I actually don’t mind the idea behind taking a red eye, but I do mind looking like crap in meetings the following day. (I’m just super-vain like that…)

Here’s how I at least attempt to pull it off:

• Headscarf. Keeps my hair curled the way I like it even while I’m trying to sleep in an airline seat for a few hours.
• Ny Quil. Helps with the above mentioned sleep attempts.
• Headphones or earplugs. Because when I’m tired – like I am right now – anyone in my general vicinity is automatically annoying.
• Moisturizer. So much moisturizer. And a giant water bottle.
• Wrinkle free fabric. Thank you to Ruth R. Benerito, the inventor of the wrinkle free fibers my dress is made out of. Thanks to her – and my headscarf – I’ll show up tomorrow looking presentable instead of like a horrible, wrinkly, mess.

Feeling ready to face this flight. As long as the loud mouthed lady next to me – who is bugged the crap out of everyone including her friends – isn’t seated anywhere near me…

It fits though. I’m spending most of this week on airplanes which is cool because  I get to scratch that never satisfied in one place itch that I’ve had since I was a kid. Nothing made me happier than sitting in the back of the station wagon, eating powdered donuts from Circle-K (my dad’s road-food of choice) knowing we were going somewhere. Usually Show Low, AZ. We Irwin’s aren’t a glamorous bunch, but I do have amazing family vacation memories. Many of the Clark Griswold variety.

Even though I like being on the road, something about airports and airplanes makes me a little sad. Not like I’m about to cry sad. Just, like, there’s a small ache in my chest and I don’t know why sad. Maybe it’s just the feeling of being in-between. Not quite anywhere. It’s the same feeling I get in hospital waiting rooms, even if I’m not there for a serious reason.

(It probably doesn’t help that I just finished reading “The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake” which I think is one of the saddest books I’ve read in a long time in that same ache-y, weird chest feeling way that airports are sad.)

Anyway, I made a list of my top 5 flying around in airplanes feeling mope-y songs and thought I’d share:

1. Monsters of Folk – Ahead of the Curve. I’m a little embarrassed to love this song because, Connor Oberst. Really, Megan? Are you a sad 21 year old? Not anymore, but this song really does sound like it feels to travel for a living.
2. Avett Brothers – November Blue. No real “why,” I just like the way this song sounds. I can’t fully make up my mind on the Avett Brothers. Like, sometimes they’re so great and sometimes, so … not great. Not bad, just not good. This is one of the good ones though.
3. Mountain Goats – Broom People. Honestly, I could have made this entire list just of Mountain Goats songs because I think they’re perfect. I narrowed it down to this one because something about it sounds like the way I feel when I get home and get to see Oliver. I think it’s something to do with the fact that he’s the only person who just gets it. Gets why I stay so busy and gets it when I need a break. And never asks if I’m “ok” or tells me I work “too much.” My two biggest pet peeves.
4. Sam Cooke – That’s Where It’s At. Another going-home-feels-so-great song. Sometimes I think I love leaving because it means I get to come home and I’m not sure anything feels better than coming home after a trip.
5. The Shins – Simple Song. Again, slightly embarrassing due to the fact that I am not Zach Braff in 2004, but I still like The Shins. Sue me. This song just relaxes me when the plane I’m in goes through turbulence and it also reminds me of my friend Susan who I love and miss.

Me, up in the air. I look tired because – unfortunate fact – I can’t sleep through the night in hotel rooms.

Our first summer – a year before I moved to Oregon I came to visit Oliver. You can see why I made the move less than a year later.

Today was a perfect Portland summer day. Almost, but not quite, 90 degrees. Not a cloud in the sky and 0% chance of rain.

I adore summer. It fills me with a sense of possibility and slight recklessness – a feeling that something great is about to happen. The feeling of hope and excitement that summer brings is a little stronger here in Oregon (after all, I’ve endured months of rain!) but even in 110-degree Arizona I felt the same way. As a kid, summer was the time to stay up really late scheming, reading book after book, worrying about the future. In college and the few years beyond, it was the time to abandon responsibility, to go a little crazy, to wear my swim suit all day.

And, always, at the end of summer comes the chance to reinvent, to calm down for the fall. I was that nerd who always planned – over planned – the first day of school from my outfit to my notebooks. My birthday falls over Labor Day weekend. The official end of summer and the perfect opportunity to plan all the ways I’ll be better next year.

Today, obviously, I don’t get completely reckless just because it’s summer, though I do, occasionally, leave work by 4 on Friday. A couple years ago a co-worker had what she deemed “epic summer.” I admire her energy, but decided to allow myself to feel ok about just having “pretty good summer.”

Whether this summer turns out epic or just pretty good (which would be fine with me), I do still have my birthday at the end. This year I turn 29. I’m excited and I also feel like I need to really do something with my 29th year. Taking a page from my friend Mindy, I’ve decided to try and come up with a “30 before 30″ list. The only trouble is besides “finally go see the Grand Canyon” I have no idea what to put on it. There are some things on my lifetime bucket list (qualify for and run Western States, live in a foreign country) that are unrealistic to start on my 29th birthday and complete by my 30th.

So I’m taking suggestions.  I don’t have unlimited funds, but I can afford some travel. I get 20 days of vacation time a year. I’m vegetarian (and one goal on the list might be “finally go vegan” so no weird food suggestions.) I can only think of two other things – skydiving and bungee jumping – that are absolutely 100% not ever going on a list of things to do in my lifetime.

I think those are the only rules. So – help me out here… what goes on the list?

My schedule gets a little bit insane at times, but thank god I’m not bored very often. I feel sorry for people who have to do the same thing in the same place all of the time.  It does lead to negligent blogging though. And negligent baking. And dull running (treadmills tell no interesting tales.)

So instead, I give you something I recently wrote in my regular old notebook:

Things to do on an airplane when your laptop dies (and you still have two hours to go)

• Freak out about the turbulence, try to pray the Rosary and ponder the Mysteries. (As an insurance policy against the bumpy ride.) 
• Give up after the second Hail Mary. 
• Read about hostile power grabs in chimpanzee colonies in captivity. Wonder how hard it would really be to become a primatologist. 
• See how slowly you can eat your bag of peanuts. (Answer: pretty slowly.) 
• Attempt the Soduku puzzle in the in flight magazine. Give up. Attempt the “easy” crossword. Give up. Resort to the “what’s different in these two pictures puzzle.” Own it. 
• Seat dance to “Bette Davis Eyes.”
• Miss your best friend. 

We keep it classy with the chain link fence.

Today it was sunny and 67 degrees.

Celebrated Easter and broke the fast with a Blue Moon.

I skipped my long run to get a pedicure with my childhood best friend, to hang out in the sun with Oliver and to enjoy breaking my Lenten fast.

I don’t regret it.

(But talk to me at mile 25 of Rainier to Ruston – I might regret it then.)

What’s remarkable is that in spite of all of the things that hurt when I run long and ache when I get tired, one thing never bothers me. I’m never out of breath. (Well, unless I’m trying to run at 90% of my max heart rate for too long – but that’s a bio-feedback nerd post for another time.)

This is remarkable because I smoked, chain smoked really, for six years. The day I quit four years ago, I was up to a pack and a half a day. Sometimes two packs if I was extra upset or stressed out.

I’m so mad at myself for that. I started thinking about this over the weekend when my cousin decided it was time for her to quit smoking. (Plus, this is at least kind of a health and wellness blog so I figure a “say no to smoking” post is obligatory at some point.)

I started smoking later than most people, the year I turned 18. Why? No reason really. I broke up with a boyfriend I loved. My mom and dad got divorced. At 18, I lacked the skills to cope with life. Also, once you get through your first pack, cigarettes taste good.

I loved smoking. But, I realize now, I love being alive so much more. I love tasting things  and running without getting winded and not coughing up gross stuff in the morning.

I tried to quit many times and one day in spring 2008 it finally stuck. Because I quit smoking my blood pressure, circulation, pulse and blood oxygen levels are back to normal. The nerve endings in my mouth and nose have regrown. Cilia re-grew in my lungs.

My risk of heart disease and heart attack are half that of a current smoker. My risk of stroke is that of a never-smoker. Soon, my risk of pancreatic cancer will be too.

In another six years my risk of lung, mouth and throat cancer will be reduced to about 30%-50% of that of a current smoker. That’s better than nothing, but I’m seriously so pissed at younger me for tempting the cancer gods. There is a small handful of people – my mom, my friend Craig, an ex-boyfriend, my little sister – who tried (and failed) for years to get me to quit. Though I rarely say this, they were right, I was wrong, I wish I’d listened.

I think that’s one reason I like to run. I feel like I’m doing some kind of penance for past bad behavior. Like maybe if I run hundreds of miles a year, and don’t eat processed foods or meat, and live smoke free, the universe will decide I deserve a do-over or a get out of jail free card for the whole chain smoking and eating a lot of Taco Bell in my early 20s thing.

Not sure it works that way. But, maybe it does.

Part of the trouble is a lack of inspiration. I’m still building my mileage up to any uncharted territory on my weekly long runs, I haven’t felt like baking and it just won’t f-ing stop raining. I’ve had a lot of stuff to do, but it’s just stuff, nothing wonderful or fun.

So this morning I decided to at least try to get inspired. I made the bed – my dad says it helps make a person feel better. I put on real clothes – not the running gear that’s typically my weekend uniform. When Oliver asked if I wanted to go shopping I said yes. With Oliver shopping = thrifting and since my thrift store attention span is one hour max, I usually say no. I’m glad I didn’t today.

Look what I found:

It’s a small, but welcome, rut buster. Inside are pages and pages of someone else’s grandma’s carefully written down recipes. I love it. I’m not totally sure how old it is, but there’s a soup recipe in here dated September 23, 1968. (In case you’re curious, it’s for “old fashioned” fruit soup and yes, it has tapioca in it. I’m convinced that food companies in the 60s and 70s just wanted to see how many disgusting tapioca and jello based foods they could trick America’s house wives into feeding their children.)

The cook’s name is nowhere to be found among her recipes, but we have the same culinary interests. The pages designated for “entrees” and “fish and poultry” are barely filled out, but she copied pages and pages of dessert recipes. Cookies, cakes, pies. Something called a “fattigman” which I think is maybe some kind of donut. Only one jello cake, thank god, though the cook does like custard much more than I do.

I’m excited about this find. I plan to make the desserts in here that don’t include custard and I’m looking forward to adding my own to it’s pages.

Then maybe someday, I’ll donate it back to a thrift store for some other bummed out, sweet-toothed baker in a rut to find.

They found that running stimulates the brain to grow new neurons – new grey matter – in part of the brain used for spatial memories called the hippocampus. The hippocampus is also critical for our fluid intelligence.

Good news for me since the other things that make you smarter include being good at brain teasers and not having chronic stress. Well, I suck at Soduku and chronic stress is pretty much a way of life around these parts. (Duh! Why do you think I started obsessively baking and running in the first place?)

Chronic stress face. It's worse than my former affliction, chronic bitch face.

My little brother Josh obliged. By marrying his beautiful girlfriend last week. It was a quick marriage in Tucson for personal (non-baby related) reasons and in the future they’ll have a wedding where all of our families – who span two countries – can attend and celebrate. In the meantime, we had a nice day with our small family. I don’t think I’ll be switching from team pie to team cake any time soon, but this lemon cake I baked – from scratch! –  felt pretty special. My brother cried (happy tears, I am pretty sure) when he saw it so we’ll chalk it up as a win.

Five days later, I’m still feeling sentimental about seeing my baby brother so grown up. We had the after party where we always have it. At Grammy’s house. Josh’s best friend Rob – an old friend of mine too –  his girlfriend and their son were there too. It was hard not to reflect on the passing of time.

At one point in the night I joked with Rob and my brother about what it feels like to be on the wrong side of 25. Almost 30 even. “How did that happen?” someone wondered. “Weren’t we just kids?”

I’m sarcastic and struggle with demonstrating emotion in person so my answer was something like, “Well the Earth went around the Sun quite a few times and we all got here and we all got older.”

Inside, I was just as baffled. I don’t know how we went from kids, to teenagers, to confused 20-somethings and now, I guess it’s official since Josh is hitched, to adults.

I do know that lemon cake was the perfect food to accompany the feelings of the day. I know I’m beyond happy for Joshua. And, I know that years from now, it will seem hilarious that any of us felt “old” in our 20s or briefly nostalgic for our teens.

Yeah:

March 1, 2012. Snow.