This morning, someone at work told me that I looked 'unusually happy' today. It was a nice thing to hear, especially on this exceedingly frigid Monday after a weekend filled with one wedding (last one of the year!), one night at Sam's and not much sleep. Just the comment itself elevated my mood even more and sort of kept me going today.
Truth be told, I am happy. For the past few weeks, I've been in a permanent good mood. Thanksgiving came and went and I felt truly, truly grateful. Everything seems to naturally have a positive spin on it. The holidays are coming and I am loving the season already. I love the songs, the lights, the TV shows - even the weather. It's my favorite time of year.
I have my car back. But not just my car, I have my freedom back. I feel like I am 16 all over again. I can do the things that I've been wanting to do and was forced to put off all this time. I am going to start volunteering at either Divine Providence with Trish or Mothers' Home in Darby. Or both. I am still working out the details. I want to find a place that feels right.
Sam's! I can work there and supplement my Richardson paycheck. And, if you know me at all, you know that Sam's is not just a job to me. It is not just a restaurant or a place that I go to make money. Sam's is a home to me, as are all of the people. Going there doesn't even feel like work. Really, can a person ask for anything more?
Eight months was a long time to be stuck in a holding pattern. That's what it felt like anyway. Some severe peaks and valleys and a lot of learning.
I finally feel like Kristen again. And, apparently, I look like her as well.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Wedding Hangover
This is the part of being in a wedding, the only part, that I really dislike. The day after. The day after the party. The day after the beautiful ceremony. The day after the hair and the make up and the shoes. Oh, and the dresses. They day after the one day that you've been planning for and looking forward to for a good while. The day after you watch one of your best friends go through an entire range of emotions and you get to bear witness as she does.
I find it kind of depressing.
When any big event or memorable day passes, I get a little sad. Christmas night rolls around and, all of a sudden, it feels like Christmas never even happened. April 5th? Never a fun day... But at least with these occasions, we get to do them all over again in another year.
Such is not the case with weddings. Weddings are once in a lifetime. The ones I've been in and attended this year have been some pretty great ones. I never want them to end and they fly by so quickly. I look at the pictures over and over to relive them. And then, in a few months, I usually get to do it all again!
As my big year of weddings comes to an end, I feel like a lucky girl. Lucky to have attended so many, lucky to have so many friends and, further, so many friends who are happily making joining their life with another's. Lucky indeed.
I find it kind of depressing.
When any big event or memorable day passes, I get a little sad. Christmas night rolls around and, all of a sudden, it feels like Christmas never even happened. April 5th? Never a fun day... But at least with these occasions, we get to do them all over again in another year.
Such is not the case with weddings. Weddings are once in a lifetime. The ones I've been in and attended this year have been some pretty great ones. I never want them to end and they fly by so quickly. I look at the pictures over and over to relive them. And then, in a few months, I usually get to do it all again!
As my big year of weddings comes to an end, I feel like a lucky girl. Lucky to have attended so many, lucky to have so many friends and, further, so many friends who are happily making joining their life with another's. Lucky indeed.
Friday, October 24, 2008
In serious need of Halloween candy...
And not the crappy, bottom of the pumpkin bucket kind. No Smarties. No Dum Dum lollipops. I want the good stuff. The fun size Nestle Crunch and Kit Kat Bars. And some Milky Ways too. Thanks.
This blog has no point. No message or story. No inspiration. It is your typical, so-don't-feel-like-working, Friday, the Phillies-better-step-it-up-and-start-hitting, (finally) cold day in October ramble. Completely random.
This week has been long and exhausting. Despite my attempts to get to bed by 9 pm (yes, I am offiicially elderly) on Monday and Tuesday nights to prepare my body for the World Series games, I still woke up (late) this morning and could barely sit up in bed. Friday took forever to get here. I am really sick of coding HTML - my eyes are shot by the end of the day.
Before I get even more whiny...
Super psyched for the Phillies. It is so fun to watch the games, the coverage, the fans. It's great for the city and a long time coming. I hope tomorrow's game doesn't get rained out and I hope that Moyer can keep the Rays from putting a lot of runs up.
I saw some crazy shit on SEPTA this week. I saw a short, scrawny, white-haired man punch a woman in the back yesterday morning. In the 15th street/City Hall EL station, a man came down from the escalator and threw all of his weight into a punch that hit the woman square in the back. She was just rushing to work in her sneakers, carrying her heels in her bag, like the rest of us. I don't think he had a reason and I doubt he needed one. She stopped, startled, just for a moment and kept walking - which, I realize, was probably smart. I am not sure what I'd do in that situation. Then, yesterday's journey home brought another odd circumstance. While on the trolley, pulling out of the berth at 69th street, I saw a relatively young guy with his pants around his ankles getting arrested while his blonde girlfriend was sobbing and pleading to the cops. I have no idea what any of it was about, but it was your typical train wreck. My fellow 101 trolley passengers and I couldn't look away.
I am anxiously awaiting the return of my sanity. My sanity, in the shape of a little silver slice of heaven - my car. The end is in sight and I think I am going to be getting it back within the next two weeks or so. It has been a long six months.
I think I need some new music in my life. I heard Kings of Leon on 9.33WMMR this morning and was pretty into "Sex on Fire". I also heard a new Brett Dennen song on Grey's last week and am pretty obsessed. "Ain't Gonna Lose You" - check it out.
My morning of procrastination has come to a screeching halt - duty calls.
I'm still waiting for my candy.
This blog has no point. No message or story. No inspiration. It is your typical, so-don't-feel-like-working, Friday, the Phillies-better-step-it-up-and-start-hitting, (finally) cold day in October ramble. Completely random.
This week has been long and exhausting. Despite my attempts to get to bed by 9 pm (yes, I am offiicially elderly) on Monday and Tuesday nights to prepare my body for the World Series games, I still woke up (late) this morning and could barely sit up in bed. Friday took forever to get here. I am really sick of coding HTML - my eyes are shot by the end of the day.
Before I get even more whiny...
Super psyched for the Phillies. It is so fun to watch the games, the coverage, the fans. It's great for the city and a long time coming. I hope tomorrow's game doesn't get rained out and I hope that Moyer can keep the Rays from putting a lot of runs up.
I saw some crazy shit on SEPTA this week. I saw a short, scrawny, white-haired man punch a woman in the back yesterday morning. In the 15th street/City Hall EL station, a man came down from the escalator and threw all of his weight into a punch that hit the woman square in the back. She was just rushing to work in her sneakers, carrying her heels in her bag, like the rest of us. I don't think he had a reason and I doubt he needed one. She stopped, startled, just for a moment and kept walking - which, I realize, was probably smart. I am not sure what I'd do in that situation. Then, yesterday's journey home brought another odd circumstance. While on the trolley, pulling out of the berth at 69th street, I saw a relatively young guy with his pants around his ankles getting arrested while his blonde girlfriend was sobbing and pleading to the cops. I have no idea what any of it was about, but it was your typical train wreck. My fellow 101 trolley passengers and I couldn't look away.
I am anxiously awaiting the return of my sanity. My sanity, in the shape of a little silver slice of heaven - my car. The end is in sight and I think I am going to be getting it back within the next two weeks or so. It has been a long six months.
I think I need some new music in my life. I heard Kings of Leon on 9.33WMMR this morning and was pretty into "Sex on Fire". I also heard a new Brett Dennen song on Grey's last week and am pretty obsessed. "Ain't Gonna Lose You" - check it out.
My morning of procrastination has come to a screeching halt - duty calls.
I'm still waiting for my candy.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
"Summer stole what fall replaces..."
Seven years after the day the world changed forever...
In remembering 9/11, I have very few words. Just songs, thoughts, pictures, ideas, memories and this tribute to a very good friend of mine's Uncle...
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Bill
There are few memories stored in my head of my MomMom Jean that exist without Bill. He has been in the picture for as long as we can remember. Our grandfather he was not, but he was essentially her other half - for the better part of 22 years. Or maybe more. It is hard to say, as they've always been inextricably wound together for such a big chunk of all of our lives.
He was commonly mistaken for her husband, my grand pop, etc. - but he took the title in stride.
"Surrogate grandfather.", he'd politely correct, as he sat at the bar at Sam's Saloon, where I've worked for the better part of 10 years or so. It is MomMom's and Bill's 'Cheer's', complete with their designated bar stools and where everyone undoubtedly knows their names. She got me the job there, when I was about 15. I never really left, and neither have they.
Until now. Bill passed away on Monday, Aug 25th in his apartment in Mercy Court - another place they shared, although they lived in different units on opposite sides of the building. MomMom was downstairs in the parking lot, waiting for him at the car to go to the Giant.
It seemed as if she was always waiting for him. Bill moved a little slower than the rest of the world. He talked a bit slower - with deliberate caution - as if he was hand-picking his words and placing them delicately into sentences. Perhaps it was spending so much of his life wth my grand mother, the life of the party, perpetually on the move. Together, they created a balanced pair.
At Sam's, you can find Jean circling the bar all evening, chatting it up to anyone and everyone. Bill hung back, seated in his stool, observing. I always thought he'd rather be home watching the Phillies game. I think I was right.
Baseball was a topic that, if you got him started on it, he'd talk for hours. Bill was a pitcher in the minor league and almost made it to the pros. He'd met many a famous sports figure in his day. You could tell he loved it, his passion and fondness for the sport spilled over into every conversation.
Bill's family is saying goodbye to him, privately, today. I'd never met any of his family until Monday, when I was introduced to his two sons. It was strange to meet the immediate family of someone who has always been a part of ours. Hopefully, they know what he was to us and what role he played in each of our lives.
Bill was kind, even-tempered and patient; he loved his sports and his newspapers. He came to every family function and birthday and he was there when things weren't so easy. He was a part of us, and we'll miss him.
He was commonly mistaken for her husband, my grand pop, etc. - but he took the title in stride.
"Surrogate grandfather.", he'd politely correct, as he sat at the bar at Sam's Saloon, where I've worked for the better part of 10 years or so. It is MomMom's and Bill's 'Cheer's', complete with their designated bar stools and where everyone undoubtedly knows their names. She got me the job there, when I was about 15. I never really left, and neither have they.
Until now. Bill passed away on Monday, Aug 25th in his apartment in Mercy Court - another place they shared, although they lived in different units on opposite sides of the building. MomMom was downstairs in the parking lot, waiting for him at the car to go to the Giant.
It seemed as if she was always waiting for him. Bill moved a little slower than the rest of the world. He talked a bit slower - with deliberate caution - as if he was hand-picking his words and placing them delicately into sentences. Perhaps it was spending so much of his life wth my grand mother, the life of the party, perpetually on the move. Together, they created a balanced pair.
At Sam's, you can find Jean circling the bar all evening, chatting it up to anyone and everyone. Bill hung back, seated in his stool, observing. I always thought he'd rather be home watching the Phillies game. I think I was right.
Baseball was a topic that, if you got him started on it, he'd talk for hours. Bill was a pitcher in the minor league and almost made it to the pros. He'd met many a famous sports figure in his day. You could tell he loved it, his passion and fondness for the sport spilled over into every conversation.
Bill's family is saying goodbye to him, privately, today. I'd never met any of his family until Monday, when I was introduced to his two sons. It was strange to meet the immediate family of someone who has always been a part of ours. Hopefully, they know what he was to us and what role he played in each of our lives.
Bill was kind, even-tempered and patient; he loved his sports and his newspapers. He came to every family function and birthday and he was there when things weren't so easy. He was a part of us, and we'll miss him.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Phenomenal.
I rarely use that word.
But I find it keeps popping into my head as I think back to last night, the wedding, the reason we are all here. From the food to the views to the dancing...words really do not even begin to describe it.
But phenomenal almost fits. Jason and Mary's Califorinia happiness spilled over onto everyone. Ear to ear smiles and tears were the theme, truly.
Some pics before I head to San Diego with Dana. I have about 100 pics of just the wedding, glad I brought my charger and glad I can upload to make room on my memory card!
But I find it keeps popping into my head as I think back to last night, the wedding, the reason we are all here. From the food to the views to the dancing...words really do not even begin to describe it.
But phenomenal almost fits. Jason and Mary's Califorinia happiness spilled over onto everyone. Ear to ear smiles and tears were the theme, truly.
Some pics before I head to San Diego with Dana. I have about 100 pics of just the wedding, glad I brought my charger and glad I can upload to make room on my memory card!
Joanne and I waiting for the shuttle. I actually just like this picture of myself. What can I say - I am more vain on vacation.
The view from the reception. Wow.
Oh, I love this pic. Jay and Greg after Greg's sincerely touching speech. Not a dry eye in the house, as even Greg himself really choked up. Beautiful.
Such a cute idea for the tables - they all represented significant places in Jay and Mary's lives. This was the guy's and Mere's table. I think Joanne took the card home.
Could they be any more adorable?
Friday, August 15, 2008
"writing you to catch you up on places I've been..."
Checking in from Laguna Beach, CA - also known as paradise on Earth.
I am sunburned and tired, in the best of ways.
My trip here went pretty flawlessly. I left Philly on a 7:30 am flight on Wednesday. Flew into LAX at about 10 am local time. My shuttle took me from LA to Laguna, and the last twenty minutes of the ride was along the coast - pretty amazing. The first of many amazing things, and more to come, as it's only Friday night. The guys are at the rehearsal and I am hanging in the room, listening to the waves and a party going on in the courtyard outside the huge, screenless windows.
When I was younger, I used to practically transcribe certain trips or parties - anytime I had so much fun I wanted to get it all down before it left my head. I have so many of these accounts in my journals from high school and college years. I guess this blog and my digital camera are the 2008 versions of those journals...
The sun beginning to set...
Almost...
More to come, I hope, as we celebrate Jay and Mary's wedding tomorrow, and then I head out with Dana Mac to San Diego on Sunday to see the Phillies!
I am sunburned and tired, in the best of ways.
My trip here went pretty flawlessly. I left Philly on a 7:30 am flight on Wednesday. Flew into LAX at about 10 am local time. My shuttle took me from LA to Laguna, and the last twenty minutes of the ride was along the coast - pretty amazing. The first of many amazing things, and more to come, as it's only Friday night. The guys are at the rehearsal and I am hanging in the room, listening to the waves and a party going on in the courtyard outside the huge, screenless windows.
When I was younger, I used to practically transcribe certain trips or parties - anytime I had so much fun I wanted to get it all down before it left my head. I have so many of these accounts in my journals from high school and college years. I guess this blog and my digital camera are the 2008 versions of those journals...
Laguna Beach itself, where I spent most of today. The waves are huge and the water temp. is just perfect.
My favorite spot in Laguna: this little park that overlooks the ocean.
The sun beginning to set...
Almost...
Putting the day away...
More to come, I hope, as we celebrate Jay and Mary's wedding tomorrow, and then I head out with Dana Mac to San Diego on Sunday to see the Phillies!
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
All I Want
Thanks Finn!
I want to:
live well.
I want to think:
less negatively and more positively.
I want to learn:
as much as humanly possible.
I want to see:
everything with clarity and perspective.
I want to try:
and be a better person, a little bit each day.
I want to tell:
the people I love all of the important stuff, before it's too late.
I want to touch:
the hearts of others with my words and actions.
I want to smell:
the ocean, everyday.
I want to feel:
like I am making a difference, in something.
I want to stop:
trying to change things that are out of my control.
I want to let go of:
the dark parts of the past.
I want to:
live well.
I want to think:
less negatively and more positively.
I want to learn:
as much as humanly possible.
I want to see:
everything with clarity and perspective.
I want to try:
and be a better person, a little bit each day.
I want to tell:
the people I love all of the important stuff, before it's too late.
I want to touch:
the hearts of others with my words and actions.
I want to smell:
the ocean, everyday.
I want to feel:
like I am making a difference, in something.
I want to stop:
trying to change things that are out of my control.
I want to let go of:
the dark parts of the past.
Monday, August 04, 2008
It's all I can think about.
(Well, not all I can think about - but one of the many things...)
It is my vacation and I leave in just about 10 days. Ten, 10, TEN, TEN! The project I was completely immersed in last week is delivering today and that means no more 11 hour days and more space in my head to fill up with visions of Laguna Beach, California.
Next week, I am traveling cross country to see one of my oldest friends get married to one of the most down-to-Earth girls I've ever met in a beautiful location. Mary and Jason are a great couple and it is going to be an amazing time.
Isn't it weird when you wait for something so long, and then it is finally here. I find myself saying "I can't wait" way too much. As my MomMom so wisely advised me this weekend:
"Don't say 'I can't wait'. Say 'I can hardly wait.' Before you know it, it will be over - so you really can wait!" She is right. I guess I can let the anticipation build a bit more as I finalize plans...
I should get back to work. And by 'work', I mean...yeah, sure, I am working. But every hour or so I google "Laguna Beach" or I go to our hotel website and start to daydream...
I'll be doing this for the next TEN days...
It is my vacation and I leave in just about 10 days. Ten, 10, TEN, TEN! The project I was completely immersed in last week is delivering today and that means no more 11 hour days and more space in my head to fill up with visions of Laguna Beach, California.
Next week, I am traveling cross country to see one of my oldest friends get married to one of the most down-to-Earth girls I've ever met in a beautiful location. Mary and Jason are a great couple and it is going to be an amazing time.
Isn't it weird when you wait for something so long, and then it is finally here. I find myself saying "I can't wait" way too much. As my MomMom so wisely advised me this weekend:
"Don't say 'I can't wait'. Say 'I can hardly wait.' Before you know it, it will be over - so you really can wait!" She is right. I guess I can let the anticipation build a bit more as I finalize plans...
I should get back to work. And by 'work', I mean...yeah, sure, I am working. But every hour or so I google "Laguna Beach" or I go to our hotel website and start to daydream...
I'll be doing this for the next TEN days...
Friday, July 18, 2008
"Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep."
Obsession is a close friend of mine. I obsess over everything. Money, work, my clothes, my weight, my choices, music, time, my relationships, food, the direction my life is moving in...
This blog is no exception.
It has been yet another month of no posts. I started July with a fresh notebook on my desk at work (that excites me, is that weird?) and the goal of writing one blog per day in July. I armed myself with a new Jodi Picoult book (Keeping Faith - phenomenal) for inspiration and even shared my goal with a few people, in an effort to try and stick to it.
18 steamy summer days have passed. And I've got nothing to show for it.
The reason is simple. It is the same reason that the 'backspace' key on my keyboard is more worn-in than all of the others. It is the same reason that I write an e-mail at work and leave the 'To' field blank until the seconds before I am ready to send. Finally, it is the same reason why I have about 24 blog posts that have been started, but sadly left out in the cold, forgotten, and labeled as 'draft'.
Time for a change. Time to stop obsessing, and just create. It is, after all, what fulfills me the most and completely absorbs me.
Please bear with me as I allow myself to make mistakes.
This blog is no exception.
It has been yet another month of no posts. I started July with a fresh notebook on my desk at work (that excites me, is that weird?) and the goal of writing one blog per day in July. I armed myself with a new Jodi Picoult book (Keeping Faith - phenomenal) for inspiration and even shared my goal with a few people, in an effort to try and stick to it.
18 steamy summer days have passed. And I've got nothing to show for it.
The reason is simple. It is the same reason that the 'backspace' key on my keyboard is more worn-in than all of the others. It is the same reason that I write an e-mail at work and leave the 'To' field blank until the seconds before I am ready to send. Finally, it is the same reason why I have about 24 blog posts that have been started, but sadly left out in the cold, forgotten, and labeled as 'draft'.
Time for a change. Time to stop obsessing, and just create. It is, after all, what fulfills me the most and completely absorbs me.
Please bear with me as I allow myself to make mistakes.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Just Wait
If ever you are feeling like you're tired
And all your uphill struggles leave you headed downhill
If you realize your wildest dreams can hurt you
And your appetite for pain has drinken its fill
I ask of you a very simple question
Did you think for one minute that you are alone?
And is your suffering a privilege you share only?
Or did you think that everybody else feels completely at home?
Just Wait
Just Wait
Just Wait
And It Will Come
If you think I've given up on you, you're crazy
And if you don't think I don't love you well then you're just wrong
In time you just might take to feeling better
Time is the beauty of the road being long
I know that now you feel no consolation
But maybe if I told you and informed you out loud
I say this without fear of hesitation
I can honestly tell you that you make me proud
Just Wait
Just Wait
Just Wait
And It Will Come
If anything I might've just said has helped you
If anything I might've said helped you just carry on
Your rise uphill may no longer seem a struggle
And your appetite for pain may all but be gone
I hope for you and cannot stop at hoping
Until that smile has once again returned to your face
There's no such thing as a failure who keeps trying
Coasting to the bottom is the only disgrace
Just Wait
Just Wait
Just Wait
And It Will Come
And all your uphill struggles leave you headed downhill
If you realize your wildest dreams can hurt you
And your appetite for pain has drinken its fill
I ask of you a very simple question
Did you think for one minute that you are alone?
And is your suffering a privilege you share only?
Or did you think that everybody else feels completely at home?
Just Wait
Just Wait
Just Wait
And It Will Come
If you think I've given up on you, you're crazy
And if you don't think I don't love you well then you're just wrong
In time you just might take to feeling better
Time is the beauty of the road being long
I know that now you feel no consolation
But maybe if I told you and informed you out loud
I say this without fear of hesitation
I can honestly tell you that you make me proud
Just Wait
Just Wait
Just Wait
And It Will Come
If anything I might've just said has helped you
If anything I might've said helped you just carry on
Your rise uphill may no longer seem a struggle
And your appetite for pain may all but be gone
I hope for you and cannot stop at hoping
Until that smile has once again returned to your face
There's no such thing as a failure who keeps trying
Coasting to the bottom is the only disgrace
Just Wait
Just Wait
Just Wait
And It Will Come
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Exercisin - In more ways than one...
In another effort to try and get back to myself, I have started working out again. Working out physically - firstly, walking around the little courtyard out back of my apartment on these cool summer nights (while they last). And secondly, below, working out my mind, my fingers and my writing muscles by completing an exercise from an article that a friend sent to me.
The article, entitled "Everyone Has a Story To Tell" is filled with many assignments to help jump start ideas. My friend who sent it to me must have known I need some grounding inspiration, I am the definition of all over the place lately. Expect more of these, everyone needs a little help sometimes.
"Write two pages of instructions to the child you once were."
Believe me, it is not as bad as you think it is. Whatever you are stressing about, and you may not even use the word "stress" at such a young age but that's what it is, please try to let it go and enjoy yourself. That is all you have to do right now, enjoy yourself.
Do not be so self-conscious. Yes, you are pretty geeky, but you are also kind of cute. The length of your bangs or your skirt will not matter in the long run, although it feels so important at the moment.
Try to understand that fitting in with everyone else is boring. Try to let go of the idea that you have to be normal. You'll learn there is no such thing.
Speaking of learning, be forever knowledge-hungry and don''t ever stop asking questions.
Make an effort not to judge others so quickly. This is a tough one.
Savor, remember and reflect on (maybe even write about?) all the time with Mommy, Daddy and Jenna - every vacation, every weeknight watching TV, every dinner, every night you sleep on the floor of their room in the air conditioning...
Let's take it further with savor, remember and write down as much as you can stand to about Daddy. You are doing an OK job and your memory is pretty good, but you'll want much more. So much more. You'll want every detail, so spare nothing.
Take more pictures and get the film developed. Put the pictures in albums.
Be kind, be open-minded, and be honest. Think about each of these words and how they apply to your life at this time.
Do more self-reflection, as it will help you become self-aware.
Don't fist fight Jenna, it's kind of trashy. Don't pull her off your bed by her feet so she hits her head on the frame, hard. You will regret hurting her, even thought she doesn't hold back in hurting you. Another tough one, but it's something you'll need to learn how to do sooner rather than later.
Write more.
Try not to take advantage of the things you are given, which are many. You have privileges, gifts, opportunities, and the wherewithal to move through the next few years with grace.
Pay attention. To everything.
Break out of your shell a little bit.
Stay in touch with people who've left their mark on your heart - there will be quite a few.
Listen to more music, different from what is playing on Eagle 106.
Remember what I said about savoring the moments and that goes for all of your family members, but most specifically your immediate family. I really mean this.
The article, entitled "Everyone Has a Story To Tell" is filled with many assignments to help jump start ideas. My friend who sent it to me must have known I need some grounding inspiration, I am the definition of all over the place lately. Expect more of these, everyone needs a little help sometimes.
"Write two pages of instructions to the child you once were."
Believe me, it is not as bad as you think it is. Whatever you are stressing about, and you may not even use the word "stress" at such a young age but that's what it is, please try to let it go and enjoy yourself. That is all you have to do right now, enjoy yourself.
Do not be so self-conscious. Yes, you are pretty geeky, but you are also kind of cute. The length of your bangs or your skirt will not matter in the long run, although it feels so important at the moment.
Try to understand that fitting in with everyone else is boring. Try to let go of the idea that you have to be normal. You'll learn there is no such thing.
Speaking of learning, be forever knowledge-hungry and don''t ever stop asking questions.
Make an effort not to judge others so quickly. This is a tough one.
Savor, remember and reflect on (maybe even write about?) all the time with Mommy, Daddy and Jenna - every vacation, every weeknight watching TV, every dinner, every night you sleep on the floor of their room in the air conditioning...
Let's take it further with savor, remember and write down as much as you can stand to about Daddy. You are doing an OK job and your memory is pretty good, but you'll want much more. So much more. You'll want every detail, so spare nothing.
Take more pictures and get the film developed. Put the pictures in albums.
Be kind, be open-minded, and be honest. Think about each of these words and how they apply to your life at this time.
Do more self-reflection, as it will help you become self-aware.
Don't fist fight Jenna, it's kind of trashy. Don't pull her off your bed by her feet so she hits her head on the frame, hard. You will regret hurting her, even thought she doesn't hold back in hurting you. Another tough one, but it's something you'll need to learn how to do sooner rather than later.
Write more.
Try not to take advantage of the things you are given, which are many. You have privileges, gifts, opportunities, and the wherewithal to move through the next few years with grace.
Pay attention. To everything.
Break out of your shell a little bit.
Stay in touch with people who've left their mark on your heart - there will be quite a few.
Listen to more music, different from what is playing on Eagle 106.
Remember what I said about savoring the moments and that goes for all of your family members, but most specifically your immediate family. I really mean this.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Run Between the Raindrops
Today brought the first summer rainstorm, complete with humidity, wet shoes and steamed up sunglasses. (Why I wear sunglasses on rainy days is beyond me, it's just something I do.) It's positively yucky outside and one of those days when you'd rather be in bed taking a rain nap. It's a 'let's order in lunch today' to keep from venturing outside into the Center City mess where everyone hops over the puddles on the corners and have umbrella fights as they navigate the sidewalks.
Sometimes I really enjoy the rain. I like the smell of the air right before the sky opens up and it starts to pour. I like how quiet the streets are, only filled with the white noise of the storm. I used to sit out on our back porch during a thunderstorm and watch the sky light up. Most of all, I love the thick droplets of rain that sometimes come down and land hard on the ground, the cars, your forehead.
"Run between the rain drops!", my Dad used to say. He'd joke with us and recount stories of his younger years in which he'd go out in a storm and dodge the drops. I pictured running around, looping in and out of cars and trees. I've heard so many stories about my Dad's youth, from him and from others who knew him. I wish I could go back in time and hang out with my Mom and Dad, when they first met, dated, fell in love. I need a remote control for time.
There is so much I feel I missed out on, when it comes to my Dad and his life.
For now, I will continue to navigate the storm, running between the raindrops.
Sometimes I really enjoy the rain. I like the smell of the air right before the sky opens up and it starts to pour. I like how quiet the streets are, only filled with the white noise of the storm. I used to sit out on our back porch during a thunderstorm and watch the sky light up. Most of all, I love the thick droplets of rain that sometimes come down and land hard on the ground, the cars, your forehead.
"Run between the rain drops!", my Dad used to say. He'd joke with us and recount stories of his younger years in which he'd go out in a storm and dodge the drops. I pictured running around, looping in and out of cars and trees. I've heard so many stories about my Dad's youth, from him and from others who knew him. I wish I could go back in time and hang out with my Mom and Dad, when they first met, dated, fell in love. I need a remote control for time.
There is so much I feel I missed out on, when it comes to my Dad and his life.
For now, I will continue to navigate the storm, running between the raindrops.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Level IV
As defense mechanisms go, I have just learned that there are four levels. The residual knowledge from any high school counseling I endured or Psych classes I took in college had left me with just a few of these mechanisms and no mention of levels. (Or maybe I just wasn't paying attention.) Upon considering the notion that I may be using a defense mechanism lately, or more than one, the words "repression", "displacement", and "projection" swum in my head. The definitions of each are garbled and overlap one another. I wanted to know which mechanism I was using and how. To Wikipedia I went, on yet another search to define my behavior.
According to a man named George Eman Vaillant, the four levels of defense mechanisms exist on a continuum and are defined as:
According to a man named George Eman Vaillant, the four levels of defense mechanisms exist on a continuum and are defined as:
- Level I - psychotic defenses (i.e. psychotic denial, delusional projection)
- Level II - immature defenses (i.e. fantasy, projection, passive aggression, acting out)
- Level III - neurotic defenses (i.e. intellectualization, dissociation, repression)
- Level IV - mature defenses (i.e. humor, sublimation, suppression, altruism, anticipation)
In spending the weekend at my Mom's and helping her as she recovered from shoulder surgery, I thought I was enacting displacement. That's how it went in my head. "I am focusing all of my efforts on helping someone else, instead of concentrating on my own problems. This must be displacement."
As it turns out, I had the definition all wrong. It sounded right, anyway.
After my visit to Wiki and meeting George and his levels, I learn that I am actually practicing one of the mature mechanisms of altruism, defined as "constructive service to others that brings pleasure and personal satisfaction." It turns out to be healthy. It is not a form of procrastination, as I suspected. Who knew?
In an attempt to tackle sublimation (the transformation of negative emotions or instincts into positive actions, behavior or emotion), I am taking back my attitude. It got away from me for a while and will undoubtedly scamper away again. By focusing on things that I can control, taking better care of myself, and facing issues head-on (instead of hiding on my couch), I hope to move into an undefined level - not of defense mechanisms - but of myself.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Will I ever catch up?
It has been a month since I've checked in, as pointed out to me by an (or maybe the only) avid reader. One month, one birthday, one car accident, one tragedy in my extended family, one near nervous breakdown, one injury - no, make that two injuries, a handful of self-realizations, one wedding, one shower, a few too many drinks and way too many tears. And here I am.
I'd rather not recount the details of each generous helping of bad luck that has been served to me lately and how I attempted to handle it. That'd depress me and would not be conducive to my recent attempts to be positive. Never in my life have I ever had to try and be positive. It never required effort. I should, and do, consider myself lucky that a positive outlook (generally) came naturally for so many years.
Have you ever watched a parent and their child as they walk through sidewalk traffic/a train station/the mall, etc.? Picture a small child, maybe only three or four years old and his parent next to them, holding his hand as they essentially drag the child to keep up with the parent's pace. This is a generalization, I realize, but just go with it. The parent has a speed, a stride, a groove and the poor kid is doing the best he can with his little legs. With his arm outstretched and linked to the person he trusts most in the world, he cannot even finish one step before he has to start another.
This is how I feel right now. Beaten, bruised, broken? Not really. It has been undoubtedly a rough patch but there are far worse things to live through. A girl I work with, and really enjoy, has just unexpectedly lost her Dad just one week after her wedding. She and her husband wed in Vegas two weeks ago and a reception was planned for tomorrow. Today, she is burying her Dad instead of preparing for the party. Things could absolutely be worse.
I feel like the kid who cannot keep up. My legs are working as hard as they possibly can to find my place in the world and be good at being in that place. And just when I think I am stepping in line with everyone else, the world speeds up and I fall behind.
Fortunately, the place I am running to is bright and full of so many great things. And if I need the world to keep me at a good pace, then here I am, reaching out my hand and holding on tight.
I'd rather not recount the details of each generous helping of bad luck that has been served to me lately and how I attempted to handle it. That'd depress me and would not be conducive to my recent attempts to be positive. Never in my life have I ever had to try and be positive. It never required effort. I should, and do, consider myself lucky that a positive outlook (generally) came naturally for so many years.
Have you ever watched a parent and their child as they walk through sidewalk traffic/a train station/the mall, etc.? Picture a small child, maybe only three or four years old and his parent next to them, holding his hand as they essentially drag the child to keep up with the parent's pace. This is a generalization, I realize, but just go with it. The parent has a speed, a stride, a groove and the poor kid is doing the best he can with his little legs. With his arm outstretched and linked to the person he trusts most in the world, he cannot even finish one step before he has to start another.
This is how I feel right now. Beaten, bruised, broken? Not really. It has been undoubtedly a rough patch but there are far worse things to live through. A girl I work with, and really enjoy, has just unexpectedly lost her Dad just one week after her wedding. She and her husband wed in Vegas two weeks ago and a reception was planned for tomorrow. Today, she is burying her Dad instead of preparing for the party. Things could absolutely be worse.
I feel like the kid who cannot keep up. My legs are working as hard as they possibly can to find my place in the world and be good at being in that place. And just when I think I am stepping in line with everyone else, the world speeds up and I fall behind.
Fortunately, the place I am running to is bright and full of so many great things. And if I need the world to keep me at a good pace, then here I am, reaching out my hand and holding on tight.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Mr. Johnson
In his 52 years of life, I am sure my Dad had many friends. He was charming and social, had a good sense of humor and an infectious laugh. He worked as a bartender and a cook, and in those lines of work, you make tons of friends. Any friends he had, though, never came around. Unlike my Mom's friends, they didn't stop over the house, or visit often. Jenna and I didn't know any of them, really.
When Stevie (our neighbor and the husband of one of my Mom's best friends, Missy) and my Dad became friends, it was a relationship I found to be extremely healthy for my Dad. Stevie was always staunchly against drugs, having had his share of experience with them in his younger years, before kids, etc. They enjoyed watching any and all kinds of sports together. Stevie was also really active and played basketball, went running daily, and so on. I figured that any kind of impact that Stevie had on my Dad would have to be positive. So I really enjoyed them spending time together. Stevie got a kick out of my Dad and his antics.
Stevie recently recounted a memory of my Dad dancing to "Come on Ride The Train" one year at the BVM Octoberfest and essentially embarassing the hell out of Jenna as she rode the ferris wheel. He told Jenna and I the story as Jenna waited on us in Coco's, the pizza place where she is working now.
"Everytime the ride came down and Jenna's car was at the bottom, Den would start dancing and singing 'come on ride the train...'. It was hilarious." Stevie smiled at the vision he created for us and sang a line of the song to Jenna everytime she came over to refill our sodas. We laughed at Stevie and at my Dad. I can so vividly remember him loving that song and dancing to it.
At my Dad's viewing, perhaps the most touching, and sad, moment was when Stevie came up to the casket to pay his respects. He shuffled up to the area near my Dad's face and stared at him. With his eyes cast down towards the floor, he shook his head and whispered:
"I always loved watching the games with you, Den. We should still be watching the games now."
Witnessing this broke my heart into more pieces than it was already in that day as did seeing Stevie carrying my Dad's casket down the aisle of the church, serving as a pall bearer.
Stevie, or Mr. Johnson as my Mom calls him, probably doesn't know how much of an impact he had on my Dad's life. I should probably tell him someday...
When Stevie (our neighbor and the husband of one of my Mom's best friends, Missy) and my Dad became friends, it was a relationship I found to be extremely healthy for my Dad. Stevie was always staunchly against drugs, having had his share of experience with them in his younger years, before kids, etc. They enjoyed watching any and all kinds of sports together. Stevie was also really active and played basketball, went running daily, and so on. I figured that any kind of impact that Stevie had on my Dad would have to be positive. So I really enjoyed them spending time together. Stevie got a kick out of my Dad and his antics.
Stevie recently recounted a memory of my Dad dancing to "Come on Ride The Train" one year at the BVM Octoberfest and essentially embarassing the hell out of Jenna as she rode the ferris wheel. He told Jenna and I the story as Jenna waited on us in Coco's, the pizza place where she is working now.
"Everytime the ride came down and Jenna's car was at the bottom, Den would start dancing and singing 'come on ride the train...'. It was hilarious." Stevie smiled at the vision he created for us and sang a line of the song to Jenna everytime she came over to refill our sodas. We laughed at Stevie and at my Dad. I can so vividly remember him loving that song and dancing to it.
At my Dad's viewing, perhaps the most touching, and sad, moment was when Stevie came up to the casket to pay his respects. He shuffled up to the area near my Dad's face and stared at him. With his eyes cast down towards the floor, he shook his head and whispered:
"I always loved watching the games with you, Den. We should still be watching the games now."
Witnessing this broke my heart into more pieces than it was already in that day as did seeing Stevie carrying my Dad's casket down the aisle of the church, serving as a pall bearer.
Stevie, or Mr. Johnson as my Mom calls him, probably doesn't know how much of an impact he had on my Dad's life. I should probably tell him someday...
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Exquisite Pain is...
...the tenderness in my upper thighs and all of the muscles one uses to sit and stand. You know, the kind of pain that produces audible whimpers when you try and lower yourself onto the toilet. It's good pain, though, because it is a direct result of the work out I did yesterday. I dusted off my old copy of Carmen Electra's Fit to Strip DVD and did a few of the exercises in my living room, after a nice 30 minute walk outside in the sun. This is the kind of pain that hurts on the surface but deep down feels really (REALLY) good.
"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey." - Kenji Miyazawa
"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey." - Kenji Miyazawa
Monday, March 10, 2008
Absolutely, Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense. Ralph Waldo Emerson
-my credo for an insanely annoying Monday..
-my credo for an insanely annoying Monday..
Friday, February 29, 2008
Crazy Eights - Why Not?
Eight Things I am Passionate About:
Music
Writing
My relationships
My work (most days)
My future
Working out (not exactly passionate, but newly excited and focused on it)
Traveling
Living well and fully
Eight Things I want to Do Before I Die:
Travel as many places as I can
Fall in love
Meet my children, and their children
Write a book
Become well-established in a career
Get in better shape
Take care of my family
See the Pacific Ocean
8 Things I say Often:
That's what she said...
oh hiiiii...
awwww
so cute
amazing...
I love this song.
I have no money.
I love you.
8 Books I've Read Recently:
Mercy
A Perfect Match
19 Minutes
90 Minutes in Heaven: A True Story of Death and Life
(this list needs to be longer...)
8 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over (and over):
almost anything by John Mayer, Rod Stewart and Kenny Chesney
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters - Elton John
Crazy Love - Van Morrison
Band on the Run - Wings
Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight - Amos Lee
Turn off My Heart - Rich Price
I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues - Elton John
Better Man - James Morrison
8 Things That Attract Me To My Best Friends:
honesty
self-awareness
open-mindedness
loyalty
respect
sense of humor
strong sense of self (goes along with self-awareness, I guess)
love of life
Music
Writing
My relationships
My work (most days)
My future
Working out (not exactly passionate, but newly excited and focused on it)
Traveling
Living well and fully
Eight Things I want to Do Before I Die:
Travel as many places as I can
Fall in love
Meet my children, and their children
Write a book
Become well-established in a career
Get in better shape
Take care of my family
See the Pacific Ocean
8 Things I say Often:
That's what she said...
oh hiiiii...
awwww
so cute
amazing...
I love this song.
I have no money.
I love you.
8 Books I've Read Recently:
Mercy
A Perfect Match
19 Minutes
90 Minutes in Heaven: A True Story of Death and Life
(this list needs to be longer...)
8 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over (and over):
almost anything by John Mayer, Rod Stewart and Kenny Chesney
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters - Elton John
Crazy Love - Van Morrison
Band on the Run - Wings
Keep It Loose, Keep It Tight - Amos Lee
Turn off My Heart - Rich Price
I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues - Elton John
Better Man - James Morrison
8 Things That Attract Me To My Best Friends:
honesty
self-awareness
open-mindedness
loyalty
respect
sense of humor
strong sense of self (goes along with self-awareness, I guess)
love of life
Monday, February 25, 2008
Womanly and Inviting
The first time Jackie ever referred to my body as "womanly and inviting", I most likely spit out my drink. We probably both cracked up for a good 5 minutes and struggled to regain our breath. Although I know she was most likely serious and trying to deliver a compliment, we've both gone back to this phrase constantly, and it gets funnier every time.
In my 3rd, I think, week of going to the gym - faithfully (even weekends!) - I am finally starting to notice a bit of improvement. It has been undoubtedly slow, and I realize how much further I have to go. I am finding myself enjoying it, though. I actually want to go to the gym and I feel lazy if I don't. Never in my life did I think that I'd be an exercise advocate, but here I am.
Jack always told me it would get easier. She told me I would feel better, she told me I would get really into it and I might become a little addicted. She told me it would help with my arthritis.
Who knew? Maybe the next time Jackie tells me that my body is womanly and inviting, I will actually believe her...
In my 3rd, I think, week of going to the gym - faithfully (even weekends!) - I am finally starting to notice a bit of improvement. It has been undoubtedly slow, and I realize how much further I have to go. I am finding myself enjoying it, though. I actually want to go to the gym and I feel lazy if I don't. Never in my life did I think that I'd be an exercise advocate, but here I am.
Jack always told me it would get easier. She told me I would feel better, she told me I would get really into it and I might become a little addicted. She told me it would help with my arthritis.
Who knew? Maybe the next time Jackie tells me that my body is womanly and inviting, I will actually believe her...
Sunday, February 17, 2008
I used to be allergic to candy, or so I thought.
Up until I was at least 5 or 6 (or the age where things start to make sense, you start processing thoughts and memories start leaving their marks), I believed I was allergic to candy. In a genious move by Peg, I was never allowed to eat it - for fear of some disasterous allergic reaction. I distinctly remember looking longingly at a pack of Rolos in our freezer and really wanting them. I wondered what would actually happen if I decided to try 1, just 1. The Rolos remained in the freezer for someone else to enjoy (Peg I'm sure).
It is not known how I actually learned that I was being duped. I am sure if I asked Peg there is a small chance she'd remember. It doesn't quite matter, at this point, because I am 26 years old now, no longer living under the false pretense.
The ban on candy in the early years of my life may have shaped my current eating habits. I almost never order dessert. I don't crave chocolate (granted, what I do crave is a cheeseburger). Sure, I'll always indulge in an ice cream cone on a summer night or a 3 pm trip downstairs to the Gateway News Stand in our building for some M&M's. I think, however, I can honestly say that I might be able to live without the sweet stuff. Cheesecake? No thanks. Cheese fries? Yes please.
So I guess I am grateful to Peg for withholding candy from me all those years, most likely keeping it for herself - as she is quite the sweet tooth. The woman used to crumble Oreos on top of her cereal and she chose doughnuts as her last meal - sweet tooth might be an understatement.
The Candy Allergy has prompted me to think about some other things habits that maybe I wish she had kept out of reach. I made a list, I ALWAYS make lists:
1.) Reality TV - I have developed such a love/hate relationship with reality TV shows. The ones I truly enjoy keep me captive in front of my TV for hours. America's Next Top Model is one hour a week where I can be completely vain. It feels good. The ones I do not like as much eventually convince me and before I know it, I am getting irrationally angry at the little, snooty brats who go through their parents money like water on My Super Sweet 16.
2.) Inadvertently touching my face - My skin isn't terrible, but I do have the occasional break out due to the magnetism between my hands and my face. I cannot help it, I do not even realize I am doing it.
3.) Tattoos - Can I start over? When it comes to body art, I probably could have made some better choices. I am working on it...
4.) ATM Card Usage - I've got 10 or so some-odd years of frivolous spending under my belt. I wish the ATM card was never invented, moreso I wish I wasn't allowed to use it. My Mom has tried, repeatedly, to help me with this. She literally took my card for about 2 weeks. It did work though (until I took it back) but I am trying to part with my little plastic friend once again.
I am sure I could think of more of these little vices. I'll have to start a new list.
Anyway, thanks Mom. xoxo
It is not known how I actually learned that I was being duped. I am sure if I asked Peg there is a small chance she'd remember. It doesn't quite matter, at this point, because I am 26 years old now, no longer living under the false pretense.
The ban on candy in the early years of my life may have shaped my current eating habits. I almost never order dessert. I don't crave chocolate (granted, what I do crave is a cheeseburger). Sure, I'll always indulge in an ice cream cone on a summer night or a 3 pm trip downstairs to the Gateway News Stand in our building for some M&M's. I think, however, I can honestly say that I might be able to live without the sweet stuff. Cheesecake? No thanks. Cheese fries? Yes please.
So I guess I am grateful to Peg for withholding candy from me all those years, most likely keeping it for herself - as she is quite the sweet tooth. The woman used to crumble Oreos on top of her cereal and she chose doughnuts as her last meal - sweet tooth might be an understatement.
The Candy Allergy has prompted me to think about some other things habits that maybe I wish she had kept out of reach. I made a list, I ALWAYS make lists:
1.) Reality TV - I have developed such a love/hate relationship with reality TV shows. The ones I truly enjoy keep me captive in front of my TV for hours. America's Next Top Model is one hour a week where I can be completely vain. It feels good. The ones I do not like as much eventually convince me and before I know it, I am getting irrationally angry at the little, snooty brats who go through their parents money like water on My Super Sweet 16.
2.) Inadvertently touching my face - My skin isn't terrible, but I do have the occasional break out due to the magnetism between my hands and my face. I cannot help it, I do not even realize I am doing it.
3.) Tattoos - Can I start over? When it comes to body art, I probably could have made some better choices. I am working on it...
4.) ATM Card Usage - I've got 10 or so some-odd years of frivolous spending under my belt. I wish the ATM card was never invented, moreso I wish I wasn't allowed to use it. My Mom has tried, repeatedly, to help me with this. She literally took my card for about 2 weeks. It did work though (until I took it back) but I am trying to part with my little plastic friend once again.
I am sure I could think of more of these little vices. I'll have to start a new list.
Anyway, thanks Mom. xoxo
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Water water everywhere, and not a drop to drink...
It's February 14th and our little office is a buzz with Valentine's day. Bagels from the sales team and Hershey Kisses from the Building - of which I've eaten at least 17 pieces. Of course, the day would not be complete without the quintessential V-Day indication - flowers. Bouquets dot the desks of quite a few of the lucky ladies I work with.
In reality, I was a little bummed about not having any special someone with whom to share the holiday. Yes, I realize how pathetic that sounds. So I let myself have a little pity party, table for 1 please, for just a few moments this morning. I joked with Barbra about when our flowers were arriving. She smiled painfully and joked back to me, "That's alright, we'll just plant our own flowers Kristen", and she laughed to herself. She didn't realize how right she was.
I'll plant my own...
In reality, I was a little bummed about not having any special someone with whom to share the holiday. Yes, I realize how pathetic that sounds. So I let myself have a little pity party, table for 1 please, for just a few moments this morning. I joked with Barbra about when our flowers were arriving. She smiled painfully and joked back to me, "That's alright, we'll just plant our own flowers Kristen", and she laughed to herself. She didn't realize how right she was.
I'll plant my own...
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Thanks for the Post It Notes.....
Thanks for the advice on our shared ailment, I need it and appreciate it (always).
Thanks for giving me my first "little" cousin, he isn't so little anymore (an understatement).
Thanks for the couple times you've loaned me money, I am forever grateful.
Thanks for the nickname, it has stuck.
Thanks for letting me (us) use your car.
Thanks for being my Fairy GodMother.
Thanks for being my ally, when needed, against my Mom, or your Mom.
Thanks for the books this Christmas, I cannot put them down, and they were exactly what I wanted.
Thanks for always being honest with me, ever since I was young.
Thanks for taking care of me when I was sick in grade school and had to stay home, thanks for the magazines, thanks for the milkshake.
Thanks for sharing that letter with us, it was nice to read it and know that we are not the only daughters who have ever felt that way about their Daddy.
Thanks for your unending support of whatever I am doing, including this very blog.
Thanks for being one of my biggest fans.
Oh and thanks for the Post It Notes...
Thanks for giving me my first "little" cousin, he isn't so little anymore (an understatement).
Thanks for the couple times you've loaned me money, I am forever grateful.
Thanks for the nickname, it has stuck.
Thanks for letting me (us) use your car.
Thanks for being my Fairy GodMother.
Thanks for being my ally, when needed, against my Mom, or your Mom.
Thanks for the books this Christmas, I cannot put them down, and they were exactly what I wanted.
Thanks for always being honest with me, ever since I was young.
Thanks for taking care of me when I was sick in grade school and had to stay home, thanks for the magazines, thanks for the milkshake.
Thanks for sharing that letter with us, it was nice to read it and know that we are not the only daughters who have ever felt that way about their Daddy.
Thanks for your unending support of whatever I am doing, including this very blog.
Thanks for being one of my biggest fans.
Oh and thanks for the Post It Notes...
Sunday, February 03, 2008
"Is forever enough 'cause I'm never never giving you up..."
It's Sunday night, and I was lying in my bed after a long Sunday of indulgences with Jackie: food, SuperBad, M&M's, hysterical laughter, my couch, Pig Daddy's, Season 2 of The Office. She left, I watched the Giants upset the Pats and tried unsuccessfully to sleep. So I hopped up and got online to try and put together some thoughts.
Lately, I've been dreaming almost every night of my house in Darby. Whatever the dream is about, the setting is our house. 19 South 13th Street. I lived there since birth (just about) and we moved out a little over a year ago. My entire life played out in that house and leaving it was devastatingly difficult. I had a hard time imagining living anywhere else.
Admittedly, I drive down my old street at least once a week when I get off the train in Lansdowne. Slowly making a right onto 13th and heading towards the creek, I tap the brakes at the 3rd house from the end on the left. If anyone, particularly the current residents, saw me, I am sure I'd look like a nut or a stalker or both. I'd really cross that line of appropriateness if I did what I always crave doing - which is knock on the door and ask if I could come in and take a look around. Luckily, I've been blessed with a picturesque memory.
Coming in the front door to the porch, careful how you swing the door open. You wouldn't want it to hit the 3 white bookshelves along the wall that held tons of picture frames and cause them to fall. The sun always seeped through the 5 windows and sat in the little room like a warm fog. Throw your coat on the futon and, if you remember, take off your shoes before you step onto the whitish rugs of the living room and the rest of the house.
You'll probably be met with the smell of my Mom's perfume, cigs, eucalyptus, dinner cooking or a combination of all of the above. The couches were always oversized and comfy and TV always on. The doorway from the living to the dining rooms was framed with window panels up each side. Next to them is a light switch that never worked and we never knew its purpose.
The dining room houses the computer and desk, and our "Growing Up Gotti" mirrored dining set. The legs of the table are damaged from the flood, Hurricane Floyd, of 1999. It was my first semester at college and the storm brought the waters of the aforementioned creek at the bottom of the street to overflow. The damage to our house was extensive and it was unlivable for months. The first time I came home from college and was actually able to return to my own house wasn't until Christmas. It was a true homecoming...
Ivy and green is the theme in the breakfast room, sunflowers in the kitchen. The same fridge for as long as I can remember with photo magnets of each year we were on swim team. Head out the back door to the back porch and deck, my Dad's project in the 80's. Many, many summer nights spent out there eating dinner and it was Jenna's spot for most of high school and after.
Going up the steps to the 2nd floor, if it was the summer, there was a more than noticeable increase in temperature. The narrow bathroom's grey and white tiled floor was covered with a rug in whichever theme was the flavor of the month - butterflies, sun and moon, leopard... Peg knows she is the queen of the theme.
Jen's (old) bedroom, now used as a spare and then mine. The pink plush rug was worn in the middle. I slept in a twin bed my whole life. Remnants of my childhood still linger as well as high school and college pictures, way too many frames and an overflowing closet.
The hallway leading to the master bedroom, also narrow, is a place I used to sleep when I was young and scared. I'd awake in the middle of the night and, instead of climbing into bed with my Mom and Dad, just peek under the door, see the light of the TV and curl up on the hall floor. That was usually good enough for me. Their room was swallowed by their California King Brass bed and the dark wood furniture - the tan rug worn very thin and the air conditioner emitted a distinct smell - one that I'd recognize instantly and give anything to have the chance to.
The 3rd floor was used for storage, an apartment for my Mom Mom when we were very young, a little playroom of sorts, and eventually Jenna's room. Almost tripping over Puff's litter and up the dusty dark steps, it was a huge room that I would eventually kick myself for not moving my stuff up there first.
Way, way, way too many memories there to recount, I couldn't even begin to illustrate them. The house still feels like a part of me, although it's been over a year and my apartment is my own perfect little home. The day of settlement, I took off work and helped my Mom. When we made our last trip in, the rooms were depressingly empty and the walls bare, I found her sitting on the radiator, crying. She never cries, ever. Trying to be brave for her, I just sat down and soaked in the silence of being there.
I pushed my pain away and I attempted to let go. I tried (unsuccessfully) to keep a copy of the key. I left the number as speed dial 2 on my phone and listed as "Home" until I had to get a new phone. Denial? Maybe. More like tearing off a Band-Aid slowly so that you feel it and you know it's real.
Last week, Jenna sent me a text of a picture of the back porch. She took it while visiting our old neighbor. Barely recognizable and small, it surely is the same house, but not the same home.
Lately, I've been dreaming almost every night of my house in Darby. Whatever the dream is about, the setting is our house. 19 South 13th Street. I lived there since birth (just about) and we moved out a little over a year ago. My entire life played out in that house and leaving it was devastatingly difficult. I had a hard time imagining living anywhere else.
Admittedly, I drive down my old street at least once a week when I get off the train in Lansdowne. Slowly making a right onto 13th and heading towards the creek, I tap the brakes at the 3rd house from the end on the left. If anyone, particularly the current residents, saw me, I am sure I'd look like a nut or a stalker or both. I'd really cross that line of appropriateness if I did what I always crave doing - which is knock on the door and ask if I could come in and take a look around. Luckily, I've been blessed with a picturesque memory.
Coming in the front door to the porch, careful how you swing the door open. You wouldn't want it to hit the 3 white bookshelves along the wall that held tons of picture frames and cause them to fall. The sun always seeped through the 5 windows and sat in the little room like a warm fog. Throw your coat on the futon and, if you remember, take off your shoes before you step onto the whitish rugs of the living room and the rest of the house.
You'll probably be met with the smell of my Mom's perfume, cigs, eucalyptus, dinner cooking or a combination of all of the above. The couches were always oversized and comfy and TV always on. The doorway from the living to the dining rooms was framed with window panels up each side. Next to them is a light switch that never worked and we never knew its purpose.
The dining room houses the computer and desk, and our "Growing Up Gotti" mirrored dining set. The legs of the table are damaged from the flood, Hurricane Floyd, of 1999. It was my first semester at college and the storm brought the waters of the aforementioned creek at the bottom of the street to overflow. The damage to our house was extensive and it was unlivable for months. The first time I came home from college and was actually able to return to my own house wasn't until Christmas. It was a true homecoming...
Ivy and green is the theme in the breakfast room, sunflowers in the kitchen. The same fridge for as long as I can remember with photo magnets of each year we were on swim team. Head out the back door to the back porch and deck, my Dad's project in the 80's. Many, many summer nights spent out there eating dinner and it was Jenna's spot for most of high school and after.
Going up the steps to the 2nd floor, if it was the summer, there was a more than noticeable increase in temperature. The narrow bathroom's grey and white tiled floor was covered with a rug in whichever theme was the flavor of the month - butterflies, sun and moon, leopard... Peg knows she is the queen of the theme.
Jen's (old) bedroom, now used as a spare and then mine. The pink plush rug was worn in the middle. I slept in a twin bed my whole life. Remnants of my childhood still linger as well as high school and college pictures, way too many frames and an overflowing closet.
The hallway leading to the master bedroom, also narrow, is a place I used to sleep when I was young and scared. I'd awake in the middle of the night and, instead of climbing into bed with my Mom and Dad, just peek under the door, see the light of the TV and curl up on the hall floor. That was usually good enough for me. Their room was swallowed by their California King Brass bed and the dark wood furniture - the tan rug worn very thin and the air conditioner emitted a distinct smell - one that I'd recognize instantly and give anything to have the chance to.
The 3rd floor was used for storage, an apartment for my Mom Mom when we were very young, a little playroom of sorts, and eventually Jenna's room. Almost tripping over Puff's litter and up the dusty dark steps, it was a huge room that I would eventually kick myself for not moving my stuff up there first.
Way, way, way too many memories there to recount, I couldn't even begin to illustrate them. The house still feels like a part of me, although it's been over a year and my apartment is my own perfect little home. The day of settlement, I took off work and helped my Mom. When we made our last trip in, the rooms were depressingly empty and the walls bare, I found her sitting on the radiator, crying. She never cries, ever. Trying to be brave for her, I just sat down and soaked in the silence of being there.
I pushed my pain away and I attempted to let go. I tried (unsuccessfully) to keep a copy of the key. I left the number as speed dial 2 on my phone and listed as "Home" until I had to get a new phone. Denial? Maybe. More like tearing off a Band-Aid slowly so that you feel it and you know it's real.
Last week, Jenna sent me a text of a picture of the back porch. She took it while visiting our old neighbor. Barely recognizable and small, it surely is the same house, but not the same home.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Motivating Tunes
Last night was my first experience at DrexelBrook fitness center. A 2-roomed facility next to the corporate offices (the place where I drop off my rent and bills), it is an OK gym. A few treadmills, 2 elliptical machines (1 of which is broken), weight machines, mats and yoga balls. For fifteen bucks a month, you really can't beat it.
Music is my primary motivator in life and the gym is no different. I am praying my iPod mini doesn't give out on me soon. I think I have crafted the perfect Thirty Minute Walking Playlist, if I do say so myself:
Warm Up:
F*ck You (Untouchable Face) - Ani DiFranco
I Wanna Be With You - Adam Hood
Starting to pep up a bit:
Jimi Thing - DMB
Jump into a fast walk:
CrazyBitch - Buckcherry
Mississippi (Cover) - Dixie Chicks with Sheryl Crow
Every Picture Tells a Story - Rod Stewart
In a good rythym:
I'll Fly With You - Gigi D'Agostino
Rythm of My Heart - Rod Stewart'
Only Heart - John Mayer
Get Money - Junior Mafia
Just Don't Happen Twice - Kenny Chesney
How Many Licks - Lil Kim
Slowing down:
Power of Two - Indigo Girls
Home Life (Acousitc) - John Mayer
Stop Falling - Pink
Warm Love - Van Morrison
I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You - Colin Hay
Clarity - John Mayer
Let's hope it keeps me going!
Music is my primary motivator in life and the gym is no different. I am praying my iPod mini doesn't give out on me soon. I think I have crafted the perfect Thirty Minute Walking Playlist, if I do say so myself:
Warm Up:
F*ck You (Untouchable Face) - Ani DiFranco
I Wanna Be With You - Adam Hood
Starting to pep up a bit:
Jimi Thing - DMB
Jump into a fast walk:
CrazyBitch - Buckcherry
Mississippi (Cover) - Dixie Chicks with Sheryl Crow
Every Picture Tells a Story - Rod Stewart
In a good rythym:
I'll Fly With You - Gigi D'Agostino
Rythm of My Heart - Rod Stewart'
Only Heart - John Mayer
Get Money - Junior Mafia
Just Don't Happen Twice - Kenny Chesney
How Many Licks - Lil Kim
Slowing down:
Power of Two - Indigo Girls
Home Life (Acousitc) - John Mayer
Stop Falling - Pink
Warm Love - Van Morrison
I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You - Colin Hay
Clarity - John Mayer
Let's hope it keeps me going!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Animo Grato
grate·ful [greyt-fuhl] –adjective
1. warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received; thankful: I am grateful to you for your help.
2. expressing or actuated by gratitude: a grateful letter.
3. pleasing to the mind or senses; agreeable or welcome; refreshing: a grateful breeze.
grate·ful·ly, adverb
grate·ful·ness, noun
—Synonyms 1. obliged, indebted. Grateful, thankful describe an appreciative attitude for what one has received. Grateful indicates a warm or deep appreciation of personal kindness as shown to one: grateful for favors; grateful to one's neighbors for help in time of trouble. Thankful indicates a disposition to express gratitude by giving thanks, as to a benefactor or to a merciful Providence; there is often a sense of deliverance as well as of appreciation: thankful that one's life was spared in an accident; thankful for the comfort of one's general situation. 3. pleasant, gratifying, satisfying.
grate·ful adj.
Appreciative of benefits received; thankful.
Expressing gratitude.
Affording pleasure or comfort; agreeable.
Any way you slice it...
1. warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received; thankful: I am grateful to you for your help.
2. expressing or actuated by gratitude: a grateful letter.
3. pleasing to the mind or senses; agreeable or welcome; refreshing: a grateful breeze.
grate·ful·ly, adverb
grate·ful·ness, noun
—Synonyms 1. obliged, indebted. Grateful, thankful describe an appreciative attitude for what one has received. Grateful indicates a warm or deep appreciation of personal kindness as shown to one: grateful for favors; grateful to one's neighbors for help in time of trouble. Thankful indicates a disposition to express gratitude by giving thanks, as to a benefactor or to a merciful Providence; there is often a sense of deliverance as well as of appreciation: thankful that one's life was spared in an accident; thankful for the comfort of one's general situation. 3. pleasant, gratifying, satisfying.
grate·ful adj.
Appreciative of benefits received; thankful.
Expressing gratitude.
Affording pleasure or comfort; agreeable.
Any way you slice it...
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Those who can't do, teach...
Sometime in the summer of 1994, as a somewhat chubby and totally shy 13 year old, I joined the swim team, only to appease my Mom. I went to my first practice and just about hyperventilated in the pool. One lap seemed like an eternity and I was supposed to complete how many? I was simply not cut out for this sport (or any sport for that matter) - in any way. I hung on the wall, panted and held back the tears that, along with the chlorine, stung my eyes. Maybe I did even shed one of those tears (0r 17 of them), as no one could tell the difference in the water anyway...
Saturday mornings were the most dreaded of days. Humiliated every week by my unimaginable lack of speed, poor stroke form, and general discomfort, I drug myself to each and every meet - only to finish last in every race. Yes, I was the kid in lane 6 (every time) who you cheered for as they made their way to the end of the race. Most likely, my competitors were out and drying off by the time I touched the wall. My biggest challenges were getting the rubber cap on my head and keeping my goggles on as I dove off of the block. Amateur was an understatement.
Don't worry, this isn't a pity story - I promise you will stop feeling bad for me any minute now. Somewhere along the lane ropes, I started to take to swimming as an activity and before I knew it, I was actually enjoying it. I had become a borderline mediocre breast stroker - sometimes even coming in a cool third place. How exciting it was for me to finish third (OK sometimes it was when there were only 3 girls swimming - any minute now...). Third place was equivalent to one point, and if I came in third place that meant that I had, in the tiniest of ways, contributed to the team. Now, it should be mentioned that we almost never won so my one point rarely mattered; still, I found a great sense of accomplishment in third place, always.
In addition to slowly but surely improving as a swimmer, I (along with my best friend at the time, Nichole) had also taken a place on the team as the coach's helper. Assisting with copying line ups, rounding up the 8 & under girls and leading most of the team in cheers before meets - I had found my niche. It was no longer a summer activity that I dreaded, but a part of my life that I truly loved, looked forward to, and was good at.
Somewhat predictably, when I was too old to swim on the team anymore (19), I became a coach. Assistant at first, I helped with the younger kids' practices and did a lot of the grunt work. When I took my place as head coach - I dove right in, so to speak. I bought books, using them and the Internet to create practices that, I thought, would help the kids learn the proper way to swim, thus making them faster and the team better. Every Saturday at the meets, I screamed so loud for the kids that I lost my voice and was hoarse all summer. I really loved every minute of it.
It wasn't until this past Monday night at dinner when Jackie helped me to realize that being a poor swimmer probably made me a better coach. My lack of ability in the pool forced me to concentrate on the strokes. Because it didn't come natural to me (another understatement) and it was imperative for me to swim well from a technique perspective; I could easily transfer that knowledge to the kids. I adopted the notion that swimming well didn't mean swimming fast, it meant true to form. If I could teach them the proper way to swim, I thought that the speed would eventually come. Whether I was right or not can be easily seen in our Win/Loss columns for those few summers.
It was certainly a learning experience for all of us, and what is life without them? I learned quickly that I'd never make it to Championships at the end of the summer and that MVP wasn't a trophy you'd find on my shelf. You will, however, find two Coaches Awards, pictures of and gifts from the kids on my team and many (many) third place ribbons.
Saturday mornings were the most dreaded of days. Humiliated every week by my unimaginable lack of speed, poor stroke form, and general discomfort, I drug myself to each and every meet - only to finish last in every race. Yes, I was the kid in lane 6 (every time) who you cheered for as they made their way to the end of the race. Most likely, my competitors were out and drying off by the time I touched the wall. My biggest challenges were getting the rubber cap on my head and keeping my goggles on as I dove off of the block. Amateur was an understatement.
Don't worry, this isn't a pity story - I promise you will stop feeling bad for me any minute now. Somewhere along the lane ropes, I started to take to swimming as an activity and before I knew it, I was actually enjoying it. I had become a borderline mediocre breast stroker - sometimes even coming in a cool third place. How exciting it was for me to finish third (OK sometimes it was when there were only 3 girls swimming - any minute now...). Third place was equivalent to one point, and if I came in third place that meant that I had, in the tiniest of ways, contributed to the team. Now, it should be mentioned that we almost never won so my one point rarely mattered; still, I found a great sense of accomplishment in third place, always.
In addition to slowly but surely improving as a swimmer, I (along with my best friend at the time, Nichole) had also taken a place on the team as the coach's helper. Assisting with copying line ups, rounding up the 8 & under girls and leading most of the team in cheers before meets - I had found my niche. It was no longer a summer activity that I dreaded, but a part of my life that I truly loved, looked forward to, and was good at.
Somewhat predictably, when I was too old to swim on the team anymore (19), I became a coach. Assistant at first, I helped with the younger kids' practices and did a lot of the grunt work. When I took my place as head coach - I dove right in, so to speak. I bought books, using them and the Internet to create practices that, I thought, would help the kids learn the proper way to swim, thus making them faster and the team better. Every Saturday at the meets, I screamed so loud for the kids that I lost my voice and was hoarse all summer. I really loved every minute of it.
It wasn't until this past Monday night at dinner when Jackie helped me to realize that being a poor swimmer probably made me a better coach. My lack of ability in the pool forced me to concentrate on the strokes. Because it didn't come natural to me (another understatement) and it was imperative for me to swim well from a technique perspective; I could easily transfer that knowledge to the kids. I adopted the notion that swimming well didn't mean swimming fast, it meant true to form. If I could teach them the proper way to swim, I thought that the speed would eventually come. Whether I was right or not can be easily seen in our Win/Loss columns for those few summers.
It was certainly a learning experience for all of us, and what is life without them? I learned quickly that I'd never make it to Championships at the end of the summer and that MVP wasn't a trophy you'd find on my shelf. You will, however, find two Coaches Awards, pictures of and gifts from the kids on my team and many (many) third place ribbons.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Weight loss woes
Sitting on the train tonight, next to two girls about my age, I couldn't help but listen in on their conversation. Not only were they speaking loudly, but all the words they said sounded like they could have come come right from my mouth. Transit checks, the train, pay day, New Year's Eve, work, shoes, interns, the list goes on. Typical twenty-something female Septa gabfest.
Only when the topic turned to weight loss did my ears really perk up. With it being the month known notoriously for new beginnings, the subject on every one's lips is what they are, or are not, putting in their mouths. Commercials boasting success with a super pill, gyms at their highest enrollments, even the Food Network runs episodes of "light" fare and reduced fat/calories/carbs menus. It is everywhere.
I suppose it's a good thing that society shoves the idea down your throat. One of my resolutions every year is to lose weight, it's almost an unspoken supposition. Isn't it every body's? You'll definitely find that it is a minority of people who would say "oh no, I am fine at the weight I am now" or who haven't made the necessary changes to make this year the year they drop that 20 pounds.
There is talk at work of a mock "Biggest Loser" contest which would pit me against my colleagues to see who could lose the biggest percentage of their body weight. Initially, I was skeptic of revealing my weight (a number that I don't even know, I don't own a scale!) to my co-workers. It wasn't the chicks I work with every day who intimidated me, no way. They are my girls, I'd be fairly comfortable with them knowing. It was the girls in finance, who are orchestrating this whole thing and mostly resemble stick figures and wouldn't weight 100 pounds soaking wet. I mean that in the nicest way possible, really.
Eventually, I pushed past these fears which I convinced myself this afternoon were silly and somewhat juvenile. This isn't about a number, or the finance stick figures or what anyone thinks. It is a challenge, motivation, participation in a group effort and a chance to maybe win some money! Accountability has always been my issue with any weight loss effort. I'd keep a food journal and "forget" to write certain things. I'd log my meals on WeightWatchers.com and change the portion size, therefore changing the number of points.
Clearly, nothing has worked. Well, not nothing. I've had minimal success with the aforementioned Weight Watchers. Also, I've done really well on the Abs Diet, a plan developed by the editor of Men's Health. I honestly enjoy healthy food and I know how to eat well, I am educated, which is half the battle.
I am hoping that we really do the Biggest Loser contest at Richardson. I dare to say I am looking forward to it. I am also still doing research and keeping my ears open about Alli, the new FDA-approved weight loss drug. The things I've heard aren't sitting too well, so I am waiting to see if I run into anyone, real life, to tell me about it. The commercials and the websites are good info, but I want someone with experience also. In any event, I am starting again, starting over, and trying to adapt a healthy lifestyle and eating habits. Here goes nothing...
Only when the topic turned to weight loss did my ears really perk up. With it being the month known notoriously for new beginnings, the subject on every one's lips is what they are, or are not, putting in their mouths. Commercials boasting success with a super pill, gyms at their highest enrollments, even the Food Network runs episodes of "light" fare and reduced fat/calories/carbs menus. It is everywhere.
I suppose it's a good thing that society shoves the idea down your throat. One of my resolutions every year is to lose weight, it's almost an unspoken supposition. Isn't it every body's? You'll definitely find that it is a minority of people who would say "oh no, I am fine at the weight I am now" or who haven't made the necessary changes to make this year the year they drop that 20 pounds.
There is talk at work of a mock "Biggest Loser" contest which would pit me against my colleagues to see who could lose the biggest percentage of their body weight. Initially, I was skeptic of revealing my weight (a number that I don't even know, I don't own a scale!) to my co-workers. It wasn't the chicks I work with every day who intimidated me, no way. They are my girls, I'd be fairly comfortable with them knowing. It was the girls in finance, who are orchestrating this whole thing and mostly resemble stick figures and wouldn't weight 100 pounds soaking wet. I mean that in the nicest way possible, really.
Eventually, I pushed past these fears which I convinced myself this afternoon were silly and somewhat juvenile. This isn't about a number, or the finance stick figures or what anyone thinks. It is a challenge, motivation, participation in a group effort and a chance to maybe win some money! Accountability has always been my issue with any weight loss effort. I'd keep a food journal and "forget" to write certain things. I'd log my meals on WeightWatchers.com and change the portion size, therefore changing the number of points.
Clearly, nothing has worked. Well, not nothing. I've had minimal success with the aforementioned Weight Watchers. Also, I've done really well on the Abs Diet, a plan developed by the editor of Men's Health. I honestly enjoy healthy food and I know how to eat well, I am educated, which is half the battle.
I am hoping that we really do the Biggest Loser contest at Richardson. I dare to say I am looking forward to it. I am also still doing research and keeping my ears open about Alli, the new FDA-approved weight loss drug. The things I've heard aren't sitting too well, so I am waiting to see if I run into anyone, real life, to tell me about it. The commercials and the websites are good info, but I want someone with experience also. In any event, I am starting again, starting over, and trying to adapt a healthy lifestyle and eating habits. Here goes nothing...
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
"Everything Happens for a Reason" wins again...
I flip between 30 Minute Meals and Friends reruns at every single commercial, usually reciting all of the lines from Friends out loud.
When I do dishes (notice I said 'when'), I leave them in the drying rack for days, thus letting more dirty plates and glasses pile up in the sink.
I never make my bed. Ever.
I listen to Preston and Steve very loud every morning. The radio goes on first thing, when I get in the shower and stays on until I leave at 7:30.
Most of the time, the only things in my fridge are condiments (salad dressings, ketchup, salsa), wine and my medicine and in my freezer all you will find are ice cube trays.
I have way too many picture frames and not enough bath towels.
When I inject my medicine, I scream like a baby.
After a year of living here, my windows are still covered with "Redi-Shades" from Home Depot.
While watching Jeopardy!, I yell out the answers from wherever I am in the apartment.
I will watch America's Next Top Model over and over (and over and over).
I sleep with a box fan, on high, every single night.
Living alone has its benefits...
When I do dishes (notice I said 'when'), I leave them in the drying rack for days, thus letting more dirty plates and glasses pile up in the sink.
I never make my bed. Ever.
I listen to Preston and Steve very loud every morning. The radio goes on first thing, when I get in the shower and stays on until I leave at 7:30.
Most of the time, the only things in my fridge are condiments (salad dressings, ketchup, salsa), wine and my medicine and in my freezer all you will find are ice cube trays.
I have way too many picture frames and not enough bath towels.
When I inject my medicine, I scream like a baby.
After a year of living here, my windows are still covered with "Redi-Shades" from Home Depot.
While watching Jeopardy!, I yell out the answers from wherever I am in the apartment.
I will watch America's Next Top Model over and over (and over and over).
I sleep with a box fan, on high, every single night.
Living alone has its benefits...
Friday, January 04, 2008
A little help on my resolutions...
I don't exactly know what made me pick up My Sister's Keeper in the bookstore some 2 or 3 years ago. Most likely, I was wandering somewhat aimlessly around Border's, browsing the new releases and best sellers. Before I found Jodi Picoult and came to love her, I had no rhyme or reason to choosing a book. Depending on my mood you could find me anywhere, from self help to fiction to music - even cooking.
Upon risk of sounding dramatic, I dare to say that reading My Sister's Keeper was a literary awakening for me. Everything about the book spoke to me. I couldn't put it down. Each morning on the train, I was so disappointed when we pulled into Suburban Station and I had to put it away. I couldn't wait to get back on and open it again.
I was, and continue to be, mesmerized by Picoult's language, her prose, her descriptions. Every sentence she writes paints you a tiny portrait of the thought behind it. Almost every line has this amazing dual meaning - it is truly how I aspire to write. She has inspired me more than any other author ever has.
The topics of her novels center around complex human relationships (are there any other kind?), involve a moral issue and follow a legal matter through the course of the book. The story usually ends with the verdict of said trial being revealed.
Picoult's novels are written from many points of view - of almost all of the major characters. The plot thickens and she spins this web of conversations, hidden meanings, revelations and discoveries. If I am reading one of her books, the strangest thing happens to me. I begin to think, on a daily basis, like one of her characters, and in turn, like Picoult, the mastermind behind the fictional beings. I move through the day and envision my thoughts in the pages of a novel - which, in turn, inspires me to write.
So here I am, trying to put one of my New Year's Resolutions into practice by writing a little something each day. Another resolution is reading more, the two go hand in hand so easily. I just finished A Perfect Match (which I started on the plane to Graceland) and this morning started Mercy. Hopefully, by filling my brain with her work, I will get to and stay in a place of inspiration and ideas. Bare with me as I might stumble onto some mundane topics and, as always, feel free to comment!
Upon risk of sounding dramatic, I dare to say that reading My Sister's Keeper was a literary awakening for me. Everything about the book spoke to me. I couldn't put it down. Each morning on the train, I was so disappointed when we pulled into Suburban Station and I had to put it away. I couldn't wait to get back on and open it again.
I was, and continue to be, mesmerized by Picoult's language, her prose, her descriptions. Every sentence she writes paints you a tiny portrait of the thought behind it. Almost every line has this amazing dual meaning - it is truly how I aspire to write. She has inspired me more than any other author ever has.
The topics of her novels center around complex human relationships (are there any other kind?), involve a moral issue and follow a legal matter through the course of the book. The story usually ends with the verdict of said trial being revealed.
Picoult's novels are written from many points of view - of almost all of the major characters. The plot thickens and she spins this web of conversations, hidden meanings, revelations and discoveries. If I am reading one of her books, the strangest thing happens to me. I begin to think, on a daily basis, like one of her characters, and in turn, like Picoult, the mastermind behind the fictional beings. I move through the day and envision my thoughts in the pages of a novel - which, in turn, inspires me to write.
So here I am, trying to put one of my New Year's Resolutions into practice by writing a little something each day. Another resolution is reading more, the two go hand in hand so easily. I just finished A Perfect Match (which I started on the plane to Graceland) and this morning started Mercy. Hopefully, by filling my brain with her work, I will get to and stay in a place of inspiration and ideas. Bare with me as I might stumble onto some mundane topics and, as always, feel free to comment!
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Walking In Memphis
In the spirit of doing something different for New Year's, and in an effort to capitalize on her US Air perks of flying for free, Peg decided she wanted to go to Graceland this year and see the home of her beloved King of Rock and Roll. As many may know, once she decides to do something, nothing really stops her and she usually does it. For this particular jaunt, she needed a partner in crime. I am usually up for anything, so on Monday, Dec 31st, we boarded a plane headed for the Land of the Delta Blues.
Only staying for one night, we packed light and had minimal trouble with getting there, despite the layover in Charlotte. The small plane from Charlotte to Memphis, I think, was the first time I was ever on one of those. We landed and hopped in a cab to the Days Inn Graceland - which runs Elvis movies 24/7 on their TVs and has a guitar shaped pool.
I love to travel and there isn't anywhere I wouldn't go. There is something inside me that wants to see everything, even if it is nothing to somebody else. I can't explain it, it's always been there. Driving through the area of Memphis where Graceland is wasn't what I expected at all. It is a very industrial, run-down area with abandoned buildings, storage facilities and factories. As we turned onto Elvis Presley Blvd., I expected much more than a Taco Bell and a used car dealership.
It wasn't nearly as tourist-y as I had imagined either. If there wasn't a sign saying "Graceland Parking, Right Lane", you might actually miss it. The house itself could qualify as a mansion, but it's smaller than I pictured. For some reason, I envisioned something like The White House.
By no means was I unimpressed! Stepping through the front door and seeing the insides of where a legend lived was surreal. Exploring the rooms and walking through his hallways - this was his HOME. He ate, slept, entertained, sang, lived and sadly, died in this place. To me, the most interesting things to see were his real things like Lisa Marie's swing set and a Christmas card from Connie Francis. The Meditation Garden, where he is buried, also gave me that sense that it was a special place.
We enjoyed the tour, listened to our audio and heard the voices of Lisa Marie and the narrator, and took tons of pictures. After shopping for souvenirs, we ate dinner and went back to the room. One hour of an Intervention marathon, we were sleeping by the time it was 2008.
Seeing Graceland was a great way to start a new year, and a trip I will always remember. I want to make a tradition of this, visiting a new place each year with my Mom. New Year's Eve is the ultimate in overrated holidays, if you ask me. You spend tons of time (and money) making big plans and it usually turns out to be a bust. Although, I do have a special place in my heart for the Mummer's parade on New Year's Day, which I missed this year of course, but even that gets tired. Wandering around Center City in 22 degree weather with a bag of Bush cans...having to pee ALL day...always losing the people you go with...OK, I guess I do miss it. There is always next year for meeting at the Clothespin and starting at the Trophy at 9 am...
This year - it was me, Elvis, and his number 1 fan...and I wouldn't have changed a thing.
Only staying for one night, we packed light and had minimal trouble with getting there, despite the layover in Charlotte. The small plane from Charlotte to Memphis, I think, was the first time I was ever on one of those. We landed and hopped in a cab to the Days Inn Graceland - which runs Elvis movies 24/7 on their TVs and has a guitar shaped pool.
I love to travel and there isn't anywhere I wouldn't go. There is something inside me that wants to see everything, even if it is nothing to somebody else. I can't explain it, it's always been there. Driving through the area of Memphis where Graceland is wasn't what I expected at all. It is a very industrial, run-down area with abandoned buildings, storage facilities and factories. As we turned onto Elvis Presley Blvd., I expected much more than a Taco Bell and a used car dealership.
It wasn't nearly as tourist-y as I had imagined either. If there wasn't a sign saying "Graceland Parking, Right Lane", you might actually miss it. The house itself could qualify as a mansion, but it's smaller than I pictured. For some reason, I envisioned something like The White House.
By no means was I unimpressed! Stepping through the front door and seeing the insides of where a legend lived was surreal. Exploring the rooms and walking through his hallways - this was his HOME. He ate, slept, entertained, sang, lived and sadly, died in this place. To me, the most interesting things to see were his real things like Lisa Marie's swing set and a Christmas card from Connie Francis. The Meditation Garden, where he is buried, also gave me that sense that it was a special place.
We enjoyed the tour, listened to our audio and heard the voices of Lisa Marie and the narrator, and took tons of pictures. After shopping for souvenirs, we ate dinner and went back to the room. One hour of an Intervention marathon, we were sleeping by the time it was 2008.
Seeing Graceland was a great way to start a new year, and a trip I will always remember. I want to make a tradition of this, visiting a new place each year with my Mom. New Year's Eve is the ultimate in overrated holidays, if you ask me. You spend tons of time (and money) making big plans and it usually turns out to be a bust. Although, I do have a special place in my heart for the Mummer's parade on New Year's Day, which I missed this year of course, but even that gets tired. Wandering around Center City in 22 degree weather with a bag of Bush cans...having to pee ALL day...always losing the people you go with...OK, I guess I do miss it. There is always next year for meeting at the Clothespin and starting at the Trophy at 9 am...
This year - it was me, Elvis, and his number 1 fan...and I wouldn't have changed a thing.
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