Every color of the parachute

A couple of weekends ago we once again found ourselves piloting from village to village in search of a Centre Sportif (a central community gym.)  Stretched 50 miles long and 35 miles wide with Luxembourg City smack dab at the lip line, most villages in Luxembourg are within an oft quoted “20 minute” drive.  On the occasion of this weekend however, two games for two different boys demanded our presence at the exact same time– one at the forehead of the Grand Duchy, the other at its chin.  Earlier in the morning, we had already played a game somewhere on the East cheek.  Seizing the opportunity toward simplification living in a small city flush with reliable public transportation, it is the rare Saturday such as this one where having one family car has been problematic.  Problematic, to be precise, for those not disposed to waiting.

There are worse things than passing time in the quiet of a small village.  Only an early drop-off would have provided an empty gym for a Jimmy Chitwood moment.  Post-game, families gather around an out-of-place bar in the gym lobby waiting for their young athletes to toast both wins and losses.  This time a scarce loss, most likely the result of fatigued boys from an earlier triumphant game.  Soon the lobby empties leaving only the two of us, but not before the oversized Tupperware container of dirty jerseys passes on to us for our turn at community washing.  Ear buds in to recharge, my tired athlete reclines against the Tupperware while I busy myself for the hour wait counting all the shades of yellow paint used to bejewel this cavernous Centre Sportif.  

Unlike a dream where you are desperate but unable to zoom out from the mire of your situation, simply being awake allows me the choice to leave the yellow paints for something else.  Out the window, into my field of view came this row of houses.  This residential line up with their pea patch smoking balconies, perpendicular driveways, and heavily blinded windows.  Even in the small villages, post war reconstruction has put the premium on trading private space for public space where green space is meant to be shared not individually manicured.  Shoulder to shoulder, uniform in height and width but joyously irregular in color.  Every color of the parachute on one village block.   Being awake in the light also means we get to see the world in full color.  In black and white, we’d only see the sameness of this row of house.  In color, we appreciate the solidarity of being conjoined with our neighbor and the wonderful surprise that we are each graciously dyed in our own distinctive hue.  A reminder worth hanging around for.

Find a Corner of the World and Step it Up

I’m a monogamous runner with a commitment problem.   Running seems to ebb and flow with me which means I’m routinely faced with “starting over.”    Even when ebbing, I still profess to being a runner – if for nothing else, to be able to graciously decline an invitation to Zumba or Yoga.  

Signs of spring have this way of calling out “Just Do It”, so I’m flowing again with runs in the forest, my Thursday morning running group, and new to the program -- these STAIRS. 

You know that feeling you get when you’ve found a corner of the world that’s all yours?  Tucked away behind an unremarkable apartment complex about a half mile away from my house, these STAIRS have been that recent place.   Discarded water bottles and broken beer bottles signal that I’m not the first one to have made this discovery, but I have yet to see a soul here.   It’s a good thing too as ascending and descending 106 stairs is best done without an audience.   Working against gravity sounds a lot like a pulmonary crisis.

(Movie trivia fact worth noting: Sylvester Stallone climbed 72 steps. )

I don’t have a specific stair workout beyond getting to the top and not falling back down.  I try to do this as many times as I can.   By the fourth repeat, legs reminiscent of those after childbirth start trembling on the descent, spring back to life on the initial climb only to quickly rebel screaming “Hold up!” around the 80th stair.  And it’s not just my legs that are complaining – it’s my lungs, heart, and gluts too.  These stairs have grade.

At the top, I notice the heavy ivy growth on the hillside which seems to want to smother my own legs to the ground. A cigarette butt on the step below asserts I’ve done enough, while my iPhone shuffles to a sleepy Mumford & Sons song to affirm the point.  But then, that silly stuffed teddy bear smiles at me from a window urging me “Just One More Time, You Can Do It.  Look at Me, I can’t move.  I’m stuck in this window.”  The mind plays funny tricks on you when your heart rate is elevated.

It’s still going to be awhile before I’m skipping steps, backward climbing or hopping up – but each time, I go a little further and isn’t that what it’s all about?  Find your stairs.  Wave to your imaginary crowd or Teddy in the window, hurdle a bench (but only if you can do so safely), and pump your fists at the top.

I’d go step it up now, but first I have a cheese and wine lunch date with a friend.  And that too is totally worth just doing.

Some Recent Awesome Things: Thanksgiving Edition

In Anticipation of Thanksgiving: Some Recent Awesome Things

1. A Butterball Turkey procured in the US commissary in Ramstein, Germany by a local American friend. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Butterball Turkey, but I AM grateful … It is thawing downstairs in our storage unit. Chicken wings crossed its cold enough!

2. Another local friend and her dear family who has agreed to share in this Butterball Turkey Experiment on a Thursday school night, with crazy busy husbands and six children who should they say one wrong word, will invoke the crazy right out of their Mamas. Don’t let me tell you all the ways we have worked to secure molasses, figs, cranberries … and what I plan to do about finding a turkey roaster that will fit in my junior oven tomorrow.

3. An article called “14 Signs Cheese Is Your One True Love” where I wanted to tell the author that I have “10 More Signs that French Cheese is my Other Lover and He Loves ALL of me.”

4. My new, seriously puffy down jacket made in Germany for what I already know will be the coldest winter on record for a Seattlite who tried to make a go with a Patagonia Down Sweater last winter. As if.

5. An articled called “31 Things No One Tells You About Becoming A Parent” and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this would be the first Facebook quiz (sans scoring system) I aced.

6. My new Re:New bag made by refugee women who has resettled in America, transported by air from Chicago to Seattle, carried by personal escort via air from Seattle to Luxembourg and walked in its first outing by one-happy-camper in the streets of Paris.

7. Awesome photos of FB friends traveling to Burma, Iceland, all numbers of German Christmas Markets, and indeterminate places with children and pumpkins or children-of-over-achieving-parents and Santa.

8. My teenager asking if he could read to me the “really nice” text that his Dad sent him. Totally. I mean if he wants to.

9. Snow tires. On my car. On time.

10. An article where the author’s byline included “world traveler”, and I was like “yeah, me too … so how bout we trade your Entrepreneur for my Pushed Three Babies Out and call it a draw.” There’s a Facebook quiz I aced …

Happy Thanksgiving Week! Keep up the T-day and T-day prep pictures ... your across-the-pond friends appreciate them!