Crunch Time

Twelve miles yesterday (another unseasonably warm day, which I know is problematic on many levels, but it makes my life a bit easier) for my longest long run before El Paso. Half marathon plans don't really include a taper as such, just an easy final week, so I still have some solid miles this week coming before the more relaxing week hits.

My 12 mile run kinda turned into a 12 mile photoshoot,
so that's probably a little more time I'll shave off
in El Paso. This is in Eden Park.

I've been thinking in the ramp up to the 12-miler that this run would probably be a good indication of my race time, once I factor in race day adrenaline and crowd support and whatnot, and if that's really the case--I can live with it. In fact, race day will probably be faster with a downhill finish, instead of the uphill one I have here at home. And if I do have a decent time in El Paso, that should give me a nice boost for a PR chase headed into Indy Mini training.

Treadmill miles last week--I did one day of a before work/after work split, and I think I gave my coworkers a fright when they saw me dripping sweat in running clothes. (We have a shower at the office, which I only found out this week. THIS CHANGES EVERTHING.) So I grabbed some loose cover-ups and added them to my bag so I don't have to walk through the office in form-fitting clothes right when folks are arriving for their work day. I mean, I want them to like me, not run when they see me coming.

And finally, with two weeks to go, no one is even allowed to think about germs in my presence. I'm about to get scary obsessive about hand sanitizer. Think healthy thoughts, y'all.

They Tell Me It's Super

I realised a few days ago that my already sparse knowledge of American football has become even sparser in the last year or so, and I'm pretty sure that's because God loves me and has surrounded me with people who have other interests to talk about. (And believe me, I did my time with the people who can't talk about anything else.)

Football is basically this, right?
But without the singing
and the major character death?

However, I still managed to scrounge up a couple football-related stories this season that I'm not sure I ever shared. The first one happened when Jennie & I got back from our fun-filled weekend seeing Wicked, and we arrived at Billy & Jennie's house in time for Texas (my alma mater) v Notre Dame (who live in my home state).

Me: Are they at home?
Billy: ...
Me: That means something different for you than it does for me, doesn't it?
Billy: Yeah. They're in Austin.
Me: Great, so they're at home.
Billy: No, they're not.

But it gets better, because when he got up to go refill his drink or whatever, I said, "Oh, is it intermission already?" and without even blinking, he said, "Yep." Y'all, I make a lot of fun of my brother, because as his older sister it is my sacred duty, but he really is a treasure. It wasn't until much later that night when I mentioned that I appreciate his ability to translate Su-speak into English that he said, "Oh, you mean like when you called halftime 'intermission'?"

Yes. Exactly like that.

Speaking of people who are treasures. Thanks for
putting it into my language, Tony Awards.
(Some bright spark on Instagram said this is demeaning
and insulting. To be clear: that's only true if you're actively
looking to be demeaned or insulted. Have a laugh, would you please.)

Story #2 happened when my parents were moving my stuff into my Cincinnati storage unit, which happened to be up the street from one of the two professional sports stadiums in town. Dad asked, "Is that the Bengals or the Reds stadium?" I said, "Do either of those two teams play tennis?" He said, "Right. Never mind," and asked a friendly-looking pedestrian instead. (It was Bengals stadium. Sometimes I manage to remember for minutes at a time who the Bengals are.)

Enjoy the game, y'all. I still don't even know who's playing. (Don't tell me. I treasure my ignorance.)

This is Why February is Fired

It's been two years.

My scanner is broken. Well, not broken, so much as missing a cord.
Anyway, I gathered some pics of my grandma at my wedding,
threw them on the floor, and took a pic. Clockwise from the top:
Me, my dad, Grandma (his mum), Great-Grandma (her mum)
Great-Grandma & Grandma
Me & Grandma
Great-Grandma & Grandma (yes, they were beautiful women)
Grandma & my cousin Jimmy.
This may be Jimmy's first time in my blog. *waves*

It's been two years, and yet I caught myself shopping for her birthday card one day last week. It's been two years, and I debated whether to save her number in my new phone, even though she's not on the other end any longer. It's been two years, and the half marathon medal I earned 11 days later is still sitting in my house, because I haven't yet found a suitable hanging thing to hang it on/near her gravestone with. Soon, I hope.

Denise & I raced across the country trying to get to her before she passed once they told us it was a matter of days. We missed her by about five hours. Chadwick couldn't go with us, which meant we spent one of his final two weeks on earth apart. Had we known--but we didn't, and there's no point going down that road.

This is my all-time favourite photo of my grandparents (my granddad died
when I was six months old. I was born on his last birthday). When I told
Grandma a few years ago how much I loved it, she asked, "But why?" LOL.
Their youngest two children hadn't arrived yet, and if I had a better grasp
of what age my aunts & uncles are now, I could probably tell you what year
this was. My dad is the one on the left side that Granddad has a death grip on.
Also, check out my granddad's socks. My & Denise's penchant for
fun socks is clearly genetic.

We miss you, Grandma.

Bringing Home Veggies

Whenever I go shopping with my reusable produce bags, it's inevitable that someone in the produce section, and often the cashier, will ask, "Where did you get those?" Clearly, I'm not the only one who's not into hauling home wads of flimsy plastic crap.

And they came in this cute bag, too, which also has room
for all my former-onion-bag produce bags. It's magic!

I got my first set on Etsy, but they've gone from being a rare find in the local crunchy greenie store to a regular item (in my experience) in conventional supermarkets. Wherever your local store stocks such essential items as lemon holders is probably a good place to start looking.

But here's the exciting thing: you don't even need to do that. Next time you buy onions or whatever in a mesh bag, don't toss it. Cut it open carefully (I just cut right below one of the metal tips) so it retains its bag-like qualities, then run a ribbon or a piece of yarn or whatever through the holes at the top once it's empty. Tie the ends together, et voilà: one reusable produce bag. Rub it between your soapy hands under some warm water every couple weeks to keep it clean, and you're all set.

My new problem is what to do with my old starter set I got years ago. They're getting worn out, but I'm unwilling to just toss them if I can find a second life for them. Any suggestions on what to do with a set of six holey mesh bags?

Friends 'Til the Curtain Call

I feel a bit funny writing about friendship when I don't really have friends here yet. I have coworkers who are lovely, wonderful people, and maybe I've found the church that's right for me and they'll be friends someday soon, but in the meantime... all my friends are online.

In particular, they're mostly on Facebook, which is unfortunate because I've been avoiding that particular pit of crazy. Thank goodness for Twitter friends (many of whom are also real-life friends, of course, even though we've scattered ourselves all over the globe) and for the fictional friendships I can enjoy and fret over.

So I've been thinking about another fictional friendship that was torn apart, not by evil intent like last week's Much Ado gents, but by (perhaps misapplied) good will. In It Shoulda Been You, we meet up with the gang after best friends Marty and Jenny have been estranged for a while.

It all went down like this: they grew up together, along with Jenny's younger sister, Rebecca. Rebecca and Marty even dated for a while, after Jenny went off to college and left them both behind. But eventually Marty discovered a secret that Rebecca asked him to keep, and Marty knew he couldn't trust himself not to tell Jenny, his best friend, if he kept in contact with her. So, to keep his promise to Rebecca, he dropped out of Jenny's life. Without another word. Without telling her why. And Jenny is understandably upset about this when the friends finally reunite onstage.

Marty (Josh Grisetti) & Jenny (Lisa Howard)
rehearsing the reunion song, "Who."
Which is delightful and ends in forgiveness.
Source: Broadway.com.

So here's the thing that's bothered me about this ever since I saw the show: did Rebecca know how big of a sacrifice she was asking Marty to make? Did she think about what it would do to her sister to lose her best friend so suddenly? Did she even notice the effect she'd had on them? Neither character blamed Rebecca for this, by the way, although perhaps they should have. Instead, they mended their friendship between them, rather spectacularly well.

It was (probably) not with ulterior motive that Rebecca asked Marty to be silent. It was (most likely) with the best of intentions that he agreed. And despite her harsh words at their meeting, Jenny was faithful in holding onto hope that their friendship might return someday. (She still has him on speed dial.)

As with Much Ado, it's a friendship that was nearly ruined by someone else's actions. Unlike real-life friends, fictional friends have the benefit of structured time--everything has to be wrapped up by curtain call. Of course, in real life, too, we're also running out of time, with the added twist that we don't know when our curtain call will be. I can say, without giving anyone away, that I know some folks who woke up with regret on February 19, 2015, for having not mended a rift with Chadwick before it was too late. And there's nothing that can be done about that now.

That's as close as I'm going to get to saying the obvious thing, but please do consider the obvious thing just in case. Here's the second-most-obvious thing: it's not good to be the one who steps in between people. Goodness knows life is messy and screwing up is human, but to cause intentional turmoil in others' relationships, even without ulterior motive, is to invite trouble into many lives. Deal gently with other people's hearts and minds and emotions. Tread carefully before you cause a crack. You don't know if there's enough time to mend it before the curtain call, and it would be pretty lousy to face the afterlife audience as the villain.

(I sadded everything up again, didn't I? I wasn't planning to go that way, but spontaneous sad seems to happen whenever my fingers meet a keyboard. Maybe this is who I am now.)

You Should Be Reading Strong Towns

I have every intention of eventually putting my transportation research to good use here at Cheekyness. February marks six years of me being an active transportation advocate, and as you can imagine, a lot of reading can happen in six years. Unfortunately, transportation is a field where change comes slowly, so many of the issues we faced when I first walked into the BikeTexas office as an intern six years ago still exist. We've even managed to scrounge up a few new ones since then.

Source: Joe Zlomek on freeimages.com.

However! Lots of good articles have come my way in the last couple weeks, but in particular I'd like to point you to this one at Strong Towns, "The Real Reason Your City Has No Money." Charles Marohn looks at the realities of the money needed just to maintain existing infrastructure in most US cities (spoiler: more than city officials can possibly hope to find this century), then says,

Humans are predisposed to highly value pleasure today and to deeply discount future pain, especially the more distant it is. It's easy today to rationalize that future expense, especially when you feel so assured that new growth will make those future people better off. This thinking is how you end up with two dollars of public infrastructure for every one dollar of private investment. This is how you spend yourself into bankruptcy.

Check it out. Then take a look through the rest of Strong Towns' archives, too--there's a lot of great stuff in there.

Oath of Allegiance

Once upon a time, this happened:

Just a reminder that the real Von Trapps fled in part b/c they refused to sing for Hitler's birthday. #SoundOfMusic

— Su Wilcox (@cheekysu) December 19, 2016

Gorgeous Allegiance logo is from
the Allegiance website. Seriously,
go see it on Feb 19. It's critical
to where we are now.

And yes, I can hear you all reminding me that you haven't forgotten yet because I haven't given you the chance. However, should our current course continue following its likely trajectory, many folks will have tough decisions to make in the coming weeks and months about where their allegiance lies. (Allegiance is great musical, by the way, that's also worth checking out in regard to where we're headed--it's being encored in cinemas on February 19.)

I can't help with making those tough choices, because that's something each person has to decide. What I can do, on my designated book day, is share the moment when Georg von Trapp has to make that decision for himself--a moment the musical speeds past in a hurry, as if the decision had already been made, when the book shows that it hadn't:

"Listen. This is the chance of a lifetime, it really is. Just think what can be done with such a submarine. It is perfectly incredible. ... Of course one has to accept such an amazing offer."

We turned back, and suddenly he said, "... I can't run a submarine for the Nazis, can I? Of course not. It's absolutely out of the question."

We were on the other side and turned again. On the way back: "But perhaps it's wrong not to do it. After all, he is the head of the State now. I am a Navy man. This is really the only thing I know and can do well. Perhaps this is the Will of God!" and he waved the letter. "Everybody is warning me to think of the future of my children, which is gravely endangered, the way we live now."

Once more we turned. I knew there was nothing I could say. This is one of the times when a man is all alone--just he and his God. It is one of those dangerously precious moments when he has to say yes or no, and only he can make the decision. ...

Our speed slowed down remarkably. We were heading for the exit of the park. Before we reached it, Georg came out of deep, deep thinking and, a little woefully, he said, "No, I can't do it. When I took my oath on our proud old flag, I swore: 'With the Emperor for God and my country.' This would be against God and against my country. I'd break my old oath."

Your reasons and my reasons for what we do next may not be the same as Georg's reasons. You and I may not even have the same reasons, even if we reach the same conclusions. I can only say this: do not take our coming days and weeks and months lightly. Let's all give our next steps the consideration that they deserve--and then act.

Book excerpt is trimmed to meet the general guidelines of keeping quoted material to 300 words or less to avoid violating copyright. As far as I know, The Sound of Music is not in the public domain.

Desperate Times

Last week, I went running on Sunday afternoon after church, and happened to see a couple of folks (who happen to be a couple) I'd chatted with at church that morning. Fortunately, they both remembered me, instead of me having to remember them, because when I'm in running mode, all other areas of my brain are switched off.

Last Sunday was unseasonably warm, and as a result my run was quite pleasant. This weekend? Well, it was back to seasonable, with gusty winds and some snow to boot, so... I stayed inside. Not the smartest move with three weeks to go until a half marathon, I know. I tell myself I'm still getting acclimated to the Ohio winter, that I'll do better eventually, but obviously these are dumb excuses and "eventually" will never arrive if I don't go outside to meet it. Ugh.

I went digging into my blog archives
for old running pics as a show of
solidarity with myself. IIRC, this was
our first race with the West Texas
Running Club in 2007. 

So, after chatting to one of the aforementioned folks again yesterday, and hearing her reassurance that she didn't go running this weekend, either (solidarity from the real Ohioans!), I happened to run across both of them online yesterday afternoon and read his blog about going out in the freezing rain a couple weeks back when once upon a time he would have stayed indoors. I'm choosing to see that as more solidarity with my adjustment phase, mostly because he's trying to qualify for Boston and I'm just trying not to turn into a lump.

Anyway, on to the good stuff from last week, such as it is. I started using the treadmill at work on colder days, which while mind-numbing, also has many upsides, to wit: 1) I'm not thinking about how cold I am; 2) I can go at a consistent pace; 3) In fact, since running on the treadmill is easier than outside, I'm going a bit faster than I normally would; 4) I get it all done and am still home before 6:30; 5) I can read while running. I'm unhappy about skipping out on some miles, but am pretty chuffed at my treadmill times.

This week: probably more miles on the treadmill, because the forecast is not encouraging, and figure something out for next week's long run. I can't skip another one, so this may be the week I grit my teeth and bear it. Three weeks to El Paso!

Lift Your Lamp

I was there. I've seen her with
my own eyes. Let's not make
her into a liar.

If in your church today: nobody is talking about the stranded legal residents and visa holders who spent the weekend in a state of uncertainty and undeserved fear (and those who still are); nobody is discussing how to help refugees around the world; nobody mentions the human rights atrocities that are being committed right now; then you're in the wrong building.

In fact, if you haven't been talking about refugees and what the Bible has to say about the stranger in your midst for the past year (at least), you may be in the wrong building anyway. We know what happens when we ignore people in a humanitarian crisis. We know. We swore "never again;" did we really mean it? I can't think of many better ways of creating bitter enemies than this.

Miss Saigon is a problematic musical that deserves most of the criticism it receives. Yet for all its problems, there's a clear moment that should be heart-wrenching and condemning--when the gates of the embassy are flooded by hundreds of people of Saigon, begging for their lives. Chris is frantically searching the crowds for Kim, unwilling to leave her behind, and when John forces Chris into the helicopter, he tells him, "She won't be the only one we betrayed." In the literal name of everything holy, please let's not do that again. And folks who claim to be Christians first--before nation, before political party, before all else--cannot be silent while we go down that road.

After All

We have to live in a world without Mary Tyler Moore now? Geez, that sucks. Hang in there, Carol Burnett!

Yeah, like there was a chance I grew up in
the U.S. without having ever seen the best
title sequence in TV history.
Source.

Ever since I announced my plans to leave Austin, taking my 30-something newly-single self to a city that didn't have my husband's footprints all over it, with the hope that a job and apartment would turn up when the time was right, I've endured a steady stream of Baby Boomers bringing the Mary Tyler Moore references. "You're Mary Richards!" they said, or "Are you going to get a job at a news station?" or the somehow even less subtle "Do you have a hat to throw in the air?" And then they inevitably follow it up with, "But of course you're too young to know what I'm talking about." Baby Boomers, y'all are lovely and wonderful on a case-by-case basis, but as a group you have a bit of a hivemind thing going on. You might want to look to that.

Anyway. Of course I knew what they were talking about, and while I watched the show when I was too young to really get it, I do own many hats. (Throwability of some of them is unknown.) And of course, it wasn't her iconic hat, it was her slacks that were the critical part of her wardrobe, back in the 60s on The Dick van Dyke Show, when TV execs didn't know that women owned trousers. I have plenty of those, too.

We'll miss you, Mary. Thanks for using your talent to make the world a brighter place. And for wearing such a great hat.

Today's Topic is Pretty Obvious

One of my favourite lines from The West Wing (a show from which I have many, many favourite lines) comes from S3E2, when a frustrated campaign staffer shouts at the regular West Wing staff, "You people are never happier than when you're educating the public!"

Indeed.

You know who else enjoys educating the public? NASA. The National Parks. The USDA. The EPA. Researchers who rely on grants and whose findings are often taxpayer-funded. Want access to all this wealth of information? Call your elected officials and express your frustration about things like gag orders, hiring freezes that leave offices unstaffed, cabinet members being appointed with no qualifications to run some pretty important departments, data being withheld subject to the whims of politicians, and whatever new thing comes up today. The USDA's gag order was already lifted after public outcry. Let's keep it up.

Columbia River, 1973 vs 2012.
Image source: US EPA Ungagged.

Because having an educated public is critical, and we can't be educated without access.

Reflecting Better

A few viewings of Much Ado About Nothing ago, I had gone with a friend who, on the way home, mentioned the destructive power of slander as demonstrated in the show. I agreed, and as we talked, I said, "I still can't believe the most level-headed of the gents turns out to be goofy Benedick."

I haven't changed my mind about that. Of all the awful things that could have happened as a result of Don John's lies and Claudio's gullibility, for the fracture that arose between Benedick and his friends to have remained permanent would have been minor, but still sad. As it is, no matter how many times I see it, I'll always cringe at the argument between Benedick and Claudio. I'll always be horrified when Benedick slaps him. Watching such a brilliant friendship come to literal blows underscores how serious Claudio's choices were.

So in our post-show conversation that day, I went on to say, "If only Benedick had been there with Claudio when John tricked them." If only, indeed. Of course, had he been there, we would have no conflict to drive this show. I'm pretty sure Benedick would have been skeptical of John's news and his declarations of his own good intentions, and if nothing else, Benedick would have immediately acted to set the record straight one way or another. Instead, Claudio went off hurt and angry to stew for a few hours before publicly humiliating Hero. Benedick wouldn't have allowed his friend to do that to himself if he had been able to stop it.

See? Much better as friends. Hey, have I mentioned my
crush on--no, never mind.

I've seen approximately two episodes of Sex and the City, but one line has stuck with me: "Did he have no friends to mirror a healthier view of himself?" It doesn't take a lot to see that both Benedick and Claudio are better for being friends. (You can see that in Beatrice and Hero, too, but the women manage to express it without having to declare war on each other. As women do.) They keep each other in check, they help each other make sense of the world around them, and when they're apart they both tend to tilt a bit away from reality. The mirror they provide for one another is invaluable, and they don't even know it. Thank goodness they marry cousins and end up as relatives--I'm not sure how they could have coped otherwise.

I don't know whether Shakepeare intended this play to be instructive, but he still sneaked in this bit of truth: Friends make us better. And from a guy who wrote more murderous enemies than besties, I'll take all the awesome friendships I can get. (See also: Hamlet and Horatio.)

How do your friends make you better?

Time to Park

Today's my transportation day, and I have good news: you can bike, walk, roll a wheelchair, kayak, ride a horse, drive, and some combination of the above through the great treasures that are our national parks.

Getting there? Well, we have planes, trains, automobiles, buses, streetcars, bicycles--however works best for you. See? Transportation!

Visit a national park near you. Check out their websites and learn things. Send them an email or a tweet to let them know how awesome they are. Contact your elected officials and tell them what our parks mean to you. (While you're doing that, the Bureau of Land Management could also benefit from your voice.)

Look at this trail! LOOK at it!! It's not nearly finished, but once it is--wow.
And one of the finished segments is near me!

And you can support the national parks here.

Teaser Tuesday #46

Source: Goodreads.
Also, I'd like to add that I borrowed
this book from the Marion Regional
Campus of Ohio State University via
OhioLINK and the Cincinnati library,
because Ohio libraries are incredible.

One Less Car: Bicycling and the Politics of Automobility, Zack Furness

Bicycles not only offer a logical and pragmatic solution to this problem of the "global everyday"; they are also beneficial to those groups traditionally ignored within the dominant paradigm of economic development theory--rural women and girls.

Transportation researchers like Julia Philpott and Karen Overton have been instrumental in bringing the relationships between gender, economics, and non-motorized transportation to the attention of international NGOs, and there are a number of organizations that actively engage with these issues in their daily work.



(I promise I really did open to a random page! It's just that when you read an entire book that's relevant to your interests and the world at large, well, relevant things tend to happen.)

Teaser Tuesday is a weekly bookish meme, once upon a time hosted by MizB from Should Be Reading (and now I just can't tell if it has a host at all. But why stop?). Anyone can play along! Just do the following:
• Grab your current read
• Open to a random page
• Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
• BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (Make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
• Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers

Elevated

I decided one day last week to finally look at the course map and elevation chart for the Springfoot Half Marathon that I'm training for (four more weeks. Is it too early to panic?) and my hopes for a flat half were dashed. Good news: there's only one serious hill. Okay news: it's right in the middle. Bad news: I have to abandon my attempts to find the flattest stretches of Cincinnati available to run on.

I went downtown and crossed the river one day last week.
Yes, my weekday runs are long enough to run to
Kentucky now.

I live on top of a hill, so all of my runs start off downhill and finish uphill, no matter which direction I go. But for the middle miles, I have a few options--although running in the dark in a city I still don't know that well means that most of the options are varying degrees of scary. I've heard, "You went running where?" so many times that I'm starting to think no one feels safe anywhere in this city, ever, despite the fact that I see plenty of other runners out every direction that I go. (Non-runners. They don't speak my language.)

Anyway! All those hills paid off yesterday, though, when I managed a 10-miler at a slightly faster pace than any of my other runs last week. It was flattish in the middle, which I didn't do on purpose but really enjoyed once I got past the long downhill and slightly less long uphill that I started with. As they say, hills are speedwork in disguise.

Today starts a new training week! And then another, and another, and another... and then race day will be here.

Finding Home

There's a chance that moving to a new city doesn't have to be the protracted mess I've managed to turn it into, but why do things the easy way?

I don't really know how to find a new church. I've done it twice in my life, both times with another person to also consider, so picking a place that's right for just me is very much uncharted territory. Obviously, what I want is to arrive somewhere one Sunday morning and think, "This is it. I'm home." Even more obviously: that's not how life works.

The right church doesn't have to be as
pretty as this, but it wouldn't hurt.
Source: Júlia Tan on freeimages.com.

It doesn't help that my church home in Austin, Red River Church, set the bar so high. Trying to find Red River Junior is terribly unfair to the many (presumably) lovely and wonderful churches in Cincinnati that are (one hopes) doing good in the world in the way that best suits their surroundings. Chadwick and I did have a "This is it!" moment our first Sunday at Red River, but that was after about two months of visiting many churches within reasonable bus distance of our home and not finding our people, and after spending six months with a church we had hoped would be right for us but turned out to not quite be the one. That we found our people at Red River one June Sunday was a bit of divine intervention.*

So I've fallen into a cycle of getting up on Sunday morning, full of determination to get at least a step closer to finding the right place for me, only to be discouraged by the time I need to head out because I don't know what set of doors my people are hiding behind. And so I think, "Maybe next week," and kick the discomfort forward to Future Su. Which solves nothing.

By the time this post goes live Sunday morning, I should be somewhere looking for my people. I don't know if I'll find them today, or next week, or next month, and that uncertainty has me in a vortex of displacement.

I wonder if there's a bike church around here?

*So, funny story about our first Sunday in Red River: someone who ended up being a very good friend later on shook my hand with such force that the bones in my hand popped, which happens a lot, but they popped with enough enthusiasm that he felt it, too, and he thought he'd broken something. It was totally worth it just for the look of horror that crossed his face.

We Don't Play. We March.

This may be one of those posts that sends my Facebook friend count plummeting, and I spent approximately three nanoseconds fretting about that before I remembered that those likely to go are the ones who can't stand to be friends with people who disagree with them politically anyway. So everything's fine. (Plus I give Facebook about three minutes a day anyway, which is about three minutes more than it deserves, so what difference does it make?)

So! I knew there was no way I was getting to D.C. for a third time in two months, so I thought the Women's March was a no-go for me. I was planning to spend my Saturday running 10 miles and then watching musicals to care for my mental health.

But then.

As if I wasn't angry/worried enough, I saw the news Friday evening that the White House website had experienced a bit of a culling, with casualties including pages about climate change, LGBT rights, healthcare, civil rights, etc, because heaven forbid the White House be the ones to remind people they have rights. So I was delighted to see an article scroll across my news updates about the Cincinnati Women's March on Saturday. Sold.

Gathering in the park pre-march. I was on the less-full
side. Also? These ladies were not the only grey-headed
folks in attendance. Senior citizens were well
represented.

The organizers originally planned for 3,000 people, but as of the article being published the response to the Facebook event was much higher than 3,000. By the time we all assembled on Saturday afternoon, word had gotten out pretty well--I've heard numbers between 12,000-15,000. Wherever it landed, the march was a mite bigger than anticipated. They had to extend the march route in a hurry once the folks in front got back to the beginning, only to run into people still leaving the park.

I don't know a lot about who was there, except what I saw: people of all ages, people of many races, people with physical disabilities, church groups, Girl Scouts, college students, women, men. People with bikes. People who arrived by bus and streetcar. One person who arrived too late to get parked and, being stuck in his car in the middle of marchers, turned off his car and climbed on top. People who were on their way somewhere else who got stuck when the roads were shut down and smiled and waved from inside their cars instead of ranting.

People who have hopes and fears and dreams and want to be heard. That's who marched in Cincinnati today.

Edited to add: in case you don't have every musical in the world memorized, the post title is a reference to The Sound of Music. You know, the show about these folks:

Just a reminder that the real Von Trapps fled in part b/c they refused to sing for Hitler's birthday. #SoundOfMusic

— Su Wilcox (@cheekysu) December 19, 2016

Self-Care is Green, Too

Source: Vivek Chugh on freeimages.com.

Take a nap. Read a book. Listen to soothing music. Spend time with a friend. Turn off your TV. Check out. Whatever you need to do to get ready to face the day and make your corner of the world a better place, every day.

Especially this day.

One of Many

My current MC, Sybil, has gone a bit quiet but is not forgotten. She and I still meet to talk about her life and what new thing I'm going to throw at her next. This is a school story, because it's a genre that I've loved most of my life (more like Chalet School than Harry Potter), and it will certainly never see the light in its current form, so I'm thinking about the first round of revisions even as I finish the ending. (And it's a series. Yeah, I'm doing everything I can to make sure it never finds a publisher.)

I still think this probably looks like
Sybil. Maybe not in her best moment.
Source: Martin Walls on freeimages.com.

Sybil comes from a remarkably large family, which I've gone back and forth on keeping. They don't all come into the story, apart from the occasional mention, and sometimes I've wondered if that's just one ridiculous thing too many for Sybil's life. I had almost decided to bring her sibling roster down to perhaps still being a large family by today's standards--like four or five children--instead of the current ocean of people who live in Sybil's house.

And then I changed my mind. Because big families get enough bad press and I'd like to bring a more positive look, if I can. (Not that Sybil necessarily loves it. Coping with so many people is one of her challenges.) Because I keep meeting big families in my real life that confirm that what I'm writing is not out of the realm of possibility. Because I ran across an interview with an actor who I like who described being from a family of more children than I would ever think to cram into one house, not even in a fantasy novel.

And because it's fun. My day-to-day life is mostly one of solitude, which I've come to enjoy most of the time, so being able to write about all the people and the noise and the activity is a nice escape. I think if I rewrote her with just one or two siblings, Sybil would be lonely.

What are you going back and forth on lately?

Sudden Stop

My father has been a CDL holder since the licensing began in 1986. When the program was coming into effect, his employer handed round training materials to all of their drivers to study for the written exam. For the couple weeks before the exam date, watching the CDL training videos was a fun-filled family activity--we probably could have all passed the written exam after our intense studying.

Image source: Reddit.

One of the training videos was all about driving on steep grades, including the use of a runaway truck ramp if the truck loses brakes in the mountains. (Said ramps often slope uphill--sometimes a really steep hill if it's a short ramp--and are filled with deep gravel or sand to bring the truck to a safe stop. There are other kinds, too, with mechanical arrestors and barricades and whatnot.) Central Indiana is not really known for its mountains, so the existence of runaway truck ramps has been something that's lurked in the back of my brain for 30 years with no practical use, since driving large and heavy vehicles is on my Never-Ever list for this lifetime.

Until I drove from Cincinnati to D.C. a few weeks ago, passing through West Virginia. I saw a sign that read, "Runaway Truck Ramp 1 Mile" and of course the "useless information" section of my brain lit right up. Sure enough, it looked exactly like I'd always pictured it.

The day I drove to D.C. was also my father's birthday, so I called him that evening to tell him I was walking along Pennsylvania Avenue toward the White House, and oh, I saw some runaway truck ramps on the drive in. No prizes for guessing which one he was more excited about--he's never seen one in person, either.

"Did you have to use it?" he asked, because everybody's a comedian, and then he went on to tell me that if I used it, I'd have to be towed back out. Then he said, "You probably wouldn't have to have your bicycle towed out. You can probably just pick that up and walk out." I was about to ask how far he thought I would fly if I hit one of those ramps on a bicycle, when he added, "Of course, you're going to go over the handlebars if you hit one of those on a bike." Yeah. Wherever I landed, I doubt I would be walking away.

Anyway, like many last-ditch safety features, most of these ramps are not used a lot (thank goodness, although there's one in Colorado that's used 20+ times a year), but when they're needed, they're critical. Caltrans posted a video a few months back of one in action--you can see in the video how fast the truck stopped. It's incredible how such a simple idea as having a gravel pit as a backup plan can save lives.

What's a backup plan you hope to never, ever use?