The last weekend in May

As I sit down to write, with 90 minutes left in the month of May, I find myself pulled in a dozen directions. Funny, when I started this blog three months ago, I wondered if I'd find enough fodder to sustain this little enterprise of mine.

Short answer: Yes.

Not everything has to be weighty and serious -- though I try sometimes to make a point that I hope resonates with those of you who are so kind as to give Rough and Rede any attention at all.

Nor does everything have to be funny -- though I sometimes wish I wrote with a lighter, breezier touch.

And by no means does it have to be about family -- if it were, I suspect it would come across as too insular.

So, with those caveats, I'll just give myself permission to roam here, there and everywhere my thoughts take me at this hour.

Good intentions. Way back in April, I wrote about the environmentalist David Suzuki and his passionate urging that all of us find ways to reduce our carbon footprint NOW in hopes of reversing the global warming trend. I vowed then I would do little things that were in sync with that message. I know it sounds trivial, but since then I've been taking the stairs a lot more at work and using the elevator a lot less; I've been more diligent about taking those canvas bags to the grocery store instead of using a new paper or plastic bag every time; and tomorrow morning, I'm going to start taking an insulated mug with me so I can avoid using a disposable cup every time I buy coffee. Small steps, I know, but things I should have been doing long ago.

Pushing myself. Yesterday, during the hottest part of the day -- high 80s -- I went down to the Springwater Corridor, just south of OMSI, and ran for nearly 50 minutes. Nearly everyone else on the paved path was on a bicycle (and, yes, it looked like fun), but I wanted to challenge myself a little -- not in a stupid way where I'd invite heat stroke, but in a good way where I'd take it steady, running alongside the river (above, a view from the east bank of the
Willamette River), occasionally passing into the shade and otherwise enjoying the sun beating down. When I was a kid, there was nothing better than playing a team sport. I'm no longer quick or agile enough for that, so I treasure the freedom and solitude that define running.

The pleasure of spontaneity. Today was the day I set aside to catch up on all I needed to do to send out information packets for the Rede family reunion in early July. At mid-morning, though, we got a call from our daughter and her partner, inviting us to come over for barbecued burgers and play time with our dogs -- their little rascal, Quimby, a Chihuahua/Pug mix, and our scamp, Otto, a Jack Russell terrier.

Otto wasn't feeling too good today (probably a combination of the heat and something he ate), so he was rather subdued. I could have stayed home and worked on the reunion stuff, but it was great to just spend a few unscripted hours with Simone and Kyndall and Kyndall's mom, Rena, who we'd met just the night before. (A great lady.)

After dinner, I could have dived in (no pun intended, as you'll see...). But, no...Instead, Lori and I watched the movie "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly," an amazing documentary-style movie about a French magazine editor who suffers a stroke and, after emerging from a coma mute and completely paralyzed, learns to communicate solely by blinking his eye. It is, as the Netflix capsule says, a "poignant film about the strength of the human spirit" and one which earned Julian Schnabel the Golden Globes' best director award.

So here I am, 45 minutes later. Normally, I'd be plowing through The New York Times at this hour. Instead, duty calls me to the Rede reunion details. We'll see how far I get...