Tonight, change feels more familiar than consistency. Gus and I have faced career changes, birth, death, divorce, remarriage, abduction, failed friendships and severed relationships. New jobs, new plans, new perspective. In fifteen years, we've had thirteen addresses. Together, we have moved more than five thousand miles and lived in four cities. We've lost and we've found. Started and restarted. Failed and succeeded. Said goodbye to the familiar and introduced ourselves to the unfamiliar, finding the confidence to step into the mix. Time and time again, we've mustered the gumption to learn a new way, a new word, a new world.
Personally, I have let go of the inalienable. I have had predictable turn into utter insanity. I've tried to normalize crazy and vice versa. I've lost what I thought was sacrosant. Had my life change so acutely that I feel it rise up my spine in a cold sweat, a heat that travels from the crown of my head to my face and settles there. At times it's like having no skin: feeling nothing at all and feeling absolutely everything.
Sometimes I hate the change I've faced and sometimes I'm proud of it. Sometimes my exposure to change gives me incredible strength and sometimes it leaves me weak and heavy. One day I may love what I've seen and done and experienced and the next I'll long for a life lived within arm's reach, surrounded by the familiar, seemingly untouched by the difficult unknown.
This post feels jumbled, but that's the way change presents itself to me, the way it rattles around this way and that in my brain. I think about the way change can simultaneously love me and hate me, accept me and reject me. I know some of this is my perspective - I've experienced more than some and less than others and like everyone, I get caught up in my own life and experiences and how they measure up. I do know that more-than-the-usual change and its effects are something I struggle with, at some level, every day and it is a huge part of my life experience.
It's difficult for me to even end this post, since this internal (and external) dialogue is so ongoing. I know I've brought up stuff in this post that I haven't explained and some if it I can't even do that. For now, I just have to leave it as an open topic, something to revisit as life continues to change and I try to adapt as best I can.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Salty Snack
A friend of mine subscribes to a weekly box of produce from local growers and today kindly offered up some of her bounty to us, which includes gorgeous beets, cabbage, jalapeños, onions and a big bunch of kale.
Kale. I like it and Gus loves it, but the only way we've ever prepared it is sauteed with olive oil and garlic. My friend mentioned that some other produce box-ers were going to make kale chips with theirs so I thought, why not?
The recipe I'm using:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Tear a bunch of kale into bite-sized pieces and carefully wash and dry.
Spread on a rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt.
Bake for 10-15 minutes until edges are brown.
Here's a before photo:
Okay, I just took my chips out of the oven and I can definitively say that kale chips are delicious! I'm a big potato chip fan and these are plenty crunchy and salty so they definitely give you the chip experience, without that whole guilt thing. Plus the recipe is so easy! I used fleur de sel which worked great, and also saw a recipe to sprinkle with grated Parmesan which would be good as well.
Here's an after photo (before I ate them all):
Gotta go, need to quick make another batch before Gus gets home...
Kale. I like it and Gus loves it, but the only way we've ever prepared it is sauteed with olive oil and garlic. My friend mentioned that some other produce box-ers were going to make kale chips with theirs so I thought, why not?
The recipe I'm using:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Tear a bunch of kale into bite-sized pieces and carefully wash and dry.
Spread on a rimmed baking sheet lined with parchment paper.
Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt.
Bake for 10-15 minutes until edges are brown.
Here's a before photo:
Okay, I just took my chips out of the oven and I can definitively say that kale chips are delicious! I'm a big potato chip fan and these are plenty crunchy and salty so they definitely give you the chip experience, without that whole guilt thing. Plus the recipe is so easy! I used fleur de sel which worked great, and also saw a recipe to sprinkle with grated Parmesan which would be good as well.
Here's an after photo (before I ate them all):
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Charm(ed) City
We just returned from our weekend in Baltimore, and although we didn't have much too time to spend explore, what we did see of the city was indeed quite charming. It's reputation as seedy and dangerous is unfortunate, as we found vast areas of the city clean and walkable, replete with beautiful historical buildings and great food. Best of all? There is a weird element to Baltimore, which is something Philadelphialand sadly lacks. This weekend, we saw young people wearing something besides khakis and boat shoes, in fact, many even had (gasp!) piercings, mohawks and outfits from the Goodwill. (Sigh. Miss you, Portland!) There was an anarchist bookstore, socialists on the street corners and even weird cars.
Ridiculously, since moving to Philly, we have yet to see even one such car. My northwest readers know what I am talking about, but for anyone on the east coast, I'm referring to a car of some vintage and mileage, done up in non-automotive flat paint, covered in various bumperstickers on topics such as witchcraft, veganism and visualizing swirled peas and decorated with plastic toys, possibly dinosaurs, trolls or doll heads. Optional additions include slobbery dog, four-foot antenna and cloud of Maui Wowie.
For a quick weekend recap, I'm proud to say I completed my 10K and thoroughly enjoyed my reward at the end, one piping hot, slightly-charred hot dog dripping in ketchup and mustard. Hello beautiful! I'm not prepared to put a post-race picture of me on the internet, red-faced and salt-encrusted, but I will post one pre-race, with a disclaimer of being unshowered and makeupless so enlarge at your own risk:
After the race, we enjoyed a lazy afternoon of various strolls and naps before setting out in the rain for an incredible dinner at the very popular Woodberry Kitchen, showcasing the bounty of the Chesapeake area and shown here, with raindrops like stars:
Highlights from the evening included radish sandwiches, warmed oysters with capers, soft shell crab (how did I survive 33 years without these?), suckling pig and homemade ice-cream, washed down with a bottle of Pinot Noir. Life is good indeed!
Ridiculously, since moving to Philly, we have yet to see even one such car. My northwest readers know what I am talking about, but for anyone on the east coast, I'm referring to a car of some vintage and mileage, done up in non-automotive flat paint, covered in various bumperstickers on topics such as witchcraft, veganism and visualizing swirled peas and decorated with plastic toys, possibly dinosaurs, trolls or doll heads. Optional additions include slobbery dog, four-foot antenna and cloud of Maui Wowie.
For a quick weekend recap, I'm proud to say I completed my 10K and thoroughly enjoyed my reward at the end, one piping hot, slightly-charred hot dog dripping in ketchup and mustard. Hello beautiful! I'm not prepared to put a post-race picture of me on the internet, red-faced and salt-encrusted, but I will post one pre-race, with a disclaimer of being unshowered and makeupless so enlarge at your own risk:
Friday, September 25, 2009
Continuing Ed
On the train into work this morning, I finished reading A Nest of Ninnies, by American poets John Ashbery and James Schuyler. I chose this read while trolling the bookstore because the title caught my eye and the first line, "Alice was tired," my interest, not knowing it holds a place of some significance in American literature. Early in their illustrious careers the authors began writing this book just for fun, and did so with each writing a sentence or paragraph at a time. This style makes for abrupt changes in direction in this essentially plotless novel, which I actually enjoyed amidst the chatter of a cast of cliched suburbanites and the musings of their vapid lives.
This was one of those books that once I finished reading, now come across references to seemingly everywhere - in books, magazines, on the radio. I'm exhilarated in that moment of recognition: "Fabulous, I actually know what they're talking about!", but it also reminds me of the infinite still to learn. Because for every one connection I am able to make, there are a thousand that I cannot identify, making the accomplishment of reading this book akin to one, maybe two, drops in the bucket.
In between the pretty pictures in House Beautiful and Vogue is my long-standing subscription to The New Yorker magazine. Being a weekly publication, it keeps me on my toes with its in-depth articles, poetry, humor and fiction. I love the quality of journalism it puts forth, but it is definitely a periodical where various people, places and things are referenced unabashedly and in a way that says unequivocally, "You should already know this." I wish there was a checklist, something similar to those must-read lists at the bookstore, that would lay out Stuff You Really Must Know. To help me separate the wheat from the chaff, what I need to know now, what I should have already learned and what I can put off to middle-age. And where does spending various Saturdays hypnotized by "Law and Order" marathons fit into all this?
P.S. When I arrived at work this morning, someone had written "A [insert drawing of flower] 4 U!" on the whiteboard outside my office. Is it from a student, a stranger, a secret admirer? Whomever, I loved it! It made me smile amidst the talk of falling endowments, departmental turf wars and missed drop/add dates that usually greets me. Happy Friday!
This was one of those books that once I finished reading, now come across references to seemingly everywhere - in books, magazines, on the radio. I'm exhilarated in that moment of recognition: "Fabulous, I actually know what they're talking about!", but it also reminds me of the infinite still to learn. Because for every one connection I am able to make, there are a thousand that I cannot identify, making the accomplishment of reading this book akin to one, maybe two, drops in the bucket.
In between the pretty pictures in House Beautiful and Vogue is my long-standing subscription to The New Yorker magazine. Being a weekly publication, it keeps me on my toes with its in-depth articles, poetry, humor and fiction. I love the quality of journalism it puts forth, but it is definitely a periodical where various people, places and things are referenced unabashedly and in a way that says unequivocally, "You should already know this." I wish there was a checklist, something similar to those must-read lists at the bookstore, that would lay out Stuff You Really Must Know. To help me separate the wheat from the chaff, what I need to know now, what I should have already learned and what I can put off to middle-age. And where does spending various Saturdays hypnotized by "Law and Order" marathons fit into all this?
P.S. When I arrived at work this morning, someone had written "A [insert drawing of flower] 4 U!" on the whiteboard outside my office. Is it from a student, a stranger, a secret admirer? Whomever, I loved it! It made me smile amidst the talk of falling endowments, departmental turf wars and missed drop/add dates that usually greets me. Happy Friday!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Starry Night
It's so quiet here tonight. Gus is on-call at the hospital and none of our downstairs neighbors are home. Even the yipping dogs next door are giving me a few minutes of peace. I've crawled out the kitchen window onto the fire escape to enjoy the clear evening, and, resting my head between two of the iron grates and looking skyward, I'm reminded of my best sky memory.
In 2005, we flew from France to Tunisia. After making our way to the city of Tozeur, we hired a driver to take us even further south into the country to an oasis on the edge of the Sahara Desert. Our driver, whom we learned was a competitor in the Paris-Dakar Rally, hurled his four wheel drive Ford Explorer over the "roads" with unbelievable speed and agility. We careened and bumped over asphalt that, at times, had been completely covered by the moving sands of the desolate landscape as we drove further and further from civilization. Potholes I could lay down in threatened to leave us stranded at any moment, but after five brain rattling hours we arrived, bruised but alive, at our destination. Given that the mercury still hovered at 120 degrees, we immediately headed for what could have been a mirage--a shimmering and cool freshwater pond surrounded by bowing palm trees and shaded sand.
Our accommodation for the evening was a large Bedouin-style tent. About the size of our current living room, poles of varying height held up the thick, woven material that made up the walls and ceiling of our abode. Inside, a bare space, half taken up by a large block-style bed made with numerous pillows and a number of heavy, woolen blankets woven with varying patterns. I took one sweaty look at that pile of blankets and thought, "You have got to be kidding me."
As the sun finally crept toward the horizon, we walked out behind the tents and there, just behind the encampment, lay an edge of the Sahara Desert. Stretching from Mauritania and Morocco in the west to Egypt and Sudan in the east, here was a northern point of entry sifting through my toes. The sand already in the shade was cool and fine; we dug our bloated feet and hands deep into the shifting, soft powder. As we walked in and around the dunes, a line of men on camels made their way along a plateau, their shadowed figures cloaked against the swirling terrain.
After dinner, we retired to our tent, the temperature still sweltering despite the hour. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep because I awoke curled in a ball, shivering from cold. Now I understood the need for the blankets piled at my feet! I nudged Gus and we got up, lifting the edge of the woven door to our tent and stepping outside. It was wonderfully fresh and breezy, and a delicate quiet surrounded us. Looking to the heavens, an unbelievable sight. I had been camping, been far away from big cities and seen many stars. But nothing compared to this evening. There were so many stars, they seemed to crowd one other. There was hardly room for the blackness of the sky amongst all the sparkling orbs. The moon and stars lit up the sky with an unworldly light. Necks craned, we stood transfixed by this awesome firmament.
As I sit here in the darkness, laptop illuminated, the sky above does not stand a chance as it competes against the lights of the Eastern Seaboard. Its authenticity is lost in our world of bright modernity and buzzing electricity. Indeed, the true beauty of the night sky has been reserved for that slow train of humble men snaking across the windswept desert to an unseen home amidst the sand and shadows.
Below, a photo I took of animal tracks in the sand of the Sahara:
In 2005, we flew from France to Tunisia. After making our way to the city of Tozeur, we hired a driver to take us even further south into the country to an oasis on the edge of the Sahara Desert. Our driver, whom we learned was a competitor in the Paris-Dakar Rally, hurled his four wheel drive Ford Explorer over the "roads" with unbelievable speed and agility. We careened and bumped over asphalt that, at times, had been completely covered by the moving sands of the desolate landscape as we drove further and further from civilization. Potholes I could lay down in threatened to leave us stranded at any moment, but after five brain rattling hours we arrived, bruised but alive, at our destination. Given that the mercury still hovered at 120 degrees, we immediately headed for what could have been a mirage--a shimmering and cool freshwater pond surrounded by bowing palm trees and shaded sand.
Our accommodation for the evening was a large Bedouin-style tent. About the size of our current living room, poles of varying height held up the thick, woven material that made up the walls and ceiling of our abode. Inside, a bare space, half taken up by a large block-style bed made with numerous pillows and a number of heavy, woolen blankets woven with varying patterns. I took one sweaty look at that pile of blankets and thought, "You have got to be kidding me."
As the sun finally crept toward the horizon, we walked out behind the tents and there, just behind the encampment, lay an edge of the Sahara Desert. Stretching from Mauritania and Morocco in the west to Egypt and Sudan in the east, here was a northern point of entry sifting through my toes. The sand already in the shade was cool and fine; we dug our bloated feet and hands deep into the shifting, soft powder. As we walked in and around the dunes, a line of men on camels made their way along a plateau, their shadowed figures cloaked against the swirling terrain.
After dinner, we retired to our tent, the temperature still sweltering despite the hour. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep because I awoke curled in a ball, shivering from cold. Now I understood the need for the blankets piled at my feet! I nudged Gus and we got up, lifting the edge of the woven door to our tent and stepping outside. It was wonderfully fresh and breezy, and a delicate quiet surrounded us. Looking to the heavens, an unbelievable sight. I had been camping, been far away from big cities and seen many stars. But nothing compared to this evening. There were so many stars, they seemed to crowd one other. There was hardly room for the blackness of the sky amongst all the sparkling orbs. The moon and stars lit up the sky with an unworldly light. Necks craned, we stood transfixed by this awesome firmament.
As I sit here in the darkness, laptop illuminated, the sky above does not stand a chance as it competes against the lights of the Eastern Seaboard. Its authenticity is lost in our world of bright modernity and buzzing electricity. Indeed, the true beauty of the night sky has been reserved for that slow train of humble men snaking across the windswept desert to an unseen home amidst the sand and shadows.
Below, a photo I took of animal tracks in the sand of the Sahara:
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Shim Sham Shimmy
I just returned from tap dancing, the first of a ten evening class I enrolled in through Main Line School Night. For some reason, every time I tell someone I'm taking tap dancing, he or she starts laughing. The description of the course promised "Laughs guaranteed!" but somehow I don't think that was what the instructor had in mind. Instead, I think she was referring to the idea of a varied group of adults attempting to coax out their inner Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers on a high school stage. She certainly was true to her word as we shuffled and laughed our way through a great hour long workout.
Two little rants:
#1: Why is it that in every class everywhere on this planet, there is always one World's Leading Expert? Someone who (thinks she) knows everything about the class topic and makes sure everyone knows it within the first five minutes. Good grief, it's a beginner class lady!
#2: Why is it that in every class everywhere on this planet, there are always people that insist on making noise while the teacher is talking? I thought the beginning guitar class I had taken was the worst, but tap just might top it. Sigh.
But to balance it out, a big rave for the darling 80ish-year old Dapper Dan taking the class, with his tailored suit, slicked back hair and infectious energy, he's a real charmer!
In closing, I cannot allow the first day of autumn to pass by unnoticed, so in honor of the arrival of my favorite season, "Autumn Daybreak" by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
Two little rants:
#1: Why is it that in every class everywhere on this planet, there is always one World's Leading Expert? Someone who (thinks she) knows everything about the class topic and makes sure everyone knows it within the first five minutes. Good grief, it's a beginner class lady!
#2: Why is it that in every class everywhere on this planet, there are always people that insist on making noise while the teacher is talking? I thought the beginning guitar class I had taken was the worst, but tap just might top it. Sigh.
But to balance it out, a big rave for the darling 80ish-year old Dapper Dan taking the class, with his tailored suit, slicked back hair and infectious energy, he's a real charmer!
In closing, I cannot allow the first day of autumn to pass by unnoticed, so in honor of the arrival of my favorite season, "Autumn Daybreak" by Edna St. Vincent Millay:
Cold wind of autumn, blowing loud
At dawn, a fortnight overdue,
Jostling the doors, and tearing through
My bedroom to rejoin the cloud,
I know--for I can hear the hiss
And scrape of leaves along the floor--
How may boughs, lashed bare by this,
Will rake the cluttered sky once more.
Tardy, and somewhat south of east,
The sun will rise at length, made known
More by the meagre light increased
Than by a disk in splendour shown;
When, having but to turn my head,
Through the stripped maple I shall see,
Bleak and remembered, patched with red,
The hill all summer hid from me.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Runaway Pram
Today started off ordinarily enough. We walked to church in the cool, bright sunshine, then made a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for lunch. After returning home, we made a delicious tuna nicoise salad which was so pretty I took a picture of it, to possibly use in my post:
Being such a beautiful day, Gus decided to go for a long bike ride, so I used the time to run a few errands. At the last minute, I made a stop at Williams-Sonoma to see about buying an olive oil dispenser, but, not finding one I liked, decided to make a quick run to another kitchen store up the street. And then, quite unexpectedly, I saved someone's life.
As I was jaywalking across a two-lane street, suddenly I heard a woman cry out "Oh, my God!" and not ten feet in front of me, out rolls a baby carriage from between two parked cars. In a split second, I ran to it and blocked the stroller with my legs before it could roll into the opposing traffic. Before I could even stop to think, the mom was there, clutching the stroller handlebars, wide-eyed and shaking, clearly in shock. I guided her toward the sidewalk and asked if she was okay. She lamented that the stroller's brakes had failed and with the decline in the sidewalk, it had been able to roll away as she answered her phone. She expressed her gratitude towards me and a shopkeeper came out to console her, so I went about my way, not really sure what else to do. It wasn't until a few minutes later, after I had turned the corner, that the full gravity of the situation hit me and I started shaking and crying, a wave of relief washing over me as I replayed the event in my mind.
It's such a strange feeling when you stop to think how interconnected we and all our actions are. If I hadn't had a craving for tuna nicoise, I wouldn't have gone looking for the olive oil container because I wouldn't have been frustrated trying to pour from the giant metal can we have at home. If the buyers at Williams-Sonoma stocked more than one choice of those things, I wouldn't have needed to go to the other store. If it had been raining, I may not have gone at all. If I had gotten a phone call. If the baby's mom hadn't. If, if and what if, the possibilities go on and on! It's enough to make just about anyone crazy, and I try not to get too carried away with these things as they give me a terrible headache.
I guess all I can say is that today, without a shadow of a doubt, I was finally in the right place at the right time!
Saturday, September 19, 2009
AC/DC
This is one of my favorite days of the year. It's neither my birthday nor our anniversary, and I have no special affinity for the third Saturday in September. Something even better. Today is Day Air Conditioner is Removed from Window.
I make no secret of my hostility towards air conditioning. I put up with it because I have to, and nothing more. Any slight breeze or hint of cool air and it's off. More than once I have stuck my head out the window searching for a single leaf quivering in the air in order to justify calling it quits on the air-con, and my stubbornness has left us tossing and turning in the suffocating heat over the course of many long, hot nights.
I hate the way the old wind bag makes the air smell and I hate having all the windows closed. It gives me a terrible sore throat and more than my fair share of dry boogers. When the air conditioner is really working hard it goes into this rhythmic drone that makes me car sick and keeps me awake at night. I don't let Gus stand right in front of it because I'm convinced it's pumping out something carcinogenic and sinister that one should not come into direct contact with.
I'm kind of scared of the contraption, too. When it begins to rain my rules dictate the unit must be immediately turned off, leaving us in a virtual sauna as the thunderstorm rolls through. Slightly obsessive maybe, but seriously, who puts an appliance out in the rain, plugs it in and then turns it on? I have yet to hear a good enough answer to this, so until then off it goes.
Unfortunately, many a rainless summer day the air conditioner makes itself indispensable and we have to crank it up. Not so much as a blade of grass is moving across the entire mid-Atlantic, the heat is murder and Gus keeps asking "Aren't you hot?" as I stave off the inevitable for as long as I can. As he presses the "Power" button and the thing fires up, it becomes one of those can't live with it, can't live without it types of relationships.
And so today I let out a real cheer when Gus hauled the old beast out of the window. We tipped it to the side so it could pee out the last of its strange toxins onto an old towel, straightjacketed it in a cardboard box and unceremoniously pushed it deep into storage until next year. A beautiful cold breeze blew all day today, too cold for all the windows to be open but we left them as is, allowing the wind to sweep into every last hidden corner, clearing out the last bit of stale sadness left over from summer.
The next time we see our air conditioner we'll have six months left in Philadelphia. At that point we'll be within spitting distance of closing this chapter of our lives and heading back to the Land of No Air Conditioning. There are a lot of things I'll miss greatly when we leave, some I'm even preemptively sentimental about, but air conditioning is most definitely not one of them. To it I say, good riddance!
Here's a photo of my nemesis, in joyous memoriam:
I make no secret of my hostility towards air conditioning. I put up with it because I have to, and nothing more. Any slight breeze or hint of cool air and it's off. More than once I have stuck my head out the window searching for a single leaf quivering in the air in order to justify calling it quits on the air-con, and my stubbornness has left us tossing and turning in the suffocating heat over the course of many long, hot nights.
I hate the way the old wind bag makes the air smell and I hate having all the windows closed. It gives me a terrible sore throat and more than my fair share of dry boogers. When the air conditioner is really working hard it goes into this rhythmic drone that makes me car sick and keeps me awake at night. I don't let Gus stand right in front of it because I'm convinced it's pumping out something carcinogenic and sinister that one should not come into direct contact with.
I'm kind of scared of the contraption, too. When it begins to rain my rules dictate the unit must be immediately turned off, leaving us in a virtual sauna as the thunderstorm rolls through. Slightly obsessive maybe, but seriously, who puts an appliance out in the rain, plugs it in and then turns it on? I have yet to hear a good enough answer to this, so until then off it goes.
Unfortunately, many a rainless summer day the air conditioner makes itself indispensable and we have to crank it up. Not so much as a blade of grass is moving across the entire mid-Atlantic, the heat is murder and Gus keeps asking "Aren't you hot?" as I stave off the inevitable for as long as I can. As he presses the "Power" button and the thing fires up, it becomes one of those can't live with it, can't live without it types of relationships.
And so today I let out a real cheer when Gus hauled the old beast out of the window. We tipped it to the side so it could pee out the last of its strange toxins onto an old towel, straightjacketed it in a cardboard box and unceremoniously pushed it deep into storage until next year. A beautiful cold breeze blew all day today, too cold for all the windows to be open but we left them as is, allowing the wind to sweep into every last hidden corner, clearing out the last bit of stale sadness left over from summer.
The next time we see our air conditioner we'll have six months left in Philadelphia. At that point we'll be within spitting distance of closing this chapter of our lives and heading back to the Land of No Air Conditioning. There are a lot of things I'll miss greatly when we leave, some I'm even preemptively sentimental about, but air conditioning is most definitely not one of them. To it I say, good riddance!
Here's a photo of my nemesis, in joyous memoriam:
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Honah Lee
I was so sad to hear the news early this morning (after doing yoga...) that Mary Travers of Peter, Paul and Mary had died. No, my blog hasn't been hijacked by a sixty-something ex-hippie still extolling the beauty of macramé...I actually count myself among their many fans. Proof positive: I've seen them in concert three times, accounting for one-third of the live concerts I've attended.
I grew up on a healthy diet of Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, Carole King and Cat Stevens in addition to Mary's trio. While my mom went about her day around the house, I made a nest of blankets and pillows underneath a wide, red wooden chair and examined every inch of the album covers as the records spun. My mom sang along to various tunes as I carefully followed along with the lyrics printed on the inside cover. I crushed on Cat with his gorgeous brown beard (and who was that jolly Tillerman anyway?) and was entranced by the shiny suits of St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
This music was a big part of my introduction into the liberal world of peace, equality and justice. At the same time I was holed up with my mom's record collection, through our church we participated in activities that embodied the message of PP&M. We marched in protest of the murder of nuns in El Salvador, singing "All we are saying, is give peace a chance" while snaking through the streets of Seattle. Our family stopped eating grapes to support the rights of the United Farm Workers and, despite my desperate pleas for chocolate Quik, quit purchasing Nestle products to protest their pushing baby formula in developing nations.
These were small gestures, but collectively formed my introduction to the wide world beyond Lake Forest Park. There were far away places like South Africa and Central America, and people I had never met were struggling and in need of our support. Best of all, I found out our little family could participate and make a difference through our words and actions.
I know this is a Bob Dylan song, but I first heard it sung by Peter, Paul and Mary and it is the harmony of their three voices I hear when reading these lyrics. Before singing this song at one of their concerts, Mary lamented that, after 40 years, the words were still so relevant.
I grew up on a healthy diet of Joni Mitchell, The Beatles, Carole King and Cat Stevens in addition to Mary's trio. While my mom went about her day around the house, I made a nest of blankets and pillows underneath a wide, red wooden chair and examined every inch of the album covers as the records spun. My mom sang along to various tunes as I carefully followed along with the lyrics printed on the inside cover. I crushed on Cat with his gorgeous brown beard (and who was that jolly Tillerman anyway?) and was entranced by the shiny suits of St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
This music was a big part of my introduction into the liberal world of peace, equality and justice. At the same time I was holed up with my mom's record collection, through our church we participated in activities that embodied the message of PP&M. We marched in protest of the murder of nuns in El Salvador, singing "All we are saying, is give peace a chance" while snaking through the streets of Seattle. Our family stopped eating grapes to support the rights of the United Farm Workers and, despite my desperate pleas for chocolate Quik, quit purchasing Nestle products to protest their pushing baby formula in developing nations.
These were small gestures, but collectively formed my introduction to the wide world beyond Lake Forest Park. There were far away places like South Africa and Central America, and people I had never met were struggling and in need of our support. Best of all, I found out our little family could participate and make a difference through our words and actions.
I know this is a Bob Dylan song, but I first heard it sung by Peter, Paul and Mary and it is the harmony of their three voices I hear when reading these lyrics. Before singing this song at one of their concerts, Mary lamented that, after 40 years, the words were still so relevant.
How many roads must a man walk down/
Before they call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail/
Before she sleeps in the sand?
How many times must the cannon balls fly/
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind/
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many years must a mountain exist/
Before it is washed to the sea?
How many years can some people exist/
Before they're allowed to be free?
How many times can a man turn his head/
And pretend that he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind/
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
How many times must a man look up/
Before he can see the sky?
How many ears must one man have/
Before he can hear people cry?
How many deaths will it take 'til he knows/
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind/
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunrise, Sunset
I've fell into a pattern of late where first thing after I wake up, I log on to the computer to check the news and weather and catch up on the latest gossip. I haven't stretched or hardly even opened my eyes and already I'm staring at a glaring screen. This habit has been made even worse lately as now it's pitch black at six in the morning. This doesn't feel like the best way to start the day - there's no transition between day and night, rest and activity, the Land of Nod and the City of Brotherly Love. I've been welcoming each new day with negative and often unnecessary information. What on earth am I doing reading about Kanye West and his ridiculous antics before the sun is even up?
When my mom visited in August, we drove to Ephrata's Cloister and she bought me a fraktur inscribed with the words: May every sunrise bring you hope and every sunset contentment. I've used this wonderful quote as the basis for a new habit I am hoping to form. Before I retire each evening and first thing when I rise, I am practicing just ten minutes of yoga. This brief pause allows me to gently close the curtain on each day, regardless of its contents, and a simple and positive way to begin the next day, opening myself to whatever lies ahead.
After I finish yoga in the evening, I leave my mat out (for Gus to step on when he gets up and) because when I wake, it is the first thing I see. In order to even get to the computer, I have to cross over the yoga mat so why not stay for a spell and start the day out right? Here's to replacing a bad habit with a good one!
When my mom visited in August, we drove to Ephrata's Cloister and she bought me a fraktur inscribed with the words: May every sunrise bring you hope and every sunset contentment. I've used this wonderful quote as the basis for a new habit I am hoping to form. Before I retire each evening and first thing when I rise, I am practicing just ten minutes of yoga. This brief pause allows me to gently close the curtain on each day, regardless of its contents, and a simple and positive way to begin the next day, opening myself to whatever lies ahead.
After I finish yoga in the evening, I leave my mat out (for Gus to step on when he gets up and) because when I wake, it is the first thing I see. In order to even get to the computer, I have to cross over the yoga mat so why not stay for a spell and start the day out right? Here's to replacing a bad habit with a good one!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Rapid Fire
Twenty random observations of Philadelphia:
- It's way greener, prettier and cleaner than I thought it would be.
- People here are outgoing and pretty darn friendly.
- This city really does appear to run on Dunkin'.
- Folks are seriously obsessed with football.
- The Jersey shore is a big deal here, huge in fact.
- I rarely, if ever, see fleece, hiking boots and CamelBaks (Alleluia!).
- People actually wear those khakis from J.Crew embroidered with little lobsters and palm trees.
- Not that bike friendly.
- Yellow, and sometimes red, means most definitely keep going.
- This city appears to have a long-standing problem with corruption.
- A lot of people say "wooter" instead of "water."
- When a restaurant sign says steaks it means cheesesteaks.
- There's a lot of really cool old stuff here.
- The best view of the city's skyline is from the Walt Whitman Bridge.
- People eat big, doughy, salty pretzels for breakfast (Fabulous!).
- Just say "lager" to order a Yuengling.
- The art museum is incredible.
- Schuykill is pronounced "Skoo-gull."
- Turns out I'm not the only gal without a tattoo (Portland had me worried...).
- The fall and spring here are stunningly, gorgeously, perfectly beautiful.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Church Lady
Today was Rally Day at our church, typically the last day of the summer worship schedule and a kickoff for the church school year. After the service, we enjoyed a sunny picnic on the grass dining on macaroni salad, hot dogs and Jell-O dessert. If you didn't know my affiliation by now, this classic menu gives me away as a good Lutheran girl.
It isn't always easy to go to church - sometimes I'd rather stay home in my sweats (and sometimes I do...), sometimes the grousing kids get to me, sometimes the sermon is boring. Sometimes I get hit up to do stuff I don't want to do and sometimes the financial commitment is hard. But in all my churchgoing years, I've never once walked out into the narthex, organ music twiddling over the din of fellowship, and not felt my spirit lifted.
For a person often prone to worry and despair, the church offers up a message of quiet peace and gentle hope. Time and again I'm renewed by the good news of God's unconditional love and the gift of grace through faith. Each week I am welcomed as I am, broken, imperfect and straying off course, to be healed and forgiven in a community of like-minded people looking for answers in our fallen world.
I didn't realize it at the time, but the gospel read at our wedding has become, for me, one of the most significant messages the Bible has to offer. I cannot begin to count how many times I have breathed deeply in and out and whispered the last verse below.
It isn't always easy to go to church - sometimes I'd rather stay home in my sweats (and sometimes I do...), sometimes the grousing kids get to me, sometimes the sermon is boring. Sometimes I get hit up to do stuff I don't want to do and sometimes the financial commitment is hard. But in all my churchgoing years, I've never once walked out into the narthex, organ music twiddling over the din of fellowship, and not felt my spirit lifted.
For a person often prone to worry and despair, the church offers up a message of quiet peace and gentle hope. Time and again I'm renewed by the good news of God's unconditional love and the gift of grace through faith. Each week I am welcomed as I am, broken, imperfect and straying off course, to be healed and forgiven in a community of like-minded people looking for answers in our fallen world.
I didn't realize it at the time, but the gospel read at our wedding has become, for me, one of the most significant messages the Bible has to offer. I cannot begin to count how many times I have breathed deeply in and out and whispered the last verse below.
Matthew 6:25-34
Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you shall eat or what you shall drink, nor about your body, what you shall put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add one cubit to your span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will God not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or `What shall we drink?' or `What shall we wear?' For the Gentiles seek all these things; and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day's own trouble be sufficient for the day.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Blue Unicorn
When I first met Gus, after he had decided I was the one and before I had done the same, he courted me through countless love letters that today are some of my most dearest possessions. Long, handwritten letters, carefully composed in his neat slanted cursive. He would slip a letter in my school locker without me knowing or hand one to me as we parted. When we went our separate ways for the holidays, he would send letters to me at home, big thick envelopes that would arrive in Seattle from South Texas.
In one of these letters, Gus wrote out the lyrics, in Spanish and his English translation, to a song by Silvio Rodriguez, a Cuban folksinger whose music he admired. The song, Unicornio, is a beautiful, sad story of the loss of something very special, and the yearning and hope that it might someday be returned. I hadn't played Silvio's music for years but I put on one of his albums this afternoon and it took me back to those early days when Gus and I first met. The music brought back so many memories - the newness of each other, the smallness of our world and, in a way, it overwhelmed me with its significance as the soundtrack of our lives at that time. One of the reasons I fell in love with Gus was how different he was from me and the people and places I knew and this music was a big part of that unique person whose life intertwined with mine.
I just spent an hour trying to upload the song to here with no luck, so you'll have to settle for a You Tube link of a live performance. Alternatively, it is such a beautiful song, if you can I would recommend purchasing it through iTunes.
In one of these letters, Gus wrote out the lyrics, in Spanish and his English translation, to a song by Silvio Rodriguez, a Cuban folksinger whose music he admired. The song, Unicornio, is a beautiful, sad story of the loss of something very special, and the yearning and hope that it might someday be returned. I hadn't played Silvio's music for years but I put on one of his albums this afternoon and it took me back to those early days when Gus and I first met. The music brought back so many memories - the newness of each other, the smallness of our world and, in a way, it overwhelmed me with its significance as the soundtrack of our lives at that time. One of the reasons I fell in love with Gus was how different he was from me and the people and places I knew and this music was a big part of that unique person whose life intertwined with mine.
I just spent an hour trying to upload the song to here with no luck, so you'll have to settle for a You Tube link of a live performance. Alternatively, it is such a beautiful song, if you can I would recommend purchasing it through iTunes.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Nine Eleven
On September 11, 2001, we were in Sorrento, Italy. We had decided to spend the day at the campground as we were tired and didn't feel like going anywhere. In the late afternoon, we walked into town and knew right away something was wrong - even in an unfamiliar city surrounded by people I didn't know, the feeling in the air wasn't right. I caught a televised image of the twin towers as we walked by a bar and said to Gus, "Is that New York?" We went inside and huddled around the TV and accessed the internet to find out the news. I don't remember any other Americans being there, just British and Australian travelers milling around, watching and listening same as us. Contacting people they knew in the US to find out if they were okay.
The strangest feeling came when it was announced that the borders of the US were closed, meaning we couldn't go home if we wanted. Not knowing what was coming next, what the government would do, what else the terrorists had planned and how long this would last was so scary. Watching our country from afar, wounded and vulnerable, was surreal. The days and weeks that followed, as we traveled through Italy and on to other countries, all day we searched the radio for the BBC to find any snippet of news, checking the internet when we could. Our European Adventure never quite felt the carefree getaway it was when we had started in July. Who would have known?
At times clichéd - stuck to thousands of car bumpers, screened onto countless memorabilia and, in the case of Rudy Giuliani, an entire presidential campaign platform, I still believe it rings true in our hearts and minds eight years later: We will never forget.
The strangest feeling came when it was announced that the borders of the US were closed, meaning we couldn't go home if we wanted. Not knowing what was coming next, what the government would do, what else the terrorists had planned and how long this would last was so scary. Watching our country from afar, wounded and vulnerable, was surreal. The days and weeks that followed, as we traveled through Italy and on to other countries, all day we searched the radio for the BBC to find any snippet of news, checking the internet when we could. Our European Adventure never quite felt the carefree getaway it was when we had started in July. Who would have known?
At times clichéd - stuck to thousands of car bumpers, screened onto countless memorabilia and, in the case of Rudy Giuliani, an entire presidential campaign platform, I still believe it rings true in our hearts and minds eight years later: We will never forget.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Good Samaritan
Story from this morning:
Walking out of the train station on my way to the office, I stood at the street corner waiting for the signal to change and give me the go ahead to cross busy Walnut Street. Seeing the traffic come to a stop and the walk signal light up, I suppose some might head right out into the road. But being now a seasoned Philadelphia pedestrian, which is to say I trust absolutely no one behind the wheel of any motorized vehicle whatsoever at any time, I ventured only a few steps into the parking lane and looked back for any traffic turning right and crossing my path. Seeing no one in the immediate area, I ventured on only to be abruptly stopped mid-crosswalk by, and I am not making this up, seven cars in succession driven by seven professorial/suburban-type commuters who all looked me directly in the eye over the hoods of their midsize to luxury vehicles and gunned it, the heat of their engines like a slap in my face as they rounded the corner. I smiled and thanked each one in turn as they roared on by.
At the tail end of this classy group of upper middle class folks, a young guy whose appearance suggested he might be a member of a dubious and dangerous young men's urban group up to no good, cocked his stance to the side and gave me the flick of his hand indicating he wouldn't be the one to mow me down today. I waved a genuine thank you and under his watchful eye, crossed to safety and we both went our separate ways.
You just never know, do you.
Walking out of the train station on my way to the office, I stood at the street corner waiting for the signal to change and give me the go ahead to cross busy Walnut Street. Seeing the traffic come to a stop and the walk signal light up, I suppose some might head right out into the road. But being now a seasoned Philadelphia pedestrian, which is to say I trust absolutely no one behind the wheel of any motorized vehicle whatsoever at any time, I ventured only a few steps into the parking lane and looked back for any traffic turning right and crossing my path. Seeing no one in the immediate area, I ventured on only to be abruptly stopped mid-crosswalk by, and I am not making this up, seven cars in succession driven by seven professorial/suburban-type commuters who all looked me directly in the eye over the hoods of their midsize to luxury vehicles and gunned it, the heat of their engines like a slap in my face as they rounded the corner. I smiled and thanked each one in turn as they roared on by.
At the tail end of this classy group of upper middle class folks, a young guy whose appearance suggested he might be a member of a dubious and dangerous young men's urban group up to no good, cocked his stance to the side and gave me the flick of his hand indicating he wouldn't be the one to mow me down today. I waved a genuine thank you and under his watchful eye, crossed to safety and we both went our separate ways.
You just never know, do you.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Stasis
When I went for a run this afternoon, the temperature outside was in that perfect place of being neither cold nor hot. The body feels as if it's in a perfect state, almost like the weightlessness of being in water. This experience got me thinking about a topic that has always interested me, the equilibrium of life. In the small stuff and the big stuff, each day and over a lifetime, it seems we are in a constant struggle to find and maintain balance in everything we are, everything we do.
Some of us work too much, eat too much, exercise too much. Some too little. Relationships with people, possessions, technology, money and God can be out of balance. The balance of past, present and future; mind, body and spirit. There is rich and poor, best and worst, important and forgotten in everything all the time. We are inundated with countless dichotomies, ways to find them and ways to disrupt them.
Even in our quest to find balance in our lives there is inherent inequity. Some struggle with imbalances that are big and bold while others are more nuanced and complicated. Some people appear outwardly to come easily to balance, while others struggle publicly over the course of a lifetime. Sometimes we see imbalance in others before they do and vice versa. Some seem to front load on the yin without a whole lot of yang.
Drive or walk? Fries or salad? Water or wine? Call or text? Cash or credit? Early or late? Truth or fiction? Words or silence? Give or take? Love or hate? Admit or deny? And sometimes simply, yes or no?
When do we seek help for an imbalance? When does a means of escape become an addiction? When do the scales finally tip?
I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on this topic, too many for one post. Are other people as interested in and fascinated by this as I am? This is definitely a subject I would like to address again here, I just need to decide what and when.
Some of us work too much, eat too much, exercise too much. Some too little. Relationships with people, possessions, technology, money and God can be out of balance. The balance of past, present and future; mind, body and spirit. There is rich and poor, best and worst, important and forgotten in everything all the time. We are inundated with countless dichotomies, ways to find them and ways to disrupt them.
Even in our quest to find balance in our lives there is inherent inequity. Some struggle with imbalances that are big and bold while others are more nuanced and complicated. Some people appear outwardly to come easily to balance, while others struggle publicly over the course of a lifetime. Sometimes we see imbalance in others before they do and vice versa. Some seem to front load on the yin without a whole lot of yang.
Drive or walk? Fries or salad? Water or wine? Call or text? Cash or credit? Early or late? Truth or fiction? Words or silence? Give or take? Love or hate? Admit or deny? And sometimes simply, yes or no?
When do we seek help for an imbalance? When does a means of escape become an addiction? When do the scales finally tip?
I have a lot of thoughts and feelings on this topic, too many for one post. Are other people as interested in and fascinated by this as I am? This is definitely a subject I would like to address again here, I just need to decide what and when.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Night on the Town
There is just something about a night out on the town that never loses its charm for me. Coming home still basking in the glow of an evening out...sure, some of it is from a few glasses of good wine, but I think it's more about the overall experience: the anticipation, getting dressed to go downtown, an intimate dinner with our own conversation, the closeness you feel walking home. Over the years these evenings all melt into one, with certain bits standing out here and there, but it's that overall experience that keeps me coming back for more.Tonight we tried out a restaurant I have wanted to visit for quite a while called Pumpkin (no website yet, but mentioned here in #12). It is a BYO, which was a new concept to us moving to Philadelphia. From what we've been told, liquor licenses are extremely expensive and hard to come by in this city (I've heard upwards of $250,000 per restaurant) so many small food-focused joints go BYO. They say the food prices are a bit higher in these establishments but we haven't noticed; in fact, we're always pleasantly surprised with the bill as it never includes the markup of alcohol.
As we had hoped, the food at Pumpkin was fabulous! On Sundays they only serve a prix fixe menu and at $35 a person, quite a steal. One aspect I love about the BYO scene is that the restaurants are intimate and the focus is on good service and great food, and Pumpkin fits squarely into this category.I wrote about the glow of an evening out, and I tried to capture that warmth in photos as we walked back to the train station. Philadelphia is such a grand old city in the evening - narrow alleyways of stately brick buildings, cafes and bars spilling out onto the sidewalk, mature trees rustling in the wind down the street, and all types of people out to enjoy a beautiful evening.
Though sometimes I may not care to admit it, I can already feel that I'll miss you old girl when we're gone, you've wormed your way into my heart with a certain class that is all your own.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Day in the Country
We just returned from a relaxing day outside of the city. I'm struck by how quickly and easily we can be in the real countryside here - motoring down shady, tree-lined lanes with rolling hills and historic farmhouses. Many of the small towns are still alive and well, and the even the stripmalls and Walmarts seem to be hidden from view. It's the most picturesque rural area I've seen in the United States; in fact, when we first drove into Pennsylvania from Ohio my first comment was "It looks like France!" and indeed, much of this area reminds us of the time we've spent driving throughout the French landscape.
Our first destination was, coincidentally, French Creek State Park near Elverson for a very green and quiet 3.7 mile hike along the "Turtle Trail." Afterward, we stopped at a great deli in Elverson for a hoagie and then headed back on scenic Conestoga Road. Along the way, we saw many typical Pennsylvania farmhouses, all beautifully maintained.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Blog Shmog
Okay, I admit it, today I'm grouchy. The weather turned hot again and my hands and feet feel like sausages. My nemesis the air conditioner is back on. I put it off as long as I could but finally gave in. All I want to write about is what we're making for dinner so that is all you're going to get.
For those of you still reading...
To start, French bread crostini topped with artichoke hearts and fresh dill with the last of summer's Lillet. Then, organic roast chicken rubbed in olive oil and stuffed with garlic, lemon, rosemary and thyme. On the side, wilted spinach with shallots and romaine hearts with goat cheese dressing. Somehow I'll work in some chives, as our fading garden is overrun with them. We've still got our gorgeous Chateauneuf-du-Pape from last weekend's dinner party (our friends were generous in their alcohol contributions to the evening) so we'll enjoy that splurge.
Once it cools down, maybe a walk in the neighborhood to see any late season fireflies, reflect on the week behind us and makes plans for our three days off together.
A fun and safe Friday to all!
For those of you still reading...
To start, French bread crostini topped with artichoke hearts and fresh dill with the last of summer's Lillet. Then, organic roast chicken rubbed in olive oil and stuffed with garlic, lemon, rosemary and thyme. On the side, wilted spinach with shallots and romaine hearts with goat cheese dressing. Somehow I'll work in some chives, as our fading garden is overrun with them. We've still got our gorgeous Chateauneuf-du-Pape from last weekend's dinner party (our friends were generous in their alcohol contributions to the evening) so we'll enjoy that splurge.
Once it cools down, maybe a walk in the neighborhood to see any late season fireflies, reflect on the week behind us and makes plans for our three days off together.
A fun and safe Friday to all!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Anti-Dentite
Never anyone's favorite activity, I just returned from the dentist for the repair of a chipped filling. The tooth was more sensitive than originally thought so the area needed to be numbed, an event which in the past has sent me into a tailspin of trepidation and fear.
For my entire adult life, I have been terrified of the dentist. Seriously petrified. Even with a handful of Valium, the nitrous oxide cranked, earphones blaring and clutching a teddy bear (funny but true, supplied by the dentist), I would still be wide-eyed and sobbing. My fear has centered around what I'm convinced is a 14-gauge hose of a needle they use to administer the Novacaine. Unfortunately, I've got a mouthful of crowns and root canals so have been up close and personal with the instruments of torture on a number of occasions.
So when I went for my appointment today, I kept looking for my usual fearful reaction. In the waiting room, I expected my pulse to quicken and my palms to sweat. In the treatment chair with the syringe resting on my lips I waited for my nerves to unravel and leave me running for the door. And yet nothing happened. Honestly, I just didn't care what was going on in there. I wasn't scared or nervous; in fact, it was just nice to sit there doing nothing, listening to the dentist and dental assistant talk about their plans for the long weekend.
Why such a significant change? For me it is a concrete example of getting older; not in terms of age but in depth of experience. Obviously at 33 I'm not a wizened old owl, but I do feel the weight of life much heavier than I did four years ago when I last encountered the syringe. I think the experiences I've had in the time since have thickened my skin and dug me a deeper well from which to draw. If I look closely, I can see that this increased strength of mind comes not from the abundant good times but from rawer experiences of pain, disappointment and doubt. Along the way I lost some of the gauze of naivete and in its place grew a more opaque armor to guard against life and its challenges.
Being so surprised by my fortitude, I'm not sure yet what to make of it. Sad I suppose, resigned to it, maybe a little proud and scared. I wish I could give back some of the experiences that contributed to this shield but of course I can't. Whether I like it or not, they are just as much a part of me as the positive memories and experiences I've collected.
I just had a thought - maybe this thicker shell not only helps me to deal with challenges that comes along, but at the same time helps to trap inside the warmth and glow of all the good stuff too. I like that!
Now time to put a stop to all this profundity, wipe the drool off my chin and enjoy some of Gus' homemade chili and cornbread. Yum!
For my entire adult life, I have been terrified of the dentist. Seriously petrified. Even with a handful of Valium, the nitrous oxide cranked, earphones blaring and clutching a teddy bear (funny but true, supplied by the dentist), I would still be wide-eyed and sobbing. My fear has centered around what I'm convinced is a 14-gauge hose of a needle they use to administer the Novacaine. Unfortunately, I've got a mouthful of crowns and root canals so have been up close and personal with the instruments of torture on a number of occasions.
So when I went for my appointment today, I kept looking for my usual fearful reaction. In the waiting room, I expected my pulse to quicken and my palms to sweat. In the treatment chair with the syringe resting on my lips I waited for my nerves to unravel and leave me running for the door. And yet nothing happened. Honestly, I just didn't care what was going on in there. I wasn't scared or nervous; in fact, it was just nice to sit there doing nothing, listening to the dentist and dental assistant talk about their plans for the long weekend.
Why such a significant change? For me it is a concrete example of getting older; not in terms of age but in depth of experience. Obviously at 33 I'm not a wizened old owl, but I do feel the weight of life much heavier than I did four years ago when I last encountered the syringe. I think the experiences I've had in the time since have thickened my skin and dug me a deeper well from which to draw. If I look closely, I can see that this increased strength of mind comes not from the abundant good times but from rawer experiences of pain, disappointment and doubt. Along the way I lost some of the gauze of naivete and in its place grew a more opaque armor to guard against life and its challenges.
Being so surprised by my fortitude, I'm not sure yet what to make of it. Sad I suppose, resigned to it, maybe a little proud and scared. I wish I could give back some of the experiences that contributed to this shield but of course I can't. Whether I like it or not, they are just as much a part of me as the positive memories and experiences I've collected.
I just had a thought - maybe this thicker shell not only helps me to deal with challenges that comes along, but at the same time helps to trap inside the warmth and glow of all the good stuff too. I like that!
Now time to put a stop to all this profundity, wipe the drool off my chin and enjoy some of Gus' homemade chili and cornbread. Yum!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Train of Thought
I've always had a soft spot for riding the rails. In college
One college summer, I flew to
Okay, so SEPTA isn't exactly serving up daily doses of coming of age memories and quintessential European experiences. But with their Quiet Ride program, at least I have a few moments to read, listen to music or look out the window and watch the world go by.
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