Category: Life

TongueTied & Tired

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I have this friend who thinks before he speaks and takes a long time to reply. It used to annoy me. I wasn’t patient enough to understand his careful approach to words. I was too busy being offended, too busy thinking I was being ignored.
I understand my friend’s silence today more than ever. I have been away for nearly a week and while I have many, many things I could write about, some of those experiences are too profound to put into words quite yet. I need time to savor and digest. Being home was way too short. I didn’t have time to hurt when I left and that’s never a good thing. Being with mom was too short. I heard stories about her life that stun me, humble me, make me proud to be her daughter. I went to my first Memorial Day parade and cried tears of shame. Someone at my side, a Vietnam vet in a wheelchair muttered, “we are not a nation unless we are a nation at war” when a man shook his hand and welcomed him home.
I have so much to ponder, so much to be silent about. I think it’s enough just to say I am here. Welcome home.

Hang My Heart

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Spent some time in West Cornwall, CT this weekend. If you are keeping track, yes, I’m quite the jet setter – it was Becket on Friday. Call me crazy!
It’s amazing how the heart works. I’m talking about the spiritually one that can be broken and mended, cut up and cured. When I first got to West [not England] Cornwall I was new girl at new school nervous. More than once I questioned me, myself and I… ‘what am I doing here?’ I stuck out even though I was not wearing a dress this time. I should have been carrying a paddle…or something. I felt quite homeless and pictured holding a picture asking, “have you seen this man?” It was this man who had me tied tongue and silent. I didn’t ask. Didn’t know what to expect. It’s one thing to say you care, it’s one thing to have the label “friend”, but it’s quite another to have to prove it. I placed my bets on #34 and turned away, horribly right and missing out. I missed the water but got the prize.
When I finally found him talk was like frozen water. Time was the sunshine I needed. Seven hours and seven conversations later words were like rapids. I drove away with an ache. I missed my friend; the 21-years-later-and-I-can-still-find-a-laugh friend.

I feel like the button that has fallen off and found again. Resewn on, but not quite fitting the way it or I used to. True, talk came easier and easier until I felt almost well-worn and close to comfortable. Then time ran out. I wish you were closer. I wish words were cheap(er). I honestly believe tongue biting is for the boring. Say what you want, whenever you want. Tell me more. In this life we are always talking someone down from the ledge or off the bridge. It’s better than not talking at all.

Two Sides of Guilty as Hell

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I told my husband I would blog about this. There is no way that I can’t. The irony struck me in the face last night and I’m still reeling from the assault. I should start from the beginning only I can’t. I won’t. Out of loyalty, out of respect I won’t fuel the fire more than it already has been. BUT just so that I’m not another babbling idiot I will say this – my husband is dealing with more crap than he deserves. Someone in his circle of life has been accused of a crime (well, a few) and there is no way this person is innocent. Not 100%. No way in Hell. Anyway you look at the situation this guy is at fault in some way. Whether it’s 5% guilty or 100% it still spells Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. All the way in trouble and it troubles me. It’s a classic case of he said, she said, she said he did. No way to really sort it out. No way to walk away. Can’t deny, can’t ignore. Especially for kisa. He didn’t ask for this, but there it is.

So that’s one side of guilty – here’s the other. My husband received a letter from the DMV – no wait, RMV…No, I think I had it right the first time – DMV. Anyway, the Registry, Division, Department, the something of Motor Vehicles. I immediately assumed it was a registration renewal or something mundane, something ho hum. Disinterested, I turned back to shaking worcestershire sauce and montreal seasoning on the burgers…until I heard him swearing and muttering “‘not again.” Turns out the state of California thinks my husband travels across the country to treat their roadways as his own private German autobahn…and then drives home again…to New England. The RMV/DMV is revoking his license at the end of the month because someone with his same name and birthday drives like an idiot somewhere on the west coast. There are three driving offenses listed in the letter and kisa was obviously at work for every single one. There is no way he is guilty of anything mentioned in the letter. Nevertheless, here’s the kicker – he has to take time away from his already fukced up life to take care of the situation…again. Yes, this has happened before – before I met him. Kisa’s betting it’s the same wackjob who doesn’t know how to operate a moving vehicle. What are the chances?

So. Last night as I was brushing my teeth I was thinking about guilt – the obvious kind and the obviously not. Kisa operates on the fine line of There Is No Way This Is Happening To Me. Yet it is. Two sides of guilty. Drive carefully.

Where I Started

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I am sick, sick, sick of the mother question. I’m beginning to hate Mother’s Day just because it somehow gives people license to ask me that mother of all questions, “when are you having a baby?” What’s with the when and why are you asking me? Why on Mother’s Day? If it’s not in the form of a question it’s a statement, “well, when you have kids…” Like it’s a given that experience is definitely going to happen. To Me. I think the parenting question should be right up there with sex, politics and religion. Personally, if I don’t offer the information that should mean I don’t want to talk about it. In simpler terms it’s none of your business.
When faced with the When question I think of all the responses I could give. To say we’re not ready implies something shameful. Like we haven’t grown up enough to hurl ourselves into the act raising a child. Like we haven’t prepared enough and will fail the big parenting exam. We’ve been goofing off in the back row of life.
To say we can’t afford children indicates a poverty level beyond the bank account. We’re bankrupt in love for children and can only think (selfishly) of ourselves. We’re not willing to give up, to sacrifice, the luxuries of travel and concerts and good food for the sake of having a junior to call our own. At least that’s the perception if we say kids are expensive.
To say I’m afraid of the pain only results in smirks and looks of IfIDidItWhyCan’tYou? Can’t even go there with mothers who endured labor for endless hours without meds. It’s not enough to shrug and say, “I’m not you.” Shame on me.
To say we’re afraid of being bad parents implies we didn’t like our own upbringing; that somehow we’re afraid we’ll turn out just like “them” or worse yet, we’ve insulted our elders. The question that inevitably follows is, “what’s wrong with the way you were raised?” Don’t get me started.
There’s only one Shut-Them-Up answer out there. We can’t have kids. Period. I mean, how does one respond to a woman who point blank says “I’m infertile. Thanks for asking…”? The consequence of such a statement is the danger of coming across as damaged goods, a female with faulty wiring. A royal fukc up in another life. “Do not confront me with my failures…I have not forgotten them” ~ Jackson Brown.

Better not mention adoption unless you want your head bitten off.

Mark Your Calendars

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CloserI think I’ve said it before. I don’t set my vcr, time my Tivo, or race home to watch many shows as they air. In the past it was Northern Exposure and Home Front. I can still watch old episodes of NE. Quirky and classic, I loved every one. Home Front…well, it won a People’s Choice award but promptly went off the air. That should tell you something.

With the advent of only watching Tivo’ed programing I have to admit sports, news and weather are the only things I want to watch live-as-it-happens. As for all the rest, why sit through commercials when you can fast forward through most of them? I say most because I still love the car commercial about the tiny legs and big head and the sleep-aid commercial with the meth-making astronaut. We are becoming a segmented society – downloading one or two songs instead of buying the whole album, reading an article instead of subscribing to the whole journal, weeding out what’s on television by DVR…

Having said all that, TNT’s The Closer is the only drama…(read: the only program period) worth watching “live”…when it actually airs. Tivo is strictly for watching it again. And again. Late night with friends. So, mark your calendars. Season III starts June 18th. And for cleaning out Season II from your Tivo directory…the DVD goes on sale May 29th.

The Great Training Lie

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I used to tell people I trained all by myself for the LLS half marathon. All alone. While it was true that I never made it to a training session (45 minutes away), I never met my coach, and I never ran with a group of like-minded individuals to say that I trained alone is a huge lie. It’s my all-time greatest training lie. So, here for the first time I would like to publicly thank the people who pulled me through 13.1 miles exactly one year ago today.

  • My mother. Her story of losing her mom to cancer (at MY age) broke my heart and built resolve in its place. I would not have even considered the venture if it hadn’t been for her. One of my favorite “mom” stories is not only did my mother research hotels with gyms so that I could train on the road, but she diligently tried out every exercise machine in said gym to keep me company while I ran for 90 minutes. One of my favorite mother-daughter conversations came out of that training session.
  • My sister. Race day she brought her whole family to NH stand in the pouring rain while I tackled the thirteen. She has friends who run more important, full marathons yet she made me feel like my run was a big deal to her. Running was that much easier knowing she was waiting at the finish line.
  • My husband. He got donations from coworkers to help with my fund raising efforts. He stuck to my diet better than I did. He stuck to my training schedule better than I did. He became my Miyagi after I got hurt, taping my knee before every run, coming with me to PT appointments, riding along side me when I ran, all the while asking, “how does the knee feel? Talk to me.”
  • Dr. John. Even though my knee was blown, he kept saying “We’ll get you through this.” My weekly sometimes twice weekly visits with him made me feel better about how I was taking care of the patella “issue” (because as John says life is one big issue).
  • Sarah. Her endless enthusiasm for my endeavor was infectious. She remained supportive even after I showed signs of giving up. Her attitude kept me positive every literal step of the way.
  • Gregory. I asked a bunch of people for music advice. I needed driving beats that would carry me through the harder miles (okay, the hills). Greg was the only one to come through. It the end, it was his drumming I heard the loudest and loved the best.
  • Bessie & my dad. Their ghosts were the angels that sat on my shoulder, whispered to me in lucid dreams and fueled my waking imagination.
  • Ruth. Her pragmatic approach to my bellyaching was to say simply, “you can do this.” Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes, that’s all I needed.
  • Honorable mentions: Nick, Rebecca, Carolyn, George & Joanie. All of them picked up running because of me in some weird way. Rebecca and Carolyn went on to run in some pretty important races and Nick (the guy who hated running) could probably kick my butt in a distance race these days. I am proud those still running. You guys rock! My knee has crippled my ability but not my spirit and I run through your endeavors.

So, while I SAY I trained alone, really I didn’t. I had an army of support. I am proud of what I accomplished one year ago today and I have every person mentioned here to thank. Couldn’t have done it without you.

Missing You

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I can feel it. It’s starting again, that dull ache called homesick. Is there no cure? This isn’t my computer, but I know the feeling. I want to be there, too. Now. Memorial Day weekend is about remembering and usually I head home for a week to forget. Forget how to drive a car. Forget how to send an email. Send how to crunch reference statistics. Forget how to be corporate. Forget how to answer the phone. Forget petty squabbles and horn-honkers. It’s when I relearn how to run over roots and rocks. Retrain my eye to soak up sunsets and search for seaglass. Remember how to breathe in salt ladden air and sweet pine. Concentrate on cracking the lobster claw, clinking the wine glass.
Not this time. Not this trip. I am missing you just a little longer this year. Homesick for another month.

When You Win

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I spent three hours sitting in a round table discussion today only we were in a giant rectangle. I was the only academic in a sea of publics and yes, it felt weird. Three hours of WhatAmIDoingHere? and IsThisAWasteOfTime? I couldn’t decide. It was like sleeping with the enemy, or more politely, seeing how the other half lives. But, all the while I felt unproductive as excuse my language.

Maybe it was the three hours wasted. Maybe it was the extra 25 minute drive to work. Maybe sunlight just reached a darkened part of my brain. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, the light came on when I got to work and I came up with a solution to a dilemma from a few weeks ago. I don’t know made me think collaboration but suddenly, there it was in front of my face – the answer to the delivery problem. I had felt like a loser all day until suddenly I won.

Together

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I’ve been thinking about relationships as of late. I think it’s because in knitting class we talked about what it means to be married and widowed at the same time. Married for life even through one half’s death. My swan of a mother is still that way, married for life despite walking through it alone.
When kisa and I took a walk today we discussed what exactly was a liveable life. We were talking about careers and work that could take us away from each other for long periods of time. I was firm in my belief that I didn’t get married to be alone. Kisa is my glass half full, my sunshine on a cloudy day, my resuscitator when I want to flat-line, my better half. I couldn’t untangle my heart from his if I tried.
A friend of mine got engaged over the weekend. I’m excited for her. (Can’t wait to see the ring!!!) After hanging up the phone Kisa and I had fun remembering our first years together – the interesting “date” at the bar, moving in together (what is this stuff???), getting engaged (one of my all time embarrassing moments), getting married…all of it including the mistakes we made, all the fun we had finding our way together. Despite all that I still think now is the happiest time of our lives.
I wish my friend well. This is only the beginning. As they say, the best is yet to come.

Happy Birthday

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I have been thinking of you all day. You are 70 today, or you would have been if 9/21/92 didn’t mark another kind of day. Happy Birth Day. But sadday, too. Can I tell you I miss our breakfast table morning talks? There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of something to tell you, something to ask you. Am I living this life right? Where’s the Chilton manual for that? While I question this life, I speak of you often – telling stories of navigation lessons gone awry and near disaster driving lessons. Remember when I almost put the land rover in the ditch? You live on in my fondest, most cherished memories. Just today I told the Clean Your Room Story. My audience laughed and said you were right to throw the bed through the ceiling. As usual, you were proving a point. I was a rebellious, bratty child.
You ran with me today. You were in my head as I tackled five miles. I think that’s the thing that would shock you the most, dad. I’m a runner. Me. The child with her nose in a book, inside on a beautiful sunny summer day. I still can hear you telling me to get my butt outside. I can still remember how “put out” I felt by your insistence of “get some fresh air.” You probably knew that while I begrudgingly obeyed…I brought my book with me. Anything athletic was out of the question for this book worm – slug. But, now I run.
Dad, I need your help with so many things lately. I’m in denial about a friend’s cancer. I’ve just spent three days with like-minded professionals and somehow I can’t put myself in their league. I feel like I’m in the kiddie pool when I know I can swim. I really can’t but that’s neither here nor there. I worry about so many different things to the point of heat blisters and bald spots. I get lost staring at kisa playing Guitar Hero II. It’s distracting. You would not believe this world we live in. Kids have wheels in their shoes. You would want to trip them. There’s a guy on the Internet, his name is Justin and his whole life is on the web…Dad, his whole life. Then there’s Twitter and something called Second Life. So many things I wouldn’t even know how to begin to explain to you.

But, forget all that. If you were here we’d make meatloaf and have angel food cake for dessert. Happy birthday.

I Spy Too Shy

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I wanted to take pictures straight up, head on, face forward, but lost my nerve. When I finally faced face I focused off center. I’m still shy because I still feel groupie. Period. So, I took pictures like a lesson in prepositions – around, behind, along, beside. Never really in front though. Next time will be better. When I breathe.
This is one of my favorite pictures from the night. It’s how I felt the entire time – there but not completely believing it. There but in a surreal state of pleasant surprise. Lurking on the fringe. Who knew it would be that cool? Who knew it would be that elaborate? Five cameras, five professionals. Audio. Director. Cameramen. Groupies. But, that’s not why it’s been almost a week and I’m still talking about it. It was a night filled with a room full of friends.

When I deleted MyThatSpace I went through all the motions of saying yes, I really want this account gone. Yes, I really, really do. Then I realized I left a letter behind. Luckily, they gave me 48 hours to clean out my locker. If I could have gathered all the special notes, the Frankie pics, the sweet things people have said, I would have. Instead, like a crazy lady I ran back into the burning building just to save one thing. Words of sincere friendship. Not the BS you read in lyrics, or the kind of empty gratitude you get in an email because you’ve written a check. Not the double-standard, two-faced, fake-smiling you get because you are constantly trying to bring someone else up. No love for who you are, simply because of you.

I was taught a lesson in kindness last week. It has taken me six days to think it through. Just because you think something isn’t a big deal, no skin off your nose, that doesn’t mean it isn’t to someone else. Does that make sense? Acts of kindness you shrug off could make all the different to someone else.

Needing This

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Such a long day. MLA & running in the same day. Yahoo tells me I have 167 new emails. I don’t have the heart to even look. I have to wonder what Gmail says. Can’t bear to look there either. Not today.

The day started out innocently enough. Fill the tank with gas, fill the wallet with toll money. Directions in hand. Good to go. MLA was a mix of What Am I Doing Here and Here I Am. The Massachusetts Library Association annual conference is geared more towards public libraries and at times I felt sorely out of place, but…But, with things headed the way they are, I’ve needed to tell myself I’m one of them. This conference is called “Branching Out” after all! The coolest part? I got to see The Nancy Pearl! In the flesh! Rock Star Nancy! She’s exactly like I thought she would be. Did I introduce myself? No. Did I even talk to her? No. Too star struck. I won’t be tomorrow, though – Tomorrow I’m bringing both Book Lusts for the geek of all geeks request for autographs. Today, today I didn’t even have a pen. I sat in each presentation knitting. Yes, knitting. More accurately, knit, pearl, knit, pearl, knitting. I drew attention and eventually enjoyed showing off my blossoming scarf (pics coming soon). It’s coming out better than I expected. I really, really like it.
Note to self: Greatest Salesman and Jill Stover.
The best quote of the day: “I enjoy the scenery more when I know where I’m going. Or, the scenery looks better when I don’t know I’m lost.”

Driving is the best way to get psyched for a run. After being cramped in the car I really long to stretch the legs and move them out from under me. Despite a killer headache and a detour to work I surprised myself by still wanting to hit the streets when I got home. I further shocked myself with where I went. For those of you who know the route: Look Park, Get Head Jesus, Jackson Street, Child Park, Killer Hill (by the Porch People), Home. Fun run. I just wish I had someone to run it with me.

It would have been a four mile run, but I inadvertently flirted with a truck driver (thanks to the nonexistent SPB), but that’s a letter for another day. Thanks to uncontrollable giggling and an urge to race away from my embarrassment it turned out to be a 5.2 miler. I felt like I could run forever. I really like running right before the sun sets. I love how my long shadow leads the way. I love how the colors of dusk give off a glow. I want to carry a camera. I want to bottle the smells – someone doing laundry, someone turning soil for a garden, someone mowing a lawn, something on the stove or in the oven – either way, something for dinner. I passed the heady smell of spring, some unidentified bloom that smelled amazing. I almost stopped in my tracks. I have no idea what it was.

Now I need a hot tub. I need a glass of wine. When the red is off my face I’ll remember the man in the truck. For now I need to keep that to myself.

Pardon Me

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Someone told me I had been written about – or they guessed it was about me, or To me, or something. I don’t usually go there so I wouldn’t know, or didn’t know. I’ll admit I started to read it then decided I couldn’t decide if I should know. I finally stopped. I didn’t finish because I couldn’t read on. But, like a girl I still waivered. What if it really was about me or to me, or something? Indecisive nature can be the death of me, myself & moi  so I decided it wasn’t about me… but I would respond…just to be safe. In true passive aggressive form I am not sending this TO you and it’s even less about you. In all things ego, it’s really all about me. Just in case. In all actuality this is something I need to say, just to get it out there.

I never meant to stand in your face and say, “you are no longer my friend.” To my knowledge I’ve only done that once before in my life. Even then I did it in typical moi fashion and wrote the words down. No face to face there either. A coward through and through. But, that is neither here nor there. Back to you…errr…me..or…something.

The bottom line is this: you said some things that angered me. I retaliated the only way I knew how – by writing. You were angry that I embarrassed you – (volley on the anger quota) – only you failed to notice I took the utmost care in removing your responsibility to the words. You reclaimed ownership by your outburst. You wanted people to know what you said by repeating those words. It was proof that you don’t know me – I write to move on. It’s the only way I can move on. Once I get it out (for the most part), it’s gone. You reviving it and giving it ugly life was an indication that you didn’t understand ME. I had no choice but to disown your words and, by default, you. In my heart of hearts I really think it was a mutual agreement. I’m okay with that.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I see the world as a dangerous place to be. The clouds overhead are always a little grayer in My world, the glass in my hand more than little less half full all the time. My face rarely hurts from grinning (Friday night was a first in forever). It’s easier being sad Eeyore than bouncy Tigger. Don’t get me wrong. I love my life but I struggle to stay smiling seven days a week. I don’t sail through this world whistling a tune. That is precisely why I surround myself with people who either through logic, love or laughter guide me through life and lift me up. I need the people who will help me see straight when I’m stressing, sigh when I lose my wallet or my mind, show strength when I’m broken, but mostly, smile because they truly love messed up me. Bottom line – they understand me.

I have learned a valuable lesson about friendships. Like rocky shores need the tide’s coming and going to survive, certain people stay in your life while other people drift out for a reason. I wouldn’t be here today if those coming or goings didn’t happened. I need the tide and all that it brings…or…takes away.

The Letter or It Was Something You Said

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I took a day off from writing to collect my thoughts. I didn’t want to tell my friend my mind was blown just as much as his. For different reasons. For the same reasons. But, I’ll get to that – eventually.

I was going to blog about the whole experience. From top to bottom I wanted to relive the whole night. It’s this urge I have. I always want to be the life reporter that I profess to be. There is no denying this one night’s experience was one of the coolest things I’ve ever been a part of and my head is still reeling. But. Big but. I find myself thinking along other lines. About other things. Writing has always been a big part of who I am. From gawd-awful love letters in the 5th grade to confessional blogs at 2am some 27 years later. I have always expressed myself with words. Usually it’s the writing, not the reading, that sets me free. Not this time. I read three things this weekend. Three very different things all with the same theme: friendship. This time it was the reading that unburdened me.

In the 8th grade I had a penpal who shared my same writing philosophy. Our motto was, “No letter left unanswered!” So, no matter when or how I wrote she would write back. Always. Our second motto was, “give what you get.” So, if I wrote a “letter” on the back of a gum wrapper I’d get juicyfruit mail in return. “IGOO57C” was a common sentiment (think Eric Clapton circa 1982).

So, like I said I read things this weekend. You said something to me. You deserve something back. Stay tuned.

Entitled to Tell You So

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How could I not exclaim I Told You So when it was all over? I said it would happen and so it did. Now what? The barbarians have stormed the gates and now we are knee deep in repairs. [I realize that people read these blogs and for most, this particular one is in the shadows. I’ve left the lights off. Sorry you are in the dark, but you wouldn’t understand. It would take forever for me to explain it and the sad thing is I’m not even sure I know. I do know I can say Told You So.]

THEY came on campus today. For less than a week I have known about their arrival. Not enough time to really do anything about it. More than enough time to worry, though. Maybe that was their plan all along because worry I did. For four days I worried in the form of ranting. I felt brick walled, stone walled and walled in. Friends offered advice and while that calmed me it was only a temporary fix. When alone anxiety circled and fear soon followed. My fault is that I don’t have faith. I do not believe.

They came on campus today and asked the questions I anticipated. I opened my mouth before gobbledegook could come from somewhere else. I speculated, I suspected, I assumed, I answered and in the end I promised. Promised I would remedy the situation – the very situation I was made aware of four days ago. I was not as silent as some would have hoped.

They left campus. Gates stormed and now I’m left feeling revealed and vulnerable. As I pick up the pieces of my castle I know this is what I asked for. There is a hint of a smile on my face. I’m in pieces but it’s a chance to rebuild. I didn’t know this would happen. I wish I told you this, too.