Amy Lu's View

My Running Streak of 2020 ended yesterday, December 23. I ran 210 days in a row (a minimum of a mile every day) for a total of 1051.58 miles. That’s an average of just a smidge over 5 miles per day.

This isn’t a particularly Christmasy topic, but as the conclusion of my running streak occured during my Blogging streak (of only 12 days), I’m going to write about it and count the post as one of the “Twelve Blog Posts of Christmas” (Day #9).

The only connection I can make to Christmas is that my running streak was a gift I gave to myself. Particularly the time that I made for myself so I could run that much. I spent over 178 hours running during my streak. That’s only the actual running–that doesn’t count all the time I spent trying to work up the motivation to go running and get dressed for running, etc. Not to mention all the time spent on taking selfies and social media posts about running.

Was that the best possible use of that time? Certainly some of those hours could have been better spent, but overall I feel so grateful that I’ve had the time and health and ability (and cooperative weather) for my running streak. And thankful for all the hours of podcasts (mostly “TBTL”) and audiobooks that I listened to.

And of course, as I’ve blogged about numerous times, running gives me so many gifts: confidence, discipline, all the benefits of movement, a reason to get outside, an obsession that’s relatively positive, and membership in a amazingly supportive community.

There wasn’t any special reason that my streak ended at Day 210, beyond yesterday’s blizzard (I had plenty of time to get my run in finished before the weather turned) and my decision not to risk running on ice today. And I do like that it’s a “solid” number (no, that’s not a mathematical principle, but 209 would have felt unfinished).

I don’t have new running goals at the moment, beyond trying to support my running with a foundation of healthier nutrition (that’s my polite way of saying that I aspire to cut back on my cracker/chip and booze intake.) Yeah, nothing new there but just because it’s not a new goal doesn’t mean it’s not worthy). 

When Chad proposed to me, my response was, “You’re kidding.” [Note from Chad: She also gave a little laugh].

I’m not proud of this, but it’s the truth, and I feel like it’s time to go on the record with “the rest of the story” (to quote Paul Harvey, icon of my childhood). Actually, I’m surprised that I haven’t already blogged about this–if I have, I can’t find it.

(Quick recap, in case you’ve missed it–Chad proposed to me in his beautifully-written column for the Marion, Iowa newspaper on December 23, 1993).

So what in the world was I thinking?

In the weeks leading up to Chad’s proposal, I was frustrated, confused, and homesick. We had just moved to Marion, Iowa, a couple of months earlier and I missed my family and didn’t feel like I had created new connections yet in our new home. I didn’t think Chad, as a proper young liberal, “believed” in marriage (wasn’t sure I, as a bona fide young feminist, did, either) and I really didn’t know what I was doing with my life as new college graduate or what we were doing as couple.

We even had a fight a few weeks before Chad proposed because I basically told him I was going home for Christmas and didn’t really care what his holiday plans were. He told me I couldn’t do that and that we needed to spend Christmas together but didn’t give me a “good” reason (because he had already bought my engagement ring and was working on his incredibly romantic surprise).

I really was stunned by and completely unprepared for Chad’s proposal. I was quite insecure in myself, in us, and in life. So that swirl of emotions got conveyed in a blurted “You’re kidding!” (I also couldn’t quite wrap my head around Chad printing his proposal in his newspaper column in the real newspaper–I briefly thought maybe it was a copy of the paper only for me).

To top it all off, Chad was really sick with strep throat, and we didn’t have insurance so he didn’t see a doctor.

So in some ways, an extremely romantic proposal was actually pretty unromantic (yes, because of me). But, I actually think that makes it more romantic. I don’t believe in fate or destiny or that Chad is “The One” for me–I don’t think there is “The One” for anyone. But I am so grateful that we each decided that we would try to build a life with THIS one.

Not only am I not a fan of long dark nights, I am not a fan of snow.

Sure, a little snow for a short amount of time is fine, but Minnesota (even in this era of global warming) goes overboard. This may seem heretical to many, but although a “White Christmas” is undeniably romantic, I’d choose no snow on Christmas if it meant a less snowy winter overall.

Ignoring/denying what it signifies about global warming and the long term health of our world, I’ve totally been digging this warm and brown (although I prefer to call is “sepia”) winter that we’ve been having so far. I love that our lack of snow (and more importantly, ice) has made it possible for me to do a lot of running.

But of course, our snowfall amounts are not up to me, and it looks like that all will change tomorrow. (I am trying to prepare myself for my running streak ending on Day #210). To quote an influential Christmas carol from my childhood, “Here Comes Suzy Snowflake.”

When I was about 9 (to the best of my recollection) I got to play Suzy Snowflake in our school Christmas program. My role consisted of walking down the aisle as everyone sang “Here comes Suzy snowflake” and the piece de resistance was that I got to sing the line “Come on everyone and play with me for I haven’t long to stay” as a solo.

My mom made my Suzy costume and it was a work of art (another rare and treasured example of my mom venturing into the world of craftiness). Like our Christmas stockings, my Suzy costume was also a shining example of felt art, as my mom painstakingly cut out numerous intricate felt snowflakes, framed them in glitter, and hotglued them to a big flowy satiny nightgown. The gown was trimmed in silver garland and I also had a silver garland wreath for my head.

I was SO excited to be cast in the “starring” role of Suzy. I anticipated the big night for days, maybe even weeks. Sadly, when the big day came, I had a really terrible cold. Oh, I didn’t miss the performance–I knew at a young age that the show must go on–but I felt miserable, and I was sad that I so congested that my voice sounded awful.

But I still remember–or think I remember–being the limelight in the old high school gym. Yes, my craving of the spotlight started at a young age.

My monlogue about Christmas pageants in our recent “Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas” production inspired me to think about my past experiences with childhood school and church Christmas productions. Not only did I revel being Suzy, I also enjoyed getting to recite bible verses at our church Christmas endeavors. We didn’t do anything as showy as a “pageant” with costumes, etc., but we stood woodenly and spouted Bible verses (from memory!) and stoicly sang some religious carols.

(I do fondly recall the paper lunch sack of crappy candy we got at church. That’s the thing about traditions–they don’t have to be “good” per se–just regular, to be comforting).

I also remember getting to play some type of hand held bells in the school program and being afraid that I was going to drop my bell while sitting in the bleachers. I definitely had stressful images of the bell slipping through my sweaty fingers and making a huge horible noise as it crashed to the ground.

Sadly, I don’t have any photos of young, chubby (yes, I was definitely a “hefty” kid) nasaly Amy as Suzy Snowflake. But I will always remember how much I loved that snowflake dress and the anticipation of my starring moment.

And I do hope these Suzies that are supposed to visit us tomorrow also don’t have long to stay.

I am not a fan of the limited hours of daylight we receive here in the Northern climes during winter.

Yes, I can see that there are potential benefits and perhaps even deep spiritual and psychological meaning to be found in living with and in extended hours of darkness.

But that doesn’t mean I like it.

The only advantage of long nights that comes to me now is that when I get up at 7:00 a.m. and it’s still dark out, I can pretend it’s because I’m such an early riser that I got up before the sun. I mean, yes, technically I did, but not such a feat in Minnesota in December.

And the later sunrises should make it easier for me to actually catch a sunrise, but while I often see the effects of the sun rising (“Hey, when I went into the bathroom to put on all my many layers of winter running clothes it was dark and I was worried I was going to have to run in the dark even though the sun has always come up before I actually get my butt out the door”) our home window configuration is not conducive to actually seeing the sunrise.

I do love having long hours of sunlight when the sun doesn’t set until 9:00 p.m, and of course, this is the trade off. If I had to choose, would I give up long summer days for more equilibrium? Wow, that’s a tough “Would You Rather” question.

Tonight we attended a lovely Solstice service at our church via Zoom. One idea that really struck me was the idea of possibility: This is the time of the year where the pendulum is poised to start swinging back in the other direction. Kinetic energy is at its zentih (I think…my science could be off so just go with the metaphor).

The idea of “stillness” doesn’t really speak to me (not saying it shouldn’t or won’t someday) but the tension before the release of the rubberband does. I don’t know what I want to launch into…maybe something as simple as the longer days of summer, with more time to run…and drink.

While there are many artifacts from my life that I wish I had managed to hold on to (like my wedding dress), I am thankful for some cherished holiday relics that I do still own: Christmas stockings that my mom made for Chad and me, and a creche.

I’m not exactly sure when my mom made my stocking, but I always remember having it. At least, I think she made my stocking. Damn, now that I’m really thinking about it, I wonder if my story is accurate–did one of her friends actually make it? Or did one of her friends make the stockings for my older brother and sister and then my mom made mine to match?

I do know for certain that the “Amy” on the trim of the stocking is in my mom’s writing. My mom’s writing was so distinctive and physically embodies her essence in a way I can’t fully describe. It always makes me sad when I hear that handwriting is going away because people only use keyboards nowadays (I say as I type) because handwriting is so personal.

And I definitely know she made Chad’s stocking. I don’t think it was too long into our dating career when she decided he was part of the family and needed a stocking to match the ones the rest of her “children” had.

These stockings are especially meaningful to me because my mom didn’t make a lot of things (I definitely take after her in that way). She certainly DID a lot of things, and bought a lot of things, and said a lot of things, and ate and drank a lot of things, but didn’t make things.

But she made these stockings, and 30-50 years lately, we still have them. She’s gone, but the memories (whether or not they are completely accurate) live on.

I definitely remember all the goofy “stocking stuffers” my mom gave us. We usually opened our “real” presents on Christmas Eve, and, much to Chad’s dismay, they usually weren’t surprises (although I often forgot what I was getting so was surprised). But on Christmas we were treated to a plethora of silly and weird gifts that more than stuffed the stockings, and spilled out and around them.

I don’t have any idea of how my family acquired our nativity scene, or how I ended up with it, but it’s certainly a tangible piece of my childhood. I never liked it per se, but it was always there. It does seem a little grim, but I like how durable it is, and I’m rather impressed that it features two non-Caucasian Wise Men.

I will always treasure this photo from 2017 of our dear elderly Oscar just days before he died:

I don’t believe in the literal truth of the story of The Wise Men visiting the Baby Jesus, but I’m pretty sure the Baby Jesus and Company would have warmly welcomed a visit from a sweet elderly dachshund. And my mom would have brought much more entertaining gifts.

Today I enjoyed a mini-miracle: I found a lost pair of Christmas pajama pants.

I had been looking for these pants for several weeks, but to no avail. I had the top, but couldn’t locate the pajama bottoms. Finally, today I looked in a hamper that I had looked in at least twice before but really dug into the bottom of the hamper and “Ta-da!”, my pants were revealed.

These pants of Holiday Cheer are made of fleece and decorated with images of Rudolph and the Bumble. Most importantly, they are cozy. Very, very cozy.

Recently at work (via an online meeting, of course) we were talking about what makes us feel cozy. (Yes, an intentionally Safe-for-Work conversation). Fleece definitely tops the list for me. One of my favorite things in the world is the feel of wearing a new, not-yet-washed sweatshirt. (Hey, I’m wearing one of those now and it’s ALSO Christmas-themed. The design on it is a super cool Charlie Brown/Doctor Who mashup–high quality Geekdom).

Bourbon also makes me feel very cozy, but I opted to go with fleece (my fleece tights, specifically) as my answer for the work discussion. Talking about bourbon isn’t necessarily unsafe for work but probably ill-advised.

I think the pets will also be happy I discovered my Rudolph/Bumble pants as evidenced by these photos I found of both Pepper and StanLee cuddling with me. Now THAT’S cozy.

Of course they were experiencing the wonder of my Christmas pants separately. Maybe someday we can all cuddle and be cozy together. Now THAT would be a Christmas Miracle.

Chad recently forced, I mean, inspired, me to go through some boxes of our old clothes and I came across this gem:

I mean it when I say these boxes* and their contents were Old School. This particular artifact was procured when I worked at B. “Goddamn” Dalton’s (that’s how we, the employees, referred to it) in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, at the Lindale Mall in the mid-90’s. Thanks to Google, I even know now (and find it rather shocking) that Lindale Mall still exists! B. Dalton’s, of course, is long dead, R.I.P.

Obviously, I got this t-shirt to wear while I dispatched my duties as a “bookseller” during the Christmas retail season (and yes, in Cedar Rapids in the mid-90’s, it was almost 100 percent observance of Christmas).

My memories of this time are pretty blurry, as it was over 20 years ago. To set the stage: This was WAY before Amazon. “A Cup of Christmas Tea” and “Peef, The Christmas Bear” were the big holiday sellers of that era–but I guess for all I know, they still are.

I do have a distinct impression that it was rather stressful (comparatively speaking) working retail during Christmas. When my then 5 (or 6?) year-old-niece, Kate, compared me to Bob Cratchit because of the hours I was working, I thought it was pretty funny–and apt. I will always have at least some level of empathy for those working in harried retail environments.

It was also slightly exciting in a warped way–I did enjoy the “rush” of meeting the demands of frenzied consumers. I also loved my employee discount and getting books and book-related gifts for everyone for Christmas. It was even kind of fun working at mall at Christmastime, with the decorations and the music and all the holiday hoohah.

However, I never, ever, never ever, want to work retail again.

Working at B. Daltons was my full-time employment gig for about three years post-college. It was no surprise to me–or anyone–that, as the proud owner of B.A. in Comparative Religion, I was working retail full-time, but I wasn’t satisfied. While I mostly enjoyed my experience and made some marvelous friends, I knew I wasn’t cut out to do retail for my entire career. Eventually my B. Dalton’s experience inspired me to get my Master’s degree in Library Science–along with realizing I could get in-state tuition at a nearby college (The University of Iowa) and that I didn’t need any foreign language proficiency.

I didn’t end up keeping the B. Dalton’s t-shirt. Taking a photo and reminiscing a bit about those days was sufficient. But I will keep the memories (vague as they are) and the admiration for Young Amy and her endeavors to serve the gods of literary retail.

And I am SO thankful (at least as a consumer) for online shopping!

*(Some boxes of clothes even contained treasures from High School but that is a blog post or posts for another time).

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me…a blog post?!

That’s right, just in time for the holidays, a new Amy Blogging Challenge: The Twelve Blog Days of Christmas.

No, this challenge is not going to involve a post for every item in that traditional Christmas carol. Those gifts (strange and bizarre and totally impractical, in my hardly cutting-edge opinion) may provide some inspiration and make an appearance, but they will not be the focus. My only real rule is that I need to write twelve blog posts in a row (starting with today) that somehow have to do with Christmas.

I am aware that the actual Twelve Days of Christmas start on Christmas Day and run through Epiphany–January 6–so my Twelve Days are not going to exactly line up with their namesake. (At least I think this is the deal. A quick perusal of Wikipedia did not provide confirmation or refutation so I’m going to stick with my understanding).

And this Twelve Blog Days of Christmas Challenge does NOT supersede or cancel or in any way threaten my completion of my still-in-process 15 Days of Frog and Toad Blog Challenge. The Frog and Toad challenge is not consecutive so the Christmas challenge won’t interrupt it. Furthermore, unlike races, I’ve decided that a blog post can fill two challenges and there is a Frog and Toad story about Christmas Eve so expect an upcoming multipurpose blog post.

I did briefly toy with somehow more thoroughly addressing the Twelve Days of Christmas carol in this challenge’s inaugural post, but another cursory attempt at Wikipedia research wore me out–it’s too hard for a casual blogger to learn what the gifts are actually referring to.

As a child of the 80’s, it’s more meaningful–at least nostalgically–to me to research Bob and Doug MacKenzie’s 1982 spoof of the song. And hey, that song expanded my cultural literacy of Canada and taught me about backbacon. I would definitely rather recieve the gifts that Bob and Doug sing about–at least they are mostly consumable (beer, backbackon, french toast) or practical (who couldn’t use another turtleneck, at least those of us in the norther climes?)

And I JUST learned (or re-learned, maybe I knew this at some point but forgot) that they are saying “Five golden toques” and that a “toque” is a hat. I think I always thought they were saying “toke”–as in a hit on a joint.

If I was more ambitious, I would come up with my ideal “Twelve Gifts.” Without giving it too much thought (because it feels like it would involve math) I would want to stick with mostly consumables, with highlights including Triscuits, cheese, coffee, tea, wine and culminating with bourbon. (I can’t think of anything clever to substitute for Five Gold/en Rings/Toques).

Honestly, “The Twelve Days” carol just doesn’t do a lot for me–unless it is the version from the album “John Denver and the Muppets.”

“Real, because they can be imagined into being. Because some of the most wonderful things have to be believed to be seen.”

One of my lines from the play “Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas.”

Our little DIY theater company, Applause, pulled off a bit of a miracle this weekend: We successfully (and I think, enjoyably) presented a live show via Zoom, “Uh-Oh, Here Comes Christmas.” Yes, everything was LIVE except for the music videos at the opening of each act. We didn’t just broadcast a recording of our show over Zoom but actually used the online medium to tell our story.

We could not have done this without our collective optimism and faith: in each other, in the material, in our ability to generate an audience and in our ability (well, mostly our amazing tech director Connor’s ability and Chad’s ability) to successfully use the needed technology. Once again our director, Gary, inspired and led us with his optimism and vision.

And we also worked our asses off.

Nothing can recreate the magic of people getting together for theater–the connection that happens between the actors on stage and between the actors and the audience. (Of course the magic of actors and their friends and families being able to celebrate and socialize together at a favorite local establishment, say, Green Mill, in post-rehearsal and post-show revelry is irreplaceable).

But I DO love many aspects of online theater. The convenience factor is huge. Just like with online work, church, etc., I LOVE not having to drive to rehearsal, to be able to make questionable but comfortable clothing choices from the waist down, and having the food and beverages (and easy bathroom access to support all those beverages) of choices at hand. (Yes, my beverages choices for work are different than those for theater–although sometimes similar to church events).

I reveled in not having to do “strike” and take the set down and clean up theater (although we did have quite the various home studios set up, we could dismantle those on our own time).

But my comfort and ease aside, it was absolutely wonderful to be able to share our theatrical endeavors with many more people than we could have in person. Presenting a show online allowed friends and family to participate in our wild and crazy little miracle who otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. Folks who otherwise may have been thwarted by distance, health, transportation, or just inclination (I have total respect for people who don’t want to go out and about in the world for entertainment, pandemic or no, if it requires wearing pants) could be part of our show.

Because the audience is absolutely a integral part of the show–even when we can’t see them and just have to believe they are there and imagine we have a connection with them. (And while we do have amazing powers of imagination, all the feedback and kudos after the show is most welcome validation).

There are so many words and ideas that I love from “Uh-Oh,” but one of the most eye-opening for me is when I got to describe a juggler’s performance as a gift where he held nothing back in his generosity. I won’t deny that I mainly do theater for self-serving, narcissistic reasons, and getting to do it is definitely a gift for me, especially when “normal” theater isn’t possible.

But if my efforts can also be viewed as a gift I give–even a goofy, impractical, weird gift that’s the wrong size that you might want to return–now that’s a miracle.