Amy Lu's View

There are many things I never thought I would do in my life. Buying a pregnancy belly band is definitely one of them.

To be more accurate, I could never have even imagined that I would buy a pregnancy belly band because not only did I never want or plan to be pregnant, but until a week ago, I didn’t know such things as pregnancy belly bands existed. But like so many things that I’ve learned during the past ten years, my invovlement in a community theater play was the catalyst for this discovery.

In the play Chad and I were recently in, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof,” I portrayed Chad’s very pregnant (and very bitchy but that’s not necessarily related to being pregnant) sister-in-law Mae. So I knew when I accepted the role that i was going to need to wear a fake pregnancy belly. But I didn’t know that my “pregnancy” belly would actually just be a “fat” belly.

I’m very thankful to the other theatre company that loaned it to us, but my fake fat belly was very challenging to pass off as a covincing pregnancy belly. It wasn’t properly proportioned and it was lumpy and uneven.

(It also didn’t include any fake boobs, which I feel I definitely need to be a healthy looking pregnant woman–perhaps any woman but that’s another issue. Yes, I DID try to create fake boobs but that could be a whole different blog post and was also very challenging. It wasn’t simply a matter of stuffing my bra with socks, although socks and my very ancient, highly padded “Magic Bra” were involved.)

Fake pregnancy now = polka dots

And fake pregnancy then also = polka dots!

And my fake fat was itchy and annoying and strangled me and was a pain in the ass to put on. Oh how we suffer for our art!

Now, this wasn’t my first time in the playing pregnant rodeo. I proudly played Lilly the mouse’s pregnant mom in “Lilly’s Purple Plast Purse” at Lyric Arts back in 1963 (or something like that). But as Lilly’s unamed mom I was only pregnant on stage for about a minute and there was an in-house actual pregnany belly that I got to wear. (Looking back at the photos, though, I still seem to be lacking in pregnant boobs…it seems to be all about the polka dots, though!)

Anyway, how ever could I make THIS fake belly less lumpy and more secure? Would Spanx work? I made a special trip to Target (yes, I realize a trip to Target is hardly special for me but I was in a time crunch and wasn’t about to go too far afield) to see what I could find, but I was dubious. How would something fit my regular body and my special asset?

As I was mulling it over, revelation struck: THAT’S the whole point of maternity clothes! AND I had a dim memory of accidentally stumbling across maternity undergarments at different times in the past…I would just need to check out the maternity section.

Now where the heck WAS the maternity section in the recently remodeled Friday Target? I was short on time, short on time…I couldn’t wander around Target forever…I would…gasp…HAVE TO TALK TO A SALESPERSON!!!

As a rule (and there are always exceptions), I dread and fear talking to salespeople. That’s why I shop at Target.

And I really did not want to ask anyone, including a Target employee, about maternity clothes. This is NOT a judgement on anyone else’s life path, but for me, presenting the possbility that I was an almost 50-year-old pregnant woman was absurd.

“Oh, get over yourself,” My inner sensible person said. The salesperson is NOT going to be interested enough in you to 1) scrutinize your age and fertility prospects and/or 2) consider why you want the maternity section. You could be looking for a gift.

So I asked, and I found, not only the maternity section but the wonderful inventions of pregnancy belly bands that were intended to hold and support (and smooth?) pregnant bellies, real or fake, of various sizes and circumstances.

I was still too self-conscious to go through the checkout line of Scott, a long-term, regular Target Fridley employee with my pregnant belly band.

Yes, my biggest takeaway from this whole experience may be that I’m a little too familiar with Target Fridley.

When I think about being in a play, I usually think about what my on-stage experience is going to be like.

Of course, much of an actor’s theater time is spent off-stage. This was especially true for me in the recently closed “Cat On a Hot Tin Roof,” a three-hour (with intermissions), three-act play where I played the supporting character, Mae. (Fondly known as the very pregnant, very bitchy sister-in-law). As Mae, I spent about 2 hours of the show (most of Acts 1 and 2) NOT on stage but backstage.

Being backstage can be quite a unique and unusual experience. Simultaneously boring and  nervewracking. I’m not talking about any backstage drama (at least not on-the-record) but simply what it’s like waiting for your time to take the stage.

I don’t know how actors of yore did it without smartphones. I used my smartphone primarily to peruse the Facebook, while I saw other of my fellow cast mates play Solitaire and text friends and family.

Of course there are dangers to killing backstage time with smartphone-zoning. This hasn’t happened to me, I swear, but I’m worried that I might get so engrossed in Facebook that I’ll miss a cue. Or, more likely, I won’t miss a cue, but I just won’t have my head in the game because I haven’t been fully present and I won’t give my all to my scene. So I try to give myself plenty of transition time from smart phone to stage to focus.

There are also still times when having a smartphone backstage isn’t an option. This was the case for me during a signficant portion (20 minutes? 30 minutes? 3 days?) of the second act of “Cat,” as light from a backstage smartphone screen might have been visible onstage.

So in effort to pay more respect to a part of the theater experience that usually gets ignored, here are some of my top “Backstage During Act 2 of ‘Cat’ Thoughts:”

• What am I going to eat tonight when I get home?
• What am I going to wear tomorrow?
• Holy Sh$% I can’t believe I’ve got a new job/promotion!
• (This only happened the night I was offered new job): Wish I had a chance to talk to Chad about job offer before rehearal started. When will I finally get to tell him? What will he say?
• Am I insane for accepting promotion?
• What am I going to eat tonight when I get home?
• Damn, it’s cold back here.
• Did I rub the makeup off my tattoo?
• I really want to take a nap.
• I CAN’T take a nap! I MUST STAY AWAKE!!!
• Did I fall asleep? Did I miss my cue?
• I can’t wait to eat and drink when I get home.
• What are my lines for the next act?
• I really hope we don’t f%$k up the next act.
• Wow Chad sounds amazing.
• Did Chad really hurt himself? (Chad’s character, Brick, fell onstage)
• I wish I was as good of an actor as Chad is.
• Big Daddy (the character) probably has colon cancer just like my mom did.
• My died when she was 64, a year younger than Big Daddy is.
• My mom frequently said she had a spastic colon, just like Big Daddy.
• Damn, this show is depressing.
• When am I going to wash my hair next?
• When am I going to dye my hair next? I want to time it well with upcoming Florida vacation and my birthday.
• How long until I am home and able to drink and eat?
• Argh, my fake boobs are slipping again.
• The tag in my pregancy belly really itches.
• I have to remember to walk like I’m pregnant when I’m on stage.
• How goofy is StanLee B going to be when we get home? How late will he let us sleep tomorrow?

It’s the first miracle of 2019: Our trivia “team” Ed’s Angels won first place last week at Wander North’s Trivia Mafia’s trivia. (And YES, to answer my husband’s first question, there were other teams there, including ones that usually win).

Let me state clearly that we mostly go to trivia to drink. And to hang out with each other, of course, in a nice, mellow and comfy environment (the most awesome Wander North Distillery) that serves tasty drinks. And the Wednesday night trivia host, Colin, is simply the best.

We aren’t even able to go all that often, unfortunately, because of other commitments and life. In fact, this was our (it turns out TRIUMPHANT) return after a long absence. Among other things, it was the first time I was play-rehearsal free in weeks!

My point is just that we are NOT hyper-competitive die-hard trivia afficianados. Sure, we do our best, and we celebrate our small victories in the individual questions we are surprised we get right, but we don’t expect to WIN. The most we can usually hope for is third place (and the weird prize, like one ticket to something or one notebook that really doesn’t make sense for a team). A team of Millennials (or even younger folkers, members of Generation Z?) usually takes home the first spot and the coveted Wander North gift certificate.

We actually didn’t think we did all that well on our night of victory. In a wonderful life lesson, there were some rounds we were pretty confident about and others where we were totally guessing at.  Our answer “Woot Moot” seemed indicative of the night:  a complete guess (or was it “Moot Woot”) that was totally wrong but we liked how it sounded. (The question is way too complicated to explain, not sure I even understood it at the time). So we certainly didn’t think we were nailing it or were in first place.

Maybe I should take some space to clarify the life lesson I think was illuminated: Sometimes you don’t know how you’re doing…you may be doing better or worse than you think, but you should just do your best and have fun. And you just might win. I think there is even a connection here with a Hindu principle the Law of Action and doing what you need to do without being attached to the results. (Pretty sure there is less drinking in the Bhagavad Gita then on a typical trivia night).

In another emodiment of a life lesson, we probably won precisely because while there weren’t any rounds that were in our typical sweet spots, nothing was a total blowout for us, either. The middle of the road served us well. And Wanda knew most of the answers.

(Not speaking for the whole team, but my personal sweet spot of categories seem to be author, geek, mythology, and even history-related. I completely suck at questions about celebrities, unless they are celebrities for geeks, sports, anything related to geography, and life after 1990).

When we found out our final score was “46” I think we all harbored secret hopes of placing third. I actually was afraid that we would tie for third or second and I’d be forced to participate in the tie-breaker. This is always some numerical guessing game (think of the Price is Right) which I totally suck at but I’m the only Angel who will go up front.

Thankfully, no tie-breaker was necessary. Victory was clearlyours. We got to experience the unaccustomed thrill of victory, but can we gracefully transition back to our status quo? Can we savor our triumph while still maintaining our healthy attitude to trivia? That is, can we go back to having fun while we lose? Can we still appreciate the occassional third place?

Studying Hinduism might help…and there is always socializing and alcohol to carry us through.

It’s Epiphany! This means it is still technically “The Holiday Season” so I can still share my Christmas Letter without it being tremendously late. I can even make a thematic tie-in, as an “epiphany” can mean a sudden realization, and learning is a type of realization, and the theme of my Christmas letter (which I wrote long before I knew I wouldn’t get around to posting it until the last day of the Twelve Days of Christmas) is “learning.”

Random fun fact: The gift that the protagonist recieves from their true love on the Twelfth Day of Christmas in the song “The Twelve Days of Christmas” is TWELVE DRUMMERS DRUMMING! But you really only need one drummer, ME. And I even set my drumset back up tonight (finally, after our Dec. 20 show). 

So as the holiday season officially wraps up, here is my Christmas Letter that I mostly sent to loved ones not on the interwebs, repurposed as a blog post.

Happy Holidays! I hope this finds you happy and well. It’s tricky to sum up a year, so I’m going to concentrate on some things I’ve learned in 2018. I’m also going to refer quite a bit to other posts in my blog where you can read even more about our year!

Things I learned this year:

I really love inspirational quotes about running (especially as temporary tattoos). This year we ran two marathons, Grandma’s Marathon (Two Harbors to Duluth) in June and the Twin Cities Marathon in October. Grandma’s Marathon was my second and Twin Cities was my third. (Chad’s been doing the marathon thing longer). I’m still insanely, and yes, annoyingly, proud of running these two marathons. The experience of running each marathon (26.2 miles) was intense and emotional, but it was the training that I did to prepare for each marathon that was really profound (and hard and boring and time-consuming). As one of my favorite running quotes says, “If you want to change your body, exercise. If you want to change your life, become a [marathon] runner.” I also really love writing about running, so please check out my blog if you have even the slightest desire to find out more of my thoughts about running. Exciting posts include Ultra Asinine, Kooky, Etc. and Not Your Grandma’s Marathon. Our marathon completion times:

• Grandma’s: Amy–4:02:48, Chad–3:35:11
• Twin Cities: Amy–4:03:55; Chad–3:34:03

Playing a character that does horrible things is really fun. This summer Chad and I got to be a very dysfunctional (one could perhaps even say “despicable”) couple in the one-act, ‘The Body Politic,” written by local playwright Terry Newby. Our characters drank way too much, shamelessly seduced each other, and then blackmailed each other as the socio-political environment around them devolved into chaos (NOT autobiographical, really!) I got one of the best acting compliments I’ve ever received for my portrayal of my character, Stacy: “I didn’t like anything about you, not one thing, except how you looked in that red dress.”

It actually may have been my year for playing “bad” girls. Chad and I played gangsters in our spring Duck Soup show and played John Dillinger and his girlfriend moll for a Halloween haunted gangster tour. I also played a bad girl, or at least a sassy and really mean lady, when I played a dying elderly woman this fall in “The Shadow Box” (Don’t Let Those SOBs Pass You Buy). I did not get to wear a sexy red dress but I did get to sing a bawdy song and yell “Put some balls into it!” (perhaps my favorite line from a play, ever). Chad and I even tackled Hamlet and Ophelia in an excerpt (and Chad was AMAZING) and while Ophelia isn’t bad, she’s definitely disturbed. I did portray one somewhat “normal” character in a short one-act about middle-aged parents dealing with their daughter, literally, flying the coop.

I can still rock out with a smaller drum set. I’ve had one and only drum set—my red Ludwig Rocker set—since the summer of 1987. So it was a big deal when I got a new Questlove Breakbeats glittery silver set in February that is much smaller (but still mighty, or at least mighty enough for me) and easier to transport (Retro Rockin’). Drumming is one of my favorite things in the world and it energizes me without making me that stressed or filled with self-doubt (I believe others might call that being in “The Zone.”) I think Chad really enjoys playing guitar because he only swears occasionally when he plays and likes to spend a lot of money on guitars. We are extremely lucky that we get to continue to play and perform with our cover band Clusterflock. (People often ask what type of music we play…basically whatever we want to and can figure out, so everything from Amy Winehouse to David Bowie to Jason Isbell).

We also get to “stretch” ourselves by being in another band, Pigeons From Hell (we’re stretching because I play keyboards and sing a little and Chad plays a fair amount of bass). Pigeons started as a Pretenders cover band a couple of years ago but has morphed into doing mostly original songs.

If you want to take a crash course in patience and humility and cuddling and sock-saving and feeling guilty about your cats, get a new puppy. Just a month ago, we adopted a new dog, StanLee Booker. He’s a small (dachshund/min-pin/corgi?) mix, about 6 months old. He’s wild, adorable, chews EVERYTHING (including a bookshelf) and really wants to chase the small angry puppies (formerly known as the cats) who now permanently live in our basement. (To All the Pets We’ve Named Before).

I’m counting on StanLee to give me lots of blog inspiration!)

We got StanLee about two months after our dog Olive died from old age and a rare form of skin cancer. Olive was the last of our first cohort of pets (Poopie, Rogue, Jube, and Oscar) so her death was the end of an era. We’ll always miss our treasured furry companions and they will never be replaced, but we apparently can’t go too long without pet-fueled drama and hijinks. (Thanks to all my friends for NOT laughing at me for getting a new dog so soon after declaring how I was going to revel in the freedom of a dog-free life for a long time).  

It’s cool that I have a job where I’m always learning new things and I do work that I didn’t even know existed 10 years ago. I didn’t just learn this in 2018, but I wanted to assure everyone that I’m still employed as an online service librarian for Hennepin County Library. This means my job has lots of variety and flexibility, I don’t work directly with the public, and I’d be happy to talk to you about website usability or children’s books.

Please check out Chad’s law firm’s website for confirmation that he is doing well on the job and career front: http://rubriclegal.com/).

Everything I ever needed to know I’ve learned from Doctor Who. Again, I didn’t just learn this in 2018, but it was confirmed/reaffirmed by farewell speech of the Doctor as played by Peter Capaldi. So for those of you that aren’t Doctor Who geeks, that’s where the saying “Laugh hard. Run fast. Be kind” on our Christmas cards come from.

Hope we all keep learning in 2019!

Just a few weeks ago, I had no idea Top the Tater was a real thing.

It was only on my radar because it was the “jail name” (name assigned by Animal Control) of the little dog we wanted to adopt.

When a friend suggested that “Top the Tater” sounded like an “adult” party game, it sounded plausible to me. So I was relieved and bemused and a little disappointed when I finally learned that it was, obviously, a topping for potatoes. Maybe it’s more a Minnesota thing?

Regardless, we had committed ourselves to adopting “Top.” We hoped he wasn’t actually attached to the name “Top the Tater” and that we could change it (as another friend said it would be the worst pet name ever), but we were prepared to adapt.

We didn’t have to adapt, though, at least not when it came to our new little dog’s name. He didn’t know his jail name, and his foster mom had been calling him “Eddie” which he hadn’t learned yet, so he was open to whatever.

Which meant we had to decide on a name! Choosing a pet name is fun and exciting, but hard. You want something cool, and unique, and fun, but yet something that will actually work. Something you can imagine yelling at your pet when you want him to come in or stop doing something annoying.

So, drumroll (which I can really do) please…we settled on the name “StanLee Booker.” “‘StanLee” in tribute to Marvel comics god Stan Lee who died just 10 days before we adopted our new little guy, and “Booker” as an homage to one of Chad’s favorite bourbons. We actually thought about just calling him “Booker”, or after one of our other favorite bourbons (including “Michter” or “Russell.” We contented ourselves with calling his first, and very short-lived, toy “Russell.”).

We had many good options, but “StanLee Booker” felt the best. No, we didn’t expect to use his middle name for everyday use, but we definitely wanted to get bourbon in there somewhere. We also like how “StanLee Booker” sounds like an old blues singer. (We do have aspirations we’ll eventually be inspired to write and perform “The Blues of StanLee Booker.”)

With StanLee, we’re returning to our Marvel comics roots of pet-naming. Our very first Chamy pets were our cats Rogue and Jubilee, named after X-Men. Our first dog, Oscar, came to us from the resuce organization pre-named, but we stayed literary with our next dog. We got Olive at Christmas time so named her after the book “Olive the Other Reindeer” (ditching her jail name “Nutmeg” as fast as possible. I think that’s way worse that “Top the Tater”).

When Rogue and Jubilee left this mortal coil, we really agonzied over what to name our next cats. A mother-daughter duo, we wanted names for them that went together. We were stumped, until we were both hit by inspiration in the middle of singing “Jackson” for our student Johnny Cash tribute band. As we sang “we got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout,” we thought, hey, let’s call our new cats “Pepper” and “Sprout.”

Not sure how successful we were with their names, though, as they usually get called by their nicknames more than their real names. It’s not terribly creative, but as Pepper is Sprout’s mother, she usually gets called “Mama.” And it’s probably rather offensive, but I started call Sprout “Kitty Boo Boo” which has been shortened to just “Boo.” Yes, I was “inspired” by watching Honey Boo Boo with my brother’s family so for some reason thought that was a good name for my cat. And lately, I have unintentionally started calling Sprout “Jube,” the nickname for our long deceased cat. I may have just officially lost my mind.

We haven’t started using a nickname for StanLee yet, and maybe we won’t. Rogue was always Rogue. We’ll actually, Rogue Kitty, but I think that was because we realized she needed a longer, more formal and serious name. As I mentioned, Jubilee usually got shortened to “Jube” because she needed a shorter, less formal name. (Chad just reminded me that’s NOT entirely accurate. We often called Jubilee “Jube-a-loo-who” or “Jubester-whoo.” So not a shorter name, but definitely more goofy).

Oscar quickly became “the Dude” which had absolutely nothing to do with “The Big Lebowski” (I’ve never even seen that move although people often assume that was our source material). And Olive was frequently referred to as “Wife,” because she was Oscar’s wife (of course). I wonder if that got a little confusing and weird if anyone heard me yell “Wife” or “Wife, shut up!” out our backdoor. And for some inexplicable, and adorable, reason, Chad started calling Olive “Olive Magoo” or “Olive McinsertadjectiveherePants.” This may be the only time Chad has ever celebrated his Irish heritage.

Hmmm, I think I’m realizing that we’ve often found our pets have needed longer names, so we may me on the right track by starting off with a two-name moniker for StanLee Booker. We are trying REALLY hard NOT to call him “Dude” out of respect for Oscar and to save our remaining sanity and tend to go with “Little Man” when we need to.

Okay, okay, okay, but how IS StanLee? He’s just about so-cute-we-can’t-stand-it adorable, and also a little shithead. He’s hyper, he chews EVERYTHING (including  a freaking BOOKCASE), and the cats are traumatized and living in the basement. And we already can’t imagine life without him.

And maybe someday I’ll actually have some Top the Tater. I will definitely have some Bookers.

I’ve never enjoyed waking up. Even under the best of circumstances, I find it hard to leave the comfort of bed to start my day. Of course waking up is even harder if it’s cold or early or I haven’t slept well or I’m hungover—which of course never happens. (Waking up is even worse when you aren’t even actually asleep because for whatever reason you woke up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep but that’s a topic/rant for another day).

I don’t like waking up, but I did have a wonderful experience recently participating in a collection of one-acts called “Wake-Up Calls.” I played two very different characters in two very different plays who received two very different wake-up calls. Ophelia, (yes, that Ophelia, in a “Hamlet” excerpt) got a metaphorical call from Hamlet telling her to “Get Thee to a nunnery” or, in other words, “Get the hell out of my life.” My other character, Marie, received a wake-up call in the piece “Feathers” when her adult daughter literally sprouted wings and flew away.

The Wikipedia defines a wake-up call as “…a sign or warning that alerts one to negative or dangerous behavior or circumstances.” It defines the call itself, but not the response to it. Being in the production of “Wake-up Calls” inspired me to think about wake-up calls and I realized that I always assumed the response to a wake-up call was proactive and postive.

But of course that’s not always the case. To take an extreme example, Ophelia reacted in a spectatularly bad way (suicide) to realizing that all was not quite right in Ophelia-Hamletville.

I’m not sure how Marie reacted her to wake-up call, as the short plays ends before the audience learns what she does next. I like to think she’s stirred out of her middle-aged routine, and realizes there’s still some excitement and adventure possible for herself and her husband (coveniently played by Chad). My “favorite” line from “Feathers”: “We’re not old, but we are too old to fly away. At least with her.”—So fly away without her, Marie! Choose your own direction!

(Okay, the portion of this post where I attempt to give life advice to the imaginary characters that inhabit my head space has now conluded).

So how do I react to wake-up calls? If I’m honest, I think I mostly hit snooze or ignore them all together.

I have had some major wake-up calls in my life, most notably when my mom died, and, in typical middle-aged lady fashion, my own health scares (vertigo, potential heart-weirdness). But these wake-up calls were almost too big to be meaningful. Yes, yes, I realized that life is short and I should be more appreciative and grateful, etc., etc,, but that is so hard to put into practice on a daily basis.

So maybe more focused wake-up calls are more effective. Such as, when the checkout girl at Target asks me if frozen Weight Watcher meals are really “that good,” does that mean I should reconsider how many I buy and eat?

Maybe I expect too much from wake-up calls. Maybe they aren’t just one-time course corrections. Afterall, I have to reset my alarm every night, because I keep going back to sleep (or at least, bed). Maybe wake-up calls function more like that little floating guy in MarioKart who floats in front of you with a flag and a pissed-off look on his face to let you know you’re going the wrong way.

I’d also like to make the case for positive wake-up calls. As in, “Hey, look at this awesome thing this person is experiencing or doing, maybe you can do that, too.” I think that’s the type of wake-up call Marie gets in “Feathers.” No, she probably can’t fly off with her daughter, but that doesn’t mean she can’t experience her own flight. A different take on schadenfreude, where we’re inspired by others’ happiness and success rather than delighting in their dumbassery.

I don’t want to contradict the Wikipedia, but I think wake-up calls can also alert us not just of a problem but that things are actually pretty damn good and we need to stop taking them for granted.

Perhaps, as I get older, I’ll stop hitting the Snooze button as often because I realize I have less time left to sleep in.

Or, more accurately, I don’t have an actual snooze button to hit because we use our smart speaker, Alexa, as our alarm, and I keep forgetting the command and yell “Pause” at her.

I didn’t expect Sarah Silverman to break open my heart.

Chad and I were expecting, and hoping, that we would watch an episode of her comedy series “I Love You America” as a way to unwind before going to bed. We thought we’d watch something short and funny and not too stressful.

Perhaps we should have known better. We’ve often found “I Love You America” to be thought-provoking, poignant, inspiring, and cringe-inducing. Funny, yes, but not necessarily the light entertainment we were looking for.

Still,  how could we know that the episode Chad picked as our light pre-sleep entertainment (originally aired 11/2/17) would include a segment about Sarah writing and singing a heart-wrenching song about her dead mom?

The timing did seem appropriate, though. It was recently the 18th anniversary of my mom’s death (October 22, 2000). My mom’s absence is always a thread running through my life, but milestones such as this anniversary make her death more of a conscious fact.

I’d also been thinking about my mom more than usual lately because of the recent death of one of her friends. I was fortunate enough to be able to attend the funeral in my “hometown” (at least where I went to high school, I grew up in the country, not even an actual town) so got to reconnect with dear old friends and visit my old stomping grounds.

I even drove by the house where I grew up.  I didn’t stop (didn’t want to scare the people currently living there), but I think this was the first time I’ve been by childhood/young adult home without sobbing. Maybe I did’t cry, because, to quote another song, “I’m finally getting over the sad part of yesterday” (from “Angry Words” by Willy Porter). Or maybe because the house looks so different now, much snazzier than it’s final days of being a Luedtke homestead.

I also made a quick stop at the cemetery where my parents are buried, which is only about a mile from the ancestral homestead. I almost felt like I had to, even though my parents’ graves aren’t that emotionally-laden for me. I don’t think there is any part of them there, or anywhere, besides in me and those who loved them and were loved by them. If fact, I think that was the first time I’ve seen my dad’s grave. I was most stressed by the logistics of trying to find their graves, as it was chilly day and I was, of course, running late.

Um, I think mom would be annoyed that dad’s photo is bigger…

Gordon was a swell guy.

So yeah, an emotional and surreal weekend. And then, just about a week later, Sarah Silverman made me feel all kinds of primal and unexpected feels with her song, “Somebody Broke Her.”

You can watch the segment, and hear the song, (and DAMN, Sarah Silverman actually does an awesome job singing!) here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNejAln3xDw/.

I’m a little sad that no one has posted the lyrics to this song, but there is no way I’m up to watching it again in the near future. So I’m just going to rely on my memory. In a way that’s good, because I didn’t want to get too lost in applying the lyrics literally to my mom’s life. I’m sure my mom was very different than Sarah Silverman’s and our experiences of loss are very different, but the song felt achingly true.

What really affected me and felt like “TRUTH” was Sarah singing about having strength because of her mom’s vulnerability. Because somebody broke Sarah’s mom, Sarah got stronger.

Hearing this song made me think of yet another song, “Killing Me Softly.” Sarah was “strumming my pain with her fingers, singing my life with her words…Killing me softly with her song” (those lyrics are widely available on the internet, I just changed gender).

I don’t know what this all means…I miss my mom. I miss my childhood home. I wish my mom had experienced a happier, easier life, and I’m thankful for all the gifts she gave me. I sometimes feel quite broken and wonder if I should face that more, but I’m mostly thankful for the strength, real of faked, that gets me through everything from grief to self-doubt to a lack of vegetarian options when I’m eating out.

Merriam-Webster offers 41 synonyms for “loony.” My favorite of those are: asinine, kooky, wacky, unwise and zany.

I’m interested in the meaning of “loony” because Chad and I recently did the Twin Cities in Motion “Ultra Loony Challenge.” This involved running a 10K and a 5K on Saturday, October 6, and then running the marathon (26.2) miles the next day, Sunday, October 7.

Why did we do this? I wish I could say we had an inspiring and coherent reason that involved wanting to undertake a new physical and spiritual challenge. Or at least an entertatining reason such as we signed up for it after too much wine and/or boubon. Or maybe we lost a bet.

But I think we did it for the vest. And, spoiler alert, it’s a damn fine vest. We both successfully completed the challenge and received “Ultra Loony” vests and it’s so awesome that I think I’ve worn it every day since the marathon (this from the woman whose husband once told her, “Not every outfit needs to be a catsuit.”)

Not only did we earn The-Vest-of-Most-Awesomeness, we both won our age/sex group for the Ultra Loony Challenge (our time for all three races added together). Okay, this is not an actual official award, but we can see from the official results that Chad was the top finisher for males 45-49 and I was the top finisher for females of that age group (you can verify our claims here: https://www.mtecresults.com/race/show/7061/2018_TC_10K-TC_Ultra_Loony). Yes, philosophers of the ages may debate if a tree that falls alone in the forest makes a sound, but middle-aged runners that win an award that doesn’t actually exist will definitely make a sound. Thank you, Facebook!

We may have also signed up for the Ultra Loony because of our schedule and our habit of doing a challenger series. For several years we’ve done series that have included doing shorter races throughout the year, but this time we couldn’t because we were going to be on vacation for the Valentine’s Day 5K.

Honestly, we signed up so long ago that I really don’t know what we were thinking. I guess we were just being “wacky” and “zany.”

Our lives were so busy leading up to the Marathon, that I kept forgetting we were doing the 10K and 5K on Saturday, too. When I did remember, it would be “Oh sh#t, we’re doing that.” And I would think, “How asinine was I to sign myself up for this?”

All three races added up to running a little over 35 miles (35.52057) in two days. I wasn’t so worried about the distance as much as the logistics of getting to races (that is, getting up early, before 5:30) on two consecutive days. Honestly, if races started around 9:00 a.m. and left a block from my house, I would run way more of them. But dragging my ass out of bed two days in a row wasn’t too awful, especially since we spent most of Saturday afternoon napping/dozing while listening to MPR. And, so we don’t sound too lame/sensible, most of post-marathon Sunday drinking.  

I was also worried about the half hour or so I would have to wait between the 10K and 5K and freezing my ass off. And turns out, that did suck and was the worst part of the challenge series.

We tried very hard to be smart and to run Saturday’s races relatively slowly so as not to wear ourselves out or injure ourselves before the marathon. And this controlled approach was HARD, in the midst of race excitement/competiveness and a cold day and wanting to finish and get the hell home (to our waiting naps and MPR). I think we did a pretty good job, although we were both worried because we were a little sore after Saturday’s races. This was probably, at least in part, just due to being overly concerned about and sensitive to how our legs were feeling.

I was also worried about carbo-loading. SO MUCH SCIENCE! I really had no idea, and still don’t, if the Saturday races would/did delete our carb stores to the extent that it had a negative effect on our marathon endeavors. We just tried to eat as much low-fat carbs as we could, when we weren’t napping, on Saturday.

So the big question is: “Did running the 10K and 5K the day before the Marathon affect our Marathon performance?” Since we’ve never done the Ultra Loony Challenge before, that’s hard to answer. We both did well with the marathon so I’m going to say: not too much.

Ah, the Twin Cities Marathon 2018. Chad totally kicked ass and got an overall Marathon Personal Record (PR) finishing in 3 hours, 34 minutes, and 3 seconds.

I was really happy with my time (4:03:55), too. It wasn’t a PR, but I did shave over 12 minutes off my first Twin Cities Marathon, so I can claim it as a TC Marathon PR. I’ve only done three marathons total, and the Grandma’s Marathon in June was my PR with a time of 4:02:48. But I think (and Chad agrees) that Grandma’s is an easier course.

Aside from the context of the Ultra Loony Series, what was the experience of running TC Marathon 2018 like? In most ways I was less nervous going into it because I had two marathons under my belt. I knew I could finish, and was even pretty confident I could finish faster than my first marathon. There was a bit of self-induced pressure to finish faster than Grandma’s but I tried not to get too wrapped up in that. And I just didn’t really have time to be that nervous before the Marathon.

I tried harder to enjoy the experience and appreciate the little things, especially the beautiful fall colors of the trees. And most importantly, the amazing spectators. I knew from the first year they were impressive, but once again, I was moved, inspired and entertained by all the folks who came out to cheer us on. Yes, most of them were there specifically to cheer on friends and family that were NOT me, but they still cheered for random strangers like me. Some even yelled my name (it was printed on my bib, and it’s short and easy to read. Thanks Mom, who had no idea she was giving me a name that was good for races! After two kids with relatively long names she just wanted something that would be easy to teach me to spell). The spectators kept me engaged (boredom is my great mind-killer during long distance running) and motivated.

And then, just past Mile 20 (the dreaded “Wall”, although Mile 22 is my true wall) I was cheered on by members of my Facebook TC First-Time Marathoners Class of 2017. I can’t even…my heart is full of so much gratitude and fondness for these people. I know there are many problems with Facebook but this group is so amazing. Starting at Mile 18 I kept thinking about how I had to kick it up a notch to look lively for them. They may have slightly slowed me down by causing me to shed a few tears of appreciation after I passed them, but that’s a price I was willing to pay.

I finished the marathon feeling better (or at least less nauseous) than I did after Grandma’s but perhaps a little more tired than I did after my first TC Marathon. Stategy-wise, I may have failed a bit on dehyration and fueling since I didn’t consume nearly as much as on my two other marathons. But it was cooler and hey, I didn’t feel sick/dehydrated (not until after the celebrations, that is).

And the weather! So thankful that it was dry and cool, especially given all the weather craziness (dare I saw “looniness”?) leading up to (including Chad having heat exhaustion during a training run just three weeks prior to the marathon) and since the marathon (hello, nonstop rain).

It was so nice to be dry and cozy after the race, which leads me to the best possible thing of all marathons: the Tent of Bliss and Joy (okay, not the official name) for people (asinine, kooky, wacky, unwise and zany people) who finished a challenge series. The Challenger Series Finishers tent was HEATED! and had food! One of the women serving food said she could see my smile of disbelieving joy when I entered the tent. And, this tent was a new feature this year offered to all series challengers (not just Ultra Stupid, I mean, Loony, ones) so we may get to experience it in the future even if we aren’t quite as asinine (yes, I do just really, really like this word).

So, to quote the ever-wise “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” “Where do we go from here?” Once again I’m trying hard to be very sensible until I am truly, fully recovered from the marathon/Ultra Loony Challenge and have not only healed all my muscles, but have flushed all the endorphins, alcohol, carbs, emotions, etc., from my body, heart and soul before making any decisions or commitments.

I’ll just continue to cozy up in my Ultra Loony Challenge vest. And just ask me…there is NO statute of limitations for seeing my medals.

In just about every show I’ve been in, the character I’ve played has had some striking lines that are interesting, quirky, funny, moving or wise (or some combination).

I’ve often wanted to share these lines in advance of performances, but I’ve worried about giving away too much of the plot or that the lines will be confusing out of context.

But I’m willing to take these chances with the upcoming show I’m in, “The Shadow Box” (playing September 27-30 at Dreamland Arts in St. Paul). My character, Felicity, doesn’t have a lot of lines (which sadly, does not mean I have all of  mine down cold yet) but many of them are doozies.

And yes, this is a publicity ploy…I’m hoping your interest will be piqued by seeing these lines untethered from the whole play, and you’ll be motivated to come see who in the world Felicity is and why she is saying such outrageous things.

My favorite Felicity lines (with some commentary):

• Sons of bitches! Felicity says this so much it could be turned into a drinking game (no drinking at the theater, though). If I forget a line, I can yell “Sons of bitches” and have a good shot of being right.
• That’s the spirit! But some balls into it! This is just inspirational. I’ll try to chant this to myself during the marathon.
• They’ll pass you by…They’ll leave you at the station with your suitcase in your hand a big gardenia tacked to your collar. More solid life advice. Plus, my mom used to warn me about “They” all the time so this resonates with me.
• You can’t run a place like this on dreams. Many years ago my friend Mark’s grandfather told me that “you can’t live on love” when he didn’t like my answer to his question about Chad’s prospects, so this reminds me fondly of that.
• She takes after her father…not too pretty and not too bright.
• Come on, spit it out, don’t be shy. You’re not stupid on top of everything else, are you? I think we’ve all wanted to say this at least once in the last week.
• Piss poor. I like this one because who says this anymore? It’s almost charming.
• The time for hymns is when I’m in the coffin.
• Patient? Patient, hell I’m the corpse. 
• It makes me nervous and I don’t even have tits anymore. I think everyone can agree that’s an interesting line

And though she may be but little, she is fierce. Okay, Felicity doesn’t say this, nor does anyone else in “The Shadow Box.” This is actually from Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” It’s also taken on a new life as a popular and highly commercialized inspirational quote.

It’s one of my favorite motivational sayings for running and has gotten me through both my marathons. I’m wearing it right now as a temporary tattoo with it to get psyched for my upcoming Marathon #3. And it’s taken on new meaning, as it totally describes Felicity.

There’s no doubt about it, Felicity IS FIERCE. In some ways this is admirable, but Felicity is also exasperating, annoying, and well, just plain mean. And funny. And scared. She’s not likable, but she is real and relatable. Someone most of us can imagine turning into, or having our loved ones turn into, in the right (wrong?) circumstances.

Plus when I’m playing her I get to sing a bawdy song! So what are you waiting for? Buy your tickets now, sons of bitches (http://dreamlandarts.com/shadow-box-buy-tickets/).

Today I did my last long training run (3.5 hours, 21.48 miles) for Marathon #3.

So many mixed feels.

I’m thrilled, relieved, proud, wistful, nervous, sad.

This is the 9th such crazy ass run I’ve done since August 2017, in addition to 9 roughly 17 mile runs (2 hr 45 minutes in length).

Yeah, I’m bragging, but it’s also maybe a cry for help.

Running a Marathon is a big fucking deal, but in my third go round with this, I’m starting to understand how profound training is.

And after this marathon, I’m thinking it’s time for a break. This doesn’t mean that I plan to stop running (l was running regularly, if casually, for 15 plus years before marathons) but that I might not do another marthon for a year or so.

I’m considering…and also looking at spring marathons. My intellect and emotions have been run into goo, so now is not the time for decision making.

As a wise friend just said tonight (as I was out drinking wine to begin and celebrate the start of tapering) this marathon training has been life changing for me. And I love that I (and the forces of nature) am completely in control of it. Yes, life does intervene, but unlike my other passions, I’m not dependent on anyone else to do this. I don’t have to get cast or book a gig. And I get what I put into it (thanks Deb for writing this post for me).

I wish I could more fully describe what long distance running feels like for me. Yes, I work pretty hard to distract myself (audiobooksRme) but it’s still so physical. And maybe as a typically locked in my head person, it’s that physicality I crave, when even the garbage I see on my route speaks to me on some level.

But it might also be nice to have a little more time to spend on other things. To maybe not worry about carbo-loading and celebratory drinking weight gain (subsequent empty calories will have to be blamed on other things).

Today’s new temporary tattoo is “Marvel.” This was a little arbitrary but it’s feeling more and more appropriate. I marvel that I’ve done all this training, marvel that I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to do it, and marvel at how happy/sad I am that it’s wrapping up.

I’m also marveling that I’m going to attempt to go to sleep now before 10:30.