In My Shoes

Days 12, 13, 14, 15 and 16: The Days of Blog Neglect

2012-02-10T13:59:00.003-05:00

As you may have noticed, I've fallen off the "blog every day of the detox" wagon. Oops, my bad. In the beginning it was fun because each day came with different realizations, feelings and observations. But as the days wore on, I really didn't have much to share other than more cooking woes and more exclamations of how good I'm feeling. That, and I got totally hooked on a super-cheesy television drama (marathon style) that has been keeping me up way too late these past few nights and therefore making me feel not so good in the mornings. Lesson learned, or, learning...

I was never one of those people who needed 8 hours of sleep each night, until, that is, I started getting 9 hours per night. Oh my goodness, it's like a whole new world. Life just feels easier on 9 hours of sleep. Now that I'm staying up until midnight (again) watching episode after episode of what is pretty much a prime-time soap opera, I am really feelin' the weight of low sleep on my body and mind. Up until day 12, I was getting between 8-9 of sleep per night, and now I'm getting 6-7. So that's a goal of mine by Monday, which will be day 19: get back to healthy sleep patterns, and detox from late-night television marathons.

Other than the sleep issue, things in detox land are great. Still kinda over the copious amounts of cooking and prep that are necessary for success, but in the end it's a small gripe considering the rewards of feeling good and eating foods that I know are better for my body. The end of the detox is within sight, and I'm both excited and nervous for life on the other side. Do I want a piece of pizza? Yes. Am I going to have a piece of pizza sometime in the near future? Probably. But as far as wheat goes, that's really all I want. Everything else can fall by the wayside and I'll be fine. And for sugar, I'm kinda craving an ice cream cone, but other than that, I'm good with dark chocolate, berries, and fresh whipped cream. Oh! and wine!

So that's what's doin' on day 16. It's Friday- the day that I'm usually kinda antsy and wanting to go out- but tonight I'm looking forward to leftover spaghetti squash and more episodes of my show, which I've affectionately named "the show so bad that it's good". Hope you have an equally exciting Friday night! I'm officially back on the wagon, so stay tuned and walk with me as I cross the detox finish line next Wednesday. !!!

Days Ten & Eleven: Over the Hump

2012-02-05T22:02:00.000-05:00

Well, it's official -- I am more than halfway through the detox. While I'm definitely looking forward to certain things, like berries, wine, and maybe a tortilla chip or two, I'm not dying to be done with this process. It's funny because what I'm finding to be the most difficult part of this process is actually what I'm loving most about it: mindfulness. This detox has been an exercise in self-awareness and being mindful of what I'm eating, why I'm eating it, and how it makes me feel. It's kind of a pain is the arse to think so much about everything I eat (including shopping for it, prepping it, and cooking it), but it makes me realize how mindless my eating used to be. No bueno.

I spent a lot of time this weekend reading The Paleo Solution, and thinking about my priorities for life after February 15 (the final day of the detox). Based on everything I've read recently, and based on how I'm feeling, I have at least two priorities for post-detox life: cutting gluten out of my life, and getting plenty of sleep every night, not just on weekends. Wanna know what "plenty of sleep" looks like? It looks like me rising naturally at 7:30 on a Sunday morning, rested and ready to go. I used to view sleep as something that interfered with life (like a kid almost, "oh man, I have to go to bed??") , and now I'm realizing that plentiful sleep enhances life, and health (Ah man, I get to go to bed!"). Sleep is my new tortilla chip.

Well, speaking of sleep, it's about that time. I had planned on re-capping the events and meals of weekend, but frankly, I'm being seduced by the thought of sleep. So, here's the weekend in a nutshell: read, showed apartment to potential tenant, watched 90210, went grocery shopping, read, made dinner (big salad), watched "The Help", slept, read, showed apartment to potential tenant, prepped and cooked food for the week, cleaned the house, did laundry, read, made dinner (tacos in lettuce shells), watched a few commercials during the Super Bowl, blogged, went to bed.

All in all, a great "hump" weekend. It's all downhill from here. Happy hump, y'all.

Day 9: I Need a Break

2012-02-04T09:35:00.002-05:00

It's actually Day 10 as I write this, but as the title implies, I needed a break last night. As it turns out, Friday nights on this detox are the toughest for me. Friday nights are all about cutting loose and celebrating the end of another work week and the beginning of the weekend. We often go out on Friday nights, eat whatever the hell we want, and toast the end of the week with drinks. But now, while in detox-land, Friday night is just like any other night: come home, cook, wash dishes, go to bed.

I just couldn't do it last night. I had to find a way to mix up the monotony and "celebrate" Friday as I usually do. So, rather than cook like I had planned, we scrounged up enough leftovers in the fridge for two plates of dinner and then had date night on the couch watching a movie. I can't tell you how much I needed that night off from cooking! That was my way of cutting loose and celebrating the end of the week. Totally wild, I know.

Other than needing a break, day nine was pretty uneventful. The box of donuts was still on the kitchen table at work in the morning, with a measly 1/2 donut still in the box (who the hell leaves 1/2 donut in the box??). Thankfully my fellow detoxer L went right ahead and threw that box in the trash. Later in the day, L announced that she was down a belt notch! This was the first real physical change that any of us had noticed, and was a nice nudge of encouragement to keep eating bacon, butter and coconut oil.

After work, while the rest of the east coast was heading to happy hour, I headed to Barnes and Noble to buy myself a Friday treat. As I mentioned in my first detox post, this 21 day cleanse I'm on is based on the paleo way of eating. I'm not interested in doing the work of eliminating sugar and grains for 21 days and then eating cake, pizza and pasta on day 22. I'm interested in learning more about the paleo lifestyle and incorporating some of these detox habits into my everyday life. I'm not one to give up anything 100% of the time (no dairy? no thank you!), but I can certainly make a conscious effort to decrease my intake of certain foods in the name of good health. So, after doing some preliminary research, I decided to buy a book called The Paleo Solution by Robb Wolf. I'm about 35 pages in and am already totally smitten with his science-y yet funny style of conveying information. Can't wait to devour this book and implement some long-term changes.

The only other noteworthy part of yesterday was a dinnertime observation: my appetite has decreased. I used to have snack-attacks like nobody's business. Goldfish crackers in the morning, something sweet in the afternoon, tortilla chips before dinner, and so on. And then on top of it, my meal portions were fairly sizable and I would always clear my plate. Now, I have one snack, usually nuts or nut-flour crackers, and my three meals. I'm finding that I can no longer clear my dinner plate if it's the same sized portion as I usually have. Last night, I could only get through half a plate of leftover spaghetti squash before I had to call it quits. I'm just not as hungry as I used be. I think it has a lot to do with replacing all of those empty calories and grains with plenty of good fat, protein and veggies. I'm satisfied, plain and simple, and it feels great.

Rather than sign off and head to bed, I'm gonna sign off and start day 10 with a round of egg muffins. I'll check back in at the end of day 10 and will report from the official halfway point. No turning back now!

Day Eight: The Donut Test

2012-02-02T22:29:00.000-05:00

Every first Thursday of the month, at about 12:00 noon, a half-eaten box of Entemann's chocolate frosted donuts appears on the kitchen table at work. Whenever food is left on the kitchen table, it means "help yourself", and "please eat these or they're going in the trash". Not wanting to see food go to waste (yeah, that's it), I always grab one and quickly eat it before I change my mind. It's never as good as I imagine it's going to be, but still, there's something to be said for the allure of, and the high of eating a chocolate donut on a random Thursday afternoon. Right?

Well, today was my first ultimate test: me vs. the donut. I walked by the kitchen this afternoon and saw the familiar white box with blue lettering, and instantly felt drawn to it. I peeked into the box, found the donut with my name on it, and said, "hello, old friend", and walked away. Even though I was salivating and shaking my head as I walked away, I also felt empowered by my choice. I have to keep remembering that this is all by choice, and that if I truly wanted a chocolate donut, I would have a chocolate donut.

Other than the donut episode, it was a standard issue day. Egg muffins for breakfast, tomato, basil and mozzarella with grilled chicken for lunch, and stir-fry leftovers for dinner. I felt tired after work and would have liked to watch a movie or send some time reading, but I had to do the "C" word - cook. I roasted a chicken and some asparagus, and made a batch of cauli-mash, which will be my lunch for the next few days. Pretty bangin' lunch if you ask me.

I'm definitely feeling grumpy and tired tonight, and in need of a good night's sleep. I think the donut test wore me out, even though I won. I also think I'm just over the work week, and ready to have some "me time". You know what else I'm over? Cooking. Oh how I wish I could just order takeout and have a detox-friendly meal delivered to my doorstep. Or a pizza. Mmmm, pizza. Ok, now I'm tired, grumpy, and craving pizza. It is officially bed time.

Nighty-night friends. See you on day wine, I mean nine ;)

Day Seven: One Week!

2012-02-01T22:15:00.000-05:00

I'm gonna make this quick, because I've got a celebratory bath waiting for me. One week - woo! It's been an interesting, challenging and insightful first week on the 21 Day Sugar Detox, and I'm better for it. From where I stand now, it seems the hardest part is behind me (initial cravings) and now it's all about maintenance and finding creative ways to make it work. Knock on wood, right?

I splurged again tonight after work with grain-free crackers and guacamole (so super YUM), and then we made a stir-fry with chicken and tons of veggies. And now for dessert, a lavender vanilla bath followed by a deep sleep.

I think the biggest impact of this detox so far is my increased energy level. I used to come home from work and crash for a few hours before I could think about cooking dinner. I had just enough energy to get through my work day but not much else. Now, I'm noticing that things are different; I wake up feeling rested, I'm not rushing nearly as much in the morning, my energy feels stable and consistent throughout the day, and I no longer crash after work. It's a beautiful thing.

Ok, enough chat - time to get my soak on!

Day Six: On the Up & Up

2012-01-31T23:39:00.000-05:00

I think I've turned a corner. I've leveled out, emotionally speaking, and have my cravings in (relative) check. I seem to have my patience back, didn't shed any tears today, and I feel pretty good all-around. I think part of it is that I went back to work today and was able to get out of my own head for a bit. It felt freeing to think about something other than tortilla chips for awhile, if even for a few fleeting hours. Plus, it was therapeutic to commiserate with my two fellow detoxers and share in each others ups and downs thus far.

After work, I was hungry and went to town in the kitchen- snacktown, to be exact. And then I chowed down. I made the most delicious salty/crunchy grain-free seed crackers and a bowl of fresh guacamole. Swoon! Hit the spot like nothing else. I am SO grateful for almond flour and avocados; they are miracle workers in my life right now and are making all of my detox dreams come true. It's the little things in life, I tell ya.

So, that's day six in a nutshell. Back to work and back to feeling like me. Other observations include:

- I've been sleeping like a rock every night.

- I wake up feeling refreshed and ready to start my day (this is all new to me)

- I'm learning that fat is my friend. I feel the best after eating bacon, or an avocado, or a bacon-wrapped avocado cooked in butter. Now we're talkin'.

- I have a desire to be in water.   Been wanting long showers and hot baths; been dreaming about being buoyant in the ocean, diving into pools and floating down lazy rivers. I don't know what that's all about. Is it that I'm drinking so much water that I'm becoming one big body of water myself? Detoxing, water- it's all so cleansing. And I want to be totally immersed.

Well friends, I'm taking my weary and grateful self to bed. Tomorrow - day seven - marks one week, and I to hope celebrate with bacon and a bath. It's the little things ;)

Day Five: BAD

2012-01-30T18:36:00.000-05:00

Allow me to cut to the chase: Today was awful. Absolutely, undoubtedly, one of the most frustrating days of my life. The good news is that I'm pretty certain that it had little-to-nothing to do with the detox. Today's fiasco aside, I feel good.

My intention for today was to get a very time-sensitive outpatient procedure done (had to be today) in the morning and then go to work in the afternoon. What wound up happening was this: I was on the phone from 7:30am to 2:30pm with my primary care physician, my insurance company, my specialist and the hospital, and it all resulted in a big fat ball of nothing. All that talk and no appointment.

Here's a very brief recap of the highlights:

Jen > Hospital: Hi, I need to come in today
Hospital: Ok but first we need your doc to call
Jen: Ok I'll have her call

Jen > Doc: Hi Doc, I need you to call hospital and tell them I need this time-sensitive procedure.
Doc: No problem, we'll call them.
Doc via voicemail: FYI we called and faxed over the scrip, you're good to go, just need to call and schedule you appointment.
Jen: Yay!

Jen > Hospital: Hi, I need to come in today, and my doctor already called and faxed over scrip.
Hospital: Sorry, patients cannot schedule their own appointments for same-day procedures, your doc has to call back and do that.
Jen: Really?
Hospital: Yep

Jen > Doc: Hi Doc, you need to call back and schedule my appointment
Doc: Really?
Jen: Yep
Doc: I don't think so. When I called, they said I just had to fax the scrip and then you had to make your own appointment.
Jen: Hmmm. I'll try again, maybe I got a misinformed rep
Doc: Yeah, try again. I spoke directly with the folks in radiology
Jen: Ok

Jen > Hospital: Hi, I need to come in today and my doc already called and faxed in the scrip. She was told that the next step was for me to call to set up my appointment.
Hospital: Sorry, patients cannot schedule their own appointments, your doc has to call back and do that.
Jen: But, but, but-
Hospital: Your doc has to call so and so in this office and then fax the scrip to the other office.
Jen: yeah, I'm pretty certain she's done that already.
Hospital: No, we have no record of that.
Jen: Ok well then you and I have to conference call over to her so that you can tell her directly what she needs to do.
H > J > Doc: (We finally connect to doctor's office and hospital lady hangs up)

Jen > Doc Office: I'm losing my mind
D > J: Ok, I'll take a message and will have a nurse call you back.

(INSERT LOTS OF SWEAR WORDS HERE. Also, about three hours have gone by at this point)

Doc Office > Jen: Hi, please call Joy at the hospital at this number. I just spoke to her and she said that you can schedule your appointment.
Jen: Praise God

Jen > Joy: Hi, I need to come in today, and I understand you just spoke to my doc's office.
Joy > Jen: I need your doctor to fax over the scrip

(ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME????)

Jen > Joy: Um, no. I'm certain that she's done that. Also, I have a copy of the scrip and am happy to bring it over.
Joy > Jen: Oh ok, well then let's get you registered.

I then proceeded to give her all sorts of information to become a registered patient, and was doing a happy dance cause I was on my way to getting my appointment!

Joy: Ok, looks like we can get you in here on Thursday.

(NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO)

Jen: NO, NO, NO. The whole point of this call is so that I can come in today. It's a time sensitive procedure.
Joy: Ohhh, well then your doc needs to send the scrip with the word "stat" on it.

(This is where I started to break down, and Joy knew it)

Joy: Please hold while I call your doc.
Jen: (holding)
Joy: Thanks for holding, your doc will add the word "stat" and will re-fax, and you should be good to go.
Jen: (happy dance)
Joy: Please hold while I check the schedule with radiology
Jen: (holding)
Joy: The radiology folks want to talk to you. Please hold while I transfer.

Radiology: Hi, what do you need done today?
Jen: (I explained what I needed, and read the scrip to her)
Radiology: Please hold
Jen: (holding)
Radiology: I'm sorry, that's the one procedure we don't do here.

As her words echoed in my ear and the reality hit my brain, I didn't know what else to do but start sobbing. It was now 12:30. I had spent 5 hours trying to make an appointment for the one thing this hospital doesn't do. Again I ask, ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME??? I had been sent to this particular hospital because that's where I'm capitated to through my insurance, yet this hospital doesn't have what I need. Which, by the way, is a pretty standard procedure. Nothing fancy.

I then spent the rest of the afternoon calling my insurance company and other hospitals to try and get in same-day using the same process, but it was a futile attempt. No one could see me. My window of opportunity has passed and I have to wait for the next window, and hope things work out better next time. So incredibly frustrating. Oh well, at least I can grab a beer, I mean a water, and drink my sorrows away.

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Right?

Day Four: Frustrations and a Mini-Meltdown

2012-01-29T23:48:00.000-05:00

Today was tough, not gonna lie. It was just one of those days where every little task overwhelmed me completely and left me feeling deflated and incredibly frustrated. Ugh.

I woke up and felt fine, but quickly spiraled downward as I realized how much I had to accomplish during the day. The first piece of business was thinking about and planning every single meal and snack I'll have over the next seven days, and then making a shopping list. Even on the best of days, making a grocery shopping list takes me at least an hour. It's just the most arduous task that brings my ADD to a whole new level. So, it took me almost two hours and I still didn't feel organized or accomplished afterward. I felt scattered, overwhelmed, and on-edge.

As I tried to get myself ready to head out to the store(s), I just couldn't get it together. Everything I touched fell apart. I touched the sink and the drain broke; I tried to defrost meat and I cooked it; I pulled one thing out of the closet and everything else fell out. The house was a mess, there were dishes in the sink, laundry was piled everywhere, and I still had to prep and cook so much food for the week ahead. I was completely overwhelmed and couldn't comfort myself in the usual ways, ya know, like with a handful of tortilla chips or a piece of chocolate.

So, without my usual vices, I had nothing left to do but melt down and have a good cry. I stopped trying to fight it and just surrendered to feeling out of control, overwhelmed and totally impatient. I had to remind myself (and Jay, God bless him) that these types of emotional responses are normal when detoxing, especially during the first few days. And with that, I blew my nose, dried my eyes, and was off to Trader Joe's. And Whole Foods. And Pathmark.

Grocery shopping was a nightmare for two reasons:

1) There was food everywhere and I wanted to eat it all. The free sample at Trader Joe's today? Oh nothing, just BBQ effing pizza!!! No thank you. That's fine. I'd rather have some sauerkraut anyway. Ahem.

2) Every person got on my last nerve and I wanted to kill everyone.

Luckily, I made it home without eating "bad" food and without committing murder. Victory! I rewarded my good behavior with a handful of almonds :/ Also in the lucky category, Jay cleaned the house while I was gone, so I walked into a much less chaotic scene than when I left. I planned to start my laundry and chill for a while before dinner, but then I remembered that I had to prep and cook for the work week! Ugh. No.More.Cooking. Apparently, there's no rest for the emotionally unstable.

I love cooking when I love to cook, but not always when I have to cook. That's the thing about this detox - you are always in the kitchen or at the store or thinking about what you need to cook or what you need to get at the store. It's all food all the time. So, I headed back into the newly cleaned kitchen and proceeded to muck it up. I made a batch of egg muffins, which will be my breakfast for the next several days. I fried 8 strips of bacon, sauteed bell pepper, onion and spinach in a pan, whisked 12 eggs and poured it all into cupcake tins, baked for 20 minutes, and now I have portable breakfast on the go. Egg muffins for the win.

Just when I thought I was done with cooking for the day, I looked at the clock and realized it was dinner time. More.Cooking.OMG. Also, I should mention that we do not have a dishwasher, so when I say "cooking", I'm also referring to washing mountains of dishes per cook session.

For dinner we had grass-fed steaks, mashed ~~potatoes~~ cauliflower, and garlic green beans. The cauli-mash was AMAZING. Light, fluffy and buttery; I honestly think I prefer it over the real deal. Once again, props to my friend Simone over at Zenbelly for another simple yet scrumptious recipe. Dinner was delicious. Like last night, it left me satisfied and blissfully content. The grass-fed steaks (from America, not Australia!) were tasty, although a little chewy. There's definitely a learning curve with cooking this kind of beef, and we're getting there.

I'm happy that this day is almost over, and that I get to crawl into bed and dream about tortilla chips and tequila. Tomorrow is a new day, and I hope to be in a better mood. One saving grace is that I roped two of my co-workers into doing this with me, so at least we can all be miserable together. Us miserable types, we sure do love company.

So that's all for today, friends. Tomorrow is Day 5, which sounds like a milestone; a real achievement. Victory! I think I'll reward myself with... more almonds :/ See you tomorrow.

Day Three: Cramps & Cravings

2012-01-29T00:03:00.001-05:00

I just ate a delicious dinner, took a hot shower, and am now sitting here on my couch in my jammers listening to the Dirty Dancing soundtrack. I haven't felt this content since, well, this morning. All in all, today has been a great day despite some minor physical and emotional discomfort.

I woke up super early for a Saturday - 7:20am. Yeah, I know. I had abdominal cramping (not detox related) and just couldn't go back to bed, so I decided to cozy up with blankets and pillows on the couch and watch a movie. I wound up watching Due Date with Robert Downy Jr. and Zach Galifianakis, which was exactly the kind of movie I was hoping for: light, funny and perfect for cramps.

Once the movie was over, I got up and made myself a plate of fried eggs, bacon, and raw kraut. I wasn't sure if my stomach was ready for eggs and bacon and butter, but it really hit the spot and made me feel better. I still wanted to have a slow morning and ease into my day, so I slipped back under the blanket and got all wrapped up in a mini-marathon of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (RHoBH). Now that is some good Saturday morning TV; it's like cartoons for adults.

Several hours and one RHoBH season later, I finally peeled my self off the couch and decided to get going. Aren't Saturdays amazing? We had some leftover grass-fed beef from the burgers last night, so I made a few more burgers and had one over a salad. I thought the beef tasted better today, probably because I didn't cook it so long. Still not great, but not as gamey and chewy as last night.

After lunch, I joined Jay in the downstairs apartment to help clean up from our month and a half-long renovation project to get it ready for a new tenant. From the beginning, this project has been, well, not always what we we expected. For instance, on the first weekend, we invited a few friends over to help us paint the unit. We had picked a warm neutral called Cultured Pearl, which looked like a warm white when we slapped in on the wall. Perfect.

Six gallons and eight hours later, we had ourselves a pink apartment. Not warm white, no. This was 100% certified ballerina pink. The worst part is that we kinda saw it happening stroke by stroke, but somehow convinced each other that it was just the harsh fluorescent light. Well, turns out the light of day is even harsher and less forgiving. We officially declared it PINK at 9:00am the next morning, and went to Sherwin Williams to start over. So that's how the project began, and that's kinda how things have been going ever since. But we're finally starting the wrap-up process; the construction is done and now the great clean-up begins.

As the day waned on, I noticed a shift in myself. I became a touch more serious, had a bit less patience and was very much in my own head. I didn't know it at the time, but I now realize that this was right around the time my first cravings began. Not for chocolate nor wine, but for a tortilla chip. Or a handful. Or - let's be honest here - a bag. I wanted a mouth-full of salty-crunchy snacky goodness, and I wanted it now. I was hijacked by my craving and couldn't focus on anything but the one thing I couldn't have.

This was the first detox symptom I had experienced, and rather than give in to the craving, I decided to shift gears and go back up to the kitchen to start making dinner. I snacked on salty pistachios, which helped, but then Jay snacked on tortilla chips and kissed me with his salty lips and tortilla-chip breath. I learned an important lesson in that moment: I hate Jay when he eats tortilla chips while I can't.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

I hated on him for about 2 minutes, but then I was distracted by and overcome with love for the aroma that was emanating from the oven. Garlic bread! Well actually, it was garlic ginger chicken, but it might as well of been garlic bread. It was so damn good, and satisfied my craving as if it were bread. I made it with snap peas and bell peppers sauteed in butter, with leftover cauliflower rice. I'm pretty certain that this has been the first detox dinner that felt indulgent and left me deeply satisfied. After feeling so antsy and distracted by my cravings, it felt borderline blissful to be content rather than filled to the brim with desire for something I'm choosing to forego.

After devouring my dinner, I decided to end the day with a long, hot shower. Sometimes nothing comforts like warm water, especially in the cold of winter. It felt nice to be alone with my thoughts, processing the day's highs and lows as I lathered up with a sweet vanilla lavender body wash. It was all the dessert I needed.

So all in all, a great day. I'm really feeling the cozy vibe and might end my night with another movie on the couch. Or better yet, bed. Mmmm, bed. Now that's a craving I can give in to ;) Nighty night y'all.

21 Days, One Day at a Time

2012-01-27T23:58:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year again, friends. Time to walk away from the tortilla chips, put down the Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale down, and shun all sweets for 21 days (crazy, right?). That's right, it's time for a good ol' fashioned detox.

Every year, in between January and May, I do some type of detox. It's always the same general concept (avoidance of sugar and carbs in all of their sneaky and delicious forms), but the format varies. This year, I've chosen to do the 21-Day Sugar Detox thanks to the recommendation of my friend Simone.

What I love about this plan is that it's based on the Paleo way of eating, which in a nutshell is all about returning to whole foods the way they were long ago; before food was an industry, before government subsidies, before everything we ate came in a package that we bought in a box store, and before cancer and diabetes became part of our everyday realities. Unlike other "diets" or lifestyles, paleo just seems to make sense. There are no points to add up, no calories to count, and no scales to weigh food on (that is ridiculous, by the way). It's all about enjoying meats, veggies, certain nuts, lots of good fat and some fruit, while avoiding grains, gluten, and sugar. Simple.

I plan on using these three weeks to purge some other bad habits (staying up too late, not drinking enough water, drinking too much heavy beer, playing Words with Friends too much, not reading enough, not writing enough, etc.) and get back the things I love most - sleeping, reading, writing.

And speaking of writing more, I'll be blogging each and every single one of these 21 days, and will be sharing the ups and downs of this journey with you, my dear reader. Today is day two, so let me back it up and cover day one.

Day 1

They key to being successful at any detox is being prepared, which I was. I had made meal lists and had done my grocery shopping a few days prior to day one, and I had brought food to work and stashed it in the fridge. I definitely gave myself a gold star for a solid prep effort. So, I woke up on day one and made myself a hearty veggie and egg scramble with a few strips of bacon. I left for work feeling good and ready to take on whatever the day would bring.

Well, one thing the day brought was a rather last minute outreach event that I had to attend for work, from 11:00 - 2:30. Normally I would just grab lunch on the road, but not on day one of a detox. I figured I'd snack on some almonds until I got back to the office. Well, by the time I got back to the office, assembled my salad, and chatted with a few co-workers, it was 3:30, and I was ravenous! I had let my blood sugar crash, and I paid for it the rest of the day.

While my lunch helped the feeling subside a bit, I just never fully recovered from that head-achy, depleted, grumpy feeling. I went home, ~~grabbed a beer~~, did dishes, cooked dinner (delicious green coconut salmon with bell peppers and cauliflower rice, recipe courtesy of Zenbelly), and was literally in bed before 9:30. For a girl who normally hits the hay around midnight, this was nuts.

So, I learned two valuable lessons on day one:

1) I ate breakfast way too early and lunch way too late. I need to eat breakfast around 9:00 rather than 6:30. I'm not at all hungry at 6:30, plus, it puts too much space in between breakfast and lunch creating unnecessary hunger.

2) I cannot allow my blood sugar to crash like that again. If I have a busy day and need to be on the road during the lunch hours, I need to pack my lunch and bring it with me.

With those lessons learned, I moved on to day two.

Day 2

After nine hours of scrumptious sleep, I was ready to rise and shine at 6:30am. Rather than make breakfast and eat too early, I decided to throw dinner leftovers in a Tupperware and bring 'em to work. Perfection. I think this how I'm gonna roll from here on out.

A few hours later, I assembled a hearty salad with mixed greens, grilleld chicken, avocado, bell peppers, onions, cucumber, cherry tomatoes and goat cheese drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette. It had plenty of protein and fat, not to mention flavor, so it was totally satisfying.

The rest of the day rolled on fairly quickly and without incident. I snacked on some almonds around 4:30, and wasn't hungry for dinner until after 8:00. We had grass-fed beef burgers with all the fixins' and brussel sprouts sauteed in butter and garlic. This was my first time cooking and eating grass-fed ground beef, and it was just ok. I got this particular meat at Trader Joe's, and couldn't help but notice that it was from Australia! First of all, that's a l-o-n-g way for meat to travel. Secondly, one of the things I remember from my visit to Australia is that the meat was awful- like really, really bad. So, I'm gonna chalk up the iffy flavor and texture to Australia (no offense Australia, I love everything else about you!) and hope for better beef next time.

Lessons learned/observations from day two:

1) Getting plentiful sleep set the tone for the entire day. For the first time in months, maybe even years, I was early for the train today. I got to the station and had five - yes FIVE - minutes to kill. Who knew mornings could be so leisurely.

2) I've been drinking a ton of water, and while my bladder is less than thrilled, the rest of me feels hydrated and happy.

3) I should probably quit getting my meat from Australia and look for a local farm. Lesson learned.

Well, that's all I've got for now. I'm off to bed to rest my weary head. Stay tuned for day three!

Warmed and Worn Out

2011-12-29T17:50:00.000-05:00

Happy Holidays, friends!

Ever since Thanksgiving, life has been a non-stop whirlwind of fun and activity that has warmed my soul and also worn me to my core. In a nutshell, we hosted Thanksgiving; we hosted a gingerbread house decorating party for our nieces and nephews; we did fall cleanup in our garden; I spent a weekend with one of my BFFs imbibing on holiday goodness, booze, and My Fair Wedding marathons; my Mom came for a visit, we started painting and renovating our downstairs apartment; attended various work, friend and family holiday parties; and then traveled to CT for Christmas. I'm spent!

Now that I'm back home and the holidays are almost over, I am very much looking forward to the deep quiet of winter. Ideally, I would escape into the woods of Vermont and hibernate in cabin for the next two months. No tv, no internet, no phone; just books, candles, a bathtub, a camera, and my laptop for writing. And some wine. And Jay, duh. But unfortunately, my employer frowns upon two month periods of isolation and rest in faraway states. So, I'll have to improvise.

I think what I'm really craving is just good old fashioned unscheduled down time. I want a weekend with no plans, so that I can wake up and choose to watch movies on the couch all day, or I can choose to go hiking in the woods, or just go for a drive and wander through the small towns of Pennsylvania. I get this hankering every winter, and every winter I find solace in the quiet, cold of winter. So, after New Year's Eve, and after we're done working on the first floor apartment, I will take my cues from nature, go underground and hibernate for awhile. Bliss.

What about you? How do you spend the winter? What do you crave after the busyness of the autumn and holiday season? Any other hibernators out there?

Occupy 2.0: A Movement at a Crossroads

2011-11-17T19:55:00.001-05:00

As the Occupy Wall Street (OWS) movement turns two months old, and as many local encampments face eviction, and winter, I think it’s time we start re-thinking what it means to Occupy, and planning the next phase of this movement. Physically occupying public and/or private space was a great tactic, and one that has served its purpose, I believe. People all over the country have been in a state of crippling crisis, while Wall Street banks have been riding high thanks to our bailout. People have felt helpless, powerless; like they're mere victims of a system that rewards corruption and seemingly punishes the honest pursuit of the ever elusive American dream. So having a call to action for a long-term occupation of Wall Street served as a galvanizing force: Off of the couch and into the streets! That call to action resonated with the masses and manifested in the creation of long-term occupations all over the country.

I don’t think everyone realized how pissed off they were until they started seeing other pissed-off people gathering at Zuccotti Park and at encampments throughout the country. Like I mentioned in an earlier post, the more that people participated, the more others began to participate. So, the physical occupation was key in creating an actual space for people to come together and start to dialogue about the state of the mess we're in. That alone is some powerful stuff, especially in this day and age when we tend to gather online rather than in person. Plus, the encampments were more than a few tents pitched in a common area; they were (are) a self sustaining community that provided a model of radical inclusion, mutual support and direct democracy. Direct democracy is exhausting, by the way. Awesome, but incredibly exhausting.

Aside from the gathering/community building that the occupation of physical space resulted in, these encampments were (are) the visual symbol of this movement. You cannot ignore the fact that thousands of people are living in tents in cities and towns all around the country. I don't know about you, but I literally have to walk through the encampment in Philadelphia to get to my office. I could not ignore it if I tried.

You know who else can't ignore it? The media. And because the media cannot ignore the Occupy movement, neither can anyone else who's not living under a rock. Rather than just covering the marches and direct actions, the media have been covering the evictions, General Assemblies, protester/City relations, public health and safety concerns, and anything else that happens at camp. As the old adage goes, all press is good press, to a point (more on that later). The end result is that people are paying attention and are talking about this movement. And not just supporters, either; there are several folks who either don't understand what it's all about, or who totally oppose it. But the commonality is that just about everyone is talking about what's going on and has an opinion about it, thanks to the media coverage.

Despite the positives associated with the occupation of physical space, there are also several negatives, especially in the context of a long-term movement. For starters, the folks who are actually occupying represent a tiny fraction of those of us who identify with and support the movement. At it's peak, the encampment in Philadelphia had close to 400 tents. Currently, the Occupy Philadelphia facebook page has over 27,000 "likes", and based on what I hear in my social and professional circles, there are many, many more who support what's going on in one way or another. So, while the camp is the visual face of the movement, it's really not. Much of the negative press stems from the actions of a select few, and then those actions become the official soundbites or headlines coming out of Occupy Philly. And while I do believe that all press is good press as a general rule of thumb, I also think that perception matters, and that too much bad press over an extended period of time is just bad.

Having the encampments as the loci of the movement has resulted in the following: 1) Many of us are unable to participate in any real way (can't camp, can't regularly attend General Assembly, can't participate in several week-day direct action activities) and therefore feel slightly removed from the action; 2) Onlookers and potential supporters are only getting a partial view of a much broader group, and are basing their opinions of the movement on the actions of the smaller group, and 3) The general public thinks that the Occupy movement is synonymous with the occupation of physical space, and it is not, at least in my humble opinion. The occupation of physical space is one tactic in a much broader movement, and I personally think that it's time to consider other, more sustainable tactics to pursue as the the movement progresses from infancy to toddler-hood.

Another negative of focusing too much on the camping aspect of the movement is that it diverts the energy and focus from matters of corporate greed and economic injustice to matters of permits, plazas and police. Here in Philadelphia, all we've been hearing about lately is whether the camp is moving to a new plaza and whether or not they need a permit. Personally, I think we have significantly bigger fish to fry.

And that brings me to the most immediate downfalls of a continuation of the tent tactic: 1) Evictions are plaguing many locales, and 2) winter is upon us. Many see the recent wave of evictions as defeat, but I see them as an opportunity. Truth is, voluntarily camping on cold, city concrete in the snow and ice is just not a sustainable idea. And again, since the encampments are so highly visible, the media will feed on the dwindling numbers of tents rather than report on what's actually happening outside of the encampments. Let's face it, the physical occupations will probably be fairly lifeless and rather transient over the winter months. Rather than react and retreat in response to evictions and/or harsh weather, how about we just proactively recognize the strengths and limits of certain tactics, and move on to phase two of the movement. There is no shame in heading indoors for the winter.

Who knows what phase two will look like, or what the goals will be. Perhaps more coordinated efforts between and among the various Occupation cities; maybe a clear message with specific demands and a strong idea of what success will look like, and hopefully an organized force that continues to influence the political discourse in this upcoming election year. I don't really know. But I do believe that the movement is at a crossroads, and we have an opportunity to pause, ponder and progress the Occupy movement in a positive and meaningful way. Regardless of what happens in the future, no one can deny the power of what has unfolded in these past two months.

High on Occupy

2011-11-02T21:27:00.001-04:00

I wrote what follows a few weeks ago, but never posted because of what happened by the time I was done writing it. As you'll read, I am a full-on supporter of the Occupy movement and hold a great deal of pride for the Philadelphia occupation, particularly as it pertains to police-protester relations. As I was getting ready to wrap this entry up and post it, I became quite disheartened by an Occupy Philly direct action: a protest and sit-in against police brutality. Now, I get that the action was in solidarity with the national day of awareness against police brutality and not against the Philadelphia cops in particular, who, I might add, have been respectful of protester rights and have not abused their power. But still. I feel like all eyes were on Philadelphia because we were emerging as this model of police-protester mutual respect. Then, while the whole world was watching us, we directed our anger and action at the police. Huh? The first arrests to occur within the Occupy Philadelphia community happened not as the result of marches against inequality but as a result of a handful of protesters sitting in the street, protesting police brutality, something that has not happened here within the context of the Occupy movement. I should also note that the arrests were handled with respect and without brutality.

Even though it was only 10 people who participated and got arrested, this action became the headline and soundbite emerging from Occupy Philadelphia, and it made us look like fools (from my perspective). It bothered me so much, and created a rift between myself and the movement. I feel like we (the movement) need to focus on the big picture and not get bogged down by every cause and every injustice that ever was. Sure, police brutality is a real problem, and is worthy of protests and sit-ins, but NOT this protest. Especially when the police have been nothing but respectful of our rights. I signed on to this cause and became part of this movement because of corporate greed and the implications of that greed on the growing inequality between the haves and the have-nots. I want to focus our actions on the root of that issue, not on things that may be tangentially related.

I think there are way more potential Occupy supporters watching from home than there are folks who are camping and participating in direct action marches, so perception matters! People watching at home heard about how good the Philly cops have been, and then the next minute they heard about marches and sit-ins against the cops. As a result, people were confused and began to detach from the movement. I did too. Well, I shouldn't say that I detached, I just needed space and time to express my discontent and find a way to re-connect to a movement that I SO believe in. I've done all that, and am back to my Occupy High. I now feel like I can post this original entry in the spirit in which it was written. Solidarity to all Occupiers, whether in a tent or on their couch.
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I don't know what is happening, but I know for certain that something is happening here in Philadelphia, and I assume throughout the whole country and beyond. I feel tongue tied, because despite this knowing, I don't quite know how to put words to it, yet. I am still processing, trying it on, feeling it out. All I know is that I have never witnessed something like this before, they way it has resonated with the masses and taken root in communities around the globe. I also know that I don't just want to witness it; I very much want to be an active participant and co-creator of this thing, this movement.

When Occupy Wall Street began, I had just left on my grand adventure out west and did not read the news at all for a little over a week - talk about liberating! When I returned home, I heard a little about it but wasn't captivated. I felt somewhat put off by the perceived lack of direction and overall purpose of the Wall Street demonstrators. "What's the point?", I thought. I, like many of us, absolutely understood and empathized with the root of the anger and frustration that was driving the protest, but I wasn't sold on the idea that pitching tents was the best way to be an effective change agent. Not that I had a better idea, but I just wasn't there yet; I didn't get it, yet.

But then encampments starting popping up in cities and towns all over the place, including right here in Philadelphia. Once the Occupy movement became local and I could experience it in a way other than through the media, I got it. It took about five minutes of being at Dilworth Plaza on the west side of Philadelphia's City Hall to feel the wave of this thing that is happening. Hundreds of people from every ethnic, socioeconomic and political background were there; their presence born out of a common anger about the passionate courtship that exists between our government and Wall Street. After years of divisive politics and apathy-induced slumber, this peaceful and dare I say compassionate uprising was like a welcome bucket of cold water to my soul. After that first day at Occupy Philly, for the first time in a long time, I felt the undeniable power of people united. That's when I got it.

Lucky for me, the Occupy Philly camp is about a block from my office, so I'm able to spend some time there every day. I literally walk through it on my way to work, often spend my lunch breaks there, and sometimes linger there after work. That first week there were maybe 100 tents. A week later there were 350. I should also note that Dilworth Plaza was home to several homeless folks prior to the Occupation, and they have remained and become part of the movement. Occupy Philly has become a self-sustaining community, a model of radical inclusion, mutual support and dare I say, love. It is the total opposite of greed; it is the antidote to greed. Occupy Philly feeds every single person there three meals a day, they clothe and shelter everyone who needs it, and most importantly, they provide a safe space for everyone to voice concerns, propose ideas and be an active participant in this movement. Nobody is an outcast; rather, every single person is a valued member who has something to contribute, and is encouraged to do so. What a novel concept.

On that first day, as I made my way through the crowd, I found myself standing on the sidewalk where Market Street dead-ends into City Hall, literally the center of the city. I expected a lot of support for the movement within the crowd, but was pleasantly surprised and inspired by the amount of support coming from the outside. Horns blasted and fists pumped in solidarity. Cabbies, bus drivers, guys in suits, women with small dogs shoved in expensive bags - everyone echoed the sentiments that were taking root at City Hall. The energy was electric, and literally gave me goosebumps. It was then that I realized that this thing was real, and was rippling out further than City Hall and the numerous Occupation sites around the country.

As the days wore on and the reports of police brutality and forced Occupy evictions from other locales increased, something very different was unfolding here in Philadelphia: cooperation and support. As of now, the City has been supportive and has expressed a desire to work with the Occupiers. There will undoubtedly be strains in the relationship down the road, as there is a massive construction project planned for Dilworth Plaza (read: eviction) in the very near future, but for now, exchanges between Occupy and the City have been anchored by mutual respect. The same can be said for the police. There are many Occupiers who are wary of the police, and for good reason, but I personally feel that we shouldn't be creating enemies where they do not exist. For now, the police are respecting our right to do what we're doing. There have been no incidents of pepper spray, no paddy wagons, no arrests. They are doing their job.

In addition to the support from the City, Occupy Philly has received letters of solidarity from the faculty of University of Pennsylvania and Temple University. The transport workers union donated portable toilets, and several local restaurants have donated food. People from far and wide have donated tents, blankets, food, computers, books, clothes, white boards, instruments and labor. The Quaker Friends Center, located two blocks from Dilworth Plaza, has opened their commercial kitchen for meal prep, their bathrooms and showers for Occupiers to use, and their meeting hall for General Assemblies when the weather is crappy. The support is widespread, and incredible.

This is not just about unemployed hippies getting high, having drum circles and making empty demands; this is about the vast majority of us feeling ripped off and taken advantage of by our government and "too big to fail" banks. We are slowly but surely finding our voice and exercising our right to assemble. Many people want to know what our demands are, what our focus is, and what our next move is. This movement is young. Be patient. Those things will come. For now, it's not about the outcome, it's about the momentum and the process; it's about the communities we're building, the collective anger and power we're tapping into, and the power of people united that we're rediscovering.

I'm finding that the more people who participate, whether on-site or online, the more other people feel like they belong too and begin to participate. I think originally, based on what the media was broadcasting, it was only the young who felt like this was their movement. But the more other people dig in their heels and contribute their voices, the more the rest of us feel like we belong. Do not let the media deceive you. There are young people marching aside elderly people; there are anti-war protestors marching alongside war veterans; there are middle class moms with their babes chanting "We Are the 99%" in unison with homeless men. That's the beauty of it -- we are all (well, 99% of us) affected by either the economy being in the toilet (and one flush away from being in the ocean), or the housing crisis, or by the student loan debt we're drowning in, or the almost 10% unemployment rate, or the bank policies that penalize us for playing by the rules while they get bailed out by us for engaging in irresponsible behavior, and then further rewarded for being total ass clowns. Yeah, ass clowns. Is it any wonder why We The People are angry??

This is, above all, the People's Movement. I don't know where this will lead, all I know is what's actually happening right now. This movement transcends political leanings and individual interests; this is about the people coming together take back their power. The people are taking it back and are flexing their collective muscle to shine a light on the equally important causes and effects of corporate greed. For now, as we slowly emerge from our submissive slumber, awareness is good enough. Action is necessary, and will come in due time. As for today, people are rising up, and taking care of each other at the same time. Imagine that.

Join us, after all, you are us. No tent necessary.

119: Living Room Re-Do

2011-10-09T18:05:00.000-04:00

After taking the summer off from working on the house, we're ready to begin the next project. For those who may not know, last January we bought a multi-family home and became landlords. We live in one of the apartments in the building and rent out the other two units. We have dreams of one day restoring the home back to its single-family glory, but for now, we're content to keep living in our one-bedroom apartment and collecting that rental income :)

Since we purchased the house, we've painted the master bedroom; revamped the foyer and common stairwell, which included scraping away years of wallpaper and paint, demo, putting in new ceilings and painting, and installed new gardens in the front yard.

Here's the bedroom in the very beginning stages of painting:

Here's the bedroom after two coats of Sherwin Williams Enigma:

Here's the common stairwell during the 3-month long project. Pure hell:

Here's the common hallway after months of hellish hard work, a few coats of Sherwin Williams Sticks & Stones, and some white trim paint:

Here's the house with nothing but weeds in the beds:

Here's the new and improved beds, taken Memorial Day weekend. You should see how much everything has filled in- it's wild! Currently, you can't see the ground; it's all herbs and vegetables and flowers and total urban jungle goodness. I would take a picture but frankly, I'm too lazy.

So that's a little taste of what we've been up to. More detailed pics are here, if you're interested. When we first bought the house, we were all excited for projects and couldn't wait to dive in and get started. Painting the bedroom was fun, mostly because it only took a weekend to complete. The hallway project, on the other hand, took us several weeks and made us realize just how time intensive and all-encompassing these types of things are. We thought we were just going to paint, but one thing led to another and before we knew it, we had a full blown demo and construction project on our hands. This was tough because the weekends were our only time to work on it. Gone were the lazy rainy weekends and spontaneous Saturday nights out, and in rolled the monotonous routine of scrapping, more scraping, and even more scrapping. It was at least a month before we saw even the slightest improvement, and even then, it still looked like crap.

Once we finally completed that project- well, it's not actually complete yet, we still have to deal with the floors, but it's just about done. Anyway, once we felt done enough, we agreed to take a break from house projects and focus on other stuff. Jay had a lot of side work to take care of, and I really enjoyed spending time in the garden. We also wanted our summer weekends as free as possible for beach trips, spending time with family, and just not being bogged down when it was so nice out.

Now that the "brisk" winds of autumn are blowing in (it's in the mid 80's as I write this) and we'll be spending more time indoors, we feel ready for the next project - the living room re-design! This is my kind of project, as it's mostly cosmetic and design centric rather than construction-heavy. Our current living room is fine, but I want a space that reflects our style and personalities a little more. I want a room that is designed without being too design-y, you know? Kinda eccentric, cozy, playful and relaxing is what I'm going for; a room that has style but doesn't take itself too seriously. I want someone who has never met us to be able to walk into the room and get a total sense of who we are.

So, all that being said, here are the colors we've chosen:

The main color will be Sherwin Williams Alpaca, a warm grayish/tanish neutral , and the accent wall color will be Sherwin Williams Peacock Plume, a blueish/greenish beauty:

We had some difficulty deciding between a cool gray and a warm gray, but ultimately we decided to go with the lighter, warmer one (Alpaca) on the right. Thanks to Mom, Sara, Jenny M. and Simone for their votes. Just about everyone voted for Alpaca

I'd also like to throw in some pops of green, magenta and/or orange, if possible. Here are a few things that I'm inspired by. And yes, that is a cat on the pillow. I'm inspired by her nap habits.

Pillows with general color scheme found at Marshalls. Cat not included. The blue pillow is a perfect match to the accent wall color. The green is along the lines of the "pop of green" I referred to above. There are also pops of magenta and orange in the white pillow

40 x 28 Koi fish painting by Ben Will. Note the pops of orange and green. Note the awesomeness.

Letter blocks made from vintage maps of Ireland, perfect for on top of the bookshelves.

8 x 10 graphic map of Philly, comes in a variety of colors. Did I mention I love maps? May get a few from different cities we've visited and cluster them together.


16 x 20 print of classic Banksy gorilla graffiti. I LOVE this; not sure that it will work in this space, but it belongs somewhere in our home.

So that's where we are right now. This color scheme is based loosely on what we already have, so I know certain elements will work. I'm just so excited to put fresh color on the walls, throw up some new art with our existing stuff and hang curtains. Right, curtains. I haven't started looking at designs I like yet, I kind of want to paint and accessorize first, and then deal with window treatments. Not sure if that's a good strategy... what do you think?

The only thing we've actually done so far is pick and purchase the paint. I say only as if it's simple to pick paint colors. Nope. It's super hard, especially when you're as indecisive as I am and as indifferent as Jay is (about the paint color). Now that we've decided and locked in, I feel like I need a few weeks off. I'm exhausted! :)

I'll keep you all posted on the project as we make progress. Here's hoping that it's a relatively easy project and that we're not opening Pandora's box again! Hell, even if it does turn out to be a long, drawn out mess, at least we'll have this guy to entertain us.

10/1 - Awkward & Beautiful

2011-10-01T21:27:00.001-04:00

I'm feeling a bit awkward tonight. The Phillies just won the first game of the National League Division Series, Jay & I just had a fun night out, and it's the weekend! All in all, life is good and I'm riding high on both post vacation and real life goodness. I think I may be getting sick, but other than that, I have no real concerns. I do have sadness, though.

One year ago today, my Dad went from actively fighting cancer to receiving a prognosis of 4-6 weeks to live. Read more about that here. October 1st is permanently etched in my mind as a horrible day, yet October has always been one of my favorite months, so it's left me feeling totally awkward. On one hand, October is the gateway to autumnal bliss; the temps cool down, the landscape turns from green to vibrant shades of orange, yellow, red and brown, and there's just an undeniable feeling of comfort and change. But on the other hand, October has come to represent a time of suffering, sadness and great loss.

How do I reconcile these two coinciding and competing feelings? I have no idea. All I know is that I have to honor both; I have to love October 1st like I always have, yet I have to hate October 1st, as I now do. It's not just the 1st, either; I'm gonna have a tough time with all of October and November. So that's what I'll be up to for the next few weeks; simultaneously loving and hating autumn. I'll be clinging to memories of loss as I watch dead yet beautiful leaves fall from trees, and I'll be loving it for it's transformational, awesomeness. What a beautiful, awkward mess.

Girl's "Weekend" - San Francisco edition

2011-10-01T13:24:00.000-04:00

Tuesday, 9/20 - To pick up from where we left off, Simone picked us up at the Emeryville station just across the bay bridge from San Francisco. We were whisked straight away from coach class and delivered to high-rollin' deluxe class. Our accommodations were posh to say the least. We stayed with a friend of Simone's, who hooked us up with a gorgeous house complete with bridge and bay views. Check it.

We put our bags down, popped a bottle of bubbly, and watched the sun set over the Golden Gate and into the Pacific (see pic above). I was deeply exhausted from the lack of sleep on the train, not to mention deeply grimy from the lack of showers on the train, but despite all that we decided to wash up and head out for dinner. We went to a great place called Absinthe which, for all you Top Chef fans, is where Jamie Lauren used to cook before she moved to LA. I ordered a cocktail called "The Agent", spicy pork meatballs, and heirloom tomato gazpacho - all delish. The food, the booze and the laughter amongst old friends created the perfect storm of sleep-inducing goodness. We took a cab home and had a roller coaster of a ride, complete with several "woo!"s. That was my introduction to the crazy hills of San Francisco. Woo!

Wednesday, 9/21 - I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to explore. We decided to walk around different neighborhoods, do some shopping, check out some scenic viewpoints, and just do whatever came our way. One of the best things that came our way was PikaPika, a nothing-but-photobooths store in Japantown. Jackpot! We picked our booth, our backgrounds, our poses, and then got to decorate each photo with props. Have a look at the awesomeness that is PikaPika, and the awesomeness that is Sara, Simone and I. Take note of the little guy in the pink, in the lower left hand corner of the bathtub, as well as in several other pics. If this Girl's Weekend had a logo, it would be that little guy, and the motto would be: "Hey Girl."

These pictures are by far the best souvenir from the trip. So, after the hilarity that ensued as a result of these pics, I was high on silliness and friendship; I doubt there's a higher high. Maybe not a higher feeling, but there definitely exists a higher place: Twin Peaks. See below for breathtaking views of San Francisco, the infamous fog, and the waters that surround. Do you see the bridge popping out of the fog in the last pic?

After these pictures were taken and after a little more shopping, we headed home for cocktail hour with our gracious host, Stewart. It was my first cocktail hour with a venture capitalist, and I learned a great deal about the world of wealth and venture capitalists. I've always been drawn to that term not because it's associated with wealth but because the word "venture" sounds an awful lot like "adventure", and I'm all about having adventures. I could take or leave wealth, but I could not do without adventure. Anyway... I digress. After cocktail hour, we went out for sushi (by way of a failed attempt at Burmese food) with Simone's friend Franco. Again, the food was scrumptious, and we even got to listen to Journey on the drive home. After a few classic Journey tunes and the Night Ranger tune "Sister Christian" thrown in for good measure, I was ready to rest my weary head and call it a night.

Thursday, 9/22 - We woke up and decided to escape the fog and head to Marin county for the day. The fog followed us to Muir Beach, so we continued further onward to Muir Woods. We had stopped and picked up lunch along the way, and had the intention of picnicking in or around the park. Once we arrived, we realized that the parking lot was the best bet for a picnic (no picnics allowed within the actual park), so we set up shop atop a mound of hay in the parking lot and enjoyed our salads and Sofia Coppola bubbly cans.

Once inside the park, we were under the meditative spell of the redwoods. The woods were lovely, dark and deep, and left me feeling like I had their secrets to keep. Alright already, I'll share one secret: "In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks." ~ John Muir

After the woods, we drove through some quaint Marin towns and wound up at Scoop in Fairfax, where we indulged in freshly-made coconut, strawberry, lavender vanilla honey, and chocolate ice cream. I could have died a happy and fulfilled woman after my ice cream cone, but something told me there was even more delicious food to be had in my near future, so I held on, and forged ahead. Such a trooper I am.

On the way back into San Francisco, we made a quick stop at the Marin Headlands, which is another gorgeous overlook that offers spectacular views of the bridge and the city... or the fog. Because the Headlands sit right on the border between SF and Marin (basically on the fog-line), it offers a unique perspective on the interplay between the two different micro-climates. Look behind you and you see sunny blue skies; look ahead of you and you see a wall of white on the move. It's an excellent place to experience the fog not as something lurking in the distance but as something that is alive and active and in constant motion. I could literally see the fog swooshing over the hills and blanketing the bridge; there one minute and gone the next. And the wind- oh my goodness it was so incredibly windy! I thought my sunglasses were going to ripped from my face. Because of the fog, it was the first time I felt like I could see wind. Fascinating stuff.

After the Headlands, we crossed the bridge back into the city and slipped back into the fog. Later that night, we succeeded in our mission to have Burmese food at Burma Superstar. All I'm gonna says is this: pork belly. I'll also say this: food coma.

Friday, 9/23 - I forget to mention this above, but when we arrived at the house on Tuesday, there was a basket of goodies at the foot of our bed, courtesy of Simone. Inside the basket was an array of bath and shower goodies, including homemade lavender vanilla salt and sugar scrub, shampoo and conditioner, shower gel, body lotion, bath robes, cozy slippers, chocolate, and a little mini wallet/business card holder type thing. Inside the mini wallet/business card holder thing was... drumroll please ................................
............a gift certificate for a massage! Not a five minute massage, not a chair massage, but a full body, full hour massage. I felt like I had won the showcase showdown on The Price is Right! Seriously, what an incredible treat, especially after days of uncomfortable sleeping (or not sleeping) in a chair on the train.

So anyway, we woke up Friday morning and went to the spa for our appointments at 11:00am. I knew my body would be jacked from the train experience, but I didn't anticipate just how tight it was, or how difficult it would be for my body to release that tension. The massage felt pretty damn good; I could feel some of the tension in my upper back and shoulders melt away as my therapist worked it out. It wasn't until the post-massage lunch cocktails, however, that I truly felt all of the tension leave my body ;)

After the massage and the cocktails and the lunch (what a fabulous life!), we spent the rest of the day running some errands and taking care of loose ends. We wound up over at Simone's house that night for a cookout with Simon, Franco, and Franco's parents John and Sue, who were in visiting from New York. We wound up having way too much fun (shocking!) and could not drive ourselves back to the posh pad. So, we just kept on having fun until the wee hours. I think we got maybe 3 hours of sleep at Simone's before we had to return to the posh pad so I could pick up my bags and hop on my flight home.

Getting out of the car and saying goodbye to my best friends at the airport was hard. Not because I love them and didn't want to leave, but because we were all hungover and any type of movement hurt. I kid. It was hard because I love these two girls so much, and despite the number of years we've been apart and the number of miles between us, we always have a blast together. Always. We've grown from kids to adults- well, that's debatable, but we just fit perfectly together. So it's hard to walk away from that, not knowing when the next get together will be.

Also, boarding that plane and heading home signaled the end of this latest and greatest adventure. Travel changes you; it awakens you and opens new chambers within yourself that you never knew existed. I think the challenge, for me anyway, is fitting this new self and perspective into my existing world. Going back to work was the biggest challenge, by far. But it's okay, it's been a week and I'm starting to feel settled. Mostly though, I just feel so grateful that I had the opportunity to experience this adventure in the first place, especially with people whom I love. I can think of nothing better.

Thanks for reading these lengthy recaps, friends. If anything, I hope they've planted a seed for you :)

Tales from the Rails: All Aboard!

2011-09-28T00:29:00.000-04:00

I am home sweet home from my grand adventure on the rails and in San Francisco, and am slowly but surely settling back into normal life. I'm not gonna lie- I have a pretty acute case of post-vacation blues, with the most severe outbreaks occurring at work. Honestly, it's just really difficult to give a crap about Medicare when you're riding high on vacation memories. That being said, it really is great to be back home in my neighborhood, with my man, and in my own bed. Dorothy had it right: There's no place like home.

Originally I had planned on writing and posting from the road, but I never had a signal so I never posted. I did write, but by the time I got to a signal, the post felt so outdated, so I decided to just write a re-cap once I got home. There's so much to say, that I think I'll do a day by day recap. Bear with me. Thanks.

Friday, 9/16 - Sara and I almost missed our first train from my neighborhood to the Amtrak station. Miraculously, we made it, and eventually made it onto our first Amtrak train, the Cardinal. The Cardinal took us down to DC and then through Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, and ultimately to our first final destination, Chicago.

Saturday, 9/17 - As we woke up, the sun was rising over the fields of Indiana. I only know it was Indiana because I'm a map addict and regularly looked at my Google maps GPS app to see where we were. We arrived in Chi-town around 10am and had a few hours to kill, so we decided to treat ourselves to a delicious meal at Mercat a la Planxa. We ordered the Chef's Tasting, a flight of wine, and white sangria. It was exactly what we needed after eating crappy Amtrak food for the past day. After lunch, we boarded our next train, the Southwest Chief, which we lovingly called The Chieftan. The Chieftan was awesome; it was a double decker train with all the amenities, including a dining car, a lounge car and a cafe car. We were delighted when we realized that not only were we were seated in the caboose, but we were the last two people in the caboose! On a train that stretches at least 12 cars long, it is an honor to be bringing up the rear. Plus, we had a unique view out the back window.

Also worth noting on this day was that a fellow passenger got left behind at a stop! It was just after we crossed the mighty Mississippi, and stopped at a designated "smoke stop". The conductor warned us not to stray from the platform, as the stop would be brief. About five minutes later, the horn blew and the conductor yelled "All Aboard!", and we all piled into the train as it chugged on towards Missouri. Unfortunately, one passenger was too busy taking pictures of the Mississippi River to notice the horn and the "All Aboard" and so the train left without him. We learned a big lesson in that moment: the train waits for no one.

Sunday, 9/18 - We awoke to the sun rising over the Kansas plains. It was a sight to behold. The twilight hours transform even the most mundane landscapes into the most spectacular sight your eyes have ever seen. As we rolled into eastern Colorado, I started to see the first signs of the mountains to come in the west. Just little land-humps, but enough to know that we weren't in Kansas anymore. That, plus my GPS told me we weren't in Kansas anymore.

A few hours later we got off the train in Raton, New Mexico. Talk about bizarre. Not that Raton is bizarre; it's actually the sweetest little podunk town, but getting off the train - that is bizarre. The train becomes your home, your neighborhood, your community, and the people become your family. It's like a microcosm of the world on wheels. You grow accustomed to the constant sway, the sounds, the people, the gross food, the cramped bathrooms, the lack of control, and my personal favorite, the lack of any real responsibility. Riding the rails is like taking a course in Escapism 101. As a Pisces, this appealed to my sensibilities very much. One of the most surreal moments was when we got off the train in Raton, and watched our train (home, neighborhood, community, family) pull out of the station without us. All of a sudden it was eerily quiet, and we both stood there in mild disbelief for a moment, not quite knowing how to comfort each other. We both wound up calling home to distract ourselves from the fact that we just lost our home on wheels.

Once we collected ourselves and felt comfortable on solid ground, we went exploring through Raton, NM. Unfortunately, it was a Sunday and everything (I mean everything) was closed. Not one shop, gas station, restaurant, or movie theater was open. Even the tumbleweeds had the day off. There was literally nothing going on, except two girls from out of town hauling luggage through the town. We had six hours to kill in this town, and were starting to feel like it would be a l-o-n-g six hours. But then we rounded a corner and I smelled a hamburger cooking, and I knew we were saved! We found a restaurant (haven) called Hamburger Heaven that sold not only hamburgers but $12 bottles of wine. They even offered to hold our bags while we walked around, and let us swing on the hammock in their side yard. It turned out to be the best day. Sometimes nothing cures the post-train blues like small town hospitality and $12 bottles of wine. Major shout out to Shannon at Hamburger Heaven for making our day what it was. Here's the view from our hammock @ Hamburger Heaven:

After the wine and hamburgers and heaven and hammock, we boarded a bus to Denver. Four hours later, we met up with my cousins Michael and Marytheresa in Denver for dinner and drinks. We also had a hotel that night, which meant showers and a bed! You would think that after 2 days and nights on the train we'd take full advantage of the comfort, but we still managed to stay out way too late (no regrets!) and only got three hours of sleep. In my opinion, family is more important than sleep.

Monday, 9/19 - After a brief nap, we woke up and headed to the station. We couldn't wait to get back on the train! And this was no ordinary train; this was the California Zephyr, the train we had built this whole trip around.

We had a minor delay but were soon enroute to California aboard the Zephyr. We were giddy. It didn't take long for the train to leave Denver and start its ascent into the Rockies. It also didn't take long for the Rockies to blow my mind. I'm going to stop writing for this portion of the blog and let the photos speak for themselves...

You're welcome. The journey through the Rockies filled most of the day, but then we crossed over into Utah just as the afternoon began yielding to the evening. Again, I'll stop with the words and let the pictures work their magic.

Spending the day in the Rockies and watching the sun set in the Utah desert set the bar pretty high for the rest of night. What can top that? I don't know that anything can top that, but we came pretty close. We spent the night playing cards and having shenanigans with two train friends, Christian and Mike. At around midnight, Mike told us that he had a hammock, and would love to hang it somewhere on the train. Hanging the hammock became our mission; our life's purpose. We finally rigged it up in the middle of the observation car, and I finally got to experience rocking in a hammock while on a train while in the desert in the middle of the night. I never realized this was an experience I wanted until it happened. This was the second most surreal moment of the trip.

Tuesday, 9/20 - Once again, we awoke in the dark and witnessed another gorgeous sunrise. This time, it was over the Nevada desert. Have a look:

I did not sleep very well the night before, so I felt kind of buzzed/high on exhaustion for most of the day. It was fitting, as this was the day our train adventure was to end. We had to say goodbye to friends made along the way and switch from journey mode to destination mode. It was a bittersweet and buzzed kind of day. We rolled through the desert while hanging with Christian and eventually started climbing into the Sierra Nevadas. Once again, the natural beauty was astounding.

We spent our final hours on the train hanging with Mike and having lunch with new friends. When we got to Sacramento (SacTown, or Sacto, or Sacow), we said goodbye to Mike, and started packing up our belongings. Before we knew it, we were pulling into the end of the line, Emeryville, California. Talk about bittersweet. Our friend Simone was eagerly awaiting our arrival, and was so excited to see us. We were definitely excited too, but we were also pretty bummed to be off the train.

After a few days of reflection, I think that's precisely what makes train travel so special: you can never go back. Sure, you can take the train again, but never with those same people under those same circumstances during that same time in your life. And because of that, every relationship you create, every moment you experience, every sight you behold only exists in that moment, and everyone knows it. Everything becomes magnified, and beautiful, and sacred; nothing is mundane. That is what's most surreal about train travel.

Stay tuned for part II of the adventure: Girl's Week(end) in San Francisco!

Report from the Rails, vol. 1

2011-09-19T04:09:00.001-04:00

After months of planning and sweet anticipation, I am finally on the train, and on an incredible journey across the country with a dear friend to see our other dear friend in San Francisco. Philadelphia to San Francisco, via Delaware, Maryland, Washington DC, Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, Colorado, New Mexico, Colorado again, Utah, Nevada, and California, all on Amtrak, and all in coach class. For some, this may sound like a nightmare. A few people asked me, “Why don’t you just fly to San Francisco?” It’s a valid question; let me explain why we’re taking the slow boat to China.

For starters, ever since I spent time in Colorado and Utah last year, I’ve been longing to return, if even just to pass through so that I could once again behold the incredible beauty and diverse landscape of the Wild West. These places changed me; they removed my blinders and connected me back to wonders of the natural world. I was ill prepared for what I saw in Colorado and Utah, and how those places would affect me, both in the moment, and in the moments since. Those places and experiences have lingered, and have quietly yet continually beckoned me to come immerse myself in their wonder again.

So, when planning a trip to SF, when my friend Sara asked if I might be interested in taking a train rather than a plane; a train called the California Zephyr; a train that travels through the Rockies and Utah, I was sold. Going to SF and being able to travel through CO and UT was like a buy-one-get-one no brainer.

Another reason why this trip appealed to me was the romanticized notion I have of riding the rails across the country. There’s something to be said for the art of slow travel, the way it used to be, and all that comes with it. While driving, all you see is the interstate and what surrounds it, and a seemingly endless row of golden arches at exit after exit. While flying, all you see are clouds and the sprawling tapestries of land beneath. Both offer interesting perspectives of this country, but both are limiting and fairly cut-off from the reality of the cultures, landscapes and communities that comprise our country. The thought of seeing small towns that I otherwise would never see, witnessing the rolling vastness of the prairies, getting to see the majesty of the mountains and canyons from places where no cars can travel, and waking up to a gorgeous sunset over the desert, all the while meeting a variety of strange and wonderful folks from around the world; this my friends, is the experience I sought. Also, just enjoying the journey rather than being hyper-focused on the destination is what appealed to me.

The final reason why I agreed to join Sara on the train was because it’s Sara, and we always have epic adventures when we’re together, no matter what. Truthfully, I would not take this trip with most people, but Sara and I travel so well together that I couldn’t pass it up. I knew that even if we had an awful time by conventional standards, we would still have an awesome time according to our standards, and would create memories to last forever.

So, that’s why I’m sitting here on a train, just west of Washington, DC, heading towards Kentucky. This is our second train of the day; the first took us from our neighborhood in Philadelphia to 30^th Street Station, also in Philadelphia. Then we hopped on the Cardinal, which will take us to Chicago. We had a brief layover in DC, so we took the opportunity to marvel at the architecture of Union Station and even got a peek of the Capitol. Prior to arriving in DC, we ventured into the Dining Car and had breakfast as we rolled over what we think may have been the Chesapeake Bay. It was spectacular.

Now we’re just outside of Manassas, Virginia, heading due west for the hills of West Virginia, and ultimately, California. I’ll write frequently and will upload whenever I can get a signal. Stay tuned for the next report from the rails…

Worldwide Bloom

2011-04-20T21:34:00.001-04:00

I sit here in mild disbelief that today is April 20th. My last post was on April 5th - that was fifteen days ago, yet it feels like I shut my eyes for a nap... and apparently awoke fifteen days later. April is one of those time-warp months, cause it bridges winter to spring. Forty degree April 1st (aka winter) feels worlds away from 80 degree April 20th (aka spring/summer). The past week has been particularly bloom-y and springlike. Everything is coming back to life, and it feels great.

After losing dad in late November, I kinda appreciated the fact that my "season" of grief aligned with winter; it made total sense. I felt dead, and the world looked dead, so it worked. I was able to hibernate and hide under the covers and silently freak out for a few months, just as the rest of the world (or the parts that celebrate winter) did a similar thing. Winter is all about being inside, both literally and figuratively, so going into my shell and mourning the loss of my beloved dad during the winter worked out really good.

But now- now it's spring, and everything and everyone is coming back to life, myself included. The worldwide bloom is contagious. The numbness of loss remains, but the hard edge has softened and the sun feels real good on my face. I just want to stand here and soak it in for a minute, or a month. I hope you are all enjoying your own personal blooms, and are taking the time to stop and feel the sun on your faces.

More later, my loves. Until then, bloom on.

The Underground

2011-04-05T23:18:00.000-04:00

You know what's one of my all-time favorite things? It's something that, even on the crappiest of days, can make me smile and feel genuinely happy (other than family/friends/animals/books). Even when I wake up on the grumpy side of the bed on a dreary, rainy morning and forget my umbrella and miss my Dad and have a horrible day at work, this thing has the power to turn my day around and my frown upside down.

It's something that is free, and is available to everyone every single day. Despite how available and accessible this thing is to just about everyone, I think it is under-valued, or under-appreciated, or simply goes unnoticed. I can't speak for every locale, but I imagine that this thing happens in cities across the world, particularly when the masses are pouring in and rushing out of said cities.

I've come to the point where I need to identify the thing so that I can stop referring to is as thing and start talking about the actual people that comprise the thing. Any idea what the thing is? Take a guess and say it out loud before you scroll down any further.

The thing is.....

drumroll please..........

The underground music scene that takes place in train stations and underground concourses in Philly, and around the world. You know, the performers who lay down a hat or open their guitar case in hopes of getting a few bucks in exchange for playing or singing a few tunes. This, my friends, is one of my favorite things.

Every morning and every evening, musicians of every caliber and background tuck themselves into the nooks, crannies and corridors of underground Philadelphia and serenade us commuters as we make our way from point A to point B. There are soul singers, banjo players, five piece bands, acoustic guitar players, sitar players, keyboardists, and even classical violinists. It's like a free festival underground, and has truly become one of the highlights of my daily grind. I never used to carry cash, but now I try to keep a wad of singles to give monetary props to those that provide the soundtrack to my daily commute.

My all-time favorite guy, who plays the keyboard and sings Lionel Richie and Stevie Wonder, has not achieved YouTube fame, at least not that I can find. So I'll leave you with this clip of an amazing (and young!) violinist who turns Suburban Station into Symphony Station every day. Enjoy!

The Case of the Swiped Slice

2011-04-01T22:10:00.001-04:00

I want you to imagine the way it smells when you walk into a pizza shop. Close your eyes for a minute (after you read this sentence) and really allow your olfactory system to be overwhelmed by the delicious aroma of pizza. (Ok go)

Can you see it in your mind's eye? Your favorite pizza baking in the oven, your desire for it rising in sync with its rising dough, like two hearts beating as one. Soulmates, you and this slice. It is being made for the sole purpose of bringing you joy. And when it emerges from the oven? Heaven on a plate. That first bite? Like a first kiss with a true love. Nobody can mess with the bond between you and your pizza.

Until they do.

This morning, as I trudged through the first few hours of work, I kept remembering what was waiting for me in the fridge. "Yesssssssssss!", I thought, as I remembered the thin-crusted, triangle-shaped piece of tomato, basil and cheese goodness that awaited me. Finally, at 1:00, I obeyed the grumbling in my belly, put aside my work, and strutted with sweet anticipation to the kitchen. After working hard all week, I deserved this little slice of heaven on earth. And with that, I opened the fridge.

Huh.

I looked right, I looked left, I blinked, I rubbed my eyes, I blinked some more, I closed the fridge. "Hmmm, I know I put it right on the center shelf, in the middle, in a brown paper bag", I reassured myself. "Let me look again, it has to be here". I opened the fridge again, and ripped it apart. I looked in every drawer, on every shelf, and inside every brown bag; I even looked in the freezer, just in case.

My pizza was gone.

I was so confused, and sad, and pissed! I went back to my desk and composed the following email to my colleagues: "Has anyone seen a slice of pizza? I put a slice in the refrigerator yesterday afternoon, and now it's gone :( " People offered their condolences, likened the scandal to a who-done-it game of Clue, and offered to help find it, but alas, it was nowhere to be found.

Imagine the let-down. Why my pizza?! Help yourself (or steal) my apple, my turkey sandwich, my box of soup, but please, do not mess with my well-earned-Friday-treat pizza. I have no clues as to who committed this heinous act, but I now look at my co-workers with one eyebrow raised. How well do we really know the people we spend our days with? Who are all these "social workers" and "advocates" working for social justice, anyway? Ha! If someone is capable of stealing a slice of pizza (on a Friday afternoon!), imagine what else they're capable of. I shudder to think.

Moral of the story? Don't bring pizza to work. And if you do, and your slice gets swiped, well don't say I didn't warn you. Be safe friends.

Signs

2011-04-01T01:14:00.000-04:00

Some days, when making decisions, I feel rather indifferent and ultimately find myself questioning whether I've chosen the the right thing or am following my true path.

Today was not one of those days.

I recently made the decision to stop thinking about writing a book and to actually start doing it. I have the story in me; it's just a matter of learning the logistics and how-to's of writing a memoir. Part of my process entails reading a lot of books on writing, particularly those on writing memoirs, but where do you start? There is so much information available these days, and while that is a wonderful thing, it can also be daunting to have to weed through it all and find precisely what you're looking for and what speaks to you.

Today on my lunch break, I went across the street to the Borders (which is closing! sigh...) to continue my search for any books that would help demystify the writing and/or publishing process. After looking through a few relevant books that seemed just fine, I found a book that seemed just right. It was called Shimmering Images: A Handy Little Guide to Writing Memoir, by Lisa Dale Norton. I liked how, as promised in the title, it was little; it felt like a manageable read that offered practical tips and insights on how to bring your story to the surface. Beyond being practical, however, the author woo'ed me with her perspective and language. She talked about things like grace, compassion, and the transformative power of sharing our stories. For me, writing is a deeply spiritual experience, and the initial vibe I got from this book seemed to validate and honor that perspective. So, I bought it.

I should note that the memoir I am writing is about my family and the incredible experiences we shared during the last six weeks of my dad's life. It is not a sad story of loss, nor is it an account of the grief that accompanies and follows great loss; rather, it is a story of miracles and grace and humor, and deep, abiding love.

As soon as I was able to, I opened the book and started reading it. Within the first few pages, I received two distinct signs that I was indeed reading the right book for me at the right time, and that I was following my true path. To explain those signs and their significance would take me more time than I have right now, but I'll just say that they were clear, relevant signals representing (1) what I consider to be the physical manifestation of my dad's spirit, and (2), the cultivation of something I have been praying for in recent weeks. So, within five to ten pages, I knew deep in my heart that I had picked up the book that would transform me from wanna-be-writer to writer-for-real, and that the story I want to tell is indeed the story I need to tell.

As the title eludes to, this book is about understanding the power of those shimmering images that are forever stored in your mind. You know, the ones that are like snapshots of certain memories, captured in time, alive in your mind, pulsating with just enough energy to make them shimmer ever so slightly. Lisa Dale Norton explains these potent memories as the bedrock of stories. These snapshot memories shimmer and ripple in our minds because they are full of the energy of the story-to-be. They are more than just vivid memories; they are the keys that unlock the stories of who we are, where we've been, what we've experienced.

When I think of those last weeks with Dad, I have a series of shimmering images that play in my mind, that both haunt and delight me. I have an image of Dad clapping over the prospect of chocolate cake after a pot roast dinner. And then there's the image of him in his wheelchair, struggling to lean over the sink and brush his teeth in the final days of his life; this is forever burned into my memory. And finally, one of the most potent visual memories I have is of the silhouette of my dad laying in his rented hospital bed in the bay window of his bedroom, in the fading afternoon light. I can still see the texture and color of the blanket that covered him, and the position of his hands, and the softness of the light as it came in through the sheer curtains.

Anyhow, I am so smitten with this book and this author that when I came home from work, I went on Twitter and searched for Lisa Dale Norton. No dice - she is not on Twitter. So I decided to search for her book instead, thinking that maybe she used the book title rather than her name. I typed "Shimmering Images" into the search box and hit enter. No dice - the book was not on Twitter, either.

But... what appeared was something far greater. Not the author nor the book, but a random tweet from a person that had used the phrase "shimmering images" in his tweet. As if spoken directly to me, it said ..."those shimmering images of your father are there for a reason"...

Chills.

I'm starting to understand the reason.

I read, I write, I tweet

2011-03-29T22:24:00.000-04:00

That's right, you read it correctly: I've joined Twitter.

I joined primarily as a way to connect with and follow some of my favorite writers, booksellers, bloggers, readers, publishers, literary agents, journals, magazines and anyone else who has a deep love for the written word. I recently decided to stop fantasizing about writing a book and to just do it, so I'm throwing myself into the process. For me, part of the process is learning from and being inspired by those who love to read and write and be surrounded by words, and Twitter is one of the most efficient ways of connecting with these people.

So, if you love to read, or write, or just enjoy reading my blog, I invite you to be my twitter friend, or follow me, or tweet me, or whatever it's called. And if Twitter isn't your thing, maybe you can recommend writers or bloggers or interesting people who I should be following. Who can I learn from? Which writers have inspired you? Which libraries have impressive programming? Do you have a stellar bookstore in your neighborhood? What's your favorite book? What's your favorite word? If you had one hour left to live, and were given a piece of paper and a pencil, who would you write to and what would you say?

Find me on Twitter @StewMody, or find me here, always.

Thanks friends...

ping-pong

2011-03-28T20:01:00.003-04:00

Since I last wrote, I can't tell you what I've been up to, but I can tell you what I've been thinking. My brain has been all over the place; it's been all around the world, at the beach, in the clouds, in the past, in the future, in a fog, in the gutter, focused on work, focused on house, focused on family, consumed with hopes and dreams and plans, and distracted by just about everything. Being inside my ADD head is like watching a fast-paced ping-pong game. Your focus is over here, now over there, now over here, now over there, and so on. It's exhausting, and exhilarating at the same time.

Here's a snippet of what I've been thinking about :

"Oh my God these pictures are gorgeous, we have to go to Taormina, Italy, yes we are going, where will we stay, (google hotels, google costs, google weather, google map), I can't wait to go to Taormina, Italy; Oh, travel, right, the beach, LBI, is our same house available this year? Let me open my laptop and email our rental agent; right, laptop, oh that reminds me I need to check out carpet prices for the stairwell, www. ...what was I doing? Oh right, I need to check the weather for tomorrow to see if it's gonna be warm enough to wear that skirt; oh, speaking of that skirt, I need to do laundry, (wander into bedroom, look out window into backyard), oh those bricks need to come up, we should make a fire-pit using those bricks, I need to get in touch with Tom about helping us conceptualize a garden, I don't have Tom's number, let me get in touch with Shazz. Man, Shazz and I used to go for some great walks together when I was training for the 3-day, I used to cover some serious distance when training for that walk. Wow, distance walking, I really really want to hike the AT at some point, and the AT crosses over Mt. Washington, and I really want to hike Mt. Washington and see where Steve died... Wow, I can't believe that Steve and Dad have died, it's so surreal, I need to write a book about Dad's death. I really really want to write this book, but how do I move from writing to publishing? OMG Borders is going out of business, I need to go there and look for a book on How To Publish a Book, (at Borders), I should look for a book on Taormina or Sicily- but wait, maybe New England, YES, Boston, Jay mentioned going to Boston the other night- no wait, the Grand Canyon, and Colorado, and National Parks, and- oh I need to find a book on Home Renovation, hmmm, the house, what should we do? Take over the first and second floor? How will we open the two floors up to be one home? I wonder how mom is doing with her home search in CT. I know she doesn't want any stairs, hmmm how will we handle our stairs if we keep a third floor tenant, "Jay can we make new stairs?", Thank God my parents' Master bedroom was on the ground floor and they didn't have to deal with stairs in his final months, man I miss Dad, I really need to write this book. Oh right, speaking of writing, I should blog real quick..."

And that brings us to the current moment, folks. Hope you like ping-pong; Game ON!

Morning Miracle

2011-03-17T09:58:00.001-04:00

Most mornings, I over-sleep. It's usually by choice, but still, with great regularity, I stay in the bed longer than I should. This chronic decision always results in a fairly frantic morning routine for me. I could (should) get up early, do yoga, have breakfast, peruse the internets, and ease into my day the way the sun eases into the morning sky.

But no, I don't. And this daily decision results in me being dangerously late for my train to work just about every single day. I mean there are mornings when I have to scream "waaaaaiiiitt" in order to stop the conductor from leaving without me. I leave myself 2 minutes to get from my house to the station, when I should leave a good 5 minutes. I seriously race out the door, sprint up the sidewalk, and drive like a lunatic to the station, thinking, "I'm gonna miss it today, there's just no way...". But then, without fail, I pull in just as the train is pulling in, or just as the last passenger is boarding, and I wind up making the train. Every morning, its a mad dash to the station, and every morning, it's a miracle that I actually make the train.

It's kind of nice actually; it's a good trade-off. I give up yoga and meditative calm, but I get to bear witness to a miracle, every morning. Now that's a way to start a day! I'm on the train right now (miracle!) in total disbelief that I'm on the train. It's a St. Patrick's Day miracle!

Here's hoping your day is filled with miracles, too. Cheers!

From Jobless to Job Bliss

2011-03-15T19:13:00.003-04:00

I had a profound realization today: I love my job.

I guess you could say that I've known this for some time, but today was just one of those days where I found myself engaged in exactly the kind of work I had hoped for upon graduation. While in school, I had a tough time articulating exactly what I wanted to do, but could easily recite a lengthy list of things I knew I didn't want to do.

Even though I didn't know what I wanted to be or precisely what I wanted to do, I had ideas about how I wanted to spend my days. Basically, I wanted to use my brain in some capacity, I wanted to conduct education and outreach in the community, I wanted my work to be relationship-focused, and I generally wanted to work towards putting a meaningful dent in a problem that affects individuals and communities. I currently find myself doing those things in my day-to-day, and I've gotta say, I feel quite satisfied.

As you may know, I am a volunteer coordinator for a Medicare fraud prevention education program. The program utilizes seniors to teach other seniors about Medicare fraud, and it is my job to find those senior volunteers, train them, and then find venues for them to go out and share the message of fraud prevention with their peers. One really great aspect of our program is that it's federally funded while also being relatively grassroots in nature, so we have quite a bit of autonomy in terms of how we choose to meet our goals. While there are best practices, there is no mandated or prescribed formula that we must follow. As long as we have an active volunteer force statewide and are reaching certain numbers of folks via presentations, community events and media placements, we're good. I'm generalizing, yes- but you get the point.

On any given day, I can be out in the community educating folks about fraud and our program; I can be creating new marketing materials; I can be recruiting and training new volunteers; I can be handling fraud cases that come in to our office; I can be creating new partnerships with other organizations; I can be writing press releases and articles; I can be developing new trainings, etc. Each day is different, and each day is challenging and rewarding in its own way.

Today I went out to speak to a group of professionals and community leaders of a particular ethnic and cultural background to tell them about our program; to offer programming to their clients, residents, constituents, etc., and to ask for their help in growing our program in their communities throughout Philadelphia. When I've gone out and done these things in the past, people are usually interested, engaged, and talk about partnering in the future while we exchange business cards and make promises to email each other at a later time. Today, people approached me right away and asked me to come to their agency after the meeting. I met one incredibly passionate community leader who took me to his agency where we met with four other people, and within 30 minutes we set up an action plan for not only bringing the message of fraud prevention into this particular community, but we also identified potential bilingual volunteers and even discussed a current, potentially fraudulent case. Wow.

Now this is what I'm talking about; we went from education to action in the course of an hour, and we set in motion something that could potentially expose fraudulent activity. We built relationships and forged new partnerships that will hopefully put a dent in a major social problem. Yes, this is what I wanted; this is why I went to school. And the icing on this goodness cake? I have some seriously awesome colleagues whom I admire, respect, and genuinely enjoy being around, whether we're engaged in some serious silliness or some silly seriousness.

Anyway, I'm just feeling all sorts of grateful for my job and for the people who make my days what they are. I think we tend to give a lot of energy to dissecting and analyzing what's wrong with our lives and what's lacking; I just wanted to give a shout out to what's right in my life, and to give thanks.

So, thanks job. You rock.

Love,
Jen

Spooked & Rejuve'd

2011-03-09T19:26:00.010-05:00

I think it's a combination of being cooped up all winter and the influence of the books I've been reading recently (A Walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson; AWOL on the Appalachian Trail, by David Miller), but I've been craving wilderness lately. More specifically, I've been wanting to wander, roam, explore; I've been wanting to get lost in some small, relatively controlled way. I wasn't looking for a Blair Witch experience, nor was I modeling my adventure after Chris McCandless' experience in the Alaskan wilderness; rather, I was hoping for a day of solitudinous wandering through the winter woods.

So, as a birthday gift to myself, I took last Friday off from work and went for a hike in the woods. I drove about an hour west of Philadelphia to a back-country loop-ish trail on the outskirts of French Creek State Park. The trailhead was not actually in the park but on a rural back-road. There were two other cars parked in the lot, and as I pulled into my spot, the sound of dueling banjos crept into my mind. Deliverance, anyone? The banjos grew louder as I stepped out of the car and into the deafening silence of the wilderness. This was the first sign that I've been living in an urban area for awhile... I am so used to a constant stream of white noise, to the point where deep quiet was alarming at first.

Ahhh, but then I heard the whoosh of wind through the trees and inhaled the cool, crisp air and instantly felt at ease. I geared up, crossed the street, and slipped into the woods. Right away, I saw a man who was leaving the woods, and we quickly said hello. I don't know why, but something about this man spooked me out. He just didn't seem friendly, in fact, he seemed suspicious, guilty even.

As I walked along the early part of the trail, I couldn't shake the thought of this guy. I kept thinking, "ok, a strange man who gave me the heebee jeebees just saw me walk alone into the woods. There is only one other car in the lot, which means that there is only one other person somewhere along this entire trail. If that guy wanted to do me harm, he could easily find me and rape me, kill me, whatever". Seriously, these thoughts infiltrated my mind and made me paranoid for the first leg of the hike. This was sign number two that I've been living in Philadelphia for awhile, as I never feel spooked even when walking around different parts of the city at night.

It took me at least 30 minutes to realize that nobody was following me through the woods, trying to kill me. I finally realized that my concern, while valid, had escalated to an unsubstantiated paranoia and was interfering with my birthday wish of enjoying wandering through the woods. So with that, I made a conscious decision to stop worrying about being all alone in the big scary woods and start enjoying the fact that I was indeed all alone in the beautiful, quiet woods.

The rest of the day was exactly what I had hoped for. Although the trail was semi-blazed, there were several sections of trail that were unmarked and I literally felt lost. But it wasn't like "I'm in the middle of Siberia" lost; It was like "I can always backtrack if necessary" lost. I encountered the one other person on the trail roughly an hour into the hike. We exchanged friendly hellos, talked about how gorgeous the day was, and wished each other a good hike. It felt liberating to wander and find my way. I crossed multiple creeks, navigated some rocky terrain, and climbed up some steep hills. I also discovered some excellent moss specimens, some of which were sun-kissed. Need I say more? Other than the sounds of my own steps, the wind, and the occasional animal, all was quiet. No people, no cars, no phone, no tv, no nothing. It was like the quiet car, but without the car and all of the people. It was bliss.

I did a lot of much-needed processing during the hike, too. I came to some realizations, fleshed out some creative ideas, let go of what needed to go, picked up some new curiosities, and expressed gratitude for where my journey has taken me thus far. It's amazing what a little solitude and fresh air can do for the psyche. Even though the I entered the woods feeling fairly spooked and like my life could potentially end at age 33, I emerged from the same woods feeling safe, triumphant and ready to embrace #34. Happy birthday to me :)

Quiet, Silent Car

2011-03-01T21:46:00.000-05:00

It's no secret that I ride in the quiet car on the train. I'm someone who deeply appreciates peace and quiet during my commute. Nothing gets on my nerves more than people who talk on their phones on the train. Ugh. I realize they have every right to do this, I just think it's SO obnoxious and inconsiderate! It's one thing to have a brief, quiet exchange, but what's with those people who think the train is their own private phone booth? Um, we can hear you; we can ALL hear EVERY word that you say, despite your laughable efforts to be discreet. There ain't nothin' private nor discreet about rush-hour.

So... I love that SEPTA (Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority) has devoted a car on every peak train to me and my fellow peace and quiet loving riders. How considerate! In my ideal world, there would be one "loud car" and the rest would be quiet, leaving all the loud talkers together, constantly trying to out-talk the others. A girl can dream...

But for now, I have one lone quiet car, and it is my salvation. I have 25 golden, quiet minutes before work, and 25 minutes of much-needed muteness after work. Every now and again, someone gets on the quiet car that isn't hip to the rules, and starts blabbing away. The tension is palpable, and every rider's blood is boiling - I can guarantee it. It's like someone coming into the non-smoking section of a restaurant (when there was such a thing), lighting up, and blowing offensive exhaust all over the non-smokers. You kinda feel bad, cause they don't realize the rules; they can't imagine that there are a tribe of people who crave quiet. Quiet? It's unfathomable to them. Why be quiet when you can be LOUD!!!!!??? The noise offenders also don't realize that this entire tribe of quite-loving people are quietly hating on them and poking needles into the mouths of the voodoo dolls they're quietly holding. What can I say, we're a quiet yet brutal bunch. Don't mess with the muted.

This is when the rules of the quiet car all come down to enforcement. Us quiet types can be a little passive-aggressive when it comes to "SShhhhhh"ing other people. The last thing we want to do is add to the already annoying sound-scape, so we tend to stare and make all sorts of huffy, non-verbal gestures. I'm ashamed to say, we're big on shaming. Shame on you, loud person! That's what we're thinking, every single one of us.

Every once in awhile, a ballsy rider with chutzpah will shout "Shut up, it's the quiet car", but mostly it's up to the conductor to either enforce or ignore the rules of the quiet car. Some conductors simply don't care, and are probably loud-talkers themselves when they ride transit. They do not seem to respect nor enforce the rules of the quiet car. All sorts of violations occur under their leadership, resulting in an angsty bunch of quiet-deprived commuters who seem to be on the brink of going postal, particularly on Mondays. Other conductors are really great about enforcing and respecting the rules, and go about it in a kind way.

There is one conductor, however, that I liken to the Soup Nazi of Seinfeld fame. You talk? No train for you! If you're going to talk in his quiet car, you might as well kill his family. Same same. Most conductors walk through the car and say "all tickets and passes please", but this guys respects quiet so much that he doesn't say anything, not a peep. If he gets to your seat and you don't have your ticket or pass ready, he simply clicks his hole-punch clicker several times to non-verbally alert you of your failure to have your ticket or pass ready. It's rather intimidating. If he hears *any* talking, he will immediately approach the offender and call them out. He is so quiet that he doesn't even announce the stops, leaving riders to guess which stop is next, which can be challenging in the dark.

While I appreciate this particular conductor's adherence to the rules, I think he's gone overboard. He makes me nervous. The quiet car is supposed to be about peace, not fear. Like I mentioned above, I don't mind minor infractions or the occasional noise; I just want a commute that is relatively free of chaos, noise, and tension. I want quiet, not necessarily pin-drop silence. This guy is so die-hard that I'm considering riding in the loud cars just to avoid him and his rigid ways.

Hmmm... wait a minute, I need to think this through; I need some quiet, preferably silence, to be able to meditate on this before I make a decision. Lucky for me, I know just the place to find 25 minutes of guaranteed silence.

Maybe he's not so bad after all...   But Shhhhh... don't tell him that - he'll kick you off the train!

Monday Man

2011-02-28T18:17:00.002-05:00

This morning, on my way to work, the train stopped and I saw this little man peering at me. I had to snap his picture.

Today was rough; it was one of those busy and frustrating days where you absolutely must accomplish everything on your list but can't because everything that can go wrong invariably does. It was a day that could have easily put me in a mood, but every now and again, I thought of my little Monday Man and felt a smile spread across my face.

Hope you had your own Monday Man, and if not, I'll share mine :)

For the Loyalists...

2011-02-27T12:10:00.000-05:00

I hear you. You want more. Your wish is my command.

Given the events of the past few months, my heart has been heavy and I've often felt like I couldn't write about anything other than the loss of my dad. This is good, and natural; I need to write about what happened. Writing is how I process life. But luckily, life encompasses much more than loss. There are so many other incredibly gratifying and deliciously satisfying moments upon which to dwell. I want to write about it all.

The loss thing is HUGE, obviously. The story of my dad's death is really a story about our family's strength and love. It's about grace, and humor, and miracles. It's about the tension between holding on and letting go. It's an epic tale, really, and ultimately it's not post-worthy, but book worthy.

I've known this for awhile, but just recently got the urge (and granted myself permission) to begin the process. It's going to be a long, emotionally draining yet cathartic experience, and I feel as ready as I ever will be to embark on this journey.

So what does this all mean for my blog? It means that I feel freed up, in a sense, to return to the original intent of this space; to share life in my shoes. For a few months now, every time I sat down to write (here), it felt like a burdensome chore, like I had to recount everything that had been happening in order to give context to what was currently happening. No more! You know what happened: my dad died. I'm writing a book about it. I hope some day you'll read it. Let's move on.

Now that I have a dedicated space for the dad stuff, I'd like to dedicate this space to the day-to-day goodness, hilarity, irony and all around wonder of everyday livin'. Life is a trip, and it makes one hell of a good story. Especially when you're renovating a house! More on that in future posts...

Thank you Loyalists (you know who you are) for reading my blog in its various forms over the past six or so years. Without your gentle nudges of encouragement, I would have stopped writing. I hope you'll keep reading, and walking with me...

Waves

2010-12-19T20:10:00.001-05:00

It comes in waves, this grief thing. One minute I'm fine and the next minute, I'm swimming (sometimes drowning) in an ocean of sadness. Unlike real waves though, grief waves are invisible and unpredictable; there is no regular ebb and flow, just seemingly random tidal waves that knock you over in the midst of everyday life.

Ah... but there are triggers, and part of the learning curve to the whole grief process is realizing what your triggers are, and learning how to appropriately interact with them. Last night, Jay and I were out doing some Christmas shopping, trying really hard to feel "in the holiday spirit". There's nothing jolly or festive about grief, even though it is coinciding with Christmas. Grief just dims everything. But there we were, out co-mingling with the masses in the madness of a shopping center. I had tucked my grief away for the day; I folded it up and put it in my pocket. I traded it in for my best "happy face" and went out in search of joy and holiday cheer, via consumerism. I have to say, it kind of worked. Not that I felt jolly by any means, but it was pretty fun to walk around and make fun of all the crap that people waste their money on. And it was fun to join them and buy some crap for Christmas. I do every other year, so I might as well this year, too. It helps to feel normal, in any way you can, in the midst of upheaval.

In between stores we stopped at a Five Guys for a quick burger. It was delicious, and was really hittin' the spot... until it hit the spot: the grief spot. You see, the last meal I shared with my Dad was Five Guys. It was one week before his death, and in retrospect, it was the first day of his final decline. There was a lot that he couldn't do that day, but when I asked him if he wanted a cheeseburger from Five Guys, he said (in a way that only my family can appreciate), "Yah", and so I went out and got us all burgers. We sat around the kitchen table (dad in his wheelchair) and ate Five Guys Burgers and Fries. That was the last meal I had with him... And so there I was at Five Guys, during the holidays, amongst happy shoppers when all of a sudden a tidal wave came and knocked me over. Tidal waves are dangerous enough as it is, but even more so when eating a cheeseburger. Talk about a choking hazard.

Then today, as I was cleaning up the huge pile of clothes that are permanently parked at the foot of my bed, I found the dress I wore to his funeral. Ouch. Another wave. What am I supposed to do with this dress? Do I hang it in the closet with all of my non-funeral clothes and pretend that it's just a regular dress? Do I fold it up and put it in storage? Do I burn it?

So- now I know; Five Guys and that dress are triggers for me. Maybe they won't always be, but for now, when everything is recent and feels so raw, they are. Now the question is, what do I do about that? Do I avoid that place and hide that dress? Do I do the opposite and go to Five Guys weekly, and incorporate the dress into my regular winter wardrobe? How do I interact with these tangible reminders that my dad actually died. It feels wrong to ignore them, like ignoring them means that I'm ignoring the truth of what happened. It's tempting; ignorance is bliss, after all. But ignorance is still ignorance, and the truth is still the truth, and and no matter how much I want to fold up my grief and fold up my dress and eat a cheeseburger without thinking about death, I'm simply not there yet.

The truth is that my dad died (even typing that hurts), and we ate cheeseburgers on his deathbed, and I wore a black nondescript dress to his funeral. Sure, I can take away the things that remind me of the awful reality of his death, but taking them away will not bring him back. Similarly, I can eat Five Guys while wearing that dress every single day and it won't change a thing. If anything, I would have a heart-attack from too many cheeseburgers, and well, that's just sad.

And as for tidal waves and triggers, they are messy at times and don't always present themselves at convenient times, but I'm learning that they are a necessary part of the grieving process. So I think I'm going to embrace my triggers when they come -- not totally avoid them, nor immerse myself in them -- and let the waves wash over me. Dad always taught me to respect the ocean and not to fight the waves but to go with them. He also taught me that no matter how bad I got slammed by a wave, I should always get up and get back out there. So that's what I'm gonna do... one day at a time.

Living While Losing, Part I

2010-12-09T22:19:00.000-05:00

I think it's funny (funny? maybe ironic... yes, ironic) how my last post was about my brother dying, and how at the time, I had no idea what was about to happen.

Five days after I wrote that last blog post, it was a Friday, it was October 1, and I had just left work and was walking towards the train station. I called my Dad's cell phone to find out the results of a fairly routine MRI (that's the thing about managing a chronic illness - MRIs become routine). I'll never forget it, I was walking up 15th street, from Chestnut St. I was walking on the east side of the street, up towards where the sidewalk ends and you either have to cross the street on the right and head towards City Hall, or cross the street to the left and head towards Market St. Right there, right as the sidewalk was ending, my Dad told me, in a very casual and calm manner, that the scan revealed an "explosion of metastases" in his brain. A few minutes later, I was on the train, in the "quiet car", quietly sobbing.

Three days later, on Monday, October 4, I was in Pittsburgh for a work thing. What's most incredible about this is that I went to Pittsburgh for a work thing, even though my dad had "an explosion of metastases" in his brain, and all I really wanted to to was curl into the fetal position and hide under blankets and cry. But I didn't. I went to Pittsburgh to "train the trainers" about how to educate folks on Medicare fraud.

I'll never forget it, we were at Kane Regional Center in Pittsburgh, and I stepped out of the training to answer a call from my brother. I stepped out into a noisy hallway and all I heard was the panic and confusion in his voice; he said something about Mom crying. I hung up with him and instantly dialed my parents. There was a bad connection. In retrospect, I appreciate the irony of this bad connection, because in 1997, when Dad called me in Philadelphia to tell me that Steve had died, we had a bad connection. I now associate bad connections with bad news. Anyway... we had a bad connection, so I stepped outside the building into the misty, cold rain and that solved the connection problem. It did not, however, solve the cancer problem. Dad went on to explain that they had met with his oncologist and the prognosis was grim: he had four weeks to live.

In a way, everything after the utterance of those words was a blur. In another way, my senses were operating in a heightened and awakened state, albeit numbed, and I remember every detail of the ride home from Pittsburgh that afternoon. It's like I have a series of still shots - the way sunshine splashed against the dark gray clouds, the cheesy classic rock radio station, the cheeseburger I wolfed down at Roy Rogers at the rest stop in bumblef*ck, PA while a parade of Amish people passed me by; the raindrops that seemed to be pregnant with more rain; the awful parallel park job I did once at home, and how Jay and I held each other and sobbed together once I walked in the door.

48 days later, on November 21st, my Dad died. Someday I will write a book about those 48 days, because they were some of the most joyous, heartbreaking and all-around surreal days of my life, and they deserve their own story. I will write more about those days here, too, but I just know that at some point, this whole saga will be a book. It has to be...

Until then, cherish each moment with your loved ones, because as cliché as it sounds, the only guarantee we have is this this moment. We have no idea what will happen in between this blog post and the next...

The Cursor, The Dance, the Hole: The Day

2010-09-26T21:40:00.000-04:00

Whenever summer begins its slow yield to autumn, I know the day is near. It pops up on my mental radar screen towards the end of August, blinking and flashing in my mind like a cursor on a blank computer screen. I try to think of a million other things in an attempt to dim the thought; I try to fill the screen with letters and words to distract me from the starkness of the blinking black bar against a blank white screen. It sounds like a methodical process, like some choreographed dance that I do with and around the day, but it's not; it's just some subconscious process that I go through each year. And each year it works, until it doesn't. The day always finds its way and demands my attention, rightfully so.

This year is no different. I felt the day's approach back in late-August, and then was reminded of its nearness recently when I got my new calender book. I opened the book to September, and there it was, September 27th, somehow blinking, italicized, bolded, highlighted, underlined and seemingly jumping off the page, lodging itself in my throat. "It's just a day", I reminded myself, engaging in the annual dance. I put it out of mind, and carried on with the happenings of September 2010 rather than wallowing in the memories of September 1997. Lord knows, there's a LOT going on, plenty to keep my mind occupied, distracted.

But it's funny, our minds. Powerful devices. Sometimes when we block the front door entrance, our mind finds the back door and weasels its way in. Or maybe it's our heart, via our mind -- who knows. Either way, we can't hide from the things that our mind and/or heart deem significant; these things will always arrive on our personal doorstep, whether we invite them or not. This is something I know to be true.

And so it was today, this year, on the eve of September 27. But it started two or three weeks ago, when I went to the library and took out four books. On a conscious level, I read them in no particular order. First the book on midwifery and natural child-birth, then the mediocre book about April & Oliver, and then today, without realizing how close we are to the day, I read The Crying Tree. First of all, this was an excellent book; maybe the best book I've read all year. It was a book about a 15 year-old boy who was murdered in his home, and the family's long journey through grief. While reading it, I made no connection; I was deep in the dance and did not notice the subtle parallels between the characters in the book and my own family, nor the date. I was totally absorbed in their story.

The book portrayed grief so accurately, and I should have seen it coming sooner, but I didn't. As I read the last page, one lone tear fell down my cheek. That one tear was followed by many more as I closed the back cover and attempted to recount the story to Jay. My words came out scattered and I knew I was butchering the story. But it didn't matter; trying to explain a story like this, a story of grief, is like trying to explain what it feels like to fall in love. Words just fail, no matter how eloquent you try to be.

Still not connecting the story to the current calender context, I sat and savored the novel, the characters, the ending. I had successfully and subconsciously filled my screen with a rich story, thereby hiding the blinking cursor. I had danced around the cursor. I made it.

Yeah... not so much. About an hour after finishing the book, I had the urge to email my mom and recommend the book. I gave a brief synopsis of the plot, and then it hit me. "Oh my God", I thought. The book was all about a mother's unimaginable grief over losing her son, and here I was, in full avoidance mode, dancing the month away, sharing with my mom how much this book affected me, on the eve of the day. In one email, I had danced my way from full-avoidance into the cursor, my eyes blinking in sync with it. As I hit "send", one lone tear fell from my eye. This time, it was for our own story; the story of Steve, the mountain, the fall, the call, the shock, the devastation, the permanent hole in Scott, my parents, Katie, me, and the whole world.

I didn't plan on reading about a book about a family's long walk through the multiple stages of grief on the eve of the anniversary of my brother's sudden death. In fact, I planned on avoiding it -- the day -- as much as possible. But like I said earlier, even though I may not have chosen it and I didn't want to look directly at it, it demanded my attention, my respect. It found a way to make me honor it, indirectly, via the back door. And now that it's here, and I'm here, I have to acknowledge it.

My brother Steve hiked Mt. Washington 13 years ago. He fell. He died. My family has a hole in it. But we're okay. We're surviving. We've absorbed and are continually adapting to the hole; sometimes we dance around it, sometimes we stare at it, and sometimes we fall in it. But the most important word in that sentence is "we"; we are still "we".

So, on the eve of the day, I honor my brother, the memory of him and the unending love we all feel for him, and each other. I also feel deeply for the families, both fictitious and real, who have lost their son, their brother, or any other member who has died and left a hole.

And with that, I end this year's dance, curtsy, and take a bow. Until next year...

Rest in Peace, my sweet brother.

Paper, Light, Purpose: Life Changing Stuff

2010-09-21T22:33:00.000-04:00

I have obtained three things in the past week that have changed my life.

1. A planner / calender book. Ever since school ended, I stopped using a planner. In retrospect, this was a necessary move. I needed a break from the scheduled and organized life I was leading; I needed to have no plans and no organized pattern for a good chunk of time. It was wonderful to have a break, but I am a hardcore list-maker and such a visual person that I need a book of full of paper and calenders to help me feel normal. I found a great planner that has an ample paper supply for excessive list-making, along with monthly and weekly calender space. I feel like a new woman. Let's make plans, people!

2. A book-light. If you're a book-lover, this one's a no-brainer. I love to read, but could never read in bed because Jay goes to bed before me and I never want to turn the lights on and disturb his sleep. I always felt deprived of this small joy and slightly jealous of those who routinely read in bed. Finally, I wised up and purchased a book-light! It only took me a few years. This genius little device clips onto my book and casts a perfect LED spotlight on the pages without waking Jay. Perfection! Now I can wind down with a few chapters in bed, and it makes all the difference; I've gone from a midnight bedtime to a 10:30 bedtime. Bedtime has never felt so good!

3. A new job. Employment is a wonderful thing. Unemployment is a wonderful temporary thing, but I gotta say, getting a job feels really great. I had the summer of my dreams; I had little-to-no responsibility, got to travel, reconnected with friends, spent time with family, chilled on the beach, read lots of books, reconnected with sleep and generally just enjoyed myself in every way, every day. But with the change in seasons comes a change in what I need. In the summer, I needed nothingness. Now, I need purpose and activity and challenge. And so, this new job comes at the perfect time.

The best part? All three things -- the planner, book-light and job -- all go hand-in-hand. I need a planner to stay organized at my new job, the book-light makes me go to bed earlier so that I can wake up feeling refreshed and ready for work, and I can make lists of books I want to read in my planner, while I'm on the train on the way to work. Such simple ingredients, such a big impact! Who knew that a little paper, some light and a daily dose of purpose could be so... just what I needed.

Happy Autumnal Equinox!

Scenes from the Front Deck, vol. 1

2010-08-29T22:58:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting on the front deck of my new, albeit temporary home. We're on the second floor of a little beach bungalow that is 3rd from the beach, and has ocean views from every room. It is the quintessential beach house; it is old, small, has two decks and lots of windows (read: lots of sun and ocean breezes)

So I'm sitting here on the deck, enjoying the quiet solitude of nighttime. The stars are out in full force, and all I hear is the ocean -- rising, cresting, and falling onto the shore a few steps away. It is so peaceful here, and even though we're only an hour and a half away from home, I feel like we're on the moon, or somewhere equally exotic and peaceful. But really, we're in Jersey! Just goes to show that once you throw an ocean into the mix, it really doesn't matter where you are. Put an ocean in a dumpster and it becomes paradise. No offense, Jersey.

Anyway, being here is so restorative, and not just in a cliche vacation kind of way. I can't tell you how many summers I've spent here on this same beach; how many warm summer nights, just like tonight, I've spent listening to this ocean while pondering the beauty of this big, wide world. And although Jay and I day-trip here often, it's been years since I've been here at night and experienced the stars and the quiet and the all-encompassing headiness of the beach at night. So it feels quite restorative being here because, well, it just is, but also because so much of myself is here; so many memories and experiences and lessons learned unfolded right here, and the recognition of that fills my cup in a way that just feels really really good.

Anyway, I better sign off and get some shut-eye, because one of the best parts of the "beach at night" experience is watching the night give way to day. Regardless of how many sunrises I've seen, especially on this beach, it never gets old, and is always worth the early alarm. So with that, I'll say goodbye and wish you each a peaceful night and a beautiful day ahead. xo

8 for 8

2010-08-25T14:34:00.001-04:00

We just celebrated our eight year wedding anniversary, and to celebrate (for real), we're treating ourselves to a week at the beach on LBI. We figured eight years of marriage deserves eight days on the beach -- one day for each year together :) Unlike other types of vacations, beach trips are really dependent on the weather. Sure, a cool, rainy day or two at the beach is nice, but nobody goes there hoping for rain. So now that our trip is within the "10-day forecast" range, I've been checking like a hawk, and this is what I see:

Nothing but sweet sun icons as far as the eye can see! I couldn't fit all the days, but you get the point -- it's just more of the same... sun, warmth, no rain, blah blah blah...

So, Happy Anniversary to my sunshine, my best friend and my beloved, Jason Michael Stewart. Here's to our eight years of marriage, to our eight days of sun, and to eighty more years of love, laughter and life together!

Labor of Love

2010-08-20T12:14:00.001-04:00

Okay, I'll admit it -- I'm just a little obsessed with all things baby right now, so please allow me to indulge my obsession, at least for today.

I am currently so fascinated by birth, and by the enduring legacy of the billions of women who have carried and delivered babies since the beginning of time. Talk about a sisterhood! I feel overwhelmed by the collective strength of all of these women who -- whether in a hospital or at home, with meds or without -- have labored and birthed their babies.

I imagine going through labor is one of the most intense experiences a woman can have, and I love hearing about and seeing the various methods women use to help them cope with the pain. After seeing The Business of Being Born, I realized that not every woman wants the pain to be numbed; rather, some women see the pain as part of the whole experience and don't want to be numb to any part of the process. Having never gone through labor, I cannot comment on the pain nor what I would do in that situation, but for those women who have chosen to walk through the pain, I am in awe of the ways in which they cope.

I've been watching youtube clips of home and water births, and just cannot believe the strength of these women. It's like they tap into and draw from the Divine, and from the strength of the generations of women who came before them. One clip that I find so moving is of a woman singing through her contractions. It is so beautiful. She is clearly a spiritual woman and is deeply connected to the Divine in this clip, despite having two strong contractions. She almost makes me want to have contractions. Almost :)

Baby? Maybe!

2010-08-18T12:45:00.000-04:00

It's no big surprise that Jay and I want a baby. We've been trying to conceive on and off now for a couple of years without any luck (sorry if that's TMI, but it's our reality and I think it's important to talk about these things). We've tried a variety of methods, from charting cycles to using ovulation strips to meeting with fertility docs, but nothing has worked. During all of this, I was going to school full-time, so in all fairness, school was my priority and trying to conceive always landed on the back burner. But still, it's been incredibly frustrating, especially when everyone around us was either getting pregnant or having babies.

But now, I'm done with school and we're ready to really pursue this again, for real this time -- no distractions, no school stress, no excuses. Earlier this summer, I had lunch with friends who are the proud parents of a new baby boy. We got to talking, and they shared their lengthy and frustrating journey to parenthood, which, like ours thus far, had been full of disappointment and heartache. Our stories had so many parallels, including cycle irregularity, the books we'd read, the charting we'd done, the fertility doc procedures, etc. "Finally", I thought, "someone who really understands".

Obviously, the sheer existence of their precious baby boy means that somewhere along the way, our paths stopped being so similar. They conceived and we did not... yet. Whereas our path branched off and was more about finishing school, their path led them to the discovery of a little device called the Clearblue Easy Fertility Monitor. Never heard of it? I hadn't either, until they told me how they finally achieved pregnancy.

Friends of theirs, who also struggled to get pregnant, used it and swore by it, so my friends decided to give it a whirl and try it out. After two months, they were preggers. Incredible. Unlike ovulation test strips that so many of us are familiar with, this fertility monitor detects both LH and estrogen hormones, and therefore helps to target ovulation. For women like myself who have irregular cycles, ovulation is unpredictable, so having a device that does the charting for you and tells you when it's peak fertility time, well folks, that's a miracle. Well no, babies are miracles, but you get the point.

After my friends told me about the fertility monitor, I went online to read reviews and to see if others got the same result. I can't tell you how many couples, especially couples who struggle with this, have gotten pregnant with the monitor. Story upon story, women everywhere are getting pregnant with this thing. Just go onto Amazon's page and read through the reviews for yourself. It's pricey, and most couples use it as a last resort before thinking about In Vitro Fertilization or continuing to meet with fertility specialists, so the stories of couples trying to conceive for years prior to using it are so touching. So many stories of couples on the cusp of losing hope, and then BAM, baby-on-board. I was in tears just reading through the reviews on Amazon, mostly because I could relate to and empathize with these women, but also for the hope their stories provide.

So, I ordered it and it should arrive today. We are hopeful, yet realistic, as nothing is guaranteed. But, we are hopeful. We know that whatever is meant for us will unfold for us, and we are grateful.

Here's hoping for the expansion of StewMody, Inc. in 2011 :)

Open House, Open Mind

2010-08-16T13:22:00.000-04:00

It's official, I have a new hobby: going to open houses!

Now that I am no longer a voluntary slave to the pursuit of higher education, I have my Sundays back. And now that I'm about to get a great job and have steady income (manifesting), Jay and I are finally ready to kiss our renting days goodbye and purchase our first home. This is terribly exciting, because for years we never thought we would ever be able to buy a home, but with a lot of savings, some luck, and a carpenter husband who loves to fix things up, we are in good position to be homeowners. Plus, in this incredible buyers market, we'd be fools to not to look for a home.

Since I don't actually have a job yet, we're not actually looking with an agent. BUT, thanks to Sunday open houses, we're able to look around, check out areas, figure out our must-haves and deal-breakers, and just get a feel for the market. Unfortunately, our largest deal-breaker is the Philadelphia public school system, so we have already made the difficult decision to leave our wonderful neighborhood in Philly and head back to the 'burbs. I wish more than anything that we could stay here, but some things are just non-negotiable, and education is one of those things. So in addition to a home, we're on the hunt for a new area, preferably an area that is still close to the city, has a nice community vibe, and a solid school system.

Yesterday we went down into Delaware County and saw about seven homes in the Folsom / Aldan / Drexel Hill area. We went to this area primarily because it had a lot of open houses, not because we're looking exclusively in that area. We saw a great mix of homes; some were ugly and had zero character, and others had a lot of charm and potential. We learned that pictures can be quite deceiving, both in good and bad ways. For instance, look how cute this house is:

Now look at the view from the front door

Yuck!

But on the other side of the coin, this house looked small and uninspired from the outside:

...but the inside was full of character, big windows, unexpected nooks, and beautiful built-ins:

This house sat on a large lot, had a fantastic front porch, and had tons of potential:

...but it was in a crappy neighborhood, or at least a crappy section of a neighborhood.

So you never know what you're gonna get, which makes for fun outings to open houses!

In my perfect-world scenario, we would buy a fixer-upper home like this:

...and turn it into something like this:

And while I'm talkin' dream scenario, this house would be right here in Mt. Airy, would have a large backyard, and Philadelphia schools would offer a world-class education. A girl can dream, can't she? :) But seriously, I'm open to new possibilities; I'm open to the potential of ugly spaces and unfamiliar places. I am open. And grateful for open houses!

The Job Search: Stories and Signs from the Front Lines

2010-08-10T11:23:00.001-04:00

A little over a week ago, I was feeling really frustrated with the lack of feedback I was experiencing on the job search. Despite the effort I was putting into it, nobody was contacting me and it was starting to feel like nobody ever would. When you're home all day alone and have no real sense of purpose, it's easy to let these frustrations take over and dominate your thoughts. I just needed some feedback, from anyone. So I had a friend eyeball my resume and cover letters and asked her for feedback. She thought they were strong and reassured me that the process of searching for a job takes awhile, and that it's not unusual for organizations to take over a month before they start contacting candidates. So with that, I took a sigh of relief and got a little wind back in my sails. It's amazing what a little feedback can do.

Two days later, I received my first call from an employer. It was the boost I needed. And better still, it was regarding a job that was a perfect fit with my experience and I remember saying to myself, "if these people don't contact me, then there's something wrong with my resume". So it felt great to finally have an interview on the horizon, especially for a job that I felt beyond qualified for.

The interview was unusual in that I didn't have to say a word. I literally walked in and the woman explained that she had just happened to have lunch with two of my prior bosses who vouched for my abilities and encouraged her to hire me. She knew I was looking for full-time work and that the position was only 20 hours per week, but explained she was in the process of calling around within her network to see if anyone could hire me for an additional 20 hours so that I would have full-time work. "Wow", I thought, "this woman is doing my job search for me". I didn't have to sell myself at all. It was weird. She showed all of her cards way early and let me know that I was the only candidate they were interested in, and that the job was mine if I wanted it. I knew I didn't really want the position, but it just felt so good to be wanted that much by an organization, especially after feeling so frustrated. So we left it open-ended. I expressed that although I was seeking full-time work, I was open to exploring other options such as two part-time gigs, or just working 20 hours a week for six months, kind of as a way to prolong my real job search.

I left the interview feeling great, but confused. "What should I do?" On the one hand, I thought, "It's silly to turn down any opportunity in this economy", but on the other hand, I was afraid to settle for a position that I felt lukewarm about, and especially fearful that the minute I accepted the job, more appealing offers would start coming in. So I thought long and hard about it and weighed the pros, cons, and risks. I was tempted to take it, but something held me back.

I spent the weekend with my parents and talked it over with them. They felt how I felt. Big suprise -- they are my parents! Dad came down more in the "take it" camp and said things like, "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush", and Mom was more hesitant and posed questions like, "how will you feel if you take it and then another organization contacts you?" "Great", I thought, "well this was helpful!"

But later that night, Mom and I got to talking, and she did was she always does; she told me to pray about it, and to ask God for a sign. After a slight eye-roll, I remembered that she was right, and that the woman has a long history of asking for and receiving signs. Seriously. She's been doing this for years, and it never ceases to amaze me. There are too many stories to share in this post, but one of my favorites was when Mom & Dad were house-hunting in Georgia and not having any luck, Mom prayed that God would lead them to the right home, and asked God to show her either a statue of Mary or yellow roses when it was the right home. Well, imagine the look on mom's face when she stepped into the backyard of a house and found a garden that had a statue of Mary surrounded by yellow roses. That house became our home, and little did we know, the next door neighbor turned out to be the sister of my mom's dear friend from Connecticut. Another interesting piece of info that wouldn't become relevant for another two months was that this neighbor, in addition to being mom's friends' sister, had recently lost a child. They didn't know it then, but they were about to have a lot more in common than merely being neighbors and knowing the same woman in a distant state. This story still gives me chills...

So anyway, back to the job dilemma, Mom suggested that I ask God to send me a sign. She felt that if this part-time gig was really meant for me, then God would open that door a little further and let me know, and if that job was not truly meant for me, then either the door would shut or another door to another opportunity would open. I liked that perspective, and chose to pray my way out of this dilemma. Monday morning I said, "look God, I am so grateful for the opportunity before me, but I'm just not sure if it's the right fit for me right now. Please send me a sign, a clear indication of what to do." One hour later I got my sign; I received an email from a second employer (an employer who I REALLY want to work for) stating that I made the first cut and that I was invited to participate in the second phase of the hiring process. I couldn't believe it, but actually, I could. Mom's words echoed in my mind "...another opportunity would open...". This was it, and in that moment, I made up my mind.

A few hours later, the woman who I interviewed with last week called and asked if I had made up my mind and if I wanted the position. It felt so good to confidently say that I didn't think it was the best fit for me right now, and that I have another opportunity in the works that is full-time. She understood, but asked that I contact her if my plans change. Wow.

So now I'm working on phase two of the hiring process for a job that I can really get excited about; it's a writing assignment that is due by Friday. When I called Mom and let her know, she was thrilled but not surprised, and reminded me that even if this job doesn't pan out, maybe it's purpose was simply to close the door on a job that wasn't meant for me, and that it did. So we'll see what the future holds, but for now I feel excited, and grateful, and like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

The Train Game

2010-08-05T12:59:00.001-04:00

We all excel at certain things; some of us are excellent storytellers, or painters, or cooks. Me? I'm really good at missing my train. I cannot tell you how many times I have raced to the train station only to see the train pulling away from the platform. It is such an infuriating feeling, but hey, at least I'm consistent and quite good at it.

Last night was no different. My plan was to meet my friend Suzen for happy hour and then come home and spend the rest of my night with Jay. I caught the train into the city without a hitch; in fact, in a serendipitous twist of fate, my friend Jen just happened to be on the same train and we got to spend a solid 25 minutes of unexpected quality time together. Anyway, I got into town and met my friend for happy hour, which by the way, if you've never been to Palace at the Ben, you must go. It was delicious. We drank mango martinis and shared plates of Murg Malai Kabab and Panir Tikka. YUM.

Anyway, we wrapped up around 7:00, and left the restaurant at 7:04. I thought my train options were something like 7:15 and 7:40, so I knew I had to hustle if I wanted to make the 7:15, but I was only a few blocks away from the station and felt confident that I could make it. When it comes to train times, I tend to remember general times, but not exact times -- this is bad, and ultimately makes me really good at missing trains. I decided to call Jay as I hustled so that he could check the exact time of the train for me. I was still a solid two blocks away when he said, "The train leaves at 7:10, you have four minutes".

I started running, really really running. I was weaving in and out of people on the sidewalk. My pants were falling down so I had one hand clutching my pants trying to keep them in place, and used the other hand to propel me forward, the way runners do when they pump their arms in unison with their legs. I'm pretty sure I didn't look like a graceful and coordinated runner though. Nope, I'm pretty sure I looked more like the hot mess express, all crazy-eyed and sweaty, charging through the city streets trying desperately to keep my pants up.

I finally reached the station, tore open the door, flew down the first set of stairs, raced down the corridor, glanced at the clock, saw the numbers 7:09, said "shit", glanced down to the platform, saw my train sitting there, tore open the second door, flew down the second set of stairs, swung the door open, flung my body onto the platform, ...and saw my train pull away.

Mentally, I collapsed. Physically, I just stood there, lungs heaving out of my chest, sweat pouring down my face, eyes staring with bewilderment and defeat at the now-empty track. Despite the fact that the next train was scheduled to arrive in only 30 minutes, I felt like it was all over, I had lost the game, again. Train: 5, Jen: 0. I never seem to miss my train by a few minutes, which I think would be much easier to stomach; I seem to always miss my train by seconds, with one foot on the platform, watching the train snake out of the station. The two train taillights, like evil red eyes, lock with my eyes and say "ha ha ha, got you again sucker!" Ugh! So infuriating. I'll get you next time, train!

But, once I get over the initial disappointment of missing my train once again, I inevitably tend to enjoy my time at the station, where there are abundant people-watching opportunities and sometimes excellent street musicians offering musical distractions in exchange for a buck or two. Last night was no different, I sat on a bench and watched the comings and goings of all sorts of different people, and even watched someone miss their train. I empathized with his frustration, recognized the crazy look in his eye, and quietly raised my fist in solidarity as he took his respective place on a bench and resigned himself to the fact that he had just lost a round of the train game. Train: 1, Man 0.

The sweetness

2010-07-31T13:02:00.006-04:00

The sweetness of summer.

What is it? We all talk about “it” – that “thing” that makes summer the sweetest season, but what is it really? Can you put your finger on it? As kids it was the break from our main responsibility: school. It was a time to catch fireflies and stay up late and eat ice cream everyday and have sleepovers. It was a time to abandon all cares and footwear and for at least two solid months. Now, as adults, we can’t really “check out” the way we did as kids; we have to work (well, some of you) and therefore wear shoes everyday, and I doubt most of us eat ice cream on the daily, and staying up late is no longer a special treat. But despite these concessions we make on our path to adulthood, summer remains the sweetest season, and today, on the eve of August, I’m trying to pin-point what does it for me; what makes summer feel so damn good and special?

Right off the bat I’m going to say the beach, Long Beach Island (LBI) specifically. I’ve been spending summers at this place for as long as I can remember, and for me, summer is synonymous with trips to LBI. Walking up to the beach entrance through the dunes and seeing the ocean for the first time (that day, week, season, whatever) remains of my favorite summer sights to behold. It just never gets old. And then there’s the relaxation of having your toes in the sand, and the playfulness of swimming in the ocean, and the late-afternoon peacefulness that remains after the lifeguards and families have gone home. So yeah, days spent on LBI are definitely one of the “things” that makes summer so damn sweet.

I think summer heat can be really challenging, especially the heat we’ve experienced this summer (hottest July ever). But, I’ve gotta say, warm summer nights somehow make it worth it. Everything just feels better on a warm summer night; dinner tastes better when cooked or enjoyed outside, driving with windows down and music up hits the spot like nothing else on a warm summer night, and hanging out with friends on a porch or in a yard, surrounded by the rhythmic sounds of summer cicadas, is total bliss.

So I think for me, these two “things” are what makes summer the sweetest season. Also, this summer is particularly sweet because I’m in between student mode and job mode, and therefore summer still feels like a break from my main responsibility because I don’t have school OR a job. This also means that I’ve been barefoot most of the summer and staying up ridiculously late, because I can ;) Soon enough September will be here and the slow dissolve from summer to autumn will begin, and I’ll get a job and put my shoes back on, but until then, I’m going to savor every last drop of summer, sand, sunflowers and cicadas, because ultimately what makes it all so sweet is that it’s time limited and temporary. Just like an ice cream cone.

Mojo Risin'

2010-07-21T12:09:00.000-04:00

Almost two years ago, my hard drive crashed on my MacBook and I lost a tremendous amount of my beloved music collection. It sounds silly, but this was a really big deal to me. Some music was recovered, but a lot was not, and of the things recovered, they were all jumbled up and inconsistent. I lost whole albums but gained multiple copies of one song, stuff like that.

I guess most people would slowly but surely rebuild their collections, but for me, it was all too much. You see, this crash happened right in the middle of fall semester of my senior year, and during the same week of my dad's cancer diagnosis, so it was just too much, you know? I did not have the mental, physical or emotional energy to go through my iTunes and delete the multiples and try to find what exactly was missing; it was an exhausting thought, plus, I was angry at technology and no longer trusted my computer to be the gatekeeper of my music collection. I guess I thought I would deal with the mess over semester break, but I never did; instead, I lost my desire to have a music collection (which is a ridiculous thought!).

It was just too much. Years of collecting music, and then poof! it's all gone, or mostly gone, or so jumbled that you don't even know what's missing until you think, "ahh, I'm jonesin to hear 'Dub Side of the Moon'" only to realize that you only have five of the songs. It got to a point where I stopped opening iTunes because I was always disappointed with the mess that had become my music collection. So I stopped. I chose instead to listen to NPR, podcasts, and Pandora. Once a music connoisseur, I slowly became a passive listener of whatever was on. "What do you want to listen to, Jen?" "I don't care". This was not me. I do care what I listen to; I have opinions and usually crave certain styles or artists during certain seasons or for whatever reasons. But I lost it; I lost my music mojo.

In addition, I also lost my desire to seek out new music. I used to actively hunt for interesting artists and beautiful sounds that sparked a little something in me. But ever since the great crash of '08, I slowly stopped the search. Again, I became passive. Again, not like me at all. If someone put a disc in my lap I'd listen to it, but I wasn't out there investing my energies in discovering the gems that are out there. And that's a damn shame, because the world is full of so much beautiful, soul-stirring, foot-tapping, booty-shaking, hand-clappin' music.

So that's the bad part. The good part is that I'm getting my mojo back :) Maybe it's because my world has become less defined by stress and more defined by my interests, or maybe I'm just tired of being an unauthentic and uninspired passive consumer of music. I am ready to delve back into the joy of finding and listening to music that makes me feel happy. I am ready to open iTunes again and go through the sad heap of tunes and clear the clutter and organize the goods. It's been a long time coming, but I am ready to LOVE music again.

I'm curious as to what musical treats you've been enjoying lately. Have you stumbled upon any artists or sounds that made you say, "yeah, that's the stuff!"? In the spirit of sharing sounds, give a listen to this little gem I discovered on NPR this morning. It's Iranian funk music, and it blends the best of Middle-eastern sounds with the funk. What do you get when you mix the sitar with Sly? THIS >> Iran: An Unlikely Treasure Chest of Funk

On the Edge of the Ocean

2010-07-01T00:56:00.005-04:00

The past few days have been a series of ups and downs, an emotional roller-coaster of sorts. Dad endured five days of CyberKnife radiation to kill the latest brain tumor that is dangerously close to his brain stem. He has to take a steroid prior to, during, and after the radiation to help shrink the swelling so the tumor doesn't touch the stem, but as with all drugs and "treatments", there are negative side-effects.

I had talked to dad on Monday night after round one and he was fine; he was joking like his normal self and was happy to start this process. Twenty-four hours later my mom called, in tears, stating that dad had fallen in the kitchen and cannot walk. What?? She went on to state that she had been very sick the past few days and that she was a mess, too. Dad was on the couch but could not move or hoist himself up, and my mom was too weak to pull him up and get him to bed. The visual of both of my parents unable to physically maneuver and emotionally overwhelmed was too much for me to bear. Mom put a call into the doctor, but it was after-hours and they wouldn't get a call back until the morning. Mom was scared and obviously concerned about how she was going to get Dad to the CyberKnife center in the morning, which is over an hour away from their home. I told Mom I would meet them there and help get Dad out of the car, etc. I hung up the phone and was numb. Dad fell? Dad can't walk? He was fine yesterday. I spent that night full of fear and anxiety. I couldn't sleep, and went to my default place: google. This is not good for me.

Finally, after hours of insomnia and worry, the phone rang at 7:45. It was mom. She sounded like a different woman, as if everything was fine. Apparently the doctor called and stated that dad's muscle loss is a normal side-effect of the steroid, especially in the shoulders and thighs. Mom also said that dad can walk, but he cannot get up from a seated position, so as long as someone can pull him up, then he can walk ok. She told me not to come down and that they were fine. She also mentioned that she was feeling much better and had stopped vomiting. I realize now that a lot of the fear and panic in the call the night before was a reflection of her own emotional and physical state. Not to say that her reaction to dad's fall and inability to move was inaccurate or over the top by any means, but she did not have the emotional or physical capacity to deal with this latest development. I hung up from that call feeling relieved, but also mindful that I need to worry about my mom's well-being just as much as my dad's. Sometimes it's easy to overlook the fact that my mom is carrying the weight of all this stress and uncertainty; she is on the front-lines of this epic battle and endures her own invisible battle scars.

So that was Wednesday morning, and the rest of the week was uneventful, and good. I've forgotten how much I love to read, and get lost in someone else's story for awhile. It's a nice escape. As a Pisces, I'm all about escaping, so reading is a healthy way for me to experience escape without actually doing it. So I spent the days reading and doing some job search stuff and re-connecting with a neighbor who I haven't seen in a while and cooking and generally enjoying the moments and exhaling from the heaviness of Tuesday night.

Jay and I decided to make it a beach weekend, so we set the alarm for early on Saturday morning so we could hit the road early and avoid as much traffic as possible. When I woke up I checked my phone. There was a text message from my cousin in Colorado that said "please call me when you get up". Hmm, this was unusual. I am no stranger to bad news via phone call, in fact, it's the only way I've ever received bad news, so I dial and instinctively brace myself. I remember years ago when my friend Sara called me to tell me that she found her brother Jonathan, lifeless, hanging from a tree in the woods, how I literally had to brace my body in a door frame. This felt similar. I sat down on a chair in a hunched position, kind of like how we hunched over during tornado drills in elementary school, in Indiana.

Mary, my cousin, answered the phone and I immediately said, "what's going on?" I knew the silence on the other end was not because she didn't hear me or because she was ignoring me; it was because she had no breath, no words, just tears. And then the words started coming, bit by bit. "Yesterday morning"... tears... "we were all leaving for the family reunion"... sobbing... "Norman and Ryan were supposed to meet us at the airport" ... tears... "But when Norman went to wake Ryan up..." crying... "he was dead" ... sobbing...

Ryan was Mary's nephew. He was my cousin Nancy's son, and Mary helped raised him. He was 18 years old, and died in his sleep from cardiac arrest, of all things. Ryan had just graduated from high school and was off to college in August. But now he is dead, and our extended family begins the heart-wrenching and never-ending journey of grief. My heart aches for them. This shocking news brings so much to the surface, like how my own family stumbled through life after the shocking death of Steve. My heart aches for Nancy and Norman, who, like my parents, have now lost a child. How do you ever recover from that? My heart also aches for Ryan's siblings, Cara and Marc, who have suddenly lost their brother. I want to comfort them, but I know that in the face of such tragedy, there is no comfort, anywhere. I remember that about grief: it is a grinding and non-stop feeling of tremendous emotional and physical discomfort, and nothing in the universe can relieve it. And my heart aches for all who are touched by this tremendous loss, for Mary and all of the extended family, for Ryan's friends, and for the community where they live in Colorado.

So I took my heavy heart to the beach and let ocean do it's thing. There is something so healing about being on the beach and staring out into the vastness of the ocean. With so much uncertainty and suffering in the world, it feels comforting to stand in the ocean and feel its natural rhythm; the way it rolls in and flows out, like breath. Storms and chaos happen, but eventually, the ocean finds it's meditative groove and restores its rhythmic and reliable ebb and flow. We are like this, too, and seeing the ocean is a welcome reminder of this.

As I stood in the ocean, I looked south and thought of my parents, who live near the ocean in Delaware. I wondered if they were also on the beach, exhaling their stress and feeling restored by the water. I also thought of my extended family, who, despite Ryan's death, are gathered on the beach in the Outer Banks of North Carolina for what was intended to be a family reunion. Ryan loved the beach, and was so looking forward to spending time with his cousins, so Nancy, Ryan's mom, decided the best way to honor his young life was to do it at the beach with the family gathered around. I closed my eyes and imagined all of us, Jay & I, my mom & dad, and the Wolfe/Paetow/Carr family, all on the edge of the Atlantic, all looking to the ocean for peace and healing. Just as I share their heart-ache, I shared their peace, too. It's like we were all there, all connected, all together, because of the ocean. And I'm sure Ryan was there, too, his spirit now eternally part of the waves that wash over us and the winds that dry our tears.

And so it was. Healing and peace on the edge of the ocean. And so it will always be.

Rest in Peace, Ryan.

Coming Full Circle

2010-06-24T08:22:00.005-04:00

Over the past few years, there have been two or three occasions where I've been required to write one of those broad essays detailing why I was pursuing a social work degree, what inspired me, etc. You know, like a college application essay. My essays always focused on a service trip I went on in high school, with my youth group, called Appalachia Service Project (ASP). While I didn't recognize it at the time, these trips to Kentucky and West Virginia really changed me in a profound way, and both directly and indirectly lead me to where I am today. Here's a little blurb from one of those essays:

..."Looking back, I suppose I can pinpoint the exact event in my life that sensitized me to social injustice and inequality, and made me realize that I wanted to help others. It was a week-long volunteer trip called Appalachia Service Project that I participated in during the summer of my freshman year in high school. The mission of the service trip was to spend a week repairing families’ homes in the most rural and impoverished parts of the Appalachian Mountains. In preparation for this trip, I spent weekends volunteering for Habitat for Humanity learning the skills of home building and repair, and washing cars to raise the needed funds. Once I finally arrived in Kentucky that summer, I could not believe that I was still in the United States; the poverty and dire housing conditions were way beyond any training or expectations I had. I could not believe that 11 people lived in a two-room house with no running water and no electricity! How could people, right here in the United States, be living in such unbelievable squalor?

At the end of the service week, I felt empowered by my contribution to one family’s quality of life; however, I knew it would never be enough. I knew that their problem was not merely a leaky roof, but rather a representation of the deep inequalities that persist in our nation. I didn’t know it then, but a fire was kindled in my heart that week in the mountains of Kentucky that is still burning strong today.

I returned home from that experience with a new awareness of my own privilege and it forever changed how I saw the world. I could not understand how I lived in a house where the foyer was larger than the actual homes of most people I met in Kentucky. It did not take long before I realized that I didn’t have to travel to Kentucky to experience vast inequality; it became clear to me that it was occurring in varying levels all around me" .... yada yada yada.

I say all of this because yesterday I went to Temple's Career Center to have my resume reviewed and when I took out a copy of my old resume from years ago, the woman helping me pointed to where it said "Appalachia Service Project" in the volunteer experience section and said, "I used to work for them!" We got to talking about the specifics of her work with the organization and my experiences as a volunteer. She was based in Kentucky, my first trip was to Kentucky. She asked me what group I went with, and I couldn't remember the name of the church, so I just said, "It was a group from Ridgefield, CT". Her eyes got big and she said, "I had a group of people from Ridgefield, CT working under me, um let's see, yeah, Mark P., Kelly G., Laura F., and Paul F., yeah", and I'm like, "are you kidding me? Not only do I know those people, but those people are all significant in some way. Mark P.? I had a major crush on him that started on ASP. Kelly G.? She was a good friend in high school, and again, we shared some good ASP times together. The F. family? They were my neighbors for years, we lived on Nursery Rd. in Ridgefield, CT."

It was an amazing coincidence, and it was the first time that these two distinctly different worlds connected. Well, they've always connected for me personally, but for them to connect via other people, all these years later, was really amazing. Especially because my visit yesterday was essentially my last visit to Temple, and will serve as the springboard for my post-grad career. So, since my experience with ASP was ultimately a guiding force in my decision to pursue the social work path at Temple, it felt serendipitous that my last experience at Temple should happen to involve a little ASP, back where it all began. Like a perfect circle.

First Hour

2010-06-19T10:28:00.004-04:00

It's a beautiful Saturday morning. I wake up and greet the day, and Jay. We had a coffee-pot malfunction / explosion, so I decide to walk up to the Avenue to get coffee from Infusion. The day is still young, but I can already feel the heat and humidity rising; I can almost feel the heat in the sidewalk through my black flip-flops. I look down at the pavement and admire it for a moment. I think to myself how resilient it is; how not too long ago it was under 3 feet of snow, and now it is absorbing summer city heat. I feel grateful for the sidewalk and wish it well. "Hang in there today, it's gonna be a hot one".

I get to Infusion and order an ice coffee. The woman behind me asks, "what size?" I hate that question. It's a perfectly legitimate question, but sometimes it's hard enough to decide what to order let alone what size. When did sizes start, anyway? What ever happened to a standard cup of coffee? I digress. Anyway, indecision fills my mind, "do I go for a small? do I really need a large?" And like always, I go for the middle and order the medium. I grab a copy of the local paper, the Mt. Airy Independent, and decide to sit out on the Avenue and absorb the scene. I sit on the glider bench outside of Scoop and the Video Library and sip and glide and read and watch the morning unfold on Germantown Ave. I am always walking to and fro on this stretch of road, but rarely do I just sit and sip and glide and watch, so I feel happy, peaceful, grateful.

I head home, admiring the gardens and adorable tiny parcels of land that some people have as yards. I run into a neighbor, we chat briefly and wish each other a great weekend. I walk up the steps to my house and sit on the front porch and soak in our own little front yard oasis. Despite the cars and buses, all I hear are the birds chirping and the wind chime blowing in the breeze. I look at the garden and think of the snowman that stood there a few months ago, and how the garden was buried under heavy ice and snow. Like the pavement, I feel impressed by the resiliency of nature. It always regenerates; it always comes back.

I smile and think of myself, because like the garden, I am resilient. Not too long ago, I was buried under a different type of heaviness, and at times felt frozen and like my Spring would never come. Now I feel liberated and free and happy, and me. I feel grateful for the coffee and the sun and the breeze and the glider swing and the paper and the pavement and the snowman and all things that have lead to this moment.

And this was the first hour of my day. Not bad for a first hour. And something tells me it's just gonna get better from here...

The Calm After the Storm

2010-06-15T09:30:00.006-04:00

A little over a month ago I finished school. Woo!

One month ago today I jumped out of a plane. Double Woo!

Three weeks ago we took an amazing trip through Colorado and Utah. Wowie Zowie!

One week ago I was frantically wrapping up my work assignments for my job that is ending. Yip Yip!

Four days ago my siblings and I conducted an oral history project with my parents. Zing Zong Zap!

And today... stillness. Nothingness. Total calm.

Now that school and all of the post-grad plans are complete and are in the rear-view mirror, it's officially time to dig in and start the job search.

Gulp.

I'm still working on my resume and have an appointment at Temple's career center next week to have it reviewed, so until then I'm engaging in what I call "job search lite", ya know, quietly perusing the job listings and making mental notes, but not taking any action. It's kinda like when you have a job but you still look at what else is available, just in case. And after spending all morning looking through the listings, I can confidently say this: 97% of the listings underwhelm me.

But that's okay, because I know exactly where I want to work, so the vast majority of jobs can keep underwhelming me because I know where I belong. Now I just have to convince the organization that I belong with them ;) That should be interesting.

So until my resume is up to snuff and I land the job I want, I'm going to enjoy "job search lite" and the calm that goes with it. No papers due, no group meetings, no deadlines, no 40 page articles to read, no presentations to prep, no internship, no nothing. I have two plans this week: one involves happy hour, and the other involves a walk in the woods and a picnic. Ahh, now this is how I envisioned life after the storm... and damn does it feel good.

Social Worker Seeks Social Work

2010-06-08T09:13:00.007-04:00

I am officially starting the job search next week.

Many of my fellow-graduates began their job search months ago, and some are even working. But I -- kind of by default and kind of by design -- am just in the very beginning stages of the process. One reason that I chose not to look yet was time, as I had none, and quite possibly less than none if there is such a thing. Plus I had a job at Temple and was committed to that position through the first week of June (today or tomorrow). Finally, I knew that I wanted to jump out of planes and travel right after graduation, and basically exhale and decompress for a minute before starting, and I knew a job would throw a wrench in those plans.

So here I am, wrapping up my work as a research assistant at Temple and ready to find stimulating, challenging work in the broad field of social work. People often ask, "so what kinds of jobs are you looking for?" They also ask, in a roundabout kind of way, what "social work" is and what social workers do. I love answering this question because I believe the profession has a serious PR problem that stems from the fact that we don't define ourselves and our work enough; we simply react to others' definitions of what social workers do. "No, we're not all child welfare workers!", or, "Case management is not social work!"

So let me break it down for you and try to explain what social workers do in their many roles. In a nutshell social work is all about increasing the well-being of all people, especially the vulnerable and oppressed, by recognizing and addressing the environmental forces that create and perpetuate social injustice and therefore social problems. No person exists in a vacuum. Every person exists within the context of a family, a community, a state, a nation, a culture, policies, etc. And so social workers work at all these different levels to untangle and dismantle the forces and systems that ultimately work against people, and to create systems that promote social justice and equality. Of course there are more immediate needs, too, and there are social workers who help people obtain the resources they need now while also advocating for broader social change. For instance, a homeless individual needs shelter and food and resources now, but what good are all those things if we're not also trying to understand the root causes of homelessness and advocate for policies and resources that will prevent future homelessness.

Social workers work with almost any population in almost any setting. Some social workers are clinicians who do therapy and run groups; some are Executive Directors of non-profits; some are community organizers; some are researchers and academicians; some develop and evaluate programs; some are political organizers; some monitor and create policy; some do crisis intervention work; some do hospice work; some write grants and raise funds; some facilitate adoptions and find foster families; some are educators and advocates, and so much more. Despite the wide range of work and the many roles played by social workers, we all work under the same mandate to work to expand access and opportunity, and to promote social justice.

My particular concentration in grad school was community organizing and social policy, so the kind of work I'm looking for is not the clinical stuff but the community-based advocacy and policy stuff. I'm less concerned with the population or issue I'll be working with than I am the actual work I'll be doing. All I know is that I have a brain, and I would like to use it everyday at my job. I do not want to be a pencil pusher or simply another worker bee in the over-bloated social services industrial complex; I want to use my brain to come up with ideas that work for communities. I see Philadelphia as one big pile of steaming potential, and I want it to be my job to work with people to figure out how to realize that potential.

So, that's my starting point. That's a rough sketch of what I'm looking for. Like I said it could be around any issue or with any population, as long as I get to use my mind and do work that is meaningful. I hope that's not too much to ask. Now, the $100k starting salary (LOL!), that I may have to budge on ;)

Wish me luck, friends. I'll keep you posted!

History

2010-06-06T20:50:00.002-04:00

Next weekend, my brother, sister and I are all meeting at our parents house in Lewes, Delaware to do something we've never done before; we are going to capture our parents' oral history, on video. This would have been a must-do on my list regardless of current happenings, mostly because of my love of StoryCorps and stories in general, but given the current situation brewing in our family, we feel the need to go ahead and get their experiences and reflections on the record.

I guess that's what's meant by what my mom calls "the gift of cancer". This is in no way happening because we feel like dad is dying; rather, this is our reaction to the "gift of cancer". The gift is merely a wake-up call; a voice over a mega-phone saying: WAKE UP - LIFE IS PRECIOUS - TAKE ADVANTAGE OF EACH AND EVERY MOMENT. And so we are.

I am a curious being by nature. Many of my friends will confirm this; I ask questions like nobody business. And my mom loves this about me. She frequently says, "I wish I would have asked my mom that question" -- her mom passed away years ago. That only fuels my curiosity about my own parents, knowing that they still have unanswered questions. And so as I prepare for the oral history next weekend, I find myself curious about you. What questions would you ask your own parents? I know that some of you have lost parents and some of you still have two parents, if not more. What questions would you ask?

Here is a sampling of the questions I have:

- What was it like to grow up in the 50's and 60's?
- What events and experiences shaped you?
- How did you meet?
- What was it like to get married?
- What was it like to have your first child?
- What was it like to lose your first child?
- So many questions about historical events
- What was it like to have two trouble-maker boys and then two angelic daughters ;)
- How have they sustained a healthy marriage for 44 years?
- What was it like to lose their own parents?
- What are their words of wisdom?

And so much more. What would you ask your own parents? Or, as parents, what memories or things about you would you want you children and grandchildren to know?

Thanks for any input you have - I'll let you know how it goes.

Third Time's a Charm

2010-06-05T23:53:00.004-04:00

Welcome to my new, same blog. I changed the colors and overall feel of the page to mirror the inner calm and peace I now feel in my new, post-grad shoes. I used to blog quite regularly on my MySpace page, which now feels so icky and stale. Then I moved over here to blogger but was not consistent with my posts (courtesy of grad school). Bad blogger! - I know. So now I have changed it up a third time and really hope to fall back into a regular groove because honestly, writing is my passion. It is everything to me. And blogging is such a good way not only to write about things that matter (or don't) but also to connect with people and discover the hidden linkages we all share.

So again, I invite you to stay awhile and walk with me. I spent the past six years in school and just graduated from grad school and kinda feel like a baby deer attempting to take her first steps. Ya know, kinda cute but kinda awkward; kinda full of ambition but kinda ready to fall on my ass. I'm just in a total state of transition, from student to ???, and I assure you the road ahead is anything but certain, but last time I checked, certainty was pretty boring. So I am committed to sharing this uncertain, awkward yet ambition-fueled journey with you, because I know I am not alone; I know that we are all fumbling in the dark at times, totally unsure of ourselves and the decisions we make. But I also know that it's way more fun when shared with friends, family, strangers and stalkers.

Cheers to you, cheers to me - third time's a charm.

temporarily CLOSED for renovations

2010-06-03T11:14:00.002-04:00

Hi. Long time, huh? Sorry about that, been a wee bit busy.

Now that things are settling down in my life and I'm settling in a more natural rhythm, my desire to write is surfacing, and I am beyond happy to satiate that desire. Before I do, I feel like I need a new space, or at least a new look to usher in this new era. I am in a transitional phase and feel like I need a blog to honor that; a space where I can share the interesting things I am re-learning about myself, the ups and downs of the job search, and all of the usual musings on life in my shoes.

The blog address will stay the same, I think, I just need to re-imagine it and make some general tweaks. So stay tuned, my dear reader or two :)

With gratitude ~ J

heaviness

2010-01-12T20:59:00.003-05:00

My heart is feeling so heavy tonight. As you guys all know, my dad is battling cancer. Battling cancer. That statement seems so canned, which I guess is representative of these times; we hear it so often. Who isn't battling cancer?

Anyway, some days I feel good and positive, and other days I feel like fear has it's ugly yet powerful hand gripped around my throat and is killing me. That is today. And that is because yesterday, I got news that my dad was instructed to go in for an MRI because the docs don't know what's currently wrong with him.

It's a long story, and not one I feel like re-hashing right now, but basically he is and has been suffering tremendous pain from side-effects of the different "treatments" and surgeries that have attempted to kill the cancer. Currently, he has intense pain in his entire head and neck, and the docs can't seem to understand why, thus the MRI. Now, it could be anything, but because the man has stage 4 cancer, the first thing that comes to my mind is that the cancer has spread, yet again, and that it's in his brain. PANIC MODE!

It's these moments in between diagnoses and real news that are the worst, because they yield the most "what if's?" and anxiety. "What if it's this? What if it's that? What if it's just a sinus infection?" But regardless of the final outcome, it makes me think of the worst case scenario, and I hate that about cancer: it makes you go there. And to make matters worse, my dad's birthday is on Thursday so today I had to go card shopping :( I have a tendency to cry in the card aisle on normal days, but today the waterworks were definitely in full effect.

Anyway, I'm just feeling all sorts of spun. I know that for me, when I'm feeling this type of panic and anxiety, I know that the antidote is gratitude. Gratitude always brings me back to center and makes me re-focus on the positive. It's the main spiritual principle that I live by and I know that it works, so with that, allow me to give thanks in order to relive my anxiety:

20 things I am grateful for today, January 12, 2010:

1. winter sunshine - cold reinvigorating air in my lungs and golden warmth on my face.
2. cooking dinner with my love
3. old friends - nothing quite like 'em!
4. being able to sleep in until 8:00 today - a rare occurrence
5. My health
6. New supplies from Staples - does anyone else love "sheet protectors" like I do?
7. Pandora music - best invention ever! I'm all about the Eddie Vedder station
8. Purpose
9. The ability to temporarily work from home
10. The kind and helpful staff at Kitchen Kapers
11. The power of snuggles (don't laugh)
12. The power of Facebook to connect people
13. The power of peanut butter on toast ;)
14. my fresh dry-cleaned winter coat
15. you
16. Ken Burns' series on the National Parks - it's amazing.
17. my cocktail - it's looking at me & begging me to put it on this list
18. feeling well rested, relatively speaking
19. the fact that I have one more semester :D
20. our couch, which if you haven't been devoured by, well, it's your loss ;)

Ok, so that's my list, and ya know what? i feel better. I feel good, in fact. Works like a charm every time!

If you choose to leave a comment on this post, I invite you to leave your list of what you're grateful for right this moment. It doesn't have to be 20 things; maybe three or five, or how ever many you wish to share, but please do share. And as always, thank you for listening. This wouldn't be anything without you guys...

A Christmas Story, by way of a Question

2010-01-03T23:34:00.003-05:00

This post was originally just gonna be a question: "What colors do you see when you visit this blog", but I've gotta give the back story...

Imagine it: it's the night of December 23rd and Jay & I had determined that we would exchange gifts this night because we were scheduled to leave on the 24th for our holiday travel / family extravaganza. So we separate and go into different rooms to wrap gifts. In my head I'm thinking that he'll need a solid hour to wrap all of my gifts, both because he got me many, many gifts, and because well, he's a man and men are... let's just say that in my experience, men are not blessed with talent in the art of gift wrap.

About 15 minutes in to the wrap session, there was a rap at the door of the room I was in. It was Jay, joyfully letting me know that he was done and asking whether or not I was done. I quickly scanned the 3 out of 12 gifts that I had wrapped and politely let him know that 1) I was not done, and 2) I was very impressed with his ability to wrap ALL of my many gifts in such a short amount of time. I also secretly panicked, as we had not set an official spending limit and had simply agreed to spoil each other to a point that we felt comfortable with. "Oh crap!", I thought, what if I had gone way overboard with all of these presents and what if he had only bought me a pair of cute socks and a tube of Burts Bees. Nah. Never. Not Jay. Not in a million years. And so I dismissed the thought and wrapped on, for at least another 20-30 minutes.

When I finally emerged from the bedroom, I had to struggle to carry and see my way through the pile of neatly wrapped packages in my arms. By the time I got out to the living room where the Christmas tree was, I almost dropped them. Not because they were heavy or falling out of my arms, but because I saw what was under the tree waiting for me: 4 gifts. "Just four?", I thought, as I eyeballed the twelve that I had for him. Huh.

We shared a hug and both expressed utter excitement about giving each other gifts, and Jay says, "well you definitely win in the quantity department..." And since the joy is truly more on the giving side, I feel really excited and kinda feel bad that he only has four gifts to give me. poor guy.

So he starts opening my gifts to him: a really nice chef's knife, a Ken Burns documentary series, shirts, music, etc. He hands me one gift but states that 3 out of the 4 are all connected so I would need to open it, not look at it and just put it down and cover it up. "Huh,.. shady", I think. I open #1, put it down and cover it with wrap. I open #2, put it down and cover it with wrap. Meanwhile I give him more gifts to open: DVD's, another shirt, more kitchen stuff, etc. Finally it's time for gift #3, the one that is connected to and will explain #1 and #2; I open it and see that it's an electronic gadget. After a couple oohs and ahhs, and a "what is it?", I realize it's a GPS system.

{Before I proceed, I should tell you that I love maps and that I have a great sense of direction. In fact, I love to get lost for the sheer enjoyment of finding my way out. So a GPS system is the LAST thing I would want. It's like a chef getting a years subscription to "Microwave Meals". I also think that GPS systems are making people dumb, but that's a whole other blog}

I had to be honest, but I needed to buy myself another 20 seconds, so I was like, "ohhh, what is it? Ohhh, okay, well, um, I really, uh-- yeah I really don't want this. Sorry love, but it's not really me, ya know?" And Jay was like, "well I know how much you love maps (SO SWEET) and I thought it might be useful on our road-trip (again, very sweet and thoughtful), and I thought you might really like it" And I was like, "yeah, I like maps, when they're on the wall or in an atlas. Sorry presh" :( So there it was: 3 out of 4 of my gifts were a FAIL. 75% down the tubes. It was classic, and as disappointed as he was, he was a good sport and we were able to laugh pretty hard about it, which was a gift unto itself.

So it all came down to the fourth and final gift, which totally looked like a shirt box or maybe a board game. I picked it up and thought "yes, definitely a board game", which was cool cause games were on my list. I peeled back the upper left corner and just saw white. I ripped some towards the center and saw some pinkish / purple design. And then I realized: it was a new laptop :) And, it was a really really nice laptop; a MacBook Pro, which is an upgrade from my current one, which has recently started to become sluggish, burnt, and has possible and probable internal melt issues. EPIC SUCCESS! It was classic, 75% epic failure followed my a major face-saving gift. I'm so glad it wasn't a shirt! That would've been a total FAIL.

So anyway............... that's the back-story of the original question of this blog. On my old computer the colors are slightly different and I'm not digging the way my blog colors appear on this new laptop. And that has me wondering, what do you guys see? The color on the sides is supposed to be more pinkish, like Magenta, but on my new screen it almost looks more reddish, like Burgundy. And the text box is supposed to be brown or khaki but it looks greenish now. Either I need to tweak my screen colors or I need to tweak my blog; either way, I definitely need your help!

Thanks, and Merry Christmas! I hope your gifts, both received and given, brought as much laughter and joy as ours did :)

2010 - Year of Paper & Pen

2010-01-01T20:33:00.004-05:00

Oh my God it's 2010. Really, stop and think about that. Say it out loud. Two thousand and ten. Twenty-ten. From a 2009 perspective, or even a 2002 perspective, I suppose it sounds and feels normal, but think back to the nineties, or the eighties, or whatever generation you came up in and think how futuristic 2010 sounds. I can remember riding the bus when I was in 4th or 5th grade (in 1989) and thinking about when my little sister would graduate from high school. I did the math in my head and determined that she would graduate in a new millennium; a millennium marked by spaceships and aliens, flying cars and floating cities. That's right, she was to graduate in the space-age of 2004. Ooooh. Imagine my surprise, years later, as I sat in attendance at her high school graduation, sans spaceships and aliens. Additionally, we drove there in our regular non-flying car, to a very regular, non-floating suburb. How disappointing.

So 2004 was a disappointment, but, according to my 5th grade logic, 2010 would officially be "the future". For sure there would be flying cars and Jetson-like lifestyles by then, right?

Hmmm, I'm not so sure. But it's all relative, right? If you look at how much has happened from 1989 to 2010, especially in terms of technology, I'd say "the future" has arrived. Who could have imagined iPods and laptops and the internet!!! What about blogs and those fugly Crocs, and even the show LOST! And hello, social networking, GPS systems, electric cars, iPhones, (F)Ugg(ly) boots, hybrid fruits and the Snuggie suit??? Heck, one of my oldest and dearest friends recently had robotic surgery -- that's right, robots operated on her. Crazy, really, really crazy, but true.

These amazing innovations are proof that "the future" is here. Maybe it's not as dramatic as I once envisioned, but it is creeping upon us slowly but surely, year by year. As much as I love some (definitely not all) of these innovations, I have my reservations. I think the one thing that scares me a little is our growing dependence on technology and how much of an instant, information-hungry people we have become. Think about it, with the click of a button on any one of our devices, we can access just about any information, music, person, show, game, etc. that we desire. The constant twenty-four hour stream of news, status updates, and messages means that we're always connected and available, whether actively or passivley. While there's undeniable great benefit to that, I think are major drawbacks as well.

One specific drawback, and one that has affected my life is the declining quality of my friendships and relationships. During these past few days, I've been on a mad cleaning and organizing frenzy in an attempt to restore order to my life. Long story short, I wound up going through the chest in the bedroom that holds, among other things, all of the letters and important pieces of mail that I've ever received. There are hundreds upon hundreds of cards, notes, letters, postcards and yes, even special emails and IM chats that I have printed and saved. So I wound up going through many of these letters and cards, and was absolutely amazed by a few things. First of all, up until maybe five years ago, me and my friends all kept in touch by mail and by phone. Seriously, we would send letters back and forth, and call each other regularly. What's amazing to me is that both modes of communication have died. I no longer talk to anybody on the phone, and I no longer write nor receive letters. For some reason I never really thought about this until I went through and read the piles of letters and saw how much quality stuff was in them.

The other thing that amazed me was how many really special people and relationships I have forgotten about and lost touch with over the years. I rediscovered old letters from past co-workers, distant friends, and random people who I've met over the years, and while the rediscovery of their letters brought great joy, they also made me sad that I no longer have these people in my life :(

These days, (geeze, I sound like I'm from the 1920's) my friends and I keep up with each other through text messages, status updates and the occasional email, and you know what? All things considered, I think that sucks. I really do. I get it that we're all super busy, trust me, I really get that, but busy or not, I miss real friendships and the effort it takes to nurture them. Technology has enabled us to expand our networks and to connect with a greater quantity of people, but for me personally, the quality of these connections is lacking.

So... along with my box of letters, I also found my box of stationary & stickers, and am eager to write you a letter, or draw you a picture, or write you a poem, or just send you an envelope full of love :) And I hope that you'll write back and that we can start something. But since my address book is not current, please send me your address at: stewmody@comcast.net.

So yeah, it's 2010 and I guess the future is here. Woo. While the rest of world waits anxiously for the newest technological innovation that will "advance" our lives in some ridiculous way, I will be writing you a letter in hopes of advancing our relationship in a meaningful way. I am officially declaring 2010 the year of paper and pen!

Sincerely,

Jen

PS. Happy New Year!

i am seeking...

2009-12-22T20:08:00.002-05:00

I have one (yes, one!) semester left, and have been fantasizing about what my life will look and feel like once I am all done, for real. In a sense, I don't even know myself anymore, as I have been trudging through school-life for six years now, and I'm pretty certain, and hopeful, that 27 year-old me is somewhat different than 33 year-old me. How will I react to "normal" life? Will I be bored? Will I slink into a slump? Will I find new interests and new friends? These are among the many curiosities floating around my mind.

The only clues I have as of now are the ways in which I spend my break time. This isn't at all an accurate gauge though, as it's the holidays and one brand of busyness has replaced another. Plus, the forefront of my mind is already filled with thoughts of Spring semester and how to pull it off, again.

I imagine in the immediate aftermath of school (in June), I'll be busy trying to find a job, and we may be busy trying to find a house, and maybe even busy with baby stuff, but once all of the initial dust settles, I wonder what life, and what I, will look like. I can't say for sure, duh, but I do have some ideas of what I'd like my life to look and feel like. In a nutshell, I am seeking:

- some form of lifelong learning
- a career that makes me feel good
- a creative outlet
- a commitment to put family first
- a church or communal spiritual home
- a book club!
- a commitment to nurture new friendships, and old ones, too.
- a healthy lifestyle

I have posted this because I want, and need you to hold me to these ideals. I know that right now, the people who read this are my dear friends, and I am hoping that when the summer or fall rolls around, you guys can help keep me accountable for the things that I am seeking. This is your invitation to gently nudge me and encourage me to be the me that I seek. Let me chill and process the end of school through the summer, but if the fall rolls around and I'm still in chill mode, PLEASE, nudge me and ask what I'm doing to fulfill the life that I seek.

This is your mission. I hope that you'll accept it.

Thank you!

December 5th - again.

2009-12-05T18:52:00.004-05:00

December 5th is a significant date for Philadelphia and snow. Of the past eight years, it has snowed five of those years on December 5th. And I would bet money that most of those years, December 5th was the first snow-fall of the season. Here were are in 2009, having our first snowflakes fall on December 5th, blanketing the region in a beautiful, "stick to each branch" kind of snow. Amazing.

The first snow comes with a feeling that no other seasonal change can offer: it comes with a visual and a toy. Although the leaves of autumn are a gorgeous visual, they change colors gradually. We tend to notice the leaves changing colors all at once, but the reality is that they begin their process long before we take notice. Autumn comes upon us gradually, and that is why it feels so good! But the first snow, wow, there ain't nothing gradual about it. On Thursday, a mere 48 hours ago, it was delightfully warm out. So much so that I spent much of the day feeling hot. And then today, I peer out my window and see the most beautiful big snowflakes falling all around, and in that instant, winter arrived. Maybe not technically, but according to my internal gauge, winter is here, and it is time to rejoice in the wonder of snow!

The great thing about snow, specifically Philadelphia snow, is that we rarely get it (for real), and when we do, it is rarely debilitating snow, ya know, the kind of snow that makes you hate snow. So the result is that most of us love when it snows. It's like this magical time when anything is possible; a time to hunker down at home with loved ones and watch movies on the couch, and equally so, a time to go outside and play in the snow!

...and that's why I've gotta wrap it up for now; it's time to go out and play, before it melts!

Happy December 5th - Philadelphia's unofficial "First Snow" holiday!

Phish - 10 years later...

2009-11-25T18:19:00.003-05:00

Last night was like an out of body, dejavu type experience.

Jay and I found ourselves in a situation that was very familiar to us, but also made us feel like martians in a strange land. Yup, we were at a Phish show.

In the mid-to-late nineties, we used to see Phish all of the time, often traveling from one city to the next, planning our vacations around tour dates. It was such a good time; we both have so many great memories of certain shows, travel experiences, meeting up with friends in random places, and the music! Like all Phish fans, we were so bummed when in late 2000, they announced that they were taking a hiatus. What does "hiatus" mean? What would we do with our vacation time? Where would we travel to? I distinctly remember feeling so sad, because it was never just about the music; it was about the friendships made along the way and the experience of being part of something larger than oneself. Some look to religion for this feeling; we looked to Phish. So, without them, what were we supposed to do?

I guess the shortest answer is that we moved on; we diversified our musical tastes. But, two years later in 2002 when Phish announced they would end their hiatus with a New Years show at Madison Square Garden, Jay and I were there. Imagine it, after two years of leaving us hanging, our band was back and we were ready to pick up where we all left off; we were poised for some mind-blowing reunion.

Not so much. Phish came back with a phizzle rather than the bang we were expecting, and it was disappointing. But still, we chalked it up to a bad show, the pressure, and anything that could help us to reconcile our disappointment. It wasn't a tragic show, but it was certainly not where we left off either. We continued to see them a few more times, each show being slightly disappointing and leaving me generally unsatisfied. I felt like they never should have come back from their hiatus, because Phish of the early 2000's (is that even a phrase?) was not my beloved Phish, and I was slowly but surely turning into a sour-puss fan. They were fine, but I don't plan vacations around "fine"; I plan vacations around extraordinary. By the time they finally decided to end things for real and retire "Phish" in 2004, I was over it, grateful for all the good times, and wished them well in their pursuits as individual musicians.

Well here we are in 2009 and they are back yet again. I had no strong urge to see them, as I haven't been listening to their music in recent years at all, but last week when a friend called saying that he had two extra tickets, my curiosity got the best of me and Jay & I decided to seize the opportunity and go.

It was really strange, and I mean that in the best possible sense. Here we were, back doing what we used to do, yet by virtue of time and age, we are no longer who we used to be. Seeing them last night helped me to understand what happened (in terms of my reaction) when Phish came back from their hiatus in 2002; maybe it wasn't that they sucked, but maybe I had moved on and had a new appreciation for different music.

Last night, funky and tight Phish from 1997 showed up and put on a stellar performance, and I am grateful. I loved every minute; so many memories came flooding back with each song played and it was like seeing an old friend after years of separation. And if I were Jen from 1997, or 1999, or even 2002, I would be planning how I could score tickets to tomorrow's show or to the New Years run, but I am not; I am 2009 Jen and have other musicians to see, foods to taste, places to see, and experiences to be had. I am so grateful for everything that Phish has meant to me, both past and present, and I hope to see them again, but last night confirmed for me that although I love some live, '97-style Phish, I have indeed moved on. Some parts of the show fit into me like a puzzle-piece; some didn't fit at all. But all of it was truly bizarre, and great. I have to say that the crowd sucked though; many drunk, ignorant folks on their iphones. That is definitely a difference from the late '90's.

All in all, I am so glad we went. They are the same Phish that I loved ten years ago and it was great to see them and re-live some excellent times. But seeing them in the same spot made me grateful to be in a different spot. It's like going back to your home town: it's lovely to see your old town and reminisce with old high school friends, but at the end of the day, it's even better to move on...

I got "banged"!

2009-11-23T12:31:00.005-05:00

After months of waffling back and forth between deciding to get bangs or not, I finally did it. I went to the hairdresser, sat down and was like, "I think I want bangs-- no, I don't think I want real bangs, maybe I just want like 'training wheel bangs', ya know, like short angles or something?" I made it clear that I needed a low-maintenance look but wanted one that was cute. The woman told me she'd give me short angles that i could either wear as bangs or that I could tuck behind my ears if I didn't like it. "Perfect", I thought!

So a few chops later and I had training wheel bangs. They were definitely cute, but once i got home I knew I wanted more of a bang, and knew I was ready to commit, so I got out my scissors and finished the job:

It's definitely the change I've been seeking, although it feels so weird to have hair tickling my forehead. What do you guys think? I like it because unlike my non-bang look, I have options with bangs; to the side, full frontal, clipped back, etc. And the best is that they are super low-maintenance! It was either bangs or bald, and I think I made a good choice :)

Post Keynote Analysis

2009-11-19T19:05:00.003-05:00

I think it's important to start from the beginning, from when this gig first landed in my lap. It was about a month or so ago. I was at my internship (a dynamic non-profit seniors advocacy organization called C.A.R.I.E.) one day chatting with another intern, Ellen. She was going through her mail and opened an invitation to attend a training/conference on advocacy issues and energy resources for seniors. Ellen gave it a quick glance and handed it to me to see if I wanted to go. I read the invite pretty thoroughly... "Advocacy, Energy and the Elderly, November 18th 1:30 - 4:30, PCA, N. Broad St., panels of speakers and experts in the fields of advocacy and energy resources, blah blah blah, keynote speaker: Jennifer C. (my last name) from C.A.R.I.E., blah blah blah"...

WAIT - WHHAAAAT????

With jaw near the floor and eyes totally bugged out, I looked at Ellen, who clearly did not know my last name. "What?", she asked? "Uhhhhhhhhhhh, I AM Jennifer C. (my last name)", I said as I pointed to the name in bold on the invite. She looked back at me like there must have been a mistake. I agreed. Even though there only 15 employees at C.A.R.I.E., and I knew them all, I seriously thought that there may have been another employee who I haven't met named Jennifer C. There is no way that somebody would have signed me (ME!) up to do this. No way in hell. Ellen and I laughed it off to a zany coincidence and went on with our days. My field instructor (internship boss) was not in that day, so I just left the invite on her chair, with a sticky note that said, "what the hell did you sign me up for - LOL!" I totally thought this was a snafu.

Not so much. My field instructor did indeed sign me up for this speech, although to her credit, she did not know that it was the "keynote address" at a major conference; she thought it was just a regular presentation like a community outreach, which is much more normal and more appropriate for an intern to do. I don't know how that miscommunication happened, but it did, and now I was stuck doing this speech that I was already signed up for. Oh my GOD!

My task was to speak for 15 - 20 minutes about advocacy strategies. The length and topic were not what worried me, it was my audience that worried me. I felt like I had no credibility in the face of 200 professionals.

But, it was what it was and I had to suck up my anxieties and just do it. In the days leading up to the conference, I had so many papers and exams due at school that I had little time to devote to writing a speech, and I literally put it off until the night before (at 11:00), and finished it up while sitting in class the morning of the conference. Procrastination station! I was in a nice pocket of zen leading up to the event, but once I parked and started walking towards the building, I started seeing the crowds and started to feel consumed by anxiety. There were tons of people; very professional looking people!

Long story a little less long, I was introduced and stepped up to the podium to deliver my address. It was totally nerve-wracking, but I connected with a handful of audience members who were nodding along with what I had to say and who emanated a warmth and kindness that comforted me in that stressful situation, so I locked eyes with them when I needed to. It was important to me to be authentic and natural rather than be perfect and stick to the script, and I think that worked despite the occasional ADD moments. Before I knew it, I was done and was walking back to my seat amongst applause and smiles. Phhhewwwwww.......

Soon after I sat down, someone tapped me on the shoulder and told me that KYW (the news) wanted to interview me, so I walked to back of the auditorium and gave an interview. That was exhilarating while also being intimidating, because I'm learning about the the power that the media has in terms of spinning whatever you say in whatever way suits their agenda, so I was trying to speak the truth while also being conscious of the soundbite they would isolate and use.

After the news bit, I ran into some people I knew, both from school and from professional functions. I got some much-needed positive feedback about my speech and started to slowly but surely release some of the tension and anxiety that had filled my heart and mind prior to the speech. But - as soon as the conference ended, I had to race back to school to finish writing a paper, so I couldn't totally exhale and relax until later that night. And truthfully, I haven't been able to fully relax until right now. And damn does it feel good!

So, on my life-list of things to do, I can officially check off "deliver a keynote address". Check!

Sundays = the end of fun days

2009-11-15T17:50:00.003-05:00

Sunday nights are so awkward.

One on hand I'm super-relaxed and full of goodness from a great weekend, but on the other hand, that is all behind me and I'm looking straight ahead into a super-stressful week full of deadlines, exams and public speaking. No more sitting around in my "elegant body wrap" (snuggie) drinking cocktails and planning adventures out west. Nope. It's time to buckle down and prepare for the long days ahead. It's time to write that paper that I've been putting off all weekend. Oh wait, did I say "that paper"?, oops, meant to say "those papers". Geed. It's time to study for those exams. It's time to prepare my speech for Wednesday, when I'll officially be able to cross "be a keynote speaker" off my list of things to do before I die. That's right, it's offical: I'm offical.

In an ironic twist of fate, er, awkward fate, I (a social work student) have been designated as the offical keynote speaker at a conference for professional social workers. So, I get to stand in front of a room full of 200 people with MSW degrees and tell them how to be an MSW. Is that not the most backwards situation you can think of?? My topic is advocacy strategies, so I think that's broad enough to where I can sound legit, but still, this tops the list of potentially awkward moments in my life. Stay tuned for some post-keynote analysis on Wednesday night.

So anyway, I'm just trying to enjoy some few last moments of calm before the storm. Unfortunately, the more I indulge in the calm, the worse the storm will be, so I better get to those papers and batten down the hatches for the work week ahead. Ugh.

Denver --> Vegas

2009-11-15T08:51:00.002-05:00

Ok so the boat idea didn't work out because all in all it was just too damn expensive. But in the process of trying to make it work, and trust me, I tried to make it work from every single angle, a great idea was revealed to me. For instance, I was doing everything in my power to make an amazing rafting trip through "Cataract Canyon" happen. This trip started in Moab, Utah on the Colorado River. When I saw how pricey it was to fly directly into Moab, Utah, I thought, "Hmm, it might be cool to fly into Denver and rent a car and road-trip it through the Rockies to Utah". And once I made that a possibility, I fell in love with the idea. But then I realized that you can't do a one-way rental with the car rental companies that exist in Moab; we would have had to rent a car in Denver, drop it off in Grand Junction, CO and then take a $250 shuttle to Moab. Everytime I tried to "make it work", as Tim Gunn would say, the costs just kept increasing. And, we wouldn't want to go all the way out there without seeing some National Parks, especially Arches and CanyonLands, since they're right by Moab.

So I stepped back and analyzed the situation. As much as I loved the rafting plan, there were some serious downfalls with it:
1. the cost - we would be spending money that we didn't actually have just to make a 4-day raft adenture happen.
2. the limitations - we would only get to experience the river and not the surrounding areas.

And when I stepped back, I saw how much more we could do without the rafting trip, and I liked it. We could cover so much ground; we could cover so many parks, four states, mountains, desert, the quiet and desolation of southern Utah and the bling bling of Vegas, and we could have an amazing road trip, to boot. SOLD!

So the rough plan includes the following elements:
Fly to Denver, see some family and friends in Denver for a quick minute
Drive through the Rockies to Moab, Utah. Find hot springs along the way.
Visit Arches NP, possibly CanyonLands, possibly go horseback riding, possible take a day trip down the river, explore Moab.
Leave Moab and take scenic byways down to Bryce Canyon NP.
From Bryce, continue down to Zion NP
From Zion, head down to the Grand Canyon
From G.C. head to Vegas, possibly win money!

This is alot to do in ten days, so if you have any helpful bits of advice on how to make it work, please share. Our rough route is here, although this does not show the proper scenic route we'll be taking through the middle of Utah.

We are both so excited for this adventure, and it feels like exactly what I was seeking: a transformative adventure that will stir my soul. Yay!

Where to???

2009-11-14T09:56:00.003-05:00

Even though graduation is a good six or seven months away, I'm already deep into plan-mode for a post-grad getaway. Originally I was thinking Caribbean, or something beachy and chill, but the thought of that, while great, does not satisfy my deeper urge to have a transformative experience. After six years of trudging through the ho-hum and routine of academia, I am hungry not just for a vacation or a trip to the beach, but for an experience that will awaken me and stir my soul. The experience of education has been a transformative experience itself, and I'm looking for something to commemorate that while also celebrating what I predict will feel like a re-birth! Or at least a brand new chapter.

So, where to? Jay and I have talked about it and both agree that we want to explore the west/southwest. We want to experience the desert, the Grand Canyon, the mountains, Vegas, natural hot springs, etc. The first thought that came to mind was taking a rafting trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. What a great way to experience the Canyon! Plus, the trip originates in Vegas, so we could kill two birds with one stone, BUT, it's super expensive and not really a reality with our travel budget. For a three day rafting trip it would cost $1300 EACH, and that's not including airfare or hotel in Vegas, so it may prove to be too expensive at this point in time.

So now I'm trying to figure out how to have an amazing, transformative experience on the cheap, relatively speaking. Ideally this experience would include some nature/National Parks, some road tripping, some Vegas, and some thrilling adventure!

Now accepting ideas...

The Status of our Updates

2009-11-12T18:26:00.004-05:00

It's no surprise that I love to write. In fact, despite all of my schooling in social work and all of the energy I've devoted to it, deep down inside I know that I'm a writer. And I have a hunch that the most satisfying and gratifying work I will accomplish in this world will be a fusion of the two. How they will come together and fuse is yet to be determined... but it will happen.

I used to write with great regularity, but haven't been doing so lately for a variety of reasons. Mostly because I don't have the time it takes to sit down and engage in the process of writing, but... I also think that there has been a shift in how we write, specifically in terms of how we write as a way to update and engage each other. A few years ago, blogs were the latest and greatest way to weave social media with personal narrative as a way to connect with friends and share parts of yourself with the world. These days, who has time to write, or read an entire blog? Thanks to Facebook, Twitter and a whole host of social networking sites, we have learned how to share "what we're up to", or "what's on our mind" in a limited amount of characters. While this is fun, easily accessible and totally acceptable in 2009, it feels cheap. By knowing what 200 of our nearest and dearest are up to in any given moment, we are losing something; we are giving up quality for quantity.

Don't get me wrong, I love status updates! I have learned more interesting things about people from my past and present vis-a-vis the ubiquitious "what's on your mind" update, BUT, I do miss learning about and getting to know people through their words. And I don't mean through their 140 characters; I mean through their stories, narratives and shared experiences. I guess what I'm trying to say is that while I am an avid consumer of and participant in the world of snippet socialaztion, I miss the olden days of people sharing who they are, how they feel and what they think in a more contextual way. Simply put, I miss blogs.

That being said, I'm going to try to take a more balanced approach to how I update my status. I'd like to still share snippets on Facebook, but I'd also like to maintain a space where I can share stories, thoughts and observations more in-depth. For me, there is great value in writing blogs; facebook offers the social element and journaling offers the self-reflection stuff, but a blog is where those two worlds can intersect, and connect people on a deeper level.

So that's what I'm going to do. I hope you'll join me.

Now if only I could figure out what the intersection of social work and writing is :)

Stay tuned...

Balance

2009-06-23T21:16:00.003-04:00

As someone who covets the general philosophy of balance in life, I sure have a lot to learn in terms of practicing what I preach.

For the past ten months, I have been so immersed in the world of academia that I had no time for much else. During that time, the sole activity that I craved when I did have a free moment was sitting on my ass doing nothing. Seriously, I had no desire to write, read, socialize, see music, explore, make jewelry or much of anything; rather, all I wanted to do was sit and not think and not do anything. I've always loved to chill, but the chilling I craved this past year was more of the coma variety rather than the usual pleasure/leisure variety that I am known for.

So now that I am temporarily out of school for a few weeks and have ample time to myself, I find that I am still in coma mode, even though my current lifestyle does not necessitate such paralysis. Dare I say that I am looking forward to school?? ..... Nah, I won't go that far, but the fact that I would even utter those words is a clear indication that I am ready to wake up and live. Not live in a super stressed out zone nor in a super duper chill zone; but rather a balanced and healthy zone where I am challenged, stimulated and in a state of growth, all the while embracing the girl in me who loves to sleep in, space out, and daydream...

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving" ~ Albert Einstein

the clinic aint no picnic

2009-03-12T22:31:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago, I received a letter from my employer informing me that I needed to get a tuberculosis (PPD) test ASAP due to state mandates that require all elderly caregivers to be tuberculosis-free. This sounds like a fairly benign process, and I suppose it was, in retrospect, but the reality is that it was a pain in the a**.

My company wouldn't pay for the test at our regular doctor's office; rather, they sent out a list of clinics where the test was free. I can't blame them, as they have well over 100 employees and it would be quite costly to pay for all of those tests; however, I just wish they would have calculated the time and energy involved in attaining this two-step test and given us paid time-off or reimbursement for pain & suffering.

First of all, I put it off for weeks. I left it for the last week possible; the last week before they would have canned me for non-compliance. So I wake up on Monday to a crappy, rainy morning, and realize that I have to leave at least an hour early so that I can wait for the clinic to open, which means waiting in a line full of sick people in the cool, morning rain. Geed.

I walk out my front door and realize that I don't have an umbrella. Geed.

I drive to the clinic in Germantown, park, and realize I have no change to feed the meter. Geed.

I scrounge around for some loose change in my car and find 30 minutes worth of coinage, knowing full well that I'll be parked for well over an hour. I suck it up and shrugg it off. "Not bad for a Monday", I tell myself. And with that positive affirmation, I step out into the dreariness of a rain-soaked Chelten Ave. and head towards the clinic. Less than five steps down the sidewalk, I see the line, maybe 20 people deep. "Not bad for a Monday", I remind myself.

30 minutes later, the clinic doors opened and we were herded like cattle through the ropes and corridors to yet another line. The security guard began to address the crowd, "all OBGYN clients, go over there and wait; if you have an appointment, go over there and sign in; if you're here for test results, see the nurse; to see the dentist, go over to the corner and wait; everyone else will be triaged and seen on am emergency basis, only one complaint will be addressed during this visit". At this point, I'm thinking "oh God, I'm going to be here all day just for a two-second PPD test". Then, the security guard said, "is anyone here for a PPD test?", to which my arm shot enthusiastically into the air, probably pissing off my line-mates. The guard motioned for me to come to the front of the line, and as I did, I thought "hell yeah!, I'm outta here".

Not so much.

The guard simply redirected me to another line, which lead to a mound of forms to be filled out, which lead to another waiting room. I sat and waited for another hour, and it was so loud and full of hard, clinical surfaces that it was hard to hear whose name was being called. I was paranoid that I missed my name being called and would be sitting there among the sick masses and hard tiles all day. Finally, my name was called, and I heard it. Two minutes later, I was done.

I was given an appointment slip and was told to go to the front desk to arrange a time to come back in 48 hours to get my results. So I went to the front desk, and the lady was so RUDE! She almost made me cry. She was yelling at me because I didn't know what color form I filled out earlier. Was it yellow? Was is marigold? Was it orange? Apparantly it made worlds of difference, and she made me feel like a piece of shit because I couldn't remember. I tried to kill her with kindness, but she was so miserable, and I became so affected by her negativity. She wouldn't give me an appointment, she just said to come back on Wednesday but wouldn't answer my questions. Geed.

The good news is that there was no ticket on my windshield. I had averted the Parking Authority once again.

Fast forward to Wednesday - another rainy day. I return to the clinic, and in a nutshell, am treated like crap and given the run-around by more miserable people who hate their jobs. I finally got my results - negative (duh) - but all in all, I spent over three hours and countless amounts of my vital energy on the ordeal, which will all be unacknowledged by my company. I had to take time off from my internship, and even worse, wake up early! And the worst part is, this PPD test is only good for one year!

My conclusion: the clinic aint no picnic! With that said, I recently discovered this website , which reminds me that it could always be worse...

Spring Break ?

2009-03-10T21:14:00.001-04:00

You know it's bad when the highlight of your "spring break" is the ability to find parking on campus with ease. Woo!

65 days until graduation...

Italian Market

2009-03-08T19:09:00.005-04:00

I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but until yesterday, I had never been to one of Philadelphia's most time-honored, iconic treasures: the 9th street Italian Market in South Philly. I have no excuse, I've lived in this city on and off for over ten years now. I guess I had heard so much about it that I automatically grouped it with all of the other tourist hot-spots that we locals tend to avoid, ya know, the Liberty Bell, Elfreth's Alley, etc.

Boy was I wrong! I decided to pay a visit yesterday morning because it was 70 degrees out (!) and I wanted to make Jay a delicious, fresh meal, so off to the market I went. I wasn't really sure what to expect, all I knew was that the Italian Market is the oldest and largest outdoor market in the country, and that it remains very similar to how it was set up over 100 years ago by the Italian immigrants.

So I drove down to South Philly and parked in a lot near 9th & Washington. I payed $3 to park and the attendant told me I was beautiful. I crossed the street, and another gentleman caught my eye and said, "you look beautiful today". Between the 70 degree weather, the cheap parking and the "beautiful" compliments, I felt on top of the world and ready to explore the market. (Note: If you ever need a self-esteem boost, go to the Italian Market, I promise that at least one person will tell you that you are beautiful).

The market is a 10-block stretch of 9th Street. It straddles both sides of the street and includes 10 blocks worth of street vendors, shops, restaurants, cafes, etc. The sidewalks are draped in colorful awnings, as they always have been, to protect shoppers from the elements, as this is a year-round market. What struck me the most is how timeless it felt; it truly felt like it could have been 1909, minus the credit card transactions. South Philly has long been home to Italian immigrant populations, but in recent years, immigrants from all over the world have claimed South Philly as home and the market reflects these demographic changes. While still strongly Italian, the market is a wonderful fusion of Italian, Spanish and Vietnamese influences. Mmmmm.

Like the city itself, the 9th Street Italian Market is not necessarily pretty, polished or polite; rather, it is gritty, dense and full of Philly "charm" (attitude). It's the real deal. It's a glimpse into the real Philadelphia, before William Penn lived in the shadows of Comcast and the posh "loft district".

I had a fantastic time and I wound up with some great buys. I still can't believe I bought four huge red bell peppers for $1. I guess that makes up for the $35 I spent on prosciutto, capicola, salami and Italian cheeses galore at Claudio's! Not to mention the $30 I spent on "pinch cups" and other cute kitchen accessories at Fante's. I'm a sucker for pinch and condiment cups ;)

Anyway, if you haven't been, do yourself a favor and go explore the flavor of S. 9th st. It is unlike anything I've ever experienced and I guarantee you'll walk away with a new appreiciation for the city and its roots! And if good, fresh food, culture and history don't appeal to you, go for the "you are beautiful" factor - guaranteed to put a smile on your face.

ebb & flow, yo

2009-03-07T21:44:00.003-05:00

One of my favorite sayings is, "ebb and flow, yo". Actually, I beleive the saying is simply "ebb and flow", but I added the "yo" to make it my own. I can't seem to resist adding a "yo" to the end of sentences, especially if it rhymes. Anyway, I love this saying because I truly feel that life is a series of ebbs and flows; sometimes you can feel the ebb or flow in a tangible way and other times it's just a vibe or a subtle shift that is only recognizible in retrospect. Either way, it's all about change and how we react to it.

Tonight, as I sit here with the windows open (for the first time this year), I am enjoying a very tangible change; a change of seasons - an ebb of winter cold and a flow of springtime warmth. What's funny (to me) is how I'm reacting to this change; I'm here, writing again in a place that I haven't visited in over two months - my last entry was from mid-December. Is there a correlation, I wonder, between weather and writing? Did the writer in me freeze up and ebb with the rest of the Northeast in December? Hmmm.

Well, regardless of the reason, as soon as I opened the windows and pulled the screens down, I got the undeniable urge to come back and start writing (in this format) again. It feels gooood, by the way, just to be here doin' how I used to do, especially with the windows down, wearing a tank top, chillin'.

Give thanks for the ebb, for it leads to the flow, yo.

done!

2008-12-17T17:45:00.002-05:00

words - the old fashioned way

2008-12-15T21:44:00.002-05:00

As much as I love having the option to vlog it up, I will always go back to my one, true love: the written word. Each style has its own flair and personality, but for me, the written word is somehow more intimate and in the moment and is therefore my preferred method of blogging. But since writing is what I do by trade as a full time student, it's nice to have another way to be an active b/vlogger and stay connected.

So, now that my holiday bake-a-thon is over, I have a total sugar hangover and feel kinda yucky, both physically due to the sugar and mentally because I'm still procrastinating with my study efforts for tomorrow's exam. I'm just kinda hovering in this uncomfortable zone of uncertainty, while still denying the brevity of the situation.

After being in the kitchen all day, I craved some cold winter air in my lungs and decided to walk up to the liquor store to get some juice, ya know, as a study aide ;) So I bundled up and braced myself for the brisk, 3 block walk. As I opened the front door, I got hit with the most unusual sensation, kinda like taking a sip of soda that turns out to be milk. I was expecting to be met by a wave of cool, invigorating air, but was instead engulfed by an unusually balmy air mass. It felt like spring, and it smelled like sping, too. The air was pregnant with possibility, like the way it feels on that very first warm night when you can go without your winter jacket and you feel free, like the world is your oyster and anything can happen. Except it didn't feel that way at all. It was disorienting, especially as I walked (completely bundled in winter wool) by row homes dressed in holiday lights and cheer.

Winter, especially "holiday winter" has its own sense of possibility, that, to me, goes hand-in-hand with cold weather, snow, icicles, the North Pole, etc. So tonight as I walked through the balmy air, I didnt know how to feel. It was like I couldn't embrace the holidays AND the balm; I had to choose one, and since I'm definitely in the holiday spirit, I pretended like it was chilly and kept my wool on, despite the sweat.

Happy holidays!

sweet denial

2008-12-15T14:47:00.004-05:00

vlog!

2008-12-14T20:50:00.002-05:00

a request...

2008-11-29T19:09:00.003-05:00

I feel the need to start every blog lately acknowledging the fact that I've been a horrible blogger... I'm sorry. For those who still check-in, I really appreciate it. It's not for lack of wanting to blog, it's just that times is tuff...

Today, for example, I'm once again workin' on a deadline. I have 3 ten-pagers due on Monday and Tuesday, and although I'll put in a solid 20 minutes or so, as soon as I have a paragraph done, my mind wanders and I find myself googling "head neck cancer stage four", or, "side effects of chemotherapy", or, "mortality rate stage four head neck cancer", or, "genetic disposition cancer".

I go back and forth in my mind, from feeling optimistic to feeling devastated, but no matter what my mindset, my faith is constant andI know that no matter what, we're all ok. This will be ok. We can handle this. It won't be easy; it will hurt; it does suck like a vaacuum, but... we're all ok.

For those that are familiar with my family, you know that we've had our share of accidents, illnesses and loses, but the one thing that has kept us together through it all is faith. Not neccesarily faith that our desired outcome will occur, because if that were true than sorrow would never exist, but faith that we'll have the strength to handle whatever comes our way. And so that's where we're at right now, especially in regards to my dad, who is undergoing a very aggressive chemotherapy treatment We are praying for two things specifically:
1. that my dad can handle this toxic "treatment"
2. that it works

So I write today to ask you to hop on board and with this prayer. No matter if you pray, meditate, engage in intentional thought, whatever... please take some time today to offer up some love and prayers for my dad, that he can handle the toxic chemo and that it works.

Thank you so much my dear friends...
much love to you
xoxo

all done

2008-11-12T00:51:00.003-05:00

A cademic yet absurd
L ong and laborious
L ate-night style with a dash of luck

D one, despite the distractions, delays, daydreams and dubs
O ut of my hands now
N ight is fading, better get some sleep
E mpty. Running on empty. Empty...

ObamaRama

2008-11-09T18:19:00.005-05:00

Like most of you, I spent last Tuesday night glued to my television, in a state of semi-paralysis due to a mixture of joyful anticipation and total fear. I knew deep in my heart that Obama would win, but I've come to be very skeptical of our electorate system, plus, I was fearful that the much-talked-about Bradley Effect might actually be an issue.

On one hand, I felt like Obama had it in the bag the moment the Maverick picked his co-maverick running-mate, but on the other hand, Obama was a black man running for the highest office in a country where racism still runs deep and where the politics of fear often outweigh the politics of hope. The polls said one thing, but who knew what was truly in the hearts and minds of our fellow citizens. Would America buy into the fear that Barack Hussein Obama was an anti-American who pal'ed around with terrorists, or would they see the past the desperation of the fear-based McCain campaign and actually vote for an African American liberal (gasp!)

I didn't know. Or, I guess I did know, but I wasn't convinced until the fat lady sung. For most of you, that fattie was California, but for me, I nodded off soon after Obama won Ohio (love you Ohio!) and woke up to McCain giving his concession speech. McCain was my fat lady, and his song was music to my ears. As I opened my eyes and realized the reality of the situation, I freaked out. Initially the freak out was internal, but after a minute or two of mild shock and internal freak out, I ran into the bedroom and woke Jay up. "Hey, wake up, Obama won! Obama won!" Jay's eyes opened really wide, and like a child full of wonder, he said "He diiiid?" We shared a big hug and a "oh my goodness!" And then he fell back asleep.

Me? Oh no, sleep wouldn't come for many hours. I needed to jump and shout and hug more people; I needed to start processing this HUGE moment. So I ran out into the streets, pajamas and all, to celebrate with my neighbors. I ran out my front door and headed up the hill towards the Obama office on G'town Ave. Horns were honkin, strangers were huggin' in their jams and everyone was jumping and screaming for joy. I've never seen anything like it. At one point a bus pulled up to the corner, and the passengers clearly hadn't heard the news yet, as they looked pretty mellow, but as our screams of joy got their attention, one by one they started to scream for joy and we shared this amazing moment together. Then the light turned green and their celebration-on-wheels rolled on down the avenue. It was pretty surreal.

After 20 minutes of street-corner celebration, I came home and watched his victory speech. And then I layed in bed, wide awake, and prayed. First I gave thanks for this amazing moment in history, but then I prayed for the safety of the Obama family, and for wisdom, discernment and strength for Barack as he takes the messed-up reigns from GW. And then I prayed for us, the American people, that we can come together after this divisive two-year election and work together to keep creating "a more perfect union; an America we can all be proud of. If there's one thing the Obama campaign showed me, it's that the power belongs to the people, and that great things, seemingly impossible things, happen when everyone takes an active role in the fate of their country. The election may be over, but the real work begins now. Whether or not you supported Obama or agree with his views, I hope you can agree to disagree and roll up your sleeves... because America needs you!

Now for some photos...

This was taken at an Obama rally right down the street from my house in October. Although the photo doesn't show it well, Obama is on a stage just to the right of the American flag on the left side. There were between 15,000 - 20,000 people there, and it was amazing!

This is a mural (in North Philadelphia) of Jackie Robinson, another "first" in African American history. I took this on election day, on my way to school. I couldn't help but feel inspired by it.

Hundreds of these signs were posted all over the city on election day. I took pictures of them as I drove through many different neighborhoods. I wish I would have snatched one for my collection of Obama memorabelia ;)

Happy ObamaRama! I hope whatever your politics, you are enjoying this moment in American history!