Thanksgiving.  Beautiful holiday.  And for me, like many of you, as we get older, it becomes my favorite – one that only requires the gathering of loved ones, friends, and the sharing of a meal – and most importantly, reflection on all the gifts in our lives.

For the past few years, I have listed out my thanksgivings on this blog: all that I am grateful for that either happened, or came into my life in the past twelve months.  And so, it is with great pleasure and joy, that I take some time to reflect. (in no particular order…)

Walden.   Since I moved to Massachusetts in 1991, I have had a relationship with Walden Pond.  But it wasn’t until this past June that we truly became engaged.  I began swimming Walden Pond a couple of times of week with someone who became a dear friend and confidante over the course of the summer and early fall.  Unless you have experienced Walden – it’s hard to truly explain it.  We swam at dawn – sometimes in the dark; sometimes in the cold.  We would stop in the middle of the pond and talk briefly about life, the stars, or the crazy shit that awaited our day.  It is a blessing to have a friend to whom you can tell anything to – someone who won’t be shocked or surprised – someone who isn’t too connected to the rest of your life.  Simple friendship. And the most interesting part about the experience is that every single time we swam – it was different.  Same pond.  Same time of day…but always special in a different way.  And always beautiful. Next summer I plan on writing about it – starting a journal that captures those subtle changes, those beautiful nuances of nature and our world.  Thank you Mick.  And thank you Sarah.

Acupuncture.  Ok. Never ever in my wildest dreams would I have thought I would be such a complete and total grateful mess when I start talking about Robin Sessa and acupuncture.  As my close friends and family know, last year starting around Christmas, I lost feeling in my left hand, arm, and was in complete and total chronic pain for four months. I couldn’t run – I couldn’t sit – I could barely drive. Two herniated discs in my neck. It was awful.  I had two cortisone injections, months of physical therapy…and then my physical therapist suggested I try acupuncture.  She suggested it subtly – she knew she wasn’t making any progress on my arm, my strength, my neck.. And so I got a name, made an appointment.  And it was unbelievable.  Results were almost immediate.  And I am now training for the Boston Marathon 2014.  I feel terrific. And I owe it all to Robin and her healing ways.

Travel.  This past year, I went to Italy, Seattle, Montana, France (Paris & Normandy), and of course, beloved Maine.  The trips to Italy and Normandy were particularly life changing.  And reminded me of how much of the world there is – and how much I have to learn about life, people, culture.  These trips ignited something in me that had been forgotten.  I am so incredibly grateful that I had the opportunity this year to venture, to voyage, to taste, to experience.  It broadened my heart and mind and I look forward to the adventures that await.

Recovery.  So this one is a hard one to read…feel free to skip ahead.  When I was 16, the abuse began.  It was subtle at first – but grew with time and grew out of the crazy home life that was mine during my adolescence.  This year, I turn 46 – and I have a 16 year old son.  My abuser was 46 years old and someone I trusted.  I was 16.  My home life was very unstable and I was easily victimized.  It wasn’t until about last year at this time – as I approached my abusers age– that I have fully absorbed the craziness and the depth of the hurt.  For years, I have lived in shame, in secret, taking full responsibility for what happened to me.  Now, I am in therapy, working every day at reclaiming that lost child.  I share this today because I am grateful for healing and recovery.  I am grateful to be moving from being a victim to being a survivor.  It is a long road – that so many of us have to walk.

Coaching basketball.  I was so very fortunate to have found the game of basketball at a young age.  And it has been a love affair that extends from the very first moment I touched a ball to then soon after,  I attended a Police Athletic League clinic when I was eight years old.  Since then, it has been my haven, my retreat, my love.  And now – after years of playing, I get to share that love with my daughter Maggie and a group of young girls.  And I have the great good luck of coaching with someone who like me – loves the game, loves to coach, and understands how important it is to coach the girls as people, individuals, as athletes.  To raise the bar to the right height – and to challenge them to their best day.  I know now because Maggie is my youngest – that these days of coaching her are limited, fleeting- but for now, this past year, and the year ahead –  I am grateful.

My brothers.  This year brought my brothers:  Danny, Chris, and Peter, – all to my house at the same time (due to an ocean, it only happens every ten years or so); with their children and their significant others.  It was so fun – and I realized the greatest gift that my parents ever gave me were these three beautiful people. And I am lucky to call them my friends.  They call me Lizzie.  I hope to pay it forward – with my own children.  Making sure that they know how special their siblings are to them – and how they will have them when they need them throughout their lives.

Meditation. I have started a new practice. Meditating.  Sitting. Being.  Quiet.  It is very difficult for me.  But – when I get there – in the quiet of nothing, I am refreshed.  I like the idea that I don’t need running shoes to get there.  I like the idea of settling into myself and feeling the space around my thoughts – instead of thinking all the time.  I am someone who thinks all the time…rethinks and overthinks, and considers and projects (that’s  a verb, not a noun).  Someone who is very close to me has helped me to see myself.  Meditation has opened up a whole different view of being me – and I am grateful for the stretch.

Thanksgiving.  Stopping and remembering back – reflecting to all that is good.  And in looking forward – the year ahead promises all sorts of new challenges. Life, recovery, therapy, marathon, a child moving on, life moving on.

Thank you for our connection, this community.  May your day tomorrow be filled with light and love.  Hug your children.  Hug each other.

And lastly – no thanksgiving would be complete without this, for this is what my heart looks like:

Believe it or not…this is not about our swings at CNS.  This is another swing story. Coincidentally happened on the day the swings came down at CNS, but a different story and reflection altogether.

Quick background:  along with a few of our teachers at CNS, I have been invited to and participate in a new endeavor formed by some wonderful educators (most notably including Joanne Pressman, my mentor, confidante, friend, and predecessor at CNS). This group has created a series of workshops inspired by two wonderful educators, David and Frances Hawkins. For more info: http://hawkinscenters.org.

On Saturday, November 2, I attended one of these workshops at the de Cordova Museum and Sculpture Park.  The material of the workshop was inspired by the artist in residence, Orly Genger, who has created some fantastic sculptures out of former lobster trap rope.  We were meant to explore and experience the exhibit and then invited to work in a small group with a wide selection of rope, outside in the park, without any guidance or restrictions.  The idea was to have us experience, experiment, play.

The core mission of this Hawkins group is to have teachers, educators, administrators, to first person engage with materials. This brings us in better touch with our work with children. The idea is that by experiencing first hand what we are asking of the children – that we will have deeper insights, be more sensitive to their experiences, and as an end result be more in touch with our work.

And so my group – which included Amy Kvaal, Danielle, Cindy, and another person that was from another school – began to find a spot (we chose a tree) and gathered up some good choice rope.  At first we were busy ‘decorating the tree’ – weaving different colors and lengths of rope around its trunk. But then we became interested and inspired by a branch and we wondered if we could weave a section up and over the branch.  It took some doing – but once we had it over – then of course, the idea of a rope swing came right to us.

I grew up with a rope swing.  It was located at the very back back of my yard and I used that rope swing all the time.  I loved to swing.  And spent many hours back and forth – pushing off the great big tree and allowing my mind to wander.

The video attached here will tell the next part of the story.  We did have success. And for a few minutes, we had joy.  I was flying.  I took a risk that the branch would hold my weight (literally  figuring out if I did indeed fall, would have time for an ER visit before leaving for NY later that day to catch my friend running the marathon).  The branch held my weight.  And I flew.  Transformed.  It was a lovely antidote knowing that I had left CNS only an hour earlier having given the work day list including ‘take down our swings’.

And then something happened.

The director of the educational program at the deCordova – a super nice person and thoughtful, inspired educator, came over to tell us to stop.  I don’t know if she was worried about our safety, the tree, or the spectators wanting to try out our swing (there were regular museum guests at the deCordova on this day as well -along with a reception ongoing on the adjacent lawn).  My guess is that it was a struggle for her to ask us to stop – but I can tell you that as soon as she did….it was a complete and total buzz kill.  I felt like I was five years old again.

And so the workshop did what was intended – it helped me to see how it is that children so often feel when we give them a little freedom – but then need to “rope” them in when they push the boundaries just a little too far.  It happens for us as parents, teachers, all the time.  That project that turns just a little too messy and we need to redirect the energy; or the song that gets just a bit too loud with their enthusiasm and big voices.

The purpose of these Hawkins experiences is to help us gain insight into our work with the children – and it absolutely did.  Once the person curtailed our swinging, we were deflated and done.  We didn’t even want to play any more.  There was a sense of shame and sadness.  One minute, joy and flying; the next minute a sense of needing to apologize and pull down the rope.

I suppose what we were doing was dangerous- we could have fallen; the branch could have broken.  Other museum guests might have taken up the swing after we were done.  There was liability.  But before that adult sensibility – there was flying, and weightlessness, and joy.

And so I have held that in my heart all week.  Thinking about how it is that we create experiences at CNS – that we invite the children to explore, experiment, and try. And how I want us all to be self-conscious about those moments when we need to redirect or reboot their enthusiasm – maybe out of a concern for their safety; or maybe because we are worried about the example they are setting and of things getting ‘out of control’.

But let’s try not to deflate their creativity or their ingenuity.  Let’s find gentler ways to redirect – that appreciates their inspiration without deflating their effort and spirit. It was a good experience for me to feel like I was five years old and in trouble once again.

  With the new school year well under way, and the colors brightening our landscape, I am once again reminded of the importance to stop, slow down and breathe in the beauty of our world.  Recently I was given a copy of Rachel Carson’s “The Sense of Wonder” (Thanks to Avery’s family).  It is one of her final reflections on nature – based on the time she spent with her young nephew during his visits to her home in Maine.  The essay is accompanied by beautiful photographic images.  Coincidentally, soon after reading and reflecting on this book, I was sent Alice Hoffman’s “How to Find Happiness” list that includes such wisdom as “Walk a Dog” and “Look at the Stars”.

As the days pass in my life, I regularly realize how fortunate I am to be surrounded by young children, who don’t need to be reminded of these life lessons.  They don’t need to read a book or someone’s post cancer reflections.  They are living it.  They stop on the sidewalk to see the wiggling worm; they pick up the red leaf and hold it proudly in their hand as they walk into their classroom;  they notice the acorn and the bird and the new weed flower.

The patience and awareness that children have with their environment is a constant reminder and lesson for all of us here at CNS. We adults need to continually slow down our walk, stop with all the hurrying, and realize that at the end of the day, the difference of five minutes extra in the morning to be present with one’s child while they save the worm or pick up the leaf is precious.  Time that must be appreciated – and not hurried.

My children are growing up too fast.  As a mother to four children, who now are almost all taller than I am – ranging in ages from 11 to 16, childhood has a fleeting sense of the temporary.  What was once looking like a marathon, now more closely resembles a 5K.  I have to seek out and create those moments now with my children.  Remind them to slow down, to look up at the sky and to remember.

I have been swimming in Walden Pond a couple times a week since June.  This morning was my last swim of the season.  Sunrise is too late and I can no longer see my partner while we swim with the dark of morning like a blanket over the pond.  But was so striking throughout the summer and early fall, was despite our swimming at the same time, same place, same direction, same distance, each swim was characteristically different:  the plane of the water, the sky, the wildlife, the clouds, the moon, sun, stars, air.  It was “wonder-full”.

This morning as we stopped midway before heading back to shore, the stars were so bright; constellations beckoning and that same airplane I’ve seen every swim heading for Logan. My kids think I’m crazy to get up so early to swim.  Maybe I am a little crazy.  But I hope that my example now to them that sometimes getting up early to experience wonder is something they remember when age and the hectic pace of their life tries to rob them of it.  And so I say this to you reader – seek wonder.  Take your time.  Hold your young child’s hand and see the world through their eyes.  They still have it.  And we all need it.  Wonder is a gift you give to yourself – by opening your eyes and heart to the beauty that surrounds you.  In the words of Rachel Carson:

“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.”

Even though I have been lucky enough to be part of this community for thirteen years now, I am still always surprised and awed by the power of collaboration and hard work.  It is amazing to me how much can done and how efficiently when we bond together with common purpose and plan. This morning a group of us met at CNS in the drizzle and moved 30 yards of playground mulch around the swings, the jiggly bus, the gnome house, and the back climber.  Check out the before, during, and after pictures.  Great day. Grateful.

The crew:  Karen’s dad, Lucy’s dad, Avery’s dad, Allie’s dad, Cal’s dad, Elliot’s dad, Ginger’s mom, Sophie’s mom, Nina’s mom, Lydia’s mom, Zack’s mom, me, Vicente’s parents, and Sriya’s mom.  Thank you to all!

Most often, I use this space for my own writing and reflection.  Every once in awhile, I find something to share that I feel is important and relevant and worth putting in this space.  I hope you enjoy this as much as I did –  read and reflect.  As a parent of older children now, it is so very very true.

Written by a Pre-School Teacher – It says it all!

I was on a parenting bulletin board recently and read a post by a mother who was worried that her 4 1/2 year old did not know enough. “What should a 4 year old know?” she asked.

Most of the answers left me not only saddened but pretty soundly annoyed. One mom posted a laundry list of all of the things her son knew. Counting to 100, planets, how to write his first and last name, and on and on. Others chimed in with how much more their children already knew, some who were only three. A few posted URL’s to lists of what each age should know. The fewest yet said that each child develops at his own pace and not to worry.

It bothered me greatly to see these mothers responding to a worried mom by adding to her concern, with lists of all the things their children could do that hers couldn’t. We are such a competitive culture that even our pre-schoolers have become trophies and bragging rights. Childhood shouldn’t be a race.

So here, I offer my list of what a 4 year old should know.
She should know that she is loved wholly and unconditionally, all of the time.
He should know that he is safe and he should know how to keep himself safe in public, with others, and in varied situations. He should know that he can trust his instincts about people and that he never has to do something that doesn’t feel right, no matter who is asking. He should know his personal rights and that his family will back them up.
She should know how to laugh, act silly, be goofy and use her imagination. She should know that it is always okay to paint the sky orange and give cats 6 legs.
He should know his own interests and be encouraged to follow them. If he could care less about learning his numbers, his parents should realize he’ll learn them accidentally soon enough and let him immerse himself instead in rocket ships, drawing, dinosaurs or playing in the mud.
She should know that the world is magical and that so is she. She should know that she’s wonderful, brilliant, creative, compassionate and marvellous. She should know that it’s just as worthy to spend the day outside making daisy chains, mud pies and fairy houses as it is to practice phonics. Scratch that– way more worthy.
But more important, here’s what parents need to know.
That every child learns to walk, talk, read and do algebra at his own pace and that it will have no bearing on how well he walks, talks, reads or does algebra.
That the single biggest predictor of high academic achievement and high ACT scores is reading to children. Not flash cards, not workbooks, not fancy preschools, not blinking toys or computers, but mom or dad taking the time every day or night (or both!) to sit and read them wonderful books.
That being the smartest or most accomplished kid in class has never had any bearing on being the happiest. We are so caught up in trying to give our children “advantages” that we’re giving them lives as multi-tasked and stressful as ours. One of the biggest advantages we can give our children is a simple, carefree childhood.
That our children deserve to be surrounded by books, nature, art supplies and the freedom to explore them. Most of us could get rid of 90% of our children’s toys and they wouldn’t be missed, but some things are important– building toys like lego and blocks, creative toys like all types of art materials (good stuff), musical instruments (real ones and multicultural ones), dress up clothes and books, books, books. (Incidentally, much of this can be picked up quite cheaply at thrift shops.) They need to have the freedom to explore with these things too– to play with scoops of dried beans in the high chair (supervised, of course), to knead bread and make messes, to use paint and play dough and glitter at the kitchen table while we make supper even though it gets everywhere, to have a spot in the yard where it’s absolutely fine to dig up all the grass and make a mud pit.

That our children need more of us. We have become so good at saying that we need to take care of ourselves that some of us have used it as an excuse to have the rest of the world take care of our kids. Yes, we all need undisturbed baths, time with friends, sanity breaks and an occasional life outside of parenthood. But we live in a time when parenting magazines recommend trying to commit to 10 minutes a day with each child and scheduling one Saturday a month as family day. That’s not okay! Our children don’t need Nintendos, computers, after school activities, ballet lessons, play groups and soccer practice nearly as much as they need US. They need fathers who sit and listen to their days, mothers who join in and make crafts with them, parents who take the time to read them stories and act like idiots with them. They need us to take walks with them and not mind the .1 MPH pace of a toddler on a spring night. They deserve to help us make supper even though it takes twice as long and makes it twice as much work. They deserve to know that they’re a priority for us and that we truly love to be with them.

To begin again every September is an opportunity.  New energy infusing the space.  New ideas born of reflection and time away.  New faces to learn.  New families to welcome. New voices to hear. New friendships to find.  New challenges to overcome.

Last Sunday, a group of parents joined on the first work day of the year to spruce up the gardens, clean up the sand and mulch;  to paint and patch, and drill holes for new coat hangers.  It always humbles me to see the great love and commitment that parents bring to CNS.  For some of them, this was their first touch with our community.  And just like their children that will meet together this week on the playground or in a classroom, here they were, meeting new faces, introducing themselves and making connection. It is a vital part of our community with each other as caretakers of our school.  And also very rewarding for anyone who was able to see the transformation of the garden beds and yard (and they were so quick at weeding the beds, that I didn’t even get a good picture!).

This year, I look forward to a few new programs and new ideas that we are planning for this “just about to start” year.

–Book group.   I would like us to choose a book to read together and with those interested, meet throughout the year to think a little more deeply about children and their development.  I will share more about this during Parent Orientation on Tuesday night.

– Childrens Rights Project. I am also going to suggest a community project that asks us to define the rights of children.  When I was in Italy last March, I saw that at a few schools they had articulated and then posted a list of “Childrens’ Rights”.  Reading through them (and posted months ago here), I was struck by this idea and have often thought that we as a community should articulate our own set of “Childrens’ Rights”.  What do we believe in as the adults (parents, teachers) in their lives?  What do we want to protect?

— CNS monarch will provide new classes and opportunities for children to expand in many different ways. (www.cnslex.org/monarch).

— Hawkins Center for Learning.  Starting this fall, on some Saturdays throughout the year, our Studio will be a gathering place for local teachers, directors, and parents to have a chance to interact “hands-on” with materials. Check out: http://hawkinscenters.org for more information on the Hawkins and why this is a special new part of what happens at CNS.

On this day, final touches are being made in the classrooms. Orientation materials for teachers and parents are being assembled.  Name tags are being created and paint cups filled. Tomorrow morning, the teachers and I will meet and spend the day in meetings and prep for the start of the school year.

I look forward to this new beginning with butterflies in my stomach, warmth in my heart and a gentle knowing of all the adventure that awaits us.  I look forward to connecting with your children and supporting you throughout our time together in the coming months and year.  I continue to be humbled by your trust and will work tirelessly toward creating and sharing a space at CNS that nurtures all of us as we walk this path together.

I had thought tonight about sitting down and writing about Common Core Curriculum Standards and the conference I attended on Thursday.  I have been thinking about it a lot since – and its implications for your children and mine.  I will write that blog entry soon – but right now is not the time for that.  Right now I am emotionally full with the sense of impending endings and summer’s beginning.  All of a sudden, here we are, with two weeks left of school before we hug our goodbyes and wish each other well.

It is time and the children are ready.  They burst in and out and fill our walls with their energy and friendship and exuberance. There are parts to this time of year that I love – and yet, there never seems to be enough time and now when I look at your children who are leaving, I am filled with love for them as they take off for their next journey.

The monarch butterfly project that we do every fall with the children is now metaphorical for their time with us at CNS.  Here we are taking care, making sure they get the nutrients that they need; making sure that their environment is safe and free from harm; allowing them to grow and change and emerge. They have been in chrysalis now for awhile…and they are about to emerge, dry their wings and fly off.  It is beautiful and right – but those of us here who have been this part of their journey – their milkweed; their stem; their shelter – we will miss them.

There is something so very precious about your children.  I truly feel unbelievably humbled and grateful for their friendship.  I know them all.  And I have the best job in the world to know them.  On Friday I was at a Bridge school event and a couple of Bridge students – CNS alum – came to me to say hello; and some current CNS children were there – and it was so fun to see them, too.

The bonds we create are lasting and special and real.  The children feel them and so do we.  And now we must prepare for their emergence – their wings are drying off and they are ready to fly.  And so we watch with our hearts and our eyes getting misty – and filled with pride and love for them.  And just like when we watch that baby monarch reach up to the sky and begin her journey to Mexico – we are awed by how your beautiful children are ready to spread their wings and fly on to their next most special destination.

We will also miss all of you – your dedication and support for our school is an incredibly special part of what we do at CNS.  We would not be able to do what we do without you – the parents. Thank you for sharing your journey with us – many of us did the same and our lives have been forever changed.  Stay in touch.  Drop by.  We will be missing you.  But until then – let’s make the most of these two weeks…despite what ‘needs’ to be done – let’s enjoy every conversation and take time with each other before life and, you, too fly away.

Reposting this — as I do every Mothers’ Day…with sincere appreciation and love in my heart for all that you do for your children.  I am extremely grateful that we get to share this precious time together.  Enjoy:

“We’re taking a survey,” she says, half jokingly. “Do you think I should have a baby?”

“It will change your life,” I say carefully.

“I know,” she says. “No more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more spontaneous vacations…”

But that is not what I mean at all.

I look at my friend, trying to decide what to tell her.  I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.  I want to tell her that the physical wounds of childbirth heal, but that becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will be forever vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never read a newspaper again without asking “What if that had been my child?”  That every plane crash, every fire will haunt her.  That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will look at the mothers and wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think she should know that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will immediately reduce her to the primitive level.  That a slightly urgent call of “Mom!” will cause her to drop her best crystal without a moment’s hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might successfully arrange for child care, but one day she will be waiting to go into an important business meeting, and she will think about her baby’s sweet smell.  She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure he is all right.

I want my friend to know that everyday routine decisions will no longer be routine.  That a visit to Mc Donald’s and a five year old boy’s desire to go to the men’s room rather than the women’s room will become a major dilemma.  That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that danger may be lurking in the rest room.

I want her to know that however decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.  Looking at my attractive friend, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but will never feel the same about herself.  That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child.  That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not so much to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish his.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My friend’s relationship with her husband will change, but not in the ways she thinks.  I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is always careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his son.  I think she should know that she will fall in love with her husband again for reasons she would never have imagined.

I wish my friend could sense the bond she will feel with other women throughout history who have tried desperately to stop war and prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my friend the exhilaration of seeing your son learn to hit a baseball.  I want to capture for her the laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog for the first time.  I want her to taste the joy that is so real that it hurts.

My friend’s quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes.

“You’ll never regret it,” I say finally.

Spring is renewal and daffodils and tulips.  Spring is soccer and preball and kindergarten orientation.  Spring is endings and beginnings.  Spring comes too late and is over too fast.  But spring also has tradition.  For 41 years now, parents have gathered on this day – the Friday before the Saturday before Mothers’ Day to prepare for the Yellow Balloon Fair.  Spring after spring, fair after fair…always slightly changing, always staying the same.  Always a time for children.  And for our community to find its breath together and to create some magic for the all.

Today, like the many other Fridays before, parents took off from their normal routines.  Deliveries were received; furniture moved; tables set.

Raffles and auctions finalized.  Tents and games and organization.  Friendships were found today.  Connections were made.  And right now, on the eve of the Fair, lists are being checked and crossed off;  alarms are being set.

For all of this, for all of you – on behalf of the children, I am so ever grateful.  For those who were there today – and for all the parents who will work tomorrow; thank you.  Because this Fair has become more than itself – it has become a time when we find cadence and team and celebrate our community.  A time when families return to their memories and take a cupcake walk and find their wishes in the well.  A time when alumni return to volunteer or remember again what it is like to be filled with wonder.

See you all tomorrow at the Fair.  I can’t wait…

I attended the Reenactment of Patriots Day with Maggie on Monday, April 15th – and although I have lived here for twelve years; this was my first time to wake much before dawn and head downtown with my ladder; a cup of coffee and one of my children.  Till now, Gary had always taken the children; the boys when they were much younger.  With the promise of extra credit; Maggie was not to be deterred…and frankly I was quite happy to go;  living in Lexington all this time, it felt like the thing to do.

And so we did.  Waking early – heading to the center;  early dark black cold morning.  I was struck by our mode of transport;  trying hard to imagine what it was like hundreds of years ago – and eerily realizing that despite the very early hour; I was not alone on the roads; contrary – many like us were heading into town;  rows of headlights making their way at 4:30AM on Patriots Day.

I had woken this early two times before on a Patriots Day – readying myself for the Boston Marathon.  I ran it first in 1992 – a young grad student wanting to share this so sacred Boston tradition in my newly adopted city.  And then fifteen years later, four babies later, a lifetime later – I ran with my newest best friend – a renaissance of my life as I had discovered running and new friendship and needed to remind myself of challenge and goal and strength despite all that had changed for me in fifteen years.

The Boston Marathon is special.  I know many cities would say the same – and it is all true.  But Boston is special.  Very hard – physically crazy challenging.  But the fans, the people, the traditions – Hopkinton; Wellesley; Heartbreak Hill; Boston College.  Coolidge Corner; Fenway Park;  Comm Ave.  Hereford Street; Bolyston.  Finish.  I have such vivid memories of my my time running Boston.  Mostly positive.  A father and daughter handing out orange slices.  The women of Wellesley.  You can hear them for almost a mile.  Heartbreak Hill.  Seeing Tommy first, falling into his arms for a hug.  He had no idea how much I was hurting and didn’t understand why I was crying.  Walking with Gary up the next half mile. Telling him how much I hurt and not knowing if I could finish.  Banana.  Stomach cramps. Chafing so bad that I was bleeding.

And so on Monday afternoon – after an early morning with the true Patriots – I couldn’t understand a text from a friend alerting me to the explosions.  It was such a beautiful day.  Picture perfect day for a marathon. Hard to believe my eyes.  I knew that finish – that exact spot.  Families wait there.  Wait for their mom or their dad;  their girlfriend or boyfriend;  just wait there and take all that humanity in…

And then I was struck by the timing of it all.  Why wait until almost 3P? — the champions have been awarded;  the major media presence has subsided.  It really is only people like me still running.  Those running for charity.  Those who didn’t qualify.  These are the people who decided to run for another purpose.  Maybe like me to prove to themselves that they still could;  maybe because a child they know is dying from cancer;  maybe because they have a parent with Alzheimers.  They train and they run and they aren’t fast or pretty – and they all finish around 3 and 4PM.  So why target that time?  Not that there is ever a good time – but for some reason, this seems especially cruel.  For whatever reason, they waited.  They waited for Martin Richard’s dad.

Again – there would never have been a good time.  It would have always been tragic.

And then, like you, I have been inspired and reminded of good by reflecting and hearing all the stories of those who stepped in to help;  on-duty; off duty; visitors; runners; doctors; nurses;  first responders.  Only three people died that day because of them.  Make no mistake.  Lives were saved.  Lives that should have been lost.  Stories now still to be told by many who should have died on Monday. Babies to be born.  Weddings to attend.  Lives to live.  Hard lives now.  Lives forever changed.  Some without feet or legs.

And so I say this.  Let us run together next April.  However many of you that will join me.  We will run together and raise money for those who were hurt.  We will run for prosthetics…and chairs…and maybe lost income for those who can no longer work the way they could before.  And in this way – in this way – we will remember Marathon Monday.  Our Patriots Day.

I often reflect on what it must have taken in one’s heart to be a Minuteman.  To leave your house in the pitch black morning – to leave your farm with your family inside; knowing that without you, their survival was in doubt. But believing beyond one’s own self, that the greater purpose was more important.  Sort of like running toward a bomb instead of running away.  Sort of like ripping down a barrier to get to a victim.  Sort of like holding someone’s femoral artery in your hand.

Sort of like that kind of bravery.