going "off track"



   The book club selection for my book club was chosen this month by me. Two years ago I read this book. This past weekend, I read it again. I cried then and I cried now but for different reasons. 
So often at book club we read out loud passages from the book that stood out for us.

Book Club selection 

This book for me is full of them but Chapter 54 in it's entirety is the reason I picked this book.

Chapter 54"The Art of Racing in the Rain" by Garth Stein
"A driver must have faith. In his talent, his judgement, the judgement of those around him, physics. A driver must have faith in his crew, his car, his tires, his brakes, himself.
The apex sets up wrong. He is forced off his usual line. He carries too much speed. His tires have lost grip. The track has gotten greasy. And he suddenly finds himself at turn exit with no more track and too much speed. As the gravel trap rushes at him, the driver must make decisions that will impact his race, his future. To tuck in would be devastating: wrenching the front wheels against their nature will only spin the car.To lift is equally bad,taking grip away from the rear of the car. What is to be done? The driver must accept his fate. He must accept the fact that mistakes have been made. Misjudgements. Poor decisions. A confluence of circumstances has landed him in this position. A driver must accept it all and be willing to pay the price for it. He must go off-track.
To dump two wheels. Even four. It's an awful feeling, both as a driver and as a competitor. The gravel that kicks up against the undercarriage. The feeling of swimming in muck. While his wheels are off the track, other drivers are passing him. They are taking his spot, continuing at speed. Only he is slowing down.
At this moment, a driver feels a tremendous crisis. He must get back on the gas. He must get back on the track.
Oh! The folly
Consider the drivers who have been taken out of races by snapping their steering wheels, by over correcting to extremes and spinning their cars in front of their competitors. A terrible position to find oneself in-
A winner, a champion, will accept his fate. He will continue with his wheels in the dirt. He will do his best to maintain his line and gradually get himself back on the track when it is safe to do so. Yes, he loses a few places in the race. He is still alive.
The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash."

And then there is this:
My brother Steve has been part of the "sled dog world" for a lifetime. He was the biggest mentor and supporter for Mike when he started training and racing at age14. Steve spent hours talking to Mike about dogs, supplies, feed, training schedules, vet care and race stradegy. He spent hours training with Mike, showing him how to harness and hook-up. How to correctly ride the sled, balance his weight and take a fall. Mike listened and he learned. My brother Steve is a very non-assuming and humble guy. He maintains composure and can ride the hard-line. He taught Mike that sometimes you gotta go "off-track". Mike learned the lesson well. When sled-dogs are harnessed and ready to run, they are so loud and so excited it is not an understatement to say you can't be heard over the noise. The speed with which they start out is amazing and all mushers will tell you, they don't want a turn "with no track and too much speed".

 One memorable training run came when Steve was at our house and wanted to run two teams out of his truck. Mike was to take Team 1 and Steve would follow with team 2. Steve's dogs are competitors and winners, that translates to very fast. They hooked up in the yard and in about 500 feet had to take a sharp turn to the right. Mike had 8 screaming, excited dogs when he pulled his line. At the turn Mike kicked the sled out to avoid hitting the power-pole and in doing so the sled and Mike went over on their side. Steve and I stood at the end of the driveway and watched as 8 screaming dogs never looked back. I remember feeling so horrified as Mike dragged behind the sled but I most remember Steve standing next to me saying under his breath, "hang on, you got this". Mike dragged a quarter mile and never let go. He went "off-track", "he accepted that a confluence of circumstances had landed him in this position, he accepted it and paid the price." Mike timed his move and in the blink of an eye, he popped the sled back on it's tracks, he was down...and then he was up. Steve said "that's the way it's done", he pulled his own rope and sailed off down the road behind Mike.

This is what I know:
Chapter 54 is a metaphor for strength. It is a metaphor for grief. Going "off-track" is to enter the unknown. In one split second of losing someone you love, you dump all "four wheels". At that moment you are in "the dirt", you must do your best to maintain your line and get back on track when it is safe to do so. Don't tuck, don't wrench, don't lift. You are at a turn exit with no more track and too much speed. Accept that this is where you are and be willing to pay the price.

For the past five years I have been "off-track". I was crawling through a rock. That is literally what it felt like. It was that dark, it was that dense. I had lost all light. In early December while driving into town, something happened that I have read about but never felt. Something inside me literally broke open. I was flooded with a feeling of hope, a feeling of peace. I had kicked the sled upright and was standing on the runners again. Everyday for five years I could hear Mike saying "hold on, you've got this" but on that day I could hear Mike say as he turned to walk away, "that's the way it's done".
"The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash."


till next time

Hitting the road

Retail Therapy...Tossed and Found Style

This week I used the excuse that the "Bug Car" needed service and I hit the road. Here's the thing about managing your own time without punching a time clock. There is still a feeling of "I should be doing something else" whenever you want to roam. I loaded up early for my 9am appointment, I had a 2 hour drive ahead.  By 9:30 I was done and the day lay stretched out ahead of me. The weather was late April in January, I had my "hit the road CD" playing, a feeling of Ferris Bueller day off.
One of my favorite areas of this state is the North Central Lakes area. I spent alot of time here as a child, I live here as an adult. You can easily find the road less traveled. I made a large circle that afternoon. I stopped when I felt like it, drove past places that mean the world to me, sang along to the radio and spent time talking about nothing with perfect strangers. The photo above is an idea I copied from my sister. Whenever she shops at Tossed and Found she photographs her finds. This little thrift store is among the best I have ever seen. On this day it did not disappoint. After checking in on the Lake place, I continued on and finished the day in McGregor.If you have never been to this town, put it on your list. This small town has become a favorite of mine over the past 12 years or so. It is a small town filled with hardworking people. It boasts friendliness mixed with unexpected big city finds. The McGregor Baking Company is located here, the pastries, sandwiches and soups are not rivaled anywhere as far as taste and presentation. There is one of the best Dairy Queens ever in this town. It employs friendly hard-working teenagers that always seem to be giving it their all. Mark's Bar calls McGregor home and for broasted chicken, hamburgers and tap beer you simply can't do better. If fine dining is your thing, the Fireside is a McGregor landmark. Shopping takes many forms but do not miss "The Country House" gift store or "Molly's". These two establishments fall into completely separate categories, both are unique treasures. My last stop is always to see Diane at Timeless Treasures Quilt Shop. Diane is a friend from the quilt shop days. She is loyal, talented and always in your corner. There is no one that hugs like she does.

And then there is this: McGregor has a grocery store that could fit into some of the large chains 3 or 4 times over. What it lacks in size it makes up for in everything else. I have never been there that it wasn't full of shoppers and I have never left without trying something new. Last fall I stopped in there on my way home from"Girl's weekend". I picked up what I needed and headed to the checkout. I pulled out my checkbook and realized I had written my last check somewhere over the past weekend. This small town store does not take cards and because I finished "girls weekend" like you are supposed too, I had very little cash. This lack of payment form played out very fast, there were shoppers behind me and all the tills were staffed by teenagers. When I realized I was short by roughly $2, embarrassment set in. The young teenager bagging my groceries never paused, he took out his wallet and he said "I've got this".

This is what I know: When I was working, high school kids were my day. I can't tell you how I loved that job. I know I learned as much about life from them as they thought they were learning from me. I remember thinking at conference time I should sit in the hall and thank their parents that I got to spend the day with their kids. They were well thought, intelligent, funny and deeply feeling people. Were there times they weren't that? yes...but they were kids, they were supposed to be figuring that out.
My brother is a career police officer. His life has been about dealing with the teenagers that have gone underground. We used to have discussions about the future based on the kids we dealt with daily. He always felt the world was in trouble, I always felt we couldn't go wrong.  I didn't let the grocery bagger pay for my shortfall in hindsight that may have been wrong. He saw an opportunity to step up...and he took it. The world is hard and many teenagers have lost there way but the future is secure. There is a teenager in McGregor that is seeing to it.

Till next time.

Let the story begin

Most of my life my friends and family have told me they like what I write. They say.."write more". So I did. I wrote letters to my Grandmother when my Grandpa died and she got lost in this world. I wrote letters to my Son as he traveled the west chasing dreams. I have written love letters to my husband, my children, my grand-children and my friends. I wrote poetry and short stories. I became confident, the words flowed easily, I simply wrote the words I saw in my head , the words I felt so deeply in my heart. Five years ago everything I thought I knew disappeared. The words in my head went to black, there were days I needed them... bad, but they were gone, I could no longer see them and what I felt was too black and too personal to be written.
When your child dies, the world goes black. People care, they light candles for you everywhere in the hope that you will find your way back. Back.... not to who you were because they are not who they were..but back nonetheless. Mike had a posse...people he may have never known would ride on his behalf. But, ride they have. So much of what I will write is for Mike,  it certainly is for me and I dedicate all of it to the "posse", you know who you are.

And then there is this: I have spent the first four days of the New Year as so many have. Cleaning, sorting and throwing. I am organized to a T, but throwing comes hard. If there is any emotional attachment, family connection or memory associated with an item, I can find a place to put it  back. We live in Mikes house. Everything here is a memory. Everything is an attachment. For five years I have only randomly looked through Mike's papers, his letters, the things he held on to. Even in death, privacy is there. Yesterday, in a box marked "sled dog stuff" I came across Mike's training journal. It is a notebook filled with pages of times, miles, snow conditions and stories. Mike simply loved this sport. He trained, he raced, he read constantly, he fed and watered dogs twice a day for almost 10 years.

This is what I know: Mike threw himself into a sport of competition and never once became competitive. His journal entry dated December 27/1991 ends with him writing an excerpt from a poem written by two women that Mike idolized in the sport. "The trapline twins"
"a feeling of wild joy and gratefulness filled me, more a thought than a whisper. This is just as it should be, the wind, the stars and the dogs and me."
It is where Mike was then and it is where he is now.

till next time.