Lent is over. Alleluia!

Happy Easter, friends.

It's a truly special day when Felix is wearing something other than a graphic t-shirt and running pants.

Here I am, at the end of my Lenten journey. Instead of giving something up, I took something on: I decided to write 40 blogs in 40(ish) days. The math got a little fuzzy toward the end, but we made it.

Why I run (even when I'm not being chased, or about to miss a bus)

For most of my life, I loathed running. I was the chubby, asthmatic kid who was the last to finish laps in gym class. As the workouts got tougher, I showed up at school with an inhaler and notes written on my dad's prescription pad: Monica cannot run.

I could walk for miles, but as soon as I raised my pace to a jog, my chest would burn, I'd gasp for air, and I'd feel a stabbing pain in my side.

Why do people make a hobby out of this? I wondered.

This is 36

I'm 36 years old.

It's not really a milestone of any kind; I'm now "over 35" and I can more confidently admit to remembering things that happened 30 years ago. But mostly, it's just a quiet acknowledgement that I'm moving along the journey of life and I'm firmly in this part.

In this part of my life, liquor store clerks apologize when they check my ID ("I'm sorry, ma'am, we have to card everyone, it's our policy" - Really? You can't just pretend you mistook me for 20? And what's with the ma'am?). In this part of my life, if I walk across a college campus, I am more likely to be mistaken for a professor than a student. In this part of my life, I sometimes look in the mirror and see the outlines of my parents' faces in a way that I never noticed before.

My weekend as a socialite

I'm not one of those fancy people you might see in the society pages, looking elegant at a charity fundraiser. 

But this weekend, it sure felt that way.

Friday, I spent the evening at a fashion show fundraiser for the United Way. It was at a hotel called Blu.

The drinks were blue.

Commuter Troubles

I skipped yesterday's blog, cashing in one of those "day of rest" chips I awarded myself when I learned that I had miscounted the days of Lent and could have been taking Sundays off all along.

It seemed like a good day to rest. Yesterday ended with me Facebook-messaging Sam to come upstairs and turn off the bedroom light so I could go to sleep, because I wasn't sure I could get myself out of bed and complete this simple task. 

It started with the bus.

7 New Rules for Facebook

Today, one of my favorite people posted this message:

"I have 4 Facebook rules: Don't brag. Don't complain. Don't get personal. Be entertaining." 

She went on to admit that she had been dealing with depression, it had gotten pretty bad, and she was going to break some of her rules to fill us in on the situation.

I am so proud of her. Depression is a scary, serious, life-threatening illness that does not benefit from people isolating themselves. She needs a support network, and what better place to find it than among her 600+ friends?

Let there be music.

"And there will always be music."

When I was a teenager, and I knew everything, I liked to tell my parents all the things I'd do differently when I was an adult and it was my house. 90% of them were probably wrong (I'd treat my kids like adults! I'd never make them eat things they didn't like!) but I did live up to one of my promises. The first thing I do when I come home from work is turn on the radio or turn on a CD. I can't even back the car out of the garage without the stereo on.

I grew up in a quiet household. My dad turned on the TV to watch the evening news or Crossfire, but mostly it was quiet. My parents and I read books and magazines. I did homework or wrote stories or worked on puzzles. We talked, when there were things to say.