November 30

Today is my parents’ anniversary. Thirty-four years ago they married.

It is also the anniversary of the day my sister joined our family.

I used to joke that I was the only person in our family who didn’t have anything to celebrate on this date, but really nothing could be further from the truth.

Though I was an only child for the first 4 1/2 years of my life, I don’t remember my childhood without my sister in it. She and I had the usual sibling ups and downs over the years, but no matter if we were on opposite sides of the country or opposite sides of the world, we have been there for each other.


And my parents… I can say with confidence that I wouldn’t be here without them (ha ha ha), but I can also say that I wouldn’t be who I am without them. They are kind and thoughtful and smart and funny and compassionate and giving of themselves and I like to think that I’ve learned or inherited many of those qualities from them.

Happy anniversary to my family. I love you.

Together Again

Today my mother returned from her travels and our family was reunited. I have many more thoughts that will come out over the next few days, but for now I'll just say I'm glad to have my whole family together again.

PSA: Drunk Editor Edition

One of the fun parts about being home with my dad is that we share a similar sense of humor. We had a good laugh at this insert from our local paper this morning:

Home

There's something about coming home...

Every time I return to my parent's house, my life slows down. And this is a good thing. I run myself ragged most of the time, and so to have a place to go and enjoy a slower pace of life is a really good thing. 

In years past I have written long blog posts with lists of all that I am thankful for. This year, I am keeping it simple. 

I am, as always, thankful for family and friends, for laughter and hugs. I am thankful for having a job that allows me to give so much of myself to others. I am thankful for the number of amazing people in my life (both old and very young) who give so much meaning to my life every day.

But on this day, this year, I am most thankful for the feelings of love and peace and quiet I get from being home with my family in small-town Maine.

Heading Home

I am heading home to Maine for Thanksgiving. I hope to post more once I'm there, but if I don't get more written tonight, at least I've posted for today.

Happy Thanksgiving Eve!

Things That Made Me Laugh Today

1. For some reason, as I was signing into my email this morning, I remembered back to when I was 8 or so. I was with my dad and we were signing in at some event. My dad signed himself in and then let me sign my own name, but somehow I got distracted while writing, and my sign-in name was "Phoebe Choebe" It made me laugh then, and it made me laugh now.

2. This is a photo I actually received yesterday. It made me laugh when I got it, and again when I opened it up to make it my desktop wallpaper at work.

History Repeats Itself

Ten years ago, I had a string of months in which many bad things happened to people I loved. These were my first experiences with tragedy, major medical challenges, and death and they all happened to people I knew well and cared for very much.

A year after that, just before Thanksgiving, a friend of mine from summer camp died. I was just about to head home for the weekend with my college roommate, and received a phone call telling me of this loss. I spent the better part of the weekend in shock and on the phone with camp friends, which apparently gave my college roommate a lot of time to talk with my parents.

Last night, I talked with this college roommate and updated her on all the tragic things that have happened to people I love in the past month. She remembered back to that Thanksgiving nine years ago and told me about a conversation she had with my mother.

My mother, thinking back over my experiences throughout the past year, had said to my roommate something to the effect of, "it's hard to imagine all these bad things happening to people Phoebe knows... but Phoebe just knows so many people." 

I laughed when she told me this, because it's true. And the truth is that I wouldn't trade all the wonderful people I know (tragic situations and all) for anything in the world. And I wouldn't trade being able to be there for the wonderful people I know (tragic situations and all) for anything in the world either. 

Family

I spent the better part of my 4 hour trip from NYC to Boston trying to compose this blog post, but no words can express the sadness, shock, and disbelief that I am feeling after hearing of the death of a relative this past weekend.

I debated posting about this because it feels like a more private thing than I typically like to share on this public blog, and I didn't want to put it up for comment. But I can't think of anything but this right now, and it feels too significant to not write about.

I hadn't seen this cousin in many years due to the great geographic distance between us, and we weren't really in touch because our lives had taken us in different directions. But we were relatives, so there was a bond and a love that was there even when communication was not. I always got updates on her life from her family members and would think back fondly to time spent together at summer camp and family reunions.

I always thought she was so cool because she was a few years older than I was, and I felt so proud when she'd let me hang out with her. We once spent the better part of an afternoon at one of our family reunions riding the elevator and seeing if we could get through the chorus of "Leaving on a Jet Plane" before the doors opened. The challenge was that we could only sing when no one else was in the elevator, and we never knew when the elevator was going to stop to pick up new passengers (it was a rather fancy resort we were at, so we definitely couldn't have kept singing with other people in there with us). It sounds like a ridiculous game, and it probably was, but it kept us entertained for a long stretch of time.

I spent the afternoon yesterday with another cousin in NYC and it was she who received the news first. Silently, we made our way back to her place, where we proceeded to make calls to our parents to get more information. And as the evening wore on, there were many moments I found myself grateful to be in the presence of a family member who shared my family history.

I received an email today from a close family member that both brought me to tears and comforted me with its simple message:

Sometimes when we experience terrible tragedies, there is goodness that appears through acts of kindness... Stick together and love each other.

So let this be a reminder to all of you out there to hold your children, spouses, partners, siblings, parents, and friends extra close tonight. Make sure they know how much they mean to you and how loved they are. And make sure to love yourselves, too, while you're at it.

Let your love cover me

Like a pair of angel wings

You are my family

You are my family

-Dar Williams

Dream On

Last night I had a dream that I was walking with a friend in the park, and we saw/heard two cars flying through the air maybe half a mile from where we stood. They crashed to the ground (though we could not see where they landed) and then debris started raining down on all the people in the park so we were running away and covering our heads all at the same time. We were all ok, though, in the end.

I have seen no movies with flying/crashing cars, nor have I been in a park recently.

I am completely open to interpretations on this one. 

Fibby's Trip to the Big City

After 6 hours of travel (7 if you count my cab ride to South Station this afternoon), I am finally settled in NYC.

Special thanks to Babs, for giving me lessons on how to navigate the New York City subway. I've mastered up-town/down-town travel. Tomorrow: cross-town.

Grumpy and in Pain

Yesterday, I went to a class at my gym. I had actually attended the class the week before, but it was being taught by a substitute instructor, so I wanted to go back and see if the class was any better when taught by the "real" instructor. 

I'm not sure if it's something about this gym or what, but all three of the instructors were awful. So this rant will serve as the rough draft of the letter of complaint I now feel justified in writing (I wanted to write after the first class I attended, but felt like I should attend a few more before complaining).

I've been really lucky to be a member at some incredible gyms in the past. My favorite, the JCC in San Francisco, was just a block and a half from my house and had the most incredible instructors I have ever experienced. They were full of energy and enthusiasm and watching them stand up there in front of us doing everything they were asking us to do was inspiring and motivating. They also used the music as a way to pace the class - we lifted weights to the beat and did lunges to the beat. I like that, as it gives me something to concentrate on, other than the pain in my legs/arms/stomach/wherever.

The classes at my current gym are nothing like that. In none of the classes did the instructor make use of the beat of the music. In only one of the three classes did the instructor demonstrate what he wanted us to do.  But even then, he demonstrated and then stopped to watch us all.

Two out of three instructors did the exercises too fast. When you're in a conditioning class that involves lunges and squats and such, form is pretty important. Also, it is my understanding that if you do the exercises more slowly, they will challenge your muscles more, which is a good thing. These instructors had us doing things so quickly that form was completely ignored. 

All three instructors barked orders to the class attendees. There was no description of what they expected us to do, and no demonstration. The instructor said something like "Ok, it's time for Jackknives now!" and the people in the room who had attended class before and knew what the hell a "Jackknife" was would start doing it, then the instructor would yell at the class for not all doing it, and then we'd have to start over again. 

In all classes, instructors did not clearly delineate the various levels of difficulty of each of the exercises. In any good gym class, instructors start off by saying "this is what I'm asking you to do" and they demonstrate. Then they often will say "this is a modified way to do this that makes it easier" and "this is a modified way to do this that makes it more difficult" and THEN the good instructor will say "you choose which of these fits your level and do it."

In all classes, instructors recognized that there were new faces in the class, but then did nothing to modify the teaching style to accommodate the new people. For example, in my first awful class, we were asked to do lunges... on not one, but TWO Bosus. We were expected to have our back foot on a Bosu with the ball-side-up, and our front foot on a Bosu with the flat-side-up and to balance and lunge at the same time. For the six of us who were new (for the record, about 1/3 of the class), just balancing in that position was difficult. Some people managed to get a few lunges in, but none of them had good form. How hard would it have been for the instructor to have offered us a choice of how we could do our lunges so that we could actually do lunges instead of balancing for the entire time?

Tonight, at a class in which the instructor did not demonstrate a thing and just yelled instructions to everyone, I got yelled at for doing leg lifts on my right side before my left. When I informed the instructor that the woman in the front (who he had used to demonstrate sit-ups earlier, so I thought she was a good person to watch) was doing leg lifts with her right leg first, he shrugged and then went over and stood above her and shouted "LEFT leg first!"

Does it really matter? As long as I'm switching legs, I'm working them both out equally, right?

I realize that there are many more important things in the world to be outraged about, but I'm paying good money for my gym membership I want to be able to enjoy going there. Exercise is my most effective self-care strategy, and I don't want my gym to be a place that brings me additional stress. Too much to ask? Perhaps, but I'm not ready to give up quite yet. 

One More, For Good Measure

Apparently, I focused a lot of my bad poetry on my bedroom ceiling back in the day...

I hear giggling through the ceiling

   One floor up a man and a woman lie

Having just come home from a night on the town

   Or having just eaten dinner or just made love

And though I cannot hear the words, I can hear the tone

   And it is sweet and full of love

And I am full of jealousy because you have such love and happiness

   And at the same time,

      I want to scream

SHUT UP! Don't you know you keep me up at night with that noise!?

Angst-Ridden Poetry of My Younger Days

My cousin shared that her favorite form of self-care is to do bad watercolors while watching old movies, which reminded me that there was a time in my past when I wrote really bad poetry as an outlet for my emotions. So this morning before breakfast I dug out my old journal and read through some of the poems. 

There's quite a collection, and some of it is really bad ("I'm sitting next to the fire, but I'm shivering, and I can't tell if it's the fault of the open door or my numb heart"). I am throwing out any bit of ego I might have had to share these next few gems with you, but it's worth it for the laugher I know I'm bringing to the world. 

I. Water Stain (absolutely the worst poem ever written)

There is a water stain on my ceiling

It just showed up one day

Or did it?

When I saw it

   I wasn't sure

      If it had just appeared

      Or if it had been there all along and only just been noticed

The building manager says

That once it is dry up there between

   The ceiling

   And the floor above

He'll tear it all out and replace it

But I don't see how one could tear out

   Only a little ceiling (or floor)

   And wall (since it dripped down)

Without making a terrible mess

Funny thing, but just after noticing the stain

I found myself noticing you, who just showed up one day

   Or did you?

Perhaps you were there all along

Either way, I like you better than the stain

   And hope you'll stay

Long after the ceiling that is my upstairs neighbor's floor

   Gets a makeover

II.

I'm not sure what that was...

   The one-night stand

      The emails

         The phone calls

But I do know that I enjoyed it

And that I haven't giggled like that

   In bed

      On the phone

         As I walk down the street

In a very long time

So thank you

III. Pittsburgh

 

"A companion," she said, "is all I want

   someone to laugh with and talk with anytime"

"An on-call cuddler," I suggested

   And she laughed and agreed

And though we're thousands of miles away

   All of the sudden, we feel so close

Together in our alone-ness

...

And as I hold the phone to my ear

   A thousand miles away, I hear a sob

And from a thousand miles away, I extend my arms

   And wrap them around her

And the distance between us disappears

   and for a moment

      we are not alone

IV. Bird

Once there was a girl, who I will call "Bird"

   (for that is what I called her, actually)

And I loved her

   (for she was my friend)

And that girl is all grown up 

   (well mostly, anyway)

And I still call her "Bird" and I still love her

   (for she is still my friend)

V. Banoffee

You burned yourself tonight

I heard the crash and yelp

   from my seat on the couch

And I jumped up and ran to the kitchen

To see you with your finger under the cold running water

   cursing

And then I went and sat back down

  For there was nothing I could do but watch

And I was pretty sure you didn't want an audience

But I do know that the dessert which you are making

   (and for which you sacrificed the use of your finger for the next week)

Is going to be quite tasty.

VI.

I love fiercely

I live scared

What am I scared of?

That someone might love me fiercely back?

Or that he won't?

Self Care

I spend a lot of time at work encouraging parents to practice self care. I remind them to take care of themselves so that they can best take care of their children. I try to do the same for myself, but sometimes I forget to make time. 

Going to the gym, crawling into my pre-warmed bed (thank you, mattress pad warmer) and watching House episodes, forcing myself to go out for drinks/dinner with friends after work even when I'm exhausted, and getting a full night's sleep are all things I do for self care. But lately, my self care standards haven't been doing it for me, so I'm opening it up for new ideas.

What do you, my wise and well-cared-for readers do for self-care? All suggestions welcome. 

No Words

I just came back from a wonderful weekend in Maine to some bad news about a friend who experienced a devastating loss this weekend. I am at a loss for words as to what to say to my friend, and even more at a loss for words about what to post here, so I'm giving myself permission to take another day away from "real" posting and will return tomorrow.

Rainy Day in Maine

I am home in small-town Maine visiting family this weekend and am currently typing this from my sister's house. I would have been writing this from my parent's house - probably from the comfort of a big cushy chair in the living room, perhaps under a blanket - but their phone/internet went down today, and so my sister and her fiance graciously offered me their place to type so that I don't fail my NaBloPoMo goal of posting every day.

I spent a wonderful night last night celebrating a friend's birthday and catching up with many Portland friends I hadn't seen in months. I left work feeling grumpy and frustrated at the end of a long week, and I left Portland this morning feeling refreshed and energized and so grateful for the friends I have there.

Now I'm having a family day and looking forward to the community theater production of The Full Monty tonight. 

Not an exciting post, but a post nonetheless, and I have not fallen behind in my daily blogging.

My Docs

A few days ago,  MOMP requested topics about which she can blog and I included "your favorite pair of shoes ever" as one of my suggestions. It was kind of a joke, but I got thinking about it, and wondered what my favorite pair of shoes I've owned is/was.

I love the bright red patent leather heels I purchased last spring. I also love my first pair of Danskos (also red. hmmmm....). But over the course of my life, it is my navy blue Doc Martens, purchased just AFTER a summer trip to the UK (I know, I know) that win the coveted title of favorite shoes ever (so far).

I spent the summer of '93 traveling around the UK on a trip through my summer camp. Most of our activities were paid for through the enrollment fee, but we all brought a small amount of spending money to buy some souvenirs. I bought a sweater in Scotland and a skirt and top and dress shoes in England. I wanted to buy a pair of Docs, but I wasn't sure what color or style and they cost so much I was nervous. I had never made such a big purchase.

In the end, I chose to purchase half the contents of a Body Shop to bring back home to the US and not a pair of Docs (again - I know, I know).

But once I returned to Maine, I immediately regretted my decision, and desperately wanted a pair of Docs. I eventually found my way to J.L. Coombs and purchased my first pair.

I spent a lot of time considering my color options, but in the end I decided on navy blue. I bought these shoes early in my sophomore year in high school, and I wore them nearly every day for the next three years (along with jeans, an oversized white t-shirt, and some variety of flannel shirt). Few people had Docs in my high school, and none of them had them in navy blue. I loved them. A lot. And when the inside back of the shoes wore out, I had them repaired at the local shoe repair store rather than retiring them.

They were a good pair of shoes, my Docs. They were the first pair of shoes I owned that made me smile just to look down and see them on my feet. 

This Thing On?

I thought perhaps the reason people weren't commenting on my blog for a while was that I wasn't posting regularly. Then I thought it was because I was posting about such heavy things. But for the past 12 days I have posted every day on a variety of topics with still not so many comments. So then I thought that perhaps no one has been reading this blog, but according to my handy stat-tracker, I've had 16 visits in the past 16 hours.

So this post is to encourage any of you shy readers out there to feel free to come out of the woodwork and say hello if you want. I'm a friendly blogger and would enjoy hearing from you. That said, I am a lurker of many blogs, and understand the attraction to staying silent, so if none of my 30 posts this month inspire you to write back, that's ok too.

30 in 30

Inspired by MoMP, I have joined NaBloPoMo and taken on the challenge of writing a blog post a day for the month of November.

Stay tuned for more than you ever wanted to know about the inner-workings of my brain.