Lately I've been dreaming...

...about my college days.

If I were to post this on Facebook, I would say that I didn't know why.

But the truth is, I do know why.

A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to attend a workshop at my undergraduate institution. It's the kind of place where, every time I visit, I feel like I'm coming home. It will always have a special place in my heart.

But things have changed. A lot. There's so much construction on campus. My residence hall from senior year is being gutted and turned into apartments. Lots of new residence halls are being constructed. No new academic buildings are being constructed, though. The campus is now very crowded.

That was a very bittersweet feeling--walking around campus and seeing that everything was different. Lots of trees were cut down to make room for the new buildings. It wasn't the place where I went to school.

And then, over the past several nights, I've been dreaming about my undergrad days. And it's not just because of my visit there...lately I've been awash in many memories of the past.

It's inevitable in life that you drift apart from some friends, while making new ones. Some people leave your lives temporarily, only to return again, unexpectedly. Some people are meant to be in your lives forever, others only for a short time.

I'm in touch with quite a few of my college friends, but have grown apart from a lot of them, too. And lately, I've been really missing several of them. Some of them I've been missing so much that one of my dreams this week was about what my college life would have been like if I wasn't friends with the people I was friends with in college and beyond. Things were different. Very different.

I have one friend in particular whom I've known since freshman year. Lately our lives have taken completely different directions. My friend wants a family, and hangs out with her spouse's friends, mostly. I'm not quite headed in that direction yet. And I have another friend who's headed in the same direction; he hangs out primarily with his partner, his friends, and their kids.

And that leaves me...well, headed down another path.

And that's okay.

Sometimes I dream about college when I yearn for simpler times. For example, as much as I love to watch/read the news, I just can't watch it lately. Especially the election season here in Connecticut. Arrgh, too much stress...

Sometimes it just plain sucks to be an adult...

Other times, I'm pretty damn glad to be one. I look back at my senior year, and remember the feelings of bittersweetness. I didn't want to leave campus, but I also felt like I was trapped in a bubble. That protective bubble of the university gates. I was ready to move on, but at the same time, scared of what I'd face in the real world.

Well, it's time for bed now, ironically enough...what will I dream about tonight?

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.

RIP: My little green car, 2002-2010

If you're a regular reader of this blog, you know that I have absolutely RAVED about my car, a 2002 Kia Spectra. Kittens, I am saddened to report that she has bitten the dust--and it was a sudden death to boot.

I was driving home from work Wednesday afternoon, cruising down the highway at 70, when all of a sudden she started revving funny. And she started losing power, fast. So as I'm pulling over to the side of the road, I hit the gas, and all of a sudden, she revved from 1000 rpm to 4000 rpm. I got over to the shoulder and killed the ignition, then pulled out my cell phone and called AAA. I then called my mechanic to let him know I was on my way, and requested arrangement for a rental.

I waited about half an hour for AAA to show up. As I waited, I started the car again to see if I could pull her further to the side of the road. She started up fine, I put her into drive, hit the gas--and she DIDN'T MOVE. At all. I knew this was serious.

So AAA comes to get me and we drive up to the dealership. I was devastated. Yes, my little Spectra had 147,000 miles on her, and I was hoping to get her up to 200,000 before I considered a new car, but I guess it wasn't meant to be.

We arrived at the dealership and the tow truck guy takes her off the flatbed and I hand my mechanic the keys. He goes out to move it; it won't budge. He said it was a transmission problem, most likely. Greeaaaaaaattt.

Enterprise Rent-a-Car picked me up at the dealership, and I made arrangements for my rental--a 2009, royal blue, Kia Spectra. Same car as I was driving, but a newer, redesigned model. Oh, the Universe has SUCH a sense of humor...

I knew when I got home that it was time to look for a new car, and fast. I knew that I wanted another Kia. I bought my little green car brand new, and got 147,000+ miles out of her. And that breakdown was the ONLY time she ever broke down on me. All she needed, before her death, was routine maintenance, oil changes, and as she got older, replacement parts. But she NEVER broke down on me until this week.

So when I got home I went to the website and looked at their used car deals. I found several, printed out the specs, called Papa Cat and told him we had something to discuss over dinner the following night (I was planning on having dinner at the 'rents house, anyway. It's as if the moon, the stars, and the planets aligned just for me).

The next day I'm on my way up to the Cat Family homestead when my mechanic calls--the transmission's completely dead, and I needed a new one. $1500. At 147,000 miles, it really didn't make much sense to invest in a new transmission. I said, "No thanks."

I arrived at the Cat Family homestead, and Papa Cat and I looked at the specs. We decided on a 2008 Spectra, used, for under $10,000. I called the dealership and got a hold of a guy in sales. That car was sold that day. My heart broke. However, there was another Spectra on the lot--the exact same car that I had for the rental, except it was gold.

Again, I felt that the moon, the stars, and the planets were aligning just for me.

We did the deal over the phone, and made arrangements to pick her up yesterday afternoon. So now I am the proud owner of a 2009 Kia Spectra. I'm thinking of calling her 2.0, since my last car was the 2002 version.

In retrospect, I had had some gut feelings for several months that my little green car was about to die. It was falling apart gradually--first it was the little things, like the rear defroster. It had trouble starting up in the mornings. And then the hazards got stuck and I had to call AAA for that one. And then--and this was probably the biggest tell-tale sign--my car, in the last month of its life, would lurch whenever I put it into drive, and sometimes I would have to shift it into reverse before it would shift into drive.

When I went to take care of the service bill, my mechanic told me that they couldn't even push the car into the garage. It wouldn't shift into drive at all,. I don't think it would have switched into neutral. He told me that the technician had to go outside and look under the car IN THE PARKING LOT to see what was wrong. The fluids were all good, and the engine was in fine shape, but something snapped in the transmission.

In spite of my little green car's tragic death, I must admit I really like my new one. 2.0 glides on the road. She handles very nicely. Even the stereo sounds a lot better. I finally have a CD player, and I've got air conditioning back.

I hope to post pictures soon.

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!***

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

Christmas Eve with Mama and Papa Cat

Every time winter weather occurs, I have to call Mama Cat both when I arrive at work and when I come home from work.

Tonight, following my dentist's appointment, I called her to let her know I got home OK. As the conversation progressed, talk turned to Christmas Eve:

ME: Are we going to Mass Christmas Eve?
MAMA CAT: I dunno. I don't know if Dad's church has Mass on Christmas Eve?
ME: What's the point of going? Dad's the only practicing Catholic in our family.
MAMA CAT: I don't get it either. When you were kids Dad was always asking "Do I have to go to church today?" whenever we got ready on Sundays.
ME: Now it's the reverse. What happened?
MAMA CAT: I don't know.

My parents wanted to give both me and my sister a spiritual foundation. We were both baptized and raised Catholic, received our First Communion when we were eight, and were confirmed when we were 14.

I went to a Catholic high school, a Jesuit university, and earned my Master's from another local Catholic institution. During those years, I was Super Catholic Girl. My faith was of the utmost importance to me. I became a Eucharistic Minister, went to Mass as often as possible, and engaged in all sorts of service projects. Catholicism was such an important fiber of my being, some of my friends wondered if I was going to become a nun.

Sister Kitten went through a similar spiritual phase. She went to a public high school, but started going on Emmaus retreats with her best friend, who was a member of the Episcopal church. Her faith, while it differed from mine, became an important fiber of her being.

In spite of our spiritual journeys, we had trouble discussing our experiences at the time. I argued that Catholicism was the one true religion, while she accused me of being closed-minded and not open to any other perspectives. I told her about how the Jesuits valued education, and how they encouraged people to question things and to learn, as well as their commitment to service. She would hear none of it.

The subject of religion and faith has not come up recently between me and Sister Kitten, although I would like to talk about it with her someday.

But I digress.

I especially loved my faith journey during my undergrad days. Fairfield had a 10:00 Mass on Monday nights, and I loved to go because it was so informal, and Father Carrier, our chaplain, knew how to talk to college kids. He made scripture real to us, and never failed to relate it to what was going on both on campus and in the outside world.

Upon graduation, that was one of the hardest things for me to part with.

Post-graduation, I started falling out of love with the Catholic church.

For about a year, I alternated between two churches: my parents', and the Catholic church the next town over. I had so much difficulty relating to the sermons and the scripture. For one, I was the youngest person attending Mass. Everyone else was either elderly or had young families. There was nothing for young, twentysomething single people like me. There were also very few service opportunities available. I didn't feel the same magical connection that I did when I attended Mass in college, and a part of me started dying.

I stopped attending church after that.

September 11th occurred two months after I moved out of my parents' house. I went to the local Catholic church, seeking some guidance. I had the same question that many Americans did that weekend: "How could God let this happen?"

It was the same question that the priest asked at the beginning of his sermon.

When he compared 9/11 to abortion, I walked out.

I thought it was incredibly tasteless, tactless--I'm still pissed at that memory.

I still didn't give up, though. I still sought a spiritual home. I felt obligated that it be a Catholic house of worship, because of my long history with Catholicism, and that I would feel guilty if I ever gave it up. After all, I reasoned, I spent so much time studying it, being absorbed in it, really immersing myself in it.

I thought I had found a home, and joined the choir. I felt that music helped me strengthen my relationship with God. However, I had trouble making connections with the other members of the parish. Again, I was the youngest person there, a single twentysomething in a pool of older congregants.

I left that church.

I moved up to Middletown and heard a lot of good things about another Catholic church. I joined because I heard there were a lot of service opportunities there. However, there was that same problem of not bonding with my fellow parishioners.

But this time, things were different.

I started to notice, during Mass, that I would take a seat in the last available pew and pray that no one would talk to me. I had never felt that way before. I also noticed two things: one, nobody talked to each other, save for the Kiss of Peace. Two, those who did talk to each other were old friends, and didn't bother to welcome the newcomers.

Not only that, but I was having some major issues with some of the positions that the Catholic church took with respect to women, abortion, and gay rights. I was tired of the conservative doctrine, the "one true faith" perspective that the Vatican had. I was tired of being told what to believe, and tired of not being allowed to ask questions.

In other words, I finally knew what Sister Kitten was trying to tell me all those years ago.

For about three or four years, I didn't go to church of any kind, save for Christmas with my family and the occasional Easter service. I didn't realize it then, but my spiritual side was shriveled up and grey, or, as Dr. Seuss would say, my "heart was two sizes too small."

In 2006, my mentor passed away, and her funeral was held at her church, a small, non-denominational Christian church. The service was absolutely beautiful, personal, and full of love. There was some ritual, but it was planned in a way that honored my mentor's favorite music, poems, and memories.

Although it was a funeral, you could really feel the sense of community that was there. So many members of the church had come together to help plan the service and the reception afterwards.

That was what I missed the most.

Community.

I knew I needed a new spiritual home, but where would I find one?

Last June, I was at a party at my best friend's house when another friend of mine told me that she and her husband had just joined a Unitarian Universalist church. She raved about it. She told me about how she and her husband were both of different faiths, and how they both agreed that their son should be raised with a spiritual education. She liked how the UU religious program taught about religions and faiths of all backgrounds--Catholicism, Judaism, Hinduism--you name it, the kids learned about it. They weren't pigeonholed to believe one thing, but were encouraged to explore different traditions and make it their own.

I was intrigued. I decided to investigate.

That night, I found the website for the Unitarian Universalist Association, typed in my city, state, and zip code, and found a church within a reasonable driving distance. I attended the service the second week of July. It was a small church, but the people there were super-friendly and welcomed me with open arms.

"What's your name?"

"Where are you from?"

"What brings you here?"

"Do you have any questions for us?"

It was not the type of service that I was used to. There was a chalice lighting, but nothing from the Bible, Torah, or any kind of scripture. There was a lot of yoga in that service, with some expressive art thrown in. I liked it, and decided to return the next week.

When I did return the next week, I was amazed that people remembered my name. I'm not being sarcastic here; when you attend a Catholic church for years and you don't know anyone's name, this is something you take for granted.

"Welcome back!"

"Glad you're here!"

"Our minister's here! You'll get to meet her!"

I became a full-fledged member of that church last January. After I had been going to services there for a few months, I started to realize something: my depression, that I had battled on and off for years, was lifting. I started to feel happier, more whole.

My heart grew three sizes.

I like being a UU because I can now "live the questions." I'm still learning a lot about my faith and my religious beliefs. I believe in Jesus, and in God, but I also enjoy the pagan rituals such as Samhain and Yule. I believe in the Big Bang, but I also believe in Adam and Eve. How do I connect the two?

I attend church with humanists, atheists, pagans, and agnostics. We have discussion after each service. I love hearing the different perspectives, and I love how I can contribute to discussion without fear of judgment or being judged.

Catholicism, though, will always remain a part of my life. I still have issues with the Catholic church, but it gave me a strong foundation, and helped make me who I am. I treasure the opportunites that it brought me, such as going to Washington, DC to assist with Habitat for Humanity, and working with underprivileged youth in urban areas.

However, I still feel like a hypocrite attending Mass on Christmas Eve. I've become part of the "once a year people" that I once despised in my youth.

That's not the kind of feeling I want to experience on Christmas Eve.

"I love Paris in the winter..."

I have no idea how I found this blog, Paris 2e, but I am in love with it.

I studied in Paris for the fall semester of my junior year of college. It's hard to believe that was twelve years ago this month that I departed the City of Light to return to my home soil.

I want to return in the worst way. I know that, with my lifestyle, it's not possible for me to stay there for a month, but even a week back there would be wonderful.

Anyhoo, to get a taste of this blog, click here and here to see how the City of Light festoons itself for the holidays. Click here and here to get a taste of French politics.

Bon voyage!

And now, the end is near...

This afternoon I happened across the Time Magazine website for some strange reason (I really can't remember why), and that's when I first saw the end-of-year lists. You know those lists, Kittens, those Best-Of lists that are always compiled and published in magazines during the second or third week of December, shortly before Christmas.

Every year, those Best-Of lists seem to arrive earlier and earlier.

And every year, times seems to go faster and faster.

I'm not going to get too melancholy with this post; that's not my intention. I just can't believe that tomorrow's December 10th already, and I can't believe how fast this year has gone by.

I can't believe that Christmas Eve is two weeks from tomorrow.

I can't believe that New Year's Eve is three weeks from tomorrow.

I might compose my own "Year in Review" post, but it's not going to be one of those negative ones focusing on the recession, the wars, or any other horrid thing occurring right now. Rather, I'm going to take some of my pictures and make a collage of the highlights of my own year. I figure it'll be a good way for me to post some of the pictures that I promised you all, but never got around to doing.

But now, I've got to focus on getting through the next two weeks. I'm about done with my shopping, but I still have social functions to attend, decorations to put up (I've been extremely lazy about that this year), and Christmas cards to write. All that focus will make the time go even faster!

As if time isn't going fast enough...

I Am an Eighties Lady

Even though I have a special fondness for the 70s, please remember, I was only born in 1976! But remember, too, that my parents are both natives of the greater New York City metropolitan area, and even though I grew up in Connecticut, they still spiritually lived in Westchester and Elizabeth (where they were born and raised). So my bringing-up was filled with my parents' longing for New York news, New York TV, the Daily News, and the New York Post.

I was raised with 70s pop culture all around me. My 80s influences came from my peers at school.

I remember when there was a rivalry between Cyndi Lauper and Madonna, and how I thought Cyndi Lauper would trump Madonna easily in a cage match. I remember grooving to Bon Jovi and having such a crush on Jon. I remember watching Saturday mornings on ABC, and how Menudo would come on between airings of Schoolhouse Rock.

I remember watching the Smurfs, and having a collection of hundreds, literally, of the 3-inch figurines, which my sister and I kept in coffee cans. I remember wearing ruffled skirts and denim skirts with the leggings underneath. (They were still better looking then than when teenagers wear them now). I remember wearing neon jelly bracelets, at least ten at a time, and when there wasn't a meaning behind the color of each bracelet.

I remember playing clapping games on the playground and jumping rope with my friends. I remember wearing lip gloss lockets around my neck, and how my teachers used to yell at me for putting on lip gloss during class. I remember Tinkerbell cosmetics, and how we used to put it on our faces on the bus to school. I remember my pink Barbie makeup kit, and how much I loved that one, too.

I remember my Cabbage Patch Kids, Strawberry Shortcake, My Little Pony, and Care Bears dolls, and how today's versions can't even hold a candle to their counterparts of yesteryear.

I remember watching He-Man and She-Ra after school, which came on right after reruns of Tic Tac Dough, The Joker's Wild, and Press Your Luck.

I remember watching The Facts of Life, really identifying with Natalie Green and loathing Blair Warner.

I remember wanting to watch Fame, but was upset that I couldn't, because my mom thought the show was too old for me.

I remember defying my mother's orders, on many occasions, not to watch You Can't Do That on Television.

I remember wanting to be as confident as Punky Brewster.

I remember Friday nights being the night, when we could watch Full House and Webster.

I remember reading Sweet Valley High and The Babysitters Club books obsessively, and would count down the days until the new book in the series was available at Waldenbooks.

I remember my frustration at not being able to get my bangs three inches high, and how my mother would not let me crimp my hair.

I had Wonder Woman Underoos and wore them till they were barethread.

I remember when Deborah Gibson was known as "Debbie," and being a charter member of her fan club.

I remember my delight when I bought my first iPod, and how I could re-create all of my mixtapes with iTunes.

A large portion of my iPod consists of 70s singer songwriters and 80s tunes from my childhood, with some current tunes thrown in for good measure.

Which reminds me, I haven't posted a playlist in a while.

Excuse me while I pull up my iTunes...

I Am A Child of the 70s

I was born in 1976, grew up in the 80s, came of age in the 90s.

So why am I such a fan of 70s pop culture?

When it comes to entertainment, all the reviews you've seen so far on this blog have to do with 70s icons: The Carol Burnett Show, The Magic Garden, and Patti LuPone's nightclub act from 1980. (Yeah, I know, it's the first year of the 1980's, but it's one year off from the 70s, so that should count, n'est-ce pas?)

Now...I loathe shag carpeting, bellbottoms, and hot pants. But I do have a fondness for ABBA, James Taylor, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, and Carole King. I love disco and all of the 70s singer-songwriters who wrote their own material and played their own instruments. I remember when my mother had a fondness for Tab Cola and drove an orange Pinto hatchback. My father was floored when he heard I could pronounce "Ayatollah" at the age of 3. (I kid you not.)

I remember when the Muppets were cutting edge, and had biting, satirical humor wrapped in their shows, and weren't Disney-fied like they are now. I remember when reruns of I Dream of Jeannie, The Brady Bunch, and I Love Lucy ruled the airwaves, not the manufactured, over-produced, badly written crap that's written for today's kids. I remember trying to play fake sick so I could watch these shows, as well as The Price is Right. I remember when Bob Barker had dark hair, and was upset when he let it go grey. (Although I got used to the grey hair pretty quickly).

I remember when the USA Network had the Cartoon Express, with reruns of The Flintstones, Devlin, The Banana Splits, and all of those old Hanna-Barbera shows from the 70s that are almost completely forgotten now. I remember coming home from school, flipping on USA, and watching reruns of Tic Tac Dough, The Joker's Wild, and Press Your Luck (the favorite of me and my sister). I remember watching reruns of The Gong Show when I was in high school, and my mother yelling at me for those acts being too risque. (Although, in today's standards, most of those acts are pretty tame now).

I remember watching the old episodes of Zoom, when the kids wore those striped rugby shirts, and learning how to speak Ubbi-Dubbi with my friends on the playground. I remember when Mr. Snuffleupagus was imaginary to everyone on Sesame Street except for Big Bird. I remember watching The Electric Company, and was amazed that the same guy on Fat Albert was also on my favorite show.

I remember Fat Albert, and all of the Cosby Kids. That is, the Cosby Kids whose names weren't Saundra, Denise, Theo, Vanessa, and Rudy. I remember Bucky, Mushmouth, Dumb Donald, Rudy (not the little girl), Old Weird Harold, and Russell.

I remember the original Not Ready for Prime Time Players, and how they could put today's cast of SNL to shame.

I remember those old In the News segments on CBS, as well as Schoolhouse Rock on ABC, and how my Saturday mornings weren't complete without them. I remember being freaked out by those old production company logos: The Viacom V of Doom, and the ITC spinning diamond logo (the latter of which creeps me out to this very day).

I remember when WPIX was known as "11 Alive", and when Jim Jensen was the man to watch on TV news on WCBS. Well, he was the man to watch for local news. My dad always, always, always stopped whatever he was doing so he could watch "Uncle Walter" Cronkhite. That I remember especially.

I remember when Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and Porky Pig reruns greeted me in the morning before I went to school, and am saddened that few kids know who they are today.

I am a child of the 70s who grew up in the 80s and came of age in the 90s.

I still have fond memories of the 80s and 90s, though--but those are for later posts.

"Pardon us, the garden-us is where we'll be..."

When I was four years old, my family moved from Westchester County, New York, to a (then) small town in northern Connecticut. I don't have a ton of memories from my time in New York, but the ones I do have are very, very vivid and fond. One of those fond memories involves a local TV show that has since become a classic.

That show? The Magic Garden.

WPIX-TV, which was then an independent station (it then became a WB affiliate, and is a CW affiliate in its current incarnation), produced this lovely show. It started airing in 1972, and starred two young women, Carole Demas and Paula Janis, who had been singing and performing together since their days as schoolchildren in Brooklyn. It was a very simple, gentle show about friendship, creativity, music, and imagination.

Of course, that description sounds very simplistic, but that's pretty much the premise of The Magic Garden. Every day, for half an hour in the afternoons, I would watch The Magic Garden, oftentimes with my Aunt Marlene, a neighbor who used to babysit me quite a bit. My favorite part back then was the Chuckle Patch, a patch of daisies that would shake and giggle whenever they had corny jokes to tell. Carole and Paula would each take a leaf or two from the Chuckle Patch, and the leaves had jokes written on them.

The opening and closing images of The Magic Garden were seared into my brain for years. The show opened with the image of a window in the center of a wall with pink striped wallpaper. As soon as Carole and Paula sang the opening chords of the theme song, the window's French doors would open out into the garden, and slowly, the camera panned through the window, showing Carole and Paula in the Magic Garden, both in their long pigtails, sitting on rope swings, singing the theme while Paula strummed her guitar. The show's closing was very similar, only the camera panned out of the garden, and the window slowly, slowly closed on Carole and Paula as they sang the ending theme.

The Magic Garden was a cult hit in the New York City area, and Carole and Paula had a huge fan base. Kids of my generation who grew up in New York bond instantly whenever we hear or sing the first few words of any, any song that Carole and Paula sang on The Magic Garden:

This is the garden of make-believe,
A magical garden of make-believe,
Where flowers chuckle and birds play tricks
And a magic tree grows lollipop sticks.

When we moved to Connecticut, cable TV did not exist. It was something fancy that my grandparents had, and whenever we went to visit we would ooh and ahh over the number of channels they had. But I digress. The point is that we didn't have cable in our little Connecticut town, and we were so far away from New York we couldn't pick up WPIX, no matter which direction we pointed our TV antenna.

In short, as I grew up, I had all but forgotten everything I knew and treasured about The Magic Garden. Cable eventually came to Granby (that little town where I grew up), and WPIX was a part of the channel lineup, but The Magic Garden was no longer broadcast. (Hell, when my parents learned that they could now watch PIX and WWOR from their Connecticut living room, they practically drooled. My mother, especially, for she always talked about PIX with sort of a longing for days gone by).

Anyhoo, fast forward to the fall of 2002. I was in my living room, in my cozy little one bedroom in New London, watching the WPIX News at Ten. I was putting some corrected papers into my backpack, getting ready for school the next day, when I looked up and saw, for the first time in many, many years, Carole and Paula themselves. They were older now, but I still recognized them. They were speaking in unison, inviting viewers to tune in, on Thanksgiving day, for The Magic Garden reunion special at 1:00 PM.

The image of that window, hidden deep in my memory bank for twenty-something years, came roaring back instantly.

Open up the window,
Listen to the wind blow,
Pardon us, the garden-us
Is where we'll be.

I set my VCR.

But it turns out, I didn't set it properly.

I was crushed, but recovered after half an hour of disappointment.

The Sunday after Thanksgiving, I went Christmas shopping with my best friend. When we returned to his apartment, his partner was engaged in--raptured, even--in something on TV. He paused the TiVo when we came in.

Can you guess what he was watching?

When I learned that, yes, indeed, he was watching The Magic Garden, I shrieked. We immediately started reminiscing, and my best friend just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

We rewound the TiVo, and, for the next hour, sat silently, enraptured by the images on the TV.

My best friend didn't get it. He still doesn't.

Well, he gets part of it. We still both rush home to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer when they come on TV.

And we're both 32 years old.

But back to 2002, and that wonderful special about The Magic Garden. I googled Carole and Paula when I got home, and learned that they had a website--and tapes for sale. Granted, it was a two-tape set with one episode on each, but I didn't care. I ordered a set for me, and a set for my best friend's partner, who then told me it was the best Christmas gift he received that season.

Then I went on eBay. Quite a few sellers from the New York City area had taped The Magic Garden reunion special and had it for sale on eBay, along with the two episodes of The Magic Garden that aired afterwards.

I bought it. I paid an exorbitant amount for it, but I didn't care.

About a year later, I loaned my precious tapes to a friend of mine who loved The Magic Garden as much as I did. We were planning to get together to watch.

That get-together never happened.

And she still has my tapes.

I went back on eBay six months later. Nothing.

And then...only recently...I happened upon Carole and Paula's website. They had a DVD on sale...WITH TEN EPISODES!!!

I did some comparison shopping and found a set on eBay for $15.

It arrived yesterday.

I've watched four episodes so far.

It feels so good to be a kid again. But the adult in me appreciates the fact that The Magic Garden was so powerful, and struck such a chord, because of its simplicity. It was about as low-tech as you can get for TV shows. You could clearly see the strings that made the Story Box open and close, as well as those that made the Chuckle Patch giggle. But its low-tech made it so endearing. In one of the episodes, the Magic Tree gave Carole and Paula a set of cardboard nesting boxes. They made the boxes into a variety of things, all with the power of their imagination. There was a boat, a train, and an ice cream sundae. There were no special effects that helped them out. There was no fancy music, no quick cuts to a scene outside of the garden. It was just two grown women having fun.

I also appreciate how The Magic Garden was not an overly-scripted show that talked down to kids. Carole and Paula talked very naturally, not as if they were reading from a script (Hi, EVERYBODY! My NAME is DORA!), but rather, as if they just talking casually with an old friend. They were both very mellow, very low-key. There was no gimmick to the show at all. They weren't trying too hard to shove curriculum down a kid's throat, much the way that a lot of kids shows do today.

But I best appreciate that this show allowed kids to use their imaginations, a quality of kids shows that doesn't exist today. The Story Box segment used very simple props that kids could find around their homes, nothing fancy that required them to go to the store and purchase. And if they didn't have the exact props they needed, they could use glue, tape, and a little fabric to make props themselves. There was no merchandise tied in to The Magic Garden, except for three albums of songs that the fans requested--or maybe even demanded--Carole and Paula to record.

I spent the afternoon watching four episodes of the compilation, and smiled fondly at remembrances of my childhood. The Magic Garden will no longer be buried in the depths of my memory bank, thanks to the good people at Koch Entertainment, the company that released the DVD.

I'll be scrounging YouTube for a Clip of the Week featuring Carole and Paula, for those of you who did not have the privilege of growing up with these two lovely women. In the meantime, Kittens,

See ya, see ya!
Hope ya had a real good time, Bah-bum,
Hope ya had a real good morning, do-do,
Hope we get to see ya again!

Clip of the Week: Part Two

Here's another great clip from The Electric Company. The ever so cool Morgan Freeman portrays Easy Reader, an iconic PBS character of the human variety.

This clip is ever so groovy, and Morgan Freeman remains the epitome of cool.

This song will remain in your head for the rest of the day.

P.S. I apologize for not italicizing the name of the TV show, but YouTube won't let me do that.

Clip of the Week: Part One

I couldn't decide between this and another clip, so I'm posting two. They are both from The Electric Company.

This one parodies The Six Million Dollar Man, another popular tv show of the 1970s.

"We can rebuild him; we have permission."

Clip #2 to follow soon.

We're Gonna Bring You The Power!

I was doing a little browsing through the iTunes store when I discovered that they carried two volumes of episodes of The Electric Company.

My childhood heart was absolutely delighted! The Electric Company was one of my favorite shows as a kid, and was the reason why my mother moved dinnertime from 5:30 to 6 PM. I never, ever, ever missed an episode, and was absolutely devistated when it left the airwaves.

So now I've downloaded a few episodes, and have spent a good portion of this rainy Saturday revisiting my childhood. As an adult, I'm amazed at the A-list talent they recruited for this show: Rita Moreno, Oscar winner. Bill Cosby, who had previously starred in I Spy on network television. And of course, who could forget Morgan Freeman as Easy Reader? You could never get that kind of talent to star on a PBS kids show today.

So right now I'm looking through some YouTube clips to add them to a playlist. One of them is definitely going to be next week's Clip of the Week; I haven't decided which one yet.

In the meantime, I'm going to continue being eight years old for a while. I wonder if iTunes sells old episodes of 3-2-1 Contact...

Picnic Hangover

I adore picnics. There's no better way to spend a summer afternoon than with good friends and family, hot dogs and hamburgers fresh off the grill, juicy watermelon, buttery corn on the cob, generous portions of potato salad, and iced tea to wash it all down.

Yesterday my parents and godparents had their annual July picnic to celebrate the summer birthdays and anniversaries. The event always begins at noon with appetizers of bruschetta, fresh tomato slices and basil, and fresh mozz. Then we graze on crackers, beer, more cheese, and crudites before my dad brings out the meat around 5 PM. Then we wrap up the evening in my parents' fire pit, sitting around a nice brisk fire for a couple of hours. We all leave around 10 or 10:30 PM.

I don't eat too many heavy things anymore, so my body's not used to such excess of sugar, carbs, and fat. I went to bed last night with some major heartburn, but didn't have any Tums in the house, and sure wasn't about to drive to the 24 hour CVS across town to get some. So I went to bed feeling crappy and bloated. Things didn't improve much towards the morning hours, as a severe thunderstorm, complete with bright flashes of lightning, came through the area and seemed to perch itself on top of my condo. I was finally able to get back to sleep an hour later, when the storm went away, but almost slept through my alarm, and it was a church day.

I woke up, still feeling like crap, and was very sluggish and bloated.

So today is a detox day. I mention this after we had a child dedication today, and there was cake and cookies afterward. (Yeah, I was bad). Then I made a brief detour at an Italian festival in Southington on the way home, and had a scoop of gelato.

OK, now that I'm home, NOW is the time to start detoxing. The rest of the day, as well as the ones that follow, will involve lots of water, tea, and vegetables. Oh yeah, and a lot more exercise too. Anything to get rid of the junk that's still pumping through my veins.

But it was worth it. Oh Lord, was it worth it.

Ms. Kitten and Mr. Jefferson

Call me crazy, but the one monument I absolutely, positively had to visit during my sojourn in DC was the Jefferson Memorial. Why was I so desperate to visit this tribute to one of the authors of the Declaration of Independence? Let's take a trip back in time, kids...

November, 1997. The first semester of my senior year of college. I was a member of the Fairfield University Glee Club, one of the premier singing organizations on the eastern seaboard. (OK, I may be a bit biased, but our concerts were always sold out). Anyhoo, a group of us decided to go out to dinner, then do the nighttime monument tour. We did the Capitol, then proceeded up the National Mall to the Washington Monument and then to the Lincoln Memorial.

Once we saw the Lincoln Memorial, two of my girlfriends and I wanted to see the Jefferson Memorial, but the rest of our group did not. So the three of us separated and went to find it, visit it, then take the Metro back to our hotel.

Normally, the Jefferson Memorial is lit up like this at night:

But on this night, we couldn't find it, and we didn't know why. We had no map, no sense of direction, and no idea how dangerous it was for three young women to be out by themselves at night in Washington DC. And we had a concert the following morning, and had to be out of the hotel by 10 AM.

Long story short, after crossing a couple of bridges and following the shores of what we thought was the Tidal Basin, we found the Jefferson Memorial--unlit, and under a lot of scaffolding. There was a small sign next to it: "Under Renovations." Disappointed, we started to head back--but since there were no lights anywhere, we had no way of retracing our steps.

One of us looked up and saw a highway, and suggested that we follow it, under the theory that it was the Beltway. So we kept walking, keeping an eye on this highway at a distance, using it as our North Star. We kept getting lost.

Then we came across a truck in the middle of the park. There wasn't a soul around. All of a sudden a spotlight came on, and we heard a deep voice: "Got a toke?"

The three of us ran faster than we ever did, until we found a street. By this time it was well after midnight. We soon learned that none of us had enough money for a cab, and we didn't know which Metro stop to take to our hotel. All we knew was that our hotel was on O Street.

Fortunately, Washington DC is a well-planned city. We figured we'd walk up the streets, and if the streets went up in alphabetical order, we'd eventually wind up at O Street. And that's exactly what we did.

We wound up back in our hotel at 3 AM. The next morning two of us went to Starbucks and reflected on the night before. The other slept in.

Eleven years later, I made it my mission to go to the Jefferson Memorial and pay my proper respects to good ole Tom. And I made it my mission to go during the daytime. (I was with five other people when I took the nighttime picture above, not to worry).

So I walked from the Lincoln Memorial to the Jefferson Memorial. It looks like a quick walk on a map, but it really isn't. I got some really pretty photos along the way:

It was a long walk, and I wasn't wearing the proper footwear, and the blisters are still healing. But it was worth it, I tell you, worth it for all of the awesome shots I got. (I have a few more, but I won't bore you with them, since they all look similar).

Along the way, I found out that the FDR Memorial was near the Jefferson Memorial, so I figured, while I was there, I'll pay my respects to him as well. And that, my friends, is for another post.

P.S. I didn't go anywhere near O Street during this past trip. There were some memories I didn't want to relive--like that long walk back to our hotel that ended at 3 AM. I don't even remember the hotel's name.

The Bookkitten's iPod Playlist: Week of June 30th

As I was cleaning out my living room the other day, I found a box of old mix tapes from college. Since cassette players are quickly going the way of the eight-track, I have been using iTunes to recreate some of my favorite mixes. This one dates from February 1995, when I was a Fairfield University freshman.

1. "The Joker," Steve Miller Band
2. "Run, Baby, Run," Sheryl Crow
3. "Lay Down Sally," Eric Clapton
4. "With or Without You," U2
5. "I'm the Only One," Melissa Etheridge
6. "Margaritaville," Jimmy Buffett
7. "What's the Matter Here?" 10,000 Maniacs
8. "Revolution," the Beatles
9. "Tennessee," Arrested Development
10. "Can't Cry Anymore," Sheryl Crow
11. "Hooked on a Feeling," Blue Suede
12. "Cheeseburger in Paradise," Jimmy Buffett
13. "Jungle Love," Steve Miller Band
14. "Candy Everybody Wants," 10,000 Maniacs
15. "Brown-Eyed Girl," Van Morrison
16. "Mickey," Toni Basil
17. "I Dreamed a Dream," Les Miserables
18. "Dancing Queen," ABBA
19. "Copacabana," Barry Manilow
20. "On My Own," Les Miserables
21. "Baby," Brandy
22. "Take a Chance on Me," ABBA
23. "With a Little Help From My Friends," The Beatles

The Old Ball Game

Let's go back in time for a minute, kids. 1986. October. World Series, Mets vs. Red Sox. I was raised on Mets baseball, and I was the only kid in the 5th grade class at Kelly Lane School (if not the only kid in the entire school) hoping that the Mets would win. And win they did, in historic, dramatic fashion. My parents have all seven games of that series on tape; my mother particularly enjoys watching game 6, for obvious reasons. (And it's only recently, now that they have two World Series rings in three years, that Boston officially forgave Bill Buckner).

I still enjoy baseball, but not always of the professional variety. I like little league games, if I happen to be at the park, then just sit and catch one. (None of my friends have kids who play little league...yet). Pro games have become way too expensive with their high ticket and concession prices, not to mention the corporatization (I know that's not a word) of pro baseball. So far only the stadiums have names like Minute Maid Park and (gulp) Citi Field, but the teams, thank God, have not taken corporate names like the Citi Mets or the Tropicana Devil Rays.

(In the interest of full disclosure, let me add here that I'm attending a conference in Washington, DC next week, and one of the planned activities is a trip to a game at Camden Yards. I'm not so much excited as seeing the Orioles play as I am seeing Camden Yards, which I hear is a gem of a ballpark. You know what they say, when opportunity knocks...)

And opportunity knocked tonight. I recently got a chance at discounted tickets to a New Britain Rock Cats game. OK, the cheapest seats are $5 a pop, but I got three $8 seats for $5 each. Hey, in this economy, ya gotta find whatever breaks ya can get.

I really love the fact that I live in a state with THREE minor league baseball teams. In addition to the Rock Cats, we've got the Bridgeport Bluefish and the Connecticut Defenders. And as a bonus, I live 20 minutes from New Britain Stadium, so it's easy for me to catch a ball game whenever I want.

The Rock Cats are a real family-oriented team. At the beginning of the game, they recognize all of the little league, high school, and other community baseball teams in attendance, and they invite 'em on the field before the game starts. And, as a bonus, these teams stay on the field with the Rock Cats players during the singing of the national anthem. It's a really sweet thing to see.

It wasn't such a good game for the Rock Cats tonight. Their opponents were the New Hampshire Fisher Cats, an ironic name when you consider that the fisher cat preys on domestic kitties. But that's not the point. There were still some really good plays in the game. Both teams had a couple of double plays. There were some excellent catches of pop flies. There weren't any home runs, but a lot of grounders.

The most interesting parts of the game often happen between innings, when Lucky, who works the crowd as one of the Rock Cats' emcees, leads games and contests involving the kids. Tonight he helped lead a little league team in performing the chicken dance on top of the home team's dugout. Earlier, he called a race among a little kid (I'm almost certain he was no more than three years old) and the mascots, Rocky, Blooper, and Toner.

It was a very enjoyable evening. I left with some good pictures, which I will post later, a free t-shirt, and a free Rock Cats umbrella. This is the first time I've scored loot at a ball game! Yeah!

And the Rock Cats have a home game at 12:05 tomorrow...$5 a ticket, and I'm on vacation...hmmm...

The Books That Changed My Life: Part Three

Last weekend I paid a visit to the New York Botanical Gardens with some friends from church. It was a hot, humid day in the city, and some of the plants were drooping from the heat as much as I was. We originally went to see the "Darwin's Garden" exhibit, but ended up touring the whole garden itself.

The Darwin exhibit was in the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory, a wonderful greenhouse that has so many levels of climate control. In one greenhouse, you can find such plants as these:

Gorgeous palm trees


I have no idea what these are, but they're gorgeous

Cacti in bloom

And then I found myself gazing at these beauties:




Water lilies. I have loved these flowers ever since I first learned about Claude Monet and his wonderful water lily paintings, "Les Nympheas." I marvel at how something so simple could be painted in such a sophisticated fashion. Monet was able to capture the different color variations and layers of petals in every single flower. No two water lilies were alike.

And as I took picture after picture of these beautiful flowers, a name popped in my head.

Linnea.

Linnea in Monet's Garden.

It was kind of bizarre how I was suddenly transported back to that book just by looking at the water lilies. And then the floodgate of memories opened.

It was the end of my freshman year of high school, and it was awards night. I won a special prize in French that night, and as I climbed the steps up to the stage, my high school principal hands me this blue and white plaid bag with a lace ribbon tied to the handles. "What could this be?" I wondered. This seemed to be a most unusual award, given that the majority of awards that night were either plaques or certificates.

I carried the bag to the cafeteria for the post-ceremony reception, and was prodded by my two best friends to open it. I untied the lace ribbon, carefully removed the layers of tissue paper that laid at the top of the bag, and pulled out a colorful book and a little doll.

That book? Linnea in Monet's Garden. My friend Monica's eyes lit up. She had owned this story when she was younger and adored it. The little doll that was in the bag was Linnea herself.

I opened the book, and my French teacher had written a personal inscription inside the cover. I won't share with you what she wrote because: A), it was written in French; and B) it's too precious for me to share publicly. Needless to say, I was very touched. It is very rare to find a teacher that cares so much about his or her students, and I knew that my French teacher, Mrs. Keenan, was one of those teachers.

I read the book as soon as I got home. It was my first exposure to Claude Monet's work, and I immediately fell in love. This simple story told of Claude Monet's life and work, triumphs and tragedies, and importance in the art world. Linnea, a little girl who was around eight or nine years old, travels with her neighbor to Paris and then to Monet's house at Giverny. She tells the story as if you're looking at your best friend's scrapbook; there are pictures of matchbook covers, pressed leaves, and postcards in there. Linnea was just like me: a packrat who saved mementos of EVERYTHING.

The child's perspective did an excellent job of explaining impressionist painting to the novice. Linnea puts a picture of one of Monet's water lily paintings in her scrapbook, then shows a close up view of one of the flowers. She was able to show how something that looked like a blob up close could be a thing of beauty from far away. And she didn't limit Monet's work to just the water lilies; she included paintings of the Chartres cathedral, the haystacks, and most famously, the Japanese bridge in Monet's garden at Giverny.

Earlier my freshman year, I became so captivated, so passionate about French, that I decided to save my pennies for a trip to France my senior year. After finishing Linnea in Monet's Garden, I made another important decision.

I had to get to Giverny.

My chance didn't come until my junior year of college, when I studied in Paris for a semester. When I got to the city, I immediately sought information on how to get to Giverny. It was the beginning of September, and I learned that the garden would close for the season after the first weekend of October.

If I had to get there, I had to do it yesterday. I rounded up a group of seven girls who were in the same study abroad program and convinced them to go with me. A couple of girls protested, saying that the flowers would not be in bloom in October, but I had a "It's now or never" attitude like I never had before.

We went that first weekend of October. While nothing was really in bloom, everything was still green and lovely. The house was gorgeous and painstakingly restored. The kitchen alone is exquisite, with its copper pots and blue and white tile lining the walls. There were flower plants, ivy, and lush green trees everywhere on the property.

And finally, we reached the Japanese bridge. There were still a couple of water lilies in the pond, but not too many. By the time we reached the bridge, all eight of us in the group were taking turns posing on the bridge and switching cameras so we could all get pictures to send home. I look at my picture today and still can't believe I made it to Monet's garden.

Before we left Giverny, we all went to the gift shop to buy souvenirs. I bought several postcards to send back to the States. On one of them, addressed to my high school French teacher, I simply wrote:

"I MADE IT TO GIVERNY!!!"

I didn't sign it. I figured she'd know who wrote it.

It seems like I've been writing a lot about my high school days lately, which is funny, given that it's been 14 years since I graduated. I didn't realize until now just how much high school, especially the first two years, shaped my life and continues to influence me today. I didn't think much about my high school days until I started writing this blog. It's been quite therapeutic for me.

My friend Brian, who fronts the band Talking to Walls (see Links of Note for info), says that music is therapy. Well, I agree with him, but you need to write the lyrics in order to have the song most days. So I say, writing is therapy.

That oughta be a bumper sticker: Writing is Therapy. And I could put my blog's address on it...ooohhhh, merchandising!!!!

The Books That Changed My Life: Part Two

Do you remember the first grown-up book you ever read? I mean, the first book that was written for adults and didn't have the words "Sweet Valley" in the title or Ann M. Martin or Caroline B. Cooney as the authors? How did you find out about that book?

I found my first grown-up novel when I was a freshman in high school. I was at Waldenbooks with my mom, and at the cash register, there was a display of a paperback called The Shell Seekers, by Rosamunde Pilcher. You know the old saying, "You can't judge a book by its cover?"

Well, I bought the book for its cover.

For a mass market paperback novel, it was a gorgeous cover, a blue background splashed with ferns and a couple of red rose blossoms, and the title printed in blue font. There was an interest in the novel because it had been made into a miniseries starring Angela Lansbury, who, at the time, was riding a wave of popularity thanks to Murder, She Wrote (which my mother watched religiously and would still do so if it had remained on basic cable. So I'm gradually buying her the DVDs of each season so she won't have to go through withdrawal).

It was by far the longest book I had ever purchased; 582 pages printed in very small, Times New Roman font. I took it with me one Saturday night when I babysat the kids next door, and started reading it after they went to bed. The prologue opened with the main character, Penelope Keating, returning from hospital following a heart attack. She had just arrived home after checking herself out, and was debating which one of her three children she should call first:

Nancy, her eldest and the one who thought that she was totally responsible for her mother; Noel, the youngest, who, in spite of being "the man" in the family, was indifferent to family responsibilities; or Olivia, the middle child, an editor for a prominent woman's magazine who always made time for her mother.

I won't tell you who Penelope calls; that is irrelevant right now, when you consider the simple descriptions of each of her three children in the prologue. It was enough to make me keep reading.

The first chapter deals with Nancy, a desperate housewife of her day. She and her husband live beyond their means and are constantly in a battle to keep up with the Joneses. She wants it all, but is frustrated when she can't have it. Status is very important to her.

We meet Olivia in the second chapter, a woman who puts her career above everything else, but has a big soft spot for her mother. We also learn of the jealousy and bitterness that exist between sisters: Olivia has transformed herself from an ugly duckling, and as a result, Nancy is very jealous of this change in lifestyle.

Noel, as we learn later in the novel, is a bachelor who works in finance and is looking to race up the corporate ladder. He has more concern for young single women than he does for his siblings.

And throughout the novel, we meet even more characters: Antonia, the teenage daughter of one of Olivia's ex-boyfriends. Danus, Penelope's handyman. Ambrose, Penelope's late husband. Eventually, all of these characters play a vital role that affect each other's lives in the most unexpected ways, and that's what keeps the book moving so well.

That first night of reading, after the kids were put to bed, I read until the parents came home. I think I read the first 100 pages, and the week after, during school, I would read the book whenever I got a spare moment. Even as a high school freshman, I found myself relating to a lot of the situations that these characters experienced. Nancy, Olivia, and Noel reminded me very much of my mother, aunt, and uncle, and the complexities of their relationship. I really admired Antonia, for she was my age, and was experiencing a lot of situations similar to mine. There were also a lot of subplots involving love stories, and what fourteen year old girl doesn't enjoy a good romance?

This book marked the beginning of my transfer from young adult novels to solely adult ones. I left the Sweet Valley High on the bookshelf and started picking more sophisticated novels. My high school English classes certainly helped me gravitate towards more adult fare. I didn't choose current novels to read, however; this book, along with Anne of Green Gables, really helped my reading style mature. And as my reading style matured, so did I.

I reread The Shell Seekers several years ago when I was on vacation. A fellow vacationer saw me read this book and commented that it's one of those books that you just have to reread whenever you get a chance.

Maybe I should add this book to my summer reading list...but I've got so many good books to choose from! Arrgh!

And there's one more book that changed my life, too...stay tuned!