Power

 This morning, as I rounded the top of a path and stood on the Col du Portel, a winding road that leads through a mountain pass, a rush of wind swept down tugging my hat brim so that the hat leapt backward, hanging on by my ponytail, and the rain began to fall in earnest. And I may have risen my arms in the air, twisting my hands like an Indian God or Goddess in praise and celebration of the power I felt standing there on top of a mountain along the road. 

Sheep, including a caramel-colored lamp hiding on the other side of its mother

It's been months since I've had successful runs. I fell at the end of July, and although I worked back to walking and hiking, my knee continued to hurt when I attempted runs. Then another injury in November set me back, and I determined to have an MRI to see if I'd done real damage to my knee. 

Meanwhile, though I was left to take walks and to endure lockdown, longing for the day that I could finish my exercise in 45 minutes, eating up the road with my quick stride. Sure, I may not be a fast runner, but running is always faster than walking.

After an MRI and an appointment with a knee specialist, he assured me that I could run again after physical therapy to "retrain" my muscles. I registered with the local physical therapist, who is apparently so booked up that I remain on his waiting list. 

If the doctor says I just need some muscle retraining, that assured me that I wasn't going to injure anything further if I started running. 

It's been slow though. Running and walking. Watching out for the pain in my knee. Noticing that my knee is better but my lungs are a long way from running again. 

Saturday, I managed a 3.5 mile run without walking or gasping for air. 

These look like tiny wild roses in bloom, but, if my detective work is correct, may be flowering quince

I wanted to go for a walk or run this morning, but the weather forecast was foreboding -- high winds, rain. It wasn't raining a bit before 8 and I asked Earl where I could go that I wouldn't be in danger of flying tree limbs. 

He recommended the road to Ginoles, not too many trees along that road. True, but it was uphill the whole way. 

I decided to give it a try. I started running outside my house and was able to continue running until about 1.2 miles, or two kilometers. Considering that it was all uphill, I felt quite proud. I walked on the steep parts and then ran in  between. I took a straight path, leaving the road behind to have a chance to run before I walked, out of breath, up the steep path to Ginoles. 

An almond tree in bloom and an unsettled sky

As I continued up past Ginoles, I saw a car snake around the "Col" the mountain pass above. Why not? I set out toward the ridge looming above me. Again, there were a few running parts, but more sharp uphill parts. 

Olive trees

I continued on, listening to music and singing along at the top of my voice, as much as my labored breathing would allow before I reached the winding road. 

The view of faraway Quillan

The only option was to go downhill, sticking close to the side of the road facing traffic and the few cars that passed. 

I saw one car that revved its engine and wanted to pass the car in front of it, trying to twist around the curves like a commercial, and I let out a laugh. "Your car might go fast, but you aren't out conquering it by foot!" I thought. 

So I wound back into town and kept running past our house until my app indicated that I'd passed five miles. 

The feeling of accomplishment and power has lasted all day, feeling the ferocity of the rain and wind and lifting my arms in victory over them -- this time. 

Dreaming of France -- A Wet but Glorious Day

Please join this weekly meme. Grab a copy of the photo above and link back to An Accidental Blog. Share with the rest of us your passion for France. Did you read a good book set in France? See a movie? Take a photo in France? Have an adventure? Eat a fabulous meal or even just a pastry? Or if you're in France now, go ahead and lord it over the rest of us. We can take it.

Today we set off to explore France, in spite of the persistent rain. According to the weather, we would have a two-hour window without rain. But the weather was wrong. Nevertheless, we visited Isle sur la Sorgue, about an hour away from Aix en Provence. Isle sur la Sorgue has a market on Sundays, and has many antiques shops every day.
We aren't in the market for antiques, or the lovely food products, but we still enjoyed strolling through the streets of the town. La Sorgue is a river that comes from a source so deep that no one knows what the source is, according to our friend Delana who played tour guide today.
The river is a striking green color, and it isn't even Saint Patrick's Day yet.

The long grasses in the river reminded me of mermaids for some reason.

The town has many canals, directing the rushing green water through gates. Sometimes the water gushes, sometimes it calmly flows.

And that's where Earl and I spent the day, as we pose here in front of a canal, which is mostly hidden by our umbrella.

Afternoon Thunderstorms

This afternoon, the sky grew dark in the middle of the afternoon. I rushed to finish preparing a spaghetti dinner before Earl left for work, so he could dish it into a plastic container to take along.
I flipped on the light over the stove, then moved to turn on another light over the counter as the gray clouds rumbled, blocking the sun.
Then after he had left, as Spencer and I sat on either side of the wide wooden table, the rain came down with a vengeance and the temperature plummeted. The rain streamed from the downspouts and blew sideways in sheets.
Flashes lit up the sky and raindrops pattered against the metal awnings over the windows.
I threw up a few windows to smell the aroma of the earth as it soaked in the needed rain. The scent of the air thick with moisture.
This afternoon storm reminded me of so many others.
When Earl and I lived in St. Petersburg, we would often listen to the rainstorms from his brass bed, the sound on the roof the most romantic of symphonies.
When we lived in central Florida, I remember watching lonely storms from the back, screened-in porch and the temptation to run into the fierce rains before they dried up and moved along.
After the kids were born, I was more likely to move to the basement as storms rolled in and the overly cautious tornado sirens began their wailing.
Now though, with a front porch that looks out over the surrounding houses, I'm drawn there to watch the flashes and listen to the rumblings of the great bowling alley in the sky.

How about you? Do you like thunderstorms?

Rainstorm

I wish you could be with me on my front porch right now.
The light is dim because the rain falls in a steady whoosh. Splatter, splatter, split, splat. Then the drops hit the metal awning, bum, bum, bum.
The sweetest breeze blows across the porch. The air feels like a peppermint patty tastes.
The birds still squawk, undeterred by the rain.
I have a cup of English Breakfast tea that I sip as I watch the rain run across the dark pavement below.
Sometimes the breeze blows a mist of rain across my shoulders, making me shiver with delight.
In the distance I hear the grumble of thunder, like someone in a house next door complaining. An occassional burst of lightning brightens the sky, like the flash on my camera.
The best part about sitting on my front porch is that the rain gave me an excuse not to run this morning. My aching and bruised legs propped on the wicker chair in front of me, my tweaking knees and twinging lower back all are thankful for this rainstorm.

Saturday Snapshot

Saturday Snapshot is hosted by Alyce of At Home With Books. If you are interested in participating, just post a photo (new or old), but make sure it's not one that you found online. Add your link to Alyce's Saturday post for all to enjoy.
I'm a little late posting, but my day started at 5 a.m. and just recently ended with a ferocious storm. I captured a picture of the wind and rain from our front porch.

The storm knocked down tree limbs and flooded the streets with sheets of water before it cleared up.

Cloudy City

Today we've had rain and storms.
I had to teach at 3:30 and as I drove downtown the tops of the buildings were wrapped in clouds.

I took the picture with my phone (not an iPhone, obviously).
When I sent the picture to Grace, she thought the buildings were on fire. Nope. Just wrapped in low-hanging clouds.

A Refreshing Walk

I want it established right up front that walking to the library was my idea. I had a whole route planned out where we could stop by the bakery to get a baguette then have a coffee at the coffee shop then run by the grocery store.
It's true that my friends and I canceled our morning run because the wind howled through the trees and a cold rain fell. By 10:30 or so, the morning seemed to have cleared up. Let's say the weather resembled this day along the Atlantic.

I remembered to grab the big umbrella from the back of the car and I said to Earl, "How about if we both take umbrellas?"
"Nah," he said. "It's not going to rain."
So we walked to the library in the light breeze avoiding puddles on the sidewalk. We picked up an Italian movie for tonight then we took a turn up a side street to go past the school.
A drop of rain fell on my arm. Then another. Thunder rumbled and a shrill whistle blew at the field. Soccer was canceled due to thunder. The kids ran screaming from the field as Earl opened the umbrella and held it above me.
I understand that holding the umbrella can be a tiring job and I am thankful to him for doing it, but, to be honest, the person not holding the umbrella gets wetter than the person holding the umbrella. He thinks he is keeping me dry, but he is a foot taller than I am, so inevitably the rain begins to soak my shoulder.
We walked fast but the rain became more fierce as the thunder rumbled. In a yard between two tall buildings, the rain came in at an angle blowing my hair across my face.
"Get on my other side," Earl said as he attempted to block the rain with the umbrella. We rounded the corner headed toward Panera and the rain suddenly turned to hail bouncing off the sidewalk in little chunks. The rain came straight at our faces and Earl held his umbrella in front of us and it buckled.
I ran for it. My jeans were soaked. My wet hair curled wildly. My socks were wet inside my shoes.
We decided to get the baguette and the coffee at Panera so we didn't have to go any farther. We shivered in the cool restaurant trying to warm up with the hot coffee. When we finished, the rain had stopped and we walked straight home with the sun trying to peak out.
Now the weather looks like this, kind of mocking us as we hang up our wet jeans and put on dry socks.

Lesson learned? Probably not. Unless I carry two umbrellas, we'll probably have to share again next time.
Do you think it's a marriage problem if I want my own personal umbrella in the rain? Does that mean the romance is gone?

Strangers in the Rain

I'm convinced that the painting The Scream by Edvard Munch portrays a person with a sinus headache.
I know because that's how I've felt the past four days.
"Lie down and rest," Earl urges me in between work and attending kids' activities.
"I don't feel any better when I lie down," I admit. And it's true. Whether I veg out on the couch or cook dinner or sit through a basketball game, that pounding in my head, the aching in my teeth continue.
That's why I decided to meet my friends this Thanksgiving morning for a run. When I opened my eyes at 5 a.m., the familiar throbbing behind my eyes was there to greet me. I drank some water, swallowed some B vitamins and filled my water bottles. Whether the medicine or the sinus issues, I'm thirsty all the time. I didn't take any ibuprofen or Sudafed before I left. Sometimes the medicine makes me feel worse.
I did flip on the television to see the weather forecast. Rain and thunderstorms. 39 degrees.
I went anyway. Princess joined us for a run for the first time in ages. I didn't want to miss it. But I did ask my friends to just run around the lake with me and then I would go home. The rain wasn't heavy, but I didn't want to be out in the cold rain for a couple of hours when I was already sick.
We ran around the lake, catching up on each other's lives. While running through the dark rain, I didn't even notice my headache. Maybe it's the friends, maybe it's the distraction, maybe it's the fresh air or exercise.
I decided to go on a half mile farther before they turned away from the road and headed along the river. I hugged them all goodbye before turning back to the half mile trail.
"Sing," Princess urged, "so we know you're okay."
"I'll be fine. There are lots of fishermen back at the lake."
I ran through the increasing rain back toward the lake, and I did see a fisherman. He was loaded down with fishing equipment and called out, to me, a lone woman running along the trail.
"Excuse me. Can I ask you a question?" he called. He was tall and had a rain jacket on with the hood pulled up.
Everyone knows that if a man wants to ask someone a question, he should not approach a woman alone in the dark in the rain. What was he thinking?
I turned toward him but didn't walk over to him. I was ready to make a break for it. But I know I was stupid to stop and answer his question. What was I thinking?
"How far is this path around the lake?" he asked. He held a fishing pole in one hand, a lawn chair and other equipment in the other hand. He looked miserable.
"One point two miles," I said and started off again.
"Really? Mumble, mumble," he said.
"What?" I asked turning back toward him.
"That large?" he asked.
"Yep."
I moved away from the man, away from the lake and toward the parking lot.
The world is full of people doing strange things, like running in the rain on Thanksgiving morning, or fishing on Thanksgiving morning, or stopping people to ask the distance around the lake when a sign right by the deck clearly states the mileage. Strangest of all, perhaps, is feeling like the politeness of answering a stranger's question is more important than safety. I could hear my friends, my husband's and my parents' voices echoing in my head as I climbed into my dry car and locked the doors behind me.
But, for the most part, people are trustworthy and not predatory -- just strange, like me.