For about 10 years – the bulk of my childhood – life revolved happily around the church my father pastored in Macon. Sunday mornings, Sunday evenings and Wednesday nights were always spent at West Highland Baptist.
It has been 20 years since my dad served there, but last Sunday he was asked to come preach for their Homecoming Service. I couldn’t miss the chance to revisit that wonderful church and see Dad up there behind the pulpit again.
The building has been expanded, but the center of the church is still filled with the same blue upholstered pews where I squirmed as a child. Where, if I got too chatty with my neighbor, Dad would say from the pulpit, “Now Ginger, I need you to pay attention.” That’ll make you be quiet and sit up a little straighter for sure.
They are still singing out of the same hymnals we used, singing the songs I learned there, like Blessed Assurance. “This is my story / this is my song,” we sang last Sunday morning. And I thought, “Yes, this is my story.”
Familiar faces filled those pews, bringing back lots of good memories. My childhood best friend, with whom I shared many, many a service at West Highland, was there for Homecoming too.
Seeing Erica meant so much, and I marveled at how instantaneously Camille hit it off with Erica’s oldest. They were holding hands and sharing a chair at lunch and generally enamored with each other, and I saw something of our childhood friendship there. And it was good.
After the service, Erica and I explored with the girls a bit. We visited the baptistry where I was baptized, right next to the window where we crawled out onto the church’s roof and got in trouble for tracking tar everywhere. There was the preschool area where I had Sunday School, next to the lawn where Jeff kicked a soccer ball through the stained glass windows of the sanctuary.
It was in front of those windows that I was photographed with my Dad – I think it was the day I was baptized.
I’m so glad I went back, and that it still felt familiar in all the best ways. I’m glad to know that even if you must leave a place that is dear, it never really leaves you.
Today’s run had three critical ingredients for greatness: 1) run with a good buddy, 2) run somewhere new and 3) run a trail. I was not disappointed.
Nicole and I had a chance to run together in Winder this weekend, and rather than sticking with the well-known neighborhood path we drove out to Fort Yargo State Park for a run. Running an unknown trail by yourself is intimidating, but running an unknown trail with a best buddy? That’s an adventure.
We headed up a mountain biking trail, which was at times narrow and crowded with shrubs slapping at your arms, and at other times wide and open underneath a canopy of pine trees.
There was water to leap, puddles to dodge, hills to climb, roots to trip you (oops), cyclists to avoid and briar patches to entangle you when you jump out of a cyclist’s way.
There was something new around every corner, and plenty of good conversation to make me forget I was working so hard and just make me happy to be in the woods with a good friend.
Something about being out on that trail made us feel invigorated. And that’s a good thing, because we’re going to test ourselves later this fall with our first-ever mud/obstacle runs. I’m doing one later this month with a group of three guys (what was I thinking?) and then one in October with Nicole and two other gal pals. Let’s hope I like running in the mud as much as I liked today’s trail run. We’ll discover soon enough!
Happy 73 months my sweet girl! You have been six years old for a month now, and we sure know how to pack some adventures into a 4-week time span. This last month of summer break has been wonderful but exhausting. We couldn’t possibly keep up this pace for much longer, but school is just around the corner and soon enough we’ll be back to our routines.
Just a few days after your actual birthday, you had your party at the gym where you take gymnastics classes. You and a dozen or so of your best buddies had the whole place to yourselves, but everyone wanted to do one thing: jump into the pit of foam blocks.
This was not insignificant to me. You first started taking gymnastics when you were 4 years old, and you were terrified of jumping into the foam blocks. All the other kids in your class were climbing up on top of the vault and launching themselves in, while you would only agree to jumping tentatively from the edge of the pit.
You’ve grown a lot since then in every way. At your party, I marveled at your confidence as you flew off the vault into the pit, and also dropped from a rope swing into the foam blocks below.
A week later, Jones, Eli and Auntie Erin came to town for what was supposed to be a week-long visit, but was happily extended into a 3-week stay. We lived like tourists in our own town, going out on the boat, Wassaw Island, Tybee Island, the Children’s Museum, the pool, the movies, the Crab Shack, and even checking out a traveling dinosaur exhibit!
And that was just the first week!
But we had to put the brakes on all that fun in week two as a stomach bug introduced itself into the mix … just in time for our train trip to Washington DC. You spent the two days before our vacation throwing up and feeling rotten.
It was our first train trip and we’d all been so excited about the adventure, but suddenly 11 hours in a train seemed like way too long. And it was. But you were a trooper, keeping a plastic bag nearby just in case (but thankfully never needing it), and resting as much as you could.
Happily, once we made it to DC you had recovered and were ready to tackle the town. Top on our list was reuniting with one of our favorite families. It had been more than a year since best buddies Will and Sam moved there from Savannah, and time had not weakened the bond.
We were also excited to visit DC because you’re such a little science and nature nerd, and we knew you’d be thrilled by the Museum of Natural History. When we walked into the room with all the dinosaur bones, you said, “I think I’m going to pass out.”
Every room held such treasures, although for some reason you were genuinely frightened by the skeleton of a giant sloth. A T-Rex? Fine. But a giant sloth? Hold me Daddy.
At the last minute we added a tour of the Museum of the American Indian,
which piqued your interest more than I expected. We also did a tour of
the White House, which we all enjoyed, and spent time exploring the
National Zoo.
The American History Museum was a hit too, especially the exhibits related to superheroes. You even got to draw your own superhero (Animal Girl, who turns evil people into nice animals) on the wall there.
It was hard to leave our friends, but soon it was time to board the train for a much more pleasant, healthy return trip home. Once back in Savannah, we squeezed in several more boat trips, taking every opportunity to enjoy the warm water before it’s replaced by autumn’s chill.
Saturday we went up the Skidaway River with good buddies and dropped anchor to swim for a bit. It was low tide, which meant the surrounding marshes were more exposed than usual. Muddy banks appeared beside the grasses, and Ashley casually suggested that you and Lola swim over to take a mud bath.
The two of you were immediately taken by the idea, but terrified of it too. Swim? Over there? To the mud? By ourselves? Won’t you come with us? Please? Please? (Now with tears, for added emphasis) Please?
We adults said no over and over again, until I finally agreed to swim part way with you and then watch you go the rest of the way to “Mud Island.” And the two of you did just that, except once Lola was standing on Mud Island, her shoe got lost when the mud sucked it right off her foot. So onward I went to rescue the shoe.
And when I got there, I found two happy girls slathering mud all over themselves, and it did look like a blast. I plopped down on the mud next to you and thought, for the thousandth time since you were born, that you are so much fun. No self-respecting adult wanders over to the muddy banks of the marsh to sit in the nasty, smelly, black marsh muck. Not without good reason. But you gave me good reason to act like a kid again. To do something crazy and silly. To have fun. And it was fun.
Thank you for all the good gifts you give me, of love and of adventure. You are my treasure, and I love you so much.
When we decided to take a family trip to Washington, DC this summer, we thought we’d spice up the travel a bit and try something new. Well, actually, I guess it’s something old since it has been around a lot longer than air travel. But it was new to us – an Amtrak trip.
I had no idea what to expect, and for the benefit of other travelers who like to prepare for such adventures, I wrote a lengthy review of our train travel on HowdyKids.com. I included pictures – from our sweet traveling girl, to the dining car, to the bathroom. Hey, it may not be glamorous, but on an 11-hour trip you can bet it’s necessary.
Could there be a better running town than Washington DC? It’s possible I’m sure, but our sightseeing run this morning knocked my socks off. Not literally of course, because that would lead to blisters, but you know what I mean.
Camille was thrilled to have a sleepover with best buddies the Hensleys last night, which meant Lee and I got to run together this morning. Our intention was to do a quick-and-easy 30-40 minute run to the National Mall and back, but there was just so much to see! So many places our feet could take us!
More than 5 miles and and an hour-and-a-half later, we made ourselves return to the hotel because we were thirsty and hungry. But if fuel hadn’t been necessary I think we could’ve gone on for miles more.
We weren’t speedy. We stopped often, took pictures, lingered at the memorials. We covered a lot of ground, and I was amazed not only by all the great, shady, picturesque trails we took, but also all the ones we didn’t have time to take. I do hope we return here one day soon, and I’ll be sure to have my running shoes on again so I can explore some more.
I usually post one morning run pic, but today I just couldn’t choose. Here are my favorites.
I’ve always admired my Dad’s way with words. He has a gift, and recently he used it to pen thoughts about Camille and her cousins. Thoughts from a grandparent about his grandchildren, but thoughts treasured by his daughter as well. Now let’s get all mushy together.
From his newsletter column, Wilder’s Words:
Camille, Stella and Jane. Few names bring a smile to my face more quickly than these. Camille, Stella and Jane are dirty-faced angels who just happen to be my three granddaughters. Over the past few weeks I’ve had the pleasure of spending quality time with all three. So if my steps seem quicker and my smile seems brighter you know the reason why.
I envy those of you who live near your grandchildren. Camille lives in Savannah. Stella and Jane live in Tulsa. Thankfully, we see all three girls throughout the year but we never see them enough. Seeing all three in one month’s span has been a benediction, a gift of grace divine.
Why are my grandchildren so special to me? I could list a hundred reasons but, lest you become weary of my words, I will limit myself to two. First, my grandchildren give me the opportunity to experience my world through the eyes of their naìˆve wonder. They remind me how giddy one can get when standing in the spray of cascading water. The sparkle in their smiles entices me to get caught up in the wonder of a buzzing bee or in the uncommon taste of honey. Through eyes undimmed by worry and obligation they help me see the glory of a budding flower and grant me the freedom to stare with rapt amazement at the artistic wonder of a floating cloud. When I am with them the world glows with a hue of incandescent wonder and things mundane shimmer in the light of adventurous eyes.
Why are my grandchildren so special to me? For those of us who can see – even faintly – the horizon of life’s setting sun, grandchildren hold out the hope of future significance. Sometimes, when I hear my granddaughters laugh I hear the echo of my own laughter. In their mischievous smiles I see a fun-loving spirit not foreign to my own. Sometimes when they speak I hear the nuance of my words. When they walk, their stride bares a faint semblance to my stride and when they hold my hand I sense a kinship that surpasses mere genetics, a closeness kindled by nothing less than the spark of innocent love. Death may mute my voice but it will not silence my laughter nor will my final breath mark the end of my earthly significance. Through my granddaughters, a part of me will go on; wrapped in the memory of days we shared together, held for perpetuity in the arms of their love.
Perhaps you feel that the babbling of this aging grandfather has been a waste of your time. If so, I offer no apology but a blessing. May you, too, be blessed with thoughts that surpass the wisdom of your years and feelings that run deeper than life itself, and may the joys that ride fresh upon the wings of dirty-faced angels find comfortable lodging in the corners of your heart. Then, too, you will happen upon your benediction and discover the joys of grace divine.
For the last 6 months, my running schedule has been loose – I’ve stuck to running three times a week, but I’ve been choosing my distance and pace almost at random. Truthfully, I’ve missed the sense of purpose that comes with a training plan.
But happily, today was Day 1 of my latest half-marathon training program. The run was nothing special – just a 30-minute neighborhood run. But it was part of a schedule, and that made a difference.
We are now 15 weeks from my next big race, which will be the Rock N’ Roll 1/2 Marathon here in November. I ran it last year as my first 1/2 marathon, and it was such a great experience I knew I’d want to run it again.
As I’ve continued to log miles these last few months, the question that has been bouncing around in my head is this: What should be my goal?
I know what I’d like to do. I ran my previous 2 half-marathons in 2:43:50 and 2:43:08. I’d like to run this one in less than 2:30. At first glance it doesn’t seem that ambitious – what’s 13 minutes in the span of an almost three-hour-run?
It’s one minute faster every single mile. That’s what it is. And that’s actually quite a bit.
Earlier this year I set a 5K time goal for myself and it didn’t go well. I found that I didn’t really enjoy running hard, and missing my goal in a race was a real downer. It took something I felt so good about (running), and made me feel like a failure. Even now I sometimes wince when I look at my pace mid-run. That’s not been good for my psyche, so I dropped that plan. Instead of feeling like a quitter, I’m glad I shrugged off that goal in order to preserve my love of the sport.
So should I set a time goal for this next half-marathon?
I’m a die-hard believer in Jeff Galloway’s training programs, and he has a program for a sub-2:30 time goal. A couple of weeks ago, I even used his formula for predicting my current finish-time capability, and according to Galloway I should be able to finish in under 2:30 if race-day conditions are perfect.
Having a new goal would be exciting, but I’ve hesitated to commit for fear of ruining my own fun.
Fortunately, one of the things I love about this sport is that it is so individualized. For me, that means I can start this training with one goal in mind, but shift gears if things go downhill. So today I began the sub-2:30 training program, which has me doing a long run this week of 8 miles (eek!). It’ll take me up to 17 miles prior to the race, which is a long, long way to run.
But I’m ready to get started. 15 weeks and counting!
Happy birthday to my big 6-year-old girl! We are now in the midst of what you call your “birthday season.” It’s a phrase you conjured after deciding your birthday was kind of like Christmas – we’re celebrating one specific day, but the celebrations stretch on for many days.
This year your party is not on your actual birthday, but that didn’t mean your special day wasn’t full of fun. You started things off with a birthday donut topped with 6 candles before we moved on to presents. You adore your new bean bag chair and have taken to dragging it all around the house to sit on, skate on, sled on, etc. Here you are lying on it with your eyes closed while you wait for us to bring in your new…
bike! The last time you got a bike you were 3, and you’ve seriously outgrown it. This pretty green and blue bike should last you a while.
After a cruise up and down the street, we headed to the pool where you jumped off the diving board for the first time.
Then it was off to The Crab Shack for a birthday dinner where you eagerly ordered their pizza of all things. When the waiter found out it was your birthday, he fashioned you a festive hat.
I remember being a little girl and looking so forward to my birthdays – not just because of the presents and the party, but because adding one year to my age always made me feel so much more grown up.
Having a summer birthday means you mark two critical passages of time all at once – one year older and one higher grade in school. You are delighted to now be a FIRST GRADER and are quickly shrugging off habits you feel you’ve outgrown.
For example. From the day you got your dinosaur “Pinky” from Disneyworld, you’ve claimed that you cannot sleep without her. Here you are at the Build-A-Dino store pledging your undying loyalty back when you were 4 years old.
She went on every trip, to every sleepover, every night. Then suddenly, one recent night as I placed her on your pillow while tucking you in, you declared, “I don’t want to sleep with Pinky tonight.”
Your Daddy asked, “Why not? I thought you couldn’t sleep without Pinky?”
To which you replied, as if we were just being slow to catch on, “Dad, I’m a first grader now. Things have changed.”
Indeed. Of course your father, not one to let pass an opportunity to play games with you, sneaks in your room some nights and puts Pinky in your bed. At some point in the night you wake up and unceremoniously throw her off your top bunk. In the morning, arms crossed, you ask, “How did Pinky get into my bed last night?” You glare at your Dad.
He shrugs.
Repeat.
On the last day of kindergarten you came home with a bookbag stuffed with the detritus of your school year, including a journal. I so enjoyed flipping through the pages and getting little glimpses into your head. Some highlights:
2-29-12
When I close my eyes at night I can hear cars, fire trucks, how a floor creaks.
3-14-12
I love being in room 6. I love math it is my favorite work. Work plans are papers that the teacher checks off your work.
3-7-12
I am like my dad because we like watching football. We like superheroes. We like art. We have the same colored skin. We both are strong.
2-21-12
Over the weekend I went to Tennessee. I saw my Nana and Granddaddy. I went to Ohio. I built a snowgirl. I put my scarf on it.
2-12-12
When I wake up from a deep sleep, I am grumpy. I yawn. I stretch. I am angry.
Your entry from March 12th made me laugh. It’s not hard to guess what was going on the afternoon you were instructed to write this:
3-12 -12
I think that we can work better. We can ignore people. Next time I’m going to be a role model. Next time I am going to focus. Next time I am going to be very quiet.
This was one of your last entries, written during teacher conference week. Kindergarteners aren’t generally known for their humility, a principle you demonstrate here. But I must say, your assessment was perfect.
5-30-12
If I was the teacher and doing conferences I would say Camille is doing excellent. She is doing great on her work. Camille has good grace and courtesy. She has been doing good on her writing. She has been doing good drawing.
There is a little game we’ve been playing a lot these days. I’ll look at you and declare that you’re just growing up too fast and command you to stop. You tell me that you can’t and won’t stop, and I pretend to push on the top of your head to keep you from growing so quickly. And then we both laugh.
It’s true – sometimes I’ll look at you and suddenly you’ll take my breath away. Gone are the pinchable cheeks and softness of toddler-hood, replaced by long, lean legs and arms. The legs and arms of a girl, a growing girl, and sometimes I even get a glimpse of what you may look like as a teenager. And in those moments I want to freeze you in place before age 5 and now age 6 slip away from us. We are having too much fun and
I find myself wanting to resist change.
When we’re playing our game, you’ll sometimes say, “Mom, I’m not going to stop growing up. You were a little girl one time too, and you grew up. The same thing is going to happen to me.”
And of course you’re right. And as much as I sometimes want to freeze you, I really wouldn’t have it any other way. It has been a delight to watch you grow these last 6 years, and I wouldn’t want to miss out on the changes and the adventures that are still to come. It’s not only inevitable that you will grow up, it’s wonderful that you will grow up, and I am excited to see what kind of lady you will become.
Things change, and change can be good. As long as you’ll never stop being my girl, never stop returning my love, my hugs and kisses, then I can welcome the other changes.
Happy birthday my big, big girl. I love you so much.
Standing on the dock, watching Camille and her buddies kayaking away on the lake to a nearby invented island to play invented games, I thought, “This is what summer should look like.”
We were so fortunate to be invited by our good friends the Leonards to spend several nights at their family’s cabin on Lake Harding. The cabin is small for 9 people, and I couldn’t be more happy about that. There are no toys, and I’m glad of that as well. Instead, the kids wake up each morning, eat breakfast, and then put on swimsuits and life jackets and go outside. They don’t come back in until bedtime. Perfect.
The hours in-between are spent fishing, swimming, kayaking, swimming, canoeing and swimming some more.
This was our first experience around kayaks, and Camille and I both loved the little boats. The dock is in a small slough, away from other boat traffic and very tranquil and safe. We paddled all around, and Camille and her buddies loved taking the boats to “Shell Island” where they’d wade through the shallows collecting sticks and shells.
Camille caught her first fish. She was excited to finally catch one, but unfortunately it wasn’t pretty. The poor fish had been hooked through the eye – a disturbing sight for sure. I’m curious whether or not this will affect her desire to fish again in the future. Time will tell.
A couple of times each day Allen would take us all for a motorboat ride in the main lake. At some point, most of the kids would fall asleep, exhausted from their adventures and lulled by the sound of the motor.
At night, we crammed all five kids into one room for “sleeping,” but usually they spent an hour or so talking until we threatened to split up the sleeping arrangements. We pretended to scold because we knew they were tired and needed the sleep, but secretly I was so pleased they had so much to discuss. Like good friends do. I want them to be good friends.
We had such a grand time that we’ve decided this needs to be an annual event. Here’s to the Annual Lake Harding Hullabaloo!
There is a dichotomy in the way I feel about running. I’m drawn to the sport in part because of the vibrant, overwhelmingly positive and welcoming running community. I love to talk with other runners, race with other runners, read about runners.
But when it comes to running – I do that alone.
I think there are two main reasons for this: self-indulgence and self-consciousness. Running alone means running whenever and wherever I want. I don’t think this is a bad thing; on the contrary, it’s about taking some time for myself.
Also, the idea of running with other people makes me immediately anxious. What if they’re faster than I am? Will I just be slowing them down? What if they don’t want to take walk breaks? What if they think my walk breaks are lame? What if I AM lame?
So I usually run alone.
Lee and I have run together a few times and I’ve enjoyed that. But he’s my husband and is obligated by law to love me even if I run like a glacier. He said so in our vows. Besides, he thinks I’m cute in my running skirts so there’s that.
But over the last few weeks I’ve discovered that while I’m not one to go for a run with just anybody, running with the right people can be wonderful.
When Anna was in town, Nicole came for the weekend too. These are two of my very best girlfriends, and while we’ve never said vows I’m pretty sure they’re obligated to love me too. We got together for a Saturday morning run through downtown, and from the first step I was in heaven. Sharing a beloved route with my beloveds, talking about everything and nothing, high on the endorphins that come from exercise and being around good friends.
Since then I’ve had another opportunity for a social run (what’s up Missy!) and thoroughly enjoyed it as well. I’m not ready to join a running club or hunt for regular running partners – I think there is some legitimate benefit to the self-indulgence theme. But I don’t think I’ll be as anxious about running with people again, especially the right kind of running people.
Want to go for a run sometime?
