When I was little we had a red and white truck and lived off a dusty dirt road. My father used to let me sit in the steering wheel (with my legs through the holes) and "drive" the car while I held on, screeching the whole time. He was a police officer then and I was afraid he'd get in trouble. Even then he was teaching me to make my own rules.
When I was a little older he gave me a job picking up walnuts off the ground. We are nut growers -- I say "we" because I "worked" too. I hated that job more than anything because the black walnuts fleshy outsides would rot and turn black and my hands would be stained for days. I had to wear dish washing gloves to do it but often gave up because they were big and my hands were small. I got paid $2 a bag and the bags were bigger than me. My father like to tell the story off looking out to the trees and seeing me, sitting on my little stool, shoulders shaking with sobs because I was so unhappy. I'd sit there bawling my eyes out instead of just picking up the darn nuts. Even then I thought he was trying to get me to go the work he just didn't want to do, but I learned something. I learned that even big jobs can be accomplished if you chip away at them. And sometimes it gets messy.
We used to go camping in the summers with other families. My father pushed me to jump off the deck into the water when I was afraid and then grabbed me underwater like an octopus when I finally made the plunge. He thought it was funny and he was making me brave. What I ended up with was a lifelong fear of "things" in water. Even swimming pools. Good job on that one.
When my parents got divorced my father moved away and that's where our story gets complicated. I can only imagine how difficult it is to parent a child from across the country. What I'm an expert in is being that child. The child who misses phone calls, missed her dad at her graduations, and had her step-father intimidate her teenage boyfriends and teach her how to change a tire. The distance really did separate us in every way for a very long time and even with my amazing step-dad stepping into the void, I had a father-shaped hole in my heart. It took a long time but I think I understand it now and we are in each other's lives again. It was hard fought and can be prickly and complicated, but it's always just been that way.
Now my father is sick. It's sudden and surprising and I don't have any idea if it's something he'll suffer with for a long time or if I'll be able to be thankful for him seeing next Thanksgiving. I just don't know. I find myself bursting into tears a few times a day, sometimes just because a random thought went through my head. It struck me that this story I've got in my head about how the relationship that has defined so many others may soon have an end. I am so grateful that we found a way to be important to each other again.
Here's what I do know: this is something everyone faces and it's just my turn. I've lost two very significant people in my almost-forty years. Just two. My grandparents are all gone but they lived long lives and we were grateful for the lives they lived. This is different. Maybe he gets to teach me one more thing. Maybe it's time to let go of the past and the hurt and the scorecard. Maybe it's time to practice grace and compassion. And maybe even learn to say goodbye.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Lookin' for a Good Time
I’ve been away a while.
I still think in posts but just hadn’t sat down to write one in, well,
two years. I can’t believe that much
time has passed, in really just a blink.
In the last two years I...
- Learned how to play fantasy football (but still don’t know the rules for actual football)
- Completed 4 more classes towards my MBA. I’m 40% done.
- Made new friends.
- Flirted with a boy or two. Made a total fool of myself at least once.
- Traveled. So much traveling it will sound like bragging but I saw so many cool things and people I care about. Just this year there was Miami, Orange County, Las Vegas, Maine, Las Vegas again, Virginia, New York City, the beach, Las Vegas yet again, with many more places yet to come.
- Went to 4 plays, at least 5 concerts, ran in 7 races and spent a day at a theme park going Upside Down on roller coasters.
- Lots of hockey in the winter and spring (on hold now until the lockout ends).
- Sweated through a baseball game with my dad and cousins in 100 degree heat; saw slightly cooler football with friends.
- Acquired a bicycle. (I’ve actually ridden it 3 times!)
- I went out with new friends one spontaneous night and danced and danced.
What I’m trying to say is I’ve lived. Sometimes in the day-to-day-ness of work and chores and trying to exercise and whatever else is on my to-do list, I forget to notice I am living my life and having a pretty good time.
I have more adventures planned this year -- and maybe a few things to say about a long-term house guest -- so I plan to be back. Hopefully it won't take 2 more years.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Sunrise, Sunset
Everyone has a favorite teacher or two growing up. I have a handful of gems that I look back on very fondly. People who treated me like they saw something special in me and wanted to help me achieve great things…
Mrs. Little and I shared our favorite books after school. She was my 5th and 6th grade teacher. I recently visited my old elementary school in Woodland and it looks more or less the same, just smaller like everyone always says. Wandering around the empty campus on a Friday afternoon I was stopped by a current teacher who appeared to be close to my age. She questioned why I was wandering around an elementary school and I explained I’d graduated from there 25 years ago. She got very excited and wanted to show me all the new things, the amphitheater that was flattened and the new multipurpose room in its place, the tetherball courts they are taking out this summer (no!) and the new soccer field. I only wanted to know what had become of Mrs. Little. I learned she is now teaching in another city nearby. That made me happy. I believe one of her sons still has a library book of mine that is seriously overdue.
Mrs. Castle was my core teacher in 8th grade. I was a new kid at a new school for the second year in a row and wasn’t making friends easily. She purposely pronounced my name wrong every day for a week until on Friday a girl named Aimee exasperatedly said, “Mrs. Castle, it’s not that hard, her last name is Mac-in-tire. Really, it’s not hard.” Mrs. Castle winked at me, agreed, and never got it wrong again. Neither did anyone else. She encouraged us all to write and gave us some of my favorite assignments. My most memorable was a movie review of the Gregory Peck classic, To Kill a Mockingbird (which I recall I titled “How To Kill a Book” and upon further review, I’d like to issue a retraction).
In college my favorites were Dr. Madison and Dr. Merrifield (Andy, really), and they both made my little world a lot bigger. Dr. Madison taught me that a dot on the map (Burundi?) is just as important to its people as any in the largest empires. Everywhere is home to someone and home is always worth fighting for. Andy was just Andy, the sounding board for all of projects, my path for my future and biggest critic of the pajamas I wore to his morning classes. My only regret there is not being more open and expressing myself more because I think he was interested in what I had to say, but my shyness won every battle. At graduation he told my parents that I’d been a wonderful, thoughtful student but that I was too quiet and hadn’t found my voice (for the record my step-dad couldn’t have disagreed more about me being quiet).
This brings me to the big one; the teacher who taught me the most about myself and probably wasn’t even trying. Mr. Schroeder was the band director at Loara High School for as long as anyone I know can remember. This is a man who was able to make hundreds of kids arrive early for 6:45am practice, in the misty fog on a cold morning (ok, in So Cal so it wasn’t that cold). There were days we stayed after school until the stars started appearing the sky. We marched in the blazing sun, in the dirt, in the mud, in high heels (!), in the most uncomfortable uniforms ever created (we were rarely cute and the Zorba getups were the absolute worst), and we gave up every weekend for the priviledge to do so. With a very few exceptions we never came in first, always took home the little trophies (if we took one home at all – and court doesn’t count), and still we gave him hours and hours of our precious adolescence. We rode in busses to competitions all over Southern California and to this day I still remember secrets I learned on the ride to Mount Carmel in my sophomore year. In a time in my life when I didn’t have a well-developed father figure in my daily life, Mr. Schroeder was always there. He was my conscience (that man had some serious rules!), and he forced me to make decisions about what I really wanted, pushed back when he thought I was making the wrong decisions, then commended me for sticking to them. I still have a bond with every BG I’ve found since then that comes from the shared experiences and how much we loved every bit of it, even when we hated it. There really were blood, sweat, tears, a separated collar bone, and a concussion that knocked me out of AP English my senior year – and it was all worth it.
Mr. Schroeder retired last week and over 100 former students showed up at his retirement party (with a little warning I would have flown across the country to be there). I really can’t imagine how he can be leaving as he was in his 40s when I knew him and I’m still a kid, aren’t I? Realizing almost 20 years have passed is harder than I thought. Seeing what that means to that school, the program, those kids – that really made my heart hurt a little bit. I have no idea how the new generation of BGs have fared because like everyone does, I grew up and moved on, leaving Mr. Schroeder right where I left him to watch over the new kids, the practices, the initiations, the uniforms, the run-throughs (let's do it again!), the camps, trips, competitions – the next waves of BGs. I was lucky to have him in my life and know those kids lost something last week. I congratulate him on a career of actually reaching kids and making them care about something bigger than themselves, and more importantly, each other. Thank you Mr. Schroeder, from the bottom of my 17-year-old heart.
Mrs. Little and I shared our favorite books after school. She was my 5th and 6th grade teacher. I recently visited my old elementary school in Woodland and it looks more or less the same, just smaller like everyone always says. Wandering around the empty campus on a Friday afternoon I was stopped by a current teacher who appeared to be close to my age. She questioned why I was wandering around an elementary school and I explained I’d graduated from there 25 years ago. She got very excited and wanted to show me all the new things, the amphitheater that was flattened and the new multipurpose room in its place, the tetherball courts they are taking out this summer (no!) and the new soccer field. I only wanted to know what had become of Mrs. Little. I learned she is now teaching in another city nearby. That made me happy. I believe one of her sons still has a library book of mine that is seriously overdue.
Mrs. Castle was my core teacher in 8th grade. I was a new kid at a new school for the second year in a row and wasn’t making friends easily. She purposely pronounced my name wrong every day for a week until on Friday a girl named Aimee exasperatedly said, “Mrs. Castle, it’s not that hard, her last name is Mac-in-tire. Really, it’s not hard.” Mrs. Castle winked at me, agreed, and never got it wrong again. Neither did anyone else. She encouraged us all to write and gave us some of my favorite assignments. My most memorable was a movie review of the Gregory Peck classic, To Kill a Mockingbird (which I recall I titled “How To Kill a Book” and upon further review, I’d like to issue a retraction).
In college my favorites were Dr. Madison and Dr. Merrifield (Andy, really), and they both made my little world a lot bigger. Dr. Madison taught me that a dot on the map (Burundi?) is just as important to its people as any in the largest empires. Everywhere is home to someone and home is always worth fighting for. Andy was just Andy, the sounding board for all of projects, my path for my future and biggest critic of the pajamas I wore to his morning classes. My only regret there is not being more open and expressing myself more because I think he was interested in what I had to say, but my shyness won every battle. At graduation he told my parents that I’d been a wonderful, thoughtful student but that I was too quiet and hadn’t found my voice (for the record my step-dad couldn’t have disagreed more about me being quiet).
This brings me to the big one; the teacher who taught me the most about myself and probably wasn’t even trying. Mr. Schroeder was the band director at Loara High School for as long as anyone I know can remember. This is a man who was able to make hundreds of kids arrive early for 6:45am practice, in the misty fog on a cold morning (ok, in So Cal so it wasn’t that cold). There were days we stayed after school until the stars started appearing the sky. We marched in the blazing sun, in the dirt, in the mud, in high heels (!), in the most uncomfortable uniforms ever created (we were rarely cute and the Zorba getups were the absolute worst), and we gave up every weekend for the priviledge to do so. With a very few exceptions we never came in first, always took home the little trophies (if we took one home at all – and court doesn’t count), and still we gave him hours and hours of our precious adolescence. We rode in busses to competitions all over Southern California and to this day I still remember secrets I learned on the ride to Mount Carmel in my sophomore year. In a time in my life when I didn’t have a well-developed father figure in my daily life, Mr. Schroeder was always there. He was my conscience (that man had some serious rules!), and he forced me to make decisions about what I really wanted, pushed back when he thought I was making the wrong decisions, then commended me for sticking to them. I still have a bond with every BG I’ve found since then that comes from the shared experiences and how much we loved every bit of it, even when we hated it. There really were blood, sweat, tears, a separated collar bone, and a concussion that knocked me out of AP English my senior year – and it was all worth it.
Mr. Schroeder retired last week and over 100 former students showed up at his retirement party (with a little warning I would have flown across the country to be there). I really can’t imagine how he can be leaving as he was in his 40s when I knew him and I’m still a kid, aren’t I? Realizing almost 20 years have passed is harder than I thought. Seeing what that means to that school, the program, those kids – that really made my heart hurt a little bit. I have no idea how the new generation of BGs have fared because like everyone does, I grew up and moved on, leaving Mr. Schroeder right where I left him to watch over the new kids, the practices, the initiations, the uniforms, the run-throughs (let's do it again!), the camps, trips, competitions – the next waves of BGs. I was lucky to have him in my life and know those kids lost something last week. I congratulate him on a career of actually reaching kids and making them care about something bigger than themselves, and more importantly, each other. Thank you Mr. Schroeder, from the bottom of my 17-year-old heart.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Car Crash
I’m wide awake and so alive…
Every once in a while I feel more awake in my life. Sometimes it can be something as simple as taking a walk and smelling someone cooking in their yard, or hearing a song I love while driving with the windows open. It reminds me that I’m living my life instead of just waiting for it to start.
I went on a trip a couple of weeks ago and everything was just so normal. Just the same things I do every day and everything that I had planned. I did a few things that scare me (like standing on glass 110+ stories up in the air) and took a little time to appreciate where I was, notice my surroundings, and spent time with a very good friend. But still...
I want to feel the car crash
'cause I'm dying on the inside
I want to let go and know that I'll be alright, alright
It was so nice to be me, somewhere else. Maybe that’s why I love traveling so much. I get to try out a different life. Feel what it’s like to be a different version of me.
When I come home, I’m the regular me again. The one who is still waiting for whatever is next…does anyone else feel like that? At some point do you feel like you are just living instead of waiting?
Every once in a while I feel more awake in my life. Sometimes it can be something as simple as taking a walk and smelling someone cooking in their yard, or hearing a song I love while driving with the windows open. It reminds me that I’m living my life instead of just waiting for it to start.
I went on a trip a couple of weeks ago and everything was just so normal. Just the same things I do every day and everything that I had planned. I did a few things that scare me (like standing on glass 110+ stories up in the air) and took a little time to appreciate where I was, notice my surroundings, and spent time with a very good friend. But still...
I want to feel the car crash
'cause I'm dying on the inside
I want to let go and know that I'll be alright, alright
It was so nice to be me, somewhere else. Maybe that’s why I love traveling so much. I get to try out a different life. Feel what it’s like to be a different version of me.
When I come home, I’m the regular me again. The one who is still waiting for whatever is next…does anyone else feel like that? At some point do you feel like you are just living instead of waiting?
Friday, April 02, 2010
Your Song
Today I feel like singing. It doesn't happen often (singing in the car doesn't count). I usually feel like singing when I have something to say but feel like I need someone else's words to help me get out whatever it is on my mind. What is strange this time is that I'm not really sure what it is I'm trying to say.
This space out in the universe where no one really pays attention used to be my place to get things off my chest, but for months now I've ignored this side of me. I felt like no one was listening and I felt like everyone could read my thoughts, all at the same time. With so much percolating right there under the surface it feels a little dangerous, putting stuff out there. This spot, that's all my own, was someting I avoided because I was afraid of what I'd say.
So where have I been lately?
...growing into my responsibilities and learning that I don't always have to be the good guy. I don't like being the bad guy in any given situation but as long as I try to stay fair, things usually work out.
...completely alone in a crowd of people. I'm able to have a lovely time with friends but still end up feeling like no one needed me to be there. I'm just an extra in everyone's movie and my name doesn't even make the closing credits.
...like a work in progress. So the next act is unwritten, but is anyone working on the first draft? What happens next?
...hopefully I've been a good friend and daughter. Most days I'm not really sure.
So back to the singing...I have all these things bottled up and no way to get them out, so I sing when no one is listening. I search for songs that say what I need to say and hope that just thinking the words is enough. I'm not sure that it's working tonight.
I'll have to get back to you on that.
This space out in the universe where no one really pays attention used to be my place to get things off my chest, but for months now I've ignored this side of me. I felt like no one was listening and I felt like everyone could read my thoughts, all at the same time. With so much percolating right there under the surface it feels a little dangerous, putting stuff out there. This spot, that's all my own, was someting I avoided because I was afraid of what I'd say.
So where have I been lately?
...growing into my responsibilities and learning that I don't always have to be the good guy. I don't like being the bad guy in any given situation but as long as I try to stay fair, things usually work out.
...completely alone in a crowd of people. I'm able to have a lovely time with friends but still end up feeling like no one needed me to be there. I'm just an extra in everyone's movie and my name doesn't even make the closing credits.
...like a work in progress. So the next act is unwritten, but is anyone working on the first draft? What happens next?
...hopefully I've been a good friend and daughter. Most days I'm not really sure.
So back to the singing...I have all these things bottled up and no way to get them out, so I sing when no one is listening. I search for songs that say what I need to say and hope that just thinking the words is enough. I'm not sure that it's working tonight.
I'll have to get back to you on that.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sick Cycle Carousel
I can't write now because I am afraid I will say something I shouldn't. I tend to put my heart and thoughts and wishes right out there and I'm suddenly afraid they'll be seen. I tend to be too quick to tell people what I think and believe and feel -- and more than once I've been completely wrong, and look back just days later with a laugh and realize how silly I was.
I think I know what's in my heart, but my heart is always wrong. Maybe the problem is in those first two words: I think. I'm not the kind of person who can stop thinking. I wish I could be impulsive and reckless and...what was it Shelley and I used to be? Spontaneous. Back then, spontaneous was driving to the beach without a blanket, or heading to the mall when we were supposed to go to the library.
I could take a leap.
...or a chance.
...or....spend another year without a hand to hold.
It never stops. Sigh.
I think I know what's in my heart, but my heart is always wrong. Maybe the problem is in those first two words: I think. I'm not the kind of person who can stop thinking. I wish I could be impulsive and reckless and...what was it Shelley and I used to be? Spontaneous. Back then, spontaneous was driving to the beach without a blanket, or heading to the mall when we were supposed to go to the library.
I could take a leap.
...or a chance.
...or....spend another year without a hand to hold.
It never stops. Sigh.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
End of the Summer
I'll bet you thought I forgot all about you. I didn't. I swear.
I've actually been writing posts for months, but not posting them. I had a folder of half-written thoughts and I'm going to try to complete them. Some of them are timeless and some are a snapshot of a day, probably months ago.
I had an interesting summer, which really started all the way back in April. There were cruises (The Caribbean! Alaska!). There were visits with friends and family (California! Virginia!). There were business trips (Vegas! Twice!). There was the idea of a guy, and then there wasn't. There were concerts and baseballs games and road trips and sunny days. I took up jogging. I ran in a race. I had fun.
Its time to settle into fall again. School has started -- I'm already panicking about a statistics midterm -- and hockey starts tomorrow. It's time for normal to begin again.
Song For a Future Generation
Also from July...
I just spent an extraordinary long weekend in Southern California. It's wonderful to be able to check in with my oldest friends and take a new mental snapshot of where they are these days. The children just keep growing, despite my pleas to stop feeding them, and they are really wonderful little people.
My best friend's son has discovered music and his world has gotten a little bigger. It's a joy to watch. He's an encyclopedia of little facts and background on the bands and the songs, much like I was at that age.
One of my favorite moments happened driving the two kids to the movies, flying down the freeway, with the radio blasting the same station I listen to as a kid, he and I singing together in the car (his little sister in the back seat making faces at us). I loved that day.
Sweetest Thing
From July...
I can only try to explain where my head has been lately. I spent a good part of the summer imagining a different life for myself. That's the way it is with me; I get an idea and next thing you know I'm off and running with little room left for reality. I've invented a different life complete with a new supporting cast of characters. It's silly, really. Aren't you supposed to actually live your life, and not just imagine it? It's like I think I can will things to happen, completely without outside participation. Things just don't work that way.
I think I've always been a glass-half-full kind of person. I'd much rather focus on the things I do have than the things I don't. These things will happen or they won't, right? I'm always open to the possibilities out there. No matter how hard I wish for the elusive time machine so I can jump into the future and see how it all turns out, no amount of imagining will make that so.
Here's what I do have: a lot of friends, new and old that make my life fun to live. A history with some of them that goes back over two decades, that is completely immune to the lapses of time that go by while my regular life unwinds. A normal email and accompanying response can result in merciless teasing across a continent. I love that. There are new people in my life too, who are slowly becoming a part of my day-to-day plans. It's really nice. Sometimes it's hard to blend the old and the new and the near and the far, but I like thinking no matter where I go, I'll always find a friend.
All I Want
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if she sat still. Would she fall into a deep, exhausted sleep? Would she scream as though her skin was boiling? Would she disappear into a puff of smoke, because she only exists when her to-do list is long and her feet and mind are racing?
I want to tell her to slow down. I want to tell her to enjoy these moments, the ones when her kids are displaying their blooming personalities. To stop telling them to be quiet or go away or to just...stop. She doesn't know what it will be like when they grow up and go and the days are filled with quiet. I could try to tell her but she won't listen because I really don't know what it's like, as my house has never been filled with that kind of noise.
I love her anyway, and am looking forward to the days when we can travel and see a little more of the world. When her world is quiet and I can teach you how to make her own noise.
I want to tell her to slow down. I want to tell her to enjoy these moments, the ones when her kids are displaying their blooming personalities. To stop telling them to be quiet or go away or to just...stop. She doesn't know what it will be like when they grow up and go and the days are filled with quiet. I could try to tell her but she won't listen because I really don't know what it's like, as my house has never been filled with that kind of noise.
I love her anyway, and am looking forward to the days when we can travel and see a little more of the world. When her world is quiet and I can teach you how to make her own noise.
Song for the Dumped
I haven't been dumped. I just love this song and felt like I needed to make people aware of it's wonderfulness. It's a little PG-13 so don't play it for the kids. I find the lyrics funny and the music great -- it's almost too joyous to be from the perspective of a guy who just got dumped. I think in the 5 stages of grieving he's probably in "anger." Joyous anger.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Magnificent
Saturday was the Komen Race for the Cure here in Raleigh. My mom and I walked in the early, women-only race that preceeded the "big" race.
The picture above was our vantage point as we got underway -- the balloon arch in the distace is the starting line.
We had over 20k people involved and raised almost $2 million. This is the largest race of any kind in NC and ranks #25 out of 120 RFTC events held annually. I love being a part of something so big -- it makes me feel a little less small.
Sunday Morning
First things first: Rebecca -- this is not at all directed at you -- but your recent post did give me the idea.
I am not a morning person. I think that if I could do my job at night I could do it in half the time, not just because no one would be bugging me but because I have more energy and am more focused. I'd really never need to see the light of day. During the crazy year I spent in the dorms at SSU, my regular time for sleeping was 3am to noon -- it just worked for me and there was no time clock to punch or deadline I couldn't work around. That year I really slept well.
Sleeping is always an issue for me. I used to have a borderline-phobia about sleeping on Sundays -- Monday always felt like the first day of school and I'd get very anxious. That finally went away but I still have nights where I spend more time awake than asleep. I'm sure that's why mornings are just so hard for me -- if I truly slept than maybe getting out of bed wouldn't be so hard.
I think being a morning person is a little like being a vegetarian or a Yankees fan -- there's a little bit of self-importance that goes along with it. I know all that "early to bed, early to rise" stuff, but as a relatively late sleeper and late stayer-upper, I don't think I'm any better or worse than someone who wakes at 5am every day. I don't think everyone has that attitude -- I'm surrounded by these people in my life -- but there is enough of it out there to annoy me.
Please don't hate me because I like to sleep in. I'm not a bad person.
I am not a morning person. I think that if I could do my job at night I could do it in half the time, not just because no one would be bugging me but because I have more energy and am more focused. I'd really never need to see the light of day. During the crazy year I spent in the dorms at SSU, my regular time for sleeping was 3am to noon -- it just worked for me and there was no time clock to punch or deadline I couldn't work around. That year I really slept well.
Sleeping is always an issue for me. I used to have a borderline-phobia about sleeping on Sundays -- Monday always felt like the first day of school and I'd get very anxious. That finally went away but I still have nights where I spend more time awake than asleep. I'm sure that's why mornings are just so hard for me -- if I truly slept than maybe getting out of bed wouldn't be so hard.
I think being a morning person is a little like being a vegetarian or a Yankees fan -- there's a little bit of self-importance that goes along with it. I know all that "early to bed, early to rise" stuff, but as a relatively late sleeper and late stayer-upper, I don't think I'm any better or worse than someone who wakes at 5am every day. I don't think everyone has that attitude -- I'm surrounded by these people in my life -- but there is enough of it out there to annoy me.
Please don't hate me because I like to sleep in. I'm not a bad person.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Nobody's Diary
A friend recently said she had considered shutting down her blog and it made me kind of sad. She said Facebook is really where everyone is these days and while she's completely right, it's not the same. I love all the people that I have found again and the actual repairing of relationships long since thought dead and gone that can be attributed to that magic spiderweb.
It is true that that's where "everyone" is these days, but it's only the soundbite version of what's going on in people's lives. You can keep up with the day-to-day chatter -- what they're watching on tv, what they're doing this weekend, and see a status change from "In a Relationship" to simply "Single."
What you don't get are the stories about the real things, big and small. Stress over a loved one who is sick. The funny things kids do and say. The story behind a breakup. The challenges in a new marriage. The wonder of a walk on a beautiful day.
I'm sure it's not the same for everyone, but it's an outlet I think I need. I know there are only about 4 of you out there and while I appreciate every one of you, most of this is either stuff you've already heard me say, something you already know, something mundane that isn't important in the scheme of things, or my own passive-aggressive attempt to get a message out into the universe to see if it comes back to me.
By the way, that last one doesn't work.
So, I'll keep writing my little thoughts and maybe once in a while you will read them and be happy because you know something about me that only a few other people know. Things I would never put in the wide open world of Facebook.
It is true that that's where "everyone" is these days, but it's only the soundbite version of what's going on in people's lives. You can keep up with the day-to-day chatter -- what they're watching on tv, what they're doing this weekend, and see a status change from "In a Relationship" to simply "Single."
What you don't get are the stories about the real things, big and small. Stress over a loved one who is sick. The funny things kids do and say. The story behind a breakup. The challenges in a new marriage. The wonder of a walk on a beautiful day.
I'm sure it's not the same for everyone, but it's an outlet I think I need. I know there are only about 4 of you out there and while I appreciate every one of you, most of this is either stuff you've already heard me say, something you already know, something mundane that isn't important in the scheme of things, or my own passive-aggressive attempt to get a message out into the universe to see if it comes back to me.
By the way, that last one doesn't work.
So, I'll keep writing my little thoughts and maybe once in a while you will read them and be happy because you know something about me that only a few other people know. Things I would never put in the wide open world of Facebook.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Answering Bell
Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
I wasn't a texter.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
I thought it was one more noise in an over-orchestrated world.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
I don't realize I've been holding my breath until I hear it.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
Somewhere out there -- someone is thinking about me Right This Minute.
When it's silent, I know the opposite is true as well.
It's magic and yet.....
I wish I'd never turned it on.
I wasn't a texter.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
I thought it was one more noise in an over-orchestrated world.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
I don't realize I've been holding my breath until I hear it.
Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
Somewhere out there -- someone is thinking about me Right This Minute.
When it's silent, I know the opposite is true as well.
It's magic and yet.....
I wish I'd never turned it on.
Monday, June 01, 2009
I'm Little But I'm Loud
I've been listening to music with new ears lately. A couple of weeks ago I went out to karaoke with friends and while I didn't sing (and really never plan to -- I think I'd be sick on the spot) I did have fun trying to figure out what songs were "good" for that. Which would be the least embarassing if put on the spot? There aren't many, and to my horror they all seem to be country songs.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes
About two weeks ago a couple of really interesting things happened. I remembered a little bit of who I used to be. I had a wonderful weekend with new-old friends. I smiled so much my cheeks hurt for days. My office mate asked who the "new girl" was because apparently she's not used to me being so happy.
It was the confluence of several different things that woke me up. I suddenly had all kinds of nervous energy and Could Not Sit Still. So, one morning I woke up, tied on my tennis shoes and hit the road. Forty-five minutes later I had walked 2 1/2 miles. The next day I went 3 1/2 miles. I walked and walked and walked. By the end of the week I had gone 15 miles. It's now been two weeks and I have new shoes, a ton of blisters and I've walked, at last count, 31 miles.
It's going to get hot soon and I'm not sure how many more weeks I'll be able to keep going. I've heard it takes 21 days to make or break a habit and this is one I'd like to keep up. There are treadmills at the gym but it really isn't quite the same. I've been exploring my neighborhood and have people I wave to every day. The day of a Canes game I was wearing my Matty Cullin shirt and had about 15 people honk at my on their way home.
While I'm waiting for the next magical weekend, you can find me out there, wandering the streets of Riverside. I think I belong out there.
It was the confluence of several different things that woke me up. I suddenly had all kinds of nervous energy and Could Not Sit Still. So, one morning I woke up, tied on my tennis shoes and hit the road. Forty-five minutes later I had walked 2 1/2 miles. The next day I went 3 1/2 miles. I walked and walked and walked. By the end of the week I had gone 15 miles. It's now been two weeks and I have new shoes, a ton of blisters and I've walked, at last count, 31 miles.
It's going to get hot soon and I'm not sure how many more weeks I'll be able to keep going. I've heard it takes 21 days to make or break a habit and this is one I'd like to keep up. There are treadmills at the gym but it really isn't quite the same. I've been exploring my neighborhood and have people I wave to every day. The day of a Canes game I was wearing my Matty Cullin shirt and had about 15 people honk at my on their way home.
While I'm waiting for the next magical weekend, you can find me out there, wandering the streets of Riverside. I think I belong out there.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Details in the Fabric
I have a theory about the rampant growth of Facebook. For years we have all gotten farther apart from each other -- cell phones, working from home, email, texting, instant messaging -- things have evolved to keep us at arm's length from each other. No one really talks to each other anymore.
We all lose touch (as has been the pattern for all of time) and move on into other circles and new friends. Then these really smart kids invited a site to bring people together and the whole world has swarmed to it -- wanting to feel connected to each other again. I think it's kind of nice.
We all lose touch (as has been the pattern for all of time) and move on into other circles and new friends. Then these really smart kids invited a site to bring people together and the whole world has swarmed to it -- wanting to feel connected to each other again. I think it's kind of nice.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sleeping With The Television On
I've had a crazy few weeks and a very, very fun-filled weekend. I've traveled to a battlefield, the ocean, and the desert. It doesn't matter how tired I get I simply can't sleep.
It started when I was sick a few weeks back and couldn't breathe -- I just seem to have gotten used to taking a few naps a night. I've tried Tylenol PM, cough syrup and going to bed earlier (not to mention much later).
I've always slept with the TV on -- for years and years and years. I think tonight I'll try something else. Silence. It always makes my mind race and I don't really need to encourage that, but it's worth a try.
I need the clarity that comes with rest - or maybe a good think.
It started when I was sick a few weeks back and couldn't breathe -- I just seem to have gotten used to taking a few naps a night. I've tried Tylenol PM, cough syrup and going to bed earlier (not to mention much later).
I've always slept with the TV on -- for years and years and years. I think tonight I'll try something else. Silence. It always makes my mind race and I don't really need to encourage that, but it's worth a try.
I need the clarity that comes with rest - or maybe a good think.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Fool to Think
I've been alone for a long time. When I left my last long-term relationship I thought eventually I would find another one and never expected that just wouldn't happen. I'd always been pretty lucky in love in the insulated worlds of high school and college but I guess that was like shooting fish in a barrel. The real world is a big ol' ocean and much trickier to navigate.
Please don't misunderstand. I've made great friends along the way and have built a life that I truly love. I'm not feeling sorry for myself at all -- I've just accepted my life as it is -- but everyone once in a while I'll feel like something is missing. Like I've forgotten to eat lunch or lost my keys, but of course, bigger. I'll meet someone and think, hmmmm, is this what I'm missing?...and I haven't been right yet.
I wonder if people who have all of the parts put together ever feel this way? Is this the kind of thing where whatever you have, you always want something else? The green is greener, so to speak? I'd love to find out for myself.
Please don't misunderstand. I've made great friends along the way and have built a life that I truly love. I'm not feeling sorry for myself at all -- I've just accepted my life as it is -- but everyone once in a while I'll feel like something is missing. Like I've forgotten to eat lunch or lost my keys, but of course, bigger. I'll meet someone and think, hmmmm, is this what I'm missing?...and I haven't been right yet.
I wonder if people who have all of the parts put together ever feel this way? Is this the kind of thing where whatever you have, you always want something else? The green is greener, so to speak? I'd love to find out for myself.
Was I a fool to think?
The way you looked at me
I swear you did
But you looked away too quick
Was I a fool, was I a fool to think
That you would take me home
As if I was yours
Was I a fool to think at all?
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