words can be hypnotic. Running to the beat of the words making the stories puts me in the continuum of past-to-present. Laura's talk to me and my talk to Laura morphs into self-talk. There's no separation. The familiarity of the stories, their beginnings and endings soon blend; new stories are old stories.
Other stories cut-away, stand out and are put aside for pondering. In particular, Karen's odd question has stayed with me...."Why are there so few cross generational friendships and, why, in your case, why does this friendship work?"
Yesterday, running around a local high school track, I told Laura my sister's question continued to bother me. We were doing light track work, mixed with my definition of speed drills. As we hopped and skipped and huffed and puffed through high humidity, I suggested a theory of connectedness. It's possible, I suggested to Laura, that she'd and I had had a lot of emotional devastation in life and that we'd simply driven it underground--cauterizing feelings. Laura didn't agree or disagree. She just didn't say anything.
Maybe this is why I like running the school track. It's a circle. Life events occur in cycles and patterns. As the Oglala Sioux, Black Elk said, "You have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the Power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round." I suspect, many of the lessons or messages in Laura's and my stories, are just reminders, bringing forth old lessons, on their way to coming full circle. This is one possible answer to Karen's question. Just a circle busy at work.
July 16, 2012--Monday
Laura begged for a rest; a slow two miles for me. Tomorrow, we hit it again!
[D. L. Fixico (2003, p. 43), The American Indian Mind, uses quote from N. S. Hill's (1994, xi), Words of Power]
July 15, 2012--Sunday
Today's goal: run one hour and twenty minutes.
During the last stretch, Laura led us into the round-de-round of a cul-de-sac. My mind was hollering to my feet--"Stop!" I looked to heaven and yelled, "Give me a vial of mental toughness.!!" The miracle of miles spent working hard appeared. The 'quit' was gone.
The things Laura and I talk about! Some topics are forgotten or voluntarily redacted from print. Sometimes the word sounds are familiar, with the same stories being told over and over; their re-telling underscoring the importance of a message or lesson.
The rhythm of words can be hypnotic. Running to the beat of the words making the stories puts me in the continuum of past-to-present. Laura's talk to me and my talk to Laura morphs into self-talk. There's no separation. The familiarity of the stories, their beginnings and endings soon blend; new stories are old stories.
Other stories cut-away, stand out and are put aside for pondering. In particular, Karen's odd question has stayed with me...."Why are there so few cross generational friendships and, why, in your case, why does this friendship work?"
Yesterday, running around a local high school track, I told Laura my sister's question continued to bother me. We were doing light track work, mixed with my definition of speed drills. As we hopped and skipped and huffed and puffed through high humidity, I suggested a theory of connectedness. It's possible, I suggested to Laura, that she'd and I had had a lot of emotional devastation in life and that we'd simply driven it underground--cauterizing feelings. Laura didn't agree or disagree. She just didn't say anything.
Maybe this is why I like running the school track. It's a circle. Life events occur in cycles and patterns. As the Oglala Sioux, Black Elk said, "You have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the Power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round." I suspect, many of the lessons or messages in Laura's and my stories, are just reminders, bringing forth old lessons, on their way to coming full circle. This is one possible answer to Karen's question. Just a circle busy at work.
July 16, 2012--Monday
Laura begged for a rest; a slow two miles for me. Tomorrow, we hit it again!
[D. L. Fixico (2003, p. 43), The American Indian Mind, uses quote from N. S. Hill's (1994, xi), Words of Power]
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