It might be October, right? The welcome Indian Summer days and nights followed by some drizzle and cool days are upon us. BJ and I are planning to plant the mums from pots into the ground, …
It might be October, right? The welcome Indian Summer days and nights followed by some drizzle and cool days are upon us. BJ and I are planning to plant the mums from pots into the ground, optimistically hoping they will come back next fall. I am advised I should either dig up the grass and put some sod down or just live with the weeds I mow through the spring. I need to sit down and read a good book. Better yet I should take advantage of my returning interest in local evening activities like a play or a movie or a concert.
We got a start last week when friends invited us to join them at the Port Gamble Theater for a presentation of “Murder on the Nile” preceded by dinner at “Butcher and Baker”. Upon our arrival we noted the line for folks entering the restaurant spilled into the parking lot so we headed for the “Scratch” restaurant in the off chance it may have reopened. We were not so lucky with “Scratch” but the sandwich shop in the back of the General Store was open and they sold bottles of wine in the front so we were good. They do close at 6 PM so at about 6:15 we were getting gentle nudges to move along. A short walk across the street later we were climbing the steps to see another version of Agatha Christie’s crime story of a 1937 cruise on the Nile River in Egypt. The book was written in 1937, there was a movie version in 1978 and we just saw a current movie version a month ago! Surprise of surprises, even though Hercule Poirot is not in the stage version, the performance by the cast of the play was incredibly entertaining.
The Ludlow Village Players are presenting the musical “In This House” beginning on the 20th with several performances at the Bay Club that weekend and the following weekend. On Friday nights they are having “Dessert Theater” so you can plan to get your calorie and drama needs met in one sitting! We need to be efficient at this time in our lives.
I know it is early but you might note on your calendar that the next offering by the Port Ludlow Performing Arts is “Blue Moon Marquee” on Saturday, November 11. They will be performing Swing Gypsy Blues Boogie Jazz. You wondered when you would be seeing another group provide that kind of music for your listening pleasure.
The name Sean Smith is well-known to all those folks in the Buick Club of America. The club is dedicated to the preservation and restoration of automobiles made by Buick. Richard and Judy Smith here in Port Ludlow tell me that their son Sean was feted in the past for his work automating the identification, and maybe location, of parts necessary for club members to successfully preserve and/or restore their Buicks. This might not be your “cup of tea” but if you are somebody who has an old Buick, Sean is your hero.
Now for the sports news. The Seahawks did not play although quarterback Geno Smith did get fined for some trash talk to the New York Giants tackler Isaiah Simmons after Simmons laid an unnecessary lick on him last week. Thank goodness Geno can afford it. Wabash went to 3-1 as they whipped Wooster 45-35 under the leadership of quarterback Liam Thompson, one of 33 quarterbacks on the “Manning Award Watch List”. Liam joins other luminaries on the list you might actually know such as Michael Penix Jr. of the University of Washington, Bo Nix of the University of Oregon and others. In the event you are interested, DePauw beat Denison 17-6. The New York Jets beat Russell Wilson and the Denver Broncos 31-21, a game with some bitter undertones. Finally, those Kansas City Chiefs beat the Minnesota Vikings and Taylor Swift was nowhere to be seen. For what it is worth, I was a fan of the Chiefs before she was born!
Love a curmudgeon, and have a great week!
RUNNING INTO A LIFE LESSON
There’s no pretending that rearranging the narrow thinking of a six-mile-a-day runner came easy. I put up a good fight - slowing my running pace, doing fewer miles, skipping a day here and there, ice then heat on my aching back, even tried a knee brace. “Maybe you should stop that constant pounding on your ligaments,” my husband suggested. Well of course I should, I knew that, my arthritic bod knew that. Many runners can keep up the pace well into their golden years. I wasn’t one of them. My joints and muscles were calling the shots. So, as a firm believer in exercise as a necessity for healthy aging, if I was going to grow old well and in one piece, I had to age into a new fitness routine.
As a mental bribe, I went shopping for new shoes specific for walking. I decided to cut my usual exercise routes in half, even went so far as to focus on time and not distance. With a goal of at least forty minutes at a decent pace, early on a Monday morning I started to walk. And when I wasn’t whining about it, when I got into the rhythm of walking, positive results emerged. First, I saw that I didn’t have to push through pain. Diehard runners have a habit of talking themselves out of pain. The inner chatter goes something like this. “Okay, knees throbbing, back hurting, I’ll get warmed up, get past this first mile, I’ll be fine. I’m strong, I’m in good shape.” And interestingly enough, you can cajole yourself out of hurting during a run, but there’s a big price of delayed discomfort to pay. Next, I noticed my surroundings. I knew that lovely little chapel was there, but never noticed those old wooden doors. The sweet herd of deer - how many times had I run past them not seeing their heads raise to acknowledge my presence, black tails swinging as they relaxed back to grass munching. A turn into a small thicket of woods and mind and body became part of the rich aroma of pine trees so tall the sky disappeared. In the moment I was one with nature and the round, brown bunnies scurrying under thick brush. I noticed other folks ambling, which proved to be far different from coming across runners. The competitiveness of running made diehard exercisers a challenge evoking a lot of self-talk. “I’ll pick up the pace, easily pass her, this is the last mile.” On the other hand, slower travelers conversed, many with sweet dogs ready for a pat. I found with no finish line in my head I didn’t mind stopping for a minute to share pleasantries, enjoy the camaraderie. On a recent encounter with a fellow trekker I experienced a valuable lesson.
She was bundled in a long, gray wool coat, black gloves, fuzzy red beret, and white athletic shoes with red laces. She looked to be in her eighties and was using an upright walker to manage the terrain. "Aren't the mountains lovely today," she said. I agreed and at the same time noticed her bright blue eyes and cheerful demeanor. "I used to run this entire park," she said. "Then I had to switch to walking, and now I'm reduced to this contraption. But the good news is I'm still out here exercising, still alive and pretty darn healthy." I was near tears. There was a calmness as I moved away from the lovely, positive lady, a tweak of joy. With deep appreciation for running into a valuable life lesson, I would grow to love my walks.
Carole Marshall is a former columnist and feature writer for a national magazine. She has authored three books and, after a preponderance of spectacular boys, is great-grandma to four girls.