Posts
...and I'm kinda bored. I figured I'd best explain in further detail the reasons for my sporadic hiatus. Basically, like I said in my last post, I had overbooked myself. Every weekend since mid-August, I had something to do for church, work, or social activities. And by December, everything caught up to me. After Thanksgiving, I felt run down. Exhausted. Sick. I didn't even put up Christmas decorations or send out cards. Holiday shopping became more of a chore than usual.
So, I decided to take charge. During my vacation the last week in December, I didn't do much. I didn't even attend a New Year's Eve party. I went over to Sister Kitten's, and we both were asleep after 12:30 AM. I rested, relaxed, and recuperated.
And my resolution this year is to take more time for me. For instance, I'm going to take the month off from social activities. I've been invited to a few outings with friends, but I'm not attending those. It's not that I don't want to see them; I do. But right now I feel it's best for me to spend some time alone--clean my house, organize things, and just decompress.
Wintertime is the perfect opportunity to do just that. The snowy weather, the cold, the wind--all pose perfect times to stay home by the fire, or in my case, the radiator. And as I'm typing this, I'm starting to realize what a friend of mine always says about winter being a time of rebirth--everything is at rest, getting ready for a season of rebirth and regrowth in the spring.
So I guess that's what I'm doing right now--but rather than "rebirthing" myself into a whole new person, I'm using the winter as a time of reflection.
So right now, I'm sitting by the television, with my laptop, watching the weathermen hype this latest storm (which took awhile to get to my little city). One cat is sleeping peacefully at my side, and the other just joined me at my left. I'm going to get up to go to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, maybe two. A bubble bath may be in my future. And I've got flannel sheets and a down comforter on my bed. Life is good.
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reflection. Show all posts
Friday, January 7, 2011
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Have you ever...
...known someone, and valued that person, for many years, and just lost touch? And all of a sudden, after not thinking about them for just as many years, they just pop up, randomly, into your brain?
That's happened to me recently.
Lately I've been thinking about my 8th grade history teacher. Yes, kittens, I know that sounds random, but this woman really did a lot for me.
I was coming off a really bad 7th grade year. Really bad 7th grade year. Remember that this all takes place well before Facebook, Twitter, texting, and any form of instant communication that preceded the prank phone call.
I was an awkward child known for being a bookworm, for out of control hair, for ridiculous fashion sense, and for being an open target. I was bullied, mostly by my ex-best friend and her newfound cronies. I wasn't bullied so much that I had prank phone calls or eggs thrown at me, or toilet paper around my house, but I was insulted verbally. A lot.
So I built a wall around myself. And didn't let anyone in by the time that year came to a close.
Then came 8th grade. I faced a quandary by the time September rolled around: You see, kittens, I really liked school. I liked to learn. Hell, loved to learn. I would read ahead in textbooks and work on extra math problems for fun.
However, I hated the social part of it. Everyone had to dress the same, be the same, have the same hairstyle, talk about boys...
...I wanted no part of it.
I entered my 8th grade year determined to make it through socially, get straight As, and then go to private school, away from my peers, the following year.
That's when I met Mrs. P. In addition to being my history teacher, she was my homeroom teacher.
She knew who I was when I walked into her classroom on the first day of school.
And that scared the crap out of me.
She was a dynamic woman who was extremely well put-together. Not a hair was out of place. Fingernails, perfectly manicured. Her clothes were incredibly stylish. They may not have been all of the latest trends, but Mrs. P. had a way of carrying herself so elegantly. She had an incredible presence.
And she loved her students. Her enthusiasm for teaching was evident. Her passion for history could be seen on her bulletin boards, in her bookshelf, in the photos she had of students who participated in statewide competitions...
Wait a sec...
...do we all have to participate in this competition?
More on that later. But first, let's start with the second week of school, when Mrs. P. announced that she was casting for her annual play. That year, the play was about Black History Month. All of her students were required to have some part in the play, whether it was the chorus or behind the scenes.
I volunteered to be in the chorus.
But Mrs. P. had something else in mind.
She cast me in the lead.
Up to that point, I had zero acting experience. I only had, as most teenage girls do, a well-developed flair for the dramatic. I still don't know, to this day, why she had cast me in such a big role. Did she want to capitalize on my flair for the dramatic? Did she think I had a good speaking voice? Did she think I had stage presence?
Or did she want to instill a sense of confidence in an otherwise insecure girl? Did she see potential in me that I didn't?
I read the script and had it memorized by the next rehearsal. I really wanted to make a good impression.
By the night of the play, I had received compliments from classmates I otherwise would not have spoken to. They really loved my acting, and often told me, "I didn't know you could do that!"
Boy, was that an ego boost!
About a month later, Mrs. P. announced that everyone was required to complete a research project on a historical figure. There was a statewide history competition that year, and the theme was "Science and Technology in History." I decided to research Madame Curie, complete the three-paneled cardboard display, and turn in the project.
But Mrs. P. had other suggestions for me.
I ended up entering the competition--and presented my research through a dramatic monologue as Madame Curie, Polish accent and all.
I came in third in the regional competition, and felt confident enough I could win at the state level.
And I did--I came in third place in my category.
But only first and second place could go to nationals.
Needless to say, I was crushed.
The following morning, a Sunday, I got a phone call, at home, from Mrs. P. She asked how I was feeling, and I told her I still was pretty upset. But she told me that things would get better, and soon.
They did get better, indeed. Two days later our class left for our annual trip to Washington, DC--and the teachers chose me and another student to lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
I never, ever thought I'd do something of that magnitude when I was in 7th grade.
Mrs. P. really helped me come out of my shell. She helped instill a sense of confidence and determination in me that I didn't know I had. She gave me the tools to do better in school and develop my potential.
Her classroom became a sanctuary for me. I'd hang out there a couple of times a week after school, and we'd chat while I did my homework and she corrected papers.
I ended up going to another high school the following year, and we eventually lost touch. Occasionally, throughout the years, I'd think about Mrs. P. and wondered what she was up to.
But this week, I've thought about her. A lot.
A friend of mine says that this happens to her quite a bit. She regards this as a sign that such a person needs to have a prayer said for them. And nine times out of ten, something happens to that person. Something significant, either good or bad.
So tonight, I said a prayer. I am really, really contemplating getting back in touch. Just sending a letter, or a Christmas card, saying how I am and what I've been up to since my 8th grade year. Just a thank you note would do.
But a part of me is very nervous about this. Is this the right thing to do? I found my second grade teacher a couple of years ago, another woman who had a significant impact on me, and wrote to her, but she never wrote back.
And then another part of me worries that she's ill and doesn't have the physical capacity to write back.
I'd better stop this, because I'm going around in circles, and it's very late. So let me conclude by asking you this, kittens: Have you ever told someone from your past how much they really meant to you? And when you did, were you able to do so before it was too late?
That's happened to me recently.
Lately I've been thinking about my 8th grade history teacher. Yes, kittens, I know that sounds random, but this woman really did a lot for me.
I was coming off a really bad 7th grade year. Really bad 7th grade year. Remember that this all takes place well before Facebook, Twitter, texting, and any form of instant communication that preceded the prank phone call.
I was an awkward child known for being a bookworm, for out of control hair, for ridiculous fashion sense, and for being an open target. I was bullied, mostly by my ex-best friend and her newfound cronies. I wasn't bullied so much that I had prank phone calls or eggs thrown at me, or toilet paper around my house, but I was insulted verbally. A lot.
So I built a wall around myself. And didn't let anyone in by the time that year came to a close.
Then came 8th grade. I faced a quandary by the time September rolled around: You see, kittens, I really liked school. I liked to learn. Hell, loved to learn. I would read ahead in textbooks and work on extra math problems for fun.
However, I hated the social part of it. Everyone had to dress the same, be the same, have the same hairstyle, talk about boys...
...I wanted no part of it.
I entered my 8th grade year determined to make it through socially, get straight As, and then go to private school, away from my peers, the following year.
That's when I met Mrs. P. In addition to being my history teacher, she was my homeroom teacher.
She knew who I was when I walked into her classroom on the first day of school.
And that scared the crap out of me.
She was a dynamic woman who was extremely well put-together. Not a hair was out of place. Fingernails, perfectly manicured. Her clothes were incredibly stylish. They may not have been all of the latest trends, but Mrs. P. had a way of carrying herself so elegantly. She had an incredible presence.
And she loved her students. Her enthusiasm for teaching was evident. Her passion for history could be seen on her bulletin boards, in her bookshelf, in the photos she had of students who participated in statewide competitions...
Wait a sec...
...do we all have to participate in this competition?
More on that later. But first, let's start with the second week of school, when Mrs. P. announced that she was casting for her annual play. That year, the play was about Black History Month. All of her students were required to have some part in the play, whether it was the chorus or behind the scenes.
I volunteered to be in the chorus.
But Mrs. P. had something else in mind.
She cast me in the lead.
Up to that point, I had zero acting experience. I only had, as most teenage girls do, a well-developed flair for the dramatic. I still don't know, to this day, why she had cast me in such a big role. Did she want to capitalize on my flair for the dramatic? Did she think I had a good speaking voice? Did she think I had stage presence?
Or did she want to instill a sense of confidence in an otherwise insecure girl? Did she see potential in me that I didn't?
I read the script and had it memorized by the next rehearsal. I really wanted to make a good impression.
By the night of the play, I had received compliments from classmates I otherwise would not have spoken to. They really loved my acting, and often told me, "I didn't know you could do that!"
Boy, was that an ego boost!
About a month later, Mrs. P. announced that everyone was required to complete a research project on a historical figure. There was a statewide history competition that year, and the theme was "Science and Technology in History." I decided to research Madame Curie, complete the three-paneled cardboard display, and turn in the project.
But Mrs. P. had other suggestions for me.
I ended up entering the competition--and presented my research through a dramatic monologue as Madame Curie, Polish accent and all.
I came in third in the regional competition, and felt confident enough I could win at the state level.
And I did--I came in third place in my category.
But only first and second place could go to nationals.
Needless to say, I was crushed.
The following morning, a Sunday, I got a phone call, at home, from Mrs. P. She asked how I was feeling, and I told her I still was pretty upset. But she told me that things would get better, and soon.
They did get better, indeed. Two days later our class left for our annual trip to Washington, DC--and the teachers chose me and another student to lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
I never, ever thought I'd do something of that magnitude when I was in 7th grade.
Mrs. P. really helped me come out of my shell. She helped instill a sense of confidence and determination in me that I didn't know I had. She gave me the tools to do better in school and develop my potential.
Her classroom became a sanctuary for me. I'd hang out there a couple of times a week after school, and we'd chat while I did my homework and she corrected papers.
I ended up going to another high school the following year, and we eventually lost touch. Occasionally, throughout the years, I'd think about Mrs. P. and wondered what she was up to.
But this week, I've thought about her. A lot.
A friend of mine says that this happens to her quite a bit. She regards this as a sign that such a person needs to have a prayer said for them. And nine times out of ten, something happens to that person. Something significant, either good or bad.
So tonight, I said a prayer. I am really, really contemplating getting back in touch. Just sending a letter, or a Christmas card, saying how I am and what I've been up to since my 8th grade year. Just a thank you note would do.
But a part of me is very nervous about this. Is this the right thing to do? I found my second grade teacher a couple of years ago, another woman who had a significant impact on me, and wrote to her, but she never wrote back.
And then another part of me worries that she's ill and doesn't have the physical capacity to write back.
I'd better stop this, because I'm going around in circles, and it's very late. So let me conclude by asking you this, kittens: Have you ever told someone from your past how much they really meant to you? And when you did, were you able to do so before it was too late?
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Kitten and work
Yesterday I returned to work. For those of you who know me in life, as well as longtime readers, know what I do for a living. For those of you recent arrivals, you could probably deduce my profession. But we'll leave it at that.
I've recently realized that work, for me, is a salve. That is, I often use it to cover up, mask, avoid, or forget, a lot of my personal issues. That is, if I don't let my personal issues become embedded in my job--which, in my line of work, is easy to do. I take things very personally. I can be very paranoid.
But the bottom line is this: When I'm at work, doing something I know I'm good at, I feel good. When I do poorly, I feel as if it's a reflection on myself.
That's just one of the things I learned about myself this summer.
I've recently realized that work, for me, is a salve. That is, I often use it to cover up, mask, avoid, or forget, a lot of my personal issues. That is, if I don't let my personal issues become embedded in my job--which, in my line of work, is easy to do. I take things very personally. I can be very paranoid.
But the bottom line is this: When I'm at work, doing something I know I'm good at, I feel good. When I do poorly, I feel as if it's a reflection on myself.
That's just one of the things I learned about myself this summer.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
The things that are stressing me out right now have nothing to do with my personal melodramas (for once)
I really can't watch the news anymore. I just can't. But it's there everywhere I turn: on my Yahoo! homepage, on my Facebook newsfeed, on my Twitter feed, everywhere. No matter where I go I get depression, depression, depression thrown in my face--drama that has nothing to do with my friends or family.
So what's stressing me out right now? Recession. Unemployment. Partisanship. Political bitterness. The mortgage crisis. Wars. Floods. Lack of goodwill in this country. Prejudice. Racism. Hatred of people because of their beliefs, political or religious. For sale signs that are up in front of houses for months. Major oil spills that have almost destroyed an entire region. Hurricanes, especially if they're named Katrina, Danielle, or Earl. But especially Katrina. (I can't believe it's been five years already.)
Just now I tried watching the NBC Nightly News, but had to turn it off. I put on baseball. Phillies and the Padres. Teams I don't even care about. But anything but the news.
These days I've been longing for simpler times. Not so much the days when I was little and was protected by mom and dad, but...more like ten years ago. My mid-twenties. I had just moved out of the house. I had my first apartment, my first job. My friends and I hung out all the time. We were all in the same boat. Everything was new, full of wonder. It was a time where I could learn a new thing about my new home every day. Everything was full of firsts, kind of like when I was an infant: first adult vacation. First new car I bought on my own. First major road trip without family members.
And now...fast forward to the mid-thirties. Same job, different home. Mortgage, instead of rent. Condo fees. City taxes for car and water. Increasing electric bills. Hell, increasing bills all the way around. Friends losing their jobs. Friends getting divorces. Friends worrying about getting the mortgage approved to buy their first home. Friends having babies. More responsibilities.
When I was in my mid-twenties, I was fearless. I felt like I could take on the world. The world was my oyster. I loved life and everything about it.
And yet, somewhere along the way, that girl disappeared, to be replaced by one who had fear, anxiety, and an increased awareness of the global situation.
I miss the girl who I was in my mid-twenties.
But now that I'm in my mid-thirties, I can't go back. Too much has changed. I've already explained how.
I miss the innocence, the wonder, the thrill of discovery of being a newbie in the real world.
Maybe I can at least capture those feelings, those emotions, in these times, but I don't know how.
I would love to feel that way again.
So what's stressing me out right now? Recession. Unemployment. Partisanship. Political bitterness. The mortgage crisis. Wars. Floods. Lack of goodwill in this country. Prejudice. Racism. Hatred of people because of their beliefs, political or religious. For sale signs that are up in front of houses for months. Major oil spills that have almost destroyed an entire region. Hurricanes, especially if they're named Katrina, Danielle, or Earl. But especially Katrina. (I can't believe it's been five years already.)
Just now I tried watching the NBC Nightly News, but had to turn it off. I put on baseball. Phillies and the Padres. Teams I don't even care about. But anything but the news.
These days I've been longing for simpler times. Not so much the days when I was little and was protected by mom and dad, but...more like ten years ago. My mid-twenties. I had just moved out of the house. I had my first apartment, my first job. My friends and I hung out all the time. We were all in the same boat. Everything was new, full of wonder. It was a time where I could learn a new thing about my new home every day. Everything was full of firsts, kind of like when I was an infant: first adult vacation. First new car I bought on my own. First major road trip without family members.
And now...fast forward to the mid-thirties. Same job, different home. Mortgage, instead of rent. Condo fees. City taxes for car and water. Increasing electric bills. Hell, increasing bills all the way around. Friends losing their jobs. Friends getting divorces. Friends worrying about getting the mortgage approved to buy their first home. Friends having babies. More responsibilities.
When I was in my mid-twenties, I was fearless. I felt like I could take on the world. The world was my oyster. I loved life and everything about it.
And yet, somewhere along the way, that girl disappeared, to be replaced by one who had fear, anxiety, and an increased awareness of the global situation.
I miss the girl who I was in my mid-twenties.
But now that I'm in my mid-thirties, I can't go back. Too much has changed. I've already explained how.
I miss the innocence, the wonder, the thrill of discovery of being a newbie in the real world.
Maybe I can at least capture those feelings, those emotions, in these times, but I don't know how.
I would love to feel that way again.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
My state of mind right now
Lucy Knisley is a Chicago-based cartoonist who publishes her own comics via her website. I first discovered her after I read her first book, French Milk, which I reviewed last year.
I had the chance to rediscover her recently, and as I was perusing her comics, I came across this little gem. It perfectly describes what I'm going through right now.
I hope you can all click to enlarge the drawing, but if you can't, you can find the original right here.
I had the chance to rediscover her recently, and as I was perusing her comics, I came across this little gem. It perfectly describes what I'm going through right now.
I hope you can all click to enlarge the drawing, but if you can't, you can find the original right here.
Monday, July 5, 2010
When friends join the "Mommy" and "Married" Clubs
WARNING: This post may be perceived as whiny and selfish, so if you wish to spare yourself, don't read!
Over the past three months, I have had two friends get married and one friend have a baby. I am thrilled for all three of them. One friend came off of a very difficult first marriage and finally found a man who loves her and cares for her deeply. My other recently married friend finally found someone amazing after years of less-than-stellar partnerships, and many tears shed over, "Why can't I find a guy?" And my friend who just gave birth finally did so after years of trying, thinking of foster care, and fertility treatments.
And yet...there's this other side of me which feels...well, bitter. Depressed. Left out. On the outside looking in.
My friends and I have a lot in common, as you know. We've all had our share of adversity when it comes to men and children. I had another wedding to go to yesterday, and during the ceremony, I started to think, "I'd like for that to happen to me." And then later, during the reception, I thought, "Why hasn't it? So-and-so has a girlfriend, and so-and-so is now married, why am I still single?"
And then I was sitting next to this guy at the reception, and we really hit it off, and we had a good time. My friends couldn't understand why he didn't ask me for my phone number--and then the bride tells me that he, well, plays for the other team. I told her that I was kind of disappointed that we didn't exchange information, and after she told me, I felt awful. Awful that I felt like he was leading me on, and awful that I told her that I was sad--on her frakkin' wedding day!--what was going through my head! So now I've hurt my friend's feelings, and I won't be able to talk to her until after her honeymoon--if I do.
After the ceremony, people were talking about getting together with the bride, mostly couples. Well, I'm single. This really started to hurt. Badly.
Here's the thing: I have never complained about my lack of a romantic partner, but yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Now I realize I may be missing something. My philosophy is to never complain about something unless you can do something about it, but the thing is, I'm scared as hell to join an internet dating site or put myself out there to meet someone. And at this point I must confess something: I've never had a steady boyfriend. I'm afraid of dating right now because my lack of experience is going to count against me. That, and I'm afraid of getting my heart broken. Basically, I'm either the gay man's best friend, or guys aren't interested in me more than friendship. What is wrong with me?
And my friend with the baby: Yes, I know she has new priorities now, and can't spend as much time with me. She's spending time now with her mother friends. Again, I'm feeling left out, and I shouldn't be. It's a pretty damn cute baby, too, and I really would like to spend more time with her and the baby. But as my friend says, weekends are saved for family time.
And I am not a part of the family.
So why am I taking this to the blog, as opposed to face-to-face contact with my friends? Easy. I'm afraid of pushing my friends away. They're going to think I'm acting like a two-year-old. Which I am. So I am better off putting a smile on my face, faking everything's cool, and pushing my feelings way down into my gut and not saying a word.
Not like they'd care. My friends are a very tight-knit bunch. They all live within the immediate area--except for me. They're all in a choir--except for me. They all get together for dinner before choir rehearsal--except for me. Geography, I realize, pays a huge part in this. I have a mortgage; it's not like I can switch apartments. And I have a steady job; not like I can switch in a jiffy (especially in this economy).
I'm at the point where I plan not to return phone calls, to isolate myself from the world. And I know that's not healthy. I just can't believe I'm feeling this way, that I'm not stopping myself from doing so. Not like anyone would care; I've pretty much come to the conclusion that I'm always going to be on the outside looking in, career-wise or friend-wise.
I used think that I was okay being the single, crazy cat lady.
I'm not sure about that anymore.
Over the past three months, I have had two friends get married and one friend have a baby. I am thrilled for all three of them. One friend came off of a very difficult first marriage and finally found a man who loves her and cares for her deeply. My other recently married friend finally found someone amazing after years of less-than-stellar partnerships, and many tears shed over, "Why can't I find a guy?" And my friend who just gave birth finally did so after years of trying, thinking of foster care, and fertility treatments.
And yet...there's this other side of me which feels...well, bitter. Depressed. Left out. On the outside looking in.
My friends and I have a lot in common, as you know. We've all had our share of adversity when it comes to men and children. I had another wedding to go to yesterday, and during the ceremony, I started to think, "I'd like for that to happen to me." And then later, during the reception, I thought, "Why hasn't it? So-and-so has a girlfriend, and so-and-so is now married, why am I still single?"
And then I was sitting next to this guy at the reception, and we really hit it off, and we had a good time. My friends couldn't understand why he didn't ask me for my phone number--and then the bride tells me that he, well, plays for the other team. I told her that I was kind of disappointed that we didn't exchange information, and after she told me, I felt awful. Awful that I felt like he was leading me on, and awful that I told her that I was sad--on her frakkin' wedding day!--what was going through my head! So now I've hurt my friend's feelings, and I won't be able to talk to her until after her honeymoon--if I do.
After the ceremony, people were talking about getting together with the bride, mostly couples. Well, I'm single. This really started to hurt. Badly.
Here's the thing: I have never complained about my lack of a romantic partner, but yesterday, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Now I realize I may be missing something. My philosophy is to never complain about something unless you can do something about it, but the thing is, I'm scared as hell to join an internet dating site or put myself out there to meet someone. And at this point I must confess something: I've never had a steady boyfriend. I'm afraid of dating right now because my lack of experience is going to count against me. That, and I'm afraid of getting my heart broken. Basically, I'm either the gay man's best friend, or guys aren't interested in me more than friendship. What is wrong with me?
And my friend with the baby: Yes, I know she has new priorities now, and can't spend as much time with me. She's spending time now with her mother friends. Again, I'm feeling left out, and I shouldn't be. It's a pretty damn cute baby, too, and I really would like to spend more time with her and the baby. But as my friend says, weekends are saved for family time.
And I am not a part of the family.
So why am I taking this to the blog, as opposed to face-to-face contact with my friends? Easy. I'm afraid of pushing my friends away. They're going to think I'm acting like a two-year-old. Which I am. So I am better off putting a smile on my face, faking everything's cool, and pushing my feelings way down into my gut and not saying a word.
Not like they'd care. My friends are a very tight-knit bunch. They all live within the immediate area--except for me. They're all in a choir--except for me. They all get together for dinner before choir rehearsal--except for me. Geography, I realize, pays a huge part in this. I have a mortgage; it's not like I can switch apartments. And I have a steady job; not like I can switch in a jiffy (especially in this economy).
I'm at the point where I plan not to return phone calls, to isolate myself from the world. And I know that's not healthy. I just can't believe I'm feeling this way, that I'm not stopping myself from doing so. Not like anyone would care; I've pretty much come to the conclusion that I'm always going to be on the outside looking in, career-wise or friend-wise.
I used think that I was okay being the single, crazy cat lady.
I'm not sure about that anymore.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Exactly WHY am I a Conan fangirl?
People who have known me my entire life have known me not to get too excited or obsessed with celebrities. I mean, I never developed an obsession with them. For instance, I have a friend who is in lurve with Josh Groban and has seen him in concert several times. She has all of his CDs, DVDs, and even a pillow with his image. (That last item was a gift). I am friends with a couple who follows Phish and they go to see them any and every chance they get.
Now, kittens, as you know, I'm a huge Carol Burnett fan, but I never was obsessed with her. Ok, well, a huge fan, but never a rabid, drooling, obsessed, gotta Google-her-name-for-the-latest-news kinda thing.
And then...
He came into my life.
Yes, kittens, if you are a regular reader of this blog, you know of my Conan obsession. I must confess that I was a fan of his during his Late Night days, but did not become the rabid, drooling, obsessed, gotta Google-his-name-for-the-latest-news fangirl until June 1, 2009.
That was when his version of The Tonight Show debuted. I stayed up late to watch the whole thing out of pure curiosity. I could never stay up late enough to watch a full Late Night, but with all of the hype and hoopla surrounding Jay Leno passing the baton, I had to watch.
And I fell in love. Hard. I mean, I've always had a thing for redheads, I will admit, but...my God, I had to tune in and watch the next night, and the next, and the next.
What was it about him that made me go from a mild-mannered, stay behind the cover of my books all day girl, to an "is it 11:35 yet" woman? I must admit that I go crazy whenever he does the string dance. And I've always loved and appreciated goofy, off-the-wall type of humor. I absolutely love it whenever he pulls out his guitar and starts to sing. He may not be the best singer in the world, but there's something about it that's so endearing, like your boyfriend singing to you outside your bedroom window.
Conan very quickly became a part of my life. On the nights I could stay up late, he tucked me into bed. After I got DVR last August, he and his crew became a part of my morning routine. I'd watch the monologue as I ate breakfast; I'd see the rest of the show after NBC Nightly News. I loved it especially when he'd talk about his family; he didn't do it often, but those little stories he'd tell about his little kids were so charming.
Yet during all of this, I always had a sneaky suspicion that he wouldn't last long. When I heard that Jay Leno was moving to 10 pm, I had a really bad feeling about that move. Call me paranoid or delusional, but when I kept seeing Conan's ratings go down, I had a feeling that NBC had a plan B in place to get The Tonight Show back up to pre-Conan levels.
Needless to say, I was devastated when Conan left the airwaves, and actually cried during his last episode. I still am a little embarrassed by my reaction. Me, cry at a TV show? One that is ending too soon? It was so atypical of me; before DVR, I rarely watched TV. Now I have three or four shows I follow religiously, and am emotionally involved in all of them. This really is quite the change for me.
So, in dealing with my Conan withdrawal, I joined the "I'm with Coco" page on Facebook and started following members of his old crew on Twitter. Again, this was atypical of me. I entered a Google alert for his name. Yes, I know, this is borderline sick. And finally, when rumors were abound that he was about to tour, I recruited BFF and Sister Kitten and asked if they would join me. If the price was right, and the time was right, they agreed to go.
Well, the rumors were confirmed, and in March, the day tickets went on sale, Sister Kitten sent me a madcap E-mail. She sounded more excited about the prospect of seeing Conan than I did! I knew she liked him, but didn't know she was that much of a fan!
So long story short, we got three tickets, and the three of us (and possibly BFF's little bro) are going to see Conan. As excited as I am to see him, I must admit that some of this is a little anticlimactic. I've been reading his tour blog, so I know about some of the numbers that are going on, and I just really, really hope this all lives up to the hype. Ok, I can't start feeling regrets now!
Am I nervous that Conan won't live up to my expectations? Yeah, you could say that. I didn't feel that way with Carol Burnett, though; I had more like nervous butterflies and giddy anticipation when I saw her.
So, in conclusion, I'm not exactly sure why I'm a Conan fangirl. I know I've explored some of the reasons above, but there's nothing really conclusive about what draws me to him. I just really dig him. Maybe it's as simple as that.
Now, kittens, as you know, I'm a huge Carol Burnett fan, but I never was obsessed with her. Ok, well, a huge fan, but never a rabid, drooling, obsessed, gotta Google-her-name-for-the-latest-news kinda thing.
And then...
He came into my life.
Yes, kittens, if you are a regular reader of this blog, you know of my Conan obsession. I must confess that I was a fan of his during his Late Night days, but did not become the rabid, drooling, obsessed, gotta Google-his-name-for-the-latest-news fangirl until June 1, 2009.
That was when his version of The Tonight Show debuted. I stayed up late to watch the whole thing out of pure curiosity. I could never stay up late enough to watch a full Late Night, but with all of the hype and hoopla surrounding Jay Leno passing the baton, I had to watch.
And I fell in love. Hard. I mean, I've always had a thing for redheads, I will admit, but...my God, I had to tune in and watch the next night, and the next, and the next.
What was it about him that made me go from a mild-mannered, stay behind the cover of my books all day girl, to an "is it 11:35 yet" woman? I must admit that I go crazy whenever he does the string dance. And I've always loved and appreciated goofy, off-the-wall type of humor. I absolutely love it whenever he pulls out his guitar and starts to sing. He may not be the best singer in the world, but there's something about it that's so endearing, like your boyfriend singing to you outside your bedroom window.
Conan very quickly became a part of my life. On the nights I could stay up late, he tucked me into bed. After I got DVR last August, he and his crew became a part of my morning routine. I'd watch the monologue as I ate breakfast; I'd see the rest of the show after NBC Nightly News. I loved it especially when he'd talk about his family; he didn't do it often, but those little stories he'd tell about his little kids were so charming.
Yet during all of this, I always had a sneaky suspicion that he wouldn't last long. When I heard that Jay Leno was moving to 10 pm, I had a really bad feeling about that move. Call me paranoid or delusional, but when I kept seeing Conan's ratings go down, I had a feeling that NBC had a plan B in place to get The Tonight Show back up to pre-Conan levels.
Needless to say, I was devastated when Conan left the airwaves, and actually cried during his last episode. I still am a little embarrassed by my reaction. Me, cry at a TV show? One that is ending too soon? It was so atypical of me; before DVR, I rarely watched TV. Now I have three or four shows I follow religiously, and am emotionally involved in all of them. This really is quite the change for me.
So, in dealing with my Conan withdrawal, I joined the "I'm with Coco" page on Facebook and started following members of his old crew on Twitter. Again, this was atypical of me. I entered a Google alert for his name. Yes, I know, this is borderline sick. And finally, when rumors were abound that he was about to tour, I recruited BFF and Sister Kitten and asked if they would join me. If the price was right, and the time was right, they agreed to go.
Well, the rumors were confirmed, and in March, the day tickets went on sale, Sister Kitten sent me a madcap E-mail. She sounded more excited about the prospect of seeing Conan than I did! I knew she liked him, but didn't know she was that much of a fan!
So long story short, we got three tickets, and the three of us (and possibly BFF's little bro) are going to see Conan. As excited as I am to see him, I must admit that some of this is a little anticlimactic. I've been reading his tour blog, so I know about some of the numbers that are going on, and I just really, really hope this all lives up to the hype. Ok, I can't start feeling regrets now!
Am I nervous that Conan won't live up to my expectations? Yeah, you could say that. I didn't feel that way with Carol Burnett, though; I had more like nervous butterflies and giddy anticipation when I saw her.
So, in conclusion, I'm not exactly sure why I'm a Conan fangirl. I know I've explored some of the reasons above, but there's nothing really conclusive about what draws me to him. I just really dig him. Maybe it's as simple as that.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Half New Yorker, half New Jerseyan, 100% Nutmegger
I'm a member of the New England Bloggers, and this week, they're celebrating their first anniversary. Elizabeth, our founder, has asked us to write posts that have something to do with New England.
Well, this is rawther tough for me...for I really don't identify myself as a New Englander. You see, while I grew up here in Connecticut, I wasn't born here. I spent the first four years of my life in South Salem, New York.
My family lived in a house atop a huge hill, with several hairpin turns. It was a LOT of fun to shovel in the days before snowblowers. Did I mention that the driveway was also 800 feet long?
We lived by a lake. During the summers all of the neighbors would gather round and go swimming, followed by barbecues at each others' houses. During the winters all the neighbors would gather round and go skating, followed by hot chocolates at each others' houses.
We moved March 3, 1980. My fourth birthday. My mother cried all the way to Connecticut. My father worked for Aetna, and his job got transferred to the company headquarters in Hartford.
My mother, when we moved, had never lived in any other state. She had never lived twenty minutes away from her family. My father had never lived an hour away from his. So the move was tough for both of them for that reason.
Add to this the fact that they both grew up in the New York metropolitan area. My mother lived in a small town called Millwood. She is still in touch with her best friends from elementary school. It was the kind of town where you could walk wherever you wanted to, leave your doors unlocked all the time, and not have to worry about your kids' whereabouts. Yet it was close enough to New York City that there was a lot of diversity, cultural opportunities, and public transportation.
My father grew up in Linden, New Jersey, just outside of Newark. He lived with my grandparents and my uncle in the bottom apartment of a two-family house. My grandfather owned the house and rented out the VERY small one-bedroom apartment on the top floor. The bottom floor was a two-bedroom apartment--that is, if you could consider my dad and uncle's room to be a bedroom. They slept on a fold-out couch and shared a closet.
I mention my parents' background because, when we first moved to Connecticut, the culture shock they experienced was enormous. My father, about a month after we moved here, suggested to one of our neighbors that they go to a local high school football game. My neighbor laughed; our town did not have a high school football team. They ordered a pizza, opened the box, and were shocked to see that the slices weren't cut into triangles. They still complain about the dearth of good slices in the Nutmeg State (although we have managed to find much better pizza; you just have to look very carefully).
But my point is this: When you take two people who are used to growing up in urban areas, and transplant them into a tiny, quiet, rural Connecticut town, cultural differences WILL ensue. And people WILL notice.
I have very vague memories of South Salem; my sister, however, does not. She was nine months old when she moved. I was pretty much raised with New York sensibilities. I grew up rooting for the Mets when everyone else cheered for the Red Sox. I knew what it was like to have the Italian relatives who cooked endless mountains of pasta for you. My friends couldn't understand why people would have plastic slipcovers on their couches, as my grandmother did.
So basically, what I'm trying to say is this: I've never really identified myself as a pure New Englander. Growing up, especially during my high school and college years, I focused on all of the negative things about Connecticut--Hartford, especially. If some colleges are considered to be "suitcase schools" because the majority of their on-campus residents go home for the weekend, then Hartford is a "suitcase city." My sister and I went to see a Theaterworks production one Sunday afternoon, and I felt LESS safe walking through an empty Hartford downtown than we did during the busy, bustling downtown of the work week.
As a kid I grew up in a neighborhood full of people my age, and for some reason, my house was always the focal gathering point. We spent a lot of time outside. We made up our own games. We chased each other often. We all walked to school together. But these are more innocent childhood memories than they are strictly New England ones.
I now live in a mid-sized Connecticut city. I really enjoy living where I do right now. There are lots of good places to eat, Wesleyan University's nearby, and New Haven's not that far away, so I can hop on the Metro North and go to the city whenever I want.
As I have gotten older, I've found new things to appreciate about our fair state, and my hometown in particular. But even though I tell people that I'm from Connecticut, I don't consider myself a New Englander. Probably because I don't know what really constitutes one.
P.S. Even though I've lived here 30 years now, I've only been to Boston three times. One time per decade. And as much as I enjoy it, I still prefer New York.
Well, this is rawther tough for me...for I really don't identify myself as a New Englander. You see, while I grew up here in Connecticut, I wasn't born here. I spent the first four years of my life in South Salem, New York.
My family lived in a house atop a huge hill, with several hairpin turns. It was a LOT of fun to shovel in the days before snowblowers. Did I mention that the driveway was also 800 feet long?
We lived by a lake. During the summers all of the neighbors would gather round and go swimming, followed by barbecues at each others' houses. During the winters all the neighbors would gather round and go skating, followed by hot chocolates at each others' houses.
We moved March 3, 1980. My fourth birthday. My mother cried all the way to Connecticut. My father worked for Aetna, and his job got transferred to the company headquarters in Hartford.
My mother, when we moved, had never lived in any other state. She had never lived twenty minutes away from her family. My father had never lived an hour away from his. So the move was tough for both of them for that reason.
Add to this the fact that they both grew up in the New York metropolitan area. My mother lived in a small town called Millwood. She is still in touch with her best friends from elementary school. It was the kind of town where you could walk wherever you wanted to, leave your doors unlocked all the time, and not have to worry about your kids' whereabouts. Yet it was close enough to New York City that there was a lot of diversity, cultural opportunities, and public transportation.
My father grew up in Linden, New Jersey, just outside of Newark. He lived with my grandparents and my uncle in the bottom apartment of a two-family house. My grandfather owned the house and rented out the VERY small one-bedroom apartment on the top floor. The bottom floor was a two-bedroom apartment--that is, if you could consider my dad and uncle's room to be a bedroom. They slept on a fold-out couch and shared a closet.
I mention my parents' background because, when we first moved to Connecticut, the culture shock they experienced was enormous. My father, about a month after we moved here, suggested to one of our neighbors that they go to a local high school football game. My neighbor laughed; our town did not have a high school football team. They ordered a pizza, opened the box, and were shocked to see that the slices weren't cut into triangles. They still complain about the dearth of good slices in the Nutmeg State (although we have managed to find much better pizza; you just have to look very carefully).
But my point is this: When you take two people who are used to growing up in urban areas, and transplant them into a tiny, quiet, rural Connecticut town, cultural differences WILL ensue. And people WILL notice.
I have very vague memories of South Salem; my sister, however, does not. She was nine months old when she moved. I was pretty much raised with New York sensibilities. I grew up rooting for the Mets when everyone else cheered for the Red Sox. I knew what it was like to have the Italian relatives who cooked endless mountains of pasta for you. My friends couldn't understand why people would have plastic slipcovers on their couches, as my grandmother did.
So basically, what I'm trying to say is this: I've never really identified myself as a pure New Englander. Growing up, especially during my high school and college years, I focused on all of the negative things about Connecticut--Hartford, especially. If some colleges are considered to be "suitcase schools" because the majority of their on-campus residents go home for the weekend, then Hartford is a "suitcase city." My sister and I went to see a Theaterworks production one Sunday afternoon, and I felt LESS safe walking through an empty Hartford downtown than we did during the busy, bustling downtown of the work week.
As a kid I grew up in a neighborhood full of people my age, and for some reason, my house was always the focal gathering point. We spent a lot of time outside. We made up our own games. We chased each other often. We all walked to school together. But these are more innocent childhood memories than they are strictly New England ones.
I now live in a mid-sized Connecticut city. I really enjoy living where I do right now. There are lots of good places to eat, Wesleyan University's nearby, and New Haven's not that far away, so I can hop on the Metro North and go to the city whenever I want.
As I have gotten older, I've found new things to appreciate about our fair state, and my hometown in particular. But even though I tell people that I'm from Connecticut, I don't consider myself a New Englander. Probably because I don't know what really constitutes one.
P.S. Even though I've lived here 30 years now, I've only been to Boston three times. One time per decade. And as much as I enjoy it, I still prefer New York.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
2010: three weeks in...
- I can't stop thinking about the earthquake in Haiti, and its aftershocks. I know I need to stop watching CNN 24/7, but I can't. The stories are so compelling: stories of trying to find relatives, of rescuing victims, and attempts to get out of the country. The more I watch, the sadder I get, but like I said, I can't turn the TV off.
- I have a friend whose mother just had a brain tumor removed. It was a tricky surgery; the tumor was wrapped around her optic nerve. Yesterday, the doctors thought things were okay. Today, I receive an E-mail from my friend, saying that the vision in her mom's eye is gone. They don't know if it's permanent.
- I received a letter in the mail from my minister. She sent it to all of the members of our church. It was the announcement that she is leaving at the end of March. She really helped me through a difficult period of my life, and the feelings of loss started to creep in.
- I'm not happy about the results of the Massachusetts senate race. And that's all I'm saying about that.
- Friday night I'm singing at a memorial service. Even though my friend is viewing his sister's death as a blessing (she had numerous health problems during her final years), it doesn't make it any easier.
- I have a friend whose husband totaled his truck the other day. Good news: He escaped with only cuts and bruises. Bad news: They have no health insurance. They have to pay for the emergency room, cat scan, and other fees associated with the accident. They DO, however, have auto insurance.
Yet...why is it that it takes events such as the ones I've listed above for me to gain perspective, and realize that I have a pretty good life as it is? I mean, I have a job, a house, insurance of all kinds, and my health. I can fulfill my basic human needs. Yet the people in Haiti were struggling well before the quake to get those needs taken care of. And far too many Americans don't have health care. (Again, do NOT get me started on the Massachusetts senate race...)
So that's where I am right now...wrestling to find perspective on various things, trying to find answers, and becoming impatient when I can't find them immediately.
Again, sorry for being a downer lately. I promise we'll be back to humorous, lighthearted Bookkitten programming soon.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Maybe an angel IS watching over me
In one of my last posts I had mentioned that BFF and I were going on our fourth month of not speaking to each other.
Well, that all changed tonight.
It happened on my way home from dinner with a few girlfriends. I had pulled onto the highway, looked at my dashboard, and realized that all of the lights were out. I started panicking, thinking that if my dash lights were out, so were my headlights. I pulled over and put on the hazards. I adjusted the brightness dial on the dash, and things seemed fine. I went to pull back on the highway...
...and realized my hazards were stuck. I couldn't shut them off.
Now, yesterday, kittens, my car went in for service, and part of the service involved the replacement of one of the dashboard lights. (Insert gratuitous Meatloaf lyrics here). This made me wonder if some other things went wrong when the dash was put back together, causing the hazards to get stuck.
Well, long story short, I pull off the highway, into a gas station, and call AAA. If you have ever called AAA, you know that you can wait forever for help to come. It was 9:30 PM, and I was alone, at a gas station, and just a tad nervous.
I needed company...and I did have a friend who lived ten minutes away.
That friend happened to be BFF.
I put my pride--and whatever bitterness I felt--aside and called his cell. No answer.
I called his landline--no answer. He was out for the night.
I then took my owner's manual out and searched for an 800 number for Kia. I was on the automated line when BFF called back. When I realized I was getting nowhere with the robot voice, I hung up on Kia and called BFF.
I told him about my problem. He was indeed out of town, but stayed on the phone with me as I explained what had happened.
He offered some suggestions to help get my hazards unstuck, one of which was banging on the dashboard with my fist. It worked. I was stunned.
He then advised me to call AAA to cancel the service call, which I did. He then told me to call the dealer on Monday and explain what had happened, especially since the dash had come apart yesterday.
And finally, before I hung up, he asked me to call him when I got home. He added that if he were in town, he'd drive to the gas station to keep me company.
Half an hour later, I got home and called him. He was glad that I got home safely.
The timing of this incident couldn't be stranger--at least to me. Over the last couple of days, I had been really missing BFF. Today was particularly difficult, since I was spending the day with a mutual friend of ours who sees him on a regular basis. I started to feel really sad, wondering when, if, and how BFF and I would reconcile.
Well, tonight my prayer was answered--albeit in a strange way, but it was still an answer.
BFF came through for me. He was there when I needed him.
And that's when I realized what a totally selfish ass I had been. I had read too much into a situation that should not have been read too much into. Which was what led to our not speaking to each other. And I felt awful how much I had let it get to me. I'm sorry if I sound so vague about this, but I don't want to go into details about our fight right now.
Besides, I don't think those details matter anymore. He could have ignored my call. He could have chosen not to call me back.
Dear God, now that I am writing my expression of gratitude, I feel even more like a selfish bitch for letting myself be so upset at him.
The important thing is, he helped me out when I needed it. And even though he wasn't physically present, I felt safer and more secure just hearing him on the other end of the line.
I definitely think we're going to be okay.
Thank you God, and car, for helping me realize this.
Well, that all changed tonight.
It happened on my way home from dinner with a few girlfriends. I had pulled onto the highway, looked at my dashboard, and realized that all of the lights were out. I started panicking, thinking that if my dash lights were out, so were my headlights. I pulled over and put on the hazards. I adjusted the brightness dial on the dash, and things seemed fine. I went to pull back on the highway...
...and realized my hazards were stuck. I couldn't shut them off.
Now, yesterday, kittens, my car went in for service, and part of the service involved the replacement of one of the dashboard lights. (Insert gratuitous Meatloaf lyrics here). This made me wonder if some other things went wrong when the dash was put back together, causing the hazards to get stuck.
Well, long story short, I pull off the highway, into a gas station, and call AAA. If you have ever called AAA, you know that you can wait forever for help to come. It was 9:30 PM, and I was alone, at a gas station, and just a tad nervous.
I needed company...and I did have a friend who lived ten minutes away.
That friend happened to be BFF.
I put my pride--and whatever bitterness I felt--aside and called his cell. No answer.
I called his landline--no answer. He was out for the night.
I then took my owner's manual out and searched for an 800 number for Kia. I was on the automated line when BFF called back. When I realized I was getting nowhere with the robot voice, I hung up on Kia and called BFF.
I told him about my problem. He was indeed out of town, but stayed on the phone with me as I explained what had happened.
He offered some suggestions to help get my hazards unstuck, one of which was banging on the dashboard with my fist. It worked. I was stunned.
He then advised me to call AAA to cancel the service call, which I did. He then told me to call the dealer on Monday and explain what had happened, especially since the dash had come apart yesterday.
And finally, before I hung up, he asked me to call him when I got home. He added that if he were in town, he'd drive to the gas station to keep me company.
Half an hour later, I got home and called him. He was glad that I got home safely.
The timing of this incident couldn't be stranger--at least to me. Over the last couple of days, I had been really missing BFF. Today was particularly difficult, since I was spending the day with a mutual friend of ours who sees him on a regular basis. I started to feel really sad, wondering when, if, and how BFF and I would reconcile.
Well, tonight my prayer was answered--albeit in a strange way, but it was still an answer.
BFF came through for me. He was there when I needed him.
And that's when I realized what a totally selfish ass I had been. I had read too much into a situation that should not have been read too much into. Which was what led to our not speaking to each other. And I felt awful how much I had let it get to me. I'm sorry if I sound so vague about this, but I don't want to go into details about our fight right now.
Besides, I don't think those details matter anymore. He could have ignored my call. He could have chosen not to call me back.
Dear God, now that I am writing my expression of gratitude, I feel even more like a selfish bitch for letting myself be so upset at him.
The important thing is, he helped me out when I needed it. And even though he wasn't physically present, I felt safer and more secure just hearing him on the other end of the line.
I definitely think we're going to be okay.
Thank you God, and car, for helping me realize this.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Meh.
Today was a day when I felt emotionally void--dull, empty, blah. That's what I said on my Facebook status.
I didn't feel great, but I didn't feel horrible, either. There are many reasons why I felt this way:
Thank you, Eric Idle, for helping me put things into perspective and making me laugh at the same time. For this is what I've realized:
I didn't feel great, but I didn't feel horrible, either. There are many reasons why I felt this way:
- I've been to four wakes/funerals since the end of September, and I have another one to attend this coming Sunday. Two of those wakes have involved former colleagues and friends of mine.
- One wake involved a colleague/friend who was also a member of my book club. I am hosting book club Wednesday night. It is our first meeting since our friend died. I'm not looking forward to the emotion that is going to come out of it, as necessary as it is. I hate crying in front of people.
- I haven't had time/felt like reading or doing any of my hobbies lately. I just want a day to do nothing at all, and not feel guilty about it.
- My car went in for emergency service this afternoon. The engine light came on, and they're doing a coolant flush and something with the temperature gauge. Nothing serious, thank goodness, but still, it's another car repair.
- My coworkers are starting to drop like flies due to H1N1/norovirus/strep throat/whatever other bug is going around. I am grateful, however, to still be healthy.
- My BFF and I are going on our fourth month without speaking to one another. I've been somewhat okay with our quasi-estrangement, but this morning, I woke up really missing him. As much as I want to reach out and pick up the phone, I really think he needs to contact me first--and not just via a forwarded E-mail.
- I had to cancel dinner plans with Mama and Papa Cat Sunday night because of the aforementioned wake.
Thank you, Eric Idle, for helping me put things into perspective and making me laugh at the same time. For this is what I've realized:
- Meeting with my book club will help me--and everyone else--grieve our loss, but remember our friend in a special way.
- I have a job where I can afford to repair my vehicle. I am also lucky to have such a reliable form of transportation.
- I have not succumbed to illness, and I was one of the lucky few at work to receive an H1N1 shot.
- I am going to see the whole Cat Family in two weeks, on Thanksgiving day. My absolute favorite holiday.
- And as for me and BFF...I think we'll eventually be OK. We have a lot of mutual friends, and we both don't want to put anyone in the middle of our squabble, which is ours and ours alone. It's just going to take some time to heal...but I'm not going to lie, kittens, it's been very painful for me. I don't know how he's felt about it, but it's hurt like mad on my end. I'll blog more about it at some point.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Where we live
I grew up in small-town America.
My town was very rural--well, rural and growing to the point where it was about to become a real suburb. My town had traffic lights, and two small, locally-owned grocery stores, a homegrown hardware store, a locally-owned video store, and lots and lots of family-owned pizza parlors.
We were the town where the marching band was the pride and joy of our high school. We didn't even have a football team. We were the town where everyone knew each other, where people would leave their doors unlocked at night and have no fear of their kids going to the library by themselves or walking to school on their own.
This is where I grew up.
And the older I got, the more I wanted out.
In fact, that became my main post-college goal: I didn't care where I landed a job, I just wanted out of my parents' house and be outta my small town.
It didn't help that my parents did not grow up in small-town America, and that, even after 29 years of living in the same town, they still have moments of culture shock. Both Mama and Papa Cat grew up in the greater New York metro area, and were used to city life--or living nearby a vibrant, active city. Hartford, sadly, is not exactly the most vibrant of metropolitan areas.
They complain, for instance, about the lack of good pizza and bagels in their neck of the woods. They were overjoyed when I decided to attend college in Fairfield County, and Sister Kitten in upstate New York, if only for the bread goods. (Well, that's an exaggeration, but you get the idea of how much my rents love their bagels).
Getting the Sunday New York papers was a mini-dose of joy in our household growing up. After church, Papa Cat would stop by the local, mom-and-pop pharmacy, greet our pharmacist, who knew my family--and the other families in town--very well, and purchase the Daily News and the New York Post. Mama and Papa Cat would then sit in their respective Archie-and-Edith chairs and read their papers, sighing over the Mets' latest disaster and wishing that Steinbrenner would just sell the Yankees already.
We were also unusual because we were one of the few families in town that didn't have generations of members living in the same area for decades. We weren't related to anyone else in town. We were the only members of our extended family living in Connecticut.
So what did this mean for me growing up? I knew that there was a world beyond my small-town bubble, and I couldn't wait to pierce it and escape.
And, in July of 2001, I did.
I moved to a small city with a waterfront and a mall within a five-minute driving distance. I could purchase my groceries at Stop and Shop and grab a quick bite to eat at McDonald's. I had my prescriptions filled at Rite Aid, and bought my coffee at the local Dunkin Donuts every morning on my way to work. I banked at Bank of America, and got my car serviced at Jiffy Lube.
This, to me, was paradise. No longer did I have to drive half an hour to get to the mall. No longer did I have to go twenty miles out of town to shop at Target. No longer did I have to go out of my way to get to the nearest Borders.
And shortly after I moved, things started to change--both within my hometown, and myself.
Before I moved, the old Chevy dealership on the south end of town had been torn down and was being replaced by a Stop and Shop. Mama Cat would flip the bird in protest every time she drove by. I asked her why.
"It's putting the local businesses out of business!"
I didn't get it then.
A year later, a CVS opened in town. Once again, Mama Cat refused to go there, and chose to have her prescriptions filled at the same mom-and-pop establishment where she had been going for years. I asked her why she didn't make the switch, since CVS also had more inventory than her old place.
"It'll put Mike out of business!"
I still didn't get it.
But one day, I finally did.
Sadly, it took the current state of our economy to realize just how important mom-and-pop businesses are, not just to the welfare of our communities, but more importantly, to our psyche.
I can't tell you how many local businesses in my current city of residence have closed down because people are going to their larger, chain counterparts. And when you hear stories about how these local businesses have given so much to the community, it really makes you want to weep. I love to read about the local high school, community-sponsored graduation parties, and see which businesses have contributed. Nine times out of ten, the sponsors are the locally-owned, mom-and-pop businesses.
I now go back to my hometown and feel a sense of longing for what once was. The local pharmacy is still there, and is doing a decent business, but the CVS still looms large. We now have a Starbucks and an TJ Maxx, in addition to a Dunkin Donuts and a McDonald's.
My small town has now been commercialized.
Which leads me to wonder, does true small-town America still exist?
Yes...and no.
I'm currently housesitting for a friend of mine who lives in small-town America. The "center" of town is just a stone's throw away from her house. There aren't any chain stores, but two very nice, locally-owned gourmet food stores. There's a small, locally-owned used bookstore, as well as a bakery. The other day, I was in one of the food stores, and two little girls were in there with their mom, buying candy to eat later in the day. When they left, the mother went to run errands, and the little girls sat in front of the store, eating their gummy worms, watching the world go by.
This past weekend I went to a memorial service for the father of a friend of mine. There were people there who knew her father from when they were back in high school--fifty years ago. They still lived in the same small town where they grew up.
In spite of these little girls, and the men in mourning for their friend, there is an aspect of small-town America that will never come round again. We all lock our doors at night, have car alarms, and have ADT and Brinks Home Security on call in case anything should happen.
Lately I've found myself missing my small town--in more ways than one. I still like my mid-sized American city, though. You can't beat the convenience of having a movie theater, a hospital, and three major shopping centers all within a ten-minute radius.
And it's nice to know that there are two small towns bordering mine.
It's good to know that I can return to small-town America--if only for a couple of hours at a time.
Or even in my imagination.
My town was very rural--well, rural and growing to the point where it was about to become a real suburb. My town had traffic lights, and two small, locally-owned grocery stores, a homegrown hardware store, a locally-owned video store, and lots and lots of family-owned pizza parlors.
We were the town where the marching band was the pride and joy of our high school. We didn't even have a football team. We were the town where everyone knew each other, where people would leave their doors unlocked at night and have no fear of their kids going to the library by themselves or walking to school on their own.
This is where I grew up.
And the older I got, the more I wanted out.
In fact, that became my main post-college goal: I didn't care where I landed a job, I just wanted out of my parents' house and be outta my small town.
It didn't help that my parents did not grow up in small-town America, and that, even after 29 years of living in the same town, they still have moments of culture shock. Both Mama and Papa Cat grew up in the greater New York metro area, and were used to city life--or living nearby a vibrant, active city. Hartford, sadly, is not exactly the most vibrant of metropolitan areas.
They complain, for instance, about the lack of good pizza and bagels in their neck of the woods. They were overjoyed when I decided to attend college in Fairfield County, and Sister Kitten in upstate New York, if only for the bread goods. (Well, that's an exaggeration, but you get the idea of how much my rents love their bagels).
Getting the Sunday New York papers was a mini-dose of joy in our household growing up. After church, Papa Cat would stop by the local, mom-and-pop pharmacy, greet our pharmacist, who knew my family--and the other families in town--very well, and purchase the Daily News and the New York Post. Mama and Papa Cat would then sit in their respective Archie-and-Edith chairs and read their papers, sighing over the Mets' latest disaster and wishing that Steinbrenner would just sell the Yankees already.
We were also unusual because we were one of the few families in town that didn't have generations of members living in the same area for decades. We weren't related to anyone else in town. We were the only members of our extended family living in Connecticut.
So what did this mean for me growing up? I knew that there was a world beyond my small-town bubble, and I couldn't wait to pierce it and escape.
And, in July of 2001, I did.
I moved to a small city with a waterfront and a mall within a five-minute driving distance. I could purchase my groceries at Stop and Shop and grab a quick bite to eat at McDonald's. I had my prescriptions filled at Rite Aid, and bought my coffee at the local Dunkin Donuts every morning on my way to work. I banked at Bank of America, and got my car serviced at Jiffy Lube.
This, to me, was paradise. No longer did I have to drive half an hour to get to the mall. No longer did I have to go twenty miles out of town to shop at Target. No longer did I have to go out of my way to get to the nearest Borders.
And shortly after I moved, things started to change--both within my hometown, and myself.
Before I moved, the old Chevy dealership on the south end of town had been torn down and was being replaced by a Stop and Shop. Mama Cat would flip the bird in protest every time she drove by. I asked her why.
"It's putting the local businesses out of business!"
I didn't get it then.
A year later, a CVS opened in town. Once again, Mama Cat refused to go there, and chose to have her prescriptions filled at the same mom-and-pop establishment where she had been going for years. I asked her why she didn't make the switch, since CVS also had more inventory than her old place.
"It'll put Mike out of business!"
I still didn't get it.
But one day, I finally did.
Sadly, it took the current state of our economy to realize just how important mom-and-pop businesses are, not just to the welfare of our communities, but more importantly, to our psyche.
I can't tell you how many local businesses in my current city of residence have closed down because people are going to their larger, chain counterparts. And when you hear stories about how these local businesses have given so much to the community, it really makes you want to weep. I love to read about the local high school, community-sponsored graduation parties, and see which businesses have contributed. Nine times out of ten, the sponsors are the locally-owned, mom-and-pop businesses.
I now go back to my hometown and feel a sense of longing for what once was. The local pharmacy is still there, and is doing a decent business, but the CVS still looms large. We now have a Starbucks and an TJ Maxx, in addition to a Dunkin Donuts and a McDonald's.
My small town has now been commercialized.
Which leads me to wonder, does true small-town America still exist?
Yes...and no.
I'm currently housesitting for a friend of mine who lives in small-town America. The "center" of town is just a stone's throw away from her house. There aren't any chain stores, but two very nice, locally-owned gourmet food stores. There's a small, locally-owned used bookstore, as well as a bakery. The other day, I was in one of the food stores, and two little girls were in there with their mom, buying candy to eat later in the day. When they left, the mother went to run errands, and the little girls sat in front of the store, eating their gummy worms, watching the world go by.
This past weekend I went to a memorial service for the father of a friend of mine. There were people there who knew her father from when they were back in high school--fifty years ago. They still lived in the same small town where they grew up.
In spite of these little girls, and the men in mourning for their friend, there is an aspect of small-town America that will never come round again. We all lock our doors at night, have car alarms, and have ADT and Brinks Home Security on call in case anything should happen.
Lately I've found myself missing my small town--in more ways than one. I still like my mid-sized American city, though. You can't beat the convenience of having a movie theater, a hospital, and three major shopping centers all within a ten-minute radius.
And it's nice to know that there are two small towns bordering mine.
It's good to know that I can return to small-town America--if only for a couple of hours at a time.
Or even in my imagination.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
In shock
I went to sit down on the couch for my nightly visit with the NBC Nightly News when Brian Williams leads off the newscast with the following breaking news:
MICHAEL JACKSON DEAD AT 50
What...the...hell? My jaw literally fell to the floor. I stayed glued to my spot on the couch for the entire broadcast--even the commercials. I can't believe he's gone.
And this, coupled with the fact that Farrah Fawcett died earlier today, makes this one of the most tragic, sad days Hollywood has experienced in a very long time.
I remember when I was in the eighth grade, and I came home to the news that Sammy Davis, Jr. had died. I was saddened; I was raised on re-runs of 70s variety shows and really enjoyed his performances.
Then I was upstairs about an hour before dinner, doing my homework, when my sister wailed from the living room. That's how I found out that Jim Henson had died.
That news sent me over the edge. Sammy Davis, Jr.'s death was horrible, but for Jim Henson to die in the same day--and die so young--was too much to deal with.
Jim Henson was an institution in our house. Sister Kitten and I have been huge Muppet freaks since we were born. For us, losing Jim Henson was like losing a member of the family.
And now, something similar has happened today, with the premature deaths of two pop culture icons. I don't know what else to say other than, while I wasn't a huge fan of either Michael Jackson or Farrah Fawcett, I'm still very saddened by the news of their passings. I feel terribly for their families and their loved ones right now.
MICHAEL JACKSON DEAD AT 50
What...the...hell? My jaw literally fell to the floor. I stayed glued to my spot on the couch for the entire broadcast--even the commercials. I can't believe he's gone.
And this, coupled with the fact that Farrah Fawcett died earlier today, makes this one of the most tragic, sad days Hollywood has experienced in a very long time.
I remember when I was in the eighth grade, and I came home to the news that Sammy Davis, Jr. had died. I was saddened; I was raised on re-runs of 70s variety shows and really enjoyed his performances.
Then I was upstairs about an hour before dinner, doing my homework, when my sister wailed from the living room. That's how I found out that Jim Henson had died.
That news sent me over the edge. Sammy Davis, Jr.'s death was horrible, but for Jim Henson to die in the same day--and die so young--was too much to deal with.
Jim Henson was an institution in our house. Sister Kitten and I have been huge Muppet freaks since we were born. For us, losing Jim Henson was like losing a member of the family.
And now, something similar has happened today, with the premature deaths of two pop culture icons. I don't know what else to say other than, while I wasn't a huge fan of either Michael Jackson or Farrah Fawcett, I'm still very saddened by the news of their passings. I feel terribly for their families and their loved ones right now.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Eleven years ago today...
...I graduated from college.
It started off as an ominous day. There were big, thick storm clouds in the distance when I awoke and looked out my window. All of the weathermen in the tri-state area had been predicting rain, rain, rain for that day, and I was wishing, hoping, praying that it would hold off till after the ceremony.
The day before, the weather was perfect for Baccalaureat Mass. Absolutely perfect. Sunny, a bit warm, but not a cloud in the sky. This gave me hope that the forecast was incorrect.
Just in case, though, I hung rosary beads out my window. It's an old Catholic trick: if you hang rosary beads out the window the day before a big storm, it's supposed to hold off the nasty weather.
Up until that fateful Sunday, my rosary beads worked every. Single. Time.
At 7:30 AM the phone started ringing. My friends and I were all calling each other, asking if they had heard anything about holding graduation indoors. We listened to the radio, turned on the university's cable channel, yelled out the window as random people drove by. Nothing. By 9:00 we all had to be in the science center and the school of nursing to put on our robes and line up, so we all squeezed into two cars (there were about ten of us traveling together) and drove the thirty-second drive from one end of campus to the other.
We got out of our cars, hugged each other for good luck, and went our separate ways.
It was the last time we all saw each other as undergrads.
At 9:30 AM, we were all lined up. The undergrads and the graduate students all participated in the same ceremony, so the line snaked from the chapel all the way down to the library. We slowly marched up the hill past the campus center, black robes on, hats on our heads, degree stoles slung over our right arms.
And then, ominously, the chapel bells chimed ten times.
10 o'clock.
Time for the ceremony to begin.
The line moved quicker. We walked up the hill past the chapel, past another classroom building, and onto Bellarmine Lawn, where we made our way to the back of Bellarmine Hall, that glorious symbol of our school, and took our seats.
So far, the rain had held off. The dark, stormy clouds still cast a pall over the ceremony. We were happy to be outside, but nervous as the clouds lingered over us.
At 10:15, as the first set of speeches finished, it started to mist.
The College of Arts and Sciences was the first to graduate its members. It was tradition for a graduate to climb the stairs of Bellarmine Terrace, hear their name read, and receive his or her diploma directly from the university president (well, actually, it was a decoy scroll meant to symbolize the degree. We didn't receive our real degrees until after the ceremony, when we turned in our robes).
At 10:30, the first batch of undergrads turned into graduates. Then it was time for members of the School of Business, the School of Nursing, and the Graduate School to receive their faux diplomas.
By the time everyone had been conferred their degrees, it was 11:00.
At that moment, the heavens opened.
A downpour.
About a third of the newly minted grads sprung up and ran for shelter.
Our commencement speaker, Carole Simpson, former weekend anchor of ABC World News Tonight, assumed the podium and asked us all one simple question:
"Are you all wet?"
There was a mix of cheers and groans.
"I will be brief..."
A thunderous round of applause.
Even though she cut her graduation speech in half, it wasn't until noontime when our university president declared the 48th Commencement Exercises of Fairfield University closed. By that time we were all soaked to the bone. Even though the downpour let up, it still rained pretty steadily.
The rain had paused long enough for my family to take pictures in front of the chapel. When I went to turn in my robes, however, the yellow sundress that I had purchased for the event had turned a faint shade of purple. The rain caused my graduation robes to bleed through. I had to return to my dorm room and get changed before we all went out to brunch.
We entered the restaurant at 1:00. It had closed for the day, only opening to Fairfield grads and their families. We all chatted with each other and reminisced about the ceremony. At that point we didn't find the humor in it. We were mad that our commencement got ruined by the rain.
By the time most of us left at 3:00, we discovered an interesting phenomenon:
Sun, in all of its bright, blazing glory.
I smiled. The bonfire was going to go on that night, as planned.
At least one graduation tradition wasn't spoiled by the rain.
The next day, I packed the remaining items from my dorm room (Papa Cat moved most of them back home the weekend before), said goodbye to some friends who were still on campus, and made the trip home.
It was a bright, beautiful sunny day.
I've never written about my college graduation before. As I type this, the memories of it are now as fresh as they were on the day it happened. I remember moving back home feeling very bittersweet, but more bitter than sweet. Amongst the bitterness: no job prospects, and having to move back in with mom and dad.
But that's another post for another time.
Let's move ahead five years, to the day I graduated with my Master's degree. I don't remember the exact date, but I do remember graduating in the bright, hot sun. My family didn't quite understand why I wanted to walk in my Master's ceremony, when about half of the grad students opted not to walk.
I wanted to graduate in the sun.
It was that simple.
Today, I'll be thinking about the students participating in the 59th Commencement Exercises at Fairfield University. For the first time, the undergrads and the graduate students will have separate ceremonies. My BFF and several other friends will be singing at the graduate ceremony with their choir.
The Weather Channel is predicting light rain in the morning.
I hope their clothes don't turn purple.
***UPDATE, 10:26 AM: I'm listening to the webstream and they're holding the ceremony outdoors. The rain has held off for the grads! Thank God!***
It started off as an ominous day. There were big, thick storm clouds in the distance when I awoke and looked out my window. All of the weathermen in the tri-state area had been predicting rain, rain, rain for that day, and I was wishing, hoping, praying that it would hold off till after the ceremony.
The day before, the weather was perfect for Baccalaureat Mass. Absolutely perfect. Sunny, a bit warm, but not a cloud in the sky. This gave me hope that the forecast was incorrect.
Just in case, though, I hung rosary beads out my window. It's an old Catholic trick: if you hang rosary beads out the window the day before a big storm, it's supposed to hold off the nasty weather.
Up until that fateful Sunday, my rosary beads worked every. Single. Time.
At 7:30 AM the phone started ringing. My friends and I were all calling each other, asking if they had heard anything about holding graduation indoors. We listened to the radio, turned on the university's cable channel, yelled out the window as random people drove by. Nothing. By 9:00 we all had to be in the science center and the school of nursing to put on our robes and line up, so we all squeezed into two cars (there were about ten of us traveling together) and drove the thirty-second drive from one end of campus to the other.
We got out of our cars, hugged each other for good luck, and went our separate ways.
It was the last time we all saw each other as undergrads.
At 9:30 AM, we were all lined up. The undergrads and the graduate students all participated in the same ceremony, so the line snaked from the chapel all the way down to the library. We slowly marched up the hill past the campus center, black robes on, hats on our heads, degree stoles slung over our right arms.
And then, ominously, the chapel bells chimed ten times.
10 o'clock.
Time for the ceremony to begin.
The line moved quicker. We walked up the hill past the chapel, past another classroom building, and onto Bellarmine Lawn, where we made our way to the back of Bellarmine Hall, that glorious symbol of our school, and took our seats.
So far, the rain had held off. The dark, stormy clouds still cast a pall over the ceremony. We were happy to be outside, but nervous as the clouds lingered over us.
At 10:15, as the first set of speeches finished, it started to mist.
The College of Arts and Sciences was the first to graduate its members. It was tradition for a graduate to climb the stairs of Bellarmine Terrace, hear their name read, and receive his or her diploma directly from the university president (well, actually, it was a decoy scroll meant to symbolize the degree. We didn't receive our real degrees until after the ceremony, when we turned in our robes).
At 10:30, the first batch of undergrads turned into graduates. Then it was time for members of the School of Business, the School of Nursing, and the Graduate School to receive their faux diplomas.
By the time everyone had been conferred their degrees, it was 11:00.
At that moment, the heavens opened.
A downpour.
About a third of the newly minted grads sprung up and ran for shelter.
Our commencement speaker, Carole Simpson, former weekend anchor of ABC World News Tonight, assumed the podium and asked us all one simple question:
"Are you all wet?"
There was a mix of cheers and groans.
"I will be brief..."
A thunderous round of applause.
Even though she cut her graduation speech in half, it wasn't until noontime when our university president declared the 48th Commencement Exercises of Fairfield University closed. By that time we were all soaked to the bone. Even though the downpour let up, it still rained pretty steadily.
The rain had paused long enough for my family to take pictures in front of the chapel. When I went to turn in my robes, however, the yellow sundress that I had purchased for the event had turned a faint shade of purple. The rain caused my graduation robes to bleed through. I had to return to my dorm room and get changed before we all went out to brunch.
We entered the restaurant at 1:00. It had closed for the day, only opening to Fairfield grads and their families. We all chatted with each other and reminisced about the ceremony. At that point we didn't find the humor in it. We were mad that our commencement got ruined by the rain.
By the time most of us left at 3:00, we discovered an interesting phenomenon:
Sun, in all of its bright, blazing glory.
I smiled. The bonfire was going to go on that night, as planned.
At least one graduation tradition wasn't spoiled by the rain.
The next day, I packed the remaining items from my dorm room (Papa Cat moved most of them back home the weekend before), said goodbye to some friends who were still on campus, and made the trip home.
It was a bright, beautiful sunny day.
I've never written about my college graduation before. As I type this, the memories of it are now as fresh as they were on the day it happened. I remember moving back home feeling very bittersweet, but more bitter than sweet. Amongst the bitterness: no job prospects, and having to move back in with mom and dad.
But that's another post for another time.
Let's move ahead five years, to the day I graduated with my Master's degree. I don't remember the exact date, but I do remember graduating in the bright, hot sun. My family didn't quite understand why I wanted to walk in my Master's ceremony, when about half of the grad students opted not to walk.
I wanted to graduate in the sun.
It was that simple.
Today, I'll be thinking about the students participating in the 59th Commencement Exercises at Fairfield University. For the first time, the undergrads and the graduate students will have separate ceremonies. My BFF and several other friends will be singing at the graduate ceremony with their choir.
The Weather Channel is predicting light rain in the morning.
I hope their clothes don't turn purple.
***UPDATE, 10:26 AM: I'm listening to the webstream and they're holding the ceremony outdoors. The rain has held off for the grads! Thank God!***
Friday, May 15, 2009
Reflections at May's halfway point
It's been a month where I wake up 45 minutes before my alarm on a Monday morning, and work really hard not to sleep through it by the time Friday rolls around.
It's been a month where I have been in my car more often than I've been at home.
It's been a month where the only times I get to spend with my animals are upon awakening and upon falling asleep.
It's been a month where no amount of concealer can hide the bags, puffiness, or circles that envelop my eyes.
It's been a month where, just as I get rid of one blemish, another erupts. And another. And another.
It's been a month where I have to finish at least four books for book clubs and for pleasure, but have barely enough time to read a full chapter of The DaVinci Code. (At least the chapters are short).
It's been a month of working hard, but being aware of balancing that work with play.
It's been a month of seeing the fruits of my labor pay off.
It's been a month full of personal and professional satisfaction.
It's been a month where, for the first time, I feel truly happy, blessed, and satisfied with myself, my career, and in general, my adult life.
It's been a month of anticipation.
It's been a month of reflection.
And now, I have nothing planned for the weekend. Nothing at all.
Yes.
And now, I collapse from exhaustion.
It's been a month where I have been in my car more often than I've been at home.
It's been a month where the only times I get to spend with my animals are upon awakening and upon falling asleep.
It's been a month where no amount of concealer can hide the bags, puffiness, or circles that envelop my eyes.
It's been a month where, just as I get rid of one blemish, another erupts. And another. And another.
It's been a month where I have to finish at least four books for book clubs and for pleasure, but have barely enough time to read a full chapter of The DaVinci Code. (At least the chapters are short).
It's been a month of working hard, but being aware of balancing that work with play.
It's been a month of seeing the fruits of my labor pay off.
It's been a month full of personal and professional satisfaction.
It's been a month where, for the first time, I feel truly happy, blessed, and satisfied with myself, my career, and in general, my adult life.
It's been a month of anticipation.
It's been a month of reflection.
And now, I have nothing planned for the weekend. Nothing at all.
Yes.
And now, I collapse from exhaustion.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
"Are you OK?"
We've all been asked this question at one point or another. But how do we respond?
I usually get asked this question when I'm depressed or stressed. This week, as you know, has been particularly stressful for me. So I got asked this question at least two or three times a day.
"Are you OK?"
How I respond:
"I'm fine."
How I want to respond:
"Am I OK? Am I OK? If I were, would you ask? I mean, I've got a to-do list with a hundred things on it and as I go through the course of my day I get asked to do fifty more things. I'm losing sleep and I may be getting sick. So you ask if I'm OK? Am I OK? What the hell do you think?
It's worse when you're at the grocery store and you get asked this question by the checkout lady. I was at Stop and Shop once, pulling my items out of my cart and slamming them onto the conveyor belt. I was in a furious mood because my car broke down and I had to drive a rental and I had no money for the repair.
The checkout lady looked puzzled.
"Having a bad day?" she asked.
"Yeah, my car broke down and I don't know how I'm gonna pay to fix it."
She smiled. "Oh, I know the feeling, girl. Let me help you with your groceries."
So the checkout lady bagged my groceries and--get this--took them out to my rental for me. She made me feel so much better.
But the point is, she didn't ask, "Are you OK?" She was more specific in her query. And I was able to give her detail because she didn't act overly concerned or nosy, like many people who ask this question.
I know I'm guilty of asking this question. I'm going to try and be more conscientious of doing this, because I have a feeling that a lot of people feel the same way I do.
Not to mention, OK is a weird term. Where did it come from? How did it come to mean "all right?"
Not to mention, "all right" means different things to different people.
So am I OK right now?
Yeah, now I am. It's Saturday, after all. :)
I usually get asked this question when I'm depressed or stressed. This week, as you know, has been particularly stressful for me. So I got asked this question at least two or three times a day.
"Are you OK?"
How I respond:
"I'm fine."
How I want to respond:
"Am I OK? Am I OK? If I were, would you ask? I mean, I've got a to-do list with a hundred things on it and as I go through the course of my day I get asked to do fifty more things. I'm losing sleep and I may be getting sick. So you ask if I'm OK? Am I OK? What the hell do you think?
It's worse when you're at the grocery store and you get asked this question by the checkout lady. I was at Stop and Shop once, pulling my items out of my cart and slamming them onto the conveyor belt. I was in a furious mood because my car broke down and I had to drive a rental and I had no money for the repair.
The checkout lady looked puzzled.
"Having a bad day?" she asked.
"Yeah, my car broke down and I don't know how I'm gonna pay to fix it."
She smiled. "Oh, I know the feeling, girl. Let me help you with your groceries."
So the checkout lady bagged my groceries and--get this--took them out to my rental for me. She made me feel so much better.
But the point is, she didn't ask, "Are you OK?" She was more specific in her query. And I was able to give her detail because she didn't act overly concerned or nosy, like many people who ask this question.
I know I'm guilty of asking this question. I'm going to try and be more conscientious of doing this, because I have a feeling that a lot of people feel the same way I do.
Not to mention, OK is a weird term. Where did it come from? How did it come to mean "all right?"
Not to mention, "all right" means different things to different people.
So am I OK right now?
Yeah, now I am. It's Saturday, after all. :)
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
In need of some dream interpretation...
Kittens, I need some advice.
Lately I've been having some really weird dreams...not necessarily bad ones, and no nightmares that have led me to suddenly awaken, gasping for air. But these dreams are strange, nonetheless, and many of them have recurring themes. Allow me to explain:
1. I often dream about bridges.
The bridges are very long, and a lot of times I have trouble crossing them. Oftentimes they're really steep suspension bridges that cross choppy waters. These bridges also have steel plates on the roads as opposed to pavements. If any of you live in Connecticut and remember the old Sikorsky Bridge that linked the Merritt and Wilbur Cross Parkways, you'll know what I'm talking about.
Sometimes I cross the bridge successfully, sometimes I don't. Most of the time I just keep driving...and driving...and driving.
2. I dream about driving through the mountains--big, tall, snow-capped mountains--where clean creeks and rivers gently roll by. There's nobody there but a few signs of wildlife.
This scene occurs often in my dreams. When I drive by I think to myself, "Oh my God! This is such an awesome place! I have to drive back here again!" And when the time comes for me to drive back again, I can never find it.
3. I dream about road trips...always the start, but rarely the finish.
I'm starting to get a little worried here...
4. I dream about a shuttle--a very dingy subway-type train--that only goes from my town to the town across the river.
The shuttle, if you can call it that, looks like a beat-up Metro North train that only has two cars. It's really gross inside, and only makes one trip--a trip from Middletown, where I live, across the river to Portland, which is right across the river. The trip originates and ends in really nasty neighborhoods. Last night I dreamt that it went to Hartford--first time I've ever dreamt that. Or was it New York? I can't remember.
Now what happens, Kittens, when all four of these recurring themes occur in the same dream? That's what happened last night. I also dreamt about a family that used to live next door to mine when I was growing up. I know why I had that dream; I had listened to Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days" on my iPod last night after I had completed Jenners' meme, and "Glory Days" reminded me of that family.
In the summer of 1993, I took a weeklong summer nanny job for the family next door. My family and theirs were extremely close. I went to the Jersey Shore with them, Ocean City, to be exact, and "Glory Days" was the first song that came on the radio as we crossed the drawbridge into Ocean City proper.
The Boss and the Jersey Shore. Does life get any better?
Anyhoo, it was an eerie moment, and it was a time in my life I'll always hold dear. I think of them from time to time, particularly Christmas, when Mama and Papa Cat receive the annual photo Christmas card from their four kids. I personally don't have any contact with this family, but they talk to my parents often.
They moved from Connecticut to Las Vegas five or six years ago, and I haven't seen them since.
And last night, I dreamt that I went to Vegas to visit them.
I had a lovely time.
And I woke up, and found myself missing them more than I ever had.
The kids are grown now, for the most part. The oldest one's getting married in May. I never thought I'd see the day when one of the kids I used to babysit for would be old enough to marry. (I can't imagine what my reaction would be if she had a kid!)
So those are my dreams. If you have any thoughts or comments or suggestions, please let me know. Now that I've put my dreams in the blogosphere I'm kinda worried about myself!
Lately I've been having some really weird dreams...not necessarily bad ones, and no nightmares that have led me to suddenly awaken, gasping for air. But these dreams are strange, nonetheless, and many of them have recurring themes. Allow me to explain:
1. I often dream about bridges.
The bridges are very long, and a lot of times I have trouble crossing them. Oftentimes they're really steep suspension bridges that cross choppy waters. These bridges also have steel plates on the roads as opposed to pavements. If any of you live in Connecticut and remember the old Sikorsky Bridge that linked the Merritt and Wilbur Cross Parkways, you'll know what I'm talking about.
Sometimes I cross the bridge successfully, sometimes I don't. Most of the time I just keep driving...and driving...and driving.
2. I dream about driving through the mountains--big, tall, snow-capped mountains--where clean creeks and rivers gently roll by. There's nobody there but a few signs of wildlife.
This scene occurs often in my dreams. When I drive by I think to myself, "Oh my God! This is such an awesome place! I have to drive back here again!" And when the time comes for me to drive back again, I can never find it.
3. I dream about road trips...always the start, but rarely the finish.
I'm starting to get a little worried here...
4. I dream about a shuttle--a very dingy subway-type train--that only goes from my town to the town across the river.
The shuttle, if you can call it that, looks like a beat-up Metro North train that only has two cars. It's really gross inside, and only makes one trip--a trip from Middletown, where I live, across the river to Portland, which is right across the river. The trip originates and ends in really nasty neighborhoods. Last night I dreamt that it went to Hartford--first time I've ever dreamt that. Or was it New York? I can't remember.
Now what happens, Kittens, when all four of these recurring themes occur in the same dream? That's what happened last night. I also dreamt about a family that used to live next door to mine when I was growing up. I know why I had that dream; I had listened to Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days" on my iPod last night after I had completed Jenners' meme, and "Glory Days" reminded me of that family.
In the summer of 1993, I took a weeklong summer nanny job for the family next door. My family and theirs were extremely close. I went to the Jersey Shore with them, Ocean City, to be exact, and "Glory Days" was the first song that came on the radio as we crossed the drawbridge into Ocean City proper.
The Boss and the Jersey Shore. Does life get any better?
Anyhoo, it was an eerie moment, and it was a time in my life I'll always hold dear. I think of them from time to time, particularly Christmas, when Mama and Papa Cat receive the annual photo Christmas card from their four kids. I personally don't have any contact with this family, but they talk to my parents often.
They moved from Connecticut to Las Vegas five or six years ago, and I haven't seen them since.
And last night, I dreamt that I went to Vegas to visit them.
I had a lovely time.
And I woke up, and found myself missing them more than I ever had.
The kids are grown now, for the most part. The oldest one's getting married in May. I never thought I'd see the day when one of the kids I used to babysit for would be old enough to marry. (I can't imagine what my reaction would be if she had a kid!)
So those are my dreams. If you have any thoughts or comments or suggestions, please let me know. Now that I've put my dreams in the blogosphere I'm kinda worried about myself!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Perspective
I wasn't planning on a detailed blog post today, but this morning's church service moved me so much, and I had to share my experiences with everyone.
I belong to a Unitarian Universalist church. It's hard for me to explain what Unitarian Universalism is in a few sentences, and I plan to devote a blog post to it in greater detail in the future. That having been said, if you want to find out more right now, click here to go to the website of the UUA.
Anyhoo, we have a different service every week, with a different topic, different presenters, and a different format. Our minister usually presides over services twice a month. Today, our service was led by our Covenant of UU Pagans. It was a service devoted to the coming of the end of winter, and the approach of the spring.
When I entered the sanctuary, all of the seats were arranged in the circle. At the beginning of the service, we sang the hymn "In the Bleak Midwinter," which is one of my all-time favorites. When we finished the hymn, the leader of the service asked all of the children to come up and parade around the sanctuary. He asked the kids to walk around and pretend as if they were sweeping; in doing so, they were sweeping out winter and the cold so that the sanctuary would be ready to welcome spring. Then the children left for Sunday school.
After the kids left, we had a brief meditation, and then four of the members of the Covenant performed a ritual known as "casting the circle." I'm not a pagan, and I don't know enough about paganism to explain very well what it means, but casting the circle is essentually the formal beginning of the ceremony. Throughout the service, the same members of the Covenant came up to the pulpit to share their thoughts on winter, and what it means to them as they progress through "the wheel of the year."
At one point during the service, we wrote our sorrows and fears down on little slips of paper. These slips were collected before the offering and then were placed in a metal bowl. The service leader struck a match and burned our sorrows and fears until they were a pile of ashes. At another point during the service, we were asked to write about our images of hope. We wrote them on another slip of paper; this time, however, they were collected and redistributed to members of the congregation. The leader of the service asked us to remember those images of hope throughout the next six months, to concentrate on them as the world begins anew.
Our service ended with a performance of "The Rising," at which point, a few members of the congregation, myself included, got up and started dancing.
After our services, we always have a discussion period, which usually lasts anywhere between a half hour and an hour. This discussion was what helped me gain some perspective on things. During this period, various members of the congregation shared their thoughts on winter. One member said that winter was a period of introspection for her, where she could reflect on things as the spring months approached. Another member, who grew up on a farm, said that winter was the time where her father sharpened the tools, made sure the bridles were still strong, and made other necessary repairs in order to prepare for the planting of the crops.
Now, those of you who follow this blog know that I'm not too fond of winter. I said that during the discussion. During the winter, I see a world devoid of color. Our church faces the Metacomet Range, and I look out, and all I see is brown, brown, brown. I see naked, dull, depressing trees.
Two thoughts from this discussion particularly stayed with me after I made this observation.
One member, a good friend of mine, sees winter as full of life. He enjoys looking through the bareness of the trees and being able to see images that he normally doesn't see: mountains. Winter birds. Cars going by. (Our church also faces the Wilbur Cross Parkway where it intersects with I-91).
Another member, who is starting to become a friend, spoke of a photography class where she had to take "no color" images that "weren't in black and white." In other words, they had to take pictures full of brown, grey, and other dull colors. She said that the images were so beautiful, that there was actually more color in the "no color" images than there were in some images that are full of color.
I was really moved by these two different perspectives on winter.
I drove home with those two thoughts on my mind. I'm still not a huge fan of winter, but I'm going to try not to hate it so much from now on. With the Super Bowl in mind, I'm trying to think of winter now as spring's "pre-game show." Yeah, I know that sounds like a stupid simile, but maybe I'll start coming around.
It will take a while for me to reflect on my feelings about this season, but it was very nice to get other perspectives, which will help get me through this bleak midwinter of ours.
I belong to a Unitarian Universalist church. It's hard for me to explain what Unitarian Universalism is in a few sentences, and I plan to devote a blog post to it in greater detail in the future. That having been said, if you want to find out more right now, click here to go to the website of the UUA.
Anyhoo, we have a different service every week, with a different topic, different presenters, and a different format. Our minister usually presides over services twice a month. Today, our service was led by our Covenant of UU Pagans. It was a service devoted to the coming of the end of winter, and the approach of the spring.
When I entered the sanctuary, all of the seats were arranged in the circle. At the beginning of the service, we sang the hymn "In the Bleak Midwinter," which is one of my all-time favorites. When we finished the hymn, the leader of the service asked all of the children to come up and parade around the sanctuary. He asked the kids to walk around and pretend as if they were sweeping; in doing so, they were sweeping out winter and the cold so that the sanctuary would be ready to welcome spring. Then the children left for Sunday school.
After the kids left, we had a brief meditation, and then four of the members of the Covenant performed a ritual known as "casting the circle." I'm not a pagan, and I don't know enough about paganism to explain very well what it means, but casting the circle is essentually the formal beginning of the ceremony. Throughout the service, the same members of the Covenant came up to the pulpit to share their thoughts on winter, and what it means to them as they progress through "the wheel of the year."
At one point during the service, we wrote our sorrows and fears down on little slips of paper. These slips were collected before the offering and then were placed in a metal bowl. The service leader struck a match and burned our sorrows and fears until they were a pile of ashes. At another point during the service, we were asked to write about our images of hope. We wrote them on another slip of paper; this time, however, they were collected and redistributed to members of the congregation. The leader of the service asked us to remember those images of hope throughout the next six months, to concentrate on them as the world begins anew.
Our service ended with a performance of "The Rising," at which point, a few members of the congregation, myself included, got up and started dancing.
After our services, we always have a discussion period, which usually lasts anywhere between a half hour and an hour. This discussion was what helped me gain some perspective on things. During this period, various members of the congregation shared their thoughts on winter. One member said that winter was a period of introspection for her, where she could reflect on things as the spring months approached. Another member, who grew up on a farm, said that winter was the time where her father sharpened the tools, made sure the bridles were still strong, and made other necessary repairs in order to prepare for the planting of the crops.
Now, those of you who follow this blog know that I'm not too fond of winter. I said that during the discussion. During the winter, I see a world devoid of color. Our church faces the Metacomet Range, and I look out, and all I see is brown, brown, brown. I see naked, dull, depressing trees.
Two thoughts from this discussion particularly stayed with me after I made this observation.
One member, a good friend of mine, sees winter as full of life. He enjoys looking through the bareness of the trees and being able to see images that he normally doesn't see: mountains. Winter birds. Cars going by. (Our church also faces the Wilbur Cross Parkway where it intersects with I-91).
Another member, who is starting to become a friend, spoke of a photography class where she had to take "no color" images that "weren't in black and white." In other words, they had to take pictures full of brown, grey, and other dull colors. She said that the images were so beautiful, that there was actually more color in the "no color" images than there were in some images that are full of color.
I was really moved by these two different perspectives on winter.
I drove home with those two thoughts on my mind. I'm still not a huge fan of winter, but I'm going to try not to hate it so much from now on. With the Super Bowl in mind, I'm trying to think of winter now as spring's "pre-game show." Yeah, I know that sounds like a stupid simile, but maybe I'll start coming around.
It will take a while for me to reflect on my feelings about this season, but it was very nice to get other perspectives, which will help get me through this bleak midwinter of ours.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
End of year meme
I saw this over at Chessa's and thought I'd give it a try. You'll find some blog flashbacks in this post! I have to be honest with you, though: I think the quality of my writing was not that great earlier in the year, when I started blogging on a daily basis. I'm a much better blogger now.
Still, enjoy the trip in the Wayback Machine!
1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?
Wow...I did so much! I went to a national convention, for starters, campaigned for a presidential candidate, and blogged on a daily basis. I also went to a corn maze and performed in a talent show.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
A friend of mine has a saying: "May your troubles last as long as your resolutions." I did, however, make one resolution, one that I really hope will stick: I resolve to stop biting my nails.
I hope that this will stick, because my resolutions tend to last for very brief periods of time. I'm lucky if I get past the third week of January!
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My friend's sister-in-law had a baby back in March...does that count? I have another friend who is due to give birth to a daughter in either January or February, and another one is due to give birth to twin boys in May.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Thankfully, no. There's been a lot of serious illnesses amongst my circle of friends, but fortunately, no death. Just a lot of bravery.
5. What countries did you visit?
The United States of America. The farthest I got from Connecticut this year was Washington, DC and four trips to NYC. They're both very international cities!
I also made several trips to Mohegan Sun, which is not considered to be on state land. I know, I'm stretching things a bit...
6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
More time with family and friends. More time to read. More time to play. More time to just be.
7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
July 5th: Got to see Barack Obama speak.
November 4th - The world changed.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Finally getting my butt to a great therapist in January and beginning a makeover of my spiritual, emotional, and mental well-being. This blog has helped quite a bit. I have really enjoyed all of the growth that I've made over the past year, and can finally say that I am a very happy, contented person.
It's an ongoing process, though, and it hasn't been easy. There have been a few stumbling blocks.
9. What was your biggest failure?
I don't want to dwell on the negative. Failure is just too strong a word.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I'm asthmatic and suffer from seasonal allergies. My mother calls me a human barometer. I'm never without my inhaler, Sudafed, or Kleenex.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
My Kodak C813 Easy Share digital camera. I've been taking pictures like a fiend. Also, my new purple iPod Nano, the new generation. I can't be without my music. Ever.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My family and friends, without whose support over the last 12-15 months I would not have made it through a rocky period of my life.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
The behavior of those who head the American auto industry, for gross mismanagement; those who head our federal government (1/20/09 can't come soon enough), executives at AIG; and Rod Blagojevich.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Mortgage, bills, credit card payments, student loans (still--ick)...although I've done a lot better for myself now that I've finally been able to stick to a budget for the first time in my life.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Opportunities to travel locally, spend some time with friends, and meet lots of new people.
16. What song will always remind you of 2008?
Ooohhhh, sooooooooo many...Coldplay's "Viva la Vida" and Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)" have been two recent standouts. Seriously, though, anything that's on my iPod playlists for this year will always remind me of 2008.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Happier, thinner, richer.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Scrapbook. Cross stitch. Anything crafty.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Worry and fret.
20. How did you spend Christmas?
With my family.
21. Did you fall in love in 2008?
Alas, no. One day, though, God willing. I'm in no rush. It'll happen when it's supposed to.
22. What was your favorite TV program?
I WANT DVR!!! I don't want it so badly, though, that I have to pay the extra $20 monthly fee for cable. I really don't have a favorite TV program...unless you count my DVD subscription to The Carol Burnett Show.
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Hate is a very strong word. I don't hate people. Life is too short for hating people.
24. What was the best book you read?
Oh God...I don't know what to choose! I really enjoyed A Town Like Paris and Almost Like Being in Love.
25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Country music has been a greater influence on my musical tastes this year than it ever has. I love Brad Paisley and Phil Vassar!
26. What did you want and get?
Personal satisfaction and contentment.
27. What did you want and not get?
Time. Especially time nurturing relationships.
28. What was your favorite film of this year?
I'm not a movie person at all. It's very hard for me to sit down for 90-120 straight minutes to watch a movie. I've been compiling a list, though, of certain films I do want to see in the new year. I need to broaden my horizons.
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 32 on the third day of the third month. I really didn't celebrate my birthday at all this year, save for dinner with my family. I feel really funny throwing a party for myself, in my honor, the older I get.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
More travel!
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
Potential nominee for What Not to Wear. Seriously. After yesterday's trip to NYC, I've concluded that I will never have fashion sense. Every woman dresses nicely in New York! I looked like a shlub...and it's worse at work!
32. What kept you sane?
Reading, blogging, music.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Barack and Michelle Obama.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?
The election. The financial crisis. The bailouts of the financial and auto industries. Sarah Palin's candidacy. Gay rights. I could go on and on.
35. Who did you miss?
This year, I really missed my maternal grandmother, who died when I was 9. I just felt a really strong connection/pull to her this year more than any other when she was alive...
36. Who was the best new person you met?
I've met a lot of wonderful people this year, both in real life and in the blogging community. It would not be fair for me to single out just one person.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.
I'm with Chessa on this one: Things always have a way of working themselves out.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"So it goes like it goes
Like the river flows
And time it rolls right on
And maybe what's good gets a little bit better
And maybe what's bad gets gone."
--"It Goes Like It Goes," theme from Norma Rae
Still, enjoy the trip in the Wayback Machine!
1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?
Wow...I did so much! I went to a national convention, for starters, campaigned for a presidential candidate, and blogged on a daily basis. I also went to a corn maze and performed in a talent show.
2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
A friend of mine has a saying: "May your troubles last as long as your resolutions." I did, however, make one resolution, one that I really hope will stick: I resolve to stop biting my nails.
I hope that this will stick, because my resolutions tend to last for very brief periods of time. I'm lucky if I get past the third week of January!
3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My friend's sister-in-law had a baby back in March...does that count? I have another friend who is due to give birth to a daughter in either January or February, and another one is due to give birth to twin boys in May.
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Thankfully, no. There's been a lot of serious illnesses amongst my circle of friends, but fortunately, no death. Just a lot of bravery.
5. What countries did you visit?
The United States of America. The farthest I got from Connecticut this year was Washington, DC and four trips to NYC. They're both very international cities!
I also made several trips to Mohegan Sun, which is not considered to be on state land. I know, I'm stretching things a bit...
6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
More time with family and friends. More time to read. More time to play. More time to just be.
7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
July 5th: Got to see Barack Obama speak.
November 4th - The world changed.
8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Finally getting my butt to a great therapist in January and beginning a makeover of my spiritual, emotional, and mental well-being. This blog has helped quite a bit. I have really enjoyed all of the growth that I've made over the past year, and can finally say that I am a very happy, contented person.
It's an ongoing process, though, and it hasn't been easy. There have been a few stumbling blocks.
9. What was your biggest failure?
I don't want to dwell on the negative. Failure is just too strong a word.
10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I'm asthmatic and suffer from seasonal allergies. My mother calls me a human barometer. I'm never without my inhaler, Sudafed, or Kleenex.
11. What was the best thing you bought?
My Kodak C813 Easy Share digital camera. I've been taking pictures like a fiend. Also, my new purple iPod Nano, the new generation. I can't be without my music. Ever.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My family and friends, without whose support over the last 12-15 months I would not have made it through a rocky period of my life.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
The behavior of those who head the American auto industry, for gross mismanagement; those who head our federal government (1/20/09 can't come soon enough), executives at AIG; and Rod Blagojevich.
14. Where did most of your money go?
Mortgage, bills, credit card payments, student loans (still--ick)...although I've done a lot better for myself now that I've finally been able to stick to a budget for the first time in my life.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Opportunities to travel locally, spend some time with friends, and meet lots of new people.
16. What song will always remind you of 2008?
Ooohhhh, sooooooooo many...Coldplay's "Viva la Vida" and Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)" have been two recent standouts. Seriously, though, anything that's on my iPod playlists for this year will always remind me of 2008.
17. Compared to this time last year, are you: a) happier or sadder? b) thinner or fatter? c) richer or poorer?
Happier, thinner, richer.
18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Scrapbook. Cross stitch. Anything crafty.
19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Worry and fret.
20. How did you spend Christmas?
With my family.
21. Did you fall in love in 2008?
Alas, no. One day, though, God willing. I'm in no rush. It'll happen when it's supposed to.
22. What was your favorite TV program?
I WANT DVR!!! I don't want it so badly, though, that I have to pay the extra $20 monthly fee for cable. I really don't have a favorite TV program...unless you count my DVD subscription to The Carol Burnett Show.
23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Hate is a very strong word. I don't hate people. Life is too short for hating people.
24. What was the best book you read?
Oh God...I don't know what to choose! I really enjoyed A Town Like Paris and Almost Like Being in Love.
25. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Country music has been a greater influence on my musical tastes this year than it ever has. I love Brad Paisley and Phil Vassar!
26. What did you want and get?
Personal satisfaction and contentment.
27. What did you want and not get?
Time. Especially time nurturing relationships.
28. What was your favorite film of this year?
I'm not a movie person at all. It's very hard for me to sit down for 90-120 straight minutes to watch a movie. I've been compiling a list, though, of certain films I do want to see in the new year. I need to broaden my horizons.
29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 32 on the third day of the third month. I really didn't celebrate my birthday at all this year, save for dinner with my family. I feel really funny throwing a party for myself, in my honor, the older I get.
30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
More travel!
31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?
Potential nominee for What Not to Wear. Seriously. After yesterday's trip to NYC, I've concluded that I will never have fashion sense. Every woman dresses nicely in New York! I looked like a shlub...and it's worse at work!
32. What kept you sane?
Reading, blogging, music.
33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Barack and Michelle Obama.
34. What political issue stirred you the most?
The election. The financial crisis. The bailouts of the financial and auto industries. Sarah Palin's candidacy. Gay rights. I could go on and on.
35. Who did you miss?
This year, I really missed my maternal grandmother, who died when I was 9. I just felt a really strong connection/pull to her this year more than any other when she was alive...
36. Who was the best new person you met?
I've met a lot of wonderful people this year, both in real life and in the blogging community. It would not be fair for me to single out just one person.
37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.
I'm with Chessa on this one: Things always have a way of working themselves out.
38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
"So it goes like it goes
Like the river flows
And time it rolls right on
And maybe what's good gets a little bit better
And maybe what's bad gets gone."
--"It Goes Like It Goes," theme from Norma Rae
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas Eve Mass, 2008
A few days ago, I composed a post about how I dreaded attending Mass on Christmas Eve, when 75% of my immediate family consists of lapsed Catholics.
I would like to take all of the negative things I said in that post back.
I still have my issues with the Catholic church, but last night's Christmas Eve service was one of the loveliest I've ever attended.
Going to Mass, especially for a lapsed Catholic, is like riding a bicycle. I hadn't been to a Catholic church since last Christmas Eve, and upon entering the church, my right hand automatically reached for the holy water and crossed myself. I also genuflected when we got to our pew, put down the kneeler, crossed myself again, and prayed.
The scriptures were all comfortingly familiar. Luke's Gospel, in particular, was very nice. Maybe it's just the way that the priest reads it. Maybe it's like wrapping a security blanket around you. It just felt really good to hear that Biblical passage last night, moreso than ever.
And the homily...oh, the homily! My parents' priest is extremely clever when it comes to homilies, especially at this time of year. One year he brought out a ukelele and told a story about a little rabbit looking for a home on Christmas. Another year his sermon was an anti war lament. He preached as the choir softly hummed "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" in the background. Last year he pondered the meaning of Christmas, and took out a tape recorder, and played "And So This is Christmas." He took a microphone, and started to sing, encouraging the rest of the congregation to join him in the chorus. Sister Kitten and I did just that, waving our hands and singing "war is over" over and over again.
This year, he told a story about his little grand-nephew, who, at Thanksgiving, asked him if Santa Claus existed. Our priest told the story of the history of Saint Nicholas, that he really was a saint, a bishop who wore red. He recounted to his little grand-nephew the different versions of St. Nick all around the world, such as Pere Noel in France.
At one point, another grand-nephew joined the conversation and told him that he once wrote a letter to Santa, and Santa wrote back!
This was when the priest paused during the homily. He took out a pen and paper, had his lector move a music stand in front of the pulpit, and announced that he was composing a letter to Santa Claus. With a recording of "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas" playing in the background, he read his letter aloud as he wrote. He recounted his wishes for the First Communion kids, that they always hold the joy of that First Communion in their hearts. He wished that the Confirmation kids would grow and blossom in their relationship with the church. I don't remember what he wished for the adults, but I was so touched by this gesture.
He signed the letter, put it in an envelope, and gave it to his lector, with the instructions to deliver it to the post office, which was right down the road, ASAP.
And with that, the homily was over, and I recited the Nicene Creed by heart. Again, Mass is like riding a bicycle.
I couldn't go up for Communion, however. I hadn't been to a Catholic church in so long, I couldn't justify it for myself.
However, in spite of this, something special happened last night.
I started to make peace with Catholicism.
I still have some disagreements with the church that I have to iron out, but I guess you could say that I'm on the road to recovery. I left church feeling really, really good. I guess you could use the word serene. I decided that I should attend Mass more often.
Don't get me wrong, I still love my little UU church and cherish its community. It will always be my spiritual home. But Catholicism is a huge part of my past; it gave me a spiritual foundation.
And it played such a great role in my life, I really can't cut off ties completely.
It has nothing to do with Catholic guilt. It once did, but it doesn't anymore.
Can I balance the UU church with Catholicism? We shall see.
But for now, I'll just take pride in the fact that I am a child of God, and to remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.
I would like to take all of the negative things I said in that post back.
I still have my issues with the Catholic church, but last night's Christmas Eve service was one of the loveliest I've ever attended.
Going to Mass, especially for a lapsed Catholic, is like riding a bicycle. I hadn't been to a Catholic church since last Christmas Eve, and upon entering the church, my right hand automatically reached for the holy water and crossed myself. I also genuflected when we got to our pew, put down the kneeler, crossed myself again, and prayed.
The scriptures were all comfortingly familiar. Luke's Gospel, in particular, was very nice. Maybe it's just the way that the priest reads it. Maybe it's like wrapping a security blanket around you. It just felt really good to hear that Biblical passage last night, moreso than ever.
And the homily...oh, the homily! My parents' priest is extremely clever when it comes to homilies, especially at this time of year. One year he brought out a ukelele and told a story about a little rabbit looking for a home on Christmas. Another year his sermon was an anti war lament. He preached as the choir softly hummed "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" in the background. Last year he pondered the meaning of Christmas, and took out a tape recorder, and played "And So This is Christmas." He took a microphone, and started to sing, encouraging the rest of the congregation to join him in the chorus. Sister Kitten and I did just that, waving our hands and singing "war is over" over and over again.
This year, he told a story about his little grand-nephew, who, at Thanksgiving, asked him if Santa Claus existed. Our priest told the story of the history of Saint Nicholas, that he really was a saint, a bishop who wore red. He recounted to his little grand-nephew the different versions of St. Nick all around the world, such as Pere Noel in France.
At one point, another grand-nephew joined the conversation and told him that he once wrote a letter to Santa, and Santa wrote back!
This was when the priest paused during the homily. He took out a pen and paper, had his lector move a music stand in front of the pulpit, and announced that he was composing a letter to Santa Claus. With a recording of "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas" playing in the background, he read his letter aloud as he wrote. He recounted his wishes for the First Communion kids, that they always hold the joy of that First Communion in their hearts. He wished that the Confirmation kids would grow and blossom in their relationship with the church. I don't remember what he wished for the adults, but I was so touched by this gesture.
He signed the letter, put it in an envelope, and gave it to his lector, with the instructions to deliver it to the post office, which was right down the road, ASAP.
And with that, the homily was over, and I recited the Nicene Creed by heart. Again, Mass is like riding a bicycle.
I couldn't go up for Communion, however. I hadn't been to a Catholic church in so long, I couldn't justify it for myself.
However, in spite of this, something special happened last night.
I started to make peace with Catholicism.
I still have some disagreements with the church that I have to iron out, but I guess you could say that I'm on the road to recovery. I left church feeling really, really good. I guess you could use the word serene. I decided that I should attend Mass more often.
Don't get me wrong, I still love my little UU church and cherish its community. It will always be my spiritual home. But Catholicism is a huge part of my past; it gave me a spiritual foundation.
And it played such a great role in my life, I really can't cut off ties completely.
It has nothing to do with Catholic guilt. It once did, but it doesn't anymore.
Can I balance the UU church with Catholicism? We shall see.
But for now, I'll just take pride in the fact that I am a child of God, and to remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.
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