About six years ago, my father passed away. I still think about him almost every day, but especially this time of the year when his birthday, February 14th, rolls around.

With my sister and brothers, I will sometimes reminisce about the small idiosyncrasies that made him our dad. The bulging pants pockets, filled with keys. The wallet held together with 3 elastic bands (this despite the drawer full of new ones we had given him over the years as gifts). The baseball hat perched atop his head (never on his head), reflective of his time in the military. His distrust of anything resembling a main road (his old trucks weren’t bred for the highways).

He was, like many of his generation, a man of few words. But when he did speak, it was usually to impart some wisdom or practical piece of advice. As I’ve gotten older, I have come to appreciate many of his great aphorisms, which remain lodged in my mind like an old song. With this Valentine's Day upon us, I thought I’d share some of his “greatest hits” which may help you in setting your priorities.

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My high school solicited photos and stories from alumnae this week for an anniversary brochure it is composing in honor of its 150th anniversary. Upon reflection, I realized that as a student at Saint Elizabeth’s Academy, I took very seriously the annual “talent show.” The year I dressed up as a purple raisin and sang “I heard it through the grapevine” may not go down in musical history as the greatest ever performance of a Marvin Gaye song, but it’s one that I will remember for the rest of my life.  

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This past week while working on my newsletter, I debated many times over the value of sharing something quite personal. I sometimes question the current culture of social media in which nothing is real until it is blogged about, tweeted or facebooked. But the events of my own life have been so thoroughly hijacked in recent weeks that to even attempt to write about anything else seems disingenuous, and well...faintly ridiculous.

On September 22nd, my mom, Sally Ann Mehl, died of cancer. She was 75. She died, irony of ironies, at home in our “living room”, propped up in a rented hospital bed. Since we all have parents, and this is something that sooner or later we all will face, I thought there might be some merit in reflecting briefly upon her passing.

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Two weeks ago, I took my mom, Sally Ann Mehl, to a birthday party at my cousin’s house. We ate eggplant parm and ice cream cake. My mom was as happy as she looks in this photo. One week later, we discovered she has an incurable form of liver cancer and we’re told she has only three weeks to live at most.

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Over the past 16 years, I have completed over 40 marathons worldwide: Boston, St. Louis, Stockholm, Chicago, Dublin and L.A. to name a few. I keep coming back to the 26.2 mile event as I am infected by the positive spirit of the day and the special fellowship between athletes. But lately, I’ve noticed in the field a growing population of chronic complainers that often spoil it for others and even give runners a bad name.

Typically, the mania starts at the expo. I’ve seen marathoners push and tackle each other whenever “free stuff” becomes available. You’d swear these people had never seen a T-shirt before in their lives. Then the litany of woe begins: “The pasta dinner is too pricey! What, no beer garden? Are you kidding me?! Last year’s long-sleeve was much better than this. Can you believe this hotel? The rooms are really crappy this year.” And on it goes.

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