Make sure your Christmas bonus is bigger than your bail

When my swim coach told me that Julia played cello, I thought it was too good to be true.  I dreamed of finding chamber musicians to play with.  There couldn't be one sharing my swim lane!  "Do you know the Brahms cello sonatas?" I asked her while we were getting dressed. The beautiful melody that opens Brahms'  E minor cello sonata magically flowed right out of her mouth.  "Come to my house tomorrow night after work,"  I told her.  Lucky for me, she agreed. 

Today, I swam in the 5 AM class instead of our usual 6 AM. When Julia asked why, I admitted that I had insomnia due to a worry about my middle daughter.  "Oh, I see," she answered.  "Last time you were super worried, it turned out to be a problem fit for a radio segment."

Sure, she had a point. While Julia was enjoying dinner with me and Eric, we became increasingly worried about Summer's absence. Sadly, I really worry with passion.  Turns out, Summer was attending a diner for students accepted at Princeton and her cell phone was off.  OK, so that wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been but this...

When my sister was in a relationship with Greg and I suggested she date other guys just to make sure he was the right one, she showed anger- the only anger I've ever witnessed from her. "I will never talk to you about my social life again!"  From that I've learned, any influence from family must be given early.

Emily chose the first apartment she saw both  before college and after college.  She did the same with her job.  "Shouldn't you fill out some other applications just in case this job doesn't work out?"  She did not.  She went through the 6 month application process to become a 911 dispatcher and with her brains, hard work, typing skills and excellent memory, she got the job.   All of that worked out wonderfully and she continues to thrive in this very important work.  However,  I am unable to embrace this selection process for guys.

"Have you ever been married?" I asked Julia in the hot tub last week.  I knew she had an MD, a PhD, she had lived in the deep south,  she has a family heirloom grand piano, a formidable music collection, and a sister anyone would admire but  I had never asked her this.

Call me manipulative. Tell me I'm the mother my daughter will never recover from.  But I can't help it. I spelled out my wishes, threatening to curtail my 4 day a week dog watching services if they're not met.  ( I love watching Fancy and Tobe too- Havanese/Daschund and Schitzu- best dogs since my old standard poodle).   Join 1-2 orchestras, even though you'll miss some practices/concerts due to work.  Take your last 5 credits of college in person (with on-line option for days you'll miss). Go out to dinner with 10 guys before you go steady with anyone. Let us know if you'd like a gym membership for Chanukah.

I told her she thinks it's normal and even annoying that guys are always falling all over her.  If she is true to herself, this "problem" will last her entire life.  (She knows that her grandmother Iris has guys falling all over her.) However, the quality of the guys will change with time.

Julia's never been married.  I asked her why.  "The guys I dated didn't like music.  They didn't respect my Catholicism."  She was true to herself.   When I leave the locker room, Julia offers advice like "Make sure your Christmas bonus is bigger than your bail."   Today her advice was re-read David Copperfield and keep a journal.

I don't know if Julia is happy with all her past choices but as her friend, I'm happy she is exactly who she is today.

Montlake and Ballard

Summer's been rude to me most of the day. Plus, I nearly tripped on the ancient birkenstocks she left near my computer. Tripping could be a disaster since my left achille's is only partially healed. It's almost like she could tell my mood was too good.  Eric's trying to help too. If I was a flamenco dancer, he would tamp me into early retirement with his plain vanilla expectations.

But, I'm happy to report to my kind reader that nothing worked. My day was excellent.  After a quick swim at the Y, I surprised Eric, his mom, and her cousin (Joan)  by arriving home 10 minutes before our scheduled departure. I got to drink black coffee while  Joan drank her hot chocolate and chattered cheerfully about her excellent health. Then Eric and I dropped Joan and Carol on Fun Center Way (I'm not kidding) where they boarded a bus headed for Vancouver BC where they'll board a Holland America Cruise to Alaska. The two women are first cousins, best friends, and newly widowed.  I wanted to jump on the bus too but my vanilla husband is actually better than a cruise.

Rocking chairs on the driveway were the next stop. Eric and I planned our upcoming camping trip while we waited for Summer to wake up.  Then I biked to the Kirkland Park and Ride. Almost anything is exciting when you're waiting for a bus. I was very happy to see my beautiful 19 year old daughter ride up, smiling under her snow white helmet.

Almost as soon as you enter the University of Washington district, you join a stream of bikers that likely annoys cars and may even encourage them to drive elsewhere. We easily glided over the Montlake bridge and onto the Burke Gilman Trail. On our left, the medical school provided a massive and reassuring presence.  On our right, we caught  glimpses of the Gothic buildings and manicured lawns of campus. Peace Park, the industrial side of Lake Union and the edge of Gasworks park were stepping stones to my favorite part of the trail.  The huge metal trellis of the Aurora Bridge soars over the Washington Ship canal which connects Lake Union with Puget Sound. A tiny pocket of house boats is close enough to touch and a happy statue sits next to the water watching bikers, walkers and strollers. The trail curves to stay close to the water. I stopped to wait for Summer while the Fremont bridge was up to allow The Harmony and a few sailboats to pass.


"Did you see the yacht called Harmony?"  I yelled to Summer as she blew past me.
"I don't even know what a yacht looks like," was the reply I could barely hear. The next time she was unlucky  enough to be next to me, she asked where we were going.
"That's helpful," she said sarcastically before leaving in the dust. 
I told her everything I knew. We were headed to Ballard.

Six months ago, Lauren told me she wanted to live in a place with community. My cynical brain started wailing about how there used to be small towns where people knew and cared about each other. Well, there still are places like Clatskanie, Oregon but try getting a job in one of those. Luckily years of training from my husband taught me to keep those dark thoughts to myself.

And Voila!  Lauren went out into the neighborhoods and found Ballard!  Bright flags and the smell of hot dogs announced our arrival to the Ballard Farmer's market. Summer promptly disappeared amongst the stalls while my bike and I entered the lobby of the Ballard Inn through an open door. When an attendant caught me map reading  on a comfy black and white couch, she said I could stay all day. Happy with that, I left to explore the Olympic Athletic Club.

"Come explore with me!"  Summer called on my cell. I was so excited, I left my boot and bike and we found home made sodas (I chose cilantro, lime, and Jalepeno pepper flavor), soaps, men's and women's hats, and a vintage clothing store.  Eventually, the traffic released Lauren and Eric into our midst and we quickly bought fresh veggie quesadillas and magical ointment before the stalls closed at 3 PM and a convoy of vans chased the pedestrians to the sidewalks.   The farmer's market was so fun, I almost forgot the original mission:  see Lauren's new apartment.

We stuttered along on bike and feet passing ice cream shops, sushi joints, and pubs with microbrew. Lauren was irritated by our touristy over appreciation of her neighborhood and wanted us to hurry. I saw a big shiny apartment building.

"You can live there after you get a raise, Lauren!"
"Absolutely not."  She dismissed my silly idea. "I saw a bumper sticker that said Ballard welcomes the Condo Overlords. " She went on to explain that established Ballardites like herself (she hasn't moved in yet but she will on Saturday), don't want new people flooding in. 

We all poured into the library near her home. In spite of the soaring wood and metal construction, it was welcoming and filled to capacity. Summer plunked down in seats strictly reserved for teens and smiled smugly at her old sister and parents who had to stand.  Next we passed a community garden with a handwritten sign on a checkered background.  Neighborhood barbeque, EVERY Wednesday, 6:30 to dark, Everyone welcome. 
"Will you go?"  I asked Lauren.
"No." I could have predicted her answer. She's concise. She likes to write about people  but would rather not mingle with the general public.

I got way ahead of Summer while on the Burke Gilman trail headed back to the bus. But  a phone call from Emily stopped me. "Please come!  she said.  I cleaned up and the tea kettle is waiting for you."  Summer grunted her consent. We arrived at Emily and Lauren's apartment to find a vacuum cleaner exhausted after an unsuccessful attempt to clean up after Emmy's precious little dogs. But Emily's cheer and hot tea made it all worthwhile.  Lauren even came out of her bedroom retreat to join the party. Both girls would move out in six days and I savored one last time under their joint hospitality.

Summer can't wait to return to college in a few days. I loved having her home. She's the one member of my family that shares my love for bike trails. When she's 2,850 miles away, she'll have loving thoughts about me too. Summer and Eric's TV shows are nearly over now, so I'm going to sign off and act normal.

Sisters at Baker Lake

"It makes me so sad to see you like this, Gwennie!" Tragedy was written all over my sister Solange's face. I admit, I sobbed for a few hours when it first happened but I know a few people who would trade conditions with me in a second.   Solange was just as upset over  her daughter's curly hair and her son's awkward gait.  Thanks to her influence, we both used to feel sorry for toys we neglected.

"There is a bright side," I countered as I limped to  a lounge chair in my garage and sat heavily with my bum leg stretched out. I dropped my crutch and  smiled at the huge pile of sleeping bags, camp kitchen supplies, tents, loose flashlights, and overstuffed canvas bags in front of me. 

 "I really love your house, Gwen. Wouldn't it be a lot easier if we had the kids sleep in tents in the back yard?  Then we'd still have coffee, we can go running and biking..." Her voice trailed off ...

About 10 minutes later, Solange, Eric, and Summer had loaded everything into the van, the Subaru and the clamshell above the van.  It looked like a miracle to a person who could barely shower or put a bowl in the dishwasher.

"Can I do anything do help, Gwen?" My sunny sister, Judy, had just gotten in from 2 red eye flights with her  8 and 9 year old kids.  It wasn't til she returned with my coffee mug cleaned and filled with water that I remembered that she was hungry and was facing a chaotic garage rather than the homemade lunch she was promised.   Thank goodness, my daughter Emily who refused in no uncertain terms to come camping, brought Vietnamese sandwiches for everyone. Judy actually finished her food for the first time in her life.

It required the full 2 1/2 hour drive to Baker Lake to sever me and my sisters from our phones. My extended absence greeting probably infuriated everyone in my car as well as the poor patients destined to hear it later.  Solange had to log in to find out where her husband biked that day and how his speed compared with their mountain biking teammates.    When Judy signed off, the huge network of people that collaborate with her to employ the disabled temporarily lost their guiding light.

Finally freed from the car, we wandered around Panorama Point Campground. The forest floor was covered with soft mounds of earth pushed up by tree roots.  Soft gray daylight brightened as soon as you stepped from the woods to the beach. The  greenish blue lake water  stroked the pebbles like a whispered version of the ocean's surf.  Rocky peaks with bright white snow filling all but their craggiest edges looked the same size as the wooded hills in front of them. Clouds moved  among these giants as if misty dreams can stand up to  concrete.

Solange would have gladly put up both tents by herself leaving lazy kids and sluggish sisters behind but after struggling to insert the poles into the corner loops, she accepted help from me and Judy. 

"Even mosquitos like younger women better. I don't get it- I dye my hair and everything." Solange complained when we were finally relaxing around the fire. Solange felt older than her daughters but she couldn't stand "old people," who complained about fast bikers. I had been lulled into thinking I'm near retirement myself thanks to all of my retired music and pickleball friends.  And now, I had a handicapped tag. Solange was only 14 months younger than me.  "Women are so useless, " Solange also informed us.  "They get boob jobs, go shopping and complain about their husband's mountain biking. But horrible as some marriages may be, divorce is worse....Every single mass murderer comes from  divorced parents."

"Best camping trip ever!!" interrupted Zachary, Judy's 9 year old son. His  cousin helped him hold his marshmallow just outside the flames.

Judy looked at her sweet little boy laughing.  "I love my divorce, thank you very much."

Raindrops fell on my face, gently waking me from  a deep sleep. I did not want to leave my  hammock cocoon.  It wasn't until I felt the wetness seeping into my backside that I finally rolled out and joined Solange in her pup tent. "Poor Gwen! Get in here!" She said before falling back asleep.  I was the first to wake up the next morning. I dunked my hair in the lake, soaked my good foot, and rinsed my face. I had swum in the lake before and I would do it again. I wish my patients would recover too. David with stage 4 lymphoma. Annette recovering from a self inflicted gunshot wound to face criminal charges.  And 4 year old  Arnav  who fell out his second story window to land in the ICU.  The clouds obscured all the large mountains but I felt them all around me.

Emilene

“When I have children, I’ll love them forever until I die!” Emily was crying. I wasn’t. I had gotten all my tears and sobs out talking to my mom on the phone before Emily came over.

I know it’s healthy to practice gratitude and optimism but black doubts sometime drown those. Emily makes $9.65/hour at Samena. That’s about $360 per week or $18K/year. She’s not ready for grad school and even if she was, she would probably be rejected due to a GPA of 2.5 or worse. “I don’t want to live with random people. I’m a private person!”  If Emily’s lucky, she’ll get to live with Lauren after graduation but will she be able to afford half the rent?

I just wanted to snuggle up under blankets with hot chocolate and watch TV and coddle my daughter forever. But my mom steered me clear of that.  I wanted to adopt her dog for her. So what if she prefers indoor plumbing! Emily would have more time, more money, more friends and more housing options!  But Eric plead against it. (Very rare to hear that emotion in his voice) “We have to let her know we won’t take care of any babies.”  Yowsa. This is about more than carpet cleaning.

“Emily. Daddy and I love you. We love you more than we love ourselves.” I hugged my make up free 21 year old with her brand new case of acne. “If we thought you couldn’t support yourself, we wouldn’t make you…” Emily nodded slightly. “We  know you can do it but you don’t. The only way you’ll know is by doing it.” 

That night, 3:30 AM I was awake.  How much could she amass if she saved $72/week?  At age 22, she should have a lot of time to compound interest. Could a community college certification get her a job that paid better than a psychology bachelor’s degree from University of Washington?   I had ideas for short term goals: resume, choose the best website for job search. Teach cello lessons.  For anxiety run, get into counseling since insurance will cover and it can help long term. Accomplish something to lift mood even if it’s cleaning out the bathroom sink.  Of course, long term ideas occurred to me also: Look at job availibility before selecting type of grad school. Work really hard at job, volunteer opportunities, and possibly grad school or post bac. Do not get married or have kids until you’re confident, happy, and independent. I emailed Emily every link and word.

She calmly thanked me for all that while encouraging me to adopt a more normal schedule. (Sit by fire when cold, and watch Parks and Recreation and Arrested Development for entertainment were her other helpful pieces of advice.)

Today, I received her resume, a cover letter and news of applications to a 911 dispatch job and a physician recruitment firm.

I saw a new patient who wants to restart cigarettes…ever since he quit 18 months ago, his bm’s have gotten less and less frequent. He now goes about once a week. Also, he calmly lies in bed all night without sleeping. He even blames the lack of cigarettes for his shoulder, knee and foot pain. I’m the first doc he’s seen in 14 years and I hope I can help. A one year old patient returned from vacation in Norway to get her shots-calming Chinese conversation from her mom kept her on the right side of hysterics. Another new patient is a communications grad from UW, newly laid off and newly married but pretty confident that he’ll find work in addition to being a basketball official. Luckily, I noticed an urgent request for records… my 42 year smoker patient who just had a stroke will be seeing a neurologist tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Also, my Pakistani patient just discharged from the hospital with urosepsis (possibly due to long term antibiotics for acne?) is safely home with his new wife.

So, at 9 PM with Emily texting me to go home already, I was about to leave. Until I picked up a business card my friend Judy Simon had given me. Unbridled Therapy: traditional or equine therapy by a young licenced marriage and family therapist in Kirkland. I just had to send Emily one more email.  And I really had to thank my mom.

Over the Top

The wisp of metal is cold reminding me that I’m 30,000 feet above the warm earth. It cools my hot irritable hands. When I open it, the bright white letters and numbers invite me to touch them. The blue screen cooly awaits my command.

My old diary is gone, relegated to a closet shelf that’s draped with gauzy swim cover ups, capri pants, summer clothes of every description that will remain completely useless for many months. The downy alpaca sweater I knit too loosely lies on the same shelf waiting for a kind, elderly knitter to help me repair it.

Once again, I’ve overdone it. During the summer, I had to try to speak at least one word in the language of each country so matter how fleeting my visit. “Thank you”  in Icelandic is “tak” which means something in Polish as well so I conserved a scrap of mental energy.  But I struggled in Italy. Something drove me to talk even when the most attentive Italian couldn’t understand a word. I kept listening to my CD, checking my phrase book. Practicing alone and on any slightly sympathetic Italian until success was mine. I asked an elderly resident of Civita di Bagnoregio who spoke no English whatsoever if one could swim in Bolsena Lake and whether or not it was cold. I even understood her answer!  One could swim in the warm water of the lake. If one could tolerate swimming with a bunch of Germans. Giddy with my success, I even quipped that the Germans would speak English as I ran off to share the good news with my family. In Greece, my approximation for their good morning put smiles on craggy faces of Olympian shopkeepers being starved by the dearth of tourists.

Israel was tough too. For at least 5 minutes,  I examined a big bright tourist map on a crowded sidewalk in Holon. I learned absolutely nothing. I couldn’t tell north from south, where I was, or where I came from. Every street was named after a person and people have two names. I couldn’t match the last names on the street signs with the full names on the map. Hebrew letters are familiar to me but not the faithful servants of our alphabet.  Annoyed, I decided Holon was just home base anyway. I scouted the vicinity for half an hour until I figured out where to catch the bus to Tel Aviv.  I’d be back with my daughters and we’d have a day at the beach. A long run followed.

Using my very own key, I unlocked the door to my cousins’ home and skimmed through the heavy hot living room. Quietly, I approached my daughters’ bedroom door. Lauren would be sleeping beneath the quietly efficient room air conditioner. Summer would be tiptoeing around her sister. She went running at the same time as I did 2 hours ago but she doesn’t interrupt her run with silly tourist diversions.  Summer was not there. Lauren stayed half asleep and showed no alarm but her sister was missing.

Twenty minutes later, Summer walked in brushing right past her hysterical mother. The language barrier hadn’t been so kind to her either but she found her way back.  Anee rutzah ledaberet Ivrit does not make it happen.

So in Belgium and France, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut to let my girls use their French. Meticulously taught by Mme Columb, they can retrieve grammar and conditionel tense admirably. But my joy at once again having a language at my command took over. Waiters became penpals. Hotel clerks, my tour advisors. I asked for directions even as I happily tripped along the road I had followed as an 8 year old, thrilled to have Lauren and Summer patiently following behind as we found my old school: L’ecole du Bois de la Cambre. In Paris, les jardins Tuileries with an amusement park and peaceful pond were enjoyed along with the exibit of a S. Korean photographer who’s every photo was taken from the same window. And Summer ran next to me while we biked to Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower. But I still felt most unfortunate, when Summer and I had to fly out of Paris less than 24 hours after our arrival leaving Lauren all alone to  find affordable lodging and brave through her own ambitious itinerary. I stayed with Lauren in spirit for the entire week until she joined her colleagues in Amsterdam.

It was enough for at least a year. My week at music camp, new friend coaxing music out of their instruments from 7 AM to 10 PM when the pianos had to be quiet was already more than enough to make 2012 a year I’d always cherish.  Camping with Eric through Camloops, RevelStoke, Lake Le Jeune, Kicking Horse, and finally Lake Louise  Canada and staying in our van with little dog Fancy in the driving rain with nothing but our books, flashlights, Cracker jacks and sleep.  The morning sunshine showed us that the clean dignity of  northern Idahos hills made us happy to return to the US even after the majesty of B.C. and Alberta.

So, I’ve had a lot of diversion this year and I’ve really earned weeks on end of TV, bathrobes, and simple wanderings about the neighborhood. All my girls are gone to college but Eric is the husband of my dreams and I am ready for my due. A grand piano in the living room,  2 cabinets with assorted music, a kindle, a book club…I have it all. Clunk the YMCA and a good job on top of that and Bellevue is truly a dream come true.

Why then, do I find myself up in the sky? With a computer that’s now as overheated as I am. It’s due to excesses. I  tried the breathing exercises Dr. Andrew Weil advised. Pin tongue to the ridge behind the teeth. Exhale fully through the mouth making a loud breathing out sound. Breathe in quietly through the nose to a count of 4. Hold until a count of 7. Exhale (same loud method) to a count of 8.  Repeat x 3. I’ve cut my caffeine to just a smidge. I tried to dampen my mother Iris’s touristic enthusiasm. She’s obviously the reason I can’t just see the sights and go home. I assumed that without caffeine, I’d sleep through half the lectures at the American Academy of Family Physicians’ 2012 assembly in Philadelphia. Who knew that these lectures would inspire me to network with fellow physicians! Neither my mother nor I had ever been to that city. “Filthadelphia,” right? Who cares.

But my mom just had to talk her way into the Barnes museum where the Renoirs greet you like an out of control rabbit population. Her friend Joan just had to be a brilliant mediator with cascading blonde hair, a white cashmere coat and a black and white flared mini skirt over the legs and high heels that went with it. And Joan had to bring her tragic son who hopes bourbon will still his ambivalence about using his legal education to help Wall Street financiers maintain their lifestyles. Iris’ other friend Joyce,had to be an agreeable and modest  pioneer in inclusive education for disabled Baltimore children. I had to experience the American Jewish Museum with a movie of Leonard Bernstein as a young man conducting the classical music that thrilled America before he proceeded to compose the musicals that that buoy  us effortlessly above our cares. And movies about the Jewish immigrant movie directors that powerfully wove the American dream which we all share today.  A simple run in Philadelphia takes you to all the buildings that were frequented by the white wigged geniuses that wrote our constitution.  Why?

Forget that I visited Princeton before Philadelphia.  The leaves were turning red and Summer loves it. I can’t take it anymore.

This plane is bumping around and the stewardess will scream at me any second. I am going home and putting on a bathrobe.

Goodnight.

Blog Rescued

I gave up on my novel and adopted chamber music instead. Yoga has become my closest link to myself. I thought that was enough until Lauren came over. She gently poked at the near dead writer within me until it rolled over and whispered something unintelligible. 

I want to write a book modeled after Jennifer Weiner's. I know I can because my sister Solange could make Susan Isaacs (hilarious author of cynical books like As Husbands Go) look like a dreamy eyed romance writer. And my other sister, Judy blogs on Forbes.com while she captains her own company through hurricane seas. My failed first book was too ambitious-trying to weave together my view of the future, the evils of the food industry, and the personal lives of all the characters. Plus my best character, was an evil Russian woman. Too many Russians get a bad rap in fiction.

Writing could wait. I'd write after I organize my life (all on a new fast computer), improve my medical practice, become a lightening quick sight reader on the piano and do whatever new project comes to mind. There was no urgency whatsoever until....

My BLOG was LOST!  My little netbook featured blogwriter and not much else. On my new computer, google searches just showed a bunch of doctor rating sites and I couldn't find my blog anywhere. And talk about near dead...nobody wants to hear about the gasping and burping of my poor little netbook when I opened it after months on the shelf under my summer clothes. Anyway, the little gadget came through and my blog is now found. It's site, username, password and everything else will now be organized along with the rest of my life. And it's miraculous return to reality made me want to add a post before the year is up.

Lauren had pictures of the Eiffel Tower, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and her own published book on her bulletin board. The Eiffel Tower came down after she covered Paris during her 10day stay there last summer, the Red Hot Chili Peppers will take a spot in her "accomplished" box (under her bed) after she attends their concert tomorrow night.  So clearly, the publishing of her novel will occur soon .

Furthermore, she keeps a diary (paper journals, volumes by now, kept under her bed), and she now posts a blog weekly. Weekly blogs have made Judy reflect each week on the progress of Opportunity Works (her company). Her powerful voice has inspired me as well as hundreds of other readers.  I love my yoga class. Yogi Susan's clear instructions stretch the soreness out of my muscles and exhaler the exhausting chatter out of my brain. She gently lifts my back towards the sky and relaxes my shoulders to the safety of earth.  Lauren coaches my life the same way. She encouraged my to enjoy a run the other night while she worked on her 4th batch of cinnamon rolls. She reminded me about her life coach: Martha Beck's Book  Steering by Starlight and her blog. And she introduced me to her brand newblog:  my ya life!

This is a disjointed blog but  I'm hoping it can be a rickety little bridge between past and future attempts to write. Even an occasional chronicle will be better than nothing.

18 years

Summer is not perfect. Nobody is. Until recently, she was mediocre at estimating volumes. Sounds trivial but you wouldn’t like spaghetti sauce spilling over their containers or a large bowl with just a little salad taking up space in your fridge. Furthermore, I can tell she’s ready to flee from her ever present parents. Today, she got irritated with my camping trip ideas and  evicted me from her bedroom when I was still addressing invitations to her graduation party.

Summer loves to run as much as Coach Brad Bradquist and her dad like to coach. This means practices are a lot like important track  meets. Times, work outs and mileage are monitored closely by  Summer and dutifully reported to Coach and father.  She doesn’t fall over or puke after running but effort level is just shy of that every day.  When Summer’s national rank in the 800m fell from 58th to 69th, we all grumbled around the dinner table. We talk about track nearly all the time. Chatter about classes and friends fits into small gaps.

So when Summer won the Washington 2A state championship in the 800m for the second time Saturday, we were happy but definitely not surprised. The biggest excitement was actually her 400 m run against Cherish Morrison in the preliminary. Summer was in lane 5. When Cherish, who’s won 10 individual state championships started to pass Summer from lane 4, Summer just stayed with her. They looked joined at the hip from the stands.  After Cherish just barely beat her, Summer thanked Cherish for her help: Summer had just broken her second school record with a time of 57.8 seconds. Summer also takes partial credit for getting Cherish to beat her own record with a 56.09.

Sorry about that. Now you see what our dinner conversation looks like. Anyway…I guess I’m also used to Summer’s academic performance. I know nothing about it except she takes all the hardest classes and gets nearly all A’s.  I can’t help liking her boyfriends and she’s very considerate. She thanks us for her meals, helps us clean up,  gives me tips on make up, loans me clothes, notices if I wear something new. Just now, she remembered to give me a head count for tomorrow’s brunch. I had forgotten all about it! Some of my best friends are her friends’ parents. And last February, I was wondering for weeks what sporting event I could take Eric to for Valentine’s Day. A few minutes with Summer and I found out she was running in a university meet at the UW.  Problem solved. She is going to Princeton, just to cinch the whole parental proudness thing.

But none of the above inspired me to write. Tonight’s birthday party was the thing. I just witnessed 10 beautiful high school/college girls in mini dresses and high heels going out to PF Changs and then coming home to change immediately into shorts and flip flops and play spoons laughing loud enough to scare the cat across the creek. Candy became our newest carpeting. They loudly cheered Summer’s success at blowing out 18 blue candles on chocolate cake. Eric said he wished he had 10 friends who would come over for his birthday. A lot of us do. Summer left a quote on the desk one day…something like, you can’t really understand someone without loving him or her. I’m guessing her wonderful friends are no more an accident than her running speed.