I was able to fit in two runs today: one early in the morning with the dogs and the second later in the afternoon/evening during Nell's swim practice.
My brain was taken up with dog concerns during the morning run. We have my in-laws' Irish terrier, Cinny, with us for about a month. This was her first morning run. I dare say it may have been her first run ever. But she kept up like a champ. Her stride is much choppier than Eddie's. Very different cadence. We did 4 or 5 miles. I spent all of my mental energy keeping the dogs from tangling their leashes and tripping me.
On the second run, between 4:30 and 5:30 p.m, I thought about David Foster Wallace. I spent part of the afternoon sort of skimming a New Yorker piece about David Foster Wallace, one eye on the magazine, the other eye on the kids.
David Foster Wallace killed himself. Last year or the year before. Depression got him. One of his characters spoke of being afraid of thinking about being afraid for fear of setting off an unstoppable chain reaction of fear. I remember that feeling. After running I saw my friend back at the Y. He is going through all of that himself right now. His eyes looked ragged out and hollow. He says I'm his hero. He'll make it through. Just remember to breathe.
Right in the middle of thinking about David Foster Wallace I saw a blue heron come in for a landing on a thin and ice-rimmed estuary. That snapped me out of it. The heron looked like a plane with its landing gear deployed. It hit the water with a satisfying scroosh.
After that I worked on my last blog post for the newspaper. Due Friday. Something to walk out on. Love your kids. Look at them, listen to them, and for mercy sake, just love them.
Something like that. The only piece of parenting advice I feel qualified to give.