Morning Run

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Rubber soles meeting asphalt on a quiet morning run. The rain has subsided for a moment and a cool, light breeze occasionally blows pleasing my sweaty face as I lift it to fill my lungs with another long breath of crisp, earthy Oregon air. Thwap. Thwap. My soles grind then displace a few of the small pebbles below my pounding feet. Breathe. There, around the back of that tree, a robin watches me go by unaltered in its quest for whatever lurks near the trunk of the stoic oak he quietly hides behind. Birds move in such quick, jerky motion and with purpose but cautious nevertheless. I, however, thwap, thwap, thwap. Slow, steady, and strive to reach the state of consciousness where I am purely thoughtful and less aware of the legs attached to my body. The soreness in my knees, the oddness of my gait, the weight upon my feet, the quickness of my breath. I’m almost there, rising to meet nature on a meaningful level of awareness. Feeling better, like all of the old air is flushed out and the new brought in. Smells like the forest, of dirt and pine needles. Everything is bright even though it is overcast. More spright sparrows searching for worms watching me from afar.

I look down at my companion, Maggie. The jingle of her collar reminds me of her presence. No complaints, steady jog, happy dog. Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. I listen carefully now to birds chirping and even hear a rooster crow over the streaming bluegrass music turned low, spilling into my psyche from minuscule speakers plugged into the bend of my ear canals. It's a perfect combination: banjo, guitar, mandolin, and...breathe in. I take in another mouthful of tasty, moist air. I turn my head in all directions for a full view of the valley I live in. Lush. Vibrant green, endless fields of fertile soil absorbing the misty rain and reaching, reaching for any light available.

A breeze blows, curling the leafy crops in one direction, then the other. I can hear the wind travel from a distance, over the grassy fields, then meet my structure, and continue beyond. I hear a car in the distance behind me, approaching fast. We guide ourselves into the muddy shoulder, enjoying the added cushioning provided by the saturated ground, a relief from the unforgiving road that throws all of our force immediately back at us. Misty rain begins to fall, the droplets hold on to my face, my sunglasses for a moment, then drip to rest on the gravel below. They provide the ideal relief for my salty, glowing skin. A natural cleansing.

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap. Now beginning a hill. Focus, push through. Keep breathing. I thrust open my chest, pull my shoulders back and lift my head then visualize filling my lungs. Don’t stop. Make it to the top, slow your pace. Think beyond, find a thought to take me to the end. Jingle. Jingle. How's Maggie? I glance, following the red leash from where it loosely sits in my hand down to the white, shaggy Westie dashing across the ground. She is keeping up. Clearly, she is tired but determined to continue despite the weight of her twelve-pound frame burdening her four short legs and tiny paws. I need her tenacity to push me onward. Her tongue is out, she looks at me with no emotion now, just focused. Click, click, click, click her bare feet scrape the pavement. Off in the distance across the field, I hear the "moo" of a lonely cow.

Finally, we’ve made it past the crest and I slow down. Time to breathe. Time for Maggie to breathe. Our walk morphed into a run we both embraced. Here comes the sun, hazy behind a light grey cloud. The blood is rushing throughout my body in a happy dance of renewal. I feel exhilarated. We walk now, more like prance, to cool down. Ah, Maggie spots a grey squirrel. She pulls the leash taut then whines as she follows the busy-tailed creature's every move. It scampers up a tree, then across a telephone wire. We both watch intently as it maneuvers itself with its fate in flux. Maggie retreats, not defeated but realizes the grey squirrel is out of her reach and brings her attention back to the sidewalk. The squirrel waits until we've passed underneath, then continues on its narrow path across the street.

Suddenly, the red trim of the house appears on the horizon. I smile. Maggie's step quickens. Comfort comes to mind. Dry, warmth, drinking water. The rain has subsided and someone nearby just started their mower. Another deep breath before I open the gate and release Maggie to find her bed inside and relax. This spring day in a quiet country town, alive with nature, bursting with color and new life has now officially begun.

Phoebe for President

This week voters in Oregon are casting their ballots not only for the governor primary candidates but Mt. Angel teens are choosing next year's freshman class president at Kennedy High School. Phoebe decided to run for the leadership position and her preparations have been underway all week including the necessary campaign procedures: designing posters and speech writing. No propaganda-filled newspaper ads, phone calls, or television appearances. She's making her first run at politics based on just who Phoebe is as a person. Au natural.

I, of course, would vote for Phoebe but decided I would list all of the reasons she would make a perfect candidate for the position.

Phoebe's work ethic is this: give whatever you have to do everything you've got, then enjoy yourself as a reward for accomplishing your goals.

Her passion about an issue directly leads her to be proactive about it. She believes in herself and the causes she is behind. She will fight until the bitter end (believe me, I know this first hand).

She is thoughtful about everyone and NEVER manipulative.

She makes good choices, period.

She can debate and defend her position on a subject better than most adults. I was blown away at the argument she presented the other day while trying to convince me to allow her to have texting as an option on her phone. She even got into my psyche and told me how I was thinking (and of course, how it was wrong). I had to admit, she came at me from many convincing angles but Mom held her ground.

She likes to learn and is a good listener.

She cares. Better yet, she loves from her heart but keeps herself well protected from being hurt.

She is honest, reliable, funny and if you're lucky-enough--a true friend.

Plus, of course. She is smart, witty, loves good music (and is talented), and just plain adorable.

Phoebe used these lines from John Lennon in her speech, "A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality." When Phoebe was little we used to say, "In Phoebe's-World.....(everything is seen in technicolor, money grows on trees, pajamas are worn all the time, people hoola-hoop all day, etc.)". But in Phoebe's grown-up world today, everybody deserves a chance to achieve their goals and she is leader who can help her peers get a little closer to reaching them.

So, vote for Phoebe Mt. Angel Middle School 8th graders! And if the rest of you want to cast your vote or add a comment please do it by becoming a 'Jen's Friend' here on Straight from Hill, Facebook Phoebe, or send an e-mail to hills@terrapintrips.com. May the best candidate win!

Bury Me in My Prom Dress

The sun broke through the early-morning clouds two Saturdays ago providing the perfect spring day for Prom 2010. While it felt fairly ordinary to the rest of the family, Hunter was cheery and clearly looking forward to an evening out with "his girl"(as Sailor puts it), Julia. His plans were set: pictures, then driving into Salem to eat at Bentley's, then prom and an after-party/bonfire.

The previous week had been eventful. The tasks included going to measure for and pick out the tux, order the corsage, and figure out transportation. Phoebe and I spent an entire day with Julia talking endlessly about color and dresses, shoes and accessories. At one point, I remembered that tucked away deep in one of my closets I still had my prom dress. "No WAY!!" Julia and Phoebe said in unison, "Go get it! We want to see!" Rod said, " "Wow, why would you keep something like THAT?" Clearly, he had never thought twice about his nights at prom while I remembered details like it was yesterday. I was excited to finally have a reason to pull it out and show it off.

The build-up before my own prom had been four years in the making. At the all-girls Catholic school I went to, we hosted only a senior prom so students had the opportunity to go to the elegant event only once. My prom was at the Renaissance Center in Detroit which at that time had recently been built and was a hot Motor City attraction. I had a boyfriend, but things were fizzling out and I was much more interested in having a terrific evening with my best girlfriends. My dress was simple, big surprise, but elegant. It was a white, spaghetti strap dress with an empire waist, a tiered, ruffled skirt , and was finished with a pink bow that tied in front. We had a memorable night, and wrapped things up with a breakfast party at a friend's house. Then the dress went to rest under a plastic bag for 26 (can that be right?) years.

I brought the precious item out from the plastic grave it was hidden in. There it was, complete with champagne spills still in tact and a ratty ribbon that hung lifeless like it hadn't had air for, well, 20 years. Julia said, "It's really not that bad." Phoebe just said, "Ewwwww!" Hunter shook his head, looked sweetly at me with that, "Oh, Mom why do you have to be so sensitive?" look and a warm smile. It was then that Rod had an epiphany. He realized when I revealed the attire from my past that prom is a major event for the girl, maybe not as much for the boy. In fact, he couldn't even remember who he went to prom with!

As the days neared Prom 2010, I witnessed Hunter rolling his eyes whenever we'd start talking about times and places, flowers and pictures, parties and cars. He had no patience for the repeated discussions about the same issues over and over. So, Rod sat Hunter down, explained how important this was ("I mean, look, Hunter, your mother saved this dress this entire time!") and from that point forward, Hunter didn't complain one bit about the attention that was being given to the details and planning for one night.

The well-dressed couple had a wonderful night. We rented a luxury car to shuffle Hunter and Julia to and from Salem where prom was held, and they agreed to let Rod be the chauffeur in order to satisfy our concerns of being safe for the big night. Dressed in black from head to foot, Rod looked like he was straight out of a mob movie when he opened the doors and guided his son and date into the fancy Cadillac SUV. They rode in a caravan behind the Hummer limo rented by ten other Mt. Angel couples and by the end of the night Rod and the other chauffeur were sharing driving info. Too funny. I think Rod has a future behind the wheel in retirement, don't you?

So, while saving that prom dress for a special occasion was self-indulgent and a bit out of the ordinary, it provided about five minutes of laughter and then went back under the plastic bag that survived years of neglect and multiple moves. Maybe when it's Phoebe's turn for prom I'll bring it out of the closet again. I'm not so sure the threads on the dress can hold out until Sailor hits 16. When Rod and I chuckled about it later he asked, "What are you going to do with it now?" I said, "Bury me in my prom dress." At least it has a purpose for hanging around. Of course, I had to ask Julia to at least think about keeping hers. Now, what should I do with my wedding gown?