Walking for Wellness: 400-miles & 90%

I have  walked over 440 miles since July 18 to train for the 60-mile 3-Day Susan G. Komen walk in Phoenix next month with thousands of other walkers. Every participant raises funds while raising awareness about breast cancer. Net proceeds from the 3-Day are invested in breast cancer research and community programs.

More daunting than the 60 miles is the $2300 I must raise by Nov. 5th in order to be able to participate in the walk. I am currently at 90%, having raised $2080. Hooray! But not quite there....  If you would like to learn more about the event and how to support me and the cause, you can go to my personal page: http://www.the3day.org/goto/andipenner  Please donate, if you haven't done so already. Any affordable amount would be greatly appreciated.

Where East was North

During childhood, my mental map of my home town centered on my family's home, a cul-de-sac residence which I placed squarely in the center of the orange grove suburb, even though I knew that another city was just a few streets away. We had no directional landmarks -- no mountains to the north, no river to the east, no ocean to the west, no desert to the south -- only the Disneyland fireworks, every night at 9:00 p.m. lighting up the sky above. So when I left my house to walk to the school bus stop, I walked up the street. And up, as we all know, is North.

Recently, I had the opportunity to spend several days in the same house where I used to "spend the night" with my best friend. Her father still lives there, and he extended his hospitality so that I could visit my dad, affordably. Almost every day, I took a walk in the neighborhoods I had once called home.

Each morning was overcast and almost cool; the sun cast no shadows through the thick grayness, and the air was still. I relied on memory to take me past each of my schools and homes: the Methodist pre-school, three elementary schools -- all still there; two junior high schools, now with different names; and, of course, the public high school, which I was pleased to discover had been named a California Distinguished School. I also located each house and apartment I had lived in, amazed that all were within walking distance of each other. Had my world really been so small?

Much of the foliage I knew as a child -- sticky lantana, oleander, thick dark ivy, dichondra -- has been replaced by pygmy date palms and other plants I cannot yet name. Jesus and Mary front yard figurines are few and far between. More common are stone elephants, buddhas, and even large lions guarding huge homes on small lots. (Although in one yard, I did see an arms-outstretched Jesus statue on one side of the front walkway, and a stone lion fountain on the other.)

The grocery store where all the football players worked as checkers and bag boys is now part of a shopping complex that could be on any Orange County street. A United Nations of culinary options graces the intersection: Korean, Mexican, Thai, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, and French cuisine, in addition to the standard American fast food franchises. A few streets down (south? east?) I even found a cafe that served beignets!

On foot, I saw the scenes of my childhood in ways I had not expected. I am looking forward to my next visit.

Only in New Mexico

I was on a mission: buying gifts for an upcoming baby shower. Just as I was pulling out of the parking lot of Bed, Bath, and Beyond, I heard someone say, "excuse me, ma'am." I turned around and looked out my window; there was a young man leaning out of the passenger side of a mini-van, pointing at my car. At first I thought maybe he was indicating I had a flat tire, but then I noticed he was pointing to the unsightly scrape and dent above the back wheel-well.

"I do body work, ma'am, and I can fix that for you."
"Really? Where do you do your work?" I asked him.
"I work for a body shop in the South Valley, but I can fix cars anywhere. If you want, I can give you an estimate, and I can even fix it today."

As you can imagine--especially if you are a Breaking Bad fan--several scenarios were running through my head, but something about him and the unlikely nature of the situation, made me say, "Okay - at least name your price." Whoever was driving the minivan then parked the vehicle, but stayed inside. My new body-repairman examined the damage (that I had inflicted when I backed into a truck bumper in a parking lot about a month ago), and another scrape on the front bumper from when I misjudged a parking space barrier and pulled up too close. He said, "I can fix both for $175.00. It will take about an hour. I can do it right here, or wherever you want, because I have all the tools in my car." "Really??!" I said. "What about the paint and matching the color?"

"No problem. While I'm fixing the dent and priming the surface, my guy will go get the paint. We match the paint using the make/model and the last 4 digits of the VIN number. You don't pay me anthing until the work is done, and then only if you're satisfied."

"Okay, I said, but I was on my way to Target to get a few more things. Can we do it there?" "Sure," he said. "Just park away from other cars so I don't get any paint on them."

So I hopped into my car; the van followed for the mile or more until we parked at the edge of the Target lot. Out hopped a little girl, about 6 or 7 years old -- the body man's daughter. His pregnant wife stayed in the car, looking very hot and uncomfortable. The van driver (brother-in-law?) got out the tools, and body man got to work immediately. I asked his wife if she needed anything in Target; she asked for some water. I went inside and bought 2 large bottles of cold water; as soon as I got back, the van-load left to go buy the paint. Meanwhile, the car was already sanded--the dent was gone. By then I was feeling more confident that this really was going to work out, so I finished my baby-shower shopping inside Target.

When I returned to my car, the van was still gone, so the Body Man and I talked for awhile. He told me of his dream to have his own shop some day, but for now he is just trying to make it as an employee, and doing odd jobs on the side. He told me he thinks many body shops and mechanics rip people off, and that makes him uncomfortable. Finally the van returned, with the paint can. About 5 minutes later, it was all done and my car was restored to its former glory!

One last step: the van followed me to an ATM where I got enough cash to pay for the work. I gave him $180.00, about 90 minutes after we had met. I drove east, he drove west. I have his name and phone number in case anyone I know is looking for some honest labor.

The First Serving

Years ago, on a beach in northern Spain, the Scientist and I came across an inviting cafe in the sand, overlooking a quiet bay. Hungry and thirsty for local cuisine, we ordered the special of the day: Chipirones en su Tinta, with Txakoli. Squid in its own Ink, accompanied by a glass of sparkling white wine. The dish was delicious, as was the whole experience of traveling together through the Basque country.

Ever since then, I have been considering that phrase--"in its own ink"--rolling it around on my tongue, tasting the metaphor. Like the squid, we are sometimes cooked in our own ink -- caught in a net, stained by our words, marked by our fears -- served up on a platter for others' pleasure.

Unlike the squid, however, I offer this blog not for the purspose of obfuscation but for clarity. I am experimenting with what it means for me to publish my musings, to challenge myself with a weekly writing practice that will result in something worth reading.