The Intersection of Brook Road and Brookland Parkway: Mile 23

Why did I run Richmond?

After the Marine Corps Marathon (MCM), I was asked by quite a few people whether I was going to run Richmond 3 weeks later.  I honestly didn’t know.  After I crossed the finish line at MCM, my 1^st thought after “thank goodness that is over” was “no way am I doing this again in 3 weeks.”  I’ve said that before. “No way am I ever doing more than this 10K; no way am I ever, I mean EVER, doing a marathon.”  I let the days following the MCM be about rest and recovery.  I had developed some IT band (ITB) pain around mile 18 of MCM and was concentrating on healing that.  I’d rather take a few weeks off and still be able to run well into the future than be a warrior and risk further damage.  I stretched, I foam rolled, walked and, ever so slowly, added running back into my routine.  But, I still wasn’t sure about Richmond.  Whenever I was asked, I joked, “ask me the day before the race.”

Tuesday of race week I went on a pain-free 4 mile run.  Thursday, I decided to go pick up my bib and shirt at the expo.  I mean, I HAD paid for them as part of the Sportsbackers training team.  Friday, I constructed a race plan.  I’d run at a comfortable pace as long as I was pain-free.  I’d walk all downhills, since that is where my ITB pain usually shows up.  I would not push it.  Having a good time and finishing with a medal and fleece blanket were my only goals.

Saturday, race day.  I woke up in the middle of the night to hear it absolutely pouring.  No worries, it was supposed to end by 6.  Then by 7.  Then, maybe by 8.  I tried to keep my feet dry as long as possible before the race and got into my corral right before the start.  And I just kept moving forward for the next 4 hours and 37 minutes.

But the running itself isn't why I ran Richmond.  I ran Richmond because of the wonderful MTT coaches.  The ones who spent countless hours with us when they could have spent time doing other things.  The ones who got us to the starting line in the first place.  I ran for the coach who ran with me on Main Street.  I don’t know why, but I have never enjoyed that stretch of the race.  Maybe it’s because it is right after mile 16 and the Lee Bridge and the legs are starting to feel fatigued, I don’t know.  Whatever the reason, Coach Karen, she distracted me just enough to keep going.

I ran for the elite runner on the side of the road with an injured ankle.  He had slid on the downhill right before the Huguenot Bridge.  His race was over.  I ran for the random enthusiastic runner on the Huguenot Bridge from Philadelphia who told me I was crazy to run two marathons in 3 weeks.  I gave him a smile and said, “I know, but aren't we all crazy?”  He couldn't argue with me.  I ran for the random Marathon Maniac  (it’s a real thing, look it up) on Boulevard who tried to convince me that I only needed to do one more marathon by January to be a member of the club.  No thanks, I’m crazy, but I am not a maniac.  Come on, I have to draw the line somewhere. 

I ran for one of my children’s teachers whose son lost his life on the Lee Bridge just over 18 months ago.  She was running, as well, and I knew that no matter how hard that bridge was for the other 6000+ runners, it wasn't going to be as hard for us as it was for her.

I ran Richmond for the spectators.  At the end of the Lee Bridge, I saw a 2012 MTT teammate whose cheer gave me an energy boost.  I ran to see a coach from the first half marathon I ever did.  Every year, he is camped out at the same spot on the marathon course.  It’s the only time I ever see him, but I look for him.  I saw him, and he gave me a “way to go, Kimberly.”  He knew me when I swore I’d never do a distance further than the half marathon and said, “We’ll see.”  He knew I would finish a marathon before I did.  I ran for the two unexpected hugs from church family I received somewhere between miles 20 and 21.  There were very few spectators there, and I was feeling pretty tired. 

I ran for the mile 23 water stop.  That stop has been our church’s water stop for years.  Even before running was on my radar screen, I handed out water there to runners while my babies were in strollers or baby bjorns.  That water stop is my oasis.  People I admire and love are there.  They are my cheerleaders.  And not just when I run.  They are excited to see me, and, I , them.  It is always what carries me through to mile 25.  Because let’s face it, miles 23 through 25, they are hard, hard miles.  Close to the finish, but not that close.  Almost done, but not quite.  Within reach, but just out of reach.

I ran for mile 26.2.  Even though I had walked a lot of the last 6 miles, my legs found energy, and I sprinted.  Strangers were screaming my name.  It’s pretty cool, I’m not gonna lie.  It never gets old: the awkward, shy girl is suddenly a popular, cool athlete.  It’s pretty amazing.  OK, so maybe the last .2 mile WERE about the running.  But the first 26 miles weren’t.

Mile Dedications

It's that time again--marathon mile dedications.  

Dedicated To:

Mile 
1 The Glory of God, for the beauty of this day.
2 Scott, I wouldn’t be here without your support and willingness to handle the “mess” at home while I was away on long Saturday runs.
3 Mom & Dad, you have always supported me, no matter what my dream was/is.
4 Christina, my cheerleader, my sister.
5 The Marine Corps for its sacrifices and for making this race possible.
6 MTT Coaches
7 MTT teammates
8 Friends, family and neighbors who put up with my constant chatter about running
9 The people who will wear the layers of clothing I shed along the course.  
10 Tough Chiks and Mother Runners who inspire me.
11 Erica.  To long runs and TMI--we made it!
12 Meredeth, for helping make those long Wednesday runs fun and discovering friendship along the way.
13 Renee.  For Lupus.  For quiet hippie peace freaks. 
14 Matthew.  The next 3 miles are dedicated to my children to show them that even when it gets hard, we never give up.  
15 Nathan
16 Samuel
17 The Gauntlet 
18 Peace, for each one of us and for the world.
19 Adam.  I often hit the wall here.  This mile is a reminder that sometimes it is enough to put one foot in front of the other and just keep moving.
20 Megan and Michelle, you will always be my mile 20.
21 I beat the bridge!
22 Those who want to run but can’t.  Someday, I may not be able to run.  Until then, I’ll run for you.
23 GPPC, I will miss you at MCM’s mile 23 water stop, but you are in my heart.  I see Christ in each and every one of you.
24 Water.  A reminder that I have access to it whenever I need it along this course.  783 million people in the world do not.
25 Mothers around the world who run because they HAVE to in order to survive, not because they WANT to, like me.
26 Survivors and families of victims of the Boston Marathon bombing.
.2  Me!  Savor the finish.

Running Intersects with Education

Today has been a day of contrasts, where the haves and have-nots intersect.  I started my morning at my children’s elementary school.  I was meeting with the librarian and a group of other parents who will be coaches for this year’s Reading Olympics program. So many parents volunteered to coach, the librarian had to turn several away.  If our little school has a need, parents line up to meet that need.  Pretty lucky.  And easy to take for granted.

My next stop was at a local warehouse club.  I filled up the cart with fruit, granola bars and water, fulfilling a request from a PE teacher at a school just a few blocks from our church (for more about the neighborhood around our church: Neighborhood) He called our church, and the request was sent to me.  He is organizing his school’s participation in International Walk to School Day (you can read more about that here: http://www.walkbiketoschool.org/).  Funny, I had always assumed that the kids in this neighborhood lived in close enough proximity to the school to walk.  For various safety reasons, they ride the bus.

 

This particular school is one that several individuals in our congregation have made concerted efforts to spend time volunteering in the classroom.  It is one of the schools that did not receive full accreditation, missing benchmarks in both English and math.  Contrasts.  I started my drive about 6 miles north of this school on Chamberlayne Road at my children’s blue ribbon, parental presence everywhere, to another school off of Chamberlayne Avenue that is struggling in every way possible.  Low testing scores.  Very little parental involvement.  Kids in unpredictable living situations.  Kids who come to school hungry every day.  Certainly not a place where kids are ready to start the day learning.  Contrasts.

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately.  How my children’s school really doesn’t need ME, another can jump in and fill my spot.  My absence really wouldn’t be noticed.  If we are all truly investing in our children, ALL of our children, the haves and the have-nots, perhaps we should invest some of our energy into those schools who truly need us. I am still engaged in my own children’s lives, but my absence at their school is probably not going to impact their education.  But, what difference would my presence at a school in dire need make?  And, imagine the example that sets for my own children…

So, I arrived with my vanload of snacks, and there, at the edge of the parking lot, in a grassy area, no track, no soccer fields like the blue ribbon school I had just left was this PE teacher with several of his students.  They greeted me with such enthusiasm.  They were all eager to help me unload the car.  The teacher reminded them to use their manners, but this group remembered on their own.  They were excited about granola bars and apple slices.  I can’t remember the last time my own children were excited by those things. 

This PE teacher, he is so young and so energetic.  The kids respect and like him.  I thought to myself, "I hope he doesn’t burn himself out.”  One way to prevent burnout is for people to get involved and help.  He shared that he has recently begun a before-school running club and has 50 regulars.  50!  He needs help: adults to cheer the kids on, adults to run with the kids. Huh.  I run.  Didn’t I say something about hoping someone would trust me enough to run with me recently?  Bravery Huh.  That sounds like God speaking pretty loudly to me. Stay tuned…

Joy

Running just makes me happy.  It’s that simple.  It makes me happier in all other areas of my life.  Yes, I do realize how ridiculous I look and sound running and belting out an Idina Menzel ballad.  But, it's JOY.  Find your something.

Kmart and Water Intersect

I’ve been thinking a lot about water lately.  I’m training for my third marathon, so I’m always drinking water or thinking about drinking water.  I am so concerned about being without water, I run with a fuel belt that holds 32 oz of water on long runs.  I train with a team that has well-equipped SAGs (Support and Gear stops. i.e., water) every few miles.  It’s kind of silly when you think about it.  I am running because I WANT to and have access to unlimited water  during those runs.  783 MILLION people in this world do not have easy access to clean drinking water (United Nations, 2013).    I’m running for my health, and they are running for their lives.  To get water.  I am carrying it around my waist, and they carry it on their heads.   Water is one of those things that unites all of us.  Not a single living thing on this planet can survive without water. 

Kmart has begun their  Christmas advertising campaign…it is September.  It’s kind of brilliant, if you think about it.  It is advertising layaway for Christmas right now.  Not really promoting Christmas shopping per se, just layaway.  So that got me thinking about water again.  How are Kmart and water related,  you ask?  Well, every year, I post a link to Advent Conspiracy, an organization that promotes how “Christmas was meant to be celebrated, not regretted.”  They promote donations to Living Water International, an organization that provides access to clean water.  So, I thought, if retail companies (and it’s not just Kmart, all kinds of Christmas ads are already showing up in my mailbox and e-mail inbox ) are going to start promoting Christmas in September, then I am going to counter that by promoting Advent Conspiracy in September.  It takes planning to change the way we celebrate Christmas, so why not start now?  Watch videos here for ideas: http://www.adventconspiracy.org/.  Would you like to provide a microloan? www.kiva.org   Or provide families with a sustainable income? www.heifer.org   There are hundreds of worthy organizations.  If you need help, let me know.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love the traditions and decorations of Christmas.  I even enjoy picking out gifts that I know my loved ones will treasure.  I just don’t value the frenzied pace and the “buy, buy, buy” mentality.  I value relationships more.  Relationships take planning and time.  You have to carve that time out and protect.  That’s why I am promoting this now.  I am proposing not just a conspiracy but a revolution.  Who is in?

Connections

Several of you know my running story. For those of you who don’t know the story, I’ve not always been a runner.  I dabbled with running for fitness, a mile or two, in college and my early 20s.  I could never get beyond “the wall” to go any further.  So, I left the running behind and walked for fitness.

In the months leading up to a milestone birthday, my oldest child participated in a running program at school, and we went to see him run a mile the night before the Richmond marathon.  The race environment was electric.  A switch turned on in my brain.  Could I run a race?  Nah, that’s crazy talk.   A couple of weeks later, I was sitting in the church nursery with a friend while some of our children participated in the church’s music program.  She revealed she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  That moment, it took my breath away. It still does.  She was the picture of health.  How could she possibly be ill?  Several weeks later, another friend, pregnant with her second child, was also diagnosed with breast cancer.  I was stunned and feeling like I needed to do something for them.   About the same time, Sportsbackers began advertising their Monument Avenue 10K Training Team.  Both women were (and are) runners.  Because they couldn’t run that 10K that year, I decided I would.  I would run this 10K for them, and that would be it.  They laughed at me.  They told me the 10K wouldn’t be the end.  I laughed at them, “No, really, I’m only going to do this 10K. I mean it.” The 10K was my marathon at that point in time.  I laugh at myself now.

As training started, I also started attending a Sunday school class on centering prayer.  The three women who taught this class had (and still do have) a wonderful glow, an inner peace.  I wanted that peace.  A couple of weeks into my training, a church family’s 3-year old goddaughter was diagnosed with a rare brain tumor.   I discovered my training team ran through their neighborhood and past their house.  Every Saturday.  One Saturday, I decided to combine what I had learned about centering prayer with my training run.  I focused my prayer on this family as I trained in their neighborhood.   In the process, I discovered there is so much more to running than putting one foot in front of the other.  I discovered I could find that peace I was seeking on the run.  I also discovered that running makes me open to other experiences.  Bravery.  Connections with other people.  Maybe it’s the endorphins, maybe it’s that the blood flow is redirected from my brain to my muscles, I don’t know.  I DO know that it makes me spiritually aware.

I have met so many inspiring people while running.  I’m not sure I would have met them, otherwise.  My first marathon training team coach is a woman in her 60s who has more energy than most 20 year olds.  She climbed to the base camp at Mt Everest last summer.  When the friend with whom I was training got injured, I found the courage to introduce myself to a woman on the training team I thought I’d seen training in my neighborhood.  I call her friend now.  We joke about how what is said on the run stays on the run.  But, it doesn’t, really.  Those conversations deepen our connection.  Not everything we talk about is deep.  Sometimes, it’s just plain silly…anything to get us through those miles.  Tomorrow, we are running 19 miles.  That distance, physically, doesn’t get any easier for me, but I look forward to our conversations.  I look forward to being so engrossed in conversation with her that I won’t even realize we’ve run five miles.

In the last year, I’ve become friends with another woman in my neighborhood.  We met through a virtual training team we are both on.  It’s kind of sill.  We have several mutual friends, our children are friends, but until we met up to run, I didn’t really know her.  Now, it’s as though we have known each other for decades when we chat on our runs.  RUNNING did that. It wouldn’t have happened without it.

Running, for me, is about connection.  Connection with my heart and Christ, connection with prayer, connection with the nature around me, connection with people.  And it doesn’t end when the feet stop moving.  Those connections, they are reminders that we are ALL connected in this world.  We aren’t meant to experience life alone.  We are children of God.  Running helps me remember that and encourages me to live out the baptismal covenant. I encourage you to find something that does that for you.  Running is my something.  What is your something?

Running Intersects with Bravery

Running makes me braver. When I began this running journey 4 years ago, I had anticipated the obvious physical benefits and maybe some of the mental benefits.  The spiritual benefits have been enormous.  Running, for me, is a form of centering prayer.  But the bravery, I wasn’t expecting that. 

Running makes me braver in unexpected ways—it spills over into my everyday life.  Many of you know about my passion for being a good neighbor and feeding sheep.  The community garden has grown, and neighbors are picking vegetables.  That, alone, makes my heart soar.  Yesterday, rushing out of church, onto the next thing, I noticed a woman sitting in the garden.  I, under my breath, said, “I should go talk to her.”  My 13-year old heard me, and said, “You should, Mom.”  My heart started pounding.  Shy and introverted, approaching a stranger is still not one of my favorite things to do.  I took a breath, said a prayer and reminded myself that I can run 26.2 miles; surely I can introduce myself to this woman.  I approached cautiously and told her I was glad to see her in the garden.  She beamed.  She had on gardening gloves and was weeding.  She told me she loves to garden.  I told her we were planning our fall crops and asked if there was anything, in particular she’d like to see planted.  She said, “Oh, ANYTHING! I just love to garden.”  I introduced myself and told her she was welcome to garden anytime.  Her name is Deborah and she lives in the apartment complex almost next door to the garden.  That brief conversation changed the tone of the rest of my day.  She blessed me, and I prayed on the walk back to my car, “Deborah, you are a child of God, and I am so glad I met you today.” The running made me brave.  I rarely pushed myself out of my comfort zone before running. 

Running makes me brave.  I’ve been thinking about getting a running coach certification.  I’d love to work with one of our neighbors and show them the joy of running.  I’d love for one of them to be brave enough to trust me to do that.  I’d love for that bravery to spill over into other areas of their lives.  Running makes people brave.  

Feed my Sheep

“Feed my sheep.”  That is what Jesus tells Peter to do when Peter insists three times that he loves Jesus.  If you ask me what I am passionate about, it comes down to those three words: feed my sheep.  I’ve been passionate about food and issues around food for as long as I can remember.  Growing, cooking, eating, sharing meals, making sure those around us have enough, you name it. 

As a public health professional, I became acutely aware of the impact food has on people’s health. Growing obesity and diabetes epidemics are a direct result of eating habits. It seems simple:  eat healthy food, get healthy.  But it’s not that simple.  The issue is complex, and there is no way to adequately cover it in a simple blog post.  Food security is only one facet of the issue.  The USDA defines food security as “access by all people at all times to enough food for an active, healthy life.” People in our own neighborhoods do not have access to fresh, healthy food.  A food desert is an area of low income and low access to food (no grocery store within a mile).  Did you know that the area on Chamberlayne Avenue directly across from our church is a food desert?  31% of households in that census tract are without vehicles and more than a half mile from a grocery store (Source: USDA).  Gas stations and convenience stores are often a regular source of groceries.  If you have no transportation, and you have to decide between feeding your family food from the convenience store across the street or going hungry, which would you choose? 

So why a community garden, and why now?  Our congregation has a history of supporting food access issues. A community garden would engage both GPPC members and neighbors in growing their own food.  As you know, the Session recently adopted a set of values and goals.  One of the goals we adopted is: “We will look for Christ in one another while sharing meals with strangers and friends.  We will help hungry people in our neighborhood, city, and world set their tables with healthy food.”   As we presented the values and goals to the congregation and asked for suggestions of how to accomplish this particular goal, over and over, the idea of a community garden kept bubbling to the surface.  When asked to volunteer to take care of the garden, over 30 of you said you’d like to be involved!!

In an effort to promote the community garden idea at the April block party, we had a gardening activity:  planting seeds in recycled berry containers. One of our neighbors, Margaret, lives in an apartment complex on Chamberlayne Avenue. She grew up gardening and misses it.  We told her about our community garden plans. She hugged me, and exclaimed, “I want to help!! I can’t wait to work with you!”  I planted a salad mix for her in a container to take home.  She asked for my phone number in case she had questions about the care of the lettuce.  I gave her my cell number and didn’t really ever expect to hear from her again.  She called me the next week to tell me her seeds had sprouted.  And to remind me she wants to help with the garden.  I won’t forget…I promised I’d call her when we are ready to plant.  This feels like an opportunity to feed his sheep.  We can help our neighbors get healthy, fresh food on their tables.  We also have the opportunity to build relationships with our neighbors.  It takes time to cultivate relationships, just as it takes time to cultivate a garden.  We are starting small, with a few raised beds.

But, I must confess, that even while starting small, I have a dream for this project. Neighbors and congregation members working side-by-side, growing healthy food.  Neighbors and congregation members teaching each other how to cook and preserve the harvest, side-by-side, in GPPC’s kitchen.  Neighbors and congregation members sharing meals together, laughing, talking, crying, side-by-side.  Healthier neighbors and congregation members with more energy to lead active lifestyles, exercising in the fellowship hall (or running) together, side-by-side. The distinction between residents of Chamberlayne Avenue and GPPC members would fade away.  An outside observer would just see the relationships between all of God’s children.  Food and relationships, cultivated, side-by-side.  It’s a big dream, I know, but I think that is what Jesus meant when he said, “Feed my sheep.”

The Joy of Being a Blockhead

Have you been wondering what this block party is all about?  In February 2012, a small group from GPPC had lunch with a group from Union Presbyterian Seminary.  We were meeting to discuss ways to be better neighbors to our shared neighborhood.  We talked about good neighbors and what makes them good.  We talked about how great neighbors take responsibility for the health of their neighborhood, its safety, its cleanliness, and the growth and welfare of each neighbor.  We all agreed that we needed a way to build relationships with our neighbors.  The idea of the block party was one that percolated to the surface.

     As our first block party approached last April, we decided that we would extend personal invitations to our neighbors.  In groups of 2 or more, we would knock on apartment and house doors along Chamberlayne and Seminary Avenues, between Laburnum and Rennie Avenues.  Gulp.  As a Brownie and Girl Scout, I dreaded cookie sales.  I dreaded knocking on neighbors’ doors (and I actually knew most of those neighbors) and asking them to buy cookies.  I dreaded asking them to buy my cookies, dreaded them telling me no, so much so, that it was almost a relief when no one answered.  I didn’t care about the prizes I could get for selling the most cookies.  This shy girl would just rather not knock on the doors of people she knew, let alone strangers.

      So fast forward to last spring when I was going to be knocking on doors of absolute strangers…I was still that little girl who just didn’t want to do it, but this endeavor was so much more important to me than selling a couple of boxes of thin mints.  If I was going to build relationships with neighbors, I was going to have to put myself out there.  Make myself vulnerable.  Gulp.  I prayed.  A lot.

     Elders went out as part of our Session meeting.  Just 20 minutes.  That’s all it took to cover a block.  I prayed, nervously knocked on that first door, blurted out the personal invitation, handed our neighbor the flier, and waited.  I’m not sure what I was waiting for.  Rejection?  Anger for disturbing dinnertime? That neighbor was so gracious and said, “What a great idea, I think I’ll come.”  Whew.  I felt like I’d sold a box of thin mints.  Not only had I sold it, but the neighbor had shared its contents with me.  It got easier with each door.  Some didn’t answer.  I prayed for them and left a door hanger.

     The day of the first block party was overcast, but we carried on.  We got the grills going, people crossed Chamberlayne, we ate, we laughed, and we jumped in the bounce house.  Whew.  All was going well.  And then the clouds burst.  Buckets and buckets of rain fell.  Disappointed, I shrugged my shoulders and thought, “Well, we tried.”  And then something wonderful happened.  Our guests didn’t go home.  They helped us carry all of the food, all of the tables and all of the chairs into the Fellowship Hall.  And they STAYED.  They stayed to eat, to talk, to laugh.  About 100 people attended that day.

     The second block party was in September 2012.  The day started out overcast.  We weren’t worried.  We’ve been here before.  More people crossed Chamberlayne Avenue.  We recognized neighbors from the last party.  We had about 200 guests this time.  A diverse group of people eating together at tables, learning about one another, laughing with one another.  Could this be what God’s kingdom looks like?   I sure hope so.

     April 20, 2013 at noon is our next block party.   We plan to be more intentional about building relationships at this party.  We need lots of volunteers to make it happen.  There are numerous opportunities in the days leading up to, before and after the block party.  We especially need people to hand out fliers and door hangers.  If you can’t volunteer, I really do hope you’ll come.  Come and see what the kingdom of God looks like.

Summer Intersections

Summer.  I’ve always loved summer.  More the idea than the season.  Time seems to be suspended.  Kind of like watching a drop of dew roll off a leaf in slow motion…you know, constantly moving until that one millisecond where it seems to slow down and stop, right before it gains momentum and falls off the leaf onto the ground.  Summer is like that.  A slowing down of sorts with those sublime moments where time stops for just a minute.  Whether it’s sitting on the porch, reading a book in the hammock, traveling, or time at the ocean. 

This summer was filled with those sublime moments, and it gets harder every year when it’s time to get back to the regular routine.  Day trips to the beach, ordinary days at home and travel.  Little moments suspended in time: ocean waves crashing; the roar of hydroplanes; showing my boys the school where my dad taught me how to ride a bike and the bush at the end of the street where I used to pick blackberries;  driving by the house we lived in which seemed much bigger in my mind’s eye; hanging with family in their backyard on a beautiful Pacific Northwest evening;  cousins planning and setting up a lemonade stand. 

I was having one of those moments on our last evening in Seattle.  Enjoying the gorgeous weather, Mt. Rainier was out, the sun was glistening on Elliott Bay, everyone was happy.  I wanted to be suspended in that moment forever.  From where we were sitting, Scott pointed out a street sign: Virginia St.  He asked if I would take a picture of it.  I took one, but then saw the street sign for Pike Place.  I took a picture of the two signs.  The intersection of Pike Place and Virginia St, represented, for me, the juxtaposition of my life.  Longing to be in Seattle, one home, a little longer but also ready to return to another home, Virginia.  Suspended in time between the two.  It made me a little less sad about leaving Seattle, somehow.  Maybe it was the thought that the two places really can exist together…it doesn’t have to be either/or, sometimes, it is “and.”

So as summer comes to an end, and the natural rhythm of life continues, I hope I will be a little more mindful of sublime moments.  I hope to live more in the “and” than the “either/or”, more moments right before the dew drop falls.  I know they happen all year.  I’m just not as aware of them during the busy-ness of the school year. Too busy to look for them, I suppose.  I’m sure they are in there between the making of the lunches, the getting out the door, the getting the homework done…they are there somewhere, at the intersection of Pike Place “and” Virginia Street.