...is run. Run and run. Like a gazelle, I say! First thing I'm going to do is find my Aunt Sandy, hug her for as long as I can, and catch her up on all the years she's been missed here in this crazy world. And to tell her that we really could have used her right about now. But after I do all of that, I'm going to run.
Maybe I long to run because I can't anymore. Running is the new chicken cheesesteak with mayo, extra onion, and sweet peppers. That thing I can no longer have without severe health consequences that result in me being flat on my back in a hospital bed.
I've been noticing this new thing where my mind tells my feet to do something and they give my mind the toe? It's like "the finger", but come on, feet don't have fingers to give. It happened again tonight. Took my kids to visit my grandmother and had both arms full of clothing for her PT rehab stay. I feel like I should specify it's PT so people don't think she's in "rehab". The receptionist says to me, "you can take the elevator, looks like you have your hands full." Oh no no, I'm much too proud to take the elevator. I can scale the stairs, thank you. MS won't have victory over ME! I get halfway up the stairs, mind says, "step up", foot says, "whut?"...and I trip up the stairs, stumble a bit, and nearly fall backwards. Wondertwin powers activate! Form of...SLINKY! Not. Wouldn't it be cool if that were possible? "Meet you at the bottom, kids! :::boing, boing::: Instead, I think that fall would result in me knocking the wind out of myself and trying to hold up 2 fingers like in that 70s movie "Piranha".
I've been thinking a lot about mobility lately. My grandmother recently lost hers in the snap of a finger. They're not quite sure what happened with her, but she's been struggling for the past month. She was fine, driving her convertible and working...and now immobile. I see her laying in her bed and needing help just to get into a wheelchair. It's something I can't even wrap my mind around. How can you go from working to wheelchair to flat in bed?
Satan tells me that could be me at any moment of any given morning upon waking. Keeps me up at night.
On my drive home from visiting her, I thought about times I spent with her as a little girl. She drove me around in her Corvette with T-tops out. I'd come running out of the house to hop through the window, Dukes of Hazzard style! There was the night she babysat me and let me eat the whole bottle of Flintstone vitamins. I ran all night. She was the most popular bartender in fine dining in the 70s and 80s, working 3 different establishments. If my mom needed me to be cared for, I spent that brief time at the end of the bar, eating every last maraschino cherry and talking with the high class grown ups who stopped by for a drink over lunch. I remember taking on the body language. The slight hunched position, holding my coke in the same way they held their screwdrivers and whiskey sours. I knew to turn my soda glass over when I had my fill. Then I'd hop down and run around. I remember how I'd run and play in her backyard, pretending her rhubarb plants were giant venus fly traps trying to eat me up. I'd run and run, throwing rocks at the windows of the old factory behind her house. It was closed down, relax. But I'd pretend it wasn't, so I'd run. I felt fast...agile...weightless. I think that's what it'll feel like in heaven as I run, sans bizarre plants, property damage, and maraschino cherries. It'll be good. Actually, it'll be perfect:-)
I think it's pretty clear what I need to do, besides pondering how cool it would be to morph into a slinky. I think I need to go read my fave Bible verse, 1 Thes 5:16-18, which says...
16Be joyful always; 17pray continually; 18give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.
The day will come that I run...and not on Dunkin'