Polka Dots and Tulips

My Year in Review (or, How to Have Nearly 3 Bad Years in a Row)

2011-12-25T10:09:00.000-05:00

Lately, I've felt as though I look back on every year and say, "This has been a hard year." 2011, I guess, is no exception.2009 and 2010 were phenomenally bad years, difficult and grief-filled, with the loss of my Grandma Mazzaferro, the demise of my marriage, the loss of my Grandma Carter, the sudden decision to leave the agency I'd put so much energy into, and starting the process of leaving the state I'd lived in for my entire adult life.

I assumed 2011 had to be better than 2009 and 2010. I started this year unemployed, living in my brother and sister-in-law's guest room in Ft. Wayne, IN. Not the high point of my life, especially as the older sister who has always been looking out for and taking care of my brother. At the same time, though, I was offered - whether they realized it or not - the gift of grace. It was a true gift - living with them, getting to spend time with my brother, whom I hadn't spend real time with since we were kids, getting to know my sister-in-law, and getting to play with my niece Julia, who is so far beyond awesome I can't describe it. To be around love, laughter, shrieks of silliness, and squeals of delight was a gift for which I am forever thankful.

I spent the first 3 months of this year interviewing and freelancing, convinced that Chicago was where I was going to call home. And I nearly did. I had interviews with every agency you've heard of, and many you haven't. I wandered around Chicago, got a feel for the neighborhoods, did budgets, talked to friends who lived there. And not once did it feel like it was supposed to be home. I ignored those feelings and kept interviewing, because really, in the midwest, where else are you going to go if you're in advertising and have worked on Madison Ave. and want to focus on interactive strategy? And then, on a whim, I interviewed at Caldwell VanRiper in Indianapolis.

3 weeks later, I was the newest CVR employee, having spent the week prior to starting at CVR flying to Connecticut to finalize my divorce, getting all my furniture from storage, saying goodbye to all my friends, moving across the country, signing a lease on an apartment, unpacking, and trying to figure out what life in Indianapolis was really going to be like.

The next 5 months were, in a word, terrible. CVR was a good agency, but I honestly could take or leave it. I wasn't thrilled about working on healthcare accounts, and they didn't have digital components to them, and I couldn't figure out how a person like me was really going to fit in at this 30-person agency in the middle of the country. I wanted to go back to Ft. Wayne to be a live-in nanny/auntie for Julia, and just give up on having an advertising career. I wasn't sold on Indianapolis as home. Nowhere felt like home - I felt as though I was crossing off places on the map where I knew I couldn't live anymore: Connecticut, Virginia, now Indy. Oh, and I had these not-so-small tumors in my abdomen causing not-insignificant pain throughout my body.

I dealt with the tumors. And the insurance nightmare that comes from being recently divorced and not having all the paperwork in order before embarking on a $50,000 surgery. The leadership at the agency - for reasons still unknown to me - hung in there with me while I recovered, and they put up with me while I figured out where I fit in the agency, or rather, that I fit in at the agency, and things slowly settled into a routine.

So I would say that through August of 2011, this year was right up there with 2009 and 2010. I felt like when someone looked back at the timeline of my life, they would mark these nearly 3 years as "The Crying Years." It seemed as though that was all I did - cry, and try to figure out how I could possibly have thought I was the type of person who could start over at 34 years old, alone, in a city where I knew no one and didn't know how to make friends, and at an agency that wasn't suited to my skill sets. This all seemed like such a big mistake, and I was scared to tell anyone that. Everything I touched ended up broken - I couldn't tell anyone I was failing at this too.

The fall months were different, and probably redeemed this year. Tumor-less, completely free of the insurance nightmares and the ex-husband that came with them, I had a couple of months to step up and demonstrate that I was the same person that my manager interviewed in March, and that he decided to take a chance on. I had a demanding client to prove a handful of things to. And I had myself to prove more than a handful of things to. Otherwise, I needed to move on, to wherever that would be.

I have worked hard in my adult life. Yale and Oxford were busy places to work, especially in a dying industry. Chiat Day and Digitas were high-performing in ways that still make my head hurt. Ryan Partnership was maybe the hardest I've been expected to work, and for so little return and even less respect. But this fall was probably the most demanding work I've ever done - not always the work itself, but demonstrating my own value as more than an account supervisor. But here's the thing:

I loved it.

Facebook posts.

I saw progress in the agency. I saw progress on the teams I was on. I slowly figured out how to bridge the great divide between account and creative. I saw the direction the agency is going, and I felt myself wanting to be a part of it. Yes, I was tired. Long days piled upon each other eventually lead to exhaustion. But it felt great on a different level. I continued to have this feeling that this is where I am supposed to be. And this is what I'm supposed to be doing. I didn't come to this agency to change it. I came here because sometime about it felt right. And now I know why.

Living in Indianapolis still isn't great. It doesn't feel like home, and I'm the first to admit that's because I haven't made it home. But that's for another blog post. What living in Indianapolis has afforded me this year is the opportunity to say that although most of 2011 was pretty lousy, and I wouldn't relive it - just like I wouldn't relive 2010 or 2009 - what ended up redeeming this year was the one thing I never expected: this little agency I'd never heard of, and applied to on a whim, and didn't expect to get an offer from and didn't expect to accept the offer from, and 5 months in, didn't expect to stay at.

Family and friends criticize me for spending too much time on work. This year, on a practical level, work is what saved me. On an emotional level, there is no question that Julia and Alexa and Alan and Karen saved me every day whether they knew it or not. But on a practical level, a reason to get out of bed, a reason to keep my mind clear, to keep focused on something other than all the ways I've failed my parents, friends, marriage - work is what saved me.

Non-new year resolutions

2011-11-15T07:00:00.001-05:00

I don't do new years' resolutions. I've always thought them a little silly, and arbitrary. Why January 1? If something's that important, does it need to wait until the new year? And then am I setting myself up for failure if 2 weeks into the year, I've quit my diet, or broken the prayer chain, or started swearing again, or whatever...? The best resolution I've ever made - and probably the only one I stuck to - was when I was about 10. I distinctly recall sitting at my Grandma Mazzaferro's house, at her kitchen table, making my list - and putting "eat more ice cream!" as my resolution. Clearly, I took resolutions very seriously then too.

But, there are some things I want to accomplish in the next year. Ideally in the next six months. So here's my list. We'll call them goals, objectives, Erin's to-do list.

1. Get tattoo #4. I have the design. I just need to find someone to do it. And commit to the placement. (I think I have those two things backwards.)

2. Find an organization to volunteer with. When I was in CT, it was Columbus House. I need something like that in my life again. To add meaning, depth, substance. And because to whom much is given....

3. Attend at least 10 live concerts. This year I think I will have made it to about 6. 10 isn't even 1 a month, so that seems feasible. Especially if Newport 2012 is on the schedule.

4. Take a vacation somewhere I want to go, not somewhere I feel obligated to go. Me time. With or without anyone else. Where along the way did I think it was okay to give up the space I used to carve out for myself?

5. Plan the next 5 years of my life. (That's a joke. I've never had a five-year plan. I'm lucky if I can see 4 days ahead. For as much of a planner as I am, I've never been able to plan the big things for my life. I just can't "see" them.)

6. Or rather, the real 5. Make 5 new friends. This should take me about 18 months to accomplish, at very least. I am not good at making friends, not good at being social, too good at being alone, too comfortable in my own space rather than entering that of others. I feel like I don't know where to begin to make friends here. Church? That's loaded with all sorts of other issues. A dog park? That would require a dog, which I do not have or want. A gym? Ugh. That would require exercise, which seems like a lot of work just to try to make a friend. Maybe I'll put this one off until 2015. Or 2017. Yeah, making friends the year I turn 40 sounds perfect. I'll check back on this in another 5 years or so. I might have acquired a dog by then. :)

Disconnected Thoughts on Little Humans

2011-11-07T18:28:00.001-05:00

People are so disappointing. Let's face it: we fail each other daily, hourly even. We're dishonest and manipulative and agenda-driven. We tell others what we think they want to hear, regardless of whether it's right, or true, or fair. Helpless and hopeless and broken. Wounded and lashing out, often at those we love the most, those who will stand by us. We're not great friends; we're not loyal spouses. Commitment, faithfulness, compassion, patience - these are not our strengths. Helpless and hopeless and broken.

But in the midst of the brokenness, there is a painful, painstaking beauty. A whisper of grace. A glimpse of mercy. A recognition that not everything is all broken all of the time. A thought that maybe we can hold the disappointment at bay just a little longer. Sometimes those are just whispers, just glimpses, fleeting, short-lived mirages. Other times, it seems as though we can capture the moments like fireflies in a jar, hold onto them for at least one night, to provide us with light until dawn.

For me, the mercy glimpses and grace whispers come in the form of little human creatures. This was entirely unexpected - anyone who's known me for more than a few years probably recalls that liking or knowing what to do with children has not always been my strong suit. But isn't that what mercy and grace are? Unanticipated, unwarranted, undeserved.

I've not entirely sorted this out yet, so I'm sure my theology is shaky, but I am becoming ever more convinced that there is a connection between this need for visible demonstrations of grace and why Christ came in little human creature form. Is there anything more beautiful and unexpected, precious and likely to catch a person off-guard? Captivating - and likely to catch everyone who held him, raised him, brought him up off guard with delight as he learned to roll over, did "face plants" while learning to crawl, went from speaking gibberish to "real" words, played hide and seek with his brothers? Little humans remind us to laugh, to not take ourselves too seriously, to go outside and play hide and seek once in a while.

We learn to listen deeper, we learn to trust our instincts, we learn to pay closer attention when we are in the presence of children who rely on us. We come to rely on them.

I have relied on the little creatures in my life the past few years, especially the past year or so. I had no idea how knowing - not just having, but knowing - my niece would change my life. From finding out what happens when I forget to feed her to discovering how easily things disintegrate when I let her run through the house with waffles in her little hands. From waiting for her body to relax into a much-needed to nap to wanting to poke her awake so I can see that look of recognition and delight on her freshly-rested face. And I didn't think it was possible to love anyone as much as I loved my niece...until I was blessed with another one.

Helpless and hopeless and broken. And then: Unanticipated, unwarranted, undeserved. What love.

A pre-Thanksgiving list.

2011-11-01T22:51:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about family. I always do this time of year - they are what I am most thankful for. I have a laundry list of things to be thankful for; every year it grows, and every year I add some sort of "thankful I survived [insert your choice of events here: deaths, divorce, grief, loss, cross-country moves, uprooting my life, starting over again, and so on]" to it.

I am also adding people to the list, near and far: "beyond thankful for [rekindled college friendships; new friends from college days; the funny ways Facebook brings together people who would never have found each other again after graduation day; colleagues who embody Midwestern kindness; concert buddies; all the children I've decided to be an auntie to; and so on]."

And of course, family is on the list. They have their own list. Some, well, one has fallen off the list this year, thanks to a decree by a judge in the state of Connecticut. And that's ok. Because one got added to the list, and man, at only 5 months old, she totally rocks. And her personality far exceeds that of her former uncle. I bet her understanding of commitment, grace, patience, compromise, and the things you do for family - those too will far exceed his limited capacity. Oh, and she's cuter too.

My siblings. Where to begin with them? My younger sister is so much like me, it's painful. I want to stop her from living her 20s the way I did, and I also know I can't. She just has to do her own growing up. But I am so thankful for her. Thankful for the relationship we have, for the way we communicate (it's a funny way, but it works for us). I love that she talks to me, even if she never takes my advice. I am thankful that when I ask her to bring me a meerkat from South Africa, she doesn't look at me like I'm a total loon. She plays along.

I'm so thankful that she is still young enough to want to change the world, and she's living her life in a way that might have some impact on that. She's worked at The Hague. Right now she's in Tanzania doing pro bono work for an international criminal tribunal for Rwanda. She's been in India working with the Church of Northern India. She wants to have an impact. And in little corners of the globe, this super-nerdy, slightly too intense, 23-year-old Bar-admitted attorney actually is.

My older sister? Well, she's just amazing. For one thing, she tells the best stories. I love getting on the phone with her and comparing the trials and travails of our jobs. Her stories always win. A born comedian, and she probably doesn't even know it. She, like my younger sister, is also impacting her corner of the globe. She's less timid than the younger sister - the typical assertive oldest kid. But she's using that assertiveness to get things done. She's a social worker by training, a graduate school professor by occupation, a dean now as well, an executive board member and community leader focusing on issues that impact teens, especially as they relate to teen pregnancy and prevention. My older sister is the most vocal person I know - and if she supports you, you've got an ally like none other.

And she manages to juggle a full teaching load with her deanship responsibilities and her board chairperson tasks and presenting (and representing Wash. U.) at conferences, and still has time for friends and book clubs and wine tastings and art shows, and spending time with her husband of nearly 10 years. And I don't know how she does it. I get tired just thinking about her schedule.

Certainly not least: my brother. I've seen my brother more in the past year that probably the whole past decade. And it totally rocks. Why did we not live closer sooner? He is quickly becoming the person I am most thankful for. And not just because he gives me total access to my nieces. He's an awesome kid - if 32 year olds can be kids? - and he is raising his daughters to know laughter, and to feel loved, and to celebrate achievements like learning to eat Puffs from between their toes or learning how to put together a puzzle on their own. Those girls know that they are loved by their daddy, and their eyes light up when he's around. It is so awesome. On my list of thankful things this year, it goes something like, "I am so thankful for Alan because [he let me live with his family for 3 months; he let me watch a good marriage in action; he never really asked what happened to my marriage, even though I certainly would have told him; he married someone who also welcome me into her home and made me a part of her life rather than just an in-law; even in the midst of playing at adulthood, there is still a part of him that is obsessed with finding out how Elmo can ride his tricycle without puppet strings, and who will still rave about his silly video game about ice and liquid.] He's a big kid in a bigger kid's body. And he goes to work every day like adults do, but I bet in the back of his mind, he's counting the hours till he can go home and hang out with the darling Julia and Alexa.

Living a Polka Dot Life

2011-08-21T00:12:00.000-04:00

Can't believe it's been so long since I've written anything. Admittedly, it's been a little nutty here the past few weeks, but I really should keep up with this better. And, even with the nuttiness, I can still look back and say that I am thankful, and point to some key things in particular that are enhancing my life.

1. I have a new niece!! Alexandra Rose is now about 8 weeks old, and is the most precious, fussiest little ball of wonder I've ever seen...aside from her sister of course. I didn't see Julia until she was about 4 months old, so I've really enjoyed getting to spend time with Alexa. And of course, time with Alexa necessarily involves time with Julia Monkey-Noodle, which can only be described as the best way to spend time ever. I will post photos of Alexa (who actually smiled at me a week or so ago!) soon.

2. I no longer have foreign objects growing inside me. Minor but important thing that makes me happy. I had 3 tumors removed in mid-July, and man, is it nice to not be in constant pain. The doctors have been trying to figure out the source of the pain since about early April, and I was beginning to think that we'd never get to the bottom of it...but thankfully there are some good specialists here in Indianapolis, and there's a really good robot, and they found not 1 but 3 tumors (all benign). And turns out when I don't have tennis and golf ball sized objects in my abdomen, I am a much nicer person.

3. I have some awesome colleagues. In fact, I have an entire office of awesome colleagues. Yes, I work a ton. Yes, I need to find a work-life balance. But I love what I do. And I love who I do it with. This is so different from anything I've experienced previously, and it continues to surprise me. I keep expecting things to change to what I'm used to - for us to be treated as resources, not people; for us to be reminded that we can all be replaced and that not one of us brings anything special or unique to the table; for it to be emphasized that our priority ought to be work, not family or health, and if we disagree, again, we can be replaced. I function internally from a place of fear and a need not to encounter those scenarios again - even though I've not seen them here. The people I work with and for are the best. I cannot be thankful enough.

4. Friends who come to visit even when I tell them not to. I have some great friends, and not just because they share my love of margaritas. Over the 4th of July long weekend, I begged one of my friends who was planning to visit to reschedule. I had too much work, I hadn't slept more than 3 hours a night in weeks, I was 250 pages behind on a freelance project that was already late, and I just didn't have the energy to entertain or even pretend to be human. Do you know what she said? "Tough. I'm coming anyway. You don't have to entertain me. You can work for part of the time. But then I'm saying enough, and we're going to go have some fun. Because you need a friend, and a hug, and some laughter, and some relaxing, and some margaritas." And she did. And we had a great time.

The next weekend, one of my best friends came into town, with her two daughters - two of my godchildren, and the reason I've ended up with the nicknames "Innie" and "George". It was another time when I thought, I do not have the energy to handle this. I've barely got the energy to spell my own name. But true to form, these 3 awesome girls made my weekend - from lots of hugs to playing in the park to letting me have some time to rest and pack for a business trip to discovering a new burger restaurant. I was exhausted by the time I got on the plane Monday morning for work, but so glad I didn't have them cancel their trip.

5. Good clients. For those of us in this business, that may seem like an oxymoron. And for the most part, it probably is. I've had a lot of bad clients. A lot of clients who just don't get it - who never figured out that if they let us, we could make them look like rock stars. Who never got that the reason they hired us was to help them with strategy, and that we were not the enemy. But I've been fortunate to have had 2 fantastic clients in my career, and one really outstanding, best of the best client. That kind of relationship is rare; those are the clients I will consider friends long after we finish our working relationship.

It's not been easy to cultivate good client relationships here, but I think I'm making progress. There are signs of baby steps, glimpses of things I'm doing right, and I try to hold onto those during the times when I feel like I'm not doing anything right, and my manager would be better off hiring a trained monkey to run the account. And while I do yet not have the client-account manager bond that I had with my previous clients, I do enjoy my current clients - and I'm finding that they're both beginning to trust me, and appreciate some of my humor. (Scary, huh?)

The Things We Mistook for Foundational...

2011-06-09T21:56:00.003-04:00

"Both Hands" (Ani DiFranco)

I am walking
out in the rain
and I am listening to the low moan
of the dial tone again
and I am getting
nowhere with you
and I can't let it go
and I can't get through...

the old woman behind the pink curtains
and the closed door
on the first floor
she's listening through the air shaft
to see how long our swan song can last

and both hands
now use both hands
oh, no don't close your eyes

I am writing
graffiti on your body
I am drawing the story of
how hard we tried

I am watching your chest rise and fall
like the tides of my life,
and the rest of it all
and your bones have been my bedframe
and your flesh has been my pillow
I am waiting for sleep
to offer up the deep
with both hands

in each other's shadows we grew less and less tall
and eventually our theories couldn't explain it all
and I'm recording our history now on the bedroom wall
and when we leave the landlord will come
and paint over it all

and I am walking
out in the rain
and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again
and I am getting nowhere with you
and I can't let it go
and I can't get through

So now use both hands
please use both hands
oh, no don't close your eyes
I am writing graffiti on your body
I am drawing the story of how hard we tried
hard we tried
how hard we tried

Random Thoughts, Bouncing Around....

2011-05-30T19:23:00.010-04:00

It's almost June. High temperatures have set in (hopefully for good), kids are out of school, summer vacation plans are underway.... And it occurred to me that I hadn't made a thankful list in a while. I think about what I'm thankful for all the time, but I don't write much about it - or at least not enough. But when I sat down to write this list, it became more of a "Welcome to Erin's brain" sort of thing, because some things deserved an explanation, or had stories behind them. So, a short list, with long articulations that likely aren't necessary, or meaningful, for many people beyond me - but then again, this is my writing, so it doesn't have to be necessary or meaningful for anyone else, does it?

1. The summer music season/releases. Some people look forward to the summer movies; I look forward to new music, and the festivals and concerts that come with new albums released in the spring and summer. This year, I'll go back to Newport with dear Michelle, and I am so excited. The songs from Brandi Carlile's live album go through my head all day and night; I'm counting the days till Bon Iver's new release; Fleet Foxes' "Helplessness Blues" has been on constant rotation. I find myself wishing I had the sort of schedule where I could follow my favorite bands all over the country, just because that sounds like fun - I'd have dragged all my friends to Ray LaMontagne's concert in Waterbury, CT this weekend, and I absolutely would have meandered through the South with The Avett Brothers, and picked up the Mumford and Sons tour.

These days, these songs, remind me of a previous life, when I would drive a thousand-plus miles to see Over the Rhine for one concert, or would fly to a city far away from my own to hear Radiohead, back when they could play little venues off the beaten path, and I could still listen to them. That was a hard previous life, and for all it offered me, I don't miss it - but there are times when I do long for the musical interludes of it. So I am thankful for the new music that sometimes hearkens back to the comforting memories of those years, and that beckons me to look forward, forward, forward.

2. Jill. Those who know her will know exactly why she will always make my thankful list. Those who don't know her are missing out, and should make a special trip to San Antonio to find out why.

3. Exhaustion - the kind that comes from a totally nerve-wracking and adrenaline-filled day or week in a career that both makes me wonder why I do this every day, and also reminds me exactly why I do this every day. It's funny - there are times when I can so clearly see my dad in me: the rush that comes when I've sold in a new project, the way I feel my eyes light up when I get to engage in a conversation about the best approach to solving a business problem.

The part that isn't at all like my dad is the living in constant fear of being fired - he's so much more confident than I will ever be, and of course, it helps that he's been his own boss for most of his adult life. That terrifying question of whether I'm good enough to be where I am, doing what it is I'm doing - even if I've "wasted" my talents and my degrees, even if I've sold my soul to promote capitalism - adds to the exhaustion in ways that can be so draining. But then, just when I think I done, too tired to form another coherent thought - there it is! The spark of an idea that sparks another idea that sparks another, and all of a sudden, I think maybe I can deal with the exhaustion, because when I'm "on," I am so on. So I'm thankful for that very specific type of exhaustion - because it means I'm also a little proud of myself, and enjoying how I earn a living.

4. Sisters. Because no one else will ever really get why "snurk snurk snurk" is so funny, or why it's important to have matching summer flip-flops and matching Christmas pajamas. They drive me bananas, but I wouldn't trade them. (Well.... Nah, I wouldn't trade them.) :)

5. Sister-in-laws. I can't say I ever thought I'd have a sister-in-law (sorry, Alan - I just never thought about it!). And like every uber-protective older sister, there was a time when I would have liked to have picked out my little brother's spouse for him (but then again, he didn't get a say in my choice...perhaps he should have?). But I am so thankful for my sister-in-law. Not just because she's provided me with a home, and unrestricted auntie-ing,* or good tips on how to get non-washable crayon out of my jeans, but more because she is so good to my brother, and for my brother. And really, at the end of the day, that's all I could want for him. The rest is just gravy.

6. Jeans that fit. Something so simple, and yet, irritatingly hard to find. And sometimes, at least when you're me, it's the simple things....

7. New shoes. Because new fun shoes never disappoint. And again, it's the simple things. Plus, everyone needs multiple pairs of plum-colored shoes, right?

8. And of course, because no thankful Erin list would be complete without it, I feel that I must mention Miss Julia Lynn, who at 17 months is climbing all over everything, and quacking like a duck, and fighting nap time, and continues to be the most amazing funny kid I've ever seen.

* Okay, well, there are a couple of restrictions: I'm definitely not allowed to tell Julia that if she doesn't get out of the bathtub, she'll go down the drain with the bath water. And I don't think I'm supposed to tell her that if she unscrews her belly button, her legs and butt will fall off. (But I feel like someone should tell her! She should know these things!) But otherwise, so far, I've been given free rein. :)

Ways Indianapolis is Better Than...

2011-05-24T22:59:00.005-04:00

Philadelphia: Fewer abandoned buildings and parking lots. More community gardens and urban farming. Big indie arts community. The sort of arts community that my former roommate - one Miss Bethie Extraordinaire - would just love.

Manhattan: Nicer people. Men - even young men - hold the doors for women, of all ages - indicating that their mothers appear to have raised them right. You can walk through the parks here without the fear of ending up in a Law & Order "ripped from the headlines" episode. No getting shoved into grimy subway cars in the morning. No one's written a song called "Indianapolis is killing me," have they? So what if we have more tornado warnings?

Vermont: It may rain a lot here in May, but at least it doesn't snow. And I know a couple Vermonters who either started out as Hoosiers or wish they were Hoosiers...so that's got to say something. And they love farms and growing their own veggies and planting chocolate chip trees and all that good stuff - and yet, snow in May works for them?

Washington, DC: I used to want to live in DC. I think I probably still could. But whereas DC has the Beltway, we have the Speedway. Cars only move on one of those. We may not be interested in funding public transportation any time soon, but we haven't defunded Sesame Street either.

New Haven, CT: This is hard, because I really love New Haven. And if I hadn't already closed that chapter of my life, I would move back there in a heartbeat. People look you in the eyes here, even if you don't have a graduate degree or aren't affiliated with an Ivy. So far, I've found fewer condescending people here (I'm sure they're lurking in the shadows, but at least here they know to lurk, whereas in New Haven, they very much do not). A big drawback of Indy, and a big draw of New Haven, is that the person who helped me do a lot of my growing up as I grew older is there and not here. However, on the plus side, my ex-husband doesn't haunt Indianapolis, so it's a trade-off.

Norwalk, CT: Ha ha ha ha ha. Do I really need to list the ways? Please don't make me.

And some other fun selling points of Indianapolis I've either just discovered, or continue to be impressed by:

The farmers markets (they're everywhere!)
The arts fairs (they're also everywhere!)
People on bicycles (I doubt I'll ever be one, since I don't know how to ride a bike, but still, I think it's cool when I see people biking to work. I never saw that in CT. And in NYC, motorists were more interested in trying to run the cyclists over.)
Leaving my office and not feeling like I want to throw myself down the elevator shaft (OK, so maybe this isn't a specific Indy thing, but it is a specific job thing, and since my job is in Indy, it counts. And it's especially important given that my office now is on the 41st floor, whereas in CT it was on the 2nd.)
The Children's Museum (totally cool!)
Calvin Fletcher's, where I feel more comfortable than I ever do in church, sometimes at home, often with friends. Strange, but I'll take it. (Their hours are lousy - how do I get a life where I can hang out there before 7 pm? - but otherwise I have no complaints.)

Silent Prayer

2011-05-20T23:45:00.000-04:00

"Here at the Right Time" (Josh Ritter)

Under wide blue skies
There's a place to lie
For me and Evelyn to hide tonight
I'll try my best to make a go
But I'm not sure what I don't know
Oh chariots, if you're out there
Please swing low

Tell me I got here at the right time
If I did it's probably the first time
No second guesses or secret signs
Tell me I got here at the right time

You're so red in the eyes
Either too low or too high
When I met you you
Were sick but you did not know why
I was a pretty poor cure
But my love for you was always sure
The bucket was broken
But the water was pure

Tell me I got here at the right time
If I did it's probably the first time
No second guesses or secret signs
Tell me I got here at the right time

What I'm Learning Living in Indiana: Indy Edition

2011-04-10T21:46:00.008-04:00

So I've been in Indianapolis for less than a month. It's been a nutty couple of weeks, and I feel completely off my game - as though I had a game. Some days I'm on top of everything, mind completely clear and organized. Other days, I'm so scattered I'm lucky to get out of my apartment with shoes on. I suppose this is all the process of settling into a new place, but anyone who knows me knows that this part of the process is not one that I enjoy.

I have probably learned more about myself in the past few weeks than is healthy for any one person. A few examples:

It is actually possible for a 1-1.5 mile drive to take nearly an hour, without traffic. I manage to "take a new route" (um, yes, get lost) nearly every day on my way home from work. I can see my apartment from my office. And I can get to my office just fine. But, getting home, well, it's an adventure every day. I know the streets I need to be on. I also know that the one-ways and diagonals get me all confused, and before I know it, I'm in a neighborhood I've never seen before, or I'm heading toward an interstate (but not the one I live near - that would be too easy), or I've made a big square around The Circle. Now, I'm not an idiot, and I do actually have a good sense of direction, without needing maps or GPS. But you'd never know it to spend an hour with me after work.
On a related note: Swearing at your GPS - or at least at my GPS, which is named Ilsa (full name: Ilsa, the malevolent and malicious GPS) - will be cathartic, but will not actually help get you to a destination. Of course, Ilsa will also not help get you to a destination, so...
It is probably not the wisest decision for someone who is 5'3" to live in an apartment that has 10' ceilings and 13' ceilings. It adds to the feeling of defeat on a near-daily basis. On the up-side, however, it will allow me to drag my brother down here every so often to change the light bulbs in my closets. (Downside: even my brother is not tall enough to help hang things from the 10' ceilings. So the decorative birdcage now sits on a bookshelf.)
It also may not have been the wisest decision for someone who hates to vacuum to choose to live in an apartment that has carpet. I foresee myself learning to love vacuuming in the months (years) to come, especially as Julia continues to visit.
Related to #4 above: Julia's new game - "Yogurt Fling!" - is definitely a game that should be played in the kitchen, not the dining room. While it's wildly fun (yogurt in her hair, yogurt in my hair...), it makes Auntie Erin a little anxious.
For as much of a hermit as I am, my home - and this may be true of any home - but my home is certainly better with more than me in it.
Getting up early to spend an hour in the local coffee shop before going to work is totally worth it.
At some point in my life, I'm going to have to learn how to make friends. You'd think that after somehow making it into my mid-30s, I'd have picked up some basic social skills that translate into friendship development. But making friends has always been a struggle for me - I'm not good at it, and I really only enjoy things I'm good at (serious character flaw, I know). But, since the one friend I have here is going to soon grow tired of being my only friend, I suppose it's time I learn how to play this game.
I've been trying to live out William James's argument (and I'm paraphrasing here) that if you believe something is worth it, your belief will help create that fact. But I will say that it is an incredibly exhausting outlook to maintain (or perhaps just for someone like me). It takes a lot of energy, but I'm not willing to give up on James just yet.
That my boss - the president of the agency I work at - loves The Avett Brothers will, I suspect, go a long way toward making up for petty annoyances yet to come. It's bound to happen that I'll be irked by any number of things about work, so it's good to be reminded in so many ways that the people I work with are good souls overall (because, of course, musical tastes say a lot about the state of a person's soul).

2011-03-28T23:51:00.001-04:00

There are times when the excitement wears off and reality sets in, loneliness sets in, sadness sets in. I am not sad that this is my life. I am excited to see where this takes me. But there is a small part of me - which surfaces usually at night, or when I've been alone with my thoughts for too long - that can't believe this is my life. That still can't believe that forever wasn't, that the vows meant nothing, that I'm here in the crossroads of America because of so many previous crossroads I came to over the past few years. And now I start over, and I'll let it go, and I'll be better for it, but none of that changes the fact that I get sad and lonely when I think about this for too long. Or really when I think about it at all.

How 10 days flies

2011-03-27T19:17:00.001-04:00

In the past 10 days, I've been in San Antonio, Indianapolis, Queens, Fairfield CT, Norwalk CT, Bridgeport CT, New Haven CT, Norwalk CT, Queens, Indianapolis, Fort Wayne, and back to Indianapolis.

In the past 10 days, I've spent time with my two goddaughters, I've impulsively bought an airline ticket while sitting in an airport for a layover, I've celebrated a 2 year old's birthday, I've visited with friends I have missed terribly, I've gotten divorced (officially, with a judge and gavel and everything), I've watched my furniture get moved into a moving truck to begin the long haul to Indiana, I've again impulsively bought an airline ticket, I've spent one last night as a resident in my brother's guest room, I've laughed with Julia as we played the banana hands game, I've barely made it to Indianapolis in one piece (my car in several), I've locked myself out of my apartment, I've gotten lost more times than I can count, I've given up on my GPS ever locating a Target store, I've listened to Josh Ritter and the Avett Brothers and the Low Anthem to keep my soul focused in the midst of the chaos.

I am exhausted. But I am home. Now, it's time to settle in and make this my own. To remember why I am here - not because I was forced out of my previous home, but because it was better to leave than to try to keep making that home when it wasn't. I am here to reclaim my soul. My future, which has yet to be written. To start over. To not let the past own me.

I am exhausted. But I am also excited. Scared, a little more than I'd like to admit. But not at all willing to let that fear win either.

Latter Days (An Addendum to "So Goodbye to All This")

2011-03-20T15:16:00.002-04:00

Nearly every significant thing that's happened to me in my adult life has happened here in Connecticut.

It was here that I earned the degree of which I am most proud.
It was here that I began to really understand what it meant to be a Christian, and an academic.
It was here that I found my first true church home and allowed the church community and the spirit there to begin to undo some of the damage that had been done by previous communities.
It was here that I began to understand brokenness, and trauma, and healing, and grace.

What a beautiful piece of heartache this has all turned out to be / Lord knows we’ve learned the hard way all about healthy apathy / And I use these words pretty loosely / There’s so much more to life than words

It was here that I first fell in love, with an adoration that always embodies first love, and a naivete that overlooks the weaknesses that eventually destroy.
And it was here that I was reminded incessantly that this first love, deeply flawed, would never last.
It was here that I entered the work force (an unintended consequence of having two degrees in philosophy), by way of a Christian gay rights group.
And it was here that I continued to learn about brokenness, and heartache, and the neverending grace of God.
It was here that I learned that love is not about control, and it is not about power.
It was here that I experienced first-hand the thin line between sex and violence.
It was here that I learned some stories are not for telling, and some secrets are best buried deep.
It was here that I learned that just because you don't have bruises doesn't mean the person you love isn't hurting you.
It was here that I found myself unprepared for the unkindness of some very old friends, and the astonishing kindness of some very new friends.

There is a me you would not recognize, dear / Call it the shadow of myself / And if the music starts before I get there dance without me / You dance so gracefully / I really think I’ll be o.k. / They’ve taken their toll these latter days

It was here that I met two of the truest, most profoundly beautiful friends I will ever be blessed to know, both raw in their honesty and own healing processes, both boundary-less when it comes to love for friends and family.
And it was here that I lost friendships for reasons I still can't explain. We acted awfully immaturely for adults, and years later, none of it matters; tangible remnants of the friendship have long gone the way of city dumpsters, and we don't miss the others' presence.
It was here that I discovered how to take myself less seriously, and that there was a silly, delight-filled side of me eager to wear funny hats and collect demented children's books that are not for children at all.
It was here that I learned to make myself laugh, and to start revealing the B-side of the me that nearly everyone knows.
It was here that I realized I could make others laugh, and when that happened, I felt like I could do anything.

Nothin’ like sleepin’ on a bed of nails. Nothin’ much here but our broken dreams / Ah, but baby if all else fails, nothin’ is ever quite what it seems / And I’m dyin’ inside to leave you with more than just cliches

It was here that I broke down.
It was here that I put myself back together.
It was here that I learned to be embodied - to live in the body I was given, to nourish it, to enjoy it.
It was here that I said goodbye, and please don't leave, more times than I can count.
It was here that I whispered please go, and please stop, more than I wish I had.
It was here that I loved more fiercely than I have ever loved.
It was here that I learned that a broken heart can continue to break, over and over.
It was here that I first heard that all were welcome at the table. Even me. Especially me.
It was here that I nearly converted to a different faith.
It was here that I realized I couldn't just yet.
It was here that I gave up.
It was here that I chose to keep fighting.
It was here that I took wary steps of faith.
It was here that I said for better or worse.
It was here that I took off my wedding ring.
It was here that I closed the door.
It was here that I smiled, and decided to not look back.

But tell them it’s real / Tell them it’s really real / I just don’t have much left to say / They’ve taken their toll these latter days / They’ve taken their toll these latter days

So Goodbye to All This...

2011-03-20T14:31:00.001-04:00

Several years ago when I was moving out of Manhattan, a friend who knows me probably far too well gave me Joan Didion's Slouching Towards Bethlehem. I had never read anything by Didion up to that point, but I started reading the book on my way from New York to Connecticut, and one essay in particular on my last night in the city.

It's the last essay in the book, and is titled "Goodbye To All That." One of the reasons I moved from New Haven, Connecticut to New York was that I wanted to live in the city before I got "too old" to enjoy it. When I think back on that now, I can only think, what a silly thought. I was already too old.

Didion writes, "It is often said that New York is a city for only the very rich and the very poor. It is less often said that New York is also, at least for those of us who came there from somewhere else, a city for only the very young." I was 27, but at heart, had never been and would never be a "city girl." All the years I'd lived in New Haven, I loved going into New York for long weekends, to see shows and visit friends, to explore parts of the city I'd never ventured into before, to feel more alive than I'd ever felt. And I misinterpreted that as meaning that there was a part of me that could thrive there, could be a city person in a meaningful and purposeful way. I was so wrong. My spirit was that of a "country girl"; I wasn't adventurous enough, and certainly wasn't confident enough. I don't know that if I'd been any younger, I would have thrived there - but I understand what Didion means here. For those of us not rich, not with endless resources or self-assurance or an innate understanding of how New York City works, you must be young - or at least young at heart - to live there.

Later in the same essay, Didion writes, "That was the year, my twenty-eighth, when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it." For me, it was the beginning of my 29th year when I moved out of New York, but the sentiment is the same. Our experiences, decades apart, seemed to be similar: "I hurt the people I cared about, and insulted those I did not. I cut myself off from the one person who was closer to me than any other. I cried until I was not even aware when I was crying and when I was not, I cried in elevators and in taxis and in Chinese laundries...." I made some lovely friends in New York, and did have some great adventures. But it is true that some of my friendships never recovered from the me I became in New York. There are things that were said and done that can never be taken back. The loneliness that set in, the longer I lived there, was unlike any feeling I have experienced, before or since. It was the most alienating place I've ever lived, where acceptance and integration were impossible and all I wanted to do was go home (although I admit, I had no idea where home was, or where I wanted home to be - I just knew it wasn't New York, nor would it ever be).

It didn't take me long to move back out of New York to Connecticut, where I thought I belonged. I made new friends, and reconnected with old ones. I continued working in a field I enjoyed - and more importantly, was very good at. I fell in love again, got married, and tomorrow, I'll officially get divorced. This, I think, is why Didion's essay has been on my mind so much. Although I said goodbye to my marriage a long time ago, and I know my husband did too, tomorrow, the state officially allows us to walk away from each other, no more obligations, no more expectations.

"That was the year...when I was discovering that not all of the promises would be kept, that some things are in fact irrevocable and that it had counted after all, every evasion and every procrastination, every mistake, every word, all of it."

I'm a lot older now. I've moved again, not just a couple of hours down the road this time, and not because I wanted to try something new. I moved because Connecticut ceased to be my home. And because I discovered that not all promises would be kept, and when I counted up every mistake, every lie, every word, it was too much to bear. So I went to the only place I knew I would be safe, and where the number of mistakes didn't matter. I went Home.

And tomorrow morning, I'll leave the courtroom having been formally told by a judge what I already know to be true. And then I'll say goodbye to all this, and not look back.

What I'm Learning Living in Indiana, Part 2

2011-03-09T23:40:00.005-05:00

The drive to Chicago from Ft. Wayne can seem very long when you make it 1, 2, sometimes 3 times a week. And even when you get to see your favorite Clementine and her parents, it is still a boring drive on Rte. 30.
Rte. 33 is no better, but I think somewhere along the way, there's a Target, so that's a plus.
The local news is hilarious.
Especially when national morning shows follow the local news. I love watching the Ft. Wayne CBS channel, only to then watch the "Early Show" out of NYC, to see my "local" New York anchors. What a delightful juxtaposition.
Sometimes "traffic accident" means "horse and buggy accident."
One thing I never hear here? The creepy ice cream truck that used to drive around town, in all seasons, playing Christmas music, and purportedly selling "ice cream" at midnight. Ah, Norwalk....
If you fall asleep on the couch in the family room at any time, you should expect to be woken up by a 14 month old with a charming yet devilish grin. You should also expect that she will wake you up by whacking you on the head with a Tickle Me Elmo or throwing a block at you. And, you should expect that she will continue with the block or Elmo until you show signs of life.
There are more pharma companies and medical device manufacturers here than I remember, and I don't know why. I'm going to guess some kind of tax break. But seriously, they're everywhere. My drive on Rte 30: field, stoplight, field, light, light, medical manufacturer, field, field, light, field, another med manufacturer, oh look another!, field, field, stoplight...
If you tell your niece that you will bake her cupcakes using a silly cupcake maker from Grandma Mabel and then you don't do it, you will be reminded of your failure every few weeks when she notices the cupcake maker and decides to carry it around with her.... And you'll feel a little guilty, even though you're pretty sure your niece doesn't know what cupcakes are yet, and if you said the words "cupcakes" and "banana" in the same sing-songy voice, you'd get the same response from her.
When you run out of finger paint, use yogurt.

Other People's Thoughts for Thursday

2011-02-24T01:14:00.000-05:00

A thought for a Thursday. Haven't done this in a while. It's not my thought, though - I'm sharing this one from Joan Didion, one of my favorite authors.

This is from "On Keeping a Notebook," an essay in her book Slouching Towards Bethlehem:

"I think we are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 a.m. of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were."

Another Thing I've Learned Here

2011-02-22T15:31:00.004-05:00

If you leave a birthday cake for about a month - say, you happen to forget about it even though it's sitting on the kitchen counter in plain sight - and then you remember that it's there, and you take the lid off the container, it has likely turned into a furry little science experiment.

And, if your brother happened to ice the cake a nice green color (why, no one knows), then it's likely that the fuzz that is growing on the birthday cake now matches the icing color.

And if you're someone like me, who doesn't really like to get her hands dirty in the kitchen, you will contemplate leaving the science experiment for your brother and sister-in-law to deal with when they get home this evening...but then you think that they might leave it for another month, just to see how much more fur can grow on a birthday cake...and so you dispose of said cake and think that for the next birthday in this house, maybe we'll bake cookies instead.

What I'm Learning Living in Indiana

2011-02-19T22:04:00.005-05:00

Yet another list:

It's much colder here than it was in Connecticut. But, it's also much prettier than it was in Connecticut.
"Urgent," "as soon as possible," and "immediately" mean very different things out here than they do in the Northeast.
Except for maybe the winds, nearly everything is kinder and gentler here.
Going to Target or the mall here? Not nearly the harrowing experience that it was in lower Fairfield County. Sometimes it's even fun.
I loath being a landlord. (Come on, real estate gods! Just fix the market in Connecticut! And you only have to fix it long enough for me to sell my condo for what I paid for it. Prove your worth, real estate gods! How many more exclamation points do I have to use?!)
I probably wouldn't mind being a landlord so much if my tenants were just a wee bit less, um, pester-y. Or if this whole rental thing were a nice investment endeavor I had on the side, just for fun, because, you know, that's so completely my personality. But no. It's just annoying.
I don't think I've enjoyed being alone so much as recently.
I also don't think I've ever been so lonely as recently, which is probably saying something, given the past year of my life.
The post office system here in Ft. Wayne is astonishingly inefficient. There's one set of post offices where you go to pick up packages. You can't do anything else there, so don't even try. There's another set of post offices where you go to mail stuff, buy stamps, etc. I don't suggest trying to pick up packages there, as you'll just be disappointed, and then sent across town to the other useless post office.
It is nearly impossible to find good live music around here. I'm getting the sense that even Indianapolis doesn't have much. This is probably the thing I miss most about the Northeast - access to great live music, in great little bars and concert halls, nearly any time I want.
I do not miss living in Connecticut at all. Much like when I lived in Manhattan, living in Connecticut became something that was harder than it should have been, with little spiritual benefit.
But I miss my friends terribly, and doubt I will ever make friends here that meet the quality of friends I had there.
Teaching Julia to "high-five" and to touch her nose when the "horn on the bus goes beep-beep-beep" have been more personally satisfying than any website launch, strategic planning session, or new business win I was ever involved in, at any agency, in the past 5+ years.
But I still worry about spending my time freelancing and hanging out with my niece when I should be working full time, and I wish the never-ending interview process would end so that I could become a minimally-fulfilled, super-stressed worker bee again. Because, of course, isn't that how we're conditioned to understand our value and worth to society and our families? And what is my identity if not as a worker bee? For all intents and purposes I'm not a wife anymore, I've never been a mother, I'm currently not a full-time contributor to society. So what am I?
But after 2 months of spending weekend mornings with Miss J, eating our breakfast of waffles and bananas and then reading books and playing with Weebles, it's going to be hard to go back to a life where my weekend mornings might be spent in an office, catching up on all the work that I didn't get completed during the week. I didn't like it when that was how my weekend mornings were spent before; I can't imagine I'm going to like it another time around, especially if there are no Weeble Wobbles or messy banana-handed toddlers in my day.

Bogus holidays, things to celebrate, and a little bacon.

2011-02-10T10:37:00.000-05:00

I have never been a fan of holidays. Or rather, of bogus holidays. And Valentine's Day is most certainly a bogus holiday in my book. When I was in college and feeling particularly antagonistic, I would write opinion pieces for the school newspaper about the uselessness of some holidays, and how perhaps they'd become too commercial for their own good, and how perhaps we should choose a day where we celebrated everything that was their opposite. Now, this was a conservative religious college, where many, many students really enjoyed Valentine's Day, and they did not really enjoy my opinion pieces. I received one response from a fellow student telling me that my Valentine's Day article made her cry, and others indicated that clearly I'd never had a valentine, since if I had, I would know the "true meaning" of the day and would not have a heart "three sizes too small" (yes, I also wrote similar articles at Christmas).

A dozen-plus years - and probably as many valentines - later, my feelings on Valentine's Day haven't changed. If you need a day to show someone that you care, you probably also need some counseling. If it only occurs to you to make a grand gesture of affection toward your spouse in the middle of February, then your spouse should whack you upside the head. If the person you love doesn't get "big things" like flowers or a night out on the town, or "small things" like you doing the laundry or taking care of the kids one afternoon, all year long, but miraculously does when Hallmark tell you it's time, you should consider yourself lucky that the person you love hasn't stabbed you in the forehead with a fork by now (which I probably would have done, as my patience for calendar-imposed "love" is astonishingly low).

Don't get me wrong. I've enjoyed Valentine's Day for the grand and not-so-grand gestures. For instance, when I was married, this idiotic holiday was one of the few times that I could cajole my husband to take me to one of my favorite restaurants (a culinary experience he did not particularly enjoy). And purely for giggles, one year, we decided to spend less than $10 on each other - and I invested my $10 in chocolate-covered bacon, since my husband loved bacon (possibly more than he loved me!). (As it turns out, chocolate-covered bacon is a little on the chewy side and not all that edible.)

I no longer have the antagonistic energy of my late teens/early 20s that I used to provoke my former classmates, and really, nothing I say is going to stop anyone from buying their partner a card and flowers now. I don't celebrate Valentine's Day, but I don't need to. And just in case anyone else out there feels as though they don't need to either, or they want other things to do or celebrate this month, I've compiled a short list. No need to thank me. And definitely no need to send me chocolate-covered bacon.

If you aren't one of the fans who has already pre-ordered the latest Over the Rhine album, "The Long Surrender" is officially released on February 8. This is a lovely collection of songs. There's a great duet with Lucinda Williams. There's a fantastic song called "Rave On." There's a surprising heartache of a song called "Oh Yeah By The Way." And "All My Favorite People" alone is worth the price of the album.
Exactly 1 week and 1 day after Feb 14, 2011, "Smart Flesh," the new album from The Low Anthem, is released. Definitely cause for celebration.
Feb 14 also happens to be Ferris Wheel Day. Ferris Wheels are awesome and super-scary - Celebrate the Ferris Wheel!
Feb 14 is also National Donor Day. This is very important. Take time that day to become an organ donor. Or, donate blood. Join the national registry of marrow donors.
The entire month of February is Black History Month. Take time to read up on, or teach your kids about people and subjects like Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Plessy v. Ferguson, Jim Crow, Civil Rights Movement, Rosa Parks (who was born in February), Martin Luther King Jr., and Brown v. Board of Education.
If you're a fan of Sesame Street, celebrate Elmo! His birthday is February 3. I bet he would love a birthday party.
For those of us who love to sleep, February 28 is public sleeping day. That's right - go ahead...sleep at your desk, at the mall, on the subway, at your local library! I know the library staff in Milford, CT loves it when people sleep in their building. It totally makes their day. Take advantage of this little known holiday!
If you happen to be in Englewood, NJ on February 18, you can hear Meat Loaf live in concert. And maybe he'll sing some of his classics!
And then, just a few days later, you can hop down the road to hear Salt-N-Pepa. What could be better?! Jersey rocks.
But maybe you're in Iowa? Well, then you should definitely participate in the Frostbite Olympics. Snow sculpting, ATV ice challenge, Blizzard bake off, music by The Muscle Shirts, and some sort of to-be-announced women-only event at The Perky Parrot... Seriously, who would pass this up?!

Things I Don't Understand, Part 1

2011-02-03T23:57:00.006-05:00

This could be a very long list. I'll try to keep it short...

SpongeBob SquarePants.
Fanilows.
People who don't spell-check or review their work before they click "send" or release the document to their manager. Have they no pride? Aren't they concerned that they may have just submitted a document riddled with typos?!
Why Cookie Monster refers to cookies as a "sometimes food" now. Cookies are an all-the-time food.
Motorcyclists who don't wear helmets.
Sweaters that have red-nosed reindeer, sequin snowmen, glittery trees, or other holiday-themed characters on them. And/or play music.
"Modern Family." (I realize this is heresy to some, but I really don't get it/find it funny. It seems very over the top.)
People who don't love (a) Bon Jovi, (b) Robert Downey Jr., and/or (c) Johnny Depp.
Lima beans. Why are they always sort of hard, regardless of how long you cook them? There's something weird and unusual about them.
Why North is always North, instead of North being whichever direction you're facing at the time. (This may be why I barely passed Physical Geography in college.) And yet, I've got a really good sense of direction, but I still don't quite understand cardinal directions, and should never be trusted to use a compass on a camping trip.
Why this possible world - of all possible worlds out there - is the one I ended up in. This is a question I think about a lot. Why this world? Why why why? And it's not that this one's all bad. But I've got a few things I'd like to change. A couple of people I'd like to take out of it. A couple of people I'd like to leave in it, but whose lives I'd like to alter a bit. Why this possible world?
And speaking of possible worlds, why isn't this one a possible world where I could easily have a penguin as a pet?
Calculus. Didn't understand it when I was told it was important to learn it, don't understand it now, when clearly it's not important that I remember any aspect of it.
Same goes for most of physics. Although I suspect it's probably more important that I remember some aspects of physics. Like maybe the law of gravity...
The profound lack of grace, and mercy, and second chances, and truth-telling, and compassion, and empathy that so many people in churches experience or extend to other people in churches. This is also something I think about a lot. Because it's something I've experienced a lot of, and it's something I've seen friends and family experience. And because it's possibly one of the biggest issues I have with the church - the lack of second chances. The lack of mercy for people who are in so much pain, and the refusal for it to be granted by others who are also in so much pain.
That gigantic wasteland of space along I-80 in Pennsylvania. Why has nothing really been done along there? There's a zoo, and a prison, I think maybe Phil the Groundhog is there somewhere, and then miles and miles of depressing nothingness. What used to be there? Why doesn't anyone want to develop it? Or at least build another zoo?
Tomatoes. They look solid on the outside, and then you slice them open and they're all gooey inside, and yet they still sort of hold together. What sort of a food is that? It's like it doesn't know whether it should be a solid or a jelly-like food or a liquid. Who needs food with identity issues? Not I.
Marshmallow Peeps.
People who put carpet on their walls.
Justin Bieber.

Lists and More Lists

2011-01-17T23:17:00.005-05:00

I feel like I haven't made a list for a while (which probably isn't true - in fact, I know it isn't true - I just made a list of things to pack for a trip to Chicago yesterday)... I haven't made a random list of fleeting thoughts in quite some time, though, so, that's going to be my blog post for the evening.

I love staying in hotels. If I could, I would stay in hotels every weekend. It feels so completely decadent, as though I have no cares in the world. Plus, I love the thought of being able to get up when I want, watch TV all day, and make a phone call and - voila! - food appears! I can leave the room and when I return, the bed is made, the bathroom has clean towels, and everything is to my liking. Perhaps in a previous life, I was Eloise?
Chicago in the snow is really pretty. Cold, and pretty.
It's only January 17, and I've already read 3 books this calendar year. This is a pace I know I won't be able to keep up, but it's been enjoyable. One of the books was great. One was not. One was somewhere in between.
I just saw a commercial for a movie about gnomes. Yes, gnomes. I don't know whether to be entertained or frightened.
It's unfortunate that turtlenecks make me look like, well, a turtle. I wonder if anyone wears them well. For my own peace of mind, I'm hoping they make everyone look like turtles.
Thing that made me laugh the most this past week: Julia discovering cake. Those small hands managed to cram a fair amount of cake into that little mouth. I love watching her eat. It's a combination between baby bird and baby wolf.
Last week, I had the oddest dream, where my brother and I were cold-calling people and selling them junk from catalogs. But we were telling them what they had to buy. It was sort of the reverse of when people order from catalogs - instead of someone calling and ordering something, we informed them what they were going to get, and how much they owed us. It was a funny dream, actually - by the end of it, my whole family was involved in this bizarro scheme.
Job hunting pet peeve: Sales jobs should not ever be marketed or advertised as "marketing" or "advertising" jobs. They're sales jobs. List and tag them as such. If I do a search for digital marketing jobs, please, internet search bots, do not serve me up 83 jobs that are sales-focused and commission-based. If a job requires me to be on the road selling stuff, or picking up a phone selling stuff, that is a sales job. Not a marketing job. And definitely not an advertising job.
However, if anyone out there is looking for a sales job, there are oodles available. Oodles, I tell you.
Strange song that's been running through my head lately: Guns N Roses' "November Rain."
Stranger song that's been running through my head lately: Mary J. Blige's "Family Affair."
I got totally involved in the TV show "The Wire," and then over Christmas I got distracted by "Arrested Development" (damn you, Netflix!), and now, I'm having a hard time getting back into the 2nd season of "The Wire." Sigh... What trials, what travails...

Why I Vote (and why I hope you will to)

2011-01-16T12:42:00.006-05:00

Since the beginning of January, I've been voting in the Pepsi Refresh Project. Millions of people, I suspect, are voting for their favorite charity or group to win $5,000 to $250,000 from Pepsi, to build playgrounds or provide shelter for abused animals or offer counseling for victims of domestic violence.

All of the projects I've seen in the Pepsi Refresh Project are admirable, and deserving of votes - and funding. I've picked one to vote for every day, and have been promoting it on my Facebook page, encouraging others to vote for it as well. But I don't think I've articulated why I'm voting for it.

I have a niece who turned 1 just 2 days ago. (Anyone who reads my blog or is a friend on Facebook knows how much I adore Julia, and how my life would not be complete without her.) Although she was born a month early and spent a week in the NICU she is now - by the grace of God - healthy and happy and progressing developmentally as a 12 month old should. Julia's a beautiful January baby who laughs and pulls all the books off the bookshelf and doesn't like to take naps in the afternoon and gets a mischievous look in her eyes before she grabs your BlackBerry or iPhone and takes off with it.

Friends from college - Matt and Shannon - have two lovely, delightful children - Waverly and Oliver - who are now 7 and 4. They adore their children as I adore my niece, and Matt and Shannon's lives would not be complete without Waverly and Oliver. There are differences, though, between Julia and Waverly and Oliver. Julia is healthy. Waverly and Oliver are not. Julia will, barring any unforeseen event or illness, live a long life, and will go to elementary school, middle school, high school, college, maybe even graduate school. She may get married, have children, have grandchildren. Waverly and Oliver will not.

Waverly and Oliver both have a terminal genetic disease known as Sanfilippo. Sanfilippo children generally don't live past their teenage years; some don't live past toddlerhood. Waverly, at 7, already uses a wheelchair most of the time. This little girl, who loved to sing and chatter, now no longer speaks. Oliver, at 4, is a happy-go-lucky kid, who has never really spoken.

Because Sanfilippo is a rare genetic disease, pharmaceutical companies are not inclined to spend the money on research or drug trials for it - too few children are affected by it for the companies to make back their investment. It is up to the families and non-profit organizations to fund the research that may save their children's lives. Think about that for a minute. Think about being told not only that your children will die from something for which there is no cure, but also that part of the reason that there is no cure is because the community of researchers and pharmaceutical companies that could help find a cure won't do so because it's not financially beneficial. Your children will die in part because they're not worth the money. Perhaps not your children. Perhaps not my children, if I ever have them. Perhaps not Julia. But Waverly and Oliver.

So this is why I vote, every day, in 3 different ways (through FB app, website, and text), for Team Sanfilippo to win $250,000 from the Pepsi Refresh Everything Project. Because I know the parents of these children whose lives are on the line. Because there are more children like them, whose symptoms can be treated but disease cannot, because there is not funding. Because no parent should have to be told that their children will die because it's not financially worth funding research for a cure.

Because I will have my niece Julia for so much longer than Matt and Shannon will have their Waverly and Oliver. And there's something fundamentally wrong with that. But in the midst of that wrongness, this Pepsi grant can help create some right-ness.

If you would like to learn more about Sanfilippo, or Waverly and Oliver, I encourage you to visit Shannon's blog, "Exploring Holland." There's also a lovely short video that you can watch here to get a sense of this precious family.

And of course, if you want to vote - which I hope you will - here's how:

3 ways to vote each & every day!!

1) Text 105582 to PEPSI (73774)

2) Go to www.refresheverything.com (register, search Team Sanfilippo and vote).

3) Vote via facebook by clicking this link and using the app. http://apps.facebook.com/pepsirefresh/idea/view/id/99442d3c-30f0-102e-be05-0019b9b9e205

Top 10 of 2010

2010-12-31T22:21:00.006-05:00

So, this is the time of year when everyone does their Top 10 lists - Top 10 movies of the year, Top 10 songs of the decade, and so on. I don't think I've ever done a Top 10 list, but it seems fitting that I should do one now, in the 90 minutes before the ball drops and 2011 is ushered in. I don't pay much attention to New Years - it's an arbitrary designation on the calendar, and I'm usually asleep before midnight anyway. But here goes: Erin's Top 10 lists.

Disclaimer: Sort of like how Letterman's Top 10 lists aren't always with the funniest or best as #1, mine too are not really in the best or most appropriate order.

Top 10 things I couldn't have done without this year:

Julia!
The 2 days spent with my friend Michelle at the Newport Folk Festival in August.
My second home on 118th and Pleasant in East Harlem, NYC, and the astonishing gift of grace I received every time I visited/ran away there.
Discovering new music from Josh Ritter, Brandi Carlile, Over the Rhine, The Avett Brothers, Cory Chisel; and discovering old music from The Low Anthem, Bon Iver, Elvis Perkins in Dearland, Peter Bradley Adams, Vienna Teng, Ray LaMontagne.
Finding my own voice.
Learning to say "Enough" to bullying, in all its forms - and there are many subtle forms.
Phone calls, text messages, emails, and photos from my favorite family in San Antonio - truly my biggest fans (whether they should be or not) - who reminded me daily that I was stronger than I thought, and loved in the midst of brokenness.
Knowing when to pack up and leave. And that walking away does not necessarily equal weakness.
Learning to slow down, and not schedule every minute of every day, and not feel guilty about those days when I "squander" my time unproductively.
Re-learning that "Help. help. help." is a prayer, and that I don't need to be in a church to be in community with others, or to be talking to God.

Top 10 things I really could have done without this year:

Losing my last living grandparent, my Grandma Carter, in September
Debilitating migraines.
Having numbers for too many doctors, a lawyer, and a therapist programmed into my cell phone.
Fighting to make my voice heard.
Being bullied.
Taking off my wedding ring, once it became nothing other than another piece of jewelry.
Coming to terms with the fact that my marriage was over, and that the commitments we'd made to each other, the plans we'd made for our life together, were completely turned upside down.
Family drama.
Feeling as though I was wholly inadequate, as a wife, a woman, a future mother, a provider, a professional.
Arguing again and again what seemed so blatantly obvious: that family comes first; that people come before policies; that all the words and philosophies don't mean anything if you don't put them into action when the time comes; that at the end of the day, branding and positioning statements and activation platforms aren't worth much if you can't look yourself in the mirror and like what you see, and know you treated those around you with respect.

Given how astonishingly lousy 2009 and 2010 have been, I've got pretty low expectations for 2011. I suppose 2011 can surprise me, and since it would take a lot for this coming year to be worse than the previous two, I guess I could be optimistic and say that things can only go up from here.

And I suspect that's true - I'm running out of people who can die on me, I have no more marriages to fail at.... At the same time, there is a part of me that truly is looking forward to 2011 - not because (or not just because) 2010 was so bad, but because I am hopeful that there will be delightful things this coming year, good and soul-satisfying and uplifting things. And because some of the lessons I learned this year - that I don't have the patience for schoolyard bullies, that "Help" is a prayer, that slowing down and recharting my course is okay - will help me survive 2011.

Moving Away from the Dark

2010-12-12T13:30:00.007-05:00

I'm sitting in my living room, listening to The Avett Brothers, surrounded by moving boxes, stacks of things to go to Goodwill, lists of things I need to do before Thursday, and feeling as though my life (or at least my house) is in total disarray. This is what happens when you move. Everything that was orderly gets thrown into a state of disorganization (a state in which I do not like to live), and even the simplest tasks start to feel overwhelming.

It's not the packing that's overwhelming. I love to pack. I love putting things into boxes in a neat orderly fashion. I love the thrill I get when everything that I hoped would fit into a box just so, actually does, just so. The only thing I enjoy more than packing is unpacking. And yes, I've had people suggest to me that this enjoyment of packing and unpacking may be some sort of psychiatric disorder. I prefer to see it as a skill that I've perfected and thus enjoy, because I'm good at it. And there are so many things I'm not good at - why would I do those, when I could do this? But, I do accept that perhaps I am nuts.

It's the emotional part that's overwhelming to me. It's the getting ready for change that's hard. This is the part I'm not good at. This move especially is fraught with sadness - it is a move that is borne out of grief, even though I am so looking forward to the change and the fresh start, it is not a move that I had ever wanted to make, and certainly not by myself. This move is full of uncertainty. My life as it consists of material possessions will be packed up and moved into storage, and I and my messy heart and mind will do the equivalent of couch-surfing (another thing I've never been a big fan of, especially when done by people in their mid-30s or older) for a bit.

So for now, I head to Fort Wayne, Indiana - a state I never thought I'd live in again after college. My family has rallied around me this year, helping me stand when my knees buckled over and over again, and no one more so than my brother and sister-in-law by welcoming me into their home while I continue to job hunt and get on my feet. I hope my feet will place me in Chicago, although I admit that at this point, I don't know where this adventure will take me in early 2011. I just know that I must leave here, that I cannot force-fit a home where there isn't one anymore - and so I am going to one of the few places that feels like home to me.

And for as much grief as was experienced leading up to this, I will say that I'm excited for Thursday, when the last box is out of the apartment, and the GPS is programmed for Fort Wayne. I don't know what awaits - and the control-freak in me would appreciate some insight into that (um, hello, God, any time now!) - but I feel myself slowly stepping out of the dark, and hoping beyond probably what's reasonable, that dawn is around the corner.

Thankfulness, a few days late

2010-12-01T18:39:00.007-05:00

Truth be told, I am finding it hard to be thankful these days. I spent Thanksgiving with some friends from college, and I was really hoping that they wouldn't ask me what I was thankful for this year. But, true to form, they asked. And I had a hard time answering. I could only think of one thing, and luckily, that was good enough to stop the questioning...for that particular moment.

But it's been bothering me since I returned from their home. One thing?! Come on, really? That's absurd. There must be more to be thankful for. So why am I having such a hard time thinking of what those things are? Am I that selfish - or solipsistic - that I can't think of even a handful of things from this year for which I could give thanks?

So I put some thought into it. And here's what I came up with, a few days late. When my turkey, stuffing, Jello, and pumpkin pie aren't be held hostage depending on my answer. :)

I am thankful that my parents pick up the phone whenever I call. I haven't always had the sort of relationship with them that I've wanted to call, and I'm sure they haven't always wanted to answer. But I have leaned on them more this year than I think I did for most of my 20s, and I'm thankful that they don't hold much of my 20s against me.
I am thankful that my siblings who are married are married to people who love them for who they are, and have hung in there with them. The marriages aren't perfect, but they have found a way to make the relationships work. And I am thankful that my brother and older sister have spouses who understand the importance of the vows they took, and who work every day - sometimes with better results than other days - to live out those vows. I hope my younger sister finds someone equally as imperfect and committed when she is ready to get married.
I am thankful for music that uplifts, music that screams, music that weeps, music that calms, music that speaks, music that heals, music that dances, music that laughs, music that comforts. And I am thankful that I have gotten to hear so much live music this year, with friends and alone.
I am thankful - begrudgingly - for change. I say begrudgingly because I have a very hard time with taking steps that seem to lead into the dark, and I am so much better with change when I know what the ultimate outcome is (which at the moment is entirely unclear to me). But, I am still thankful for some of the changes that have taken place this year, especially this summer and fall, as I learned again and again to stand on my own two feet, to let friends steady me when I felt as though I couldn't stand much longer, and to take control of situations that were no longer healthy.
I am thankful for new life. I've had the delight of becoming fake Auntie (a position I take very seriously) to some beautiful new babies this year, Zoe and Dylan and Clementine and Basel and baby girl H. on the way this month. I've gotten to witness some of my dearest friends become parents, which is a lovely thing to watch, especially those who weren't certain they "had it in them" to be good moms or dads, or who struggled to get pregnant. I've watched these precious men and women lose sleep, lose binkies and blankies, and feel like they're losing brain cells and social skills for their newborns - I know they wouldn't have it any other way - and it's an honor to be a part of their and their children's lives. I don't know if I will ever have children of my own, and I'm thankful that so many of my friends are willing to let me babysit, enjoy the smiles and soothe the cries, and spoil their children as a fake Auntie.

And as for the one thing I was quickly able to identify that I was thankful for? It should come as no surprise at all to anyone who knows me, that in the midst of what has been a grief-filled, sad, difficult year, the thing that I am most thankful for is Julia Lynn, also known as Julia Noodle, Julia Monkey, Buddha Baby, and My Favoritest Niece. She appeared on the scene a month early - perhaps because she knew that January babies are the best kind of babies, just like 2 of her aunts, or perhaps because God knew I was going to need her this year to balance out what was coming post-January - and she's by far my favorite person in the world.

Julia loves blueberry pancakes. And she loves having her hair in pigtails.

Julia with her Grandpa Bill. It is not hard at all to make her giggle.

The happiest and cutest monkey ever.

Happy Birthday, Grandma

2010-11-03T17:24:00.000-04:00

Today is my late Grandma Carter's birthday. It's the first birthday she's not here with us, so probably for all of us who love her and who lived out the end of her life with her, this day is a little hard.

But I am one who loves celebrating birthdays. Grandma Carter did too. So, today is not a day of mourning. I expect she's having a delightful time in heaven, celebrating her special day, surrounded by my grandfather, and my other set of grandparents (and if there is anyone to make a big deal out of birthdays, it's my Grandma Mazzaferro!). So, in addition to the things I've previously mentioned about my Grandma Carter, I thought I'd note a few more - things that make me laugh, things that make me thankful she was a part of my life for as long as she was, things that made her uniquely her.

When my younger sister, McCall, was born, my grandmother desperately wanted to give her a nickname. In my extended family, nicknames are not uncommon - my cousin Michelle was called Shelly, my cousin Gloria was sometimes called Glo (a name I'm sure she does not like now that she's in her late 20s), the multiple Jameses were called James or Jamie or Jimmy John to tell them apart. However, in my immediate family, we did not do nicknames. My mother did not like them. We all had easy names that did not require nicknames. So imagine her chagrin when McCall was born and my Grandma Carter decided that everyone should call McCall "Mickey"! And worse than that - McCall's middle name is Caitlin....why not shorten that to Cate, and call her Mickey Cate?!

My grandmother loved Scrabble. Aside from her love for Christ, and her love for her family, I think this may have been the thing she loved the most. (Well, it would be a toss-up between Scrabble and the poodles.) Every time we went out to California to visit, there would be a Scrabble tournament. Sometimes, multiple games going at once - those of us who really knew how to play would be at one end of the table, and the kids (prone to cheating) would be at the other end. I am not a very good Scrabble player - I am far too impatient, and I cannot see all the possibilities for words just by looking at my tiles and what's on the board. My grandma and my dad, though - they would spend hours playing Scrabble, long after we kids and cheaters had gone off to torment the poodles hiding under the furniture.

She was the exact opposite from my Grandma Mazzaferro, in nearly every way. I am very much like my Grandma Mazzaferro - not terribly creative; very orderly; probably a bit ordinary; a worrier to no end (even when worrying was unnecessary).... My Grandma Carter, though, was fanciful; did not believe in having just 1 of anything; had a penchant for excess; and tended not to worry about much (perhaps even when she should have). "I couldn't think of a reason not to" was a familiar refrain from Grandma Carter - which is how she ended up owning a couple of hair salons, a black stretch limo, some yachts, and lord knows what else. We loved asking her stories about how she ended up with this or that, because no one else's grandparents ever told stories that started and ended with "I couldn't think of a reason I shouldn't buy [insert item here]."

My Grandma Carter did not believe that anyone should be left out of her reindeer games. And sometimes those games were just all of her grandkids playing in the pool together - if some of us were playing, then all of us should be playing...no one was allowed to be lurking in the back room quietly reading a book and hiding from the sun! Other times, those games were more elaborate, like throwing a 101 Dalmatians party - she bought, yes, 101 stuffed dalmatians from the Disney Store, and hired a face painter so that we could all look like polka-dotted puppies, and I think there was a clown dressed up like a dalmatian too. There were not 101 kids there - did we even know 101 people then, pre-Facebook? - but there were a lot, and as with any pool party at Grandma's, there was also an excessive amount of cake and ice cream (dalmatian-themed, of course)!

Her favorite "reindeer game" though involved these religious tracts. My grandmother was fiercely evangelical, and she never met a person she didn't think she could lead to the Lord. Although there was nothing funny about what she firmly believed was her mission in life - to minister to the unsaved - she did delight in the various ways that this could be done, especially to the unsaved and unsuspecting. At Grandma's funeral, I mentioned how she especially loved going to the grocery store, because she could always count on finding at least one unsuspecting bag boy to witness to. When she and her best friend had a fair amount of time on their hands, they would sometimes hit 2 or 3 grocery stores in the Healdsburg/Santa Rosa area, looking for more lost souls. And sometimes, even her grandkids were allowed to join in the fun. I must have been about 10 or 11, maybe?, enjoying a "girls' day out" with Grandma and my cousins, when my grandmother showed us how to fit one of these tracts into the paper towel dispenser in the ladies' restroom at a restaurant, or how to roll it up in the toilet paper. She got such a kick out of seeing her little "missionary grandchildren" participate in her mission to save the world - and at the time, we were just having fun doing acting as how we perceived juvenile delinquents would (so a win-win all around!).

Grandma Carter was a unique woman. If she were here, we'd probably all be in Ohio, celebrating her birthday with cupcakes, sifting through old photos and telling stories, laughing at how her version of the stories differed from, say, my dad or aunt's recollection of the same events. It's not that we don't miss her - every one of us misses her, every day. But she wasn't one for displays of sadness - she wanted laughter around her all the time (whether it was reasonable to expect that or not).

So Grandma, happy birthday. And know that we're laughing with you (well, maybe at you just a little bit, but mostly with you), and we selfishly want you here with us (partially for an excuse to eat cake). We hold you close in our hearts, and we hear the echo of your laugh in the echo of our own.

October Travels

2010-10-28T16:56:00.004-04:00

I've spent a lot of this month not in Connecticut. This has been a good thing for me, I think. My travels took me to two of my favorite places, to see two of my favorite families.

First, I traveled to San Antonio. Although I've always maintained that if I were president of the United States, I'd trade Texas for Puerto Rico (or any part of Canada) in a heartbeat, I really do like going to visit San Antonio. But I really only like going there because (a) it's warm almost all the time, and (b) some of my favorite people are there. I spent several days there visiting with the Hernandez family (Jill was one of my college roommates, and her daughters are my goddaughters).

Jill and Gustavo have 2 daughters: Allie and Sofie. Allie and Sofie are probably as close as I'll ever come to having a family of my own, and watching them grow up, having gotten to be a part of their lives (Allie is 9, Sofie is almost 3) has been one of the true joys of my life. They are smart and sneaky little creatures, and I love them with an unbelievable, almost unbearable love. I've participated in both their baptisms, which has been a profound honor - Sofie's was the main reason for this month's trip to Texas - and although there are times when I wonder what I could contribute to Sofie's life that her parents don't already give her, I know that as she gets older, there will be something (even if it is just a love of sock monkeys). And Allie, most precious Allie, who for some reason loves me beyond reason - I can't wait until she's old enough to visit me on her own, and until that kid gets into high school and really just blows everyone away with how awesome she really is (no one really recognizes awesomeness in 4th grade the way they do in high school).

And then, I went to Chicago. The trip to Chicago had several purposes, but one of them was to spend time with another of my favorite families. Leann was the first person I met on my first day at Yale, 12 years ago, and I instantly knew we were going to be friends. We've been through a lot together, we've supported each other through more than our fair share of grief, and we've had more laughs than I can count. She and her husband Clinton are two truly amazing people - smart, lovely, compassionate, funny, giving, persistent.... Just all-around good eggs. And they have a beautiful 6-month old daughter, who I had the privilege of babysitting, and sharing all the fun things I was going to teach her about when she was older (again, a love of sock monkeys, which Leann and Clinton think are creepy; how Cookie Monster is the best Sesame Street character and Animal is the best Muppet; why it's okay to eat apple pie for breakfast and pancakes for dinner; and so on).

One of the things about getting older, growing up, becoming an adult - all these things that you long for when you're not older/grown up/an adult - is that your friends become more spread-out geographically, and it gets harder to keep track of them. We all create our own lives, we pair off - sometimes more than once, we have children, we develop careers. And with that comes the risk that the friendships that made us who we are, the friends that helped us learn how to grow up "big and strong" end up taking a back seat. And that's been the case for some of my friendships, right or wrong - and with others, it will probably never happen. (Unless, of course, I become president of the United States and trade Texas for Canada. Then, I think I might have a problem on my hands with the Hernandez family....)

My October travels were tiring. I lived out of a suitcase for a couple of weeks, slept in hotel rooms and super-comfy "caves" in Texas and extra bedrooms, and navigated my way around dogs and babies and toys. But now that I'm "home" - back here in Connecticut - I find myself plotting my next trips, because nowhere feels like home more than when I'm surrounded by the people who have not only helped me learn to stand on my own two feet, but reminded me - this year especially - that when I can't, it's okay to kneel. And then it's okay to let someone else help me back up.

Shedding Parts

2010-10-20T21:11:00.003-04:00

For my brother's birthday a few weeks ago, one of the gifts I got him was this silly shrieking flying frog thing (don't worry, I also got him real gifts - but this was too silly to pass up). One of the reasons I bought it was because of the Amazon reviews - some of them were quite laudatory, and then others were delightfully horrible. Some of my favorites: "Buying this product is as satisfying and throwing money down a sewer." "...the first time I used it one of the frog's front feet came off." "This is a great buy for those who like to waste their money on junk from communist China."

Of course, my brother has enjoyed this toy to no end, because seriously, even if it falls apart, it's a frog (he loves frogs), and it shrieks (he's a boy, and thus loves things that make noise). I have warned him to keep it away from Julia, who is only 10 months old, and I do not want to be responsible, should something happen to her if the frog starts shedding body parts. As far as I know, though, the frog is still in one piece - and so is Julia. So far.

I was chuckling to myself about this today (clearly, I'm easily amused), and then started thinking about how my life feels a little like that cheap frog's these days. I too am shedding parts, and am not certain which ones, or when, they'll be falling off. And there are days when I feel like the Grand Toymaster is just putting me in a slingshot, over and over and over again, waiting to see how many times it'll take before my feet fall off.

I've been shedding parts for a while, it seems. I suspect we all do this, as we grow up, as we become who we are supposed to be, as we reinvent ourselves for others and then realize we should not have done so or perhaps realize that we're quite happy with our newly invented self. But it's a shift of the mind, of perspective, when you shed parts and aren't quite prepared for what's underneath, or aren't certain what to do with your newly-formed (or deformed, as the case may be) self.

The key is to make sure that we don't get rid of the parts we need, the parts that really make us who we are. The "credal" parts. Whatever is integral to who I am - that's what I need to keep. And it's not my feet, so I guess it's okay if those fall off from being maniacally shot across the room again and again. It's been a long road to figure out what the integral parts of me are, what can't be sacrificed in pursuit of a career, financial stability, love, the desire to have a family. Reclaiming what was previously sacrificed has been hard, and I'll feel the aftereffects for quite some time. It is a starting over of sorts. And it requires some sacrifices of my own - some shedding of things I've held onto for too long, some parts I really don't need, so that what is new and necessary for real growth - for withstanding the incessant slingshotting - can take root instead.

Change of Seasons

2010-10-04T18:24:00.004-04:00

Driving home from work, I was seeing more orange leaves, and thinking about the change of seasons - how noticeable it was today especially. Fall is not my favorite season. Don't get me wrong - I love the scent of fall. I love the coziness of a fall weekend afternoon, with a cup of cider and a new book to read (and sometimes even football on the TV in the background). And I love apple picking and pumpkin pie and butternut squash and all the foods of fall.

But I do not like the impending winter that fall inevitably brings. I love what dusk looks like in the fall especially, but the knowledge that dusk comes earlier and earlier in the day brings with it a deep sadness. Watching the leaves fall off the trees, and watching all color fade from nature, is a sort of trauma in itself - even if just for a short time.

Barbara Kingsolver wrote, "April is the cruelest month, T.S. Eliot wrote, by which I think he meant (among other things) that springtime makes people crazy. We expect too much, the world burgeons with promises it can't keep, all passion is really a setup, and we're doomed to get our hearts broken once again. I agree, and would further add, Who cares? Every spring, I go out there anyway, around the bend, unconditionally.... Come the end of the dark days, I am more than joyful. I'm nuts."

Kingsolver and Eliot are right. Spring - a much better season than Fall - is crazy-making. It's fickle, erratic, bipolar. But so is Fall. 70 degrees one day, 50 degrees the next. Sunny during the day, dropping to near freezing at night. Trees full of leaves one week, and then they're on the ground waiting for the rake in a matter of days. You don't know how to dress for this kind of weather. You can't prepare for this kind of season. But you know what's coming. Something even worse. The only good thing about what comes after Fall is that it's usually more predictable. Everything may look dead, frozen over, but at least we know what frozen means, what it feels like, how long it will stay.

But. This is the good news. Fall only lasts so long. Winter only lasts so long. And then there is crazy-making, heart-breaking Spring. Yes, all passion may really be a setup, but Spring comes and we are so elated at the sight of daffodils blooming and the thought of tulips filling the front flower beds that we cannot hold back. We run headlong into Spring, knowing full well it will not last, knowing we will trip and fall, and we will stumble because we're not watching where we're going. And knowing it doesn't matter one bit, because the change of seasons makes it all worth it, and we need the change to remind us we too are still alive.

Thankful Thursday

2010-09-30T08:47:00.002-04:00

It's been a while since I've done a post on thankfulness. So here's a list of things I'm thankful for, in no particular order.

1. Tissues. Whoever invented tissues should be sainted. I have used so many of them in the past couple of weeks (hell, who am I kidding - in the past year!)...I am very thankful for them. (And disappointed that I didn't have the idea to buy stock in them.)

2. Julia. I am head over heels in love with my niece. She's amazing. I think God gives us kids to make us realize that things aren't so bad after all. And to bring out the best in us. To bring out the strength in us we don't even know we have. Plus, she's the only kid I know who laughs with me all the time, and giggles when I sing the "Manahnahnahnah" song (by Animal and the Electic Mayhem, of the Muppets of course!).

3. My family. My family is about as whacked out and nutty as they come. But there has never been a time in my life when I've been more thankful for them. They behave badly a lot of the time. But they also have shown me a lot of grace. And that has really surprised me - I didn't think my family would step up for me this year in the ways that they have. They have stepped up, and stood by me, and been my biggest champions, as I've gone through some of the hardest experiences of my adult life.

4. That "Help." counts as a prayer. It's not as poetic as the Lord's Prayer. It's not as grandiose as anything you'll hear on TV. It's not as eloquent as anything the people I went to school with at YDS could come up with. But I'm thankful that "Help." counts for something. And I'm equally thankful that "Now what?" does too.

5. Joan Didion. Awesome author. Amazing woman. If for this quote alone (although there are many others): "I'm not telling you to make the world better, because I don't think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I'm just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave's a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that's what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it."

6. This little wall-hanging. Because when we happened upon it when we were cleaning out my grandmother's house, not one of us could stop from laughing. Because they were in a box with "authentic" black mud from the Dead Sea, beads made from olive wood, magnets galore, and pens that when you tilt them back and forth the camel moves from one side of Jerusalem to the other. Because I could imagine her on one of her many trips to Israel, getting all excited about these in particular, and deciding she had to buy a dozen of them. Because it was the only time during that whole awful week that I was in Ohio that I felt like my grandma was there with me. But when we came upon these, I could almost hear her giggle. And now when I walk into my kitchen and see it hanging on my bulletin board, I cannot help but laugh too.

Ohio

2010-09-25T14:35:00.004-04:00

The reasons to go back to Ohio - where my family began, the family I know at least - are becoming fewer and fewer. I still have family there. I know I'll go back, because I have aunts and Great Aunts there, uncles and Great Uncles there, cousins and second cousins. I may never have a reason to visit Medina again. But I will always have a reason to visit somewhere in the Buckeye state. I'll go back to see the family that is living. And I'll go back because it is where my family is buried - in Akron and Tallmadge and Canton. I feel like I could tour Northeastern Ohio just by its cemeteries these days.

Since I returned to Connecticut a couple of days ago, this beautiful song has been running through my head. Along with a few others, but this one especially. It almost feels as though my part of the story that includes Ohio is ending, even though perhaps it is not ending, but rather just changing shape, morphing into something different.

Hello Ohio
The back roads
I know Ohio
Like the back of my hand
Alone Ohio
Where the river bends
And it’s strange to see your story end...

And if I knew then I was older then
Would I see regret to the last mile...

And it’s strange to see your story end
How I hate to see your story end
It’s so sad to see your story end...

(Over the Rhine)

In Memory of Gloria M. Carter

2010-09-21T20:33:00.001-04:00

Growing up in rural Virginia, the best summer vacations were the ones that started with a 5 hour flight, and then a 2 hour drive, and ended with us pulling in the driveway of 299 Colony Road – better known as the Top 20. We only saw Grandma and Grandpa a few times a year – summer and then maybe Thanksgiving or Christmas – but Grandma made certain that those visits would be packed full of enough memories and excitement to last us until the next time we came to visit.

I have always been convinced that I had the best grandmas – both maternal and paternal – in the world. My maternal grandmother lived with us, and so I got the benefit of being spoiled rotten (if that’s a benefit) all the time. Grandma Carter lived so far away, though, that we got all that being spoiled rotten crammed into just a couple of weeks. The trips to see her were magical – anything a kid could want, she had it. Or else she would get it. Had we run out of puzzles to put together? Well, then let’s go buy every single one from every single Hallmark in the area. Did the grandkids want ice cream? No need to worry – there were freezers full of every Fudgesicle, popsicle, and Drumstick she could find in a 30 mile radius. Until, of course, Grandma figured out that it would be better to have ice cream on demand – and then, she bought the soft serve ice cream maker. Show of hands – who else’s grandmother had a soft serve ice cream maker in their house? And a hot dog cooker-thing, like what you see at carnivals? I thought so.

She was, perhaps, also a little eccentric. Or fanciful may be a better term. She told us once about how she bought a hair salon, and her reasoning was, “Well, I couldn’t think of a reason not to buy a hair salon.” Same with the limo – “I couldn’t think of a reason not to buy it,” she said. We all saw it as a big toy…almost as fun as that motor home that we’d all insist on sleeping in when we were visiting it. What could be more fun than a bedroom on wheels?! And Grandma would always oblige – and better yet, she’d always leave the front door to the unlocked, because she knew that as much as we loved the motor home, we’d get scared at night and come running inside to (a) go to the bathroom, and (b) go to sleep in the safety of the house with our Grandma nearby.

When I was in middle school, she took me shopping for new back to school clothes. The result? A hot pink and black polka dotted skirt – with flounces and suspenders, since those were all the rage in the mid-80s. I was so excited about my new skirt…my mother, not so much. And I suspect my mother was right, as the hot pink and black polka dot craze had not yet reached the mountains of Virginia, and when I started school that year, my fellow students looked at me just a little funny. But I loved that dress – and felt like a princess in it. A 1980s, Debbie Gibson-like princess, but a princess nonetheless. (And, I still have that dress in storage in my mom’s attic!)

Many years later, when I was in college, I mentioned to Grandma how much I loved San Francisco sourdough bread. About a week later, 3 boxes showed up at my dorm. But they weren’t just full of bread – that would have been hard enough to explain to the 100 other people who lived in the building. There was also meat. And cheese. Again, show of hands – who else’s grandmother ships them cured meats and cheese? That’s what I thought. Of course, combined with my other grandmother’s boxes of cookies, which arrived every couple of weeks, I was an instant hit within my dorm – although I did get some funny looks when I tried to explain why I had salami and a block of cheddar sitting in my mailbox. And to this day, I think I’m the only person from that dorm who’s ever received pepperoni in the mail.

Grandma’s faith was such that, now, I suspect even the apostles may feel a bit inadequate. She believed in the power of healing, she believed in the power of prayer, and she believed in the power of scripture – possibly more than anyone else I have ever met. When we were kids, I think we all gave her this “Oh, Grandma, not again…” sort of response, whenever she’d start talking about the latest book she’d read on prophecy or the most recent prayer that had been answered. As I’ve gotten older though, I’ve come to realize that regardless of where Grandma and I meet on prophecy, healing, and those topics, she was not wrong about the power of prayer. Her prayers were intense. Mine tend to be more like, “Um, help?” And just as sometimes, hers got answered, sometimes, mine do too. But just like with all the other grandkids, she was integral in teaching us how to pray – even if now as adults, we opt for the more basic and desperate approach over Grandma’s more refined prayers.

In pretty much any sport – or so I’m told, since I’m about as non-athletic as they come – there’s the mentality of “Go big or go home.” Anyone who knew her knew that Grandma did everything big. If you asked for one thing, you got 3. You need one set of sheets - how about 6, maybe 7? You just never know when you’ll need 7 sets of sheets. If she bought one tape of a minister she liked, she bought a dozen to hand out to friends – or possibly total strangers. She would minister to anyone she could get her hands on – the boy who was bagging her groceries, the auto mechanic, front-desk clerks at hotels, and ladies she cornered in the women’s restroom at a restaurant in San Francisco. No one was safe, and no one realized it until it was “too late” and they’d already prayed the prayer of salvation.

She went big in everything she did – loving her children, loving her grandchildren, giving to those less fortunate, studying the Word of God, and especially bringing people into the Kingdom of God. Grandma Carter went big in everything she did, until finally, last week, she went Home.

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

2010-07-29T05:30:00.001-04:00

David James Duncan is one of my favorite authors. He's written several books, including the outstanding The Brothers K, The River Why, and River Teeth.

Today's quote comes from Duncan:

"The bad thing about falling into pieces is that it hurts. The good thing about it is that once you're lying there in shards you've got nothing left to protect, and so have no reason not to be honest."

Happy 6th Birthday, Dad!

2010-07-27T16:42:00.002-04:00

My dad is celebrating his 6th birthday this week.

Yes, 6th. Not 60th.

We do things differently in my family.

6 years ago, I was living in Manhattan, working as a reference editor (an awfully boring job, by the way), when I got a call one morning from my dad's wife. Never a good sign, as Eve and I don't normally call each other to chat - especially not at 8:30 in the morning. She tells me that my father's had a heart attack and has been transferred to UVA hospital. Also not a good sign.

So of course, I do what all middle daughters would do. I freak out. I make the rounds of phone calls to my siblings, and then I start figuring out the fastest way to get from NYC to VA. And I start to pray in the only way I really know how: "Help" and "Don't let my dad die."

Of course - the story ends well. My father doesn't die. The prayers of "help" seem to work. My older sister and I do what we always do - we divide and conquer. She takes my younger sister to the beach so she doesn't have to be around while dad is going through open heart surgery. I stay in Charlottesville, and hold down the proverbial fort. A few days later, we switch places, and she holds down the hospital fort, while I go back to my mom's to get some much needed rest and hang out my with grandmother. It's a harrowing week spent at UVA, watching my father hooked up to machines, sitting in the waiting room with a dozen other nervous families while my dad's open heart surgery was going on, seeing this once-robust and jovial man now looking like a sickly ghost.

The night before my father's surgery, we're sitting in his hospital room, and I remind my father that he's not allowed to die, whether he likes it or not, because there are all sorts of things that he hasn't done yet. For example, at that point, he hasn't walked me down the aisle. He hasn't seen our younger sister graduate from college. He hasn't become a grandfather yet. And there are a lot of things he and I haven't talked about yet - I'm not even 30, and just in his early 50s - so he's not allowed to go disappearing on us. He agrees. Promises me he's not going anywhere. This promise - he sticks to.

So now we celebrate birthdays based on his surgery date. We also celebrate his real birthday (which means my dad's aging at an astonishing rate!), but my father likes to acknowledge his July birthday too. Because he came out of surgery different. He left UVA different. The post-op recovery and rehab left him a different person than he was before. Still jovial. Still robust. But different. More reserved, more content with silence, more inward-turning. Sometimes so inward-turning that we have to remind him that there's still a world he's living in, a world with his children and grandchild in it. In the 6 years since his surgery, my dad's walked me down the aisle, and witnessed my brother getting married. He saw my younger sister graduate from college, and he earned his own college degree, many years after he started. This year he met his first grandchild, started his Masters program, and was the most proud parent of my sister when she graduated from law school. He's seen one of his children through a divorce, watched all of his children grieve the death of their maternal grandmother, and is preparing for the loss of his own mother (my other grandmother), who has been fighting stage 4 liver cancer.

Birthdays mean something different to the Carters. But, every 6th birthday means the same thing here in our family: new legs! So, Dad, Happy Birthday. And enjoy those new legs of yours. Hope you didn't stay up all night waiting for them to sprout, because, of course, we all know what happens if you're awake when the sprouting starts to happen....!

Godmothering

2010-07-22T15:00:00.007-04:00

"Godmother" is a title I never expected, but over the years, it's the label I have become an most proud of. I didn't grow up in a religious tradition that emphasized godparents, and I don't have godparents of my own. I do, however, have 3 godchildren - 2 goddaughters and a godson. Being a godmother is an honor like no other, especially with these 3 kiddos.

The role of a godparent can have a lot of different meanings. A godparent tends to sponsor a child's baptism, and agree to help with the child's religious upbringing. Some godparents also agree to take in the child if they're ever orphaned. Mostly, these days, I suspect that godparents are people that the child's parents want in that child's life to take an interest in their upbringing overall, religious or otherwise. With all 3, I have agreed to do all of the above. I have also strongly encouraged my godchildren's parents to stay healthy, and have offered to pay for them to have physicals once a year to make certain that they are healthy for a long, long time. (Ha!)

I'm an "Auntie" to several other children as well - sons and daughters of friends from college and graduate school, even more recent friends - and I love all of them. But being an Auntie is different; it feels different to me. I shower all these children with as much love as I have for their parents. But anyone can be an Auntie. A godmother - at least in my interpretation - is an honor like none other, because the godparent is partially responsible for making certain that the godson or goddaughter grows up to be a young man or woman of faith. That they have someone else with whom to wrestle through the big questions. That they have someone to turn to when life is confusing, and everything seems like a struggle. That they know they are always loved by someone else besides family. That they know that there are answers in the midst of the questions, and that their godparent will help them figure out those answers (even to the questions that make their parents a little nervous).

I was wrestling with this the other day, though - the distinction between godmother and Auntie, and why I feel as though one is more important than the other. In reality, I treat the children no differently. I might when they get older, because perhaps there are boundaries for an Auntie that I'm not aware of yet, whereas this godmother seems to know no boundaries when it comes to her lovely godchildren. And what I realized was this - the difference, at least for me, is the parents. One of the reasons I love being a godmother to these children is because of their parents. And one of the reasons I hoped to be a godmother to certain children - and am always just slightly disappointed when I'm "just" an Auntie - is because of those children's parents.

The mothers of my godchildren were my college roommates, women who lived through dorm life and apartment life and prayer circles and first car wrecks and writing newspaper editorials and senior papers and road trips and Relationship Enrichment Week and late-night Steak-N-Shake excursions with me. Women I'm honored to have known then, and more honored to know now, so many years later. And just as they have mothered their own children, they have taught me mothering techniques I might implement in my own life - how to manage a precocious 8 year old, or a 2 year old who loves the word "no," or how to love a son as your own, and keep his interests at the forefront, during the foster and adoption process when no one seems to be on your or his side.

And these women - strong, fierce, emotional, wise, logical, funny, tender - have, in the process of raising their own children, been mothers to me. Always providing me with a home when I've needed one. Offering unconditional love, even when I haven't deserved it. Gently prodding me to think about the options before I make my choice. (In my head, I often hear one friend's voice asking what she asks her daughter, "Are we making good choices today?") Reminding me that sometimes, spending time laughing during a movie night where in the end, we're all sacked out on the living room floor with popcorn kernels everywhere, is infinitely more important than making certain that everything is in its right place. Because in those cases, everything actually is in its right place.

One of the most endearing things was a few years ago, when I found out that my oldest godchild referred to me as her "fairy godmother" - I suppose she'd been watching Cinderella, and equated me with an invisible person who sent her gifts from afar? And I suppose I am, in a sense, a fairy godmother to my 3 precious ones at this point - I don't see them that often, maybe once a year at most, so I make my presence known by letters and emails and gifts. And of course, at their baptisms, which they are all too young to remember. But at some point, I will be more than a fairy, more than a gift giver. I will be the godmother they didn't know they needed, perhaps didn't know they wanted, but come to appreciate for her life experience and direction as they grow into the young men and women they are meant to be nonetheless.

A Year Ago

2010-07-20T04:15:00.000-04:00

I have a Brian Andreas print hanging on my bedroom wall that reads:

I wish you could have been there for the sun & the rain & the long, hard hills. For the sound of a thousand conversations scattered along the road. For the people laughing & crying & remembering at the end. But, mainly, I wish you could have been there.

I bought this print shortly after my grandmother passed away, a year ago today. And not a day has gone by in the past year that I haven't wanted her around. She was not the matriarch of the family, in the way that you might ordinarily think of matriarchs - but she was probably the glue that held us all together. She was the reason we all came home at the holidays, and during the summer. In fact, "home" was never where we lived now, even if we'd been there for 10 or 15 years; home was always Grandma's house.

She was the teacher: Grandma taught all 4 of us kids how to read, and we haven't stopped since. She taught us how to cook (well, she taught my older sister how to cook. The rest of us relied on others to feed us). She taught us the proper way to scare off groundhogs from the backyard (the answer: go careening through the yard in a 1977 Chevy Caprice, honking your horn). She taught us that there's always room for one more at the table (and we certainly took advantage, always bringing home friends for dinner or after school). She taught us that you pray even if you don't feel like it; during those times, you pray harder. She taught us the importance of sticking together as a family. She taught us that every birthday is a birthday worth celebrating with a monster cookie (a cookie that was, literally, the size of a cookie sheet). And she taught us that the best gift you can give an 89-year-old woman who loves hot dogs is a hot dog toaster.

This year without my grandmother here has been a rough one. The loss is palpable. We've had to get used to holidays without her. I have one less person to write letters to every Sunday. We don't get our monthly box of cookies that she'd been sending each of us since we were in college. She wasn't alive when my niece - the first great-grandchild of the family - was born. Grandma would have loved Julia, as much as she loved each of us...possibly more. She wasn't alive when McCall graduated from law school. And she wasn't alive when Lorien won the Excellence in Teaching award for the 4th time. Lorien is the one who has most followed in our grandmother's footsteps: my grandmother was a teacher for 30 years; my sister is now a professor. We have all figured out our own ways to move forward, to honor her memory, to continue to make her proud.

But it doesn't change the fact that we want her here, for the thousands of conversations we haven't had with her yet.

I tend to talk to her, when I'm in the car, when I'm puttering around the house, when I can't figure out something. I talk to her much in the same way that I would write to her every Sunday. Except these days, I tend to tell her I'm sorry. I tell her I'm sorry for not being strong enough to prevent the inevitable. That I'm sorry she wasted all those prayers on me, when I couldn't keep up my end of the bargain, and that I hope she's not angry. I tell her that I tried, so hard, and I wish she'd been healthier and in a state of mind to talk to me about how to put something that is so broken back together. There are days when I tell her that as much as I miss her, I'm glad she's not here to see how some things fell apart after she left us. Because she wouldn't be able to fix it, and she wouldn't be able to salvage what was left - and Grandma, like her granddaughters, liked to control things, and she would have worried every day about how my life is now.

During the last year of Grandma's life, my older sister and I went to Virginia every month to help my mother take care of her. In the last few months, it was especially hard, as Grandma grew weaker and we tried to balance the demands of our own lives, careers, and spouses with our desire and need to take care of the woman who raised us. I especially felt as though my non-Grandma life was unraveling, and what continued to make the time with my grandmother worth it was that every time I would lift her to help get her to bed, or move her from one position to another on the couch, she would put her arms around my neck, give me a kiss on the cheek, and whisper, "I love you, Erin."

I know she is better off - she is not suffering, she's not tethered to a human body whose blood cells turned against her, and she is with 2 of her 3 favorite men (my grandfather and my uncle). But for all the times I'm glad she's not here to see what my non-Grandma life became, there are so many more times that I wish I had one more chance to lift her up, have her put her arms around my neck and give me a kiss on the cheek.

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

2010-07-15T02:15:00.003-04:00

God's In-Box: Sometimes we need a little help from Upper Management
by Anne Lamott

Say you have a problem, something that is driving you crazy, something you need and want an answer to. Maybe the problem is romantic in nature, or has to do with your career. Maybe a decision needs to be reached that involves one of your kids, or your spouse, or an aged parent or pet. You feel like you really need to go left or right but you have no idea which way to turn. Maybe you feel just a little scared, maybe profoundly anxious; maybe you've even developed facial tics and early-stage Tourette's.

If you're at all like me, you're torn between really wanting to know what God's will is for you, and just desperately wanting this one thing to happen, this one thing to turn out this one particular way. And you keep feeling this, even though you remember the amazing scene at the end of "The Mission," where the warrior, played by Robert DeNiro, comes to see the priest, Jeremy Irons, to seek his blessing in the battle ahead, and the priest says, "If what you are about to do is God's will, then you don't need my blessing. And if it's not, then my blessing isn't going to help."

You remember that and still: You frantically want the guy to call; you want the project to be a huge success; you want the authorities to let your brother off the hook. Whatever. A small part of you, a crescent moon-shaped part of you, wants to be in alignment with God's will, because you have reason to believe that you are fucked unto the Lord if you somehow get your own will to prevail. But a louder part of you secretly believes that you alone know what the best possible outcome would be, for all parties concerned, even with a lifetime of evidence to the contrary. And you are prepared to use the sheer force of your personality and character to get it to happen.

It's a terrible feeling, isn't it - the self-will run riot? Here you long to inwardly resemble the Dalai Lama humming to himself.... And instead, on the inside, you're feeling like...a dog with a chew toy. A crazy little dog.

A crazy, bad little dog with issues: That's where the self-will takes me. First there's all this terrible Jurassic roaring and posturing, the wrestling to the ground, the snapping and gnawing, the growling. And then there's an unearthly quiet, the isometric moment of silence just before the electrical storm. And then suddenly the toy is flung, tossed up and over the body, and great excitement pours forth like lava as the toy is searched for and captured again; and then dominated, chewed, ripped at, drooled over.

But eventually I am too tired to continue and my head has become too uninhabitable, and I realize I've been driving this rickety temperamental old bus of my mind around for too long. I've lost all sense of direction and am feeling confused and pissed off and bitter and resentful and nuts; but then finally, finally just tired. I begin to worry that I have had or am having a complete nervous breakdown, and that I am about to start weeping or barking and won't be able to stop. Sometimes I still look more or less okay on the outside - except for the tics, which can actually be pretty unsightly - but inside I'm feeling a little bit more like Ted Kaczynski than I like to. And I realize I'm just crazier than a shithouse rat; and that it's all hopeless. And that the sun is burning out.

This is the point at which I am willing to try using a God-box, because, as is often true in life, the willingness comes from the pain. The most profound sense of willingness I ever experienced was eight years ago, when I got pregnant by a man who was extremely unhappy about this news. First I tried to self-will him into being excited; but he just about lost his mind. I was not doing much better, and eventually got out my God-box. It was just a little wooden box someone had given me once, that I'd decided would be God's in-box. But I was deeply depressed and hormonally challenged up the yin-yang and lonely and poor and crazy. I felt like my life would be ruined if I had a child by myself, but that my soul might die if I had the abortion I had scheduled. So I wrote a note to God. I said that I was willing to have an abortion, if that would be best for me and the fetus, and I would be willing to have a baby if God had some tricks up His sleeve. And I promised I was not going to do anything at all until I heard from Him.

Then I folded up my note, put it in the box, and waited.

Have I mentioned that waiting is perhaps not my strong suit? But every time I either decided to go ahead with the abortion, or pictured myself nursing a little Gerber baby, I remembered that I was waiting for an answer from God. I didn't cancel my appointment for an abortion, but by the same token, I didn't buy any maternity clothes, either. I simply waited to hear.

I don't understand why it would hurt so much if just once in His life, He used a megaphone. But He never does. I find this infuriating. But what happens when I put a note in the God-box is that the phone rings, or the mail comes; and I hear from Him that way.

And a few days later, just when I was losing faith, the phone rang. A sober friend named Tom had just returned from Hawaii and told me about a group of people he'd met there. They were members of AA, and so on a daily basis they tried to turn their wills and their lives over to the care of God, as each of them understood God. Some of them loved Jesus; some were Jews; some turned to the same mountain the first natives had bowed to before. Some were Buddhists and did not have the sense of a personal God, and so turned their wills and lives over to the care of Good Orderly Direction, or to the Group of Drunks. I like to think that some even turned to Howard, who can be kind of a generic god for agnostics, a big warm caring galoot of divine presence - Howard, as in, "Our father, who art in Heaven, Howard be thy name."

Tom reported over the phone that this group of Hawaiian drunks had a meeting whose topic was about the 3rd Step, about letting go, and the name of this meeting was Drop the Rock. The Drop the Rock meeting was based on the understanding that left to our own devices, we - as a species - tend to lug these big rocks around. They are the rocks of our concerns. Every time we get up, we reach down for our big rock and then we lug it out the door, down the stairs, and roll it into the back seats of our cars. Then after we drive someplace, we open the back door, get out our rock, and carry it with us, wherever we go. Because it's our rock. It is very important to us and we need to keep it in sight. Also, someone could steal it.

So these Hawaii drunks suggest that you practice dropping the rock. That you put it down, on the ground at your feet. And that you say to God, to Mary, to Pele, Jehovah, Jesus, or Howard: "Here. I'm giving you the rock. YOU deal with it."

When I heard this, I realized that more than anything, I wanted to put down my rock. My psychic arms ached from carrying it. I got my note out of the God-box, and I re-read it, and then I folded it back up and said to God, "Here. Look at me - I am putting down the rock. It's in your hands now. RSVP."

Maybe it's about turning one's attention from what's holding us enthralled. Maybe it gives us a little room and a sense of fresh air, and with that comes some kind of healing breath. Maybe it gets us to stop looking in the one direction where we think the mountain is going to rise up before us, and so instead, with our minds free to wander and bob, we notice pathways and even airy glades we hadn't see before. I do not have any idea how it works, only that two weeks later, I woke up from a very clear and specific dream, and I smiled in joy, even though I was full of fear, because I knew I was going to keep the baby. And I did, and we have been abundantly provided for every step of the way....

The other day I went to put a note in the box, about this guy with whom I have fallen in love, and I found a scrap of paper from last year, when Sam's pediatrician couldn't figure out why his bloodwork was so funky and had actually began to consult oncologists. The world, as you can imagine, came to a halt, and all I knew to do was to pray for courage and faith, and to put it in the God-box. A week or so later the doctor discovered that Sam is allergic to dust mites. That morning I took out the bit of paper on which I'd written Sam's name, and turned my head towards the sky. I said, "Jesus, honey? I don't even know where to start. I feel like You're showing off again; so thank You. Thank You. And give my best to Howard." Then I put the note back inside, so I'd find it again, and remember.

One of the many reasons I love my brother.

2010-07-11T20:07:00.006-04:00

Recently, I sent my brother and sister-in-law a box of goodies for my niece. In the box was a book, which of course she can't read yet since she's only 6 months old, but I figured in another couple of months she'd be speed reading, and I wanted to be the first to cram her brain full of good literature. We were all early readers, thanks to my awesome grandmother, who took it upon herself to teach us to read when we were around the age of 3, so I felt it was my responsibility to help make sure that the Julia Noodle made her late great-grandmother proud by beating us in that milestone.

My brother responded not with a thank you note, but with a book of his own (I collect children's books too). The children's book he sent me is so obviously not for children.... Come to think of it, I'm not even certain it's for adults. But, it is the funniest thing I've read in a very long time. It's also the most delightfully demented thing that has ever been published.

The cover looks innocent enough, right? Well, except for that big callout that reads "A Primer for Adults Only." That should be taken seriously. Oh, and perhaps those creepy hairy arms should be a dead giveaway too.

Most of the letters quickly became favorites - and I soon began to think that perhaps Alan was going to regret sending me this book. After all, so many of these could be taught to the Julia Noodle! The letter E is one of my favorites - of course.

Here are some of my other favorites:

O is for Oz: Do you want to visit the wonderful far-off land of Oz, where the wizard lives ad scarecrows can dance and the road is made of yellow bricks and everything is emerald green? Well, you can't because there is no land of Oz and there is no tin woodsman and THERE IS NO SANTA CLAUS!..... Maybe someday you can go to Detroit.

R is for Red: The fire is red, the fire engine is red, the fireman's hat is red.... Too bad the fireman only goes to places WHERE THERE IS A FIRE.

T is for TV: See the nice TV. The TV is warm.... The TV loves you. Do you know that there are little elves who live inside the TV?.... If you take Daddy's hammer and break open the TV you will see the funny little elves. What will you name them?

The best one that is not a letter is one of the interlude pages, titled "It's Question Time."

Do you want to be smart? Ask some questions. Ask Daddy why the sky is blue. Ask Teacher where do babies come from. Ask Mommy why Daddy comes home late from work. ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask ask.....

I am so teaching Julia the word "ask."

(I love my brother.)

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

2010-07-08T21:11:00.012-04:00

"We watch the days grow shorter and shorter. We become frightened because it occurs to us that if this keeps up we will all freeze to death in the dark. We light candles in a transparently symbolic attempt to get somebody up there to notice and turn on the lights. We are literally whistling in the dark." (Rabbi L. Kushner)
"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares." (Henri J.M. Nouwen)
"I don't want to be perfect. I want to be useful, I want to be good, and I want to sound like myself. Trying to be perfect gets in the way of all three." (Scott Berkun)
"There is a limit to the amount of misery and disarray you will put up with, for love, just as there is a limit to the amount of mess you can stand around a house. You can't know the limit beforehand, but you will know when you've reached it." (Alice Munro)

Wednesday's Word: Wrestling

2010-07-07T21:20:00.000-04:00

I have been thinking a lot lately about wrestling (not the WWE, though I suppose that could be considered wrestling by some, but it's definitely something I try not to think about!). It's a strange sport, wrestling. Although I had friends in high school who were on the wrestling team, I've never quite understood the draw. All those arms and legs and hands flailing, contorting, not quite sure where they belonged, not quite sure where they'd end up. And what was the point? To get a point for your high school team? To get to Districts, or to State?

The point, it seemed to me, was literally to wrestle your opponent to the ground, of course, and to keep him there. To keep his flailing arms and legs from getting enough momentum to trap yours. To keep from getting bound under the weight of someone your own size, with your strength and skills.

For all, or whatever, training I have, I am definitely not a theologian. Far from it. But I have been thinking lately of Jacob wrestling with the angel. Seems to me that if ever there was an unfair fight, this would have been it. The size, strength, and skill levels weren't matched. Jacob couldn't possibly have gotten enough momentum to end up advancing to Districts. But he was going to try anyway. He didn't have the good sense not to. He couldn't keep his flailing arms and hands to himself, even once he knew he was wrestling so far out of his class that winning was out of the question.

Interestingly enough - and maybe this is the point of that whole story - even though Jacob was never going to win that match, even though at any point, the angel could have ended that match for good, and not in Jacob's favor, Jacob has the nerve to say, "I will not let you go, unless you bless me." He says, do something for me. Give me something. I'm not winning here, but give me something I need. In other words, help me.

I've been wrestling with some angels lately. I feel as though they are my not-of-this-world winged advisors (sometimes feeling more like adversaries) who respond to two things: "I will not let you go unless you bless me," and the word "help." I'm not good at either, asking for things I haven't earned or don't deserve, and definitely not good at asking for help. Sometimes I imagine my wrestling angels as my friends and family whose lives are not being lived out anymore on earth. I imagine them waiting for me to say "Help," in my wavering, cloaked, smoke-signally sort of way. We all know that smoke signals can get lost in a cloudy sky, and sometimes we have to wrestle our angels to the ground first, just to prove that we can. And sometimes our angels allow just that, in order to let us see that we have more strength than we think.

But then our angel reminds us that we don't have quite enough to get that State championship trophy everyone else in our weight class seemed to get so easily - she puts our hip out of joint, just as Jacob's angel did, as a gentle (or not so gentle) reminder that we'd better learn to kneel and get a little humble. We don't have to let go. We can still hold tight and say, "I will not let you go unless you bless me" - and we can still expect to leave that encounter blessed. As long as we start our sentences with one word: "Help." And then expect that she'll take it from there.

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

2010-06-17T05:57:00.001-04:00

This week, the Other Person whose thoughts I'm posting is Anne Lamott. Because what's a blog without an ample dose of Lamott's writing? Last month, I found this article in Salon that she'd written about Mother's Day. I have posted it in its entirety here (most italics added are mine).

"Why I hate Mother's Day: It celebrates the great lie about women: That those with children are more important than those without."

I did not raise my son, Sam, to celebrate Mother's Day. I didn't want him to feel some obligation to buy me pricey lunches or flowers, some annual display of gratitude that you have to grit your teeth and endure. Perhaps Mother's Day will come to mean something to me as I grow even dottier in my dotage, and I will find myself bitter and distressed when Sam dutifully ignores the holiday. Then he will feel ambushed by my expectations, and he will retaliate by putting me away even sooner than he was planning to — which, come to think of it, would be even more reason to hate Mother's Day.

But Mother's Day celebrates a huge lie about the value of women: that mothers are superior beings, that they have done more with their lives and chosen a more difficult path. Ha! Every woman's path is difficult, and many mothers were as equipped to raise children as wire monkey mothers. I say that without judgment: It is, sadly, true. An unhealthy mother's love is withering.

The illusion is that mothers are automatically happier, more fulfilled and complete. But the craziest, grimmest people this Sunday will be the mothers themselves, stuck herding their own mothers and weeping children and husbands' mothers into seats at restaurants. These mothers do not want a box of chocolate. These mothers are on a diet.

I hate the way the holiday makes all non-mothers, and the daughters of dead mothers, and the mothers of dead or severely damaged children, feel the deepest kind of grief and failure. The non-mothers must sit in their churches, temples, mosques, recovery rooms and pretend to feel good about the day while they are excluded from a holiday that benefits no one but Hallmark and See's. There is no refuge — not at the horse races, movies, malls, museums. Even the turn-off-your-cellphone announcer is going to open by saying, "Happy Mother's Day!" You could always hide in a nice seedy bar, I suppose. Or an ER.

It should go without saying that I also hate Valentine's Day.

Mothering has been the richest experience of my life, but I am still opposed to Mother's Day. It perpetuates the dangerous idea that all parents are somehow superior to non-parents. (Meanwhile, we know the worst, skeeviest, most evil people in the world are CEOs and politicians who are proud parents.)

Don't get me wrong: There were times I could have literally died of love for my son, and I've felt stoned on his rich, desperate love for me. But I bristle at the whispered lie that you can know this level of love and self-sacrifice only if you are a parent. We talk about “loving one's child” as if a child were a mystical unicorn. Ninety-eight percent of American parents secretly feel that if you have not had and raised a child, your capacity for love is somehow diminished. Ninety-eight percent of American parents secretly believe that non-parents cannot possibly know what it is to love unconditionally, to be selfless, to put yourself at risk for the gravest loss. But in my experience, it's parents who are prone to exhibit terrible self-satisfaction and selfishness, who can raise children as adjuncts, like rooms added on in a remodel. Their children's value and achievements in the world are reflected glory, necessary for these parents' self-esteem, and sometimes, for the family's survival. This is how children's souls are destroyed.

But my main gripe about Mother's Day is that it feels incomplete and imprecise. The main thing that ever helped mothers was other people mothering them; a chain of mothering that keeps the whole shebang afloat. I am the woman I grew to be partly in spite of my mother, and partly because of the extraordinary love of her best friends, and my own best friends' mothers, and from surrogates, many of whom were not women at all but gay men. I have loved them my entire life, even after their passing.

No one is more sentimentalized in America than mothers on Mother's Day, but no one is more often blamed for the culture's bad people and behavior. You want to give me chocolate and flowers? That would be great. I love them both. I just don't want them out of guilt, and I don't want them if you're not going to give them to all the people who helped mother our children. But if you are going to include everyone, then make mine something like M&M's, and maybe flowers you picked yourself, even from my own garden, the cut stems wrapped in wet paper towels, then tin foil and a waxed-paper bag from my kitchen drawers. I don't want something special. I want something beautifully plain. Like everything else, it can fill me only if it is ordinary and available to all.

(Reprinted from Salon.com, Saturday May 8, 2010)

Lists and More Lists

2010-06-13T13:14:00.007-04:00

When I can't sleep, I make lists in my head. Sometimes the lists in my head get so overwhelming that I get out of bed and write them down, but usually, I just keep the lists going until my brain gets so tired that it gives in to sleep instead.

Last night, neither approach worked - I tried the in-head list making, then I tried writing them down. So eventually, I decided to make another sort of list - not a list of things I needed to do, or wanted to remember, but a list of random thoughts-n-stuff. Here it is:

Right now, my favorite piece of artwork in my house is a silkscreen print that Leann and Clinton gave me for Christmas. It has the seven corporal works of mercy drawn in the shape of a dove, and reminds me every day that my life needs to embody those. It currently embodies it sometimes. It needs to embody them all of the time.
If I could go anywhere in the country to live - which I guess I can now - I think it would be a toss-up between the DC area and Chicago. Chicago between I have friends there, there are some great organizations to work for there, and it's in between where my siblings live. DC because it's close to my mother, and still keeps me on the east coast, near many of the friends I've made over the past 10+ years.
If I could get this organization to hire me, I would move to Chicago in a heartbeat, all logistics be damned. Interestingly, the need to deal with the logistics that go along with life - my life, any life - is what's keeping me from getting them to hire me.
In my next life, I will have to learn to be a better cook. I have a fear that that has been part of my downfall in this one.
The best things in my life right now have to do with children. My niece, my godson, my goddaughters, the children I've claimed as nieces and nephews. The innocence of children, and the comfort of children - these are gifts bestowed upon us sometimes when we don't even know we need it.
I think it would be fun to work on Sesame Street for a day. Maybe for a week. It would especially be fun if I could be Cookie Monster.
I wish I had a better track record at keeping plants alive. I have managed to kill every plant I come near, which is unfortunate, because some of those plants, I really liked. Others, I haven't missed so much.
I thought 2009 was the worst year I could possibly have. 2010 is giving 2009 a run for its money. Which means I expect 2011 to be pretty damn fantastic, or else I'm calling it quits, moving to an island somewhere, and just quitting this "real life" thing for good.
I discovered the other day that I can tolerate eating tomatoes. This is a big discovery, because I have always hated tomatoes. It's a texture issue - you think they're going to solid, but then when you cut them open, they're gel-like with who knows what holding them together. It's very odd. Plus, they taste funny. But, if I don't think about the texture issue, and if there aren't too many in a salad or on a sandwich, I can actually eat them. This was a huge revelation, although I'm sure it sounds as though it was just me deciding not to be crazy about a food.
There are days when I wish I were a strong enough person to start a family on my own. (cf 3, logistics...)
If I had all the vacation time in the world (and if money was no issue), I would do this (so I could go back here, and here) and then I would switch vacation plans altogether and go somewhere decadent, like this.
The musical instrument I think should be outlawed: the accordion.
The musical instrument I would want to be outlawed if I were a parent: the recorder.

Musical Mondays

2010-06-07T05:37:00.002-04:00

My new musical obsession: Josh Ritter.

There's a great interview with him here on NPR.

The best part is that at that NPR link, there's a video for his new song "The Curse." The video earns extra points because it's all done with puppets (marionettes, really, but...).

What Ritter says about the song "The Curse" is this: "Sometimes you can find what you think is love, what you think is a sure thing, and in the end it's much worse for you than you ever would've expected."

The video is so touching, so very darling. It's as heartbreaking as puppets can be. I've embedded the YouTube file at the bottom of this post, but in case it doesn't show up, click here.

And if you want to listen to the song, click here.

The lyrics to this song are so great, I find them going round and round in my head, long after the song has stopped playing.

He opens his eyes, falls in love at first sight
With the girl in the doorway
What beautiful lines, how full of life
After thousands of years what a face to wake up to

He holds back a sigh as she touches his arm
She dusts off the bed where till now he's been sleeping
Under miles of stone, the dried fig of his heart
Under scarab and bone starts back to its beating

She carries him home in a beautiful boat
He watches the sea from a porthole in stowage
He can hear all she says as she sits by his bed
Then one day his lips answer her in her own language

The days quickly pass, he loves making her laugh
The first time he moves it's her hair that he touches
She asks "Are you cursed?" He says "I think that I'm cured"
Then he talks of the Nile and the girls in bullrushes

In New York he is laid in a glass-covered case
He pretends he is dead, people crowd round to see him
But each night she comes round, and the two wander down
The halls of the tomb that she calls a museum

Often he stops to rest, but then less and less
Then it's her that looks tired, staying up asking questions
He learns how to read from the papers that she
Is writing about him and he makes corrections

It's his face on her book and more and more come to look
Families from Iowa, upper West-siders
Then one day it's too much, he decides to get up
And as chaos ensues, he walks outside to find her

She's using a cane, and her face looks too pale
But she's happy to see him, as they walk he supports her
She asks "Are you cursed?" but his answer's obscured
In a sandstorm of flashbulbs and rowdy reporters

Such reanimation, the two tour the nation
He gets out of limos, he meets other women
He speaks of her fondly, their nights in the museum
But she's just one more rag now he's dragging behind him

She stops going out, she just lies there in bed
In hotels in whatever towns they are speaking
Then her face starts to set and her hands start to fold
And one day the dry fig of her heart stops its beating

Long ago on the ship, she asked "Why pyramids?"
He said "Think of them as an immense invitation"
She asks "Are you cursed?" He says "I think that I'm cured"
Then he kissed her and hoped that she'd forget that question

The best part of those lyrics: the progression of the story, as seen through the lines that start with "She asks 'Are you cursed?'..." Darling, and heartbreaking.

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

2010-06-03T07:24:00.001-04:00

A few thoughts from a handful of people, all not me:

This one seems fitting in a time of commencement ceremonies: "God will not look you over for medals, degrees or diplomas but for scars."(Elbert Hubbard)

Because I have been reading like a fiend these days, and because I love this author's stories: "I love short stories because I believe they are the way we live. They are what our friends tell us, in their pain and joy, their passion and rage, their yearning and their cry against injustice." (Andre Dubus)

On the importance of having artistic/creative outlets: "Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation." (Graham Greene)

Quite possibly the best ending to a book, ever. One of the first philosophy books I read, which ultimately led me to declare it as my major: "I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one's burden again.... The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy." (Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus)

$8 Happiness

2010-06-02T20:36:00.003-04:00

This past weekend, during one of my short breaks from working, I went on a hunt for a photo frame. I had one mission: find a simple 5x7 picture frame for a photo of my niece. Of course, on my quest for this picture frame, I happened upon a handful of other neat things - including these birds.

They're little decals - and I think they're the happiest thing I've added to my apartment in quite a while. I put them in my kitchen, just over the pass-through - they actually cover up some nail holes, which makes the placement even better.

There are only 5 of them, but the photo shows a reflection of one of them on the ceiling, which is extra cool, I think. This may be the best $8 I've spent in a long time. Now I want to go buy more of these flying mirror birds so that I can have them flapping all over my kitchen. They make me smile every time I walk past them, and they almost make the kitchen a worthwhile room (anyone who knows me knows that I have no use for the kitchen - I would just as soon turn it into a walk-in closet)!

Wednesday's Words

2010-06-02T19:55:00.003-04:00

I have been so busy that I actually forgot today was Wednesday. I am so busy - and so tired from being busy - that I could probably be convinced pretty easily that today is not Wednesday, or that it is not June, or that it is not even 2010. But, assuming that it is indeed Wednesday, here are today's words. Surprisingly, I have a lot to say about them.

Thankful: Usually, this is a word I feel on Sundays. But it is appropriate for today as well. I am thankful for a million little things: a comfortable bed, a glorious much-needed afternoon nap, music that makes the time go by faster or takes me out of my head for a little while, happening upon the perfect birthday gift for a friend, fun shoes that make me feel tall and skinny even though I am neither.

And I'm thankful for a million not so little things: a good though exhausting job, an awesome team of colleagues that goes above and beyond, siblings who remind me why it's great to have siblings (a lesson learned only as one gets older, as I certainly would have traded any of them in when we were younger!), new friendships cultivated in the most unexpected of ways.

I am so thankful for laughter these days. I go through periods in my life when laughter comes easily, and then other times when it is so difficult to find, and fleeting. I don't know if I was ever an easygoing child - I suspect I was very much not - although I know that there have been times as I've gotten older that I've been very easy to amuse. (Not many times, but....) I am serious and introspective, and take things deeply to heart. My parents, professors, mentors all used to tell me that I carried the pain and brokenness of the world within me; I'm sure it was not a coincidence that as an undergraduate and a graduate student, I studied the philosophical and theological problem of evil. That being said, lately, I have found laughter in a number of unexpected places, and I so appreciative. I have a lot of funny people in my life, and the more they make me laugh, the more blessed I realize I am.

Accomplishment: This is probably not a word I will use very often in connection to myself, but this week, it's appropriate. I feel a great sense of accomplishment every year when the projects that I'm working on "go live." This week, 2 of the major projects went live, and 2 parts of other projects did as well. There are other pieces that will launch throughout the summer (nearly every week, actually, from now until August), but yesterday was the first key date we were all working toward, and I know that our entire team at work has that "Yay! We did it!" feeling right now. We all also have that "We are so exhausted we can't think straight" feeling, and that "Wait, we have to do this again next week, and the week after, and the week after?!" feeling - but the "Yay!" feeling trumps everything else.

A lot of my friends, and most of my family members, don't really get what I do for a living. And even those who understand what I do on a daily basis still don't get it - it's so different than what I studied, what I'd planned to do, and what my initial career path was. That's true - and compared to my sisters, who are changing their corners of the world, and potentially much larger corners of the world, what I do has no meaning whatsoever. I will not affect international law or human rights policy. I am not training the social workers of the future, who will also go out and change their corners of the world. I feel that lack of accomplishment profoundly when I look at my sisters. And when I look at my brother, who has his dream job, and his dream life - he wanted to work in music, have a family, and pursue the things that were important to him (swimming, playing in a band, etc.). He is doing all 3. He is happy. And I'm thrilled for all my siblings. But I never feel accomplished, or successful, when I stand beside my siblings.

But yesterday, I didn't stand beside them. (For one thing, my sisters are in St. Louis, and my brother's in Ft. Wayne....) We launched the promotions that we'd been working on since August of last year, and when I sent the "We're Live!" email to the whole team and to my clients, I felt like I'd accomplished something. It's not my best life, but it is my life for now, and I have a responsibility to make it the best life possible. It's not what I went to college or graduate school for, and it's not alleviating the pain and brokenness of the world - but if I believe that we are all where we are for a reason (and usually I do), then I have to trust that what I'm doing now and where I am now has a purpose, even though I'm often not certain what it is.

Musical Mondays

2010-05-31T11:51:00.001-04:00

I happened upon this song quite accidentally. I'm not really a fan of Old 97s, and I don't know much of Rhett Miller's solo stuff. I am, though, very taken with Rachael Yamagata. She has a lovely and haunting voice. I saw her when she opened for Damien Rice several years ago, and keep wanting her to release more albums, and faster - so whenever I happen upon something of hers, it's a happy musical surprise.

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

2010-05-26T06:45:00.001-04:00

Today, 2 quotes from Raymond Carver, one of my favorite authors:

"It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we're talking about when we talk about love."

"And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth."

Instead of Wednesday Words

2010-05-12T22:00:00.003-04:00

Instead of words today, I've decided to use photos. Today's words would be "busy," "crazy," "productive," "not productive enough," "looking forward," "exhausted," "agitated (but not necessarily in a bad way)"....

So since there are far too many words for today, and since I just got these awesome photos of the cutest most adorable Julia in the world, I'm posting them instead.

This is the first time I've seen her curly hair - which apparently comes from the Carter side of the family, and also apparently only appears when her hair is wet. This is also the first time I've seen those sausage arms in all their glory - which I just love, especially because I had sausage arms at least that big (my mom says bigger!) at Miss Julia's age...something tells me my niece and I are going to get along fabulously.

I can't wait to meet her next week.

Wednesday's Words

2010-05-05T22:06:00.002-04:00

Many years ago, Over the Rhine released an album called "Besides." I don't listen to it very often - in fact, I don't think I've listened to it much since it was released. But there's a song on that CD called "Dead Weight" that's been running through my head this week - one line in particular: "We smile in here / we don't get too close to sadness."

So my words for the week are these:

Sadness
Laughter

Sadness: Seems obvious. There is much to mourn. Much to deny. I have days when I sit and close my eyes, thinking, "if I open them, all I will see is this chaos around me, things that need to be fixed but not by me, other things that need to be fixed but can't be yet, and even more things that are just so irrevocably broken...so maybe I'll just sit here a while longer, with my eyes closed." Because of course, if I can't see it, it's not happening, right? Grief takes all forms, it shape-shifts, so there are tears when there should be laughter and laughter when there should be tears. Some nights we fight it, and other nights, we let it engulf us. There is always something to be sad about. But the point is, to smile in here, to not get too close to the sadness. The end of that verse goes like this: 'Cause what's holding us is just about to break. Ain't it funny how life can drag behind us just like so much dead weight.

Laughter: As much as there is to mourn, there is much to laugh about. I'm an introvert, prone to melancholy. But the truth is, I'm also pretty easily amused, and it doesn't take much to make me laugh either. Sock monkeys, Cookie Monster, Sesame Street - they all still make me laugh. Playing with my friends' children, and especially teaching those children to make funny faces, or ask for unbelievable things (like puppies, or siblings, or pet snakes). Planning baby showers and birthday parties and surprises, just to make my friends smile. Looking through old photo albums. Plotting ways to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for "Godmother to the most children." Memories of my grandmother running through the backyard, banging pots and pans, yelling "Shoo! Shoo!" at the groundhogs who must have thought she was a lunatic. Every time I tell the story of how I convinced my younger sister she was going to sprout new legs when she turned 6. It really doesn't take much.

I love the laughter, and not just because it keeps the sadness at bay. I love it because it's the only way to manage the sadness, to know that the sadness can also shape-shift into something so much better, so much stronger, and that one day, only by the grace of God, it won't shift back.

And because I never like leave good songs unheard (or in this case, good lyrics unread), here's the rest of the song. It's worth a listen:

Sometimes what feels like pretty good music
is just the same old song.
Sometimes we deal with bygone bruises
and find it’s been too long.

But we laugh in here
we don’t get too close to sadness.
We know good enough
is a thousand miles from grace.
Ain’t it funny how life can drag behind us
just like so much dead weight.

And my hometown train
is pulling from the station.
And I know for once
I really will be late.
And I’ll dream that we can leave the past behind us
just like so much dead weight.

Clementine!

2010-05-01T21:33:00.004-04:00

I have only a handful of very close friends, people I completely trust with everything I am. One of those friends is from my Yale Div years - she and I met on the first day of orientation. In fact, she was the first person I met on the first day of orientation. We were about the same age, had graduated from college and come straight to graduate school (unlike many people in our program), and immediately, I sensed we were going to be great friends.

That instinct proved true. Leann and I have known each other now for nearly 12 years, since the fall of 1998. We have seen each other through graduations, moves, trips overseas, family drama, career path changes, and everything in between. We've celebrated love found, and we've mourned love lost. Months can go by without us talking in person, sometimes without us even exchanging emails - but we always pick up right where we left off, as though no time has passed between us. What does pass between us is that feeling that we are one soul in two bodies (thank you, Aristotle). Sometimes, that soul wants to change the world. Other times, it just wants to snack on Trader Joe's tortilla chips and watch "Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

This morning, Leann gave birth to her first child - a lovely daughter named Clementine Scarlet. I am trying to remember the last time I was so happy. Clementine came into the world a little early - clearly eager to meet her parents and make her presence known sooner rather than later. I can't wait to meet this baby girl, and especially can't wait to watch her grow up - and watch Leann and her husband grow into being parents. They will be naturals, I have no doubt, and Miss Clemmie could not have been given a better, more loving family, or two parents who are better equipped to help guide her as she grows up to be a little girl, a young lady, a young woman, of character, strength, and faith.

Congratulations, Leann.

Congratulations, Clinton.

Congratulations, Clementine.

You are all cradled in the hands of God. Many blessings await you.

Wednesday's Words

2010-04-28T17:53:00.003-04:00

Today's word: Stories.

There is a collection of Joan Didion's writings that is appropriately titled We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live. I bought that book for 2 reasons: (a) it's Joan Didion, (b) the title. Lately, I've had that title going through my head, along with song lyrics, lines from poems, and other miscellanies. It's funny what goes through your head when you spend most of your time either quiet, or trying to be in the quiet.

I tell stories to myself. I talk to myself (I'm a great listener). I play my favorite songs (in my head, and in "real life") on repeat. I tell myself I should get a cat. I remind myself that the last time I had a cat, things did not go well. Ixnay on the cat idea, maybe I'll go with a fish. I think that maybe I'll go back to school. I love learning, even for the sake of learning. I remind myself that another masters degree will cost money that I do not have. I step back, tell myself that I don't need to make any decisions right now. If I decided to get up this morning, that was enough perhaps.

I read stories. Having finished Anne Lamott's newest book, I've gone back to read some of her older fiction. I'm reading Rosie right now, which is a lovely little glimpse into the lives of the characters I just finished reading about. I had forgotten that I'd read Rosie, years ago. I am rediscovering these characters. Such deeply flawed people, hearty, and brokenhearted. When I am finished with this book, next up is Kate Braestrup's Here if You Need Me, which has been on my list for a while. It's a true story of a woman who, after the death of her husband, decides to fulfill his dream - not hers, but his - of becoming a minister. (She ultimately becomes a chaplain to search and rescue workers.) I suspect this book is a story of grief, sadness, dreams lost and dreams fulfilled, the strength of family, the power of words and the importance of silence. After all, in the Christian faith, words, silence, stories all have meaning beyond what we can comprehend.

I am writing my own story. Not literally, although perhaps so. But I am self-aware enough, and introspective enough, to know that this time of silence, this time of trying (and often failing) to be content in the quiet, is all part of writing my own story. It is all part of becoming who I will be. Some of my story is written for me. Some is not. Even the part that is written for me - what I choose to make of it is my own doing. We play the hand we're dealt, yes, to a certain extent. And then sometimes, we take the deck of cards and invent a new game. We take the stories we're told and we embrace them as tales of generations gone by, or because we know nothing different. And we create new stories, to rectify the past, to create balance for the present, to give us a glimpse to what comes next.

Wednesday's Words

2010-04-21T00:31:00.001-04:00

Much like an episode of Sesame Street might be brought to you by the letter A and the number 4, this week's "Wednesday's Words" entry is brought to you by Over the Rhine.

"this is not the first time/something ends in just tears"

"You’re makin’ a mess/Somethin’ I can’t fix/This time you’re on your own/I’d make it alright/But I wouldn’t get it right/I’m leavin’ it alone

"I should love you less/But I can’t I guess/Only God can save us now"

"help me tell the truth you see/that’s all i’m trying to do is tell the truth/it’s just in my head/all i’ve left unsaid/and later on it won’t come out"

"What she would like to do/Is get you out of her head/She’s tried every trick/She’s so sick of thinking about it"

"it makes a difference/that i’m feeling this way/with plenty to think about/and so little to say

"this is not my home/this is lonely/but never alone"

Wednesday's Words

2010-04-14T20:45:00.002-04:00

Disappointment: All my life, I've feared I'd be a disappointment to someone. I grew up in a religious tradition that taught that we were all just one step away from disappointing God, or that we had already disappointed him. As a child, I was certain I'd disappointed my parents all the time - I wasn't a good enough student if I'd gotten A's, when there were A+'s to be had; getting into Yale was great, but not when there was Princeton just down the road - I should have gotten into both. I was a cute child, but a disappointingly ordinary-looking adult, as opposed to my siblings, who were cute children and attractive adults, and so on. It has taken me years (and a lot of therapy, and a lot of prayer, and finding a new religious tradition) to outgrow the cloud of disappointment that I grew up under, and that I imposed upon myself. Lately, I've been slipping back under that cloud. Not in quite the same way - insecurities manifest themselves differently at 33 than they do at 8, after all. But they are insecurities nonetheless.

Planning: I am a planner. Anyone who knows me knows that I make lists, Excel spreadsheets, lists of the lists I need to make, and so on. It is a gift and a curse - and usually my way to maintain control in situations that feel as though they are completely chaotic. I am doing a lot of list-making these days. I am even planning in my sleep...which means I am not getting much restful sleep at all. Ann Patchett once wrote, "I believe, in my better moments, that there is a plan and things go not the way we want them to but the way they should." I too believe that. But that has never once stopped me from making a list, or from trying to direct the course that I think things should go.

Words: This week has been funnily full of words. I'm not much of a talker, although I suppose some would debate that. But in truth, what I know most deeply, what I care about most deeply, I do not say. I am often quiet in an attempt to quiet my soul. I am often quiet in an attempt to block out the noise around me. This week, though, was a talking week. It was a sorting through week. Which was hard for me, as I'm not keen on spending more than 1 or maybe 2 days a week really sorting through - verbally, at least - matters at hand, determining paths forward, making decisions without knowing all the ramifications.

One of my favorite authors is Raymond Carver. Based on his writing style, I always had this impression that he too was not a fan of words - his stories are short, sparse, almost hollow. These are two of my favorite Carver quotes, both of which seem to fit this week:

"That's all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones."

"It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we're talking about when we talk about love."

Broken Birds

2010-04-14T15:09:00.003-04:00

I've been reading Imperfect Birds, by Anne Lamott. A friend sent me an interview that Salon did with Lamott recently, and the first question/answer caught me so off-guard, I honestly didn't know if I could finish reading the interview. It struck me as quite possibly the most appropriate paragraph I could have read, at this point in my week, in this year, in my life.

Q: Can you talk about the meaning of the title? What does it mean to be an "imperfect bird"?

A: It's from the poem by Rumi, that each of us must enter the nest made by the other imperfect bird. If we want to have human connection, we have to enter other people's ragtag lives -- which is, of course, a nightmare, but which also makes us grow and stretch, and get out of ourselves, which is literally heaven. All we have to offer each other is the welcome into our own crummy nests, which are always half-coming-apart. And it doesn't seem like it could possibly be enough. But it always is.

Take a minute to think about that: "If we want to have human connection, we have to enter other people's ragtag lives -- which is, of course, a nightmare...."

She says what all of us know, or at least suspect: that entering another person's messed-up, f'ed up life is like one of those awful night terrors where every bad thing you've ever done, or feared someone would find out about, comes back to haunt you; everything is blown so significantly out of proportion that when you wake up, you're sure that the world has ended and you're the only one left after the apocalypse.

And then Lamott continues: "All we have to offer each other is the welcome into our own crummy nests, which are always half-coming-apart." Maybe you start to think, as I have been over the past few weeks especially, if all you have is a dilapidated nest, a falling-apart heart, why offer it at all? If what you can show for your life at the moment looks hauntingly similar to those homes they show on "Hoarders," and if "half-coming-apart" is what you feel like on a good day... Combine what you've got (the falling apart, "Hoarders"-like nest) with what other people have (the nightmare-inducing ragtag lives), and it's no wonder that the world is such a mess - maybe we imperfect birds should stop trying to come together after all.

But then she saves us, right before despair settles in our chests: "And it doesn't seem like it could possibly be enough. But it always is."

Take that thought along with the other statements. Everyone has a ragtag life, whether or not they acknowledge it. All you have to give of yourself is a nest that is coming apart at the seams, whether or not you acknowledge it. And it doesn't seem like it should be enough. It seems like you might want to come back when you're more put together, more stable, more secure, smarter, "fitter, happier, more productive," when you have all the answers, or at least enough answers to make up for the ragamuffin you've unwittingly - or unwisely - attached yourself to.

But that coming apart at the seams is always enough. In some cases, it's more than enough. Being the imperfect bird with the other imperfect bird in the imperfectly made nest is always sufficient. In fact, it is, as Lamott so appropriately notes, what "makes us grow and stretch, and get out of ourselves, which is literally heaven."

More than Words on a Page

2010-04-08T11:47:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I got 3 books in the mail - I'd ordered them months ago, when I first heard that one of my favorite authors, Anne Lamott, was publishing a new novel. I pre-ordered that one, and then grabbed a few off my wish list as well. I promptly forgot about those other 2 until yesterday when all 3 of the items showed up.

So then I spent some time yesterday trying to decide which book to read first. The contenders:

Imperfect Birds, by Anne Lamott. The reviews on the back of the jacket read "This is a hell of a book, tough and wonderful. A heartbreaker and a heart-mender," and "...Imperfect Birds reminds us how our children are connected to and independent of us, and that no matter how difficult our struggle is with them, love underlies it all and saves us...."

Once Was Lost, by Sara Zarr. It's a YA book, which I don't usually read, but it was recommended by a friend, and the opening page has a line from one of my favorite songs: "Trouble is I’m so exhausted / The plot, you see, I think I’ve lost it / I need the grace to find what can’t be found" (Over the Rhine, "Long Lost Brother") .

Normal People Don't Live Like This, by Dylan Landis. I bought this pretty much for the title. And because one of my other favorite authors, Elizabeth Strout, who wrote the great book Olive Kitteridge, endorsed it.

So I weighed all the options - do I go with the book endorsed by one of my favorite authors, with the pretty awesome title that sums up how I'm feeling about my own life right now? Or do I go with the really quick read that starts with a great line from a great song by a great band? Or do I read the book I've been waiting for for months, by probably the only living author I want to meet in person? Am I ready to read a(nother) "hell of a book" by Anne Lamott?

Hemingway wrote "The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken placs." I know the end of Hemingway's thought on that is pretty much, "Yeah, and some are not so strong..." - but the point is, I sort of feel as though the world broke Anne Lamott, and afterward, she was stronger at the broken places. And that's part of why I love reading her writing, fiction and non-. Because it is vulnerable. Tough. Unflinching. Wonderfully broken. Beautifully healed.

And that's all that each of us can hope for, I suppose. Taking what has been broken and being beautifully healed in the end. Not being afraid to show our scars, and owning those as part of what is beautiful about us.

I'll be reading Imperfect Birds this evening.

Wednesday's Words

2010-04-07T21:01:00.003-04:00

Anticipation: Of things to come. Small things - baby showers, visits with friends, phone calls home. Larger things - graduations, weddings, births, travels. The hope that the rising of the sun brings a better day than the one before, or at least allows for more strength to face the challenges therein.

Disappointment: A certain kind of disappointment, that runs deeper than the ordinary "the grocery store is out of Ben and Jerry's" sort of disappointment. A disappointment that mingles with sadness, atonishment, and teeters on disbelief. This isn't happening, this isn't really the case. But it is. It is so unexpected. The real question is how do you respond?

Comfort: A new book. A rediscovered song. The hauntingly calm cello pieces of the "Ulysses' Gaze" soundtrack. An email from a friend. A plan to go to a concert, or to make a picnic and go to the park. A photo of my niece, smiling in her sleep, which leads me to wonder how many of us smile in our sleep, when no one is looking. Makes me wonder what she is dreaming about, content and comfortable in my brother's arms.

Appreciation: Of family. Of friends who have become like family over the years, over the triumphs and the failings. Of things said and things left unsaid. Of grace, forgiveness, second chances. Of knowing when grace, forgiveness, second chances are used as crutches, or being able to identify when they can be used for the wrong reasons. But being able to recognize them when they are granted, and being able to accept them for what they are.

Thoughts on Loss

2010-03-31T16:18:00.003-04:00

"You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp." (Anne Lamott)

I used this quote in the eulogy that I gave for my grandmother last summer. I thought of it again this week as I learned of the deaths of two people I knew peripherally, but mourn nonetheless.

One, the wife of a dear friend who died several years ago, passed away after a long and valiant battle with cancer. The other was killed violently, shot by her estranged, abusive spouse, who later killed himself - they leave behind two parentless, teenage daughters who, regardless of the community that comes together to support them, will end up raising themselves.

These teenage daughters, the children and grandchildren of my friend and his wife - they are learning now, and will continue to learn, that juxtaposition between losing someone they cannot live without and living without that person nonetheless. There will be daily reminders, and the sadness they invoke will lessen with time, but there will always be a space in their lives where that person - not reminders of them - should be. And there will be times when the laughter flows so freely that they won't be able to resist that suspicion that the person they're living without is actually there with them.

I think you probably never outgrow your need for a mom. Perhaps especially women never outgrow this need. And I wish there weren't 5 people of varying ages, in varying states of mom-need-ness, out there who will go through the rest of their lives motherless.

Random Monday

2010-03-22T18:12:00.003-04:00

Because every Monday needs a handful of random thoughts, here are mine:

Today I wore a very comfy purple sweater - one of my favorite sweaters. It didn't really occur to me until I got to work that I looked like a gigantic eggplant.

I had a little bit of extra time this morning, so I made myself a lunch, which I never do. I was even sort of excited about my lunch. I packed exactly what I wanted to eat: a sliced banana, a bunch of sliced strawberries, and 2 packets of cinnamon spice oatmeal. Again, it didn't really occur to me until I got to work that it looked as though my lunch had been packed by a 4 year old.

But still, delicious lunch.

And, then I got to thinking, I wonder if I could live on bananas? One year, when I was in high school, I tried to live on iceberg lettuce. It didn't work very well, as iceberg lettuce has virtually no nutritional value, but bananas have slightly more - I bet I could last a little longer on nanners.

I have a socktopus sitting on top of the television in the living room, and every time I look up, it startles me. It's really quite large, but I do love it so.

I'm super-excited about the passing of the health care bill, both because of my overarching belief that everyone should have health care and that I can't believe it's even something up for debate, but more because it means that soon enough, my mom, my dear wonderful precious mom, will finally have access to affordable health care, and won't have to worry about the pre-existing condition nonsense that has plagued her for decades while allowing insurance companies to profit off her medical misfortunes. And maybe, just maybe, I will be able to worry a little less about her every time she has a cold, or a kidney stone, or a spike in her blood pressure, because she will be able to get the proper medical care.

In my next life, I'm going to be one of those people who goes into other people's homes and organizes their closets and cabinets. I can't believe that people actually get paid to do that. To go to the Container Store and buy all sorts of fun little organizing stuff (with other people's money!), and then to go sort and sift through stuff and put it all away in a neat and organized manner! How fun! How fulfilling! Either that, or I'm going to become a personal packer - one of those people who packs other people who are moving. I don't want to actually move boxes or furniture, but man, do I love to pack boxes. Because, of course, I get to organize them, and then label them with what room they belong in, and with a neat little itemized list of what's inside.

Hmmm. That sounds crazy, doesn't it?

Still...in some possible world, I'm fulfilling my dream of being a home organizer, and getting paid for it by organizing someone's home other than my own.

Oh, and I'm also a pajama tester in some possible world, because that is truly my dream job. I wonder if I could test pajamas and organize homes at the same time. Would they let me into the Container Store in my PJs?

Song of the Day: Over the Rhine

2010-03-19T21:19:00.002-04:00

Funnily, this has never been my favorite Over the Rhine album. In fact, it's probably one of my least favorite. And yet, there are some songs on "Films for Radio" that I'm unnervingly drawn to - the album was released at a time in my life when the words they sang rattled me, felt like they were written for me, felt like they were written by me. I hardly ever listen to this CD anymore, but today's song of the day is definitely a Films for Radio song.

My favorite line of this song has always been "I don't know who else to be / more and more I'm secretly just me." Although today - more than just today - lately, the second verse is becoming equally as important, I think, especially the notion that "it's just in my head / all that's left unsaid / and later on it won't come out."

Goodbye (This Is Not Goodbye)

help me tell the truth you see
that’s all i’m trying to do is
tell the truth
i’m not that shy
this is not goodbye
and later on i won’t know how
i don’t know who else to be
more and more i’m secretly just me
open your eyes

help me tell the truth you see
that’s all i’m trying to do is
tell the truth
it’s just in my head
all i’ve left unsaid
and later on it won’t come out

i have seen the final curtain fall
If i have to i’ll surrender all

i’m always coming around too late
too late

it’s not too late

List-y Goodness

2010-03-17T11:57:00.000-04:00

Today, I started to feel a little off-kilter, as though I needed some ideas to help create some balance in my life. So I decided to create a list of things that might help:

Make a list (check.)
Make another list (check.)
Take up running (um, no.)
Take up yoga (right, like that's ever going to happen.)
Go to the gym. (hmmm. maybe.)
Clean my apartment. (check.)
Clean my apartment again. (check.)
Organize the pantry. (check.)
Then start on the cabinets. (check.)
Do laundry. (check.)
Take up kickboxing. (yeah, right after I take up yoga and running.)
Go for a drive. (danger: may never come back.)
Eat. (requires groceries.)
Eat more. (see above.)
Rearrange the furniture (already tried that. not many options for a couch this big.)
Put the furniture back where it was. (this couch is heavy. don't try this again.)
Sort through my clothes for Goodwill (check.)
Reorganize my CDs. (already reorganized my books or else I'd have started there.)
Color my hair (tried that in the fall. I'm not a redhead.)
Get another tattoo (already in the plan.)
Run away (chances are, someone would find me. I could never be a fugitive.)
Refold all the towels in the linen closet (check.)
Listen to music (check.)
Listen to more music (check.)
Breathe (ok, as long as I'm not in a yoga position.)

Today's Happy Thing

2010-03-16T21:35:00.004-04:00

My brother and his 2-mo.-old daughter, Julia, resting after her bath

My brother feeding the Julia Monkey

Nothing makes me happier than photos of my brother with his daughter. As you can tell, my brother is not a small guy. His hands are about as big as Julia's entire body. And with his shaved head and that Yeti beard of his, he looks a little scary - until he smiles or laughs, and then he looks and sounds like the total teddy bear that he is.

And my brother is completely over the moon in love with this little 2-month-old girl. I've not met her yet, so I don't know if she's as taken with him as he is with her - but I can't imagine that she's not. There is nothing better that I know of than seeing dads whose lives are changed, made better, revolve around their newborns. And I never had a doubt that my brother would be one of those dads - but it's lovely to see.

In my family, there are 3 daughters and 1 son. My sisters and I never doubted that my brother would be the first to have kids, or that he'd be an awesome dad. We don't quite know where he's getting his awesome dadness from - my parents both did the best they could, and at the same time did not try nearly hard enough - but wherever he's getting this from, my sisters and I love being proven right (of course!), and delight in seeing this little girl take hold of our brother's heart.

This is today's happy thing. Come to think of it, it's every day's happy thing.

It's Almost Spring...and that means....?

2010-03-16T07:28:00.000-04:00

...among other things, the Windowsill Finds are back!

Around here, in the strangest condo complex on the planet, almost spring means that all sorts of things start going berserk. People seem to forget how to function. The laundry machines seem to forget how to function. A crazy old man - my favorite resident here, simply because he's really nutty and angry - runs for the condo board (again), using the same nutso letter of application that he used last year (and the year before that, and the year before that). His platform goes something like this:

save more money by using cold water detergent,
the condo board is corrupt,
the super doesn't do any real work (which may be true, come to think of it), and
really, people, save more money by using cold water detergent!!!

And of course, my favorite thing about spring here - the weirdo windowsill finds return! In the winter, no one puts anything good down there on the windowsill - they leave hangers, empty boxes, and other things that clearly belong in the trash.

But, come Spring, all the wackos come out, with things like gluten-free flour and stuffed animals! Neither of which, of course, is unusual in itself - but together, dropped off by one person (they also dropped off some old People magazines, in case anyone wanted to catch up on their entertainment news from 2006), well, it's just a strange combination.

I especially love how they posed the picture.

Super Allie!

2010-03-15T21:41:00.004-04:00

This past weekend, I went to San Antonio to surprise one of my goddaughters (my first and oldest, and the only one who for years called me her "fairy godmother") for her 9th birthday. Allie is the coolest, smartest, most talented 9-year-old kid I know. She has this wild imagination, and writes rhyming books and chapter books that are so creative. She has a big heart, and a funny sense of humor, and a love for her family and friends that is so endearing to watch.

Her little sister - 7 years younger - is so lucky to have Allie as an older sister, and I can't wait to watch that relationship deepen as they both grow older (I have a feeling I'm going to get to settle some disputes as the godmother to both of them - can't wait!). Allie's parents - her mother was one of my roommates in college, and is one of my dearest friends - have instilled in her a strong sense of self, a strong faith, and are encouraging a healthy balance of responsibility of kid-ness. I adore this child, who is becoming less of a child and more of a young lady every day.

We spent the whole weekend celebrating Allie. There was a dinner to a BBQ place where you eat with your hands. There was extreme excitement at a gift of a PS2, and lots of watching Allie play her new Spongebob game. There were balloons. Lots of balloons. There was cake. There was ice cream. There was ice cream in the cake. At the end of the weekend, there were 2 exhausted kids on a sugar high, 2 tired parents, 1 tired grandmother (although I think she held up better than the rest of us!), and 1 super-tired godmother.

I have tons of photos on my camera, but can't find the cord to download them to my computer - so I'm only posting the couple that I have on my phone.

The banner was hanging up on Friday morning when Allie woke up to get ready for school. She was so excited - and I love that her parents made such a concerted and obvious effort to celebrate her. Anyone who walked into the house that day knew that it was Super Allie's special day.

The cake was a delicious ice cream cake - homemade, with 2 layers of chocolate cake and a layer of cookies and cream ice cream in-between. Allie's mom and I had tried earlier in the day to decorate the cake with a dog character similar to the one on the banner, but it ended up looking like an alien. Bulbous eyes, misshapen head, the whole bit. It did not look anything like a puppy. So we gave up and were just going to decorate it with her name - but Allie, being a much more talented artist, decorated the cake herself (free hand, I might add!), and then all was right with the world.

Song of the Day: Over the Rhine

2010-03-15T21:15:00.002-04:00

I think this could be my song every day, not just today. It's been my song of the day for more than today, certainly, and will likely be my song of the day for many days and weeks to come. And the funny thing is, there are so many other Over the Rhine songs that I wish were my song of the day. So many. But today, I've got "Lookin' Forward."

Walking out in the freezing rain
I feel nothing 'cause I numbed the pain
I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back
On this day

Prayed last night
Dear God please no
But I was never good at letting go
I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back
On this day

Good news can be so unkind
When it's everything you have to
leave behind
I'm lookin' forward to lookin' back
On this day

In the taillights
So much hindsight
Telling me what I already know
I know

Song of the Day: The Avett Brothers

2010-03-10T20:17:00.002-05:00

Every day, I'm waking up with a different song in my head. They're the first thoughts that go through my head - lyrics and notes. It's unusual - this doesn't usually happen, at least not on a regular basis, day after day.

This morning I woke up with one of my favorite Avett Brothers songs in mind. Actually, only the chorus, since I don't actually know the rest of the song by heart:

I haven’t finished a thing since I started my life
I don’t feel much like starting now
I haven’t finished a thing since I started my life
I don’t feel much like starting now

Once I realized I was awake, this made me laugh - which was a nice way to start the morning, even if fleeting. Because actually, I'm not the sort of person who doesn't finish things. I'm the opposite of that sort of person. But for whatever reason, my brain decided this morning to wake me up with this chorus (which isn't from a funny song, but I always find it funny when I hear it).

Truth be told, "The Perfect Space" (also by The Avett Brothers) is a much more appropriate song for me, especially these days:

I wanna have friends that I can trust,
that love me for the man I've become not the man I was.
I wanna have friends that will let me be
all alone when being alone is all that I need.

I wanna fit in to the perfect space,
feel natural and safe in a volatile place.
And I wanna grow old without the pain,
give my body back to the earth and not complain.
Will you understand when I am too old of a man?
And will you forget when we have paid our debt
who did we borrow from? Who did we borrow from?

I wanna have pride like my mother has,
And not like the kind in the bible that turns you bad.
And I wanna have friends that I can trust,
that love me for the man I've become and not the man that I was

Song of the Day: Brandi Carlile

2010-03-07T11:33:00.004-05:00

My favorite song - today, at least. It's been going through my head for a while...at least since I heard her perform it live in early February in Ridgefield. This might be my favorite Brandi Carlile song. I find it very comforting - the music is beautiful, the words are meaningful, and the lesson of letting something bend before it snaps completely...well, perhaps I should have learned that a while ago, and then taught it to some others as well.

Around here, it's the hardest time of year
Waking up, the days are even gone
The collar of my coat
Lord help me, cannot help the cold
The raindrops sting my eyes
I keep them closed.

But I'm feelin' no pain
I'm a little lonely and my quietest friend
Have I the moonlight? Have I let you in?
Say it aint so, say I'm happy again

Say it's over, say I'm dreaming,
Say I'm better than you left me
Say you're sorry, I can take it
Say you'll wait, say you won't
Say you love me, say you don't
I can make my own mistakes
Let it bend before it breaks

I'm all right. Don't I seem to be?
Aren't I swinging on the stars?
Don't I wear them on my sleeve?
When you're looking for a crossroads,
It happens every day
And whichever way you turn,
I'm gonna turn the other way

Say it's over, say I'm dreaming,
Say I'm better than you left me
Say you're sorry, I can take it
Say you'll wait, say you won't
Say you love me, say you don't
I can make my own mistakes
Learn to let it bend before it breaks

Say it's over, say I'm dreaming,
Say I'm better than you left me
Say you're sorry, I can take it
Say you'll wait, say you won't
Say you love me, say you don't
I can make my own mistakes
Let it bend before it breaks

Sunday Thoughts

2010-03-07T10:46:00.002-05:00

I'm sitting here on a Sunday morning, thinking. I should know better...but it feels like a good morning to be thinking, and I'm actually thinking about music. I've got a good playlist going, and I'm thinking about how this is my substitute for church these days.

Now, I'm the first to admit, this is a poor substitute for church. I wholeheartedly believe in the church community, in worship, in surrounding oneself with likeminded people to worship, minister and be ministered to. I am also the first to admit that I've not been part of a church community in several years, for a variety of reasons. And while I miss the community aspect, I have found other ways to be ministered to, to share of my talents, and to let God speak to me and through me.

One of those ways is music. Crazy as it sounds, I believe music has a profound power to heal, to speak to people who have "ears to hear," and I do believe that music is one of the ways that God makes his presence known to me. So I sit here, with my playlist in the background, and God and I chat. Well, mostly I talk to the empty apartment, and I assume God listens. And then I am quiet.

Songs that are healing me today:

"Days Like This," Kim Taylor: All I wanna do is live my life honestly... /Every regret I have will go set free /It will be good for me /Days like this

"Sun and Moon and Stars," Lyle Lovett: But it made me strong to be on my own / It never did me no harm to live all alone / Oh, but now and then in the color of the evening... /I've come to miss a few

"I and Love and You," The Avett Brothers: Ah Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in / Are you aware the shape I'm in /My hands they shake my head it spins / Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in

"Low Rising," The Swell Season: I wanna sit you down and talk / I wanna pull back the veils /And find out what it is I´ve done wrong / I wanna tear these curtains down /I want you to meet me somewhere / 'Cause we´ve gotta come up, we´ve gotta come up / 'Cause I fear we´ve had enough / 'Cause there´s no further for us to fall

"I Don't Wanna Waste Your Time," Over the Rhine: I don’t wanna waste your time with music you don’t need / Why should I autograph the book that you won’t even read... /I won’t pray this prayer with you unless we both kneel down /I don’t wanna waste good wine if you won’t stick around

"Reason Why," Rachael Yamagata: So, I will head out alone and hope for the best / and we can hang our heads down as we skip the goodbyes /And you can tell the world what you want them to hear /But you and I know the reason why

4 Happy Things

2010-02-25T23:46:00.006-05:00

I have not done a Happy Things post since before my grandmother died. And perhaps rightfully so, as I've had a hard time finding things about which to be happy since she passed. My life is dimmer without her, and stories aren't as funny because she isn't here to tell them to.

But, I am in a list-making mood. And what better list to make than a Happy Things list?

1. Live music. This is often on my list of happy things. In the past 2 months, I've gotten to hear The Swell Season and Brandi Carlile live - and both were excellent concerts. Perfect venues - The Swell Season at Radio City, Brandi Carlile at Ridgefield Playhouse. Perfect friends to hear music with - The Swell Season with Michelle and Amie, Brandi by myself.

2. Taking control. This is not necessarily a happy thing in the moment that it happens, for taking control, especially when it's wrested back from someone or something else, can wreak havoc short term - but I think in the end, it will be a happy thing. So maybe this is a tentative happy thing for now. But there is a part of me that appreciates being in a place in my life where I can recognize - with the help of a few good friends - the need to take control, the need to make good decisions for myself, the need to not be trampled. This is a hard one for me, to not sit by and let my needs take a back-seat.

3. My niece. I've never had a niece before. Now I do. She is the cutest "girl monkey" ever. I haven't seen her yet, but I get lots of photos from my brother, and she looks like a happy, content (and sleepy - she's always sleeping!) little baby. And the best part - my brother is totally over the moon for his new daughter, and that makes me so happy that I start to cry.

4. Some of my best friends on the planet are pregnant. Given that I'm not pregnant, one might think that this would be a sad thing. It's a little bit of a bittersweet thing for me, but mostly, it's a super-happy thing, because I get to be an Auntie Polka Dot Girl to a baby girl in June, and a baby born in September, and another baby born in June, and who knows...there might be a few more that I can weasel my way into Auntiehood with!

Since I'm not a mom, I've decided to take godmotherhood and Auntiehood very seriously - with 3 godchildren and a real niece and numerous fake nieces and nephews either recently born or about to be born, I may have the world's largest fake family ever! And this thrills me - children are such a gift, God's way of giving us a second chance, God's way of making sure we never take ourselves too seriously. And I'm so honored to be a part of my friends' children's lives.

Happy Birthday, Jerry

2010-01-27T18:34:00.000-05:00

Today is Jerry's birthday. I can't even remember how long Jerry's been gone. Years, many years at this point. But I remember his birthday, and celebrate him, every year nonetheless.

Jerry was my first college professor. I was a senior in high school, taking most of my classes at the college. He taught my Memory and Cognition class - my first foray into Psychology, which would be my first of many majors. A jovial man, Jerry loved his students, and took a particular interest in me, this withdrawn, scared-of-her-shadow 16-year-old who could hardly find her way around campus. I excelled in his classes (not so for some of my other freshman classes), and I loved his teaching methods. Full of laughter, Jerry was never short on stories about his grandkids, or demonstrations to make theories come to life, and he had smiles for every student, all the time.

For several years before I met Jerry, today marked the anniversary of my parents' separation. The day my mom had taken the 4 kids out of town so that my dad could pack and move across town without us watching, only for my younger sister to get sick, so we had to turn back. The day we all bore witness to how quickly, and how slowly, things fall apart. After I found out that this day was also Jerry's birthday, I began to think of the 27th of January in a different sort of way. A day to be celebrated - a day not to think about my family, or lack thereof, but rather a day to rejoice in the life of someone who rejoiced in the lives of his students, present and former.

Jerry and I remained friends long after I transferred to another college. We emailed consistently, and every time I was home on break, we would get together for lunch. I didn't grow up with grandfathers - one had passed away when I was very young, and the other lived across the country. Jerry became a grandfather-like figure to me, dispensing just enough advice to be helpful, and not too much to be irritating. He had so much love, and so much laughter, it just spilled out of him. He always asked me if I was dating any "special boys" - and then he'd pause and say, "or if you're dating a girl, that would be okay with me too, as long as you're happy." A devout Christian, Jerry understood that love takes all forms, and that God works in ways we don't expect, sometimes just to keep us on our toes.

My mother called me at college one day to tell me that Jerry had passed away, very unexpectedly, and my not believing her didn't make it any less true. He had been in the hospital for something unrelated to his cause of death; it was sudden, unanticipated, and completely unnecessary. His family lost its father, husband, grandfather. The college lost their professor emeritus; colleagues lost their mentor. I lost the stand-in for my dad and my grandpas, the man who always took me to lunch and sent me back to college with a big bear hug and a promise that everything would be okay. And I knew it would be because Jerry had faith in me, and in the life I could create. He knew I was stronger than I gave myself credit for, and both more and less broken than I was willing to admit.

Having someone in your life who has faith in you is a powerful thing. And so today, and every year on this day, I celebrate Jerry for who he was, and for who he inspired me to be - someone who could have faith in herself, who could admit her brokenness, and also stand on her own two feet.

Happy Birthday, Jerry. I hope you're having quite the celebration up there. If I know my grandmother, I bet she's trying to stuff you full of cake, and if I know you, you're delightfully helping yourself to another piece.

Cleaning House

2009-09-06T22:20:00.003-04:00

I'm nearing the end of my time here at home, with my mom, starting the long, slow process of cleaning out my grandmother's house. It has been an emotional few days - but comforting, too. It's strange - it doesn't feel as though we're sorting through a dead woman's belongings - it feels as though Grandma's gone, but she's coming back, and that we're just organizing her house and cleaning it so that she's got something clean and lovely to come back to. It is an unusual experience, and not one I've really had before.

It's been interesting - a blessing, in a strange way - to have this time, to get to sort through my grandmother's life. She saved everything. Every rubber band, every Ziploc bag, every envelope - this woman got rid of nothing. It's funny - I've found myself wondering this week what possible use she thought she'd have for a cracked Tupperware lid, or pens that had run out of ink. She was a pack rat to beat all - a pretty clean one, and pretty organized too, but a pack rat nonetheless. This appears to be a family trait, as not one of us is good at parting with things (I am probably the best at relinquishing items to Goodwill, but even I save more things than I should).

But for every clearly useless item in this house, there are things she saved that have brought tears to my eyes. She saved every letter, every card, every piece of paper we ever drew on. She saved every school newsletter we were mentioned in, and every photo - no matter how blurry - that included us. Every drawer I've opened has had something unexpected in it. Perfect example: the dresser in the guest bedroom holds all her winter sweaters and turtlenecks (including a white turtleneck with purple hearts that I used to wear in middle school - when I outgrew it, I handed it down to my grandmother, and she wore it for many years thereafter). I've known for years that this is where she kept her sweaters and such. What I didn't expect to find yesterday morning were ceramic hand prints from the 3 oldest grandchildren - me, my older sister, and my younger brother - nestled safely in between the turtlenecks. I don't know why these weren't hanging up - I'm sure they were at one time - and I have no idea why she thought to put them in with her sweaters (this is something we've discovered: Grandma had a tendency to put things wherever she wanted, with no rhyme or reason. Nothing is really where you'd expect it to be). It was such a lovely and unexpected gift to find the hand prints - caught me off-guard, made me stop my hurried organizing and sit on the guest room bed and just be with my dead grandma for a few minutes.

This cleaning, organizing, sorting through, being caught off-guard is likely going to go on for a while - my best guess, the better part of a year at least. And it will continue to be emotional and hard in all the ways it should be, as we come to terms with the fact that Grandma's not coming back, even if we put everything right back where it was and leave every saved rubber band in her junk drawers. And some day (soon?), we will move forward (not on, but forward) while remembering everything that echoed through this house over the past 25-plus years and the grandma / mother / teacher / woman of faith / monster-cookie-&-baklava baker who gave each one of us so much.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it is a fridge!

2009-09-02T08:14:00.003-04:00

August may have yielded some non-food items, but September is shaping up to give me great food-related windowsill finds already.

Perhaps all this time, I've been the one in the wrong. Perhaps that really is a refrigerator, albeit a dusty one that sits in the hot sun.

Today's glorious discovery:

Some bread, which hasn't turned all penicilliny yet, but I'm sure it will be the end of the day. And a squash. And some celery. And an open bag of carrots. Not just some carrots. An open bag. The celery too had been opened and re-bagged, but it looked as though the bag was closed (I didn't examine too closely).

What is wrong with these people?! NOT A FRIDGE. I want to post a sign on the windowsill that states just that. But then I think, what will I snicker at each morning, if they don't leave food down there?

August Windowsill Finds

2009-09-01T09:21:00.005-04:00

The past month has yielded some unusual windowsill finds that, for once, did not include food.

First, the men's shoes. These didn't last long. I have been looking at the feet of all the men in the building to see who might now be wearing these lovely foot-coverings.

And then there was this very odd collection of old stuff, all of which should have found its way to a dumpster rather than to the windowsill. It appears we have some gross old mugs, a tin of some sort, and a wooden house that I can only imagine is used to hold thimbles or miniatures. I thought it was nice that whomever left these arranged the items so nicely. Oddly enough, the thimble house didn't stay very long, although (not surprisingly) the icky coffee mugs did.

My favorites, though, were the romance novels. At first there were about 10 of them, some vampire romance (and who among us doesn't love a good vampire romance novel?!). An hour later, when I went downstairs to get the laundry, there were 8. Another hour later, there were only 4 - which is when I took the photo. But those 4 were gone shortly after I took the picture. Someone in our building is really into romance novels. My curiosity is piqued.... I almost want to go get a bunch more, the most ludicrous ones (if there's anything more ludicrous than the vampire romance - maybe the Viking romance?), and then watch to see who snags them off the windowsill.

Thankful Things

2009-08-20T23:17:00.007-04:00

I've been trying to write about the past few weeks for, well, the past few weeks. It's funny, I have all the thoughts, I can articulate them to myself, and yet, when I sit down to write, words fail. All that flows are tears. I know this is the grieving process, this is sorrow, this is coming to terms with life as we know it now, and finding ways to move forward while honoring the memory of what was. I also know I feel silly for being gripped by sadness, especially when - if you believe in heaven, if you believe in something beyond what is here - she is basking in delightful rejoicing.

I've also been trying to focus on three or four happy things - which is harder than one might think. I am not happy. But I can be thankful. So here are my thankful things for this week, for the past few:

1. I am thankful that my other grandmother is still living, still fighting a cancer that will eventually take her life too, and that we were able to spend time with her when we were in Ohio this past weekend. We laughed more in a few hours with Grandma than I think I've laughed in the past month - from hunting for a car wash that most of us were certain didn't exist to hearing the stories about how she decided to purchase a limo one day, on a whim. She was funny, eccentric, unreserved, and the laughter was beautiful.

2. I am thankful for the people who surround my mother. The former music director at my mom's church flew to Ohio for the funeral & burial, and performed the music. When A. heard that we were having a hard time finding a musician in Ohio, he didn't tell her that he'd rather be with his own children, one of whom is going off to college. He didn't say that he'd rather be spending his summer Saturdays with his own family. He immediately said he would be there. And while we were in Ohio, the choir came over and did landscaping and power-washing and some cleaning, inside & out, of my grandmother's house. It was better than sending flowers. It was their way of showing what my mother means to them - and by extension what my grandmother meant to them - and of enveloping her with an outward demonstration of what it means to be in a community. Many years ago, my mother found that church a bit by accident - and she never quite claimed it as her own, but they claimed her, and made her a part of their family whether she wanted to be or not.

3. I am thankful for the pastor who conducted the service. An old friend from college, I hadn't seen him in a decade, and again, he could have chosen to spend his time with his family, or doing something - anything - more enjoyable than being with ours as we prepared to say goodbye. But instead he ministered to us, to people who hadn't seen my grandmother in 30 years, to my younger sister whose relationship with grandma I was always envious of, and to my 94-year-old great uncle who could only say, "That's my sister" when he saw the open casket. And given how much I almost always resist my "churchy" upbringing and what remnants of it remain, I do not say this lightly: it was a gift to us, in ways I can't really articulate, that J. performed the service, and offered the presence of something/one greater than himself through the words that were spoken.

4. I am thankful - as sad as I am, as lost as I feel - that I had the past year with her. Last year at this time, we knew the illness was not responding to treatment, and that we were on the road, long or short, to letting her go. We expected it would be a short little dead-end street, and it ended up being a long road with a lot of hills (up and down, up and down) and unexpected curves. My life for the past year did not revolve around my career (for once), my husband, my own desire to have a family. It revolved around the 3- or 4-week rotations that my older sister and I were on, going "home-home" from our current homes, to spend time with our grandmother. I know this is where the feeling of being lost stems from. After all, when you build your world around someone, or someones, and you sync your schedule to theirs, and your future becomes as far as you can see with them but no further, then what is there when they are finally gone, other than that feeling that they have taken a piece of you with them and that you are hopelessly out of sync with everything - career, husband, family, friends - now?

And it's a terrible feeling - but if someone asked me to trade it, but told me I also had to give up the past year of visits to Virginia, of making breakfast and lunch for her, of watching Andy Griffith marathons, of talking about everything from the groundhogs in the backyard to the matching pajamas we all get each other at Christmas to how I work in "high finance" (her definition of what I do for a living, which is very far from reality)... I wouldn't trade it. What she taught me about giving, about family, about love in the past year - and about where I want those things to take me, about how I want to see them lived out in my life now...I wouldn't give those up. I couldn't. I am thankful for these final acts of teaching, from my retired but always dedicated educator-grandmother.

I was listening to Over the Rhine on my way home from work tonight. These are definitely "Latter Days" - days that have taken their toll, days that are full of heartache. And whatever prayers I can muster all sound like "Poughkeepsie" - let me know no more sorrow, let me ride on the backs of angels. Until that time, I am resisting the pull of grief and coming to terms with life as I have to know it now by reminding myself of things for which I am thankful, and reminding myself that this feeling will create things that will be seen as blessings, mixed at best, but blessings nonetheless.

In memory of Florence Mazzaferro

2009-07-23T09:02:00.003-04:00

I'm speaking this afternoon at my grandmother's funeral. This is what I intend to say:

When you’re a kid, you think that the people around you are going to live forever. Even now, in my 30s, I kind of thought my grandmother was going to live forever, because I couldn’t imagine my life without her. It hasn’t quite sunk in that Grandma’s traded her 4’9” earthly body for a heavenly one, although I’m betting it was a little bit of a surprise to her husband and her son this week when she showed up in Heaven – they’ve been waiting for a long time for her to get there, and just like I thought she was going to live forever here on Earth, I suspect they thought she would too!

Nearly all of my childhood memories include my grandmother. She picked us up from school and helped us with our homework. She taught me how to play this ridiculously fun tile game called “Rummikub,” which probably no one but our family loves or even knows how to play…and she didn’t mind when I made up my own rules so that I could win. She made dozens of cupcakes every time we had a birthday, so that there would be enough for every kid in the class…and plenty left over for our birthday party that weekend. Hers was the house we went Trick-or-Treating to on Halloween -- over and over again, across the driveway we’d go, and she’d always act surprised to see us. When we wanted to “run away” from home, we went to Grandma’s…mostly because we knew she’d always take us in (and, she always had cookies and ice cream waiting). When I went off to college, she sent care packages of cookies and “pizza money” – those care packages continued long after I graduated and no longer needed someone to help me pay for pizza.

Grandma was fiercely dedicated to the people and things that she loved. Her family, her church, her faith. And when she got it in her head to do something, there was no talking her out of it. She had the funniest obsession with the groundhogs and the deer in the backyard, always plotting new ways to bring about their demise. With the deer, her brilliant plan to get rid of them involved getting in that big green Caprice of hers and driving through the backyard, laying on her horn. The deer ran away for a while – but then again, wouldn’t you if you saw that gigantic car, with little Grandma who could barely see over the steering wheel, coming careening toward you? With the groundhogs, she was a little more subtle. She tried yelling “Shoo! Shoo!” and banging pots and pans at them from the back porch for a while. When that didn’t work, she took more drastic measures like pouring Clorox bleach into their holes, hoping to poison them. Grandma never succeeded in ridding the property of rodents – but we did end up with some angry albino-esque groundhogs as a result.

My grandmother wasn’t a saint – but she was the most godly woman I knew. She had a deep and strong faith, one that never seemed to waver in times of trial. She loved this church community -- which she’d been involved in since its inception -- and she never missed a Sunday service, and never said no when asked to help in some way. She always had WNLR on the radio, usually turned up quite loud, given her difficulty hearing – I used to joke that it was her way of making certain that the whole town heard the Good News, whether they wanted to or not! When she got sick this past year and began to be confined to the couch for longer periods of time, the only things she wanted in reach were her radio tuned to 1150 AM and her Bible. There were many times when I’d be taking care of her, and I’d think she was asleep – only to find out that she wasn’t sleeping. She was praying. When I’d ask what she was praying for – thinking that she was praying for improved health for herself, or guidance for the doctors, or total healing – she always answered, “I’m praying for your mom. And for you kids.”

The author Anne Lamott once wrote about grief, “You will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you will never completely get over the loss of a beloved person. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly -- that still hurts when the weather is cold -- but you learn to dance with the limp." So Grandma, we’re not dancing quite yet, maybe limping for just a little while longer, but we know -- and we delight in knowing -- that you and Grandpa are dancing a long overdue waltz, and Uncle Steve is probably asking to cut in. We hold you in our hearts, now and forever, and are honored and truly blessed to have had this time with you. And we hope you have the equivalent of a big green car up there in Heaven, and few deer to chase through the grass, just for good measure.

4 happy things

2009-07-17T07:22:00.004-04:00

It's been a rough couple of weeks. I have not been focusing much on happy things. I spent this past week in Virginia with my mother and grandmother, helping out and arranging care for my grandmother after her recent stroke. It's been hard to even find happy things to focus on, quite honestly.

But, there are many, I know, and sometimes it just takes a little snooping around to find them. So here's my list, to help bring me out of my sadness and the anxiety that envelopes me.

1. Seeing Fred's face light up when he opened his birthday gifts yesterday. The gifts weren't anything special. But it was (a) nice to be home with him on his birthday, after a week away, and (b) nice to see him laugh and smile at the gifts, one of which was a book that promises to teach him how to make zombies, how to perform surgery on himself, and most importantly (of course) how to glow in the dark. Clearly I am not one for serious gifts.

2. New photos of my favorite kids on the planet. Well, I have lots of favorite kids, but these are at the top of the list, partially because their parents are some of my favorite people, and because the oldest kid was my first godchild (and thus, the guinea pig!). My "godkiddos" have grown so much -- I was amazed when I saw the photos. The oldest, Allie, is becoming a young lady, and what an honor it's been to watch her grow from an infant with little pigtails to this 8-year-old girl with a big toothy grin and a deep creative and loving spirit. The younger, Sofie, is a year and a half, and looks exactly like her mother, which brings a huge smile to my face. Sofie looks like an angel who is eager to get into anything and everything when her mother's back is turned...and an angel I keep threatened to "kidnap" if only I lived just a bit closer.

3. A freshly painted bathroom. While I was in Virginia this past week, Fred took it upon himself to paint our bathroom. This is one of the many reasons I love him. We'd painted the bedrooms together over the July 4th weekend, and we still had the bathroom and kitchen left to do -- but I didn't expect Fred to work on either one without me. But he knew that it was something he could do for me while I was away, and it was a way he could show his love for me. I didn't ask him to do this. He just took it upon himself to start & complete the work, so that I didn't have to worry about it.

4. Conversations with my grandma. It's hard to have conversations with my grandma at this point. Even though she's recovering a bit from the stroke, she's very sick, and she doesn't speak much. When she does talk, it takes her a long time to formulate a thought and articulate it properly. But we had some short and funny conversations while I was home -- ones that reminded me that behind the illness, the pain, the discomfort, the dying, there is still my little Lebanese grandma, with a subtle sense of humor and a generous spirit and a love for her God and her family and her friends. I got her to laugh. A lot. And while I'm not certain she was always aware of why she was laughing, it was so good, so soothing, to hear that sound again. There will come a time, too soon, when I will only be able to hear it echo in my heart, so being able to hear her little laugh out in the open this past week was a true blessing, and the happiest of things.

Today's Windowsill Find

2009-06-15T07:27:00.001-04:00

Anyone need a handbag for the prom? Or perhaps a shoe? Note: not a pair of shoes. Just one. And, it's a, um, well, it's a little worn.

Come on, people, one shoe?! Who do you think is going to have a use for one shoe? You all live in this building. You know whether there are a bunch of peg-leg women living here. Have you ever seen one person in this entire building hopping along on one leg, all dressed up except for some dingy footwear?

My Siblings Hated Me, and Perhaps for Good Reason

2009-06-11T05:33:00.000-04:00

When there are 4 kids in the house -- well, 3 at the time that these incidents went on -- inevitably, one of them is the goody-goody two shoes. Of the 3 older kids in my family -- Lorien (older sister), me, and Alan J. (younger brother) -- take a wild guess which one of us never got in trouble?

Lorien was the oldest, and had a rather strong-willed personality. Whatever she felt, she felt very strongly. And she usually believed she was right, and ought to be getting her own way. Alan J. was the youngest at the time, and while he wasn't as outspoken as Lorien, or as strong-willed, he did have a tendency to provoke the aforementioned older sister into situations wherein her personality and beliefs about her own right-ness would come out -- and usually, those situations would be in the presence of my parents.

And then there was me. Not that I was an angel, by any respect, but I did learn to live in fear of my older sister -- or rather, I lived in fear of the punishment she received when she did stuff wrong. And I sat back and watched how easily Alan provoked her, and thought, hey, well, we only need one provoker in the family -- I guess I'll have to find some other role to fill.

What I quickly figured out was that the role I could fill was the instigator who never got into trouble. And what fun that role was! My sister continues to blame me for things I didn't do, but I will own up to one thing I did -- and for which I let my siblings take the blame...for years!

As you're walking down the steps to the basement in my mom's house, there's a point where if you reach your hand up, you can actually touch the ceiling. One day, I was walking down the basement steps, and I had a pencil in my hand. When I got to the point of the stairs where I could reach the ceiling, for some unknown reason, I decided to reach up and write "Hello!" on the ceiling. And then of course I continued my merry little way.

Some time later, my mother noticed this, and questioned my brother as to why he wrote on the ceiling. He proclaimed his innocence, which my mother did not for a minute believe. She then moved on to my older sister, accusing her of not knowing that one should not write on the ceiling. Lorien, too, proclaimed her innocence, and again, my mother did not believe her. My mother got so frustrated that Lorien and Alan J. were not owning up to their responsibility in this little prank -- and that they were, even worse, lying about it! -- that she grounded them, took away their allowance, and withheld various other privileges.

My mother never bothered to ask me if I'd written on the ceiling. I never offered the information, of course, but it struck me as interesting that it never occurred to her that I might have been the one who was going along, drawing on the walls as I walked down the steps to the basement. So I sat back and watched as my siblings got punished for something they claimed they didn't do -- something they in fact did not do -- and in my tiny little heart, I snickered at how funny it was that Mom never once suspected me.

Many, many years later, when I was in college, we were all home for a holiday or vacation of some sort, and I mentioned the ceiling writer to my mom -- and she looked up and said, "Which one was it? I've always thought it was Lorien." And I laughed, and told her no, it wasn't Lorien. "Alan?! Really?," she said. "I wondered how his arms reached that high, but he was going through a growth spurt." I nearly spit out my drink, I was laughing so hard. At which point, I confessed that the ceiling writer was me, and that I'd lived for years, delighted in the fact that I'd not only gotten away with the "crime," but that I was never once a suspect. (To this day, my mom suspects that one of my siblings put me up to confessing for them -- but no.)

2 Years Ago Today

2009-06-09T05:50:00.000-04:00

Two years ago today these were the things going through my mind:

How on earth am I going to take care of my 6-year-old goddaughter while also trying to get myself ready for my wedding? (Thankfully, Evi & Christian helped get Allie dressed and entertain her for a few hours.)
I hope Jill and her baby are okay (Thankfully, they both were; Jill had just overdone it a little and needed to rest).
I love my wedding dress! (And I really did love that dress, corset back and all.)
I can't believe I'm getting married.
I wonder if Fred knows what he's getting into.
Oh, well. Probably too late now.
Where the hell is my florist?! Why are there no flowers in the whole church?! AAAAGGGHHH!!!
I'm so glad my Grandma Mazzaferro is here.
I think I'm going to cry (again). I'm glad my dad is making me laugh so that I don't start crying (again).
I don't think I've ever been this happy.

Surprisingly, especially for someone like me, I never once had a fleeting moment of doubt, where I thought, Oh my god, maybe I shouldn't be doing this, maybe this isn't the right time, maybe this isn't the right person. I did have a fleeting moment of doubt, where I thought, I really wonder if Fred knows what he's about to do, and I wonder if Fred's going to regret this, because I bet I'm a lot harder to live with than he thinks, and being married to me is going to be a lot of work, and Lord, I hope he doesn't regret me. But mostly, I think I was preoccupied with my AWOL florist, not tripping over my dress, not crying while walking down the aisle, and being so happy that my closest friends and family were there to witness the event.

That was a great day. We got married in the 2nd church of our choosing, me in the 2nd dress of my choosing, but definitely to the first person of my choosing. We had the best cake ever (Thank you, Great Cakes of Westport), and a fantastic evening of dinner and dancing and fellowship with people we see every day and people we haven't seen in years. It was a true celebration, of us, our commitment to each other, and the commitment we made before God.

Both Husband and I find it hard to believe it's only been two years. It feels like we've been married for so much longer. But in only 2 years, here are some of the things that have changed:

I have never once thought about putting back on that dress, as much as I loved it.
I've almost forgiven the florist. Almost.
I chopped off all my hair.
We've grown comfortable enough around each other that we feel like a family, just the two of us.
And yet, Fred's grown more comfortable with the idea of adding to our family of two. (YAY!)
We're still living in the same area, in the same careers, but are able to have real discussions (not arguments) about where we want to be in 2 years, 5 years, 10 years.
We've started to make "couple friends," something I thought would likely never happen, given how different Husband and I are, and how different our friends are.
I no longer feel the need to know exactly how our life is going to -- I'd love to have some visibility into the future, but I don't feel (as much) as though there's something wrong with us for not having firm direction all the time.

Windowsill or Fridge? You Decide...

2009-06-06T21:31:00.007-04:00

A while ago, I posted about the basement windows ill here in the condo building, and how some residents appear to think it is not indeed just a windowsill.

For quite a few months, the windowsill finds have been pretty boring -- mostly old boxes, some mangled hangers, and other things that clearly belong in the trash. Why people don't just throw their trash away is beyond me.

So imagine my delight when Friday, on my way to work, I happened upon this bag of goodies.

In case you can't tell what that is, here's an up-close photo:

It appears that we have some cucumbers, green beans, an onion, perhaps some broccoli, and a little bucket of okra. And again, I ask, should we not institute some criteria for leaving items on the windowsill? Is the item edible? If so, it should probably not go on the windowsill. Is the item perishable? If so, then under no circumstances should it go on the windowsill.

Happy Birthday, Grandma

2009-05-17T17:57:00.004-04:00

Tuesday is my grandmother's 90th birthday. She wasn't supposed to live this long, according to all her doctors. We weren't supposed to be celebrating her 90th birthday -- so Tuesday is a very special day indeed. I'm going home to Virginia on Thursday to spend some time with the whole family and to help host a little party for her. Grandma doesn't have much energy these days, so I'm sure the party will consist of lunch from Red Lobster (her favorite!) and some dessert (she still has quite a sweet tooth), and the attendees will just be her family and a couple of her dearest friends.

There is a lot about my grandmother's life that I don't know. But what I do know reminds me often that she is stronger than she ever gives herself credit for, that she is smarter than she thinks and more loving than most people I know, and that she's constantly redefining the term generosity.

She's the 3rd of 4 children -- 3 of them are still living, and now all 3 of them are in their 90s. She's also the child of Lebanese immigrants -- something she never really talked about, and something she certainly wasn't proud of. At the time she was growing up, in the 1920s and 30s, a Middle Eastern immigrant heritage was not something to be touted -- it was something to be overcome. She spoke Arabic in the home, because one of her parents didn't know English, but quickly gave it up when she moved out, and never taught it to my mother or to the grandkids. But, to this day, there is one phrase that she uses, over and over again. Whether we are coming or going, whether it is morning or evening: Allah kun ma'ak, which means God be with you.

Grandma met the love of her life when she was 30, and getting her masters in education at Kent State. I never felt particularly anxious about not having found the love of my life in my 20s, partially because she always told the story of how she met Grandpa, sitting under a tree, and how God brings the person we're supposed to be with into our lives at just the right time. I am so happy that my grandmother was still alive to witness me finding my right person (funnily, also around age 30), and that she was able to attend the wedding, even though her health was beginning to fail.

She's experienced a lot of loss. This is part of the reason I think my grandmother is stronger than she knows, stronger than she gives herself credit for. Her 2nd child, my Uncle Steve, was born with a congenital heart defect, and was in and out of the hospital for his entire life. It was the sort of heart defect that could have easily been fixed these days, but in the 1950s, medicine wasn't advanced enough to do much. He passed away shortly before I turned 1. I'm told I was quite taken with him -- that the whole family would sit in a circle, and everyone would try to get me to go to them...but I would only go to him. My grandfather passed away just a few years later, when I was 6, and my grandmother found herself with only my mother (and us kids) left. In some ways, I think she's never quite gotten over the loss of the 2 most important men in her life -- but the fact that she kept going, that she found her strength in her faith and remaining family, that she didn't let anger at the seemingly meaningless death of her son and the early passing of her husband take hold of her heart demonstrates that my Grandmother has a strength of character, a strength of being that perhaps she isn't even entirely aware of.

Grandma loves children. She had two of her own, and she taught elementary school for decades. She still hears from some of her students, and is still friends with some of her fellow teachers. Grandma does not think of herself as having a creative bone in her body -- but I think you've got to be creative to teach elementary school for more than a couple of years, always coming up with new ways to share the material, new activities.... And she always took those children who needed extra help on as her little pet projects, and offered them time outside of class, or additional teaching help to make sure that they stayed on track and learned the material.

She loves her grandchildren most of all. There are only 4 of us, and we have always been the center of her world. My other grandmother loves her grandchildren as well, but there are many more of us -- 13 or 14 maybe? -- whereas with my Grandma Mazzaferro, there was little competing for attention. We knew we had it. When she lived in Ohio, we would go visit every summer -- an 8 hour drive from home, in the old station wagon with the "way back seat" -- and when she moved down to Virginia, we quickly took for granted that not everyone's grandmother lived across the driveway from them. Didn't everyone's grandmother make them breakfast in the morning? And didn't everyone have sleepovers at their grandmother's house whenever they wanted? (Having Grandma next door also came in handy when one of us was sick with something contagious -- we'd get quarantined at Grandma's so as not to infect the others, and get lots of special treatment and attention.)

My grandmother has many failings. She's human, after all. But when we were kids, she was superhuman, almost. She could bake all our favorite desserts, and seemingly at a moment's notice (even when we needed 3 dozen cupcakes for school, and we forgot until the night before!). She always had breakfast ready for us in the morning, and dinner waiting in the evening. (Even now, I think that's superhuman!) She had the funniest obsession with the groundhogs in the backyard, always plotting new ways to bring about their demise. When my mother went back to work after my parents divorced, my grandma watched my younger sister during the day -- I found myself a little jealous of their relationship, because McCall got Grandma's complete and undivided attention, and they got to spend all day together playing games and doing puzzles and going to the park and Tastee-Freez....

So happy birthday, Grandma. To say I love you doesn't even begin to describe what I feel for you. We kids have had the best of all worlds, and for so long. When I go to Virginia now, home isn't Mom's house, the house I grew up in -- it's yours, the house we always escaped to. Some of my best memories start with pulling in the driveway and seeing you standing at your doorway, arms open wide, calling Allah kun ma'ak, with a big smile on your face. Thanks for proving the doctors wrong.

4 Happy Things

2009-05-10T22:33:00.006-04:00

This is hard for me, focusing on happy things all the time. It's not in my nature -- I'm pensive and snarky and tend toward the darkness (or at least the shade rather than the sun) -- but lately I have been trying to keep grief and sadness at bay by paying attention to the things that make my smile during the week. Sometimes there is only 1. Sometimes there are 15. Sometimes these things don't make me smile at first, but only after much reflection. But, I'm trying.

When I was in college, I lived with my grandparents in California for the summer between my freshman and sophomore years. While I was there, my college advisor recommended some things to read, in preparation for my move from my previous major (psychology) to philosophy. One part of my reading that summer has stayed lodged in my brain all these years: "Be not afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact." This William James quote lurks in the recesses of my mind all the time, although sometimes I tinker with it to make it fit with what I'm experiencing -- such as "Believe that life [is full of lovely, delightful moments and people, and that those outweigh the darkness] and your belief will help create the fact.” And so with that said, here are my 4 things for this week, in no particular order:

1. Jill. Jill was one of my college roommates, and is one of the mothers for whom I am most thankful. She has 2 lovely girls, one my goddaughter and one my sort-of goddaughter, and is who I want to emulate as a mother. Jill has such spiritual depth and compassion and empathy and rationality balanced with emotion and is so intelligent and articulate and also able to step outside her heady world of philosophy and play with her children and make her children and husband feel as though they are the center of her world -- which they truly are. When I met Jill, I was pretty sure we weren't going to be great friends, friends maybe, but not great friends -- and here we are, a decade later, and I cannot imagine my life without her. She has shown me such love this week...

2. Evi. Evi was also one of my college roommates, and again, is a mother for whom I am so thankful. She's a new mother to a foster son, my godson who I wish lived closer so I could spoil him rotten. Aside from being a great mom -- who has surprised herself at how much she loves being a mom, at how much it fulfills her -- what I love most about Evi is her ability to know what I need, without me saying a word. Actually, there are so many things I love about Evi -- her demented sense of humor, her deep compassion for college students, her ability to use the word "moo" in any sentence and I know exactly what it means, her honesty about her own failings and her own strengths. We haven't lived near each other since college, but when we see each other, it's as though no time has passed at all. Evi is my Maris of my college years, and so much more. She has shown me such love this week...

3. Leann. Leann and I met in grad school -- she was the first person I met when I got to Yale, and I'm pretty convinced that we share a soul. We have carried each other through a lot, so much that sometimes I'm surprised we're still friends after the weight we've put on the friendship -- but that is a testament to Leann's strength, and the wonderful grace-full gift that is this friendship. She has a strength of character that exists in very few people, and a sense of humor and playfulness that's perfectly balanced with a strong intellectual drive and ambition. I wish I had the ambition she has, and the energy she has for so many things -- community, church, students, academia... Since Leann moved out of Connecticut several years ago, I have felt a piece of me is missing -- but my life is so much better for having Leann in it, 100 or 1000 miles away. Leann is not a mother yet, but I know she will be soon, and I am so excited to see what kind of a mom she is. I'm betting on awesome. And in keeping with the trend: She has shown me such love this week...

4. Keren. Keren and I knew each other in college, but we were not friends. We weren't not friends, we just didn't run in the same circles. We became friends after college, on a fluke almost, if you believe in flukes. If you believe that Someone Somewhere knows what you need better than you do, and brings those people into your life, as I tend to, then that tops the fluke and coincidence that is our friendship. Keren is another shared-soul friend. And another non-mother-but-will-be-awesome-when. She has a gentleness that I have never witnessed in anyone, and a generosity that is never ending. Her soft-spoken support, her love that overlooks the flaws, her willingness to believe in spite of -- these are essential Keren traits that I could not live without, and am so thankful for. Her home, her presence is often my escape, because I know there is nowhere I could go for a weekend where we can be talking about the ups and downs of marriage and the frustrations of family one minute, and then going in search of ice cream and the best pair of red patent leather pumps the next. And of course: She has shown me such love this week...

What was it William James wrote? "Be not afraid of life. Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact." I imagine that anyone who has ladies like these in their life, and anyone who knows these women in particular, should find that their life is indeed worth living.

5 Happy Things

2009-05-02T22:23:00.004-04:00

My Five Happy Things for the Week:

(1) Weight gain. My grandmother gained 7 -- count them, SEVEN -- pounds this month! I don't even know how this is possible, but she did, and my mother said she's even been more interested in doing things -- small things, admittedly, but it's a significant change in her behavior and mood. Lately, she's taken to sorting through photo albums and trying to identify the people in the pictures...a big shift from sitting on the couch all day staring at the wall (which is what she's been doing for months). This is not healing, this is not really even improvement; we all know this -- but it is a gift, albeit temporary, but one we will take nonetheless.

(2) Gerbera daisies. Husband and I went to Home Depot today for something completely different, but while we were there, I decided I wanted to buy flowers. This in itself is crazy, because I have killed nearly every plant I've ever owned. But I love gerbera daisies, and I wanted them, so we bought 3 plants, and now they're potted and sitting on a shelf in our living room, and they are so bright and beautiful. I doubt they will live more than a month, but still, for now, their vivid colors make me smile. I'm fairly certain that in the end, we'll have spider plants -- which I can't kill, even though I've tried (many times!) -- living in those same pots on the shelf, but for now, I am enjoying living with the illusion that I can have flowering plants in my home.

(3) Emails from close friends who live too far away. I often feel as though the people who know me the best, and who love me the most, are too far away to reach, and too far away to really bother with anything that's going on in my life. We are hundreds, thousands of miles away from each other, and so much time passes between when we see each other. But we do still keep in touch via email, and this week, I got a couple of emails from some of those close friends, and they were so comforting, so perfectly what I needed -- the words brought tears to my eyes, comforted me in ways that I'm sure my friends couldn't have anticipated. Little bits of electronic grace.

(4) Time to myself + with time with Husband. Yesterday evening, I had "me time." Husband was out with his friends, and I got the house to myself, and more importantly, I got the space I needed, psychologically, emotionally, physically. As someone who needs a lot of space and a lot of internal quiet time, being married has often posed a struggle of how to balance that need for my own space with the desire to meet the needs of Husband, and our mutual needs as a couple. But yesterday, I got the time I needed. And today, Husband and I had a lovely, leisurely day of running a few errands, doing stuff around the house, watching movies, and enjoying each other's company. It's been the perfect balanced weekend, so necessary and so welcomed.

(5) Knowing I'm a week closer to vacation. I'm not a vacation person. I don't do it well -- I'm one of those people who worries about work while I'm on vacation, who makes lists of things to do when I get home, who always has part of her mind focused on what isn't getting done while I'm off trying to relax. But I am looking forward to my non-vacation vacation this year. It's not a typical vacation that Husband and I would take -- ordinarily, we would go away somewhere like the Caribbean, and we would spend a week in the sun, reading and swimming and laughing and not paying attention to anyone but ourselves.

This year, we will go to my hometown in Virginia, for my father's college graduation (yes, you read that right), and my grandmother's 90th birthday, and while we're there, we'll celebrate Mother's day and my father's birthday as well. We'll spend a few days in Virginia, and then meander our way along the East Coast until we finally make it back to CT. It is not at all what I wanted for a vacation, and Husband is being quite gracious to give up his vacation time to hang out in the middle of Virginia with my siblings and their spouses and my parents. But it will be a nice time of celebrating some real milestones and seeing my siblings, whom I haven't seen since Christmas, and I'm excited to get away from here and go there, if only for a little while. It will not be as relaxing as a week in the Caribbean -- in fact, I am not expecting it to be relaxing at all -- but I am still looking forward to it.

Polka Dots and Tulips

My Year in Review (or, How to Have Nearly 3 Bad Years in a Row)

Non-new year resolutions

Disconnected Thoughts on Little Humans

A pre-Thanksgiving list.

Living a Polka Dot Life

The Things We Mistook for Foundational...

Random Thoughts, Bouncing Around....

Ways Indianapolis is Better Than...

Silent Prayer

What I'm Learning Living in Indiana: Indy Edition

How 10 days flies

Latter Days (An Addendum to "So Goodbye to All This")

So Goodbye to All This...

What I'm Learning Living in Indiana, Part 2

Other People's Thoughts for Thursday

Another Thing I've Learned Here

What I'm Learning Living in Indiana

Bogus holidays, things to celebrate, and a little bacon.

Things I Don't Understand, Part 1

Lists and More Lists

Why I Vote (and why I hope you will to)

Top 10 of 2010

Moving Away from the Dark

Thankfulness, a few days late

Happy Birthday, Grandma

October Travels

Shedding Parts

Change of Seasons

Thankful Thursday

Ohio

In Memory of Gloria M. Carter

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

Happy 6th Birthday, Dad!

Godmothering

A Year Ago

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

One of the many reasons I love my brother.

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

"I don't want to be perfect. I want to be useful, I want to be good, and I want to sound like myself. Trying to be perfect gets in the way of all three." (Scott Berkun)

"There is a limit to the amount of misery and disarray you will put up with, for love, just as there is a limit to the amount of mess you can stand around a house. You can't know the limit beforehand, but you will know when you've reached it." (Alice Munro)

Wednesday's Word: Wrestling

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

Lists and More Lists

Musical Mondays

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

$8 Happiness

Wednesday's Words

Musical Mondays

(Other People's) Thoughts For Thursday

Instead of Wednesday Words

Wednesday's Words

Clementine!

Wednesday's Words

Wednesday's Words

Wednesday's Words

Broken Birds

More than Words on a Page

Wednesday's Words

Thoughts on Loss

Random Monday

Song of the Day: Over the Rhine

List-y Goodness

Today's Happy Thing

It's Almost Spring...and that means....?

Super Allie!

Song of the Day: Over the Rhine

Song of the Day: The Avett Brothers

Song of the Day: Brandi Carlile

Sunday Thoughts

4 Happy Things

Happy Birthday, Jerry

Cleaning House

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it is a fridge!

August Windowsill Finds

Thankful Things

In memory of Florence Mazzaferro

4 happy things

Today's Windowsill Find

My Siblings Hated Me, and Perhaps for Good Reason