The thrill of victory, the agony of de-feet.

Last Saturday was the annual 5K run. When daughter #2 asked me to join her in the race I acquiesced though somewhat reluctantly. Although a regular at the gym I've never run before and religiously avoid the treadmill. But secretly, I've envied those cheetah-like marathon runners and yearned to be among them sprinting gracefully towards the finish line, feet barely touching earth, wind in my hair, the theme from "Chariots of Fire" blaring as I cross the finish line...and so, when my daughter burst into my bedroom Saturday morning at 7:00 a.m. and asked me to join her at the starting line at 9:00 a.m. I thought why not, another item I could check off my bucket list.

I was the poster child for how NOT to run a 5K - no previous training, wearing five-year-old sneakers, no sunblock, no sunglasses, and no vital warm-up exercises. Inexperience, however, didn't stop me. I began to run at maximum speed and two blocks later almost passed out so I stopped to fake a quick chat with my nine-year-old neighbor in order to catch my breath. But when a grey-haired older woman sprinted past me I somehow pulled myself together and took off again trying to catch up with daughter #2 who had left me in the dust. Throat dry, calves burning, knees aching, a massive headache from sun glare, and sunburn on my nose and head, the only thing that kept me going was the thought of that senior citizen pulling ahead of me. Determined, I kept at it, and crossed the finish line ecstatic at actually finishing my first 5K run. Unfortunately, no one from my family was camera-ready to document the moment because they assumed I'd be arriving home by ambulance - no one dreamed I would complete the race.

My elation was short-lived because the next morning I woke up in pain, ankles swollen and massive purple bruises on both heels, a severe case of shin splints and a possible stress fracture. Every cloud, however,  has a silver lining. Sitting with ice packs affixed to both legs gave me the opportunity to do some Hubert hunting on my laptop. After hours of intensive researching I finally located an address to email the booksellers on the Seine. The first response I received (in French, of course) was the usual "sorry but we do not have these works." Emboldened by my recent accomplishment I was undeterred, and determined not to let the trail grow cold, I sent off another email inquiry. As Charles De Gaulle once said "You have to be fast on your feet and adaptive or else a strategy is useless." Obviously, I'm not all that fast on my feet but if my computer fingers were nimble enough to evoke a response from one of the booksellers then perhaps there would be someone else who might respond as well.

And there was - I received an email from another bouquiniste who also responded with a negative.  I persisted, asking if he could suggest another contact but by his return mail "Non aucune idee, du fait que nous sommes uniquement specialises en Geologie, Mineralogie et Paleontologie" (No idea, owing to the fact that we are only specialists in Geology, Mineralogy and Paleontology) my strategy as per Charles De Gaulle appears useless. My daughter thinks it's time to enlist the aid of a French teacher. I'm thinking it sounds like a far better idea than the 5K....

"Unlucky people are stuck in routines. When they see something new, they want no part of it. Lucky people always want something new. They're prepared to take risks and relaxed enough to see the opportunities in the first place." Richard Wiseman, "How to Make Your Own Luck"

It's been almost one year since I first joined the ranks of the unemployed. When my job was "eliminated" (the carefully contrived, thinly disguised, excuse to oust me by a bullying boss of the worst kind; the crazy kind) my first reaction was one of panic - no salary, no health benefits, no 401K, no Cream de La Mer anymore. But then the panic slowly abated as the realization hit me - no more long commute, no dysfunctional coworkers, no 9-5 grind in corporate hell - and made me think that maybe, just maybe, I could somehow make lemonade out of this grove-full of lemons handed to me.

And so I began to make up for time lost. In between job hunting I spent more time with my family, I reconnected with friends, I exercised, I read more, I enrolled in some classes, I began Chasing Hubert, and, in general, I started living again. Now, with a new career on the horizon, I look back and recognize that I should have been bold enough to make the change on my own and sooner rather than allowing myself to remain stuck in a rut.

Although it's been a challenging year it's also been an enlightening one. I haven't learned who Hubert is yet but I have learned some pretty worthwhile lessons - the following is my top ten list of wisdom I've divined during my year of living freely, frugally, and fearlessly.

1- Change is inevitable so embrace change, don't fear it. Without change life would resemble the movie "Groundhog Day". Boring people get stuck in routines.
2 - Never lose your sense of humor, you can always find something to laugh about. Sometimes you just have to look a little harder to find it.
3 - You really can survive without the expensive shoes, the designer duds, the fancy car. Stuff doesn't make you happy, experiences do.
4 - Exercising is a great way to avoid the doctor when you lack health benefits and it's also a great way to get your aggressions out without getting into trouble.
5 - No matter how bad things seem they always look better in the morning so hang in there because things will change (see #1).
6 - It's never too late to re-invent yourself. Grandma Moses didn't start painting until she was in her 80s.
7 - Don't let your job define you. Don't get so caught up in your career that you forget the other ingredients in your life.
8 - Live in the moment. Life is short so worrying about what's down the road keeps you from enjoying today.
9 - Money and jobs can disappear but true friends don't leave when the chips are down.
10 - Never lose sight of what's important to you and never give up!

"Knitting is very conducive to thought. It is nice to knit a while, put down the needles, write a while, then take up the sock again." Dorothy Day

There's been a severe Hubert drought lately. So much so, I found myself questioning whether Hubert's etchings are nothing more than pigments of my imagination. To atone for my recent bout of doubt, in a rare moment of repose, I sat down with my laptop (and a wine spritzer for fortification) to catch up on some Hubert hunting. Lo and behold, a Hubert etching for sale on ebay popped up on my screen, coincidentally of a scene set in the very location along the Seine where I've been seeking out bouquinistes.

With only hours to go before the auction ended, I was due at a friend's house for our weekly knitting group during the very critical last minutes of bidding. Already the black sheep of this wild and woolly group, as soon as I arrived at Knitter 1's house I announced that I would have to leave early to monitor the auction bidding. Wayward knitter that I am, the baby blanket I've been working on for 2 years has been getting smaller and smaller each week because I'm continuously pulling out rows with dropped stitches.  Hence the reason for my husband's increasing skepticism as to what we actually do each Wednesday night - he suspects knitting is really a cover for a ladies' night of watching porn and drinking cosmos.

My announcement to bolt early was met with protest and Knitter 1, loyal friend and Hubert supporter, dragged out her laptop for me to log on and commence bidding for the coveted etching. As the final moments of bidding grew near, the screen suddenly turned black; the battery power ran out. Knitter 1 scrambled for the power cord, Knitter 2 cracked jokes to keep the tension level down, and Knitter 3, used to my obsessive-compulsiveness, just shook her head, rolled her eyes and continued knitting. Fortunately, the power came back on and the computer booted up just in time for the final countdown. I anticipated a last-minute bidding war on the ebay front line but I was the one and only bidder and as the last seconds ticked by, up popped that familiar ebay slogan: "Congratulations, You are the Winning Bidder!" Winning Hubert was easy, if only finding Hubert were as simple...

"I hate to be a kicker, I always long for peace, But the wheel that does the squeaking, Is the one that gets the grease." Josh Billings, American humorist

With the exception of the wonderful, helpful, and brilliant researcher from the D'Orsay, I've had no response from any of the sites I've just emailed about bouquinistes along the Seine who might recognize a Hubert etching. Something recently occurred that made me think perhaps I need to change my attitude. Last Saturday I attended a cocktail party given by a close friend and former carpooler. In my long and arduous commuting history I've been a member of three separate carpools and consider myself fortunate to still maintain close ties with all of my ride-share buddies. An anomaly if the old adage "familiarity breeds contempt" is true. Surely spending up to 3 hours a day, 5 days a week, in close quarters with the same person in rush hour traffic, should have bred enough contempt to spontaneously combust the vehicle.

Carpooler 1 and I maintained silence. Neither one of us a morning person, we drove each a.m. in a silence punctuated only by an occasional road rage expletive. The ride home was much more animated with conversation, rehashing the events of the workday all the while attempting to psychoanalyze the personality disorders in our workplace sprinkled with a little justifiable boss-bashing for good measure. Once, when the office dynamics were intolerable, we fabricated an overflowing toilet bowl in order to breakfast at the diner so as to delay our arrival and avoid the ever watchful eyes of the self-appointed hall monitor of the office. Then, there was the time Carpooler 1 and I were assigned to a photo shoot and carpooled to our destination in monsoon conditions only to discover we left the cameras in my car one state away. Carpooler 1 and I might have occasionally courted trouble at work but never in our friendship.

Carpooler 2 was a free spirit and compassionate soul, moved by the plight of a homeless woman we passed each morning who sat on the grassy embankment adjacent to our exit. Deeply affected by the woman's situation, Carpooler 2 prepared a food basket for her and concocted a plan to toss the package from our speeding car as there was no place to stop. I decelerated as we drove by the indigent woman sitting in her usual spot and Carpooler 2 hurled the food basket in her direction. Unbeknownst to us, the homeless woman had relocated and a dog walker now sitting on the embankment was the unwelcome recipient of our meal on wheels. It was not long after, that Carpooler 2 shucked the corporate workplace for a position abroad teaching English as a second language. I'm willing to bet the traumatized dog walker found a new occupation as well.

I hit the jackpot with Carpooler 3 who, to my delight, assumed the driving while I sat in heated seat, sipping tea and reading the daily horoscope in Driving Miss Daisy style. If you really want to get to know a person well just commute with them. On one agonizingly long ride, having exhausted every current events topic and listened to every song on a 2 gigabyte ipod, I regaled him with details of my pregnancies, deliveries, and breastfeeding anecdotes. I can still recall the blanched look on his face as I persisted, fueled on by a grande cup of Starbucks Zen green tea. He enacted revenge by subjecting me to a litany of graphic details of his recent eye surgery. The paramount reason we carpoolers have remained friends is the fact that we are privy to enough intimate details to blackmail each other for life.

At Carpooler 3's party he introduced me to someone who authors a work-related blog. Loyal comrade that Carpooler 3 is, he instantly pulled out one of the many Chasing Hubert cards I accidentally intentionally left in his car and handed it over to his friend who, good to his word, checked out my blog and emailed me with kind comments describing my blog as "very nice and very civilized." And therein lies the problem - perhaps I've been too civilized about this quest. If it's the squeaky wheel that gets all the grease, then maybe it's my low noise tires that are holding me back. Maybe it's time to start squeaking and I'll eventually garner more grease....

"The afterthought is good, but forethought is better." Norwegian proverb

A good friend told me about a pseudo antiques roadshow to be held in her town in a nearby assisted living residence, according to an advertisement she came across in a local store. The flier stipulated bringing no more than two items per person and the antique appraiser would give the estimated value of your treasures. Willing to try anything at this point, I arose early on Saturday morning ready to make the 45-minute trek.

I had my Hubert packed up and ready to roll and as I ran out the door I grabbed an old cast iron bank off the bookshelf as an afterthought for my second item. It was a beautiful day and after meeting up with my friends we rushed over to the residence. We were anxious to beat out the throngs of collectors and be among among the first in line when they opened the door hoping to meet the appraisers while they were still in fresh form and not beaten down by the hordes of money-hungry treasure seekers. Not that we had anything to worry about - we were the only ones to show up for the event.

I waited patiently as my two friends had their JFK inauguration program and tickets, their Charles Lindbergh commemorative plate complete with vintage chip, and their signed children's book illustration, authenticated and appraised. I pulled out my Hubert etchings (yes, I cheated and brought more than one) and cast iron pilot's head bank for examination. Everything was appraised at the $50 mark except for my bank which surprisingly was valued at approximately $150. Ironically, my afterthought took the prize for the item of greatest value. Not a windfall but certainly a bonus for an afterthought. I came anticipating a Hubert revelation but as the saying goes, you can plan a pretty picnic but you can't predict the weather.

When it was my turn to take the floor I proceeded to give a detailed history of my Hubert search as I handed over my Chasing Hubert business card and proudly displayed my etchings. The appraiser was warm and friendly and gave me some background on the history of etching, however, had nothing new to add about Hubert although she did say the name sparked a note of recognition. She took my phone number and promised to do a little digging into her antique resources to see if she could turn up any new information. Hopefully, she'll get back to me one way or another and my Chasing Hubert business card won't wind up in the bottom of a collectible vintage trash receptacle...

"I first came because of the name: Serendipity. It's one of my favorite words. It's such a nice sounding word for what it means: a fortunate accident." Sara, from the movie "Serendipity"

I went to the library this week to check out a new release I was looking forward to reading only to find that it was unavailable. As I was about to leave, sitting on the desk was a copy of a new book "The Best Vintage Antique and Collectible Shops in Paris." I couldn't believe my eyes, this was just what the print expert at the NY Public Library ordered. I whisked out my library card and as I mused about my fortuitous discovery, the librarian commented, "Must be serendipity!"

I've always loved the sound of that word. According to the dictionary, serendipity is "when interesting or valuable discoveries are made by accident." A fortunate accident may be an oxymoron but many of life's memorable moments are due to fortunate accidents or serendipity. I first met my husband when I fell off a bicycle. I found my house when babysitting a friend's daughter when she made an emergency visit to the doctor.  I met two of my dearest friends when my husband and I, late for a bus tour in Antigua on an anniversary vacation, were the last to board the already full bus. My husband squeezed up front next to the driver and I became the third wheel in the two-person back seat of the bus next to a lovely and funny Scottish couple with whom we've spent every anniversary with since.

Perhaps my best example of a serendipitous moment was purchasing a tacky mirrored beer sign for its pretty frame and discovering a beautiful colored etching of a Paris scene signed by Hubert hidden beneath. Call it serendipity, karma, or just plain good fortune, I believe finding Hubert is somehow tied into my destiny. So when I spied the book "The Best Vintage and Collectible Shops in Paris" just sitting there on the library desk waiting for me I viewed it as the happy accident that might lead to a Hubert breakthrough. I sent emails in French to shops listed in the book that might include etchings. So far no response, but serendipity brought Hubert into my life and I'm counting on a bit of serendipity to bring me a little Hubert happenstance...

"There comes a time when every life goes off course, when you must choose a direction. Will you fight to stay on path?" H.G. Adler

Life is like a river. Sometimes it flows gently, other times it flows swiftly and can take you completely off course. This week my Hubert search was thrown off course. The first time was at the local bookstore where I occasionally escape to work on chasing Hubert.  A creature of habit, I've grown accustomed to sitting in one of the only two overstuffed armchairs in the bookstore, superstitiously convinced that somehow these chairs are a good luck link to writing, researching, and finding Hubert.

Apparently it was an unlucky choice because once I logged on to the WiFi and checked my email I found a response from a print gallery I emailed in Paris. Only the print shop was not a print shop but a photography store, as in camera equipment. Somehow, I knew that finding long-established souvenir shops and print galleries in Paris was going to be a challenge. Just as I was about to go back to the drawing board and begin a new search the battery on the laptop gave out. Here I was, blown off course.

 I was also thrown for a loop this week was when someone posed the question "Why?" to me regarding my Hubert quest. So what's in this Chasing Hubert for me? Certainly nothing of monetary value since my Huberts, although quite beautiful, don't seem to fetch much in the art market. Certainly not fame since Hubert is virtually unknown to the world. Fame and fortune aside, it was my friendship with Tom, without whom this search would never have gotten off the ground, and his tragic death that was the driving force behind my Chasing Hubert. Tom was my inspiration and this search and subsequent blog is, in some small way, a tribute to him. That is why, in spite of drifting off-course this week, I'm hoping and counting on the tide to turn, adversity to ebb, and the river to course fluently...