Month: July 2012

Better Than Gold

We’re Olympic crazy at my house. The DVR is in full use. My 19 year old could not be pried away from the Archery competition. It’s a family tradition. And though my own athletic experience peaked as a high school cheerleader, the rest of the family has a more personal relationship with wins,losses’ and scoring for the team. Still I have a favorite Olympic moment.
In 1984 my husband, two close friends and I attended the Summer Games of Los Angeles. That experience was so good that I encourage anyone to go to an Olympic games if at all possible. During the days and nights of events I saw preliminary competitions as well as finals and medal ceremonies. The venues themselves were artfully landscaped  and decorated. The volunteers friendly as they practically chased down spectators to hand out sunscreen. From rowing to boxing, swimming to basketball, every event was exciting, every day was memorable.
But the event, the ticket we were so excited to have was the day pass to  track and field at the LA  Coliseum. It was the event that might just make track and field history. Carl Lewis might break the World and Olympic record in the long jump.  A record set many years before and thought  to be possibly never broken, except maybe at this Olympics. It was hot, after all it was southern California in the summer. And as we sat down in the upper section of the historic stadium that morning we anticipated  seeing great athletes and athletics.
If you have never been to a track meet you may not know that it is something of a three ring circus. Runners may be racing around the track while at the same time field events are underway at either end, or in the center of the the oval. That day a Brazilian won the men’s 800 meter and two American women won  two races. But it is safe to say that most of the more than 100 thousand people in the stadium were most looking forward to the men’s long jump.
As the late afternoon wound down ,discus preliminaries were taking place in the oval, and on the track the first of two heats in the men’s 3000 steeplechase began.  The steeplechase is a long distance race broken up by the runners jumping over not just hurdles but hazards of water. It’s a long race, multiple laps taking over 8 minutes in 1984. There were 12 runners in the heat, there would be two heats and the the fastest times   would seat 12 runners out of the field of 24. By 6:30 that evening most of the spectators were planning where to have dinner after leaving the early session before  returning  for the long jump finals. I myself was chatting with a family from Australia. I glanced up periodically to watch the runners circle the track, jump the hazard. As  the race  progressed  the field separated, the fastest runners distancing themselves from the rest of the field. Then, as the race continued I noticed the runner in last place. He was just not last in the field of 12, but was in danger of being lapped. Not only I noticed this. My new friend from down under agreed with my assessment. And eerily the stadium was filled with the whispering of thousands. “Poor kid, how embarrassing to be lapped at the Olympics.” The multi -language whispering was unlike anything else I had heard then or since.
The runner was from Kenya. Who knows how he trained to come to those Olympics. What was his life like before he got on a plane  and traveled so far to compete in the Olympics?  I am sure that being last in his heat and possibly lapped was not in any of his Olympic dreams.
We all sat, silent now, as the heat leader lapped the the Kenyan. The  other runners ran. And then the leader finished the race. The runners ran. And then one by one 10 athletes crossed the finish line. Now in the waning afternoon sun there was only the Kenyan, running by himself. The field athletes had already exited the stadium. The volunteers were packing up the measuring tapes from the  discus, cleaning up the oval. And the Kenyan. ran. Finally,his tortuous race came to an end, he approached the finish line. He crossed the line. No chance for a Gold or a medal of any kind. And as he ran across the finish line, as if on cue 120 thousand people stood and cheered. It may not have been a World Record run, but it remains my favorite Olympic memory, a runner from half a world away and a stadium full of spectators , together realizing  what the Olympics can truly be. I’m just say’n.

Farewell Old Friend

I said good bye to and old friend today. A relationship only five years shorter than my 32 year marriage. An association that outlasted two dogs,six cars and numerous soccer socks and beach towels.

Today my new washing machine was delivered and my old one removed by two young men who seemed unaware of the history they hauled out of my basement and onto a waiting truck.

Am I alone in feeling slightly sentimental over an old appliance? We bought the washer at the same time we purchased all four of our major appliances, for our “new” old home. Our first house. They all made the move (with the first golden retriever) to the next house. But, alas they all were replaced and updated by newer shiner models. Happily not all at the same time as was my fear. But that washer kept on washing.

Four years ago I thought it was done for, poor timing, as my eldest was on his way to Spain to study abroad in a few days, and a college tuition bill was due. But a gifted repairman worked his magic and the fix we hoped would last about a year stuck. Even now it wasn’t broken, it just wasn’t efficient enough, too many trips up and down the basement stairs coaxing it to the next cycle finally sealed its fate.

And so I gave it a gentle pat and bid it adieu. Now those who know me know that I sentimentally attach to things. The Wedgewood dishes from my college dorm residents,a bridal gift to their R.A. The watercolor painting my cousin painted of her grandson and my daughter. The Spode tea set a beloved friend found in an antique shop and sent for my birthday. These are treasures to me. Not too hard to understand. But just as valuable to me is my ironing board. On my 22nd birthday ten days before my wedding my mother gave me what I thought was the lamest gift ever, a new iron and ironing board. I smiled to myself at this most practical and least sentimental gift a mother could give a daughter days before she left her home to marry her college sweetheart. It was a total representation of her practical nature and outlook. And, these many years later I think of her every time I pull it out of the closet and press a shirt. It still sports the pad she purchased and fit over the old white sheet she covered it with, to provide what she thought was the necessary padding for optimal ironing. Yes, just like the pink handled pie server the ironing board and the washing machine were the not so glamorous tools of some of the least romantic and sentimental aspects of family life. Our family life. Not as pretty as a picture or graceful as fine china, but used and reused and touched and explained and instructed about to each of us in this family.

Sometimes memories are not made of parties, graduations or holidays. Much of our lives are connected by daily tasks and chores. A son ironing a shirt shocking and impressing his mother, a daughter finishing and folding the laundry. The times that mark the passage of time as household appliances age and wear out.

So farewell old friend. I still remember how excited I was the day you arrived. I promised my self and my husband that I would never complain about the laundry now that I was released from the pay laundromat.

I’m pretty sure I kept that promise. I’m just say’n.