Walk Journal ~ Finally

Finally! A truly beautiful day.  The thermometer in my car read 84 degrees ('way above average for this time of year) as I headed home from the tax filer's office. Having completed that odious chore for another year, I gave myself the gift of a couple of hours to get outside and walk some @CharityMiles for Nothing But Nets, a charity that provides bed nets to people living in Africa to protect against malaria-carrying mosquitos.  I braced my knee which seems to be keeping it aligned (as opposed to the crazy popping that's been happening a bit) and headed out and over the highway to the lake.  The 84 degrees felt absolutely like I was being wrapped in spring with a gentle breeze swirling all around.

Walk Journals: The Winter Walks

Making Tracks ...

Not so many walks this winter--weather and road conditions have been less than cooperative.  I've lost track of the number of snowstorms we've had but we've used six snowdays at school this year so there's six right there.  We stayed open during a couple snowy days and there was at least one snowy weekend.  I've had to content myself with shoveling for my workouts.  As it turns out, shoveling is counted as an activity in my Weight Watchers app (10 minutes of shoveling equals 1 point) so the hours spent clearing away light fluffy flakes, water-laden slush and shards of ice have counted for something (besides aching muscles).

But ... a few days were above 22 degrees (my bottom threshold for spending a couple hours outside) or were dry enough or had a brilliant sun that lured me out to see what my world had to offer.  

And there was plenty to see and admire and wonder about.  The Rockaway River was spectacular locked in ice in January.  With many consecutive days failing to reach over ten degrees, she had frozen in several places from shore to shore, pushing ice over the banks and encasing everything in her path in a glassy coating.  The January sunsets cast an orange and pink glow in the winter sky that failed to warm despite the flushed hues.  But they do bear the promise of warmer times to come.  These days before the huge snows were such a gift.  The paths in the parks were still passable and sidewalks were clear.



 There were a couple of nice days that allowed for walking across the highway to Indian Lake. 

It's always been amazing to me how the days really do grow longer after December 21.  I mean, I know they do but in the depths of winter, it sometimes feels like it's never going to get light again.  But every minute of light counts and the slightly longer daylit days of January also speak of the promise of spring--and allow for longer walks making visiting the lake a real possibility.  Once upon a time, there was a New Year's Day skating party on this lake (we lived a block from the little beach at the time).  The lake was frozen clear across and the day was brilliant.  I remember we skated limbo-fashion under this bridge, the entrance to Lenape Island, a tiny miniature island with maybe a dozen homes where I'd dearly love to live.  We skated for hours and hours that day.  It's one of my fondest memories of our little cottage by the lake.

Where the water from Indian Lake spills over a little dam into a lagoon, the water wasn't frozen.  These swans were captivating.  This is the first time I've seen swans in the dead of winter.  We have several different pairs that stop by in October for a few weeks on their route to their winter homes in the south and then return for a few weeks, usually in March, on their way north again.  Perhaps I've never been in the right place or maybe this is the first time a few stuck around for a New Jersey winter.

This sign has been on Franklin Road near the little beach bridge for quite a while now.  Whatever road work the town has been doing here seems to be stalled and I can't help but thinking that is a metaphor for this winter.  With all the snow and ice, there've been no end to the bumps and slow going.  Or maybe it's a metaphor for those rough, icy patches in life.  Some of the winter walks have been like that ... 

Slip sliding ...

and it's all night.*

We all have our bumps in the road and icy patches that cause us to slip and slide.  This is why I love these walks so much:  they often cause me to reflect on the evident connections that are to be made between the walking and the living, between the sights I see and the memories they trigger, between the ups and downs, the rough and the smooth going--it's obvious, I know, but that whole "journey" idea has been bubbling close to the surface the last year or two.

Before the snow got too deep, walks to the pond were possible too.  Lately, even the sidewalks that far up the road have been impassable but a few weeks ago, if I set out early enough I could make it up that far before sunset.  The pond seems so plain in this state ... no sturdy lily pads, no waving grasses, no ducks, geese, dragonflies or frogs jumping out of the danger of my footfalls.  But there is a sort of forlorn beauty in the starkness of the bare trees, the dark reflections and the encroaching ice.  

I keep thinking I need some new places to walk.  I've walked these roads and paths so often, photographed the river, the lake, the pond from almost every angle and in all types of light.  But the truth is, I love these places and visiting them in every season, in all types of weather, on sunny days and dreary ones--it all recharges me.  They're my places and are important parts of that more recent journey of the past couple of years.  I will find some new places to walk but these local spots--they'll always be my favorites.

~~~

*if you've read these pages before, you'd have guessed this is a Gavin DeGraw lyric and you'd be right:  Leading Man

Winter playlist, eclectic sampling:

Hot Chelle Rae - Don't Say Goodnight
Pharrell Williams - Happy (or if you have 24 hours to spare ... 24 hours of Happy,) 
Joey DeGraw - Miracle of the Mind

Walk Journal ~ November 25 Ramblings

Finally outside again and so glad! The sunset was spectacular.

Hello; my name is Katherine and it's been two weeks since my last walk.  

Two weeks.  That's the longest time between walks or workouts that I've experienced since getting back on the road to healthy.  Part of  becoming fit was the realization that as much as I'd like to, I'm not able to actually do everything I want to do.  There are simply not enough hours in the day or days in the week.  So when I started making better choices for myself in the food and exercise departments, I also started making better decisions for my after-work schedule.  I've tried hard not to overbook myself so that there is plenty of time to shop, prep dinners and lunches and walk, either outside or inside (with Leslie).  But I lost control of the calendar last week and the previous one as well and wound up having 8 evening obligations in 11 days.  Add in several long days into evenings at work and my life quickly became a flashback to drive-through dinners, sleepless nights with no decompressing time and no time to work out.

Despite the cold, it was a relief to get out.  I did my usual dusk/dark route--one with sidewalks and streetlights.  But it was still pretty light when I started out and made my way down to the river.  Knowing it would be dark by the time I reached my usual picture place at McCarter Park, I paused at the river's edge at the park several blocks from my house.  The empty, still swings said as much about the cold as the thermometer.  So did the ice on the very shallow water.  I'm grateful for the shallowness, though, as the 2 - 4 inches of rain predicted for this week could really do a lot of damage otherwise.

A couple of hundred feet more and I'm saddened to see yet another house is gone.  So strange to see these empty lots.  There is really nothing that says a home was once there except for the emergency fencing and a small bit of rubble.  It's almost as though a giant crane dipped out of the sky and plucked them up.  It's only about a dozen houses that will ultimately be razed in the wake of 2011's Irene.  A small number compared to the houses that were lost elsewhere in New Jersey last year during Sandy and the whole towns that were destroyed this month in the Philippines.  I can't help but think of how powerless people are in the face of these natural disasters and how strong the communities are that overcome them.  My mind wanders back to the days just after the hurricane (or tropical storm) and how amazing this town, my friends, colleagues and neighbors, and my family were in the days and weeks after it.

No time to look back though.  Knee is feeling not awful so I try running a little--emphasis on "a little."  But it's more running than I've done in months and shortly I'm enjoying a gorgeous sunset at the pond.  The purple aura of the setting sun isn't as vivid in this picture as it was while I paused to admire it.  It was pretty dramatic.  I headed off to the back of the park as the light quickly began to fade but then thought better of completing the circle around the pond.  The other side is wooded with rocky, rutted paths, hostile roots and wicked stray branches.  And I know the bears aren't all asleep yet--we've had a lot of evidence of their bulking up at school lately and had to order more "bear-proofing" on our dumpsters.  Probably not a good idea to wander alone in the dark in the woods.  The Girl Scout leader in me prevails.

It's about two miles to the pond from my house and another mile and a quarter to get back downtown.  No running on the way back.  It's weird but when I run I look ahead, watching for each little milestone and enduring the dialog in my head (go as far as the orphanage, run to the church, you can make it to the spring ....).  But on the darkened streets and sidewalks, I'm mostly looking down, trying not to trip on broken concrete or miss a curb.  The last thing I need to do is fall.

Turning onto Broadway, I walk along the river to the bridge and then turn for home.  The snowflakes are up on light poles and glitter and glow so warmly and our homespun candy canes line the sidewalks of the retail district.  This is such a special time of year in this town and this weekend coming up will be a lot of fun with a downtown open house and holiday parade.  These local traditions make living here such a sweet experience--they create a certain rhythm of promise and comfort and spell "home" to me.  

Oddly, as I took this last picture, my trusty walking companion (known as iPhone) powered down for no good reason that I could tell.  Forced to walk the last half mile without music, my thoughts seemed to grow louder in the silence.  Of course, there's always music in downtown Denville.  There are speakers all throughout downtown and by this weekend, there will be Christmas music all day, every day.  Tonight there are familiar old standards.  I don't know of any other town that does this (although I'm sure there must be some).  You just have to smile when you're here.  There's music in the air plus coffee on three corners.  And much, much more.   

So good to get back out.  I hereby promise myself not to sabotage my schedule, whether by accident or by my inability to say no.  Three nights out of five is the limit.  I can't afford for it not to be.

~~~

Soundtrack for a Monday night--members of Team Katherine, those who helped me so much last year.  Perfect for getting back on track.

Colbie Caillat's new single, Hold On
Andy Grammer's EP, Crazy Beautiful.  
Chris Wallace's record, Push Rewind.  Listen to Keep Me Crazy--fun song.
Tyler Hilton's record, Forget the Storm.  Loaded Gun: best running song.

Team Captain Gavin DeGraw was not on this walk (iPhone #fail) but his new album, Make A Move is in my head almost all the time.  

3.88 Charity Miles for Nothing But Nets.  Malaria still robs a child of his or her life every minute.

Walk Journal ~ October 22 & 23

Yesterday's blue skies were a clear invitation to get out.  Just before the 2-mile mark, I posted the day's walk photo on Facebook, saying something like "The lake is drained ... I'm sure that's a metaphor for something."  It's probably more accurate to say the lake is lowered.  It's lowered every few years to give homeowners the opportunity to fix their lakewalls and docks.  It's had me thinking about being drained though.  

Drained is often how I felt all the years I spent being unhealthy.  It started before divorce during the lonely married years and continued afterwards.  I don't know how women cope after divorce if they have no family or no family nearby.  Raising kids alone isn't easy.  Making every decision, not having a ready sounding board, second guessing actions you've taken--it's all draining.  I was so fortunate to have my parents to help me.  But there were days I'd get home from work and running young kids to and from activities and stand in the kitchen completely unable to figure out what to make for dinner.  Although it should have been a simple one, it was just one decision too many.

I'd walked from the lake over to the river.  It, too, is looking drained.  I can't think when we last had a good rain.  I can't remember the river ever being this low.  I walked to the center on the dry, rocky riverbed to take a couple of pictures.  It was a strange feeling to be in that spot.  I've want to get into the river for over a year.  I always say I'm going to do it on August 28.  I supposed I should be happy that the river is so low heading into winter and snow season.  It will greatly reduce the chance of flooding during spring rains and runoffs.  If you've visited this space previously, you'll remember that this river, now my friend and confidant, invaded my home on August 28, 2011, overflowing her banks because of Tropical Storm Irene.  Losing so much in a few short hours, the subsequent cleaning, demolition, renovation and refurnishing was a draining process.  Come to think of it, the drains on the lower level of the house flowed in reverse that day due to pressure on the sewer system.  Drains.

It was such a pretty day and I'd started out early so was able to visit the pond too.  We must have hit peak leaf season this week.  There are still leaves above, clinging to their branches but lots of leaves are below too, providing a soft, mottled carpet for guests.  I'd left under brilliant blue skies but when I emerged from the woods, it was dusk.  I walked the rest of the way home under lamplight.  It was a 7-mile day.

A mailbox is all that's left of this address.

Today's skies are less clear and the temperature has dropped substantially but I talk myself into a quick hour of my walking workout.  Today I choose Riverside Drive to lead me out of the neighborhood.  They've begun taking down the houses.  Houses that were devastated during Irene--much more so than was mine.   It's sad to see them go.  I'm struck by how small the parcels of land appear now without their homes centered in them.  There are more slated to come down.  It seems to be taking a long time but I suppose, like all things involving government, buying unwanted properties takes some time.  I find myself wondering about these families again.  Where have they gone?  Have they made out all right?  There are no plans to replaces these houses.  These places will become catch basins, rain gardens and other man-made "natural" drainage aids. They're designed to drain the excess water away or absorb it, I suppose.  This is supposed to help the rest of us when the river is knocking at our doorsteps.  Irene wasn't the first time the river had flowed into my house.  It was just the deepest visit.  So better drainage around the neighborhood should help.  That's the theory.  Draining can be helpful, I suppose.

I'd intended to only walk around downtown but the drizzle had stopped so I headed off toward the pond again.  It's such a peaceful place.  The geese are here almost year 'round now.  A lot of people don't like them but I think they're beautiful.  They're very clannish and look after one another so well.  In the spring the young families are really something to watch.  The parent geese are so patient with their offspring, waiting for them to catch up and nudging them into the water.  I circle quickly around and head for home.  It's a 4-mile day today.

It's good to be back on track.  The last month of excuses and inattention to healthy habits was draining.  Making good food choices and journaling, planning ahead for healthy meals and exercise:  It's a lot of work--but it's far less draining.

~~~

Playlist for these walks:

Todd Carey Nintendo

and my lifeline:  Gavin DeGraw.  The new album may be some of his best work.  Here's one:  Finest Hour

95.5 WPLJ streaming John Fox and Ralphie Aversa

Walk Journals ~ Mid October

It's been an astoundingly beautiful autumn week on the East Coast.  Clear and warm, nearly cloudless skies and barely a breeze.  Perfect weather for walking!  

On this particular day I head west but take a minute to veer off into the park just before I hit the one mile mark.  A boy is fishing with his grandfather although the river is so low, I can't imagine there are any fish near the river's edge where he's dangling his line.  Climbing down the bank, I find myself standing on the rocky riverbed, usually a foot or two under water.  It's a different perspective and feels odd knowing the water would ordinarily be over my knees here.  It's almost like a beach and I think I'd like to return with a book and a chair and just relax in this quiet, hidden place that not very many people take the time to notice.  I almost never venture into this part of the park although it's very pretty here.  It's not on the way to anywhere ... and I guess that's a kind of metaphor ... mostly we stay on a path to somewhere.  But sometimes it's good to just pause for a moment in a spot that isn't anywhere in particular--a spot where we can just acknowledge knowing that it's there, there to be enjoyed and appreciated.

But the point of these walks is to keep going and to keep a pretty fast pace at that.  So I get back on the road and head over to Cedar Lake.  I've started out early enough on this day and there's still plenty of sunlight and the sky is a brilliant blue.  The leaves have not yet reached their peak although there are plenty that have already fallen, crunching beneath my feet.  Cedar Lake is a natural lake whereas the other lake, Indian Lake, where I also put in a lot of miles is man-made.  You can't tell this difference unless Indian Lake has been lowered which it is at this time.  Lowered purposely so that homeowners can repair their lakewalls and docks.  The lowered lake reveals well rotted tree stumps that were cleared when the lake was created for the enjoyment and recreation of the City folks who summered "out in the country" once upon a time.  The vivid red maple reflected in the glass-like waters of Cedar Lake really held my attention as I walked alongside the small sandy beach on this day.

Emerging from the Cedar Lake community I turn south on the road toward town again but as almost always, head into the nature reserve to spend a few quiet minutes in the woods.  The setting sun is always brilliant back here where the pond flows into a natural wetland.  Back in the spring, I'd seen a beaver swimming toward me in the water.  I've looked for him almost every day that I've walked here since, but he's not surfaced again for me and it's possible he was just passing through; another creature on his way to somewhere else.  But there are red-wing blackbirds, turtles and frogs, dragonflies galore, and my heron spent a lot of time back here in the summer.  The swans haven't returned yet so I know that there is plenty of warm weather to be savored in the weeks ahead.  They'll be back for a week or two just ahead of the cold on their way south.  We must be the halfway point on their journey south.  There are paths in the woods back here that very few people know about.  I'm always alone while I make my way on footbridges and pick my way between roots and rocky outcroppings.  It's still so green ... with sage-colored ferns and chartreuse mossy places that seem to invite you to sit quietly for a while.  That's when I turn off the walking apps to rest and enjoy the stillness for five or ten minutes.

The edges of the pond were decorated with water lilies all summer long.  They were the run-of-the-mill native species with smallish white flowers but were lovely nonetheless and provided resting places for dragonflies and frogs. My living Monet ... that's how I've always thought of this watery landscape.  They've disappeared now for the season. Without the quilt of lily leaves, I'm able to notice the less showy yet delicate spikes of wetland grasses that border the shore of the pond and provide a frame for the ever-changing reflection.  The rosy brick walls of the middle school across the street from the park always have a softer glow in the water than the hard angles and jutting wings of the building actually reveal once you reach street level again.

And it's at street level that I find myself once again with nearly four miles behind me at this point.  The light is getting dimmer and the rush-hour traffic heavier as I make my way into town.  My troublesome knee is feeling fantastic on this day and I'm actually picking up speed with each succeeding mile so I head over to McCarter Park to visit with the river some more.  This is my favorite place, maybe in the world.  My thinking place ... although I'm generally thinking my way through all these miles.

To finish off this day's workout before heading for home, I do a loop of downtown, down Bloomfield Avenue and then up Broadway.  I resist window shopping so as not to slow my good time down.  I never bring any cash on these walks, thank goodness, otherwise I'd be tempted to duck into that new beignet shop which I've been dying to try or into Sweet Expressions for a couple chocolate covered strawberries.   The drama of the final streaks of setting sun make the point at Broadway and Bloomfield is enough of a treat.

One last pass up Broadway to the point at Bloomfield from the opposite direction.  An almost-full moon is rising in the twilight sky.  It's been nearly two hours.  I'm still well off the times I was posting during the spring and summer.  There's still no running.  I've tried.  But I can tell it would be completely foolish to allow that much pressure just now.  I'm content to be out here, moving at the speed I'm able.  Being forced to slow down is not such a bad thing.  How else could I have seen the cenotaph pointing to the moon with the silvery showers of the tulip fountain shining in the foreground.  It's a painting.  It's a poem.

~~~

Playlist for Tuesday, October 15:

It's release day.  At 12 AM this morning I was downloading the new Gavin DeGraw record, Make A Move, along with 75 or so of my twitter friends.  We've been listening all day in between our working hours and other chores of the day.  But I've had this luxurious 2-hour walk--enough time to hear the music nearly four times through.  

Charity Miles for this walk:  Walking for the Wounded Warrior Project at least through Veteran's Day.  A 7-mile day (Map My Walk)

 

Walk Journals ~ October 3

The seventh season begins.

It feels as though a new path is beginning.  It's the seventh season of walking.  According to my Map My Walk app, I've walked 1,375.74 in total.  Really?  Excuse me for a second; I'm taking a minute to marvel at myself.  And actually, that doesn't count the times the app malfunctioned and didn't add my miles.  Since April 2012 there's been 3 pairs of sneakers, several sizes of t-shirts and other workout wear, 4 sets of earbuds and 2 iPhone apps to help me stay motivated.

Lately, it's been a huge struggle.  First there was maybe some (self-diagnosed) sciatica and now there is some serious knee pain.  And maybe it was all tied up in my knee from the beginning.  I'm sure I should be seeing someone with an actual medical background and getting some professional diagnoses.  But I'm really afraid and reverting to doing what I used to be so good at:  avoidance behavior.  Because, if I don't find out what's really going on or wrong here, maybe it will just go away.

And there's the intellectual struggle:  I know I need to find out what's up.  For my own good and to get back on track.  So that I can get back to 7-10 miles a day as opposed to 3-5 miles once or twice a week which is all I've managed in the last month or so.  But there might be some down time when I find out ... physical therapy (which I don't have much faith in, based on absolutely no first-hand experience), scary injections or something more involved.  I've never so much as broken a bone; being "laid up" would be a totally foreign experience.  So I keep putting off calling the doctor, any doctor.

These walks have meant so much to me.  They helped me regain my health in so many ways  Physically, I'm more fit than I ever dreamed I'd ever be again and although I'm not as flexible or sculpted as when I taught aerobics (many, many moons ago), I feel great.  At least until my knee gave out, I did.  Mentally, I think I have more control of my emotions, almost never have "down" days and see most of life through a pretty positive lens now.  

I've seen bits and pieces of my town up close and have discovered a lot about what a special place it is.  The tiny lakes (there are at least five of them) and the river, the ponds and wooded trails, the spring and the old canal ... they provide an ever changing backdrop that help me think, that cause me to wonder at their natural beauty and help quiet my busy mind so I can organize my thoughts.  

I've listened to hours and hours, probably days and days, of music.  I've developed a new taste for pop music that really feeds me and fills a place that was empty for a lot of years. The walking coupled with the music (and particularly the music of Gavin DeGraw, who coincidentally dropped into my life around the same time as the walking) probably saved my life.  

My last walk was on Thursday.  It was the first time in over a week that I left work in daylight and my knee felt pretty good so I  hit the road and put in 4.5 pretty slow miles, up to the pond, around the back of the park, over the wood bridge where two folks were fishing and back into town to visit with my river.  By the time I reached home again, it was pretty apparent that I'd gone a couple miles too many.  And I paid on Friday with a lovely limp and swelling that lasted through Sunday.  Stairs were a challenge all weekend long.

Late afternoon light on an early fall afternoon.

I miss it.  I miss being out there on a daily basis, sometimes even twice a day.  I miss the energy that came from being in sunlight--whether a lot or barely a glimmer--for a couple of hours a day.   I miss how I could hop out of bed in the morning.  Lately, I've gone back to dragging myself to wakefulness.  I miss being strong enough to resist my boss's bottomless bowl of chocolate.  I'm self-medicating with chocolate several times a day these last couple of weeks.  I miss being able to say "I never have fries" with that.  I got dinner from that cute little Wendy girl tonight.  Walking increased my strength in every area of my life.  And while I have plenty of resolve first thing in the morning, it rarely lasts beyond mid-morning.

The master of excuses has resurfaced and inhabits my frame and my brain once again.  Too many deadlines by day, too many evening commitments by night.  Weekends filled with events of my own choosing (some for fun, some for community service--which is also my fun, truth to be told).  Every day crammed with "things to do" and no time left over for calling doctors, shopping for  healthy food, finding alternate ways to burn calories while figuring out the knee ailment.  

There.  I know what to do.  I just have to get out and do it. 

My river with tinges of autumn beginning.

~~

Walking "apps" I love:

Map My Walk:  Measures distance, time, pace, split time, calories burned, announces your progress at each mile, can be paused, allows you to team up with friends, save routes, gives you weekly and monthly reports.

Charity Miles:  Measures distance, time and pace, can be paused.  Unique in that miles are sponsored by generous corporate and private donors.  Before walking, choose a charity from their list and watch how your miles add up.  $.25 for each mile walked goes to the charity you've chosen.  Walk for a different worthy cause each time or stick with one and support it every time.  You're walking anyway--why not walk for good?

Playlist for a Thursday afternoon:

WPLJ 95.5 radio and ...

New music from Gavin DeGraw from the album due out next week (October 15 ... Make A Move):

Best I Ever Had

Who's Gonna Save Us (video from a performance I was at, taken by my friend; my view of the stage that night)

Walk Journals ~ September 17 (Contrasts)

Back in May when I was writing one of my concert diaries I referred to myself this way: "I am my own study in contrasts."  It's pretty true.  

After 11 hours in the office, I couldn't wait to get out and walk tonight.  I was anxious to move after so many hours sitting and I had a lot of energy because that's what happens when you're particularly productive--at least that what happens to me.  Productivity breeds energy.  But I didn't have a lot of time tonight because I had a date with my television so I tried to make the most of the time I had by picking up the pace a lot.  Having walked only sporadically these last couple of weeks since the pain started, I was finally feeling really well and was able to get to 15 minute miles.  I think I'll be back to a decent pace really soon.

Fueling my walk tonight is Pat Monahan of the band Train and a couple of his podcasts in which he interviews music friends he's made over the years.  I listened to him talk with the Secret Sisters whom I've been wanting to get to know for a while and Brandi Carlisle was in on that conversation too.  Interesting and talented ladies.  One of the best parts of Pat's Patcasts (that's what he's called his podcasts) is that he sings along with his guests on one of their songs.  And it's the whole song, not just a bit of a song.  The Secret Singers decide to sing Black and Blue. Lydia and Laura Rogers have that uniquely southern sound that I tend to love a lot and the tightness of their harmony makes me jealous.  I wish I could do that.

At the 2-mile mark I start up another Patcast, this time with Butch Walker, the singer, songwriter, producer who's worked with so many amazing artists (including one I happen to like a lot).  It's a really long interview and they cover a lot of territory.  I have Butch's autobiography too and have read a bit of it. Now that the summer is over and I'm back to longer days at work, it's harder to commit to a book but I will finish it; he's fascinating and I'm learning a lot about the music business. Butch is a wonderful storyteller and has had a lot of experiences that make for great stories.  I'm enjoying hearing about his start in music during the "hair-metal" days.

Pat is a wonderful interviewer.  These sessions are actually less like interviews and more like being "a fly on the wall" during personal conversations between old friends.  Butch sings a new song and it's simply beautiful.  Let It Go Where It's Supposed To:  Let it go where it's supposed to.  Let your life hang out the window to dry.  And if it catches the wind and you never see it again, Then I guess it probably was time. Did I mention he's a heck of a guitar player and such a good singer? 

As always, while I'm walking, while I'm rambling, I'm looking for the picture that tells the story of that day's walk.  Most often it has to do with light on the river or lake or bits of nature that catch my attention.  Sometimes it's something downtown that I find amusing or has struck me for some other reason.  Not having an enormous amount of time tonight and with light fading fast, I decide to walk to the pond and back, about 4 miles, 4.5 if I walk around the pond.  There is a sidewalk most of the way on this route so it's relatively safe when the sun goes down.  I have to pass the Diamond Spring before I get to the pond.  The sky over the spring is striated with pink and grey and pale blue.  The almost full moon is shining like diamond, low on the horizon.  Evening light.  Gracious light.  Phos Hilaron.  

O gracious light, 

pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven, 

O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed! 

Now as we come to the setting of the sun, 

and our eyes behold the vesper light, 

we sing your praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 

You are worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices, 

O Son of God, O Giver of Life, 

and to be glorified through all the worlds. 

It's from Evening Prayer in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer.  I've loved this poetry my whole adult life.  My son sang with my church's very traditionally Anglican Choir of Men and boys when he was young and on Tuesdays, after the boys had rehearsed they would sing Evensong for whomever was around at 5:30.  Evening Prayer is an ancient office of the Church and Evensong is it's sung version.  It's quiet and quite perfect.  We don't do Tuesday Evensong anymore at church.  There aren't enough children in the choir right now ... but I miss it and, sometimes, that time in my life.

I choose the moon over the Diamond Spring as my picture tonight and send it off to Facebook with a verse from Phos Hilaron.  And just like that, I return to the Patcast.  That's how I ramble ... from Butch Walker to ancient texts and back again.  My own study in contrasts ...

Walk Journals ~ September 6 (True Confessions)

Confession Number 1:  When I stepped off the porch for my keep fit walk tonight my mouth was full of maple walnut fudge that I bought at the beach yesterday.

Struggling these days--struggling a lot.  I'm on a slippery slope and no one knows it better than me.  So many set backs ... emotional stuff in mid-summer, vacation eating mode all summer, little or no food journaling. Excuses, excuses, excuses.  Then the sciatic issue that started last week.  Okay, so pain is a valid excuse.  For not working out--not for over-eating.  I've eased up a bit on myself since I'm in a decent place weight-wise.  The health crises and urgency of last year are gone and so, it seems, is part of the motivation.  But I'm not in the place I want to be and I'm wondering why I could get up at 4:30 AM this time last year and why 6 AM is now a struggle; why I could get two walks in a day this time last year and one a day is now a struggle; why I journaled every bite this time last year (and weighed and measured them too) and making good choices is now a struggle.  I have no answers.

I love this picture from tonight.  I'm surprised that little box measured a pedestrian at all.  Especially a pedestrian who was so  ... well, pedestrian.  I wish my "speed" was "7."  7 miles an hour?  I did get slightly above 4 mph for a while earlier this year.  I think I was doing 4 miles in about 52 minutes.  

I dragged myself over to Cedar Lake in the fading light tonight.  It was chilly and people over there had either chimmineas going or their fire places were already getting a workout.  I love a twilight walk ... it's so relaxing at the end of the day.  With the sciatic pain (not as bad this week as last week), I've been forced to slow down.  Not so good for the workout, but really good for the soul.  Listening to music and letting my thoughts wander all over the place (more rambling) is a good way to ultimately get myself organized.       

Tonight I'm thinking about both yesterday at the beach and the wild ride that was my day at work.  It's amazing that how in the space of less than 48 hours one can be gloriously relaxed and completely reveling in being "alone in a crowd" and then so completely crazed that it's ultimately impossible to move in any productive direction.   Yesterday I sat in a beach chair from noon until about 6 PM, moving off the beach only to indulge in my favorite new shore food for lunch:  fish tacos.  I half-napped while waves of conversations floated around me.  Have you ever noticed that on the beach?  You're outside with loads of people around and waves crashing and gulls making a racket but if you close your eyes, conversations tune themselves in like stations on a radio.  Then your stream of consciousness takes hold ... I wonder, for example, what led the young woman on my right, snuggling close to a young man, to mention that "eyeballs are mostly composed of some sort of gel."  She needs a lesson in romantic chat, I think to myself.  

Then behind me the inevitable:

Big kid:  You can't use my shovel.

Little kid:  You're not using it.

BK:  Mom! Tell him he can't use my shovel.

Mom:  You're not using it.

You can see where that's headed and there's really no way for anyone to come out a winner.  And I wondered why they decided to sit so close to me when the beach wasn't really crowded.  I've done my time with kids on the beach.

I decided to trespass on the right of way on the east side of the lake.  These lake communities are private properties for residents only.  Denville has several of them.  Tiny ponds and pools of water that folks in New Jersey refer to as lakes that anywhere else might not even be worthy of a name.  But they're delightful and I've become accustomed to these small lakes and take advantage of the pretty views as often as I can.  Tonight I'm inspired by this still life of a fishing rod and bits of tackle on the bench next to the shore line of a tiny "inlet."  If I was a teacher, it would be next week's writing prompt for my class.  There wasn't a soul in sight.  Who left it behind?  Was it a child, called home to dinner?  An absent-minded older fellow?  Will he or she be back to retrieve it?  Must I walk this way tomorrow to find out?  Do I care that much?  ... probably not ...

Since it's Friday, I try not to dwell on work too much but it's impossible to ignore the fact that it's been the most unsettling school opening for me in the 13 school openings I've had.  Everything is going really well but new layers (and layers and layers) of security are tough to get used to and create more work for the office; the school bus company that won the bid this year is unresponsive to our transportation person; people have resigned, all for very good reasons but it's remarkable that we've lost so many in such a short period of time.  I'm happy for all who've moved on to bigger and better things but geez ... at the end of the summer/start of the year?  I wanted to try and find my desk before I left today but the fire alarm went off.  Only the after-care program and a couple of administrators and I were around ... Teachers:  do not bring your old toaster ovens to the teachers' room.  Do us all a favor and get new ones for your space at school.  It was a wacky week for a first week back with holidays on both Monday and Thursday.  Next week ... hoping for normal.

Rambling on and trying to pick up speed as I've unwittingly dressed all in black and the shadows are closing in quickly.  I'm going to need to get out of these neighborhood roads and back onto the main road with the safety of sidewalks.  Obviously though, no one's told these guys that is not safe to play in the street.  Just up from the beach, these two are not the least bit concerned about the cars that can't get past them from two directions at the intersection where three roads come together.  Or they are just enjoying the fact that I'm taking lots of pictures.  Finally I shoo them along so the car-bound folks can continue on their way.  I'd have stood there all night watching them watch me ... but folks in cars always seem to be in a hurry ... and ultimately, it's just another excuse for not moving.

I'm going to have to find my way back to that resolve I had last fall and get serious again.  I'm hoping this nerve business moves along quickly because it's easy to make excuses for less exercise--that slippery slope that leads to other poor decisions.  I'm in a pretty good place right now but I know how all that can change.  I really can't let that happen ... I gave away all the large-size (make that extra-extra large) clothes.

Tonight:  5 miles.  Not bad.  Not great but I'll take it.  I'll ramble more tomorrow.

Confession Number 2:  I'm drinking a glass of wine and enjoying a chocolate chip muffin as I write.

~

Playlist for a Friday night:

WPLJ with my favorite radio guy Ralphie Aversa.  Until he cues up Imagine Dragons' Radioactive ... can't for the life of me figure out why that song is successsful ...

and so ... I turn up Gavin DeGraw, Sweeter Live.