Jen's Column / The Truck & The Tree

It was Grandparents Day in my second grader's class last week. Since grandma and grandpa live too far away to pop down for an afternoon, Christian called to interview them.

"Tell me something naughty my mom did when she was a kid," I heard him ask my mom. I wondered if she'd tell him about how my friend Nicole and I covered ourselves head-to-toe in mud when we were his age. Or if she'd go for the gross and tell him how I'd pin my sister to the floor and threaten to spit between her eyes.

When Christian got off the phone, he looked at me with a powerful smile — an I-know-something-my-mother-doesn't-want-me-to-know smile.

"You drove the Jeep without asking and hit a tree!" he yelled.

Ah, the old "Jeep in the tree" story. I'd forgotten about that one.

My dad had recently taught me to drive his yellow Jeep — a Cherokee, I think. I might've had my learner's permit, I might not have. That part's fuzzy. But I do remember how it felt the first time I drove the quarter-mile, dirt-packed trail through the woods to my grandparent's house alone. Pretty damn good.

I was feeling brazen enough to tell my friend Sara on our school bus the next day, "My parents totally let me drive to my grandparents' house — like anytime I want."

Sara, who was two years younger than me, was appropriately impressed. "Really?" she asked, incredulously. "Can you give me a ride?"

"Sure!" I told her. "I can totally give you a ride!"

Sara said she'd walk to my house once she'd dumped her backpack at home. Meanwhile, I raced down my own driveway praying that my parents would give me the green light.

They weren't home, so I set to work calling every place they might be. I found them at their friend Red's on try #3 and got down to business.

"Can I drive the Jeep through the woods?" I begged my father.

He had the gall to say no. I ignored him.

"Please, please, pleeeeeeeese."

He wasn't budging. "I don't want you driving when we're not there," he said.

"But Sara's on her way!" I argued desperately. "Plus, I've driven, like, a dozen times."

"Three times."

"Fine," I said huffily, and then probably added something about how he was ruining my life.

I stomped outside just as Sara started down our driveway. "Ready?" she asked eagerly.

"Yes," I answered.

It had rained overnight, and mud had settled into the trail's time-worn ruts. Still, I held the Jeep steady until we reached a particularly messy corner. I mustered all the finesse I could with a week's worth of driving experience. It wasn't enough.

The Jeep pulled left into the woods, at which point I let go of the wheel and screamed before hitting a tree. It wasn't a hundred-year oak — but it was enough to stop us. It was also enough to knock a headlight out of its socket.

We drove home in silence. I parked the Jeep where I'd found it and set the headlight back where it belonged. I wiped away the mud and threw a few handfuls of gravel at the tires so they'd resume their dusty appearance. And because I was really thinking, I set a beach ball behind the rear tire. (Obviously, I couldn't have moved the Jeep — there's a ball behind the tire.)

It was genius. They'd never know.

Here's the weirdest part: They didn't. I finally confessed a few years ago — once I was safely living on the other side of the state.

"I always wondered what happened to that light," my dad said.

Christian thinks the "naughty thing" I did was driving my parents' Jeep without permission. The truly rebellious part, however, was keeping it a secret. But he doesn't need to know that.

Let's Tie This Thing Up

Please, please let today's primary in Pennsylvania determine who gets the Democratic nomination.

(please)

Beautiful day

Spring, spring, spring -- love it! The whole neighborhood is outside in flip-flops. Jay has the boat in the driveway. The kids are running around the woods. I'm eating straight from the ice cream tub. Couldn't be better.

Hope everyone's having an equally great day. xo, jen

Jen's Column / Half-Marathon

Here's tomorrow's column. :)

* * *
I ran my first half-marathon last week. In the ultimate girls' weekend, my friend Lisa and I hit New York City for the MORE magazine ladies-only half-marathon — while our friends Sara and Steph came along to cheer us on. (Actually, they came along to spend the weekend in New York, but we made them get up to cheer.)

Up to this point, my race portfolio has consisted of a handful of 5Ks, one disastrous 10K, and a winter of solitary training runs along North Broadway. (You might've seen me in my ear-flapped hat and reflective vest… unless the person you saw was spitting and/or wiping her nose on her gloves. Then that certainly can't have been me.)

The half-marathon was my first "big" race — and I couldn't have been more excited. The pre-race pasta party was at Tavern on the Green. The race itself was at Central Park, where Lisa and I would join more than 7,000 women for two loops around the park's playgrounds, reservoirs, flower gardens and rock formations. It was energizing. It was inspiring. It was empowering.

It made me hungry.

I hadn't even run a full mile when I had an inexplicable craving for chocolate. "I want a Skor bar," I announced to Lisa.

My thoughts were consumed by Skor's crunchy toffee center and creamy chocolate coating. Never mind that I haven't actually had or even considered a Skor bar since Halloween 2004.

By mile three, surrounded by strong women and breathtaking cityscapes, all I could think about was prunes. I mean, really. Who craves prunes? But, for some reason, I could all-but taste the sweetness of the prunes my grandma kept in her pantry when I was a little girl — the ones next to the dates she'd use for baking. "Umm… dates," I thought.

I was feeling pretty good at mile six when I noticed a runner digging in what appeared to be a bag of airline peanuts. I sped up to get a better look and watched her fish around in the bottom for the last one. She caught me staring as she threw the empty bag in the trashcan. "Hi!" I said, but what I really wanted to say was, "Give me airline peanuts!"

My thoughts returned briefly to Skor bars at mile nine before realizing at mile 10 that I absolutely, positively had to have a hot dog as soon as I crossed the finish line. Which doesn't make any sense at all. Because if I had to make a list of the Top 3 Foods That Make Me Gag Just Thinking About Them, hot dogs would make the cut.
No matter. All I wanted at that moment — more than a foot rub, more than hot bath, more than prunes — was a hot dog from a New York City street vendor.

I'm happy to report that all cravings ceased as I neared mile 13. A mother and her teenage daughter were just ahead of me, wearing matching T-shirts that read, "The woman who starts the race isn't the same woman who finishes the race." They hugged as they crossed the finish line — and I cried.

I cried because I was proud of them and inspired by them. And then I cried some more because — I suddenly realized — I did it. I ran 13 miles in Central Park with a group of 7,000 women and I was still standing.

Me, who was the last one in during every "600" run in junior high. Me, who couldn't get to the end of my block when I started training. Me, who, just last fall, limped up the hill at Holy Spirit, nauseous and broken, during my first 10K.

Yet here I was — with the "finisher" medal around my neck and the silver heat sheet around my shoulders and my heart pounding with adrenaline more than exertion.
I surprised myself by thinking, "I may just have to do a marathon someday…" But first I had to find the bagel table.

Jen's Column / Gardening

I just realized I never posted this one from two weeks ago. It's not going to take your breath away, but it may inspire you to send me some advice. Which I will take, happily. xo, Jen

* * *

I wasn't born with a green thumb, but that doesn't keep me from trying.

We've had a small garden — probably about 4'-by-6' — in our backyard for the past few years. Just big enough for two short rows of corn and two rows of snow peas (year #1), two tomato plants and a handful of carrots (year #2), or a mix of radishes and onions — and a single green bean sprout my son brought home from preschool (year #3).

My gardens have never been huge successes. During The Year of the Corn, for instance, I nurtured those stalks all summer long — fanatically protecting them from running children, wayward soccer balls and peckish deer. I scattered dog hair and a concoction that smelled like a mix of rotten eggs and flatulence to deter rabbits. And what did I have to show for it at the end of the summer? Four ears of corn, which we finished off in a single meal.

The next year we tried tomatoes. You know how garden people are always trying to pass off their extra tomatoes? They leave baskets of tomatoes on their neighbors' front steps. They put them in the lunchroom at work with a sign that says, "Free! Take some." They leave them at the foot of the mailbox, hoping a passerby will relieve them of some of their bounty.

We had one (yes, o-n-e) tomato last year. A single, misshapen tomato hanging on its sad little stem. I picked it and put it on the kitchen counter where my husband and I waited for the other to eat it until it wrinkled and we threw it away.

With the warmer weather, I've been thinking about this year's garden.

I'm determined to reverse the trend. We're going to build a bigger garden this year — a raised garden. We really have no choice in this matter — the raising of the garden, I mean. Not only is our yard crisscrossed with all matter of wires and cords and cables that we'd prefer not to sever, but the earth under our sod appears to be an equal ratio of sand and household items. I'm not kidding. When we dug our existing garden, we found a scattered collection of broken PVC pipes, chunks of ceramic tile and a handful of nuts and bolts. (Apparently "fill quality" wasn't a priority when our house was built.)

In a show of optimism, we compiled a "Garden Wish List" over dinner a few weeks ago, my husband and sons offering their votes for what we'll grow this year. Tomatoes, carrots, and onions made the list, as did dill, chives, peas and green beans. I'd like to try some lettuce. And we'd love to have cucumbers and watermelon, except that they're such greedy little garden hogs.

I even started a few pots of herbs — dill and basil, chives and parsley — and set them on the kitchen windowsill. I thought it made me look very gardeny — and I figured I'd transplant them once the season officially arrived. But, in true Koski fashion, I've already killed them all.

So instead, I'm spending the pre-season daydreaming about planting and weeding and watering. About watching my future seedlings sprout. About feeding my family with food I've grown. I'm having little fantasies about learning to can and freeze vegetables. I've convinced myself that I'll be the kind of gardener who stores her herbs in ice cube trays and makes homemade salsa. And I don't even eat salsa.

But I'm probably getting ahead of myself. When it comes down to it, I'll be happy if I can just grow enough food to make one meal. Scratch that. I'll be happy, this year, to get more than one stinking tomato.

Shimmy for a Cure!

If you live in the area (or are looking for a great excuse to visit us in Rochester!), you're officially invited to Shimmy for a Cure on Friday, May 2.

Shimmy for a Cure is the ultimate ladies' night AND Jen's first-ever belly-dancing fundraiser for the Relay for Life. (For the low-down on the Relay for Life, I'll post this week's column below.)

Shimmy for a Cure will start with an hour or so of snacking and socializing, followed by a belly-dancing lesson and performance. (You'll watch, not participate in, the performance -- unless you can't help but shake your groove thang!)

Cost is just $15 per person, with all proceeds benefiting the American Cancer Society. For more information, holler. I think it's going to be fun, fun, fun. (That's my tagline, people: belly dancing and belly laughs!)

OK, here's this week's column...

* * *

Two weeks ago, Sue Hruska went on vacation with her family. This summer, she'll celebrate her 50th birthday. These are not shocking activities — until you know that Sue was diagnosed with stage four terminal brain cancer 18 months ago.

Since her diagnosis, Sue has undergone brain surgery, radiation, chemotherapy and nine months of a clinical trial drug. But she has also gone to the Bahamas and Alaska with her husband, Ed, and has returned to work part-time. She is making plans for the future.

"Research drugs and treatments have made my life possible," Sue says. "I feel blessed to be at this point in my diagnosis — to have this quality of life. If my time ends tomorrow, I know I have enjoyed 18 months of absolute living. How great is that?"

Sue is so grateful to organizations that raise money for cancer research that she's serving as the honorary chair of Olmsted County's Relay for Life, an annual fundraiser for the American Cancer Society. I could fill this page telling you about Relay for Life — and how much heart-filling fun my family has there — but my editors keep me to a word count, so I'll just give you the sound bite: Relay for Life is an overnight event designed to celebrate survivorship and raise money for the American Cancer Society. During the Relay, teams of people take turns walking laps around a luminary-lit track and participate in family-friendly activities.

Sue will be joined at the Relay by Ruth Jensen, this year's honorary caregiver. Ruth not only cared for her husband, Merle, through his battle with terminal cancer, but has volunteered tirelessly with the Mayo Hospice Program for more than 20 years.

I'm inspired by both of these women — and I'm inspired by the cause they're taking up in the Relay for Life. Cancer has touched too close to home too often for my family. It takes more than ten fingers to count the loved ones — children and adults — I've lost to this disease. My father-in-law, one of the kindest men I've known, died from cancer last year. My grandfather has it now.

You have similar stories. I know this because more than a million people are diagnosed with cancer each year.

So let's get rid of this disease, OK? Let's eradicate it. Erase it. Let's form teams and raise a bunch of money and come out to Relay in July to honor cancer survivors and those who've lost their battles.

"Wait a minute — July?" you say. "Why are you writing about it now? In April?"

I'm getting to that. The kick-off to this year's Relay for Life is this Saturday, April 12 in the JC Penney Courtyard of the Apache Mall. At the kick-off, you can register your team — or you can just ask questions to learn more. If you're hungry, you can even buy a $5 breakfast at Applebee's to benefit this year's event.

I'll be there, and I'd love to share my Relay story with you. I can even give you hints for creating a team and raising money. And, let me tell you, if you, like me, are always looking for an excuse to get together with friends, raising money for the Relay is the perfect opportunity. I've hosted backyard parties, bunco nights and poker tournaments. This year, I'm having a belly dancing fundraiser. (Shimmy for a Cure, baby!)

So join me, won't you? Come on out to the kick-off on Saturday — and to the Relay for Life in July. You will be happy you did.

Runnin' Fool

Hey! I'm just back tonight from NYC, where I ran my first half-marathon -- and had a very fun girls' weekend with friends Lisa, Sara and Steph.

The half-marathon was amazing. It was a ladies-only event with more than 7,000 runners circling Central Park. I felt really lucky to be a part of it.

I finished the half (which is 13.1 miles) in about 2-1/2 hours. Slow and steady... finishes the race?

When I called the boys after the race, I told Christian that I got a medal. "What place?!" he asked in excitement.

"Oh, honey -- it's not a place. It's just a silver medal."

When Jay called back later, he said, "Christian tells me you got second place..."

Too funny. I most decidedly didn't get second place. I didn't even get 1,002 place! But I did have a great time and I can now officially say that I've run a half-marathon.

Do I dare say that a marathon is next?

...yah, I don't know. I'm taking a training break for awhile! -- Jen

Bergen Writes!

I had to share this with you. Bergen has realized that he is a writer -- that with his new kindergarten skills, he can now sound-spell hundreds of words. This has come as a delight to him, as he can now make signs to tape to his brother's back that say:

KIK ME!

and

I STIK!

(That last one, I'm pretty sure, is supposed to be "stink.") Today he made a sign taped to a popsicle stick that says, "STOP" -- and holds it up when he wants us to quit doing something.

:), Jen