Making Feet Soar

It is difficult to believe that Martha's Mom died exactly two weeks ago today.  The death certificate has been received, bank accounts have been changed - all of the many, many little tasks that must be done in what is called "settling the estate," none of which can be neglected.  Memorials in her name have been coming in to the First Presbyterian Church, and the family continues to receive sympathy cards, some of them from people we have not heard from in some time.  Martha has been taking the lead in most of these things and has stayed very busy, and her sister and brothers have also been willing and tireless in tackling the big job of sorting through belongings accumulated over a period of 60 years packed into every nook and cranny of that big two-story house.

There are two attics in the house itself and one over the garage, and a basement absolutely filled to the ceiling with all manner of things that must be dragged out and examined.  I once noticed a rusty fender under the back porch and asked Martha's Dad what it was, and he said it was a fender for a 1940 Ford.  "What's it doing there?" I innocently asked, and he replied, "You never know when you might need one."  There must be at least 30 pairs of adjustable pliers in the depths of that basement and he knew where every one was.  I borrowed a little tool called a basin wrench from him on more than one occasion, and he would unfailingly be able to drag it out of a seemingly random pile of tools on the workbench.

So Martha stays busy emptying kitchen drawers and going through shoe boxes in the closet, but grieving is a long and complicated process.  I picked a rose from the trellis in front of the tool shed, spied while I was mowing the lawn on Thursday, and instantly thought that it would be a pretty thing to take to Martha's Mom, for she always enjoyed flowers.  And Martha says that in some way she still expects a phone call from her; they would talk to each other nearly every day. 

We have continued to stay home in the mornings to attend to home matters, or to go running on days when we can, but nearly every afternoon has been spent cleaning out cupboards, sorting through old photographs, and the like.  (Martha was a very cute little girl when she was in elementary school, with those short bangs and that impish grin!)  Meanwhile, my garden continues to surprise us, with squash and tomatoes coming in now, and just today we noticed green beans on the plants Martha has on the deck, what she refers to as her little "backup garden," high above the slugs and the marauding deer.

Highlands Roadrunner has been able to stay with the S.E.L.F. Plan described in these posts in the past - Steep, Easy, Long, and Fast on alternating days.  Monday called for climbing Bearpen Mountain again, as noted in the previous post, and Wednesday I surprised myself by completing four 400-meter intervals in my fastest time this year.  But then I was so tired on Thursday (my "E." day) that I found myself taking walking breaks on all the hills.  "How are you doing, neighbor?" our neighbor asked me on one of those hills as she pulled in the driveway where she works.  "Tired," I said.  "Walking all the hills today!"  And then I felt a little angry at myself:  poor little runner, complaining about being tired!  What a wimp! 

This morning was absolutely wonderful.  Cooler, dry air moved in overnight and there was a lovely breeze straight out of the west.  I got started early, a little after 8:00 a.m., and actually felt a little chilly at first running straight into that breeze on Main Street.  It was a nice, long, conversational run, eight miles in all, talking to Fred and Karen for three of those miles.  Karen's mother died recently, too, and as chance would have it she is the Executor of the estate, too, going through much the same thing Martha is, although her mother did not live nearby.  "We found some funny things when we were cleaning out her closet," Karen said.  "She suffered from swollen feet, and there was a new pair of shoes in a plastic bag on the shelf, apparently unworn.  Some caregiver who was not very good at spelling had written a note and pinned it to the bag:  Makes her feet soar."

I thought about that as I completed the final two miles alone, the breeze still fresh, the rhododendron blooming all along the way, cheerful dog-walkers passing by.  A day like this makes my feet soar!