this is the one i printed out and took around on tuesday:
Happy birthday Dad!
Today, May 3rd, is Dad’s birthday. We asked what he wanted to do for dinner, and he said “I’m not telling.” So, we’re meeting at Mom and Dad’s house at 6:30, for Dad’s surprise party that only he knows about.
This sums up my Dad; you never know what he’s going to do next.
Dad is the most creative person I’ve ever met. He and Mom met at the University of Illinois, in Art School, when they were both painting majors. Dad taught art at Jefferson Middle School for 12 years, but said after a while it became more like babysitting instead of teaching, so he quit. He’s done various things since then, including working for the phone company, and then starting Ruby Sled Antique Store, which my brother now runs.
But mostly, Dad is about all things creative. I’m sure he was a fabulous art teacher, and I wish I’d been able to sit in on one of his classes. He’s made jewelry, he paints, and he makes prints. Sometimes he’ll take an art class at Lincoln Land, just to have some studio space to work in. Mom recently talked him into joining the
Prairie Art Alliance, so he always has a painting hanging there. But Dad’s always been about the process of creation, not about the selling aspect of things.
It’s not just art pieces that he creates, either; he does everything in a creative way. When we were little, one year after a particularly heavy snowstorm, he helped us build a giant snow…chicken. Dad loves to cook, coming up with strange and unusual flavor combinations. He was in lots of shows at the Springfield Muni and the Theatre Centre, back when it was called The Theater Guild. He was in “George M,” playing the father, and had to learn to tap dance for the part. He mastered it. He was in “Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” the last time they did it there, and I’ve always regretted living far away and missing his performance. There’s a picture of him in the show hanging on my parents’ wall, and you can tell he was a riot. In “The Most Happy Fella” at Muni, he played the goofy comic lead named Herman, and I love to hear the story about how, right before he had to go onstage and sing a song, he slammed his hand into a nail sticking out of a cart. He went on and did the number, full of his usual wit and comic energy, despite his excruciating puncture wound pain and gushing blood.
I convinced Dad to play a part in the movie I made, “Hope’s Happy Birthday.” He gave it his all, despite the fact that part of the time we shot in intensely humid 100-degree heat in Austin, TX. He played a crotchety grandpa, but Dad is anything but crotchety. He’s the most kindhearted, gentle and good-natured, easygoing human I know.
The only time you’d doubt me on this is at a restaurant. Dad, like lots of naturally thin people, loves to eat. I’m sure any wait staff who have encountered him firmly believe in the crotchety thing. Dad takes his time eating, savoring every bite, and inevitably an unsuspecting server will try to take his plate. DON’T TOUCH THAT! Dad will cry. He’s never actually threatened to stab anybody with his butter knife, but they quickly learn to let him eat in peace.
As long as you don’t try to take his food away from him, Dad is kindness personified.
And today is his birthday, so if you see him, please wish him well.
Besides Dad’s birthday, the other big thing in my life right now is completing my first-ever triathlon on Sunday May 1st. I say “first” triathlon, but that doesn’t mean there’ll be another one. The experience was actually not bad, at least thinking about it now. It was a little triathlon, the “Try the Tri” which took place at the Fit Club South. 150 yards of swimming, 5 miles biking, 1.25 mile run. This is nothing compared to other triathlons, which are more like a 600-yard swim, 28 mile bike, 5k run. Or even more, in some triathlons. Last year, after watching a certain MNB compete in one of these grueling events, I vowed I’d never, ever try that.
Never say never. This year, a fellow, let’s just call him…B…casually asked if I’d like to Try the Tri, since it was no big deal. I thought, well, since it’s swimming in the Fit Club pool instead of Lake Michigan…why not?
I trained – swam laps in the pool, and rode my bike, along with running, and felt pretty good about trying the tri. The night before the race, though, I was wide awake at 11:30, worrying about that swim. It was a general, unspecified swimming fear, maybe dating back to flunking swimming lessons when I was seven.
The swim was pretty bad. My problem was over-enthusiasm (I realize now that most of my problems in life are self-induced). I started swimming like a maniac, and by the second lap I was tired. The water, which had been smooth as glass when I practiced, was murky and more choppy than Lake Michigan, or maybe the ocean, with enormous waves created by the other zealous swimmers. I kept swallowing mouthfuls of water, and my goggles filled up.
By the end, I was barely able to drag myself out of the pool. I ran outside to the parking lot to pull on clothes for the bike ride, and it was very cold and windy. I didn’t want to take time to dry off, so I struggled into my long stretchy pants. I’m sure the officials standing around were highly amused by my hopping all around.
The bike ride was OK; at least I wasn’t swimming. On the way out, there was a strong headwind, but I decided I wasn’t going to kill myself, and coasted quite a few times. People passed me, but on the way back to the Fit Club, I managed to pass a few people myself.
Finally, the run. Normally I run from three to seven miles a day, so 1.25 should be nothing. But when I got off the bike, my legs were like jelly. I huffed and puffed and complained my way around the course. There were 95 participants, but by this time were very spread out, so I didn’t encounter many other runners. I passed a couple of women who had swooped past me on their bikes earlier. Ha! I had to stop and tie my shoe, which probably saved me, because even though I was gasping for breath, I didn’t want to stop. Fumbling for the shoestrings gave my legs a needed break.
B. stood at the sidelines, cheering me on, as I started running…he’d finished well before me. And there he was again at another part of the course, shouting “You’re almost there!”
“Easy for you to say,” I snarled. I kept running…and running…surely this was TEN miles, not one and a quarter. But then, finally, THE FINISH LINE! One final burst of energy, and I’d done it.
Whew.
We waited to hear the race results. B. came in ninth overall! He’s fast. He also came in second in his age category, and got a nice certificate that proved it. His age category is chock full of extremely competitive and fast fellows, so this was something.
And then they read off the winners in my age category. Third place, second place, and I was idly speculating how fast these women must have run…and then they announced…FIRST PLACE, GRACE SMITH.
B. kept saying he wished he’d had a camera to take a picture of my face. I was sure there must have been another Grace Smith. I WON???
There weren’t a lot of women in my age category, but B. said that doesn’t matter, the fact is I beat the others. I do have to admit it felt good. I’ve never won a physical competition; participating is a new concept for me.
On one hand, I feel there’s nowhere to go but down, because I can’t imagine I’ll come in first again in anything. But on the other hand, who’d have believed I’d ever come in first at all?
Never say never. I do have a sudden feeling that I can accomplish anything right now, which is a novelty. I Tried the Tri, and I won!
Ok then,
Grace soon to conquer the world so you’d better watch out.