rain

gr4c56 Comments

It’s the only time my mind is bombarded with lyrics – when it rains. Drives me crazy but comforts me all the same. Madonna (“Rain”), Matchbox 20 (“She only sleeps when it’s raining”), Natalie Merchant (“I’ve been walking all alone through the wind and through the rain”), Dave Matthews (“Gravedigger, when you dig my grave could you make it shallow so that I can feel the rain”, Eurythmics (“Here comes the rain again”), Rebecca Correia (“Rain, how’s it feelin’ babe” and “I’ve got all the blue skies in your eyes combined, so bring on the the rain”), Bob Dylan (“Buckets of rain”), the Grateful Dead (“Box of Rain”), Eric Clapton (“praying for the healing rain”), and even Gordon Lightfoot (“rainy day people…”) have been singing to me all morning.

I don’t know what makes the rain so beautiful to me, especially today. Maybe it’s that first day back to work, matching my get-down-to-business attitude. Can’t think of anything else but writing proposals, drafting policies, scheduling fall classes, wading through tons of email…No running, no “I should be outside” guilt trip, no other plans but getting back into the professional world. Weird how I missed it. I needed to be away, yet cannot stay away.

I’m thinking I’d like to learn a new “hobby”. Any ideas? Bring on the rain.

Clear Path International

gr4c56 Comments

Too Many YearsMy first exposure to Clear Path was through Natalie. She provided a song on a benefit cd (Too Many Years) which was released in the spring of 2005. Even before that I knew Natalie was involved in the project. She would talk about CPI’s mission during her shows. She called such conversations (when she wasn’t singing) “patter”. I called it education for she was always talking about charities near and dear to her. CPU caught my attention when it broke my heart. So I donated. When I ordered the cd I asked to be put CPI’s mailing list for their biannual newletter and discovered I went to school with the vice president and the Cambodia advisor. Small world. They don’t know I subscribe to their newsletter, nor would they recognize my name when I donate. I’m a different person, literally and figuratively, since high school. But aren’t we all? 

But, I digress. Here’s the quick and dirty about CPI: Clear Path International is a six year old nonprofit out of (U.S.) Bainbridge Island, Wash. and Dorset, VT. They have offices in Vietnam, Cambodia & Thailand (the places that really make sense) as well. Their mission is to serve the families and communities who are victim to landmines and oh so much more.  Their website is chock full of information – including a blog of videos worth checking out.

                                                    CPI logo

Caught

gr4c57 Comments

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! 😉

TNT

gr4c5Leave a comment

TNTThe Leukemia & Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training organization contacted me again this week. There is a part of me that almost outwardly groans “why can’t you leave me alone?” while another part of me thinks I really should reconsider another half marathon. I’ve already proved I can run five miles without issue. What’s another eight? Yeah, right. Eight point one. Tell that to my knee. Better yet, tell that to my husband! I’m sure either would love to hear that I could be saddling up for another 13 miler. No, I don’t’ think so. I’m seriously considering that Grand Canyon hike LLS mentioned earlier. I know I need to do something!

I ran Wednesday. Another four miles. I like four. It’s a good number. It’s a good number for my knees. This time my legs took me to a different cemetary and somewhere I haven’t been in a long time – the park. Running around Look was a blast from the past. It’s where I hurt my knee. It’s where I fell to earth. To ward off the demons I ran in the opposite direction of how I used to. I think I conquered the past pain. It felt good to glide around elderly couples holding hands and walking slow, past young mothers pushing strollers and gossiping, and giving dog walkers a wide berth. Ducks in the stream, parties at the picnic tables. It felt good period.

Allegra Maud Goldman

gr4c5Leave a comment

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)

On the Side of Angels

gr4c55 Comments

I donated to Susan G. Komen for the Cure. I donated but that doesn’t mean they are going to give up asking me for more. They shouldn’t.This week I got yet another Dear Friend letter and…note-cards, complete with envelopes. I think this is a guilt tactic. A subliminal “what do you think these note cards are worth and could you pay us that for sending them to you?” They are nice cards…but I didn’t ask for them. Maybe it’s a hint that I owe a few people some letters and I should get on my butt and write them.

Here’s what I want to say, “Dear SGKFTC, You are preaching to the choir. When you tell me the stats on breast cancer it’s something I already know. Cancer is something that scares the clear thinking out of me. You say my donation can make a difference but I don’t think it does. Why else would I get another Dear Friend so soon after my last check was sent?” I know exactly what you are going to say. We should never stop. I believe you. Cancer is killing someone you know right now. It starts in the breast, you fight the good fight and breathe a sigh of relief. It comes back in the hip, you fight the good fight and breathe a shaky sigh of relief. It shows itself in the jaw, you fight the good fight and breathe a troubled sigh of relief. Now it’s in the spine, you’re fighting the good fight and there is a sigh, but not of relief. The sigh comes from knowing cancer doesn’t give up. So. Neither should Komen. Neither should you. Donate today.

It Could Have

gr4c57 Comments

I don’t know whether it was my overly active imagination or the man apparently following me, but I was so scared. It happened yesterday at a rest area. When I pulled in to the parking lot I wasn’t thinking about anything but walking, changing my clothes, peeing, and fueling up before the rest of my journey home. I wasn’t thinking period. It was a beautiful day so I parked as far away from the rest area center as possible. I was nearly in the trucker lot. I wanted to stretch my legs as much as possible while crossing the parking lot. Stretch and enjoy the sun. There wasn’t another parked car within 10 spots on any side of me – I was that far away from the hubbub of the center. I cannot stress that enough. To my surprise someone pulled up right next to me. Startled someone would park just as far away from the center, yet so close to me I stared at the driver…only to find him staring back at me. I took note of his features (Middle Eastern, well groomed, glasses), his dress (peach shirt, no tie), his car (silver honda accord). Of all the open spots around me he had to pull up right beside me. Instantly nervous I busied myself with pulling clothes together, counting change, anything to not get out of the car quite yet. It seemed like eternity but finally the man drove away. I made note of his VT license plate. Not trusting him to be really gone I stayed in my car a minute more before getting out and walking across the parking lot. As I approached the center I spotted Mr. Peach Shirt’s car. Imagine my surprise when he got out just as I was walking by. I was convinced I had waited long enough but there he was, following me into the center. He even used the same door so I was forced to hold it open for him. I noticed his black dress pants and dress shoes. Respectable looking yet giving me the creeps all the same. Once inside he went his way and I made a beeline for the bathrooms where I changed my clothes, put my hair up, rehydrated my contacts…in other words, spent a long time refreshing myself for the journey home. Still nervous about Mr. Peach Shirt I wondered if I would see him again. Scaring myself, I was betting I would. Even though I predicted it I was still shocked to see him standing outside the restrooms, drinking a coffee, looking my way. Trying not to appear rattled I squared my shoulders and walked by with as much resolve as I could muster. He followed me out. Thinking I had to be imagining my paranoia I stopped to pretend to look for something in my purse. Peach Shirt kept walking. As the distance between us widened I took the opportunity to stroll to the dog park, stop to admire the lilacs in full bloom, pretend to be interested in a man’s dog, anything to delay going back to my car. By the time I did go back I thought surely Peach would be gone and if he wasn’t, I had a problem. Wanting to avoid that problem I took a long time driving away from my spot. Slowly, slowly I made my way towards the gas pumps, cursing myself for having to fill up. All I wanted to do was get on the highway and burn rubber home. Just at the edge of the rest area center’s parking lot I had to stop for pedestrians. I welcomed the chance to give Peach more time to be really gone. I didn’t see him anywhere. But. As I waited who pulled up beside me but Mr. Peach! Shock elevated to alarm. I couldn’t believe I was seeing him for a fourth, disturbing time. I drove off shaking like a leaf and amazingly he followed. At the gas station I stared in disbelief as he pulled up the the pumps right behind me. Nearly frantic I looked to the attendant for help. She looked all of 18-19 years old and I knew she wouldn’t make a difference. Instead I pulled out my cell phone and pretended to make a call (yes, the battery was dead), looked in my rearview and pretended to relay license plate info to an imaginary cop. I was as obvious as I possibly could be and finally Mr. Peach drove away. I never saw him again.

Here’s what really bothers me about this experience. I could predict when I would see that peach shirt. It was like he was always around no matter how long I lingered somewhere. There was something about him that made me nervous from the moment I first laid eyes on him. Did that make me hypersensitive to his movements? If I were to pick out someone else, say an overweight woman in oversized sunglasses, sun visor, Miami tourist tee shirt, clam diggers and flipflops, would I run into her just as often as Mr. Peach? Would I notice her just as often? Would I care? Probably not. No, Mr. Peach Shirt started the drama by pulling into a parking spot right next to me. He didn’t observe movie theater rules. You don’t sit right next to a stranger in a movie theater. You always leave an empty seat between you. Just like you don’t park right next to another car when there are at least 40 empty spots all around. And I was so far away! Can’t stress that enough!

It could have been my imagination. It could have been worse. It could have.

Posted in Bad

TongueTied & Tired

gr4c51 Comment

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.

About a Boy

gr4c51 Comment

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

gr4c55 Comments

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.

Above Suspicion

gr4c5Leave a comment

Above SuspicionMacInnes, Helen. Above Suspicion. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovitch, Inc., 1969.

This book smells of stale cigarette smoke when it got to me, like it had been hanging out in a 1980’s bar until closing time. The library issued plastic cover is falling off, the tape is yellowing, too. This is not a book that feels good to hold and that really matters to me. I don’t know how many other readers feel this way, but a book has to look a certain way, feel a certain way… in addition to read a certain way.
Nevertheless, the story was intriguing. It’s the story of a young couple recruited to check out a chain of spies (suspected nazi sympathizers) during World War II. The plan is elaborate and dashing. As the story picked up pace I could barely turn the pages fast enough to keep up with my growing interest. Here are some of my favorite quotes (as usual):

“The party in Frame’s rooms had just reached the right temperature when Frances and Richard Myles arrived” (p 17).

“It was strange how her mind, as well as her stomach, rebelled when the choice was sausage or sausage or sausage” (p. 86).

“At first, Richard would only take her on a short ten-mile walk” (p.111). Yikes! I’m lucky if I get in five miles a day!

One of the things I loved about this novel was the interaction between Frances and Richard as man and wife (only married four years). They took cues from each other, nonverbal signs, and acted accordingly. Their intimate knowledge of one another bordered on parapsychology.

BookLust Twist: Nancy Pearl has some great things to say about Above Suspicion in her second Book Lust book, More Book Lust. She calls it “pure fun” something she “rereads regularly” (p 162). For a person who reads a lot that’s a pretty big compliment.

Almost Over

gr4c51 Comment

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

gr4c57 Comments

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.

Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging

gr4c52 Comments

AngusRennison, Louise. Angus, Thongs and Full Frontal Snogging: Confessions of Georgia Nicolson. New York: HarperTempest, 1999.

This is the kind of book I would read in the bathroom if my family came to visit. Nancy Pearl calls this one of the best books for teens. Last time I checked I was this side of middle aged. Certainly decades beyond teenager. Nevertheless, it was on the list so I read…in two days. Here are my favorite lines:

“My dad has the mentality of a Teletubby only not so developed” (p.13).

“I wonder how old he is? I must become more mature quickly. I’ll start tomorrow” (p. 50)

“His Mick Jagger impersonation didn’t stop at the lips” (p. 123).

Then there’s the commentary on yoga, being Buddhist and the (gross) idea of coming back as a bug. Despite being tagged as something “teenager” I found it humorous. After all, I was once a teen myself…I think.

BookLust Twist: From More Book Lust in the chapter “Best for Teens” (p.25).

Dream Sean Away Rowe Lodge

gr4c54 Comments

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.