Category: Good

Caught

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Caught on an electric wire I wait on the wind. I am once again alive and happy to be here. I was slipping my grip on priority a few weeks ago but I’m back. A renewed force of power waits while I settle into a new groove. And settle, I will. Just you wait.
There is a new resolve to run my life the way I want, a new resolve to be who I want to be. I am not stupid, I’ve been face to face with this resolve before. My life is a giant circle – losing confidence, gaining ground. Faltering and finishing. Falling down and getting back up. This isn’t the first time I’ve found courage, found strength, found something to be. I’ll take advantage of it while it’s here.
Knitting II was cancelled but that just gives me time to enroll in knitting school – yes school. Courses, textbooks, prerequisites, labs, tests, homework, final exams. The works. I finished knitting I with a green scarf but now I’m ready to jump into the unknown. As a good friend told me, it’s all well and good to reaffirm what I already know (as in the case of knitting I), but it’s another to move into unchartered waters. So, here I go.
Yoga. I haven’t been to Now and Zen Yoga since it moved. I’m embarrassed by that fact. Now that I have this director thing worked out I have time for the more important things.
Kisa taught me some moves on the bowflex. I’ve missed strength training. Okay, I avoided it after a certain meathead left my life, but, but, but I still missed it. I like watching my muscles move, feeling strong and in charge. Peach Shirt still lingers in my memory. He follows me from the grocery store and back from the back. I’d like to be able to kick his azz if it ever came to that. Instead I’ll ignore the ache. In addition I discovered the bike path goes all the way into town – almost 3 miles. Perfect for running. I’ll start tomorrow.

I moved back into the Space, calling up some friends. If I haven’t called on you, give me time. I’m still figuring out where you are! 😉

Allegra Maud Goldman

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AllegraKonecky, Edith. Allegra Maud Goldman. New York: The Feminist Press, 1990.

This was another one of those “kid books” – about a kid coming of age, I should say. I enjoyed this much better than the Angus book. Both have witty, sarcastic, growing up girl narratives only Allegra is Jewish instead of Catholic and lives in Brooklyn, New York instead of England. She isn’t afraid to use her mind, or speak it. A few of my favorite quotes:

“Just thinking about that whole library filled with ideas, things to mull over , all sorts of new people to get to know, boggled my mind.” (p88)

“”You’ll never be really happy as a woman,” Sonia said “until you have your own sweet baby at your breast.” I recognized this as something her mother was always saying to her, but I refrained from throwing up.” (p145)

I enjoyed this book a great deal. Allegra Maud Goldman is my kind of kid. Her sense of humor stands up and takes a bow in the face if that audience called insecurity that only growing up can produce.

BookLust Twist: From Book Lust in the chapter appropriately called, “Girls Growing up” (p 101). Pearl liked Allegra as much as I did saying, “…Konecky manages to write from a child’s point of view  without ending up sounding silly, condescending or false.” (p 102)

About a Boy

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About a boyHornby, Nick. About a Boy.New York: Riverhead Books, 1998.

I have heard so much about this book. Maybe it’s because I’ve liked other Hornby books that have been made into movies~ Fever Pitch & High Fidelity. Will is a pretty interesting character. He’s a single guy, bound and determined to never work a day in his life. He spends his time watching movies, listening to music and trolling for women. His newest tactic is to join SPAT (Single Parents Alone – Together). Needless to say, he’s not a single parent. In reality he hates kids. He’s callous and shallow but you can’t help but like him, especially when he gets involved with Fiona and her 12 year old son Marcus.

“There were about seventy-nine squillion people in the world, and if you were very lucky, you would end up being loved by 15-20 of them” (p147).

One of the things that struck me about this story is the philosophical ending. Marcus is a boy who acts too old for his age, too serious for his youth while Will acts too young for his years, too immature for the adulthood he is in. In the end they learn to swap maturities – growing down and up. Now I want to see the movie.

BookLust Twist: From both Book Lust and More Book Lust. In More Book Lust About a Boy is in the Chapter, “Dick Lit” (p.79). If you are scratching your head, think chick lit. Get it?

Dear you

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I know the run today was hard. Only 4 miles and it hurt like hell. Hang in there. Seriously, there are a hundred hooks to hang your blame on – it was too hot, allergies were kicking your butt, too many cars backing out of driveways without looking, too many busy intersections to cross, you never got your breathing settled, and all you could really think about was the humility of going up an underwear size…I know, I know. Let it pass. The important thing is you got out there. You gave it your best and your best is all you’ve ever got, right? Am I right?

Think of it this way. You inhaled lilacs on the bridge; you saw angels in the yard; Christmas is everlasting at house #57; you avoided the dog crap at the maples; that guy finally had his Lab on a leash; instinct told you to stay away from the man with the motorcycle on the bike path; you didn’t smile at unknown kayakers and, and, and you ran 4 miles.
Enough said.

Almost Over

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I love this time of year. Winter’s chill is nearly off the bone and spring’s sweet breath lies in the fragrance of flowers. It’s warm enough to walk at dusk. I wonder at the wisteria hanging gracefully from neighbor’s vines, but it’s really the lilacs I am after. I stalk their scent like an addicted lover. I’m not brave enough to steal, though. May is almost over and so are the lilacs. Like melting ice cream they cannot stay forever. As May winds down so do their blooms. Melting, melting like ice cream.

I’ve decided I can and will make it to Monhegan this weekend. Mother says the lilacs on the island are behind, barely buds. Like a migratory bird I need to fly home. Maybe the lilacs will welcome me. Maybe I’ll welcome myself. I’ll pack books, knitting, running shoes and a journal. Early in the morning I’ll read a chapter or two or three. Maybe I’ll go to the Cove and read by drying tidepools and squawking gulls, smell the salty air, pause for seashells and glass. Early in the afternoon I’ll run over rocks, roots and ruts. Maybe I’l’l head to Cathedral and say a little prayer for strong legs, a good heart and clear mind. The quiet of woods will be wonderful. At sunset I’ll write in my journal (thank you sweet P for my kitty journal!) – away from emails, blogs and spaces. Maybe I’ll write for real and send a postcard or two. By candlelight I’ll knit a few rows, purl a few more. Maybe I’ll finish the wrap for my mother. Maybe I’ll start another book. Maybe I’ll coax lilacs to bloom. Maybe I’ll watch sunsets in silence. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Here’s what I know. Lilacs don’t last forever. Neither does life. I have to enjoy it before it melts away.

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.

Dream Sean Away Rowe Lodge

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Every once in a while it’s great to break of out the crate and do something a little different. Kisa, Aimless and I wandered off to Becket last night. Not Ball player Beckett or the Waiting for Godot kind… but the place that hides the Dream Away Lodge.
I could spend a whole blog on where we went, but I’d rather talk about why we went – Sean Rowe. I do have to say a few words about DAL, though. From the very beginning it was a kind of kismet experience. Aimless was talking about going somewhere because her friend worked with someone who happened to be the girlfriend of someone performing. Kisa and I were going to that same place simply because of that someone performing. Unplanned plans. We decided to carpool. We both forgot the directions. DAL is advertised as the place impossible to forget, impossible to find. That’s nearly accurate because the place is out there – in the middle of nowhere out there. Once you’re there, you’re there and you know it. It’s a farmhouse, a restaurant, a bar, a hippie hangout, a family experience, a speakeasy and maybe once a brothel. From every corner of the room, covering every wall, art and artifacts stare back at you (I swear I saw Gehring). Dogs roam freely among diners, cats wait for behind the ear scratches. Fresh flowers on every table, mismatched plates at your elbows. Wander from room to room with your coffee, maybe kick off your shoes in front of the fire. Listen to the music as long as you respect the tip jar.

Like I said, we were there for Sean and *that* voice. I was too shy to reintroduce myself from the night with Soul Session so I lurked on the fringe of requests and compliments and just smiled. “Remember me?” just seemed too lame an utterance, especially when the answer would have been “no.”
‘Alone’ is one of my favorite songs. I could have asked him to sing that one three or four times…in a row. Might have annoyed some members of the audience, but I wouldn’t have minded! I’m always amazed that one guy with one guitar comes out with so much sound. I love the illusion of hearing trains and drums and heatbeats, all phantoms to reality. Sean has a new song…I don’t know the name of it – but it’s about crashing a car. It’s intense, mesmerizing and dangerous. I could have stayed all night. Surrounded by homemade pillows and a crackling fireplace, I let the music invade my ears, tangle with my brain and thrill my heart only to escape in the cool night air, uncaptured and unconfined for another time.

I want to go back to DAL – eat dinner with the dogs at my knee, sit by the fire with a glass of Merlot and feel at home, lost in Becket.

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.

The Paperboy (with Spoiler)

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PaperboyDexter, Pete. The Paperboy. New York: Random House, 1995.

For the longest time I have been concentrating on books that begin with the letter ‘A’ such as About Time, Animal Dreams, and Awakening. As if getting through the A titles would be the most reasonable thing to do first. When The Paperboy by Pete Dexter showed up at my library I felt it was a sign to read it. Especially since it’s on The List and academics don’t keep books like The Paperboy around. I listen to signs.

The Paperboy is an intriguing first-person tale about two brothers working to prove the innocence of a man convicted of murdering Moat County Sheriff Thurmond Call. As Hillary Van Wetter sits on death row, looking as guilty as a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar, Jack James and his journalist brother Ward investigate the events leading up to the murder. They get help along the way from Van Wetter’s girlfriend – an apparent death row groupie – as well as other interesting characters.
All the evidence leads towards Van Wetter’s innocence until one day it doesn’t. Instead of all hell breaking loose purgatory unfolds, unwinds for the brothers, slow and sinister like a boa constrictor unfurling itself from a tree limb. Things go from bad to worse until dark becomes death. I couldn’t put it down for three days straight. Even though I saw Ward’s suicide coming the instant he wanted to know more about swimming it still took me by surprise when it finally happened. 

BookLust Twists: From Nancy Pearl’s Book Lust and More Book Lust. In Book Lust in the chapter “First Lines to Remember” Pearl draws attention to Dexter’s first line, “My brother Ward was once a famous man”‘ (p.86) and in More Book Lust in the chapter called “O Brother!” (p180).

Animal Dreams

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Animal DreamsKingsolver, Barbara. Animal Dreams. New York: HarperPerennial, 1990.

I wish I could remember the first time I read a Kingsolver novel. I know I was hooked on Atwood before Kingsolver, so there must have been something about Animal Dreams that made me think it was reminiscent of Handmaid’s Tale. I’m guessing there was something about a strong female voice, for starters, since that’s what drew me to Handmaid in the first place. It was more than that, really. If you read Handmaid outloud Offred comes alive; she’s in the room with you. Same with Codi from Animal Dreams.
Animal Dreams is, by far, my favorite Kingsolver book. I have read it countless times, passed it on to others just as many times, marked up every copy I own with bold underlining and exclamation points. It’s the book I pick up just to relive a chapter or a sentence. It’s the book I call Essential and would rush into a burning building to save.

To start from the beginning,  Animal Dreams is about a woman (around my age) who comes home to take care of her aging father. She also becomes the biology teacher at the local high school. She’s been away awhile so she’s awkward in her re-entry to hometown life. Memories stagger and stumble back into her heart and mind from time to time. She has a cool name (Cosima but goes by Codi) and a cool way of looking at the world. She adores her sister, Halimeda, and barely remembers life when her mom was alive. Her dad is crusty and unforgiving, loving and fumbling. As a result Codi is tough and sensitive. She views coming home like I do, “hoping for forgiveness for something I can’t quite apologize for.” (p12) While home she faces the complication of an old love and the tragedy of a town endangered by a poisoned water supply.

BookTwist: From Nancy Pearl’s Book Lust in the chapter “Ecofiction” (p 78). Although Pearl inaccurately calls Codi “Cosi”, I’m glad she included my favorite Kingsolver novel. 

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.

Hike For Discovery

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Grand CanyonI swear the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society comes up with a different program every six months. This time it’s “Hike for Discovery.” They call it their “new fundraising adventure program.” It’s brilliant, really. Think about it. LLS is known for training people to run marathons, bike hundreds of miles, swim across tons of water. If all that feels a little intimidating here’s something for you – hiking! Sounds simple enough, right? Walking – putting one foot in front of the other. Here’s the event they are recruiting for and you tell me: The Grand Canyon. Yes, the G R A N D C A N Y O N! October 4-8. They cleverly don’t tell you how many miles you hike per day but let this be a potential lesson: you train beforehand. That should tell you something right there. You learn hiking techniques (besides putting one foot in front of the other), you receive a year membership in the American Hiking Society. There are clinics on first aid, hydration, and trail safety. They say nothing about snake bites specifically but that’s the first thing I thought of when I saw the words “Grand Canyon”…but, forget all that – I would have failed with the hydration part alone!

I would love to do this. It sounds hard. It sounds fun. Here’s what’s holding me back – the fund raising. I don’t think I could ask my friends and family for another two grand, despite the fact someone I love dearly is battling a blood related cancer right now. I’m too chick-chick-chicken to go through that again! So, if someone else signs up for this, let me know! I’ll donate something.

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.