On An Occasional Thanksgiving Blog Post

(Happy Turkey Day, Ya'll.)

While this is not quite the return of (my) blog posts just yet (as I'm still on the fence of who, what, where, when and how to resume my regular writing), I figured a momentary shout out was long overdue, and the Thanksgiving holiday as perfect an excuse as any.

So here I am; let's start with the obvious.

People ask what it's like and while my first instinct is to tell them that words simply do not exist to describe what it means to become a mother, let me meagerly (and, perhaps, dramatically) give it a good ol' try.

Yesterday, a friend from over a decade ago (and fellow parent) wrote me an email describing a sentimental yet brief moment with his (pre-adolescent) son, epitomizing the fleeting innocence of [his son's] youth and the humbleness of this profound life change, in which he (my friend) expressed a desire to stop time.  That, in my limited opinion, is parenthood.

Let me explain. Becoming a mother encompasses a series of moments-day after night after day, be it first thing in the morning or the middle of the night, bags under eyes, skin and nails unkempt-in which time has (all of a sudden and in a fairly incomprehensible way) taken on a value that can only be epitomized by a desire to capture it forever in a stillness or pause that is physically impossible.  And these moments keep coming, right when your bones are on the brink of exploding with emotion, your futile attempt to hit the theoretical pause button, once again, creeps up again..and again and again.  For these brief seconds, everything else in the world ceases to exist.

And when it passes, the rest of the (real) world returns, and on holidays devoted to acknowledging (our) gratitude, I'm both curious what my readers are thankful for while making my own mental list alongside (and in obvious addition to) parenthood.  I include but do not limit my items to:

visits from family
friends who are
falling in love
writing vows
finding jobs
making (hard) decisions
decorating (new) homes
Christmas trees
and interfaith toppers
office potlucks
home-cooked meals
red wine
thank you notes
(first) visits from Santa
firsts, in general
and the simultaneously
overwhelming and excruciating
inability to
stop time.

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On (Temporary) Parental Leave...

...from this blog!  This blog will resume as soon as life as we knew it finds its rhythm, and then some.

Keep an eye out and promise to return when I do.

On Any Three Wishes

What Would They Be?

1. To never throw up again, ever. (Obviously!)
2. Good health to everyone I love.
3. To be brave.

(And yours?)

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On Our Inecessant Itch For Summer Camp

Year After Year.

It doesn't go away, that nagging urge that creeps up year after year, when the grass smells like flag raising and the sun sets on our crisp new sunburn.  Us camp folks are easily reminded of what it once meant to crawl into bunk beds for a much-needed night's sleep amongst kindred spirits after meeting only 48 hours earlier.  We crave it now as much as we did then, wondering where the time and people went, knowing full well camp can never fully disappear. Enjoy!

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On the Afterlife

Imagine This:

Fields of grass with
clouds and balloons and
potato sack races
where everybody wins
and laughs
and rides ferris wheels
and eats cotton candy
and swims in lakes
and holds hands
and intertwines fingers
and never gets cavities
or stomach aches
or broken hearts
and music plays
exactly what you want
when you want it
and no one ever cries
tears of sadness.

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On Remembering the Cup O Noodles

"Much More Than a Soup."

For the better part of this past year, I've spent more minutes than I'm proud to admit in the soup aisle at the supermarket debating whether I can ethically purchase my latest reminiscent craving: Cup (O) Noodles.  And the truth is I probably would've taken the plunge multiple times had Nissin (its Japanese manufacturer) decided not to "super size" the only option I'm familiar with (chicken flavor, of course) to which I have a flash of Cup (O) Noodles glutton that I simply cannot contend with.  Recollecting the savory yet styrofoamy chicken bits that dissolved at the slightest absorption of only the most searing of water, that both enticed and repulsed simultaneously, I have yet to pull the trigger.  And so, like most childhood favorites-including but not limited to Kix, Pops, and King Vitamin cereals-I will let the fantasy be just that, knowing full well that the minute I make the purchase, my taste buds will inevitably disappoint.  Enjoy! 

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On Relativity

"The Haves."

Living in Denver, I'm afforded the "suburban luxury" of having a backyard, a functioning fireplace, and a front porch that, if I really wanted (which I kind of do) could fit my ideal deep-red, antiquated wooden porch swing with pastel paisley pillows.  But it's not without its drawbacks.  The quiet of the local streets is invited 99% of the time when I'm not nostalgic for the buzz of Park Slope, Brooklyn.  And the picnic blanket acreage welcomed when I'm not craving the people-watching of Prospect Park during summer concerts en route to the 7th avenue Wine Bar.  Though, the grass is always greener, as they say, and so I make sure to book regular flights back east not just to get my fill of family time but of crowded sidewalks, a walking pace made for the moderately physically-fit, and pizza pies worth every buck.  Enjoy!

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On Alternative Medicine

Modern Medicine?

I take my medical care very seriously-perhaps too seriously, some might say-and often show up to my doctor appointments with a detailed list of questions, half of which I already know the answer to.  So when I find a medical practitioner who is willing to draw me a diagram of, say, any internal organ that I've convinced myself is ridden with blood clots and cancer (simultaneously), I've found a friend for life.  The ones who don't smirk, who calmly confirm that, in fact, that nagging sensation in my upper arm which falls within the first digit and a half (out of ten) on the pain scale isn't life-threatening or anything to be particularly concerned about, are the ones who give me hope that our bodies are strong and reliable organisms which, for the better part of life, we can count on.  Enjoy!

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On July 31st, 2014

"The Due Date Phenomenon."

I try and keep my blog posts about impending parenthood to a minimum for fear of boring my seven or so non-parental readers (appr 50%) and also out of courtesy for the semblance of privacy that my own family would like to maintain in the "face" of facebook exposition (pun intended!).  But today merits a different approach out of a pure fascination and distraction with what I've personally coined as "The Due Date Phenomenon," when gmail calendar reminders notify you and your partner that, in fact, today should be the day that your life will irrevocably change forever (and, also, don't forget to put out the recycling).  And, in fact, we welcomed this email reminder, not just to recall (in case we forgot) that our first child-whose facial features we constantly attempt to imagine and sense of humor we can't wait to challenge-would join our world sometime between an hour and two weeks from now, but of the journey we've embarked on starting from that moment-nine months ago-when we (or, rather, I) scoured the internet for multiple sources of "due date calculators" that continuously revealed today's date, July 31st, 2014.  At the time, it seemed so far off in a distance that it might have been someone else's story, and (like most eager, scared and confused couples) we quickly rushed to the pantry to determine just how large a lentil actually is since, really, who knows what that even looks like.  So now we wait, welcoming advice from seasoned friends (Cook frozen meals! Watch The Wire! Relax! Sleep while you still can!) and occasional check-ins by folks who relate as little as we did before these weeks arrived in our own personal lives-both excited and fearful for what's to come, knowing nothing and everything simultaneously about the fact that today's date will never be forgotten. Enjoy!

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On Our Commitment to the Bachelor(ette)

Unashamed to Watch.

Each week, the same 8 to 10 of us gather around the television to tune into the latest romantic drama MCed by Chris Harrison, a tradition that dates back to our memorable "Bachelor Nights" in Brooklyn (-the original crew never to be forgotten!).  We commit for nearly two months straight (if you don't include back-to-back seasons of The Bachelor, The Bachelor-ette, and Whatever Summer Series Takes the Trash to a Whole New Level, at which point we've invested the better part of 8 months), partly out of a shared mutual interest in watching train wrecks crash on national television and, even more so, for the company, conversation, and cooking.  And during commercial breaks, restroom runs and red wine refills, we gossip about this red rose and that, adamantly divided on which sleazier option Andi Dorfman should have chosen (-I'm a personal die hard Nick Viall fan from the very beginning) while simultaneously perusing past-contestant twitter feeds to find out the most up-to-date gossip.  And with less than one week to go until Bachelor in Paradise, you can bet we're planning the seasonal menu, proud and eager to take down the usual cast of shameless participants. Enjoy!

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On (My) Joy of Cooking

Limited Time.

With a kiddo on the way, we've been told that-upon her arrival-even the most mundane tasks like brushing our teeth, taking a shower, and making a sandwich will become the most challenging of accomplishments.  And, so, I wonder, where does my joy for cooking fit in? According to our fellow parental peer group, it doesn't.  Yet, over the past few years, with a decent sized kitchen in a quiet, suburban-like neighborhood and grad school behind me (aka more time on my hands), cooking has become my livelihood.  In a word, I love to select, cook, and eat delicious meals on a daily basis, peruse acquaintances' Instagram feeds and attempt to mimic their creations in the privacy of my Sunday morning breakfast routine.  Feeling nostalgic for the hearty turkey burgers and quinoa patties that I'll inevitably be forced to take temporary leave from for, say, a year or so (tell me it ain't so!), I imagine that the day will come when I get to impart my own passion and Joy of Cooking to my daughter, whether that's six month from now (solid foods, anyone?) or sixteen years.  Either way, I am hopeful we will meet again. Enjoy!

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On the Long Haul

Sticking it Out.

This past weekend, my roommate and I watched the new HBO documentary entitled, "112 Weddings," which is basically marriage porn for anyone who hopes and/or plans to stick around for the long haul.  Anecdote after anecdote-some more traumatic than others, and almost all filled with a combination of tears and regret-fantasies of life's realities came crashing down on a once-idyllic perception of matrimonial commitment.  Yet most of the interviewees survived as husband and wife, and if asked to do it all over again with the same person, they didn't hesitate to say yes.  Plus, no one ever said this ride would be easy, and without those initial rose-colored intentions, how else would we find our soulmate-lover-partnerincrime/trauma/andawholelotmore? Enjoy (and watch the film)!      

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On Mental Breakthroughs

Productive Analysis.

Spending one-on-one time with a therapist-awkwardly sitting on opposite sides of a small living room-like space as you analyze their decorative decisions and uncomfortable stares-can make minutes feel like hours.  Questions are asked, silences are broken, and occasional seemingly un-profound details surface during casual small-talk to signify that, yes, in fact this relationship needs to continue for an indeterminate amount of time.  Before you know it, on a random evening over boiling pasta and homemade tomato sauce, the epiphany finally arrives, and waves of clarity wipe clean the months or years of doubt over whether the thirty dollar copay would have been better spent on Chinese food.  Enjoy!

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On A "Trial" Separation

Other Options.

Packing a suitcase for a night or weekend can feel like a lifetime from a live-in roommate, with mixed feelings for rare but welcomed alone-time combined with the emptiness of a quiet apartment, where reruns of The Wire and Mad Men simply aren't the same flying solo.  A few hours in, however, former nocturnal habits-better suited for one than two-resurface effortlessly like, say, ordering in Chinese food three days in a row, and old habits need not die so hard.  Until the companion returns-to open arms, a newly fluffed up couch, and HBO on pause for the perfect moment to press "play" again.  Enjoy!

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On Being in Pain

Navigating this Fear.

Everyone fears something different, from nausea (in my case) to needles (in lots of other people's), with a range of explanations that both justify and confuse the source and solution.  For me, emetphobia has been at the forefront of everything I do and, as such, I've mastered avoiding it at all costs including (but not limited to) passionately ignoring any other physical ailment that might come by way.  And throw a wounded, bleeding skull in my direction, or a hyperventilating stranger, or a dog/spider/mosquito bite (-the scary kind that, say, probably spreads malaria), and I'll be the first respondent on the scene.  But one sign of stomach flu-be it a cough in the wrong direction or a pale, sweaty face-and I'm out like a flash.  Enjoy!

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On A Tree Grow(ing) In Brooklyn

An Unfair Comparison.

If you've ever lived in a place other than your hometown, you know that when asked the usual question-do you miss it?-the answer is an easy hell yeah.  It doesn't help the case when that hometown is numero uno on the hottest places to live for anyone under 30-years-old or with a serious addiction to HBO's Girls.  But the reality that is often disregarded is that there are lots of places to live in this world that measure up in different ways.  A (rare but) native Brooklynite would be crazy not to miss the (unaffordable) brownstone houses, (easy) access to top notch cuisine, and (in my case) a host of immediate relatives (which now includes a nephew and new niece with eyes the size of the Prospect Park Carousel, relatively speaking).  But I simultaneously welcome the quiet of Colorado, too-as do my east coast visitors!-coupled with the kindness of (nearly every) stranger, the relatively cheap and unhindered entry into local pools on 90+ degree days, the constant quiet of local, tree-lined neighborhoods, the lack of humidity 24/7, and an embrace and appreciation for a very decent work-life balance.  In the end, you really cannot compare the two...or three...or five hundred...because there are pros and cons to everyplace and everything in it.  So when asked if I miss it-be it now, last year, or fifty years from now-whether from the comforts of my town house in the west or Park Slope, Brooklyn, my answer will always be the same, alongside my appreciation for New York and beyond.  Enjoy!    

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On Choosing a Name

An Unexpected Power.

Thanks to my parents, my own names have been quite good to me-first, middle, and last-which is why, when I got married last August, it wasn't such an obvious decision to give up on "Einstein." A built in icebreaker and science-related conversation starter (-a subject I can moderately hold my own in), my middle name has also been known to redirect uncomfortable exchanges back to everyone's favorite 80s rom com (hint: Ferris Bueller's girlfriend's name) and an occasional subsequent dissection of best and worst quotes in competing Molly Ringwald, Patrick Swayze, and Emilio Estevez films.  So choosing a name for another impending human being is no lighthearted task, as decades of teasing and inappropriate jabs to come combined with frenemies from grade schools past eliminate even the modest of possibilities while memorable one-liners encourage unexpected potential.  Enjoy!

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On (My) Terrible Memory

No Idea(s).

Like a handful of you, I have a terrible memory.  While occasionally alarmed when, say, I can't remember the details of the movie I literally just watched or the color of the dress I wore yesterday, my fears are not strong enough to merit brain exercises off the internet or a visit to the local neurologist.  In fact, choosing to set aside my usual hypochondriac assumptions, I typically choose the road less taken-to indulge in a personal fascination of this frequent lapse rather than freak out because I forgot what I said ten minutes ago. And at the risk of sounding melodramatic, living in my own personal Groundhog's Day ain't so bad, where I'm the star and each lost moment is an experience regained-be it seconds, days or years later-with equal joy, surprise and fascination...for the most part.  Enjoy!

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On Being a "Writer"

Many Talents.

Many of us have 'em, those not so secret hobbies-from writing to painting-where we strive on a weekly basis to become better than we actually are.  And when friends and family laud our initiative, tacitly admiring the commitment they've spent years berating themselves for lacking, we accept the compliment while downplaying the extent to which we're actually worthy of public praise.  But we love what we do and stick diligently to our craft, even if our parental figures are the only ones who post comments on our blogs or hang our mediocre artwork in their kitchens, believing that talent comes in different shapes and sizes, and the worst critics are ourselves.  (Also, Mom, please don't stop commenting!)  Enjoy.

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On Becoming Family

 How Things Evolve.

When you meet someone for the first time, best feet are put forward.  The getting-to-know-you ritual (romantic or otherwise) becomes a dance between strangers where cues are observed and acted upon based on varying comfort levels, and intimate characteristics revealed at a pace unique to the given situation.  And, over time, a special bond develops where sentences might be finished, actions anticipated, and a deeper understanding eventually leads to a transformation from friendship to family.  Enjoy!

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On First Heartbreak

Tears & Devastation.

It doesn't get worse than that very first one-the heartbreak that got away-when the world feels like it's collapsing around you and there is no room to catch your breath.  Friends and family assure you that this too shall pass but, in the thick of, the end is beyond visibility and, in fact, they don't realize that this will last forever. After all, (s)he was the knees bees, beyond perfection, and in spite of the thousand and one ways this was never going to work out, it actually should have.  Until you wake up one morning with the sun shining through the blinds in a way that went unnoticeable for months and all of a sudden you realize you've forgotten the color of their favorite [insert (flower/record album/iphone cover] and the future seems ever-so-slightly less bleak than it did the day before because it actually is and, just maybe, there is hope for the possibility that this was meant to be.  Enjoy!

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On One Year at a Time

(On Mawwage.)

With almost a year under my own belt (11 months and 2 weeks, to be exact), I stand by my partner's initial proclamation-within our first week of tying the knot-that "marriage is (in fact) a breeze."  Yet countless couples, from friends who are three years in to parents who are thirty, rumor still has it that a lifelong commitment is more work than initially imagined.  And so we coast, work hard, persevere when the going gets tough, and find ourselves decades later enjoying the fruits of our labor and an easy morning coffee with the one person we can't live without.  Enjoy!

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On Our Strange (& Embarrassing) Concerns

Windshield Wiper Paranoia.

I know we all have them-these silly, unjustifiable concerns for the most nonsensical habits and possessions-yet I still get paranoid when a rainy day shows up.  And if you promise not to make fun, I'll tell you what happens.  You see, driving in my vehicle (or yours if I'm back on the east coast, or-more likely-your parents'), I become unnecessarily self-conscious about the speed in which I set my windshield wipers which, if I'm being honest, is pretty fast.  Every time time I scan my peer group through the anonymity of tinted windows and cozy raindrop ridden doors, where so clearly not a single person is paying attention to the quickness of my rubber gliders, I am equally embarrassed by the unreasonableness of my paranoia.  But we all have these, right?, and since I'm telling you mine, you really should feel obliged to tell me yours.  And I guarantee I won't judge if you promise-the next time we pass in a storm - to pretend not to notice how fast I feel the urgency to keep the rain away.  Enjoy!

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On Sibling Admiration

Dr. Einstein, fo' Realz.

When my sister announced her career change to become a doctor, it didn't seem real.  Sure, she'd volunteered at the local hospital during high school weekends (over one and a half decades earlier) but that was the norm when trying to get into a competitive college or kill time on a Sunday afternoon in Brooklyn.  Plus, she usually spent her free time doing creative-type things like making home videos and reading Stephen King novels.  Now, in her mid-to-late thirties, she saves lives in a real life emergency room, giving multiple seasons of ER and Grey's Anatomy a whole new meaning. And while her imagination still seeps through on her rare but valued downtime somewhere between her day job and parenthood, her uncanny ability to entertain and create is simply with a greater purpose-for herself and the people around her.  Enjoy!  

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On the Ideal Summer

Upstate, New York.

Having spent the majority of my childhood summers in upstate New York shuttling between summer camp and a small cabin "in the middle of nowhere," I never developed the travel bug that many of my peers, who willingly hop flights to Asia and South America, have. While I've certainly enjoyed my few trips to Europe, Costa Rica, and Mexico over the last decade, I'd take a summer (or winter) evening around a (camp) fire with smores and good conversation in a heartbeat. Not that trips to the local farmer's market and cones at the nearby rundown ice cream shop can compensate for Peruvian treks to unimaginable altitudes and accompanying views but the homebody in me seeks comfort in the smaller, less extravagant pleasures in life.  Anyone else? (Enjoy!) 

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On Home Improvements

In One Ear...

There are few topics that shut me down like home improvements, as in I literally tune out and hear nothing though often through the guise of interested gestures like overly-aggressive nods and squint-y facial expressions.  Which is a real shame since my dad is an architect and contractor by trade, my "roommate" can build bikes from scratch, and eventually it's an inevitable fact that I'll be home alone with a real disaster on my hands that only my wallet can solve.  And yet in spite of this knowledge, I'll take the mundane tasks any day - grocery shopping, vacuuming, laundry - because, for whatever reason quite unknown to me (and them), throw a screw or a nail in it and I drift to another much more predicable planet.  Enjoy!

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On Pressing "Record"

Can't Help M'self.

Gone are the days when over-sized video camcorders were whipped out at family birthday parties and VHS tapes labeled with illegible hand-written crawl denoting the topic, date, and month.  They collected dust, were rarely watched, and, now, are no longer compatible with modern day technology (aka Netflix Instant Play).  And so we grasp the smaller, less extravagant moments in one to three minute blocks of iphone video footage, frequently recalling with great pride and nostalgia what we ate for breakfast last weekend, the hilarious imitation over too many glasses of wine, and how loudly we may (or may not) have snored all night.  Enjoy!

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On a Happy 4th

...to all, and a good holiday weekend.  This blog will resume on Monday, July 7
th.

On You and Me

Learning From Each Other.

On the initiative he took to help the woman cross the street;  

On the patience she maintained in the presence of screaming constituents;

On the generosity he invested in the thoughtful birthday gifts; 

On the composure she held in the face of great uncertainty.  

We don't always know when it's happening but the lessons we learn from family, friends, colleagues, and strangers emerge when we least expect, shaping who we hope to become in our own magical ways.  Enjoy!

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On All the Single Ladies

Awkward Traditions.

As with most group activities, as a once-single wedding attendee, I much preferred to watch from the sidelines--the rush of overly-excited single women extending outreached hands as if their fate literally depended on whether they caught the bride's bouquet or not.  Half curious about whether my own participation might seal my own destiny, I easily refrained, wedding after wedding, for fear that my nonathletic, shy self would disappoint the hopeful, future wife in me, and I'd inevitably spend the rest of the evening, month and year wondering if I'd screwed myself by not throwing an elbow or two amidst the drunken chaos.  And so with a half glass of red wine and mild anticipation, I would often be found tacitly applauding the next potential bride-to-be, unrealistically optimistic-along with the rest of the hopeful onlookers-that she might actually be the next.  Enjoy!

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On Making Plans

Type A-ers.

Us Type A folks don't do well without a plan, or even a plan for a plan, in which we dissect and examine every possible outcome between here and eternity.  Which is why when life gives us lemons, we want a recipe-and its backup-for lemonade...with and without options for sugar, alcohol and mint, please. And even if it turns out sour or totally inedible, we can assure you that we have three to five remedies waiting to rescue. So thank goodness for us that this ride call life is as predictable and (un)messy as a bowl of summer food and all its glorious, multi-colored utensils.  Enjoy!

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On Her One-Liners

Read 'Em Here.

Welcome to the Writer's Process Blog Tour Project.

One of my nearest and dearest "writer friends" (yet so much more) asked if I wanted to be included in a game of virtual "blog" tag, where we link out to blogs we adore (for me-hers, as I am an an avid addict of her one-liners which make me want to grow, engage, shout, and laugh out loud) while making a note or two on how and why we write what we do (see questions below if you're really curious).  I agreed, of course, to answer these four seemingly simple questions only to immediately feel regret and extreme self-consciousness about not having this thing called a "writing process" in the first place-and also boring you to pieces-because, hey, anyone can throw a three to five sentences onto a computer screen and call it talent.

Yet here goes...

What am I working on?
Constantly trying to capture the mundane yet magical moments in life through other people's words (aka posted articles and blogs; oh, here's another!) that I am confident my fellow online dabblers (you) are as aware of and mystified by as I am.

How does my work differ from others of its genre?
I'm not sure that it does but every once in awhile I'll admit to a rant about an etiquette that both my eighteen to twenty-five average daily readers (and myself) are most certainly guilty of while pretending to be as innocent as the next.  I feel so worried on those mornings that my posts will inevitably offend and so I'll email my aforementioned writer friend for validation and forgiveness, after which she always encourages my bravery to call people out since, after all, who doesn't put their best facebook profile pic forward?  And on those days I actually get between one and four "likes".  (Ah, the small pleasure in e-life!) 
 
Why do I write what I do?
Life-and the people in it-fascinate me as much as they do you, in particular how we connect through a visual stimulation that has nothing to do with knowing one another, seeing each other, tasting, smelling, touching or otherwise, and everything to do with our imaginations.
 
How does your writing process work?
With a whole lot of threats to quit writing altogether.

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On Small Gestures

Profound Meaning.

The stranger who let's us cut in front of them on line;
The twenty dollar bill we dropped and later found;
Coffee in bed for no reason;
Handmade birthday cards;
Unannounced visits;
Ice cream cones on weeknights;
Snail mail when you least expect;
Homemade tomato sauce (with ravioli);
Compliments on hair styles...(and parallel parking);
Random smiles on the street;
Waived fees;
Facebook "likes";
Facebook messages;
Flowers;
Genuine joy.

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On Googling WebMD

Bad Idea?

Meh, I think not.  Besides, how else would we decipher between the four  types of rare Amazonian gastrointestinal diseases we're sure we've contracted from the public bathroom three months ago at that random rest stop with the suspiciously outdated chip section?  Or the rash turned deadly hives turned actually deadly snake bite that guarantees us a mere three hours to live? Or how about that nagging toe pain, the one that should have disappeared two weeks ago as a casual plantar fasciitis - resolved with rest and better arch support - but definitely feels more like sesamoiditis and will very likely require steroid injections and surgery we can't afford.  Oh, and yes definitely sign us up for that weekly newsletter full of anxiety so we can torture ourselves with medical diagnoses that will deplete our lifespans by hours and days (if we're lucky) since, let's be honest, we probably won't want to live through them anyway considering what WebMD has in store for us.  Enjoy!

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On Our Shrink's Secrets

"Being" Friends.

Divulging our deepest, darkest secrets week after week, it's no wonder we fantasize about being friends with our shrinks.  With little information about their personal lives, it's not uncommon to contrive the who, what, where, and when of their joys, grievances, and favorite meals. The reality, however, is that we do this everyday with people we barely know, and 99% of the time we're way off, projecting our own values and insecurities onto familiar faces that have no genuine significance in the grander scheme of what we know to be true and not.  But hey, if we didn't, they'd be out of their jobs, and we'd all be at the mercy of our one-dimensional perspectives with little to no hope of growth and resolution.  Enjoy!

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On Saying Yes to the Dress

Priorities, Priorities.

While theoretically weddings are meant to be for the bride and groom (yeah, right!), the minute that rock hits your finger, the opinions come pouring in. Which is why, when I initially became engaged (circa October 2012), one of the first decisions we made as a couple was to list our top five unwavering values (as they related to our celebration) that, no matter what happened, we would not budge on at the likely chance we found ourselves seemingly overruled.  I can't take credit for this idea - I read it on a wedding blog - but the list came in handy once or twice over the planning year, as the guest list took to an overwhelming size (on the actual day, we only had our desired 85!) and all frills were eliminated (per my request) from nearly every pre-wedding extravaganza (including the dress!).  In the end, of course, my mother was right - a veil was that little extra something special - as she often is, and the ceremony (etc) was a clear representation of everyone involved, but most importantly (and especially) the two people who mattered most.  Enjoy!

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On My Grandmother's Roses

Now My Own.

While I can't claim to be the gardener of my mostly recently (purchased) abode, my husband does all the grunt work and I (gladly) share in the sun-basked glory.  With flowers blooming in every direction and the majority of (his) herbs blossoming with great success, it's the red roses we stumbled upon against the light-colored brick garage that remind me of my grandmother's garden.  These roses existed before we arrived-underground and in rare form only-as we watched and hoped at the first sign of spring that their multicolored petals would greet us with fertility and delight.  Once arrived, unexpected childhood flashes of buzzing bees and prickly thorns amidst Fisher Price toys and afternoon snacks in my grandmother's Brooklyn garden came pouring back.  And with each care and caress of our current garden, I'm reminded of a generational commitment to bring life to a backyard oasis reserved only for a select few.  Enjoy!

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On Bad Breakups

Making a List.

It's not above the majority of us to make a pros and cons list (written or otherwise) when seriously considering ending a relationship.  After all, it's hard enough to permanently cut someone out of our (romantic) lives so having actual evidence in the form of a clearly imbalanced, one-sided set of reasons for why failure is imminent can only help the challenging plight.  And then, in the expected moments of weakness when post-breakup roses appear and the world all of a sudden seems wrong and right simultaneously, the list resurfaces to remind us that, in fact, this lopsided decision was ultimately meant to be.  Enjoy!

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On Sickness and (In) Health

The Stark Reality.

We mumble those vows as if we're up for anything thrown our way but the reality of marriage is that it's long and arduous, or so they say.  Up for the task when our responsibilities are still fresh and light-and encompassing the well-being of a mere two beings-the journey feels optimistic and kind, conquerable by even the least diligent.  And yet we commit anyway, in hopes that we'll blink and 40 days will become 40 years, weeks...decades, and even the most challenging experiences worth every second.  Enjoy!  

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On Saying "It" First

"I...er...I...um"

Saying those three magic words first can fill the room with a thousand pound elephant, as we navigate unclear waters amidst very clear emotions. A moment that can only happen once between two people, the timing must be perfect, which means different strokes for different folks, from a balcony view overlooking the heart of Manhattan to a picnic blanket in a local park.  And once those words are exchanged, the relationship can advance, from a casual romance between once-strangers to a real-life fling with potential for permanence.  Enjoy! 

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On My First Road Trip

NYC to Denver, circa 1997.

I was nineteen when I went on my first road trip-to help my sister move from NYC to California during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college.  I was charged with making it to Denver and then hopping on a return flight back to Brooklyn while she drove south to visit an old boyfriend off the beaten path.  I'd never been to Colorado before, knew nothing about it, and spent the majority of highway time sulking like a sullen teenager.  Until the day we made it to the Rockies.  Between hazy details of modest hotel rooms and expected sisterly squabbles, we drove straight towards Estes Park and were immediately enamored by the vastness of the mountains and calmness of their neighboring rivers. For the first time in over a week, us city girls were speechless, finally finding commonality in the humbleness that rediscovering nature can occasional welcome.  Enjoy!

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On Memorable Advice from 1997

(Did you know...)

 (...this was an article... in the Chicago Tribune in 1997 and not a graduation speech?) 

Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young

By Mary Schmich

June 1, 1997

Inside every adult lurks a graduation speaker dying to get out, some world-weary pundit eager to pontificate on life to young people who'd rather be Rollerblading. Most of us, alas, will never be invited to sow our words of wisdom among an audience of caps and gowns, but there's no reason we can't entertain ourselves by composing a Guide to Life for Graduates.

I encourage anyone over 26 to try this and thank you for indulging my attempt. Ladies and gentlemen of the class of '97:

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Copyright © 2014 Chicago Tribune Company, LLC

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On a Day Off Just Because...

Taking a stay-cation; this blog will return Monday, June 16th, 2014.

On Imminent Fatherhood

Oh, the Anticipation!

It's an odd feeling to not have met your actual baby before they are born but to be 100% confident that you will love them forever, and that they will equally love you back (or so you hope).  In anticipation of their adoration, ability to challenge, willingness to confide, and (potential adolescent) despise of you at various times over the course of multiple decades, you plan for every aspect of their arrival by choosing colors you think they'll like and names that might sound good on them. And without having ever seen their face or heard their voice, you also know it will be grand, with a partner-of-your-highest-choosing alongside for the ride, to anticipate, fear, and delight in what is supposedly one of the best things to happen in life.

Happy Father's Day to all, and especially to my roommate, AR.

(Also, ya'll should really read the attached article today-even the men will tear up.)

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On the Strangest Things

Closer Together.

It's the things you least expect that either bring you closer together or, alternately, drive you farther apart.  For my "roommate" and I, it was a glorious stomach flu of July 2009 that made us kindred spirits, germ-sharing and all, as we navigated (ahem) a combination of borderline pathetic patient stamina (her) and unbeatable bedside manners (him). For my folks, it was the heat of the late 60's combined with an impressive reference to classical music by my father, though if you ask them each directly you'll likely hear varying accounts of what actually happened. And, finally, my grand-folks found each other amidst a night of post-war dancing (my mom's parents) and romantic liaisons with siblings (my dad's) so you never really know how or why or when but just that it's true, and can happen anywhere and anytime.  Enjoy! 

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On Camp! Camp! Camp!

That Time of Year.

It's that time of year again when all us camp folks fondly remember the scent of the "camp trunk" being hauled out of the basement for a new adventure of friendship, romance, and waterfront.  Decorated with stickers from summers past, you hope to stumble upon a surprise token from the August before, like an old cabin schedule or arts & crafts pendant, that got lost in the unpacking-shuffle eight months earlier.  Let the packing begin, with shorts and socks neatly piled on opposite corners for a short but sweet allotment of time, as secret stashes of candy stuff between pj's and stationary, and nerves and excitement mix together throughout unfulfilled promises to write home everyday.  Enjoy!

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On Our Numbered Days

Obsession with Mortality.

Ever since childhood, if it made you cry - a novel, film, song, or anything of the sort - I was obsessed.  Preoccupied with mortality since a young age, I could probably name the top three causes of death since I was seven (1st-heart disease, 2nd- stroke, 3rd-respiratory disease) which is probably why I've never been afraid to fly and hardly look both ways when crossing.  And while I don't live every day as if it's my last (does anyone?) there have always been multiple times in the same week (for decades) where I feel grateful to be alive while simultaneously (strangely) fearful.  Enjoy!

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On Shaping Our Own Perceptions

Maintaining Control.

We believe what we want and want what we believe, interpreting identical situations differently from each other.  The sounds heard and sights seen are shaped by where we have been and who we are becoming, as we exchange personal accounts of the world around us in contradicting ways.  And yet it's other people's illuminations that widen our own perspectives, providing new meanings for what once were one-dimensional viewpoints.  Enjoy!

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On Inherited Guilt

Sleepless Nights.

For some, guilt rolls off the shoulders as if it never existed,  with semi-hurtful words and actions flying effortlessly through  email exchanges, texts, and the occasional phone call.  For others, sleep is lost, apologies overloaded, and unrealistic vows (to end world hunger) exchanged for an untainted conscience.  And the lengths we'll go end up tiring us out more than the guilt itself, filling hours with unrequited gestures in hopes that our sins will be forgiven and confidence restored, and broken bonds repaired in spite of the (minimal and fleeting) extent of the damage.  Enjoy! 

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On Whatever Works!

Healing Powers.


I have to confess that I only pray when the powers that be bring on a stomach ache or related ailment, including but not limited to cramps, nausea, and gastrointestinal discomfort.  While I don't believe in greater beings than you and me, I respect (and, in some cases, envy) people that do, and recognize that there's a time and place to reach outside our scientific grounding towards a larger force that might just pull through.  Because desperate times call for desperate measures, even non-believers can hope that we'll be proved wrong in times of need...and then some.  Enjoy!

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