Fly.

Earlier this spring, I found myself at the local garden store in search of perfect hanging baskets for my newly acquired back porch.  It needed to be full and lush, flowery and lovely, all at the same time.  Not really a lot to ask, considering this garden store was absolutely mammoth! Little did I know, as I stood there in line waiting to purchase my matching hanging baskets of Lobelia, that I was actually purchasing a metaphor of life.

My next stop was the local home improvement store, where I selected the perfect hooks from which to hang ‘said’ lovely baskets from.  I strategically place the hooks and thus the baskets equidistant apart on the back porch.  Ahhhh…perfection!  Perhaps a bit too perfect, as the Mourning Dove from the feeder next door began fashioning sticks and twigs into a cozy little nest…right smack dab in the middle of the flowering basket!

First one egg, then two.  I gingerly watered around the nest, and the soon to be new family. Not long after, as I began my daily watering ritual, i discovered  it was not two eggs, but two teeny tiny baby birds!

Watching this momma bird raise her little family was oddly similar to raising my own children.  Devotion, commitment, sacrifice, only in time lapse photography.  One day when the babies were grown, and the momma thought it time, she encouraged them to leave the nest. Fly. Just fly. I watched as they flew away…and flew back…and flew away again, and finally…they were gone.

My daughter left for Iowa today, grad school.  I raised her, I nurtured her and i eventually encouraged her to fly.  She left for college 5 years (and two majors ago).  Even though she took great pride in being “on her own”, she was never more than a few miles from home.  Today I watched from inside the house (and out of their site), as she hugged her little  sister good-bye and climbed into the moving van… that the little girl who wouldn’t go to summer camp, was now moving to Iowa.  And then I realized…much like those little  baby birds, this was her time to fly.

Funny, I remember crying when she was seemingly swallowed up by the big yellow bus (first day of kindergarten), cried when she graduated high school, and again  when she moved into her college dorm, and then again  today (anybody see a pattern here?!) …as she struck out on her own for Iowa.  But here’s the thing…not only do I think she’ll fly..I know she will soar!

Will Mow Lawn for RaspberryJam

November 2010, Thanksgiving Day to be specific, I moved into MY house.  ”MY” as in the first house I bought completely on my own, and after surviving an ugly divorce…well who’s divorce isn’t ugly, right? Anyways, this was a big deal for me and one of mixed emotion.  Could I handle all the things that go along with home ownership?  Like when the faucet leaks, or the drain clogs, or the dishwasher breaks? But I am a resourceful girl, and I’d been longing for my own little bungalow, and it seemed like the perfect time (read: buyer’s market)…so what the hell, I jumped in with both feet (and perhaps with one eye closed).

It’s a lovely little neighborhood, older homes, built back in the 1950′s. Back in the day when hard wood floors and brick fireplaces were the norm. My neighbor to the left, a sweet little hunched back man, Leonard, 94 years old and more on his game  than many people I know, half his age. ! Arguably  the neighborhoods oldest resident, and I aspire to be as sharp as he in my old age. He rocks!  Then there’s Joanne and Nick, Steve and Margaret and Buffy and her adult daughter, Susan (who recently moved home after she moved out of her boyfriends house…damn, seemed like such a good idea at the time…)

I’ve decided this little neighborhood is a case of good news/bad news.  The good news is, everyone seems to keep tabs on you…and the bad news is, everyone seems to keep tabs on you!   Imagine my surprise when I learned my neighbors were discussing my ability to keep up with my yard!  I am the proud owner of a very big back yard, and apparently there was some concern as to if I could keep it all mowed in a timely fashion or not. But alas, I rarely back down from a challenge, especially if I know you doubt my ability. Okay, so I did buy a riding mower…but I rarely back down from a challenge.

And so I have spent my summer being “neighborly”  to those who have lived here for 30+ years, because at 49,  I am clearly the new kid on the block.  My lawn is mowed on a regular basis, my trash and recyclables are dragged out every Thursday night, my driveway is swept, and my flowers are watered, and I have engaged in small talk with every neighbor who has wandered by.

Today while sitting on my back porch enjoying an impromptu sushi dinner with my oldest daughter (who dropped by after work), I see one of my older and more opinionated neighbors approaching from cross lots.  I wonder what she could possibly want?  I quickly run a mental check list…lawn is mowed, trash cans are in, dog is quiet.  It is then that I see an old school canning jar in her hand. “Well I’ve just finished my final batch” she announces.  ”What?” we ask.” She responds,  ”I’ve been picking them all week, and just finished my last batch of jam.” “Strawberries?” my daughter asks? “No. Raspberries.” Buffy replies. “Even better!” I say.

We strike up a conversation about summer, I compliment her on her beautiful flower garden, she beams and then points out how badly  I’ve neglected my tomato plants,  I thank her for noticing …and for watering them as well. I attempt to make a joke about them screaming for water, and she tells me ‘their crying keeps me awake at night!’ I think I was just on-upped by somebodies grandmother!   She is 80-something and just as sharp as a tack; and I suddenly feel lucky to have gotten to meet these people and to be welcomed into their neighborhood, for it really is ‘their’ neighborhood.

Raspberry jam. Who takes the time to make that anymore?  And more importantly…who takes the time to make that, and then brings  a jar over  to the ‘new girl’ on the block??

Yes, we are a society of high tech; email, I-phones, voice-mails…and yet I feel you should never underestimate the the power of a jar of home made raspberry jam…especially when shared with your neighbor.

Feeling suddenly nostalgic, maybe it’s the heat making me delirious, maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s just the sweet simplicity of an era gone by…

The inspirational skipper

Green Lakes Triathlon-crossing the FINISH line!

Yesterday I competed in my first sprint triathlon of the season, no small task considering we’re just coming off one long hard-ass winter here in Upstate NY!  See, we have this phenomenon here called “Lake Effect Snow” and it can make a winter like none other-record amounts of snow, wind,  and cold.  Google it…you’ll probably be glad you live elsewhere. I’m actually getting off task here…so

Anyways-back to the Bucket List, which is pretty much what this whole Triathlon thing started out as last year anyways.  And you can’t really appreciate this story unless you know me.  So here goes…

I was the girl, you know, the one in high school who constantly skipped gym class, and then tried to basically lie about it in an attempt avoid the Principals Office, or worse…detention Clever excuses would roll off my tongue, like…I forgot my gym shorts, I have to make up a test, or if I were truly desperate…”cramps.”   Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a slug, no not at all. I loved gymnastics, ice skating, downhill skiing and the general running around required to play “freeze-tag”…I just despised gym class; found it terribly uncomfortable. I was not a fast runner, I struck out every time I came up to bat for softball, had a ridiculous overhand lob, and cringed when they announced we’d be ‘choosing teams’ today. Ugh. Because ‘choosing teams’ always went like this…”we’ll take popular girl; athletic girl; other popular girl; smart girl; cute boy’s sister; etc., etc., Hmmmm, yeah, ok…now you; and then  the really unpopular smelly kid, followed by the weird kid, and the scary kid. Yup. Classic line-up. It’s just that I never possessed any gym class prowness needed to shine during those 27 minutes of State required Physical Education.

And now, some 30-ish years later, via the wonders of Social Networking,  I now share tales about my 5k successes, my crazy training schedule, cycling adventures, and  the many tales of my newest endevour…Sprint Triathlons! Yes, I am now a Certified Triathlete.  (We should also note that these so called endevours included signing up for swimming lessons at the age of 48; thereby proving….you really CAN teach an old dog new tricks!!)

I am suddenly being hailed as an  ”Inspiration”  by those who used to wear the titles of “popular girl, athletic girl, other popular girl, smart girl…etc., etc.”   The irony does not escape me, and I find it both amusing  and flattering…

Next on my Bucket List?  Becoming a Level 1 Triathlon Coach…so I can train all those fellow ‘skippers’ who aspire to achieve great things…and cross stuff off their Bucket List.

All this from  the “Inspirational Skipper!”

The power of one

Precisely one day before my youngest turns 21, and I am in Aruba, on vacation…alone. Party of one.

A semi conscience decision, I suppose. I definitely wanted vacation. I was pretty set on Aruba…I wasn’t set on s.o.l.o…

But as we all know…things don’t always go as planned.  Anywho…long story short, it was either go by yourself (suck it up) or don’t go at all.  So I grow a set, and board the plane, solo, headed for Aruba!

So here’s the deal…why, when you travel alone, are you seemingly treated differently?  The flights were fine, the airports were fine.  Customs was fine, but I couldn’t help notice that everyone approaching the podium was a party of two. Man and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, partner and partner…and then there was me…party of one…no, just one.

I check into the hotel and the guy at the desk says (in his Aruban accent) “Ok ma’am, 3 nights, I show for one??!”  Yes, that’s correct, I respond. I almost feel the need to explain…”Yes, really…I have lots of friends, and even a boyfriend (I think?!), it’s just that none of them were able to rearrange their schedules or finances accordingly….no really…I have friends!”

And so I begin my vacation…party of one.

Every wheres I go I am greeted with the same question…”just one?” as if that were a bad thing?!  Yes, just one…(do you see anyone else??!?)  Ever notice how you’re never asked “just two?” or “just three?”  Yeah, no I get it, most going out for dinner are a party of two or more, but sometimes single people need to eat too, and there should be no shame in that.

Although I will confess dinner for one was much easier to pull off after a grapefruit martini at the lobby bar…and yes, I am speaking from experience.  Because as a woman I met from Mississippi said ( in a very thick southern drawl) “well good fer yooooou, ya know, I think it’s awl about attituuuude…”  she and her entire extended family were in Aruba for her nieces wedding.  Nicer people you could not meet! And I found myself wishing I belonged to a big ol’ family…you know, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters, embarrassing grandparents…the whole gambit.   But alas, ’twas not the case.  And then I made the conscience choice.  I remembered what the woman with the thick southern accent had said”…it’s awwwl about ya’alz attitude…”

And when the hostess  at the restaurant questioned “how many?”  I answered confidently “…one please.” No apologies, this was a conscience choice, and I did not sell myself short by answering “just” one.

Ahhhh yes…the power of one.  Be comfortable in your own skin.  You ARE good company. You are worthy of a lovely meal, in a lovely restaurant, and there is no shame in “a party of one.”

Bon Appetite!

 

A Variety of Goals…

It’s incredibly empowering to set a goal, and then to meet it. Wow. Really, does it get much cooler than saying “I’m going to do (insert goal here)…and then to actually do it??! I think not.

I’ve said for years that I wanted to run The Mountain Goat 10 Mile Run, a rather famous little race that occurs every Spring in my city.  But every Spring I find myself hitting my snooze button at 6:30 am Sunday morning, thereby missing yet another training run for this event. Best laid plans…

But this year was different.  This year, for a variety of reasons, I rolled my lazy ass out of bed at 6:30am each and every Sunday morning to get dressed in an assortment of layered running clothing (as it was often 15-20 degrees, snowing, windy, and just plain frickin’ cold!!) in order to partake in the legendary training runs…with 800+ other crazy runners.

Well today we reaped what we sowed. On what turned out to be the warmest day of the year thus far (upper 70′s), we ran the Mountain Goat in earnest.  And even though I’ve never actually run 10 miles before, I did today.  Was I fast?? Not really.  Did I place in my age group? Nope. Was I outstanding in anyway?? Probably not. But here’s what I did do…I started, I finished. Along the race route I high-fived 6 little kids that had their hands out, I struck up a conversation with  a runner I’d never met before, I made a pack w/ the guy next to me at mile 7 to be in the “under 2-hour club” and I encouraged and cheered on fellow runners who were doubting their ability at about mile 8 1/2.  In a nut shell…I had fun.  I took in the scenery (something I’d been too busy to do before)…I reached out to fellow runners, and I literally “felt” the whole experience.  And when I literally had about 400 meters left to run, and could not feel my legs, I pushed to cross the finish line, because that was my goal…and I did it.  I absolutely did it.  So cool. So empowering.

And so there ya go…various goals, enjoy, experience, accomplish…

Life is a journey, not a destination.

If it’s Wednesday, then it must be Aruba…

Hmmm…so much time has passed since the last blog entry…for better or worse?? Hard to say really. Obviously much has transpired since then…some of it good, some of it horribly “not so good.”

…all of of it falling under the heading of “life’s little experiences”…

And so here I am…mid Spring in Central NY.  The weather sucks, the girls are wrapping up their senior and junior years, respectively, in college, the ex has decided to stop contributing toward child support (cos everyone knows kids are free when they turn 21…) my mother is increasingly difficult as Alzheimer’s continues to ravage what little sanity she had left (making me even more useless in her eyes than before…as if that were possible…), and my boyfriend…Hm. Yes, my boyfriend.   He should be my rock, my go to guy, the one thing I can count on  when my life is seemingly spiraling out out of control…but hey, everyone knows relationships are not easy. Hell, if they were, everyone would have a great one, right??  And to his defense, I suspect I may be a pain in the ass to deal with from time to time as well…

Flash-forward.  I decide a  short vaca is in my near future…it includes; sun, surf, tropical drinks, snorkeling, horseback riding on the beach, escaping nearly all responsibility and some serious inventory of oneself.  Enter Aruba.

I extend the ‘holiday’ invite to a few friends, (my boyfriend being my first choice, of course) but no ones schedules or desires line up with mine. Boo, I think…no vaca.  Now the way I see things, you always have two choices for everything…namely “do it” or “don’t.” That’s it. It’s not rocket science.  If you want to do something, then make it happen…and if you choose not to do it, then that’s fine.  However, if you choose not to do something, you cannot sit around complaining about how you didn’t get to do X, Y, or Z.  So after sitting around for a few days whining to myself about not getting to go on vacation (because I have no one to travel with)  and vacationing alone is not an option because it’s sad a pathetic…I decide “f” it…I will go to Aruba alone.  What the hell?  I’m an independent, educated, mature (read “middle-aged”) woman. I’ve given birth, endured divorce, raised daughters, had my heart broken and competed in a handful of Triathlons.  I sure as the hell can go on a little tropical vacation solo!

Carpe’ Diem!  I have my tax return, paid vacation days and my health…no time like the present.  I have learned many things over the years…and the one thing I will never lose sight of is this…everyday is a gift, life can be short, and it is always unpredictable…do not waste opportunities and live with no regrets…or at least as few regrets as possible-  Sadly I know way too many people who have said “…when I retire…” and you know what??  They died before they ever retired, ever got to do anything the waited for.  My dad and brother being two of those people. How much does that suck??!  And perhaps that’s where I get my “Carpe’ Diem” attitude from…

And so there ya have it…this time next week, I shall be blogging from the pristine beaches of sunny Aruba!

The Money Pit

aka – The American Dream.

There was a movie back in the mid 80′s called ‘The Money Pit’ starring Tom Hanks.  If you’ve ever been a home owner, I’m sure you can relate….his character and his wife buy their first home, and then spend their entire existence (not to mention paychecks) trying to keep this house in working order-thereby proving, it really is “always something!” (A phrase made famous by Rosann Rosanna Danna, I think)…

I recently found myself coming full-circle.  Single renter, married home owner, divorced, single renter (again) ….and now? You guessed it…looking to be a home owner once again.  Why?  Well mostly cos I think it’s like child birth, and you forget how painful it was originally, so you suddenly get the strong desire to do it all over again!

I will most likely be making a purchase offer on a home in the morning…both scary and exciting.  It will represent a new beginning for me.  Solo home ownership. A sense of power and fulfillment, two really cool feelings.  It will be a home that I feel ‘at home’ in…settled, comfortable.  And even though my daughters are grown, in college  and seemingly adults, there will be bedrooms there just for them…so they too will always feel like they have a ‘home’ to go to, even if only for a week or two during winter break.  It will be cozy, and it will be warm…and it will be home. And yes…it will be “sweet.”

Choice.

One word.  Once syllable.  So easy….or is it?

Ever stop to think how many conscience decisions you make in a day? What time will I get up? (Of course  this may depend on whether it’s the weekend or weekday?) What shall I wear? Dress pants, jeans, khaki’s, gym shorts ?  Breakfast? Yogurt, granola, or just coffee? One doughnut or two? Do I get gas on my way to work, of just see how far I can really get on “E”? Let this car squeeze in ahead of me, or be a jerk and ride tight to the bumper that is in front of me?    Speed and hope I don’t get caught?  Or drive within the legal limit? Deposit my check into my savings account?  Or just say fuck it and go shopping instead?  Obviously the decisions and choices that we make in the course of the day are both varied, and seemingly endless.  But they all have one thing in common, they all consist of ‘free choice’.  They are our decisions to make, we are in control, we really do  choose.  Wheat bread or rye? Your choice.

The dictionary defines the word ‘choice’ as follows:  noun. the act of choosing; selection; the right, power, or chance to choose; option; a person or thing chosen;

I think that pretty much sums it up;  you choose, you decide…kinda cool…you are in control.  So this brings me to the next question….what do you make of people who say “I can’t…?”  Do they mean that they are physically unable too , or do they  ‘choose’ not to?  Hm.  If I were to tell you I cannot bench press 400 lbs., well that’s probably true…as I am a petite woman in stature, and all though I am very athletic and toned, I physically cannot lift 400 lbs., it’s not a choice, it’s a fact.  On the other hand, if someone tells you they cannot commit to you in a relationship, does it mean they are physically unable to? (Like I am physically unable to bench press 400 lbs.?) Or does it simply mean they are ‘choosing’ not to?  Hmmm….interesting thought, yes?  I’m pretty sure most of the decisions we make are conscience, even if we pretend they are not…

And so, when I run out of gas on my way to work because I felt like “I can’t stop at the gas station right now”…you can can be pretty sure I actually “could have“….I just simply chose “not to”…

Choice.  So simple…or is it?

WOW-Just for me.

Being the youngest of three-constantly being referred to as “the baby” (even at the age of 40?!)…and the product of an ugly divorce -back in the day when d.i.v.o.r.c.e. was stilled spelled out because it was a dirty word (circa 1969)…I’ve spent the majority of my life ‘performing’ for approval.  I like to refer to it as the “Dog and Pony Show.”

Like most kids, all I wanted to do was to ‘fit-in.’ And mostly, I didn’t.  My parents were divorced, giant taboo back in the day. I had an enormous over-bite at the age of nine, fantastic fodder for ridicule, and a lovely bump on the bridge of my nose which made me look  more Italian than my Irish roots would have liked.  I rarely saw my father, my grandmother referred to me as “homely,” my step-father had little use for me and my mother constantly told me I ‘was not good enough for that.’  Didn’t really matter what “that” was, I simply wasn’t good enough for it. Yikes. Tough crowd.

And thus I found myself constantly trying to gain someones approval.  Hell, anyone’s approval, I was desperate-didn’t matter who.  This plagued me all throughout  life (not just childhood) as I tried desperately to gain the approval of my mother, my in-laws, and later after divorce, the approval and respect/support of a particular man that I dated.  All to no avail.  I did my best song and dance routine…only to be rewarded with the sound of crickets…

Fast forward to this past weekend, and the completion of my very first Triathlon. Yes. That’s right people…Triathlon.  The girl who routinely skipped gym class in high school is now a bonafide triathlete.  I trained, I planned, I envisioned. And on Saturday, I competed, and it was great!  In a field of 85 co-ed first time triathletes, I placed a respectable 24th. And I did it for me. Just me. I went by myself, I completed it by myself. There was no one to impress. No one to perform for.  No Dog and Pony Show. I did not seek anyone’s approval. It was all just for me… and yes,  it was great!

Writers Block and Chardonnay

So I often think I should write more,  God knows there’s enough random thoughts floating around in this empty cranium to fill a page…but I suspect like most of you, there doesn’t always seem to be significant time to settle down and organize said thoughts into a tidy new post.  I just saw on my dashboard tonight that there is something you can sign up for that will give you topics to write about as a way to jump start your blogging, should you suffer writers block.  I don’t usually suffer writers block…I suffer more from writers time.  But nonetheless, one suggestion was to write a Haiku about the last thing you ate.  And so without further ado, I give you my dinner:

Crusty, Cheesy Goo

A Triangle From Heaven

Dances On My Tongue

And here’s one about my beverage:

Chilled To Perfection

A Velvet Glide On My Lips

Refreshing My Soul

…Yeah, who doesn’t love pizza and wine on a Friday night!?