Being here now

Media Speak: "Rightsize"

2009-08-11T07:53:00.002-05:00

Today's D&C gives a blessing on its front page for two families who made the decision to sell their $150,000+ Brighton homes and move to less expensive homes...however, rather than calling it "downsizing", their headline reads "Residents 'rightsize' homes in hard times"...what's up with that? What would be so wrong with someone choosing to "downsize"? Being practical is still seen as being a little "wacky"...I can tell you this first hand because of the reactions I receive to having a "pay as you go" cel phone plan...which I choose so that I don't have to pay for any more service than my daughter and I need to use...we all have budget lines that may be sacred to us but might be an area other people are willing to cut out or reduce...some people are fine with basic cable television while others would be miserable...to me, one of the problems with our culture today is that increasing amounts of the population don't see that they have choices at all...if they can't have the latest gadget or convenience, they feel deprived and miserable. The true misery is that this a never-ending pit to be throwing your sense of self-esteem into...none of these 'things'--the size of your house, the status of your neighborhood or school district, the labels on your clothes, the speed of your technology--contributes to your happiness in any way except a fleeting stab of pleasure. Then someone else comes along to point out what they have that's better than yours.
Make a nice cup of coffee and invite a friend over. Sit and chat. Pet the dog and tell a few jokes. How does that feel?

A promising Monday

2009-08-10T12:40:00.002-05:00

Here's to a Monday full of promise...exercise, writing, knitting and some de-cluttering. All good for the soul...taking some advice from the FlyLady and setting a timer for 15 minutes...in 15 minutes you can do everything...and not get obsessive and sick of it! All we can do is try!

A Merry Christmas

2007-12-25T15:18:00.000-05:00

I am writing on my new laptop...after my son "broke it in" for me...he was thrilled with my Christmas gift! What a lovely day we are having...we don't have to run around anywhere today, Grandma is hanging out with us and the lasagna is almost ready. I got to sew a little bit, so it feels very relaxing to me! How lucky we are...now I know I have no excuses for not posting more often!

Finally writing

2007-12-04T19:15:00.000-05:00

Yes, that is a new post! This fall, I took the step of enrolling in a Writers and Books class on "Beginning Memoir". It was a great class, and an exhilarating experience to be finally writing. There were nine women in the class, very diverse ages and backgrounds, and we all really clicked. Everyone had a great voice and stories to tell. We were sad to have the class end, and I had everyone write their names and emails down. I know from friends who write that their writers' groups are very important to keep them going. I sent out an email the next week, and everyone responded enthusiastically to the idea of getting together. We met for the first time outside of class last week, and four of us had written something. I wrote the post below, based on the prompt "the strangest gift you've ever received."

One of the strangest gifts I've ever received

2007-12-04T19:11:00.000-05:00

The brunette girl with the pigtails wears a red gingham dress and a huge smile as she squeezes a juicy piece of watermelon. I am mesmerized by that watermelon...
“I can’t stay long, I just stopped by to say ‘Happy Birthday’. I’m going now.”
I swing around and smile weakly at Kathy. “OK, well, thanks for coming over.” She smirks and heads back down our driveway.
“Who wants cake?” My mother swings out the back door with plates and forks, and the quiet yard erupts as my classmates scream their approval.
In honor of my eleventh birthday, I was having a “friends” party in our backyard. With six children in our family, and one more on the way, these occasions were a treat. I invited most of the girls from my fifth grade class at St. Hedwig’s. I took a bus to the school that was part of the Polish parish my mother preferred to attend, so I didn’t live close to most of my classmates. The children in our neighborhood walked down the boulevard to the public elementary school or in the opposite direction to Our Lady of Victory.
Kathy Miller lived two doors away, and she was my tie to the neighborhood. We had been best friends since I was in kindergarten and she was in first grade. Their house on the corner probably wasn’t any larger than ours, but it seemed like it had more space. Kathy had one older, very glamorous sister, Linda, and a younger brother who was always at the playground with my brothers.
Kathy was one year older than me, and she was my gateway into all kinds of new worlds. She had her own room, her possessions untouched by the dirty fingers of younger siblings. Summers found me at Kathy’s house, hanging out in her room, or on the cool wide white porch. The Millers weren’t Catholic, but Episcopalian. This was novel to me, but became troublesome when I stayed for dinner one Friday night. The delicious BLT sandwiches required a trip to the confessional before Sunday Mass.
“I didn’t realize bacon was meat.”
The priest’s laughter spilled out of the dark booth and throughout the church. “What did you think it was, some sort of potato?”
Kathy’s mom was a small, nervous woman who seemed worn out already by the diva-ish Linda’s demands and antics. She would sometimes offer us a snack but we were usually left to our own amusements.
Those amusements progressed from games of Pick-up-sticks and War to analyzing the cover of the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album and debating the virtues of Paul versus John. My pre-teen awareness accelerated through my friendship with Kathy and the information she gained from observing the mod sister. It was Kathy who told me the truth about Santa Claus, the tooth fairy, and how babies were made. We were equally grossed out about the last fact, and she was quick to point out how many times my parents had “done it.” I recoiled, and just as quickly countered that it was actually one less time, since my mother had had twins.
During the past year Kathy usually included her new friend Cheryl into our adventures. Cheryl was a cool blonde who seemed bored by any contributions I made to our conversations. A couple of months earlier, on a window shopping excursion to Woolworth’s, her green eyes flicked over the clothes my mother sewed for me as she called Kathy over to her side in the cosmetics aisle. I followed them out of the store and up to the restroom at the nearby Long Island Rail Road station. Giggling, they both pulled out the lipsticks they had pocketed and tore open the packages to apply the thick glossy pink gunk to their mouths. As Kathy outlined her light brown eyes in metallic blue, she looked back at me in the grimy mirror. “Hey, I need you to look up a phone number for me. Go downstairs, there’s a book in the booth, and find Richard Weed.”
Glad to have something else to do, I hurried down to the ground level. I had the book in my hand when the phone booth door closed behind me. “Are you trying to call Dick Weed?” Kathy and Cheryl convulsed with laughter and held the booth door shut. “Is that your boyfriend, Paula, Dick Weed?”
After they lost interest and left, I walked home alone. Seeing them still laughing about a block ahead, I blamed Cheryl and vowed not to get together with Kathy anymore when she was around.
On that sunny June day, my birthday guests had left, and I was helping my mother clean up the backyard. “Paula, where did this come from?” She was holding the cheap ten piece puzzle of the little girl with the watermelon. The child was sitting on a bale of hay, I now noticed, and there were little baby chicks all around.
“Kathy Miller gave that to me.”
“Kathy was here? This was the present she gave you?”When I looked into my mother’s shocked face, I realized that Kathy had needed to sever our tie swiftly and completely. I was my mother’s helper and her straight A student. Overwhelmed by the details of managing our frantic household and her worries about my four rambunctious brothers, my mother rarely concerned herself with the details of my social life. Now, seeing her frown as she put the puzzle down, I turned to go into the house. “I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll come back and finish up, leave it, Mom.” Locking the door to the only private room in our house, I sat on the floor and finally let the tears slide out from my eyes.

It smells like spring (or earthworms)

2007-03-27T17:21:00.000-05:00

It smells like spring now and people are smiling once again. Of course, it could be snatched away from us overnight...we could have an Easter snowstorm. Isn't that a cynical, un-spring like thought? I dragged the pitching net out of the shed and across the muddy backyard for my son and he dug his baseball glove out of the garage gleefully. When my daughter and I walked into the school today she thought the air smelled like the lake we visit every year. I mentioned earthworms.
My book club will discuss "The Time Traveler's Wife" tonight. I really enjoyed this book and thought the author wove an amazing and at the same time simple tale of life and love. One phrase that came to mind while I was reading it was "waiting for the other shoe to drop". Because one of the characters travels back and forth through time, he does have some clues about what his future will hold. So I thought a lot of the book was about waiting...which we do even if we are not time travelers. I feel like I have often spent time waiting for the other shoe to drop...is it saving myself from disappointment, a learned response, a pessimistic nature, or just being a realist?
We do have it in our power to let it go...to run outside with a nine year old's enthusiasm for the upcoming baseball season; or to sniff the air and smell the promise of summer.
This one's for you, Casey...go out and smell the lake!

Welcome back blogger

2007-02-08T21:32:00.000-05:00

After some prompting from my husband and son, I decided not to let an actual year go by before I blogged again. How does that happen? Somewhere in between the loads of laundry, Girl Scout meetings, soccer games, saying yes to yet another committee/meeting/task force...hi, it's crabbylami and I am co-dependent! Yes, I'm aware of my issues and they say that's the first step. Time to move the other foot forward.
My husband gave me a beautiful article by Anna Quindlen about why we should write. As usual, her down-to-earth eloquence moved me to tears...I feel as though she has peeked into my heart and discovered my secret thoughts before I am even conscious of them. I do think that she alluded to a very interesting point, one that is part of why I enjoy reading other people's blogs on the internet...so much more interesting than your average television show. (Boston Legal and The Office excluded) The beauty of writing is in the details, and in what we reveal of ourselves. Good strong writing always carries the individual stamp of the writer. So for my husband, my son, and for myself, I will keep this article nearby for inspiration and I will make my effort to practice my voice and make my little mark on the world here...

Lack of Pride or Shame

2006-03-21T20:41:00.000-05:00

OK, I obviously have not spent much time "being here now"! But I had to write this evening, just came from the Cub Scout meeting I prepared for over the past week, less than half the den showed up, which was more than the one scout who helped us with Scouting for Food on last Saturday. Just a few observations: it seems there is no shame anymore...no shame in not fulfilling your commitments, no shame in letting others down without warning. Everyone is so "busy" that it OK to forget, put aside...oh my, it is tiring and very sad to me. I think there should be some shame. There should be pride in accomplishments and commitments and a sense of loss when you don't live up to them.

Perspective

2005-10-26T21:27:00.000-05:00

Perspective is so interesting, isn't it? Like the way the rain has been pouring down in Western New York for what seems like such a long time now...I feel so put upon until I remember what the people in Florida are dealing with. No power for weeks. UGH. At the very least. There's also the phenomenon of finally getting that job you wanted...the salary seemed so great...until your second paycheck, when it becomes the base you operate from. I've been in the fortunate position of not having to decide what I want to occupy my time with based upon wages, for well over decade now. It's a very rare position to be in. Our culture certainly doesn't support those kinds of choices. I know that I'm a nothing to many people. It's amazing to me how many people base their judgment of who you are and how they will "value" you upon your occupation, salary, type of house, standard of living. It is actually a lot of fun and highly amusing to "spring" my intelligence and educational background on the unsuspecting snob. "oh, now I'm more interesting, am I?" I will be meeting with some of the current members of Mothers and More (formerly known as FEMALE), the chapter of which I started here in Rochester ten years ago. They are having a special celebration. I am very interested in meeting with the new group, I wonder if it is such a deviation from the norm as it was for women of my generation? I know that we so adamantly felt "I'm not going to end up like my mom!" that we rejected the traditional roles of wife and mother outright. To take them back and even embrace them, I'm sure, seemed like blasphemy to many of my colleagues. I'm not sure that younger women have felt that kind of pressure. I'd like to believe that they are indeed more "free to be you and me". If you want real perspective, just hang around an eight year old. They'll cut right to the heart of the matter. If you listen, you could learn a lot from an eight year old about what's really important. Once you get past the discussion of the merits of Playstation 2 vs. X-box.

Ya gotta have friends

2005-10-19T20:34:00.000-05:00

I received a lovely comment from my friend Ann when she read my last post...reminding me that our friendship came to be as a gift of infertility. Oh yeah, that was one of the biggest gifts. Ann, Lisa and Marie are listed as "IFbuds" on my e-mail address book--not "IF" as in maybe the friendship is 'iffy' but as in 'Infertility Focus'. We all were pursuing medical treatments when we met and we kept each other company through those tortures, and then through the journey of becoming adoptive parents. Ann's friendship brought another precious gift to me, the lead that become our son Joseph. His biological grandmother is a close friend of Ann's from high school. It's a very special bond.
An infertility support group. The kind of club no one really wants to be a member of, and that you're always one menstrual cycle away from quitting. Yet how very blessed I was to find these women, and to keep them as friends.
I read an article in the NY Times magazine section a while back that contained some interesting comments on modern friendships. The woman who wrote the article was commenting on the television show 'Sex and the City'--her take on what was a fantasy about the four women's lives was not about how many men they had, but on how much time they had to spend on their friendship! She talked about how difficult it is to make new friendships, once you are out of college and the kind of world where you can sit around chatting and learning about each other for hours on end. I always thought I felt so close to my college friends because we "grew up" together, came of age together. Looking back, I realize we had a lot of time to share with each other. Adult friendships don't have that luxury, and frankly, they take a lot of work.
I really admire my friends who actively work at developing and maintaining their friendships. Nancy is at the top of that list. She is incredibly thoughtful, and she works at staying connected with her friends. It comes straight from her heart.
Isn't it great when your friend calls you up just to say hi? What a great luxury to pour a cup of coffee, and launch into a story over the phone with your good buddy who is really interested in the intensity of the hot flash you had this morning.
I'll save that story for when I can talk to you about it. Put the coffee on, and make it strong.

The Bitter and the Sweet

2005-10-16T08:18:00.000-05:00

Early this morning the sun was shining brightly through the trees--it was very yellow and cheery outside. I felt a wave of warmth and happiness flow over me. It felt strange. Then I realized that due to our uncharacteristically sunny summer, I haven't had as much of a contrast as we usually do here in gloomy Western New York. The thing about having so many grey days is that you feel real joy on the sunny ones!
Then I remembered my days of dealing with infertility. When I was going through that sad and grief-filled process, I did a lot of reading to find consolation and ways to cope. A recurrent theme was that without our pain, we cannot fully appreciate our joy. Of course, when you are in the midst of something painful, you say "YEAH RIGHT, thanks so much!" My dear friend Marie and I always had a good sardonic laugh, remembering the article written by a more experienced support group member, "The Gift of Infertility". 'Can I send this present back?' Marie would say.
Now that over a decade has passed since my last Pergonal injection, I can appreciate how much more sweet parenting is to me, in that I once thought I would never be here. I can especially appreciate the lessons that my struggle with trying to give birth "presented" to me. And I definitely was in need of those lessons about control and faith.
The sun's gone back in. I'm grateful that I enjoyed the warmth while it was here.

Autumn is here!

2005-10-15T20:14:00.000-05:00

I was driving back from Buffalo today and got a great view of some trees along the thruway...the leaves were the colors of a flame, red on the bottom going to yellow on top. Beautiful is autumn in Western New York.
I enjoy a drive by myself...I can listen to any music I like, or no music at all. I can think, uninterrupted by the curious children or ranting husband. I need to say that I love my exuberant and noisy family, but I also appreciate the being by myself. Thinking whatever thoughts come along.
Today the music choice was Josh Groban...I needed to hear something Italian. Then I had a cleansing cry...it's that time of the month. I felt refreshed afterward, but the nose-blowing situation due to the crying/sinus infection wasn't really relaxing.
I was thinking about blogs, and my favorite blogs, and why I like to read them. Why do we think we have anything anyone else would like to read? Of my favorites, I realized that they were blogs in which a) the person was a decent writer and b) they wrote about things besides what they did that day. Ideas and passions, I think are the key.
That's how I came upon the name for my blog "being here now". It's a theme in my life that I think about in many ways each day...being present, being mindful. Taking joy in the journey. Being grateful. And it's something I'd like to keep myself focused on.

Start of a new era

2005-10-14T16:43:00.000-05:00

My niece Casey started a blog and somehow this has led to the creation of this blog...we'll see how an old broad can do with this...make that crabby old broad!