An Ode

It's an odd form of patriotism that I have recently discovered within myself.  Not unlike the heart-swelling reverence that I feel anytime I see a man or woman in military dress.  Quite similar actually.

My dad worked for the electricity company for almost 30 years before he retired 10 years ago.  He was a lineman, which meant that he climbed poles or rode a lift bucket to fix power lines tens of feet up in the air.  After every storm that rolled through the OKC metro area, dad wouldn't even wait for "the call" that meant he'd be working all night long.  Instead, he'd be out the door after a kiss for mom and a hug for me. It would still be raining, but the wind and lightning would have subsided.  My childhood memories are flooded with images of his big orange O G & E truck heading out into the dark night, en route to get the power back on - to a building, a neighborhood, a town or even the entire city.

In the early years of dad's career, the linemen could wear any type of long sleeve shirt (dad's was usually an immaculately-ironed flannel print) with work jeans (very tight Levi's) and steel-toed boots.  It was the later years that I remember better, the flame-retardant, company-issued khaki long sleeve shirt with still-too-tight Levi's.  A detailed-oriented man, dad's shirt was always tucked-in, with a brown belt to match his brown boots.  Even though he now has a desk job from his home office, when I think of dad "at work" I catch myself absurdly imagining him wearing this unique uniform, even though it would be ridiculous for a successful business man.

My dad, the lineman, circa 1980.

After living outside of Oklahoma for the past few years, my deep rooted pride surprised me last week as I cut through OKC along I-40.  I spotted a caravan of familiar bright orange O G & E trucks heading west, presumably to El Reno, which had been devastated the night before by a ravenous tornado. The trucks were on a honorable mission.  And my heart delightfully swelled knowing that my dad committed so much time to the exact same cause: getting people's lives back on track.  Now that's something to be proud of.

Shifting Gears

When I started this blog, I was writing about my international experiences for an American audience. Now that I am again state-side, the tone has somewhat shifted.  Recalling my favorite Reader's Digest article "Life in these United States," I suppose that I am now focused on my new life in the USA and describing events to international readers.  I apologize if Americans find the topics mundane, but maybe they'll see things in a different light nonetheless.

A recent observation about my fellow Okies is how adept at weather forecasting we have become. Even the most redneck hillbilly is able to intelligently tell you, using correct verbiage, what a dry line, super cell, mesocyclone, wind sheer and Doppler radar are.  We have all watched enough Gary England (local meteorologist/celebrity) to be experts on the subject of funnel clouds, wall clouds and tornadoes.  It's a matter of self-preservation when you live in "tornado alley."

What I love the most is how extraordinarily polite people are.  And I chuckle every time I catch myself saying, "that person was so rude" because compared to my former countries of residence, Okies are saints. We even slow down on the interstate to allow someone else to merge and that person in turn will give a happy wave.  Baku take note:  honking is not necessary.

Music to my ears

I love how just a few beats of a familiar song can take you back to another place and time. There was the James Blunt song, "1973" that played over and over on the Italian radio stations as we drove around Tuscany. And then I'm teaching a spin class a few months later and that song was our cool down. I was instantly transported back to the Italian countryside with its yellows and oranges and smell of hay and lilac. Didn't matter that 25 people were staring at me, waiting for me to tell them what to do next on their bikes, I wasn't wavering from my daydream.

At Oktoberfest this past year, the bands repeatedly played "Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars.  I had never even heard the song, but the the internationally-diverse crowd would go wild and sing/shout the lyrics, complete with emphatic arm motions, each time.  When I hear that song on leisurely drives, I now feel a sense of excitement unfit for the errands at hand.

Recently, I entered a 10k race around Lake Hefner. Around the half-way point, I'm fighting with the wind and my Ipod's earbuds when The Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" starts up. The line, "all the foreign types with their hookah pipes" made me recall the Syrian girls smoking hookah in Dubai. The group of four girls, barely in their 20's, wore full abayat and their eyes were laced with heavy make-up. The waiter brought them a large hookah pipe to pass around and it smelled faintly like strawberry. The scene was a study in contrasts.

And while running the OKC half-marathon, the smash up of "Singin' in the Rain" with Rihanna's "Umbrella" was extra loud as to cover up my huffing and puffing (the song is performed by the Glee cast - I'm not embarrassed to admit that they are among my fav!). It was only too perfect since the rain poured dramatically as it blew diagonally.

It's all music to my ears.

Just Life

Pete, our big lab mix, had what started out as a small lump just below his elbow.  Almost a year later, it had grown to golf ball size.  The vet removed it and the test came back that it was cancerous but with only a 20% chance of returning.  All has been going well, minus the original stitches that were replaced by staples, which were then replace with stainless steel stitches.  Why didn't they just use stainless steel the first time, you may ask.  One of the great unanswered questions in life....

Pete wearing a cone to protect the stitches in his leg

In other news, with only a few days to go before closing on our new house, the builder has been threatened that we'll push back closing if he doesn't get the yard's drainage problem fixed.  And put the correct address on our mailbox. Geez...

And on the brighter side, working out with my youngest niece has been a blast.  We joined the local YMCA and have been regular ole gym rats.

As for my oldest niece, I was allowed to be there when her date picked her up for prom.  Her in a gorgeous purple Cinderella dress and him with a mohawk.  I've also traveled up the turnpike to Tulsa to visit my friend with 3 little boys, which sounds perfectly horrific to me, but she handles everything with grace and patience.  It also helps that her boys are sweet little gentlemen.

Dinner with our college "besties" was as joyous as ever.  It's one of those relationship where you can slide right back into familiarity with uncanny ease.

Just a few of the things that make being back in Oklahoma so perfect.

A little longing for Baku

My dear Baku friend, Gemma and her husband John, have graciously taken care of Kyle since my departure from Baku a month ago. I'm worried because Gemma is a fabulous cook and she's been preparing great feast of curry, dumplings, pot pies and bread puddings - all of the fine traditional English dishes (she is British after all). The worrisome part is that Kyle might start to expect this. He'll have to readjust his expectations because I'm all about easy Tex-Mex and salads. And to be fair, the availability of lettuce in Azerbaijan was scarce, so maybe he's looking forward to it. Maybe?

Brooke & Gemma at the Irish Ball

As Kyle is living vicariously through my American experiences, ("you ate icecream, ran a race and peacefully walked the dogs?!" he jealously asked after I had a particularly productive Saturday morning), then I am also living out my Baku life through him. Kyle having dinner with Gemma and John, drinks with Max and Adriana, running with the harriers, letting the dogs parade back and forth to Kira and Georges' apartment, and being chauffeured around by Hikmet, gives me the "in" to Baku that I might otherwise be missing from my previous life.

It was all a wonderful experience, not always good, but never boring. And even though I'm missing the hubby and anxious for his arrival in a couple of days, I will definitely miss this connection, however slight, to my Baku friends.

Run to Remember

Have you ever run in the rain with 8,000 of your closest friends? It's not a bad way to spend a Sunday morning, which is exactly what we (I'm including my 8,000 friends) did in the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon this Sunday. Well, I just did the half marathon and like the shirt that I was proudly wearing said, meant I was only half crazy. Because another 2,500 oh so happy people did the entire 26.2 miles. It wasn't so much the rain or the wind or the thunder that delayed the start of the race 30 minutes, it was the lightning that had us all ooohhing and ahwwwing each time it flashed across the sky.

I would guesstimate that half of the 13,000 runners were wearing some sort of rain protection, either a store-bought poncho or a trash bag with arm and leg holes, making the whole lot of us sound like thousands of sacks stuck in trees every time the north wind picked up, which was pretty much the entire time. The rain poured hard, I swore it was sleeting and the aroma coming off of our bodies was intoxicating at an inhuman level.

The OKC Memorial Marathon is run each year to remember the 168 people who died in the bombing at the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building on April 19, 1995. Around mile 2 of the race, banners are reverently hung off of light poles with individual names of the deceased. I ran from pole to pole in honor of each name. "Here's to you, Linda..." "Please be with Richard's family today....", "Thinking of you Antonio...", "I'm sure Carol had a great smile..." and so on. The rain was beginning to pound, so it was hard to distinguish if that was sweat, rain or tears. Definitely tears, as they were hot on my face.

Approaching the state capitol, the Native American "Guardian" statue is visible on the dome. And watch over us he did. I wasn't hallucinating (yet), but I did imagine his baritone voice boomed out, "You go, girl!"

And on the race went. There was Gorilla Hill, where a gigantic blue blow-up gorilla greeted us, with people dancing in full-body banana costumes. And the hundreds of spectators, smiling/cringing as their umbrellas turned inside out at horrible gusts. Some kids were holding the sign, "Hurry up and run faster so that we can go home!" Amen to that!

Mile 9 was when my IT band had had enough. I looked like I was skipping for about a quarter mile. My paced slowed, so that I was still technically jogging, but in all honesty, it was a fast walk. I was moving so slow for a while that I thought, "Please let there be somebody else behind me!" The last couple of miles were endured as my mantra of "strong mind, tough body" rattled through my head. I did not set a PR, but I made it, all in one piece and I received a medal just the same. The cruel joke was walking back to my car for another 6 blocks (still in the cold rain) and not being able to find my spot in the parking garage. It was the only time I wanted to sit down and cry. Alas, all hope was not lost, as I made it home (on heated seats).

And so now that I've showered, lunched and napped, I reflect on the race and all that it means to OKC. All Oklahomans should be impressed with the quality of the race and the level to which it has been taken. The bar is set for professionalism. This was my tenth half marathon to complete, and I'm so proud that my hometown offers something so fantastic. I've raced in Dallas, Houston, Denver and Las Vegas. OKC beats them all, hands down, and then some. I cannot say enough about the crowd support and organization. And Okies are of genuine caliber. Politely pushing my way through the crowd to get to the start line, my poncho became wedged between several people, pulling back on the hood, and choking me out. As I stopped dead in my tracks, several women reached over to "free" me. And they all called me "sweetie" while doing it. Gotta love it!

And I have to give a big shout out to my friends who persevered through the entire marathon. It hailed on them for crying out loud! And they still put one foot in front of another, completing life-long goals while running to remember.