Despite all the mucking about, the wondering if I'm a Scrooge, and the hours of chocolate-covered-pretzel making, Christmas was lovely. In fact, it's been the nicest Christmas in quite awhile.
I'm learning to go with the flow a bit more. It's one of my biggest challenges. As a borderline Obsessive-Compulsive, it's difficult to throw down the reigns and let go of control. I constantly try to do everything as efficiently and successfully as possible, so just kicking back and attempting to not mold everything into what I want it to be... well, it's not always easy for me. But this Christmas, I did it well.
I had a few cookies and didn't beat myself up over it. I broke down and went to Wal-Mart to buy Dad the Eagles CD he wanted. I didn't get too pouty after eating mashed potatoes for three days (Holiday meals are not too Vegetarian-friendly). I had a blast playing with my adorable new nephew, Gavin, and stayed up late playing Scrabble with my sister and her fiance. I slept in and didn't feel bad about it (yes, believe it or not that's an accomplishment). And I had an awesome time catching up with the family and enjoying their company. I did all of this and maintained calm despite issues with our car that were not resolved until just before leaving home (a long, boring story that ended well - we made it home in one piece, though I missed some work because of it).
All in all it was a lot of fun. And last night we had our Christmas Part II: the Yost version. John's parents, brother Neil and his girlfriend Sol-Ana came over last night and we had another night of fun making homemade pizzas, playing board games, and opening more presents. Our homemade gift this year - a custom designed photo yearbook for both of our parents - was a huge hit (despite the close call with holiday shipping, I highly recommend blurb.com).
Now, in-between holidays and there is much to do... lots of work to catch up, lots of cookies and chocolate to burn off, and lots of New Year's plans.
But first, an extended weekend to New York City for New Year's. Honestly, I think New Year's is one of my favorite holidays. It is so much less stressful than any other holiday and there are really no rules - just to have fun! I have been truly spoiled every year since I've met John, as our New Year's festivities are always outrageously fun: 2003 we partied like rock-stars at RIT with a bunch of friends; 2004 we watched fireworks over London from our hotel room with the Yosts and my Mom; 2005 we hosted a party at our Rochester apartment; 2006 we partied on a rooftop under city-wide fireworks with friends in Brooklyn; and last year we rang in '07 in Montreal. Every year the scenery may change, but the good friends, good locale, good drinks combo never gets old.
This year we're going back to Brooklyn, as Johnny has to record the Director's Commentary for his film with Holland and Randall (which has received online distribution through IndiePix.net). We'll be staying with them and probably hitting the town for some party-hopping. No definite plans guarantee another memorable night.
I think what I love most about New Year's is the fact that you 'go out with a bang' so-to-speak... and get a fresh start, all at the same time. I am a self-reflective person by nature, and there's no better time like a New Year to look closely at your life, realize all that you've accomplished, and set some goals for the future. It's going to be a good year... I can feel it.
Here's to '08. And going out with a bang! Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Humbug Anecdote
An attempt to prove that we're note quite as Scroogey as my previous post may have indicated:
Two Scrooges
It's that time of the year again. And as much as I'd like to shut my brain off and just go to the mall like everyone else, I find the holiday season to be one of the most difficult times of the year.
Well, maybe I'm being overly dramatic. But my frustration with the holidays are rooted in a slow progression away from the traditional concept of Christmas celebrations.
As a young girl, this was my favorite time of year by far. Steeped in careful tradition and stories of Christmas' past, the month of December played out like a well-read book, year after year. There was the gift wish list, given to Mom early in the month. The same cookie recipes baked with love and decorated by all of us girls. The shopping trips and gift wrapping sessions. The same holiday albums on repeat and the same movies, now known so well we can all recite lines even in the middle of summer. And then the tree: every year we would get a real evergreen - sometimes going out to cut it ourselves - and the night that we all decorated it was taken so seriously that usually my parents ended up arguing about something silly. Dad always brought the tree in and set it up. Mom always strung the lights. And the rest of us worked until every ornament was hung, always stopping for nostalgic smiles and stories when certain old bulbs were brought out.
The traditions continued, right through the holiday, and became more and more solid. Christmas Eve was Gramma's party, filled with its own rituals: singing carols and finding the ring in the advent tree and singing Happy Birthday to my aunt who was born Christmas Day. And on the 25th, we usually relaxed a bit... but the day was always filled with two very rigid traditions: opening gifts all morning long, each attempting to guess every one and sometimes spanning into the evening; and Mom's homemade breakfast and dinner, usually consisting of scones or pancakes then a baked Ham, usually shared with the Grams or other single family members that might be joining us that day.
Now that my sister and I are adults - myself married and five hours from home, my sister with a son of her own and living in Florida - keeping these traditions has grown more and more difficult. But every year, my parents do their best to maintain the schedule.
I admit that I love these traditions, and the feeling of being home and hearing the familiar skip in a holiday record that has been there since I was a little girl. And I love gathering around the tree on Christmas morning, drinking coffee and guessing each other's gifts, all of us always trying to stump Dad - the Master Guesser.
But what's changed in me has been a consciousness in tradition - an ability to connect to the purpose of these holiday routines and separate them from commercial spillover. And the ability to let go and make room for flux and flow of new, different traditions with my own family.
This is what makes the holidays difficult for me. In short, I sometimes see us blindly following these traditions out of habit and cold obligation. And to me, it becomes pointless and any true meaning behind Christmas becomes lost in all of the tinsel and wrapping paper.
John and I have tried to make our own little traditions, giving respect to our upbringings while charting our own path. We have a little tiny tree and a few decorations that have been given to us, and we have taken the time to make about 80% of the gifts we'll be giving out. In fact, tomorrow we'll be in the kitchen making our last edible presents for friends and family and I'm sure Bing Crosby and Mel Torme will be in the background. And it'll be a blast.
But it seems like the past few years December has been filled with a lot more frustration than fun, and sometimes I wonder if we're turning into two Scrooges. We're making an effort, for sure, but there are still some things where we draw the line: we're not buying each other gifts, we're not going to church, and I'm not - I repeat - NOT - going to the mall.
Happy Holidays!
Well, maybe I'm being overly dramatic. But my frustration with the holidays are rooted in a slow progression away from the traditional concept of Christmas celebrations.
As a young girl, this was my favorite time of year by far. Steeped in careful tradition and stories of Christmas' past, the month of December played out like a well-read book, year after year. There was the gift wish list, given to Mom early in the month. The same cookie recipes baked with love and decorated by all of us girls. The shopping trips and gift wrapping sessions. The same holiday albums on repeat and the same movies, now known so well we can all recite lines even in the middle of summer. And then the tree: every year we would get a real evergreen - sometimes going out to cut it ourselves - and the night that we all decorated it was taken so seriously that usually my parents ended up arguing about something silly. Dad always brought the tree in and set it up. Mom always strung the lights. And the rest of us worked until every ornament was hung, always stopping for nostalgic smiles and stories when certain old bulbs were brought out.
The traditions continued, right through the holiday, and became more and more solid. Christmas Eve was Gramma's party, filled with its own rituals: singing carols and finding the ring in the advent tree and singing Happy Birthday to my aunt who was born Christmas Day. And on the 25th, we usually relaxed a bit... but the day was always filled with two very rigid traditions: opening gifts all morning long, each attempting to guess every one and sometimes spanning into the evening; and Mom's homemade breakfast and dinner, usually consisting of scones or pancakes then a baked Ham, usually shared with the Grams or other single family members that might be joining us that day.
Now that my sister and I are adults - myself married and five hours from home, my sister with a son of her own and living in Florida - keeping these traditions has grown more and more difficult. But every year, my parents do their best to maintain the schedule.
I admit that I love these traditions, and the feeling of being home and hearing the familiar skip in a holiday record that has been there since I was a little girl. And I love gathering around the tree on Christmas morning, drinking coffee and guessing each other's gifts, all of us always trying to stump Dad - the Master Guesser.
But what's changed in me has been a consciousness in tradition - an ability to connect to the purpose of these holiday routines and separate them from commercial spillover. And the ability to let go and make room for flux and flow of new, different traditions with my own family.
This is what makes the holidays difficult for me. In short, I sometimes see us blindly following these traditions out of habit and cold obligation. And to me, it becomes pointless and any true meaning behind Christmas becomes lost in all of the tinsel and wrapping paper.
John and I have tried to make our own little traditions, giving respect to our upbringings while charting our own path. We have a little tiny tree and a few decorations that have been given to us, and we have taken the time to make about 80% of the gifts we'll be giving out. In fact, tomorrow we'll be in the kitchen making our last edible presents for friends and family and I'm sure Bing Crosby and Mel Torme will be in the background. And it'll be a blast.
But it seems like the past few years December has been filled with a lot more frustration than fun, and sometimes I wonder if we're turning into two Scrooges. We're making an effort, for sure, but there are still some things where we draw the line: we're not buying each other gifts, we're not going to church, and I'm not - I repeat - NOT - going to the mall.
Happy Holidays!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Me and Snow Falling
Metaphorically, I am a stilt walker.
Most of the time I am soaring above people, high on life, giddy about the possibilities, eager to make a difference. I go about much of my social life with such effort that I am often lost in the to-do lists, projects, parties, and plans to realize how effortlessly I'm trotting along.
But it doesn't take all that much for me to lose balance and come crashing down. First it might be a little gust of irritation. Then, perhaps a pebble of self-doubt. But before I realize what's happening, I'm teetering and swaying and shifting my footing but the result is always the same: a hard, sloppy crash.
Tonight was the inevitable crash landing. I had a fine, productive day. If anything was awry leaving work, it was simply that I was quite tired and the snow had been falling since noon. I marched to my car through the piling snow with much gusto, thinking of my warm apartment and loving cat and husband waiting for me. The snow was coming down hard; I crossed the street through thick rivets of accumulation, to the lone vehicle on the street covered in inches of white fluff.
I hadn't worn my boots this morning, and was mildly irritated but my spirits were still high. After tromping into the mounds around my car, feeling the cold hit my bare ankles, I climbed inside quickly, starting the engine and cranking up the heat and defrost. Almost there... I only had to bear the snow pushing up to my ankles for a few minutes of snow-brushing and I'd be home in minutes; Luckily, I live a half-mile from work.
I got out of the car, shut the door, and went for the back door where I keep the snow brush. To my confusion, the door was locked. Hmm. I had just hit the unlock button... So, I went back for the front door.
Locked.
And - just like that - it hit me: I had made the ultimate I'm-that-girl move. I had locked my keys in the car... and it was running. I had heard stories of people doing this before, and had always thought God, how could you be that dense? Now, I was that dense.
There was a moment of How did I do this?
Then, Oh, I must have hit Lock instead of Unlock.
Then, What the hell do I do now?
I knew there was only one option: go home. Since I don't have a cell phone (maybe that will be another entry someday titled "I was so happy living life without an electronic leash until the day I locked my keys in the car while it was running during the first major snowstorm of the winter")... and since I am so close to home, I did the only thing I could do: I started running.
I puffed and slid and stomped through the rising snowdrifts, my socks getting wetter, feet getting colder, and good spirit slowing but surely dissipating into the snowbanks around me. By the time I barged into the house I was furious; You'll never believe what I just did! I proclaimed. I am such a moron!
John stared at me coolly as I explained what had just happened, still gasping from running, still dripping with melting snow.
Well, it's a good thing we have Triple A. He said, fetching his card. Give them a call and we'll go get it. Not a big deal at all!
I glowered. Not a big deal?
I sat on the couch on hold with Triple A while John played with Toonces, tossing her mouse around, running across the living room and talking in his high-pitched little boy voice that is reserved for Toonces and occasionally me. I was fuming. How could he not be angry? Why is he not comforting me?
Finally, I got through and the operator informed me that, of course, there was a backup because of the storm and they would send someone to unlock my car... but it would be a two hour wait! That was it... I cracked. That's the moment when I came crashing down and there was no stopping me.
After stomping around like a child, slamming the dresser drawers as I changed my wet socks, and moping on the couch, John came and sat next to me.
"Want a quesadilla?" he asked in that same little boy voice.
I smiled. Then laughed.
"It's really not a big deal. That's what Triple A is for." He reassured me. And we went into the kitchen and made dillas for dinner.
By the time we got to my car, most of the snow had melted off from the heat that had been on for 2 hours. My keys were retrieved in mere seconds, and we were back home within ten minutes of leaving.
Now that I'm back home in my comfy sweatpants with peace restored, I realize that the stilt-walking is just part of my nature. After a good night's sleep, I'll be back up on top of the world in the morning. But mostly, what I've realized is that I've married the most wonderful man in the world, because even when I have hit the ground hard and am thrashing about like a wild woman, he just smiles and reaches out his hand.
Thanks sweetie, for always picking me back up.
Most of the time I am soaring above people, high on life, giddy about the possibilities, eager to make a difference. I go about much of my social life with such effort that I am often lost in the to-do lists, projects, parties, and plans to realize how effortlessly I'm trotting along.
But it doesn't take all that much for me to lose balance and come crashing down. First it might be a little gust of irritation. Then, perhaps a pebble of self-doubt. But before I realize what's happening, I'm teetering and swaying and shifting my footing but the result is always the same: a hard, sloppy crash.
Tonight was the inevitable crash landing. I had a fine, productive day. If anything was awry leaving work, it was simply that I was quite tired and the snow had been falling since noon. I marched to my car through the piling snow with much gusto, thinking of my warm apartment and loving cat and husband waiting for me. The snow was coming down hard; I crossed the street through thick rivets of accumulation, to the lone vehicle on the street covered in inches of white fluff.
I hadn't worn my boots this morning, and was mildly irritated but my spirits were still high. After tromping into the mounds around my car, feeling the cold hit my bare ankles, I climbed inside quickly, starting the engine and cranking up the heat and defrost. Almost there... I only had to bear the snow pushing up to my ankles for a few minutes of snow-brushing and I'd be home in minutes; Luckily, I live a half-mile from work.
I got out of the car, shut the door, and went for the back door where I keep the snow brush. To my confusion, the door was locked. Hmm. I had just hit the unlock button... So, I went back for the front door.
Locked.
And - just like that - it hit me: I had made the ultimate I'm-that-girl move. I had locked my keys in the car... and it was running. I had heard stories of people doing this before, and had always thought God, how could you be that dense? Now, I was that dense.
There was a moment of How did I do this?
Then, Oh, I must have hit Lock instead of Unlock.
Then, What the hell do I do now?
I knew there was only one option: go home. Since I don't have a cell phone (maybe that will be another entry someday titled "I was so happy living life without an electronic leash until the day I locked my keys in the car while it was running during the first major snowstorm of the winter")... and since I am so close to home, I did the only thing I could do: I started running.
I puffed and slid and stomped through the rising snowdrifts, my socks getting wetter, feet getting colder, and good spirit slowing but surely dissipating into the snowbanks around me. By the time I barged into the house I was furious; You'll never believe what I just did! I proclaimed. I am such a moron!
John stared at me coolly as I explained what had just happened, still gasping from running, still dripping with melting snow.
Well, it's a good thing we have Triple A. He said, fetching his card. Give them a call and we'll go get it. Not a big deal at all!
I glowered. Not a big deal?
I sat on the couch on hold with Triple A while John played with Toonces, tossing her mouse around, running across the living room and talking in his high-pitched little boy voice that is reserved for Toonces and occasionally me. I was fuming. How could he not be angry? Why is he not comforting me?
Finally, I got through and the operator informed me that, of course, there was a backup because of the storm and they would send someone to unlock my car... but it would be a two hour wait! That was it... I cracked. That's the moment when I came crashing down and there was no stopping me.
After stomping around like a child, slamming the dresser drawers as I changed my wet socks, and moping on the couch, John came and sat next to me.
"Want a quesadilla?" he asked in that same little boy voice.
I smiled. Then laughed.
"It's really not a big deal. That's what Triple A is for." He reassured me. And we went into the kitchen and made dillas for dinner.
By the time we got to my car, most of the snow had melted off from the heat that had been on for 2 hours. My keys were retrieved in mere seconds, and we were back home within ten minutes of leaving.
Now that I'm back home in my comfy sweatpants with peace restored, I realize that the stilt-walking is just part of my nature. After a good night's sleep, I'll be back up on top of the world in the morning. But mostly, what I've realized is that I've married the most wonderful man in the world, because even when I have hit the ground hard and am thrashing about like a wild woman, he just smiles and reaches out his hand.
Thanks sweetie, for always picking me back up.
Friday, November 23, 2007
The Magic Hours: Our Adventure in Iceland
I knew it would be a blink of an eye, but really, I'm sitting here back at my computer with warm, cozy familiarity all around me and I cannot believe that I am home again, only a mind-full of memories and a flickr album of photos remaining from our journey. Two nights and three days was enough time to get a real flavor of the country and paint a vivid picture of a land so beautiful and unique that... well... two days and three nights was almost... a tease.
Our journey began with an intense lurch of festivities. We left Saturday morning, November 17th, for SUNY Purchase to spend the evening celebrating Neil - John's little brother's - 22nd birthday. Honestly, it was a whole story in and of itself - a crazy evening of drunken college shenanigans ending with a weary head, a diner breakfast, and an eager-to-be-on-our-way journey to Queens.
After the chaos that was Purchase, we were ecstatic to spend Sunday evening with our friends Sean and Laura at their new apartment in Astoria. We vegged out with their TiVo, and they fed us an awesome meal of mushroom pasta and wine. By Monday, we were completely refreshed for our trek to JFK and flight to Reykjavik.
We spent much of Monday sleeping and resting, including on our Icelandair flight that left New York at 8pm. It wasn't until Monday that we realized one crucial detail: Iceland is five hours ahead of Eastern time. Yes, five. Just like England and Ireland... but we'd be there for barely three days. In other words, we were going to have some serious jet-lag to cope with in a very short amount of time. We needed to be good to our bodies, or else we wouldn't get to do much at all.
Jet-lag is one of those inevitable nuisances that - no matter how often you travel - you never can prevent. And thus was the case for this trip. Despite catching a few hours rest on the flight and arriving excitingly at Keflavik airport, our excitement waned throughout the pitch-black bus ride and check-in at Hilton Nordica. Our room was gorgeous, just like the hotel, but we spent just enough time realizing that before we curled beneath the down comforter in the night-like darkness and drifted off to sleep.
We awoke at 1PM, a little bleary-eyed, but eager to seize any remaining hours of sunlight. The night and day begins to blur in Icelandic November. With the sun rising at 10AM and setting around 5PM, the inbetween hours of daylight are a beautiful, slightly disorienting shade of warm orange. The sun lingers just above the horizon, like an extended sunrise that eventually fades back into a sunset. In film school, the hour before sunset when the sky was most beautiful and the light cast copper rims was called the "Magic Hour." But here, the Magic Hour lasted all day long, giving way to an extended nightfall.
We showered and left somewhat clumsily, so eager to see the city that I went into the frigid air with wet hair, and John realizing - quickly - that he had forgotten to pack his winter coat. But we pressed on, walking through the crisp, eye-stinging breeze into the downtown where the wind slowed and the buildings, cars and people created a bubble of warmth. Surprisingly, Iceland's temperatures - at their coldest - only reach as low as the 20's (Fahrenheit) and it was only in the 30's in Reykjavik. Growing up in Rochester, Iceland's worst weather sounded like a nice day in March.
So we adapted quickly, scurrying around the streets peering in windows, visiting the Pond and other beautiful squares where statues and modern architecture abutted classic, colorful European low-rises. The city had nuances of other places I'd been... a little bit like Amsterdam and Treier, Germany, but otherwise one-of-a-kind. Reykjavik was small and quaint, and we covered much of the downtown on foot in an hour of curious meandering. The city clearly had a bustling nightlife that was obvious even on a Tuesday afternoon, as pubs, clubs, bars, and casino-clubs dotted the streets. There were an abundance of restaurants to choose from, and after dillydallying around town we settled on a cute 2nd floor pub with windows overlooking the street and a special of Curried Vegetable soup served in a giant round of home-cooked bread. A couple hours later and we were warmed to the soul, feeling quite at home from the kind wait staff and curious about the open, trusting nature of people here (while dining, we watched a woman leave her baby in its stroller while she went inside a shop for about 10 minutes.)
We began our walk back, stopping at the local grocery store, BONUS. This is always my favorite way to really get the feel for another country: to see what they eat and how they shop for it. It was busy and crowded, but I managed to snag some local chocolate and junk food - marzipan wrapped in licorice wrapped in chocolate (called Tromp - and really, not that great, but certainly a unique treat). We bustled back, having a unique run-in with a "bum." Or, at least, we think he was a bum. We noticed immediately Reykjavik's lack of a homeless population, and if this man was homeless, he was the nicest homeless man I've ever met. He stopped us to bum a smoke from John:
"Can I bumm a smoke, man?" he asked with a big grin.
"Um..." John and I both look at each other. John's smokes are hand-rolled. John says, "Sure. But I have to roll it. Can you wait?"
"Sure, I don't mind. Thanks."
While John makes him a smoke, we tell the man that we're from New York and it's our first day in town and that we already love his city. He tells us that it's expensive, though (which we've already noticed) and openly admits that he lives on welfare and is disabled. Then he proceeds to tell us this animated story about how, the previous night, a kind English-speaking stranger at a bar bought him drinks and took him to the bank, where he deposited 5,000 krona into his account. We oohed and ahhed about how nice that was, gave him the cigarette, and as we parted shook hands. He tried to give John his lighter as a 'thank you for the smoke,' and he patted John's shoulder and said, "Nice folks" with a smile as we parted ways.
We both agreed that if the man had told us that story, hoping that we'd offer him some money, it was the kindest solicitation for cash we'd ever received. And perhaps it's just our cynical, American attitudes that would even think such a thing. Regardless, we left the city with an odd sense of community and comfort.
Back at the hotel, we lounged at the VOX bar over some pints and wine. We were tired, and eager to get a good night's sleep in preparation for our one full day in Iceland. We had a rental car reserved, and a vague plan to follow the "Golden Circle" - a route that would take us out of Reykjavik and down towards the south coast, then back again, with a few major attractions on the way.
We woke at 8am and had a delicious buffet breakfast at the hotel, included with our package. A traditional English-style breakfast with yogurt, pastries, pancakes, juices, coffee, tea... whatever your heart desired. We filled up and ate well, then met our ride to the car rental place where we picked up our Toyota Corolla. Sonya, the girl at Hertz, was super nice, giving us a map and telling us exactly where to go. The staff were also quite accommodating when we ignorantly rented a "semi" automatic, and needed instruction on how to operated the car, which didn't have a clutch, but allowed you to switch into manual and gear up or down.
We were off to a rocky start, accidentally driving into a turning lane and having to hit reverse, nearly causing a head-on collision! The driving there was exactly like the states, but I was nervous, and between the round-abouts and confusing signs, we made three wrong turns before finally getting on the right path... but we were in good spirits and eager to see more of the country.
We headed south on Route 1, seeing the sunrise over the coast and eventually turn the rocky landscape a warm, golden color. We continued until we reached our first stop: Geysir. A small tourist stop with no real "town," Geysir was just what the name implies: a bunch of natural geysers, with one spectacular one that shot several stories high!
We wandered around on the icy pathway, alone except for a group of Asian tourists, before continuing on to the next stop: Gullfoss, a beautiful, misty waterfall in a deep gorge. We were not dressed properly, so after wandering out on the wooden walkway, frozen by the breeze, we went back to the cafe and had some delicious hot asparagus soup and coffee, before bundling up and driving down to the waterfall's landing. There, we slid across the icy ground where a rainbow came through the mist at the waterfall's edge. It was absolutely stunning, everything shimmering in it's icy sheath.
We continued our journey across the countryside, stopping to explore the rocky land and venturing onto a pot-holed main road that was all gravel and ice. We eventually made it to our last top, Þingvellir, which is the location of the original Icelandic Parliament, and supposedly the oldest parliament in the world (according to Sonya). It is also the only location in the world where the joining of two tectonic plates is so visible: we stopped and photographed the jagged rift, known as the Continental Divide, where the two plates supposedly widen slightly every year.
Our journey ended there, as we were soon after returning to Reykjavik. We napped at the hotel, watching bad American TV with Icelandic subtitles and reading the local paper, The Grapevine, where we read a review of a local Vegetarian restaurant called Á næstu grösum and decided to try it out. We drove downtown, easily parked and found the restaurant quickly. It was on the second floor, warm and snug, and the food was served at the counter. The man was very nice, explaining the daily special, which we both tried: handmade tofu burgers topped with a delicious sauce, served with roasted sweet and sour veggies and sweet potatoes, salad, and rice. The food and atmosphere were both fantastic, and we hung out there for a bit before deciding to try out Kaffibarinn, the famous bar owned by Damon Albran, lead singer of Blur and Gorillaz. I'd read about it online before we left, and it sounded like our kind of place.
Kaffibarinn luckily quiet and laid-back, since it was a Wednesday night. The room was cozy and candle-lit, a little rugged and lived-in, like any good London pub. John tried the local Viking beer, and we snuggled on a couch in the corner while the locals chatted, drank coffee, and worked on their laptops. Again, we were stifled by the people's trusting nature: a woman at a table right next to us - and right next to the door - went to the bathroom, leaving all of her belongings, including her purse, alone on the table. Shortly after, another guy, also by the door, went outside for a smoke and left his Apple laptop alone on the table. The two girls at the bar brought out a plate of brie and baguette, and it took me a few minutes to realize that it was free - and for everyone.
Our adventure in Iceland really ended there, because we had such a brilliant, busy day that we went back to the hotel and crashed. We woke early to return the car and eat breakfast, but did little else on our last day but ride back to the airport, sadly watching the rocky coastline the whole way. It seemed unfair to have to leave so soon, our bodies still unadjusted to the time shift and the odd balance of darkness and dusk, but somehow at home in the strange place.
The allure of travel to me is how any preconceived notion of a place - all of the second-hand facts and images ans stories - are always blown out the window when you actually step foot there. Iceland was everything I had heard it to be: beautiful, cultural, relaxed, geographically spectacular, and like no where else on the planet. But being there and seeing it for myself, I felt something that no travel book or documentary or photograph could communicate. Despite the disorienting balance of night and day, the remoteness of its location, and the vastness of its icy, uninhabited landscapes, I felt at home. Just like the magical hours of day, bathing the place in its warm glow, the people and their city were warm and inviting - a stark contrast to the rough terrain. We felt welcome and one with the ebb and flow of life, and eager to see more. We heard stories of the never-ending daylight in summer, the green replacing the ice at Gullfoss waterfall, and the days when you could lay out on the beach and actually get a tan.
While it is always good to come home and belong, I feel a sense of calm excitement from our trip. It's almost as if I've opened a door that I know I'll walk through again, but for now, I must turn back and let the light peeking through it be a reminder of what's on the other side.
Takk fyrir, Ísland.
Our journey began with an intense lurch of festivities. We left Saturday morning, November 17th, for SUNY Purchase to spend the evening celebrating Neil - John's little brother's - 22nd birthday. Honestly, it was a whole story in and of itself - a crazy evening of drunken college shenanigans ending with a weary head, a diner breakfast, and an eager-to-be-on-our-way journey to Queens.
After the chaos that was Purchase, we were ecstatic to spend Sunday evening with our friends Sean and Laura at their new apartment in Astoria. We vegged out with their TiVo, and they fed us an awesome meal of mushroom pasta and wine. By Monday, we were completely refreshed for our trek to JFK and flight to Reykjavik.
We spent much of Monday sleeping and resting, including on our Icelandair flight that left New York at 8pm. It wasn't until Monday that we realized one crucial detail: Iceland is five hours ahead of Eastern time. Yes, five. Just like England and Ireland... but we'd be there for barely three days. In other words, we were going to have some serious jet-lag to cope with in a very short amount of time. We needed to be good to our bodies, or else we wouldn't get to do much at all.
Jet-lag is one of those inevitable nuisances that - no matter how often you travel - you never can prevent. And thus was the case for this trip. Despite catching a few hours rest on the flight and arriving excitingly at Keflavik airport, our excitement waned throughout the pitch-black bus ride and check-in at Hilton Nordica. Our room was gorgeous, just like the hotel, but we spent just enough time realizing that before we curled beneath the down comforter in the night-like darkness and drifted off to sleep.
We awoke at 1PM, a little bleary-eyed, but eager to seize any remaining hours of sunlight. The night and day begins to blur in Icelandic November. With the sun rising at 10AM and setting around 5PM, the inbetween hours of daylight are a beautiful, slightly disorienting shade of warm orange. The sun lingers just above the horizon, like an extended sunrise that eventually fades back into a sunset. In film school, the hour before sunset when the sky was most beautiful and the light cast copper rims was called the "Magic Hour." But here, the Magic Hour lasted all day long, giving way to an extended nightfall.
We showered and left somewhat clumsily, so eager to see the city that I went into the frigid air with wet hair, and John realizing - quickly - that he had forgotten to pack his winter coat. But we pressed on, walking through the crisp, eye-stinging breeze into the downtown where the wind slowed and the buildings, cars and people created a bubble of warmth. Surprisingly, Iceland's temperatures - at their coldest - only reach as low as the 20's (Fahrenheit) and it was only in the 30's in Reykjavik. Growing up in Rochester, Iceland's worst weather sounded like a nice day in March.
So we adapted quickly, scurrying around the streets peering in windows, visiting the Pond and other beautiful squares where statues and modern architecture abutted classic, colorful European low-rises. The city had nuances of other places I'd been... a little bit like Amsterdam and Treier, Germany, but otherwise one-of-a-kind. Reykjavik was small and quaint, and we covered much of the downtown on foot in an hour of curious meandering. The city clearly had a bustling nightlife that was obvious even on a Tuesday afternoon, as pubs, clubs, bars, and casino-clubs dotted the streets. There were an abundance of restaurants to choose from, and after dillydallying around town we settled on a cute 2nd floor pub with windows overlooking the street and a special of Curried Vegetable soup served in a giant round of home-cooked bread. A couple hours later and we were warmed to the soul, feeling quite at home from the kind wait staff and curious about the open, trusting nature of people here (while dining, we watched a woman leave her baby in its stroller while she went inside a shop for about 10 minutes.)
We began our walk back, stopping at the local grocery store, BONUS. This is always my favorite way to really get the feel for another country: to see what they eat and how they shop for it. It was busy and crowded, but I managed to snag some local chocolate and junk food - marzipan wrapped in licorice wrapped in chocolate (called Tromp - and really, not that great, but certainly a unique treat). We bustled back, having a unique run-in with a "bum." Or, at least, we think he was a bum. We noticed immediately Reykjavik's lack of a homeless population, and if this man was homeless, he was the nicest homeless man I've ever met. He stopped us to bum a smoke from John:
"Can I bumm a smoke, man?" he asked with a big grin.
"Um..." John and I both look at each other. John's smokes are hand-rolled. John says, "Sure. But I have to roll it. Can you wait?"
"Sure, I don't mind. Thanks."
While John makes him a smoke, we tell the man that we're from New York and it's our first day in town and that we already love his city. He tells us that it's expensive, though (which we've already noticed) and openly admits that he lives on welfare and is disabled. Then he proceeds to tell us this animated story about how, the previous night, a kind English-speaking stranger at a bar bought him drinks and took him to the bank, where he deposited 5,000 krona into his account. We oohed and ahhed about how nice that was, gave him the cigarette, and as we parted shook hands. He tried to give John his lighter as a 'thank you for the smoke,' and he patted John's shoulder and said, "Nice folks" with a smile as we parted ways.
We both agreed that if the man had told us that story, hoping that we'd offer him some money, it was the kindest solicitation for cash we'd ever received. And perhaps it's just our cynical, American attitudes that would even think such a thing. Regardless, we left the city with an odd sense of community and comfort.
Back at the hotel, we lounged at the VOX bar over some pints and wine. We were tired, and eager to get a good night's sleep in preparation for our one full day in Iceland. We had a rental car reserved, and a vague plan to follow the "Golden Circle" - a route that would take us out of Reykjavik and down towards the south coast, then back again, with a few major attractions on the way.
We woke at 8am and had a delicious buffet breakfast at the hotel, included with our package. A traditional English-style breakfast with yogurt, pastries, pancakes, juices, coffee, tea... whatever your heart desired. We filled up and ate well, then met our ride to the car rental place where we picked up our Toyota Corolla. Sonya, the girl at Hertz, was super nice, giving us a map and telling us exactly where to go. The staff were also quite accommodating when we ignorantly rented a "semi" automatic, and needed instruction on how to operated the car, which didn't have a clutch, but allowed you to switch into manual and gear up or down.
We were off to a rocky start, accidentally driving into a turning lane and having to hit reverse, nearly causing a head-on collision! The driving there was exactly like the states, but I was nervous, and between the round-abouts and confusing signs, we made three wrong turns before finally getting on the right path... but we were in good spirits and eager to see more of the country.
We headed south on Route 1, seeing the sunrise over the coast and eventually turn the rocky landscape a warm, golden color. We continued until we reached our first stop: Geysir. A small tourist stop with no real "town," Geysir was just what the name implies: a bunch of natural geysers, with one spectacular one that shot several stories high!
We wandered around on the icy pathway, alone except for a group of Asian tourists, before continuing on to the next stop: Gullfoss, a beautiful, misty waterfall in a deep gorge. We were not dressed properly, so after wandering out on the wooden walkway, frozen by the breeze, we went back to the cafe and had some delicious hot asparagus soup and coffee, before bundling up and driving down to the waterfall's landing. There, we slid across the icy ground where a rainbow came through the mist at the waterfall's edge. It was absolutely stunning, everything shimmering in it's icy sheath.
We continued our journey across the countryside, stopping to explore the rocky land and venturing onto a pot-holed main road that was all gravel and ice. We eventually made it to our last top, Þingvellir, which is the location of the original Icelandic Parliament, and supposedly the oldest parliament in the world (according to Sonya). It is also the only location in the world where the joining of two tectonic plates is so visible: we stopped and photographed the jagged rift, known as the Continental Divide, where the two plates supposedly widen slightly every year.
Our journey ended there, as we were soon after returning to Reykjavik. We napped at the hotel, watching bad American TV with Icelandic subtitles and reading the local paper, The Grapevine, where we read a review of a local Vegetarian restaurant called Á næstu grösum and decided to try it out. We drove downtown, easily parked and found the restaurant quickly. It was on the second floor, warm and snug, and the food was served at the counter. The man was very nice, explaining the daily special, which we both tried: handmade tofu burgers topped with a delicious sauce, served with roasted sweet and sour veggies and sweet potatoes, salad, and rice. The food and atmosphere were both fantastic, and we hung out there for a bit before deciding to try out Kaffibarinn, the famous bar owned by Damon Albran, lead singer of Blur and Gorillaz. I'd read about it online before we left, and it sounded like our kind of place.
Kaffibarinn luckily quiet and laid-back, since it was a Wednesday night. The room was cozy and candle-lit, a little rugged and lived-in, like any good London pub. John tried the local Viking beer, and we snuggled on a couch in the corner while the locals chatted, drank coffee, and worked on their laptops. Again, we were stifled by the people's trusting nature: a woman at a table right next to us - and right next to the door - went to the bathroom, leaving all of her belongings, including her purse, alone on the table. Shortly after, another guy, also by the door, went outside for a smoke and left his Apple laptop alone on the table. The two girls at the bar brought out a plate of brie and baguette, and it took me a few minutes to realize that it was free - and for everyone.
Our adventure in Iceland really ended there, because we had such a brilliant, busy day that we went back to the hotel and crashed. We woke early to return the car and eat breakfast, but did little else on our last day but ride back to the airport, sadly watching the rocky coastline the whole way. It seemed unfair to have to leave so soon, our bodies still unadjusted to the time shift and the odd balance of darkness and dusk, but somehow at home in the strange place.
The allure of travel to me is how any preconceived notion of a place - all of the second-hand facts and images ans stories - are always blown out the window when you actually step foot there. Iceland was everything I had heard it to be: beautiful, cultural, relaxed, geographically spectacular, and like no where else on the planet. But being there and seeing it for myself, I felt something that no travel book or documentary or photograph could communicate. Despite the disorienting balance of night and day, the remoteness of its location, and the vastness of its icy, uninhabited landscapes, I felt at home. Just like the magical hours of day, bathing the place in its warm glow, the people and their city were warm and inviting - a stark contrast to the rough terrain. We felt welcome and one with the ebb and flow of life, and eager to see more. We heard stories of the never-ending daylight in summer, the green replacing the ice at Gullfoss waterfall, and the days when you could lay out on the beach and actually get a tan.
While it is always good to come home and belong, I feel a sense of calm excitement from our trip. It's almost as if I've opened a door that I know I'll walk through again, but for now, I must turn back and let the light peeking through it be a reminder of what's on the other side.
Takk fyrir, Ísland.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
detox
i've been wound up like a top all week...
the weekend with mom was fun, but fast. and i never realize - until it's too late - just how much i internalize stress. i swear, it's going to kill me someday. the stressors really piled up earlier this week: the pressure of being a good hostess for mom, a huge uber-important presentation for work on monday, particularly frustrating clients this week at work, and an assortment of after-hours design work for my hubby's film. all in all, nothing too horrible, but stressful no less. and while i try and try to think myself into calm, coax myself into worry-free and maintain a grateful-for-my-blessings attitude, somewhere, deep inside, it just doesn't happen. instead of being carefree, fun, and happy i am instead uptight, irritable, and recklessly self-abusive. ugh.
so tonight i came home and caught myself on the brink of another downward spiral. every night this week i have coped with stress in some unhealthy way... whether it was drinking half a bottle of wine or watching TV all night, i came home tonight angry about overdue library books (can you believe it's $2 a day for a late DVD?) and thinking that chocolate and wine sounded much better than yoga.
no.
that was it. i had to put my foot down. it's thursday, and after tomorrow i have a full week off during which i'm headed to iceland for 3 days alongside partying friends and family. this wallowing in anxiety had to stop!
so, i turned on some good tunes, rolled out the mat, and did chatarangas til my arms were sore. i twisted out the stress in my back and abs, then finished with a hot bath. by then, i was so refreshed i didn't care that toonces was on the edge of the tub drinking and tapping her paws in the water.
i'm continuing this detoxification and it feels fantastic. a light, healthy dinner, a blog post (which doubles as a mental release of sorts) and soon to come: an all-out guitar jam session.
ahhhh. i feel better. why did i wait until thursday?
the weekend with mom was fun, but fast. and i never realize - until it's too late - just how much i internalize stress. i swear, it's going to kill me someday. the stressors really piled up earlier this week: the pressure of being a good hostess for mom, a huge uber-important presentation for work on monday, particularly frustrating clients this week at work, and an assortment of after-hours design work for my hubby's film. all in all, nothing too horrible, but stressful no less. and while i try and try to think myself into calm, coax myself into worry-free and maintain a grateful-for-my-blessings attitude, somewhere, deep inside, it just doesn't happen. instead of being carefree, fun, and happy i am instead uptight, irritable, and recklessly self-abusive. ugh.
so tonight i came home and caught myself on the brink of another downward spiral. every night this week i have coped with stress in some unhealthy way... whether it was drinking half a bottle of wine or watching TV all night, i came home tonight angry about overdue library books (can you believe it's $2 a day for a late DVD?) and thinking that chocolate and wine sounded much better than yoga.
no.
that was it. i had to put my foot down. it's thursday, and after tomorrow i have a full week off during which i'm headed to iceland for 3 days alongside partying friends and family. this wallowing in anxiety had to stop!
so, i turned on some good tunes, rolled out the mat, and did chatarangas til my arms were sore. i twisted out the stress in my back and abs, then finished with a hot bath. by then, i was so refreshed i didn't care that toonces was on the edge of the tub drinking and tapping her paws in the water.
i'm continuing this detoxification and it feels fantastic. a light, healthy dinner, a blog post (which doubles as a mental release of sorts) and soon to come: an all-out guitar jam session.
ahhhh. i feel better. why did i wait until thursday?
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Just a little girl again
Twenty-six years old, living almost 300 miles from my parents, married, with a solid career and completely content existence... yet I still buckle, like a child eager to please, when it comes to my Mother.
It really is incredible the mark that parents leave on their kids. I mean, obviously... some people spend years in therapy trying to cope with their childhood. What happens to us up until age twenty is part of us forever, whether we like it or not.
I had a great childhood. I really, honestly did. My parents may have struggled a lot themselves with finances and careers, but they were always supportive and loving and I credit them completely for my driven, hard-working personality. But since I've gone out on my own I've changed a lot. All in good ways... but sometimes my parents seem curious about who I've become. Four years of college, extensive travel and a more open-minded approach to religion have defined my adult self while, at the same time, putting up some interesting road blocks to navigate around when it comes to my adult relationship with Mom and Dad.
I always think that I am confident with myself... with who I've become and continue to be. That is, until I'm around the Parents. I, without even realizing it, shrivel into an eager-to-please, afraid-to-offend, can't-swear-or-talk-about-religion-or-politics... child. As usual, John is the first to notice my transformation.
My Mom is coming to visit tonight and will be here until Monday afternoon. It's her first visit to Glens Falls and her first trip to see us since the summer of 2006. So, of course, I spent all day today cleaning the house... scrubbing the grease off the stove top, vacuuming the cat hair from the corners of the bathroom, and carefully remaking the bed with the quilt Mom made splayed across.
But, as with every visit with the parents, I am tense. I must have snacks in the house and wine in the cupboard. Must have fresh towels, good coffee, and a fun weekend planned. Must be the perfect daughter so she'll want to come visit again...
Sigh. I am just a little girl again, wanting more than anything my Mommy's approval. Because, for some strange reason, my own satisfaction is never quite enough.
It really is incredible the mark that parents leave on their kids. I mean, obviously... some people spend years in therapy trying to cope with their childhood. What happens to us up until age twenty is part of us forever, whether we like it or not.
I had a great childhood. I really, honestly did. My parents may have struggled a lot themselves with finances and careers, but they were always supportive and loving and I credit them completely for my driven, hard-working personality. But since I've gone out on my own I've changed a lot. All in good ways... but sometimes my parents seem curious about who I've become. Four years of college, extensive travel and a more open-minded approach to religion have defined my adult self while, at the same time, putting up some interesting road blocks to navigate around when it comes to my adult relationship with Mom and Dad.
I always think that I am confident with myself... with who I've become and continue to be. That is, until I'm around the Parents. I, without even realizing it, shrivel into an eager-to-please, afraid-to-offend, can't-swear-or-talk-about-religion-or-politics... child. As usual, John is the first to notice my transformation.
My Mom is coming to visit tonight and will be here until Monday afternoon. It's her first visit to Glens Falls and her first trip to see us since the summer of 2006. So, of course, I spent all day today cleaning the house... scrubbing the grease off the stove top, vacuuming the cat hair from the corners of the bathroom, and carefully remaking the bed with the quilt Mom made splayed across.
But, as with every visit with the parents, I am tense. I must have snacks in the house and wine in the cupboard. Must have fresh towels, good coffee, and a fun weekend planned. Must be the perfect daughter so she'll want to come visit again...
Sigh. I am just a little girl again, wanting more than anything my Mommy's approval. Because, for some strange reason, my own satisfaction is never quite enough.
Friday, November 9, 2007
PMS and Beer
Holy God, what a week.
First Daylight Savings... one hour back sounds fine until it's pitch black at 5:30. Then there's the cold. It's been almost 80 every day since June, then all of a sudden HOLY SHIT it's freaking fall. And I mean scrape-the-frozen-dew-off-your-windows cuz it's-practically-winter fall. Then the PMS. Now I admittedly have the worst PMS a woman could possibly have, at least half of the time (one ovary's a real bitch). You know the kind. The kind that men joke about because it's such a stereotype but the fact that it actually happens to you makes you want to shoot someone, preferably a man (only during that one week, of course).
So mix together bitchiness and irritability, finally-have-to-get-the-coat-out cold, being an hour off all week and suddenly dark after work... then throw in the fact that we watched some H-E-A-V-Y movies this week and... good lord, I needed a beer tonight. It also didn't help that I think my body has been fighting something off this week. Every night I've sat my ass on the couch, curled in blankets with my dinner on my lap, followed by completely passing out for 9 hours each night but STILL tired during the day. Any other week I would think that something was wrong, but stack that much shit up on one week and WOW. I am wrecked.
So whining aside, I'm happy that it's Friday. Just watched a cheezy romantic comedy, knocked back a couple Saranac Chocolate Amber's (yeah, that's actually a beer), and sitting here downloading and listening to old 80's music that I missed out on cuz I was a little kid and my Dad hated the 80's.
I gotta admit, sitting here in the warmth of my apartment with two days of fun ahead, my cute hubby and kitty in the other room and my Mommy coming to visit this weekend... it's quite nice when life kicks your ass and you realize that you still really don't have anything to complain about. I may come off as a whiny brat, but I really am very lucky.
Cheers to that.
First Daylight Savings... one hour back sounds fine until it's pitch black at 5:30. Then there's the cold. It's been almost 80 every day since June, then all of a sudden HOLY SHIT it's freaking fall. And I mean scrape-the-frozen-dew-off-your-windows cuz it's-practically-winter fall. Then the PMS. Now I admittedly have the worst PMS a woman could possibly have, at least half of the time (one ovary's a real bitch). You know the kind. The kind that men joke about because it's such a stereotype but the fact that it actually happens to you makes you want to shoot someone, preferably a man (only during that one week, of course).
So mix together bitchiness and irritability, finally-have-to-get-the-coat-out cold, being an hour off all week and suddenly dark after work... then throw in the fact that we watched some H-E-A-V-Y movies this week and... good lord, I needed a beer tonight. It also didn't help that I think my body has been fighting something off this week. Every night I've sat my ass on the couch, curled in blankets with my dinner on my lap, followed by completely passing out for 9 hours each night but STILL tired during the day. Any other week I would think that something was wrong, but stack that much shit up on one week and WOW. I am wrecked.
So whining aside, I'm happy that it's Friday. Just watched a cheezy romantic comedy, knocked back a couple Saranac Chocolate Amber's (yeah, that's actually a beer), and sitting here downloading and listening to old 80's music that I missed out on cuz I was a little kid and my Dad hated the 80's.
I gotta admit, sitting here in the warmth of my apartment with two days of fun ahead, my cute hubby and kitty in the other room and my Mommy coming to visit this weekend... it's quite nice when life kicks your ass and you realize that you still really don't have anything to complain about. I may come off as a whiny brat, but I really am very lucky.
Cheers to that.
Monday, November 5, 2007
EVERY GOOD THING to RUST
It occurred to me that, though I have been a part of the process all along, I've never written about my husband John's recently finished feature film, "Every Good Thing to Rust." Shame on me.
If anyone knows anything about John Yost, it is these three things: he is always creating; if he says he's going to do something, he does it; and he is the most loyal friend anyone could ask for.
That's why when he said to me, back in August of 2006, that he was going to make a feature film, begin shooting it the following month, and finish it the following summer, I said, "Well OK. I'll make the website."
And as all of his friends and family know, he did just what he said. He cast his friends Holland and Randall in the lead roles, and they agreed not only to come to Lake George three times within the next year, but also to grow out their hair and beards. Good friends, indeed.
John, Holland, and Randall.
Everything fell into place. Dan Swinton, a fellow RIT film grad and friend, lent John his brand new HD camera. Brandon Bethmann, a friend and co-worker from WMHT lent him audio gear. Kevin Kilcher came up from New York with his SteadiCam rig. And friends, parents, and co-workers helped out with everything from providing food, locations, and moral support.
I must admit, having a filmmaker for a husband has some nice fringe benefits. While I did have to sit back and bite my tongue while the guys ripped apart our living room and splattered fake blood on the walls, I enjoyed entertaining good friends for weekends at a time, getting to cook and drink wine with Bri, go shopping with Laura, and party with the boys. (The dance party "scene" was the best!)
Well, Johnny did it. Again. He is immensely talented, full of ideas, and every film he makes is better than the last. EVERY GOOD THING to RUST is indeed dark and pensive, but I know - because I know John - that it is hopeful. It is a beautiful contemplation of what could be, but isn't. It is a reflection of John's fears for society, because he loves it so much and wishes it could be better than it is.
No one would be surprised to hear that he's already working on two more projects, scripting the next film in his mind and on scraps of paper. I can't wait to see what's next, and to be a part of the whole process.
I am so proud of you, honey. I love you.
If anyone knows anything about John Yost, it is these three things: he is always creating; if he says he's going to do something, he does it; and he is the most loyal friend anyone could ask for.
That's why when he said to me, back in August of 2006, that he was going to make a feature film, begin shooting it the following month, and finish it the following summer, I said, "Well OK. I'll make the website."
And as all of his friends and family know, he did just what he said. He cast his friends Holland and Randall in the lead roles, and they agreed not only to come to Lake George three times within the next year, but also to grow out their hair and beards. Good friends, indeed.
John, Holland, and Randall.
Everything fell into place. Dan Swinton, a fellow RIT film grad and friend, lent John his brand new HD camera. Brandon Bethmann, a friend and co-worker from WMHT lent him audio gear. Kevin Kilcher came up from New York with his SteadiCam rig. And friends, parents, and co-workers helped out with everything from providing food, locations, and moral support.
I must admit, having a filmmaker for a husband has some nice fringe benefits. While I did have to sit back and bite my tongue while the guys ripped apart our living room and splattered fake blood on the walls, I enjoyed entertaining good friends for weekends at a time, getting to cook and drink wine with Bri, go shopping with Laura, and party with the boys. (The dance party "scene" was the best!)
Well, Johnny did it. Again. He is immensely talented, full of ideas, and every film he makes is better than the last. EVERY GOOD THING to RUST is indeed dark and pensive, but I know - because I know John - that it is hopeful. It is a beautiful contemplation of what could be, but isn't. It is a reflection of John's fears for society, because he loves it so much and wishes it could be better than it is.
No one would be surprised to hear that he's already working on two more projects, scripting the next film in his mind and on scraps of paper. I can't wait to see what's next, and to be a part of the whole process.
I am so proud of you, honey. I love you.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Iceland: the Next Adventure
If I suffer from any addiction, wholly and completely, it's travel.
For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated with the idea of going and seeing. Driving, riding, walking, exploring... and experiencing the world from a previously unknown perspective. Putting myself in uncomfortable situations, being out of my element, meeting new, different people and being surprised and enlightened by what I didn't know. There's something hopeful and perfectly exhilarating about it.
My parents started it. Oddly enough, today they are slightly mystified by my insatiable travel bug, yet as a kid, my mother said to me over and over again, "You can do anything if you put your heart in it. If you work hard and believe in yourself, you can go anywhere - you can see and do anything." I don't think she realized how intently I was listening - how definitively I counted on executing her plan.
My first true taste of travel was at the age of 13, when my parents had finally gained financial ground and has some spare money for a family vacation. Having a deep interest in the Civil War and history, my Dad convinced us all that Gettysburg, Pennsylvania would be a worthy, affordable trip. I was so ecstatic to be leaving... to be crossing a state line and venturing onto unseen soils that I didn't care where we went. Gettysburg became a yearly retreat for our family, and while I grew bored with visiting the same monuments and eating at the same restaurants each year, the pure excitement of leaving home never lost its thrill.
I daydreamed and pined for the day that I would get to leave the country. My dreams came true in more ways than one when I met and fell in love with John, now my husband. John's mom, Noreen Yost, is not only the most wonderful mother-in-law a girl could possibly ask for, but she's also a part-time travel agent.
It started in 2002. After a year together, my Christmas gift from Johnny was an airline ticket to Amsterdam, Holland. Yes, my first trip to a foreign country was to one of the most eye-opening, mind-bending cities in the world. Let's just say 'culture shock' doesn't quite do justice to my first glimpse of Europe. We were traveling with John's friend, Ben, who was the epitome of a pothead. I was a good girl with a romanticized idea of European travel, stuck in the Red Light District at one of the seediest hostels in town. It was one of the most invigorating experiences of my life, and I remember every detail with photographic clarity. The week challenged and strengthened our relationship, and did the same to my soul. We stayed in hostels, bought meals at the grocery and farmer's markets, saw the Van Gogh and History museums, visited the Anne Frank house, the zoo, and the botanical gardens, took a train to an unknown town and saw cheese and chocolate factories, and experienced first-hand the drug culture and it's affect on the citizens and tourists. I left Amsterdam with a mounting craving ...
Ben, John and Me. Near the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (March 2002)
My next opportunity abroad came the following year. We splurged with our credit cards (which we're still paying) and purchased a one-week trip to Ireland. It was a deal we couldn't refuse: $600 per person bought round-trip airfare, a rental car with unlimited miles, breakfast each day, Bed & Breakfast vouchers for four nights, and two nights in a castle! I found Ireland a beautiful and enchanting country, from the gorgeous landscapes to its open, kind-hearted citizens. We felt at home there, driving from Dublin south to Cork, visiting abandoned castles and pubs along the way. We followed the Ring of Kerry, staying at a B&B on Valencia Island where the locals did Irish dancing in the pub at dusk. We drove through Limerick, through Galway to the Cliffs of Moher, then finished our stay at the castle in the center of the green countryside.
Killarney, Ireland (February, 2003)
After that trip, I'd made up my mind. I would do anything to continue traveling.
The following November we decided to explore our own neck of the woods. We packed up my Geo Prizm and spent nine days cross-country, visiting the Rockies, Arches and Zion in Utah, the Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest in Arizona, and White Sands and Carlsbad Caverns of New Mexico.
And three months later, I moved to London, England for four months, which is a whole story in and of itself. Before flying home, I blew every pound I'd earned on a two week bus tour of Europe, visiting Paris, Nice and Cannes, Monaco, Florence, Rome, Venice, Western Austria, Munich, and once again, Amsterdam.
London broke me, financially. I was never able to truly afford my trips, and after living abroad, my school loans finally kicked in and traveling seemed outrageous.
But if something is a priority, it's never impossible. Opportunities to continue traveling have continued to find me, one way or another. John's parents sent us to Greece for our honeymoon. And thanks to Noreen, we've been able to work as tour escorts on two trips to Italy - one at a Tuscan Villa, the other near Naples and the Almalfi Coast.
Our Honeymoon in Greece: The Parthenon in Athens, October 2005.
This year, we spent any spare penny we had on a two-week cross country trip to California and the North West. I didn't expect to go abroad again for awhile, with money tight and airfare prices skyrocketing. But low and behold, we are fortunate to venture out again... this time, to Iceland!
As an early Christmas gift, John's parents have bought us a three day package to Reykjavik for Thanksgiving! We are beyond psyched, and incredibly grateful to have such generous parents in our lives. I'll be sure to write all about it when we come back... another moment of exploration and growth.
As far as I'm concerned, there is no better expenditure than a vacation. We may have hand-me-down, mismatched furniture, minimal belongings, and used cars, but we have memories and experiences that will last forever.
For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated with the idea of going and seeing. Driving, riding, walking, exploring... and experiencing the world from a previously unknown perspective. Putting myself in uncomfortable situations, being out of my element, meeting new, different people and being surprised and enlightened by what I didn't know. There's something hopeful and perfectly exhilarating about it.
My parents started it. Oddly enough, today they are slightly mystified by my insatiable travel bug, yet as a kid, my mother said to me over and over again, "You can do anything if you put your heart in it. If you work hard and believe in yourself, you can go anywhere - you can see and do anything." I don't think she realized how intently I was listening - how definitively I counted on executing her plan.
My first true taste of travel was at the age of 13, when my parents had finally gained financial ground and has some spare money for a family vacation. Having a deep interest in the Civil War and history, my Dad convinced us all that Gettysburg, Pennsylvania would be a worthy, affordable trip. I was so ecstatic to be leaving... to be crossing a state line and venturing onto unseen soils that I didn't care where we went. Gettysburg became a yearly retreat for our family, and while I grew bored with visiting the same monuments and eating at the same restaurants each year, the pure excitement of leaving home never lost its thrill.
I daydreamed and pined for the day that I would get to leave the country. My dreams came true in more ways than one when I met and fell in love with John, now my husband. John's mom, Noreen Yost, is not only the most wonderful mother-in-law a girl could possibly ask for, but she's also a part-time travel agent.
It started in 2002. After a year together, my Christmas gift from Johnny was an airline ticket to Amsterdam, Holland. Yes, my first trip to a foreign country was to one of the most eye-opening, mind-bending cities in the world. Let's just say 'culture shock' doesn't quite do justice to my first glimpse of Europe. We were traveling with John's friend, Ben, who was the epitome of a pothead. I was a good girl with a romanticized idea of European travel, stuck in the Red Light District at one of the seediest hostels in town. It was one of the most invigorating experiences of my life, and I remember every detail with photographic clarity. The week challenged and strengthened our relationship, and did the same to my soul. We stayed in hostels, bought meals at the grocery and farmer's markets, saw the Van Gogh and History museums, visited the Anne Frank house, the zoo, and the botanical gardens, took a train to an unknown town and saw cheese and chocolate factories, and experienced first-hand the drug culture and it's affect on the citizens and tourists. I left Amsterdam with a mounting craving ...
Ben, John and Me. Near the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (March 2002)My next opportunity abroad came the following year. We splurged with our credit cards (which we're still paying) and purchased a one-week trip to Ireland. It was a deal we couldn't refuse: $600 per person bought round-trip airfare, a rental car with unlimited miles, breakfast each day, Bed & Breakfast vouchers for four nights, and two nights in a castle! I found Ireland a beautiful and enchanting country, from the gorgeous landscapes to its open, kind-hearted citizens. We felt at home there, driving from Dublin south to Cork, visiting abandoned castles and pubs along the way. We followed the Ring of Kerry, staying at a B&B on Valencia Island where the locals did Irish dancing in the pub at dusk. We drove through Limerick, through Galway to the Cliffs of Moher, then finished our stay at the castle in the center of the green countryside.
Killarney, Ireland (February, 2003)After that trip, I'd made up my mind. I would do anything to continue traveling.
The following November we decided to explore our own neck of the woods. We packed up my Geo Prizm and spent nine days cross-country, visiting the Rockies, Arches and Zion in Utah, the Grand Canyon, Petrified Forest in Arizona, and White Sands and Carlsbad Caverns of New Mexico.
And three months later, I moved to London, England for four months, which is a whole story in and of itself. Before flying home, I blew every pound I'd earned on a two week bus tour of Europe, visiting Paris, Nice and Cannes, Monaco, Florence, Rome, Venice, Western Austria, Munich, and once again, Amsterdam.
London broke me, financially. I was never able to truly afford my trips, and after living abroad, my school loans finally kicked in and traveling seemed outrageous.
But if something is a priority, it's never impossible. Opportunities to continue traveling have continued to find me, one way or another. John's parents sent us to Greece for our honeymoon. And thanks to Noreen, we've been able to work as tour escorts on two trips to Italy - one at a Tuscan Villa, the other near Naples and the Almalfi Coast.
Our Honeymoon in Greece: The Parthenon in Athens, October 2005.This year, we spent any spare penny we had on a two-week cross country trip to California and the North West. I didn't expect to go abroad again for awhile, with money tight and airfare prices skyrocketing. But low and behold, we are fortunate to venture out again... this time, to Iceland!
As an early Christmas gift, John's parents have bought us a three day package to Reykjavik for Thanksgiving! We are beyond psyched, and incredibly grateful to have such generous parents in our lives. I'll be sure to write all about it when we come back... another moment of exploration and growth.
As far as I'm concerned, there is no better expenditure than a vacation. We may have hand-me-down, mismatched furniture, minimal belongings, and used cars, but we have memories and experiences that will last forever.
Toonces takes a bath
what would we do without Toonces? she gives us hours and hours of entertainment, laughs, and snuggles. she's the closest we've come to having a kid, and for now, she's our 'little girl.'
censoring myself
how can i possibly be a good blogger if i'm afraid to put it out there? lately i've found myself hesitating at the keyboard... censoring my thoughts. it's been weeks since i've written, yet i wrote an entire entry this past week, only to delete it. i wasn't in the best of moods at the time, and i didn't want to scare off what few readers i may have.
when i was younger, i had multiple journals.... poetry books and diaries dating back until second grade... stacks of blank books filled entirely with my childhood thoughts and ponderings. i let loose in those books, unabashedly, free to let go of everything with the safe comfort of knowing no one would ever read it.
i'm struggling to let go here, as i did then. i fear conflict, i fear offending anyone, i fear making a fool of myself.
but rather than wallow in self-deprecation, i'm going to continue to post. i'll never come to terms with these fears if i don't try...
when i was younger, i had multiple journals.... poetry books and diaries dating back until second grade... stacks of blank books filled entirely with my childhood thoughts and ponderings. i let loose in those books, unabashedly, free to let go of everything with the safe comfort of knowing no one would ever read it.
i'm struggling to let go here, as i did then. i fear conflict, i fear offending anyone, i fear making a fool of myself.
but rather than wallow in self-deprecation, i'm going to continue to post. i'll never come to terms with these fears if i don't try...
Monday, October 22, 2007
something else, uncensored *
* As mentioned in my earlier post, here is the entry I wrote earlier this week, then decided not to post. There's nothing to be ashamed of here, but I guess I was hesitant to admit that I don't always have it all figured out. I'm publishing this in an attempt to quell my fears of letting go. Here's to no holding back.
Before I jumped into blog-land, I had a "news" section on my old website that was essentially the same thing, minus the bells and whistles of Blogger. I was sorting through the old HTML pages, and found this quote:
"...it's been three months in the big city now, and--granted I have been out of town for quite a lot of it--I must admit that the speed of life here is exhausting and worrisome. I find myself frequently daydreaming about living in a little house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by space and nature: two things I currently see very little of. " - December 4, 2005, New York City
I find this snippet of memory both heart wrenching and enlightening. Almost two years later, I am as close to that little house as I possibly could be, yet I am no less of a wandering, seeking heart than I was then.
It's curious to me - the idea of the eternal nomad, always moving, always changing directions, always finding a path to explore. Sometimes I wonder if this is what I am destined to do - a never-ending search for truth and adventure. I am hesitant to accept this fate for fear of spending a life zig-zagging in no definite direction, discovering, once it's too late, that a settled and focused life has passed me by. Yet, my path of late would indicate that this is precisely where I'm headed.
Reading that entry has stirred up a feeling of familiarity: restlessness with the idea of settling. I've written about it once before:
"I believe that many people find satisfaction and fulfillment in settling... Now that I'm as close to being settled as ever, with no moving plans in the near future and no destination vacations scheduled, I feel restless." - March 25, 2006, Albany
I'm writing about it in attempt to sort it out in my head. Why do I feel like this? I am perfectly content with the choices I've made that have brought me to where I am, and I am equally content with my life as it is right now. In fact, I couldn't really ask for anything more.
Yet the feeling is there. The yearning for something different, something else. An insatiable travel bug, a curious drive to give more, do more, learn more. And a firm desire to run myself ragged trying to fix the world. It can't be done alone, I know, but I can't help but wonder how long I will meander until I'm burnt out.
Before I jumped into blog-land, I had a "news" section on my old website that was essentially the same thing, minus the bells and whistles of Blogger. I was sorting through the old HTML pages, and found this quote:
"...it's been three months in the big city now, and--granted I have been out of town for quite a lot of it--I must admit that the speed of life here is exhausting and worrisome. I find myself frequently daydreaming about living in a little house in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by space and nature: two things I currently see very little of. " - December 4, 2005, New York City
I find this snippet of memory both heart wrenching and enlightening. Almost two years later, I am as close to that little house as I possibly could be, yet I am no less of a wandering, seeking heart than I was then.
It's curious to me - the idea of the eternal nomad, always moving, always changing directions, always finding a path to explore. Sometimes I wonder if this is what I am destined to do - a never-ending search for truth and adventure. I am hesitant to accept this fate for fear of spending a life zig-zagging in no definite direction, discovering, once it's too late, that a settled and focused life has passed me by. Yet, my path of late would indicate that this is precisely where I'm headed.
Reading that entry has stirred up a feeling of familiarity: restlessness with the idea of settling. I've written about it once before:
"I believe that many people find satisfaction and fulfillment in settling... Now that I'm as close to being settled as ever, with no moving plans in the near future and no destination vacations scheduled, I feel restless." - March 25, 2006, Albany
I'm writing about it in attempt to sort it out in my head. Why do I feel like this? I am perfectly content with the choices I've made that have brought me to where I am, and I am equally content with my life as it is right now. In fact, I couldn't really ask for anything more.
Yet the feeling is there. The yearning for something different, something else. An insatiable travel bug, a curious drive to give more, do more, learn more. And a firm desire to run myself ragged trying to fix the world. It can't be done alone, I know, but I can't help but wonder how long I will meander until I'm burnt out.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
everything's coming up music
funny how life's happenings sometimes group themselves naturally, all occurring at once. this week has been host to one of these odd clusterings of events.... and it has been music to my ears. literally.
it began last saturday, when john and i drove out to boston for an evening with The National, currently touting their newest album, Boxer. the show was at the Roxy, a cool and neon-lit nightclub complete with twirling discoball that reminded me of London's Electric Ballroom. but the sweet venue was just the beginning.... the show ROCKED, in every sense of the word. the guys were spot-on, having a ball onstage, getting the crowd pumped and tipping back Stellas all the while. fantastic.
that same night, whilst we were bopping our heads in Boston, a huge music fest with a slew of our most favorite bands happened on Randalls Island in NYC. we would have went had we not already bought our National tickets. yes, we would miss Arcade Fire's final performance on the Neon Bible tour. yes, we would miss LCD Soundsystem and Blonde Redhead. we had come to terms with it already. but the night wouldn't let us forget what we missed. the next morning john was reading his daily dose of music news from pitchfork media and discovered that our friend Isaac had attended the show, capturing the most amazing video footage of Arcade Fire's newsworthy romp... so amazing that they wrote about it! See the video for yourself...
Power Out / Lies from casiotone on Vimeo.
also in musical news, the foo fighters were in glens falls last night. yes. you heard that right. foo fighters as in dave grohl as in nirvana as in modern rock at its finest... here. at the glens falls civic center. apparently, they're warming up for an upcoming tour and chose a low-key locale to do so. i didn't get to go... but my boss Derek went and reported that it was "freaking awesome."
then (yes there is more) today. angels flew down from heaven, entered the buzzing cables and wires connecting computers worldwide, and delivering the most beautiful sounds directly to our inbox at 7am. or noon, if you're a brit like radiohead.... whom today, after four years of hush-hush with the occasional slip of something in the works... released their seventh album, In Rainbows. completely self-produced and released, it was only announced 10 days ago that the album even existed, and - equally exciting - the online download is whatever price you want. unreal. like a whirlwind, radiohead soared down and planted a rainbow kiss upon our cheeks.... ok, ok, enough already. of course, In Rainbows is nothing short of incredible. i would expect no less from the boys.
and lastly... to put a personal twist on this week of musical madness, i've been strumming the guitar like never before. me and my three phenomenally talented and uber-cool colleagues at trampoline design are performing this friday evening, 7pm, for a local business media night and benefit concert. we've ended each work day this week with an all-out jam session, and let me tell you, we are hot. i mean, come on... just LOOK at this picture:
our performance will be the perfect nightcap for a week of beeeautiful musical magic.
"Hold ourselves together with our arms around the stereo for hours
While it sings to itself or whatever it does
when it sings to itself of its long lost loves
I’m getting tied, I’m forgetting why"
- The National
it began last saturday, when john and i drove out to boston for an evening with The National, currently touting their newest album, Boxer. the show was at the Roxy, a cool and neon-lit nightclub complete with twirling discoball that reminded me of London's Electric Ballroom. but the sweet venue was just the beginning.... the show ROCKED, in every sense of the word. the guys were spot-on, having a ball onstage, getting the crowd pumped and tipping back Stellas all the while. fantastic.
that same night, whilst we were bopping our heads in Boston, a huge music fest with a slew of our most favorite bands happened on Randalls Island in NYC. we would have went had we not already bought our National tickets. yes, we would miss Arcade Fire's final performance on the Neon Bible tour. yes, we would miss LCD Soundsystem and Blonde Redhead. we had come to terms with it already. but the night wouldn't let us forget what we missed. the next morning john was reading his daily dose of music news from pitchfork media and discovered that our friend Isaac had attended the show, capturing the most amazing video footage of Arcade Fire's newsworthy romp... so amazing that they wrote about it! See the video for yourself...
Power Out / Lies from casiotone on Vimeo.
also in musical news, the foo fighters were in glens falls last night. yes. you heard that right. foo fighters as in dave grohl as in nirvana as in modern rock at its finest... here. at the glens falls civic center. apparently, they're warming up for an upcoming tour and chose a low-key locale to do so. i didn't get to go... but my boss Derek went and reported that it was "freaking awesome."
then (yes there is more) today. angels flew down from heaven, entered the buzzing cables and wires connecting computers worldwide, and delivering the most beautiful sounds directly to our inbox at 7am. or noon, if you're a brit like radiohead.... whom today, after four years of hush-hush with the occasional slip of something in the works... released their seventh album, In Rainbows. completely self-produced and released, it was only announced 10 days ago that the album even existed, and - equally exciting - the online download is whatever price you want. unreal. like a whirlwind, radiohead soared down and planted a rainbow kiss upon our cheeks.... ok, ok, enough already. of course, In Rainbows is nothing short of incredible. i would expect no less from the boys.
and lastly... to put a personal twist on this week of musical madness, i've been strumming the guitar like never before. me and my three phenomenally talented and uber-cool colleagues at trampoline design are performing this friday evening, 7pm, for a local business media night and benefit concert. we've ended each work day this week with an all-out jam session, and let me tell you, we are hot. i mean, come on... just LOOK at this picture:
our performance will be the perfect nightcap for a week of beeeautiful musical magic.
"Hold ourselves together with our arms around the stereo for hours
While it sings to itself or whatever it does
when it sings to itself of its long lost loves
I’m getting tied, I’m forgetting why"
- The National
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
shopping
I skipped yoga tonight to go shopping for something to wear to John's premiere on saturday. Yes - I went shopping.
What once was a happy-go-lucky past-time has become an arduous task, tainted with much tag-reading, eye-rolling, mental-justifying and, of course, guilt.
In an effort to keep this short, I'll spare everyone a mouth-full of angry ranting about why I shouldn't have to be a detective when I'm at the store. And I'll leave out my tirade against the FDA, whom are so completely ineffectual that I have to read the label of EVERY product I buy (after which I am usually still uncertain if it's safe to eat).
What I want to focus on, instead, is my departure from consumerist tendencies. It has been a slow, gradual decline from my shopping heyday... I remember it quite clearly. Having grown up in a nearly-poor family and having spent the first twelve years of my life going school shopping at the thrift store, I remember quite vividly the first Christmas after my mom finally scored a great job at the Post Office. There were boxes and boxes of brand new clothes - tags still on! - under the tree. My sister and I went back to school after Christmas break in s-t-y-l-e. It felt great. And I remember the following years, when we stopped shopping for clothes at Good Will and Wal-Mart and graduated to the MALL. Yes, heaven for a teenage American girl with a part-time job and fresh cash.
It's not surprising to me that I was perfect bait for a college credit card. They snagged me in the fall of my freshman year, and all it took was a free t-shirt. Six years later, I was a newlywed applying for a debt consolidation program to reign in my $18,000 of credit card debt.
And since I've been forking out almost $500 a month to the debt gods, I've had much time to ponder the never-ending cycle of useless spending that exists in this society. I look at things in a whole new light. A $3.00 shirt on the clearance rack is designed to fall apart after four washes, despite the fact that someone in a far-off land got paid peanuts to make it. And I am mystified, especially, by the proliferation of useless, destined-for-a-landfill crap that is sold pretty much everywhere. Plastic junk in gum-ball machines, novelty toys, even greeting cards, gift bags, ribbons and wrapping paper... all tossed out eventually.
The scary thing is that living in this society has made the lines blur between need and want. Every so often I catch myself saying that I need something. But to need a new dress shirt because my old ones are out of style, or slightly faded, or a few years old, is not real need. In fact, I venture to say that no one truly needs a dress shirt at all. You could live quite happily without one, let alone a variety. I try to apply this principal when I get it in my head that I need something... be it shoes, an appliance, a haircut.
Tonight I bought a shirt. After trying on dresses and skirts and shoes that I would rarely wear, I settled on a crisp, well-made, will-be-in-style-for-at-least-three-more-years, $100-marked-down-to-$20 dress shirt. I can wear it Saturday with shoes and pants I already own, and I can wear it to work for meetings.
Too bad it's made in China.
*sigh*
What once was a happy-go-lucky past-time has become an arduous task, tainted with much tag-reading, eye-rolling, mental-justifying and, of course, guilt.
In an effort to keep this short, I'll spare everyone a mouth-full of angry ranting about why I shouldn't have to be a detective when I'm at the store. And I'll leave out my tirade against the FDA, whom are so completely ineffectual that I have to read the label of EVERY product I buy (after which I am usually still uncertain if it's safe to eat).
What I want to focus on, instead, is my departure from consumerist tendencies. It has been a slow, gradual decline from my shopping heyday... I remember it quite clearly. Having grown up in a nearly-poor family and having spent the first twelve years of my life going school shopping at the thrift store, I remember quite vividly the first Christmas after my mom finally scored a great job at the Post Office. There were boxes and boxes of brand new clothes - tags still on! - under the tree. My sister and I went back to school after Christmas break in s-t-y-l-e. It felt great. And I remember the following years, when we stopped shopping for clothes at Good Will and Wal-Mart and graduated to the MALL. Yes, heaven for a teenage American girl with a part-time job and fresh cash.
It's not surprising to me that I was perfect bait for a college credit card. They snagged me in the fall of my freshman year, and all it took was a free t-shirt. Six years later, I was a newlywed applying for a debt consolidation program to reign in my $18,000 of credit card debt.
And since I've been forking out almost $500 a month to the debt gods, I've had much time to ponder the never-ending cycle of useless spending that exists in this society. I look at things in a whole new light. A $3.00 shirt on the clearance rack is designed to fall apart after four washes, despite the fact that someone in a far-off land got paid peanuts to make it. And I am mystified, especially, by the proliferation of useless, destined-for-a-landfill crap that is sold pretty much everywhere. Plastic junk in gum-ball machines, novelty toys, even greeting cards, gift bags, ribbons and wrapping paper... all tossed out eventually.
The scary thing is that living in this society has made the lines blur between need and want. Every so often I catch myself saying that I need something. But to need a new dress shirt because my old ones are out of style, or slightly faded, or a few years old, is not real need. In fact, I venture to say that no one truly needs a dress shirt at all. You could live quite happily without one, let alone a variety. I try to apply this principal when I get it in my head that I need something... be it shoes, an appliance, a haircut.
Tonight I bought a shirt. After trying on dresses and skirts and shoes that I would rarely wear, I settled on a crisp, well-made, will-be-in-style-for-at-least-three-more-years, $100-marked-down-to-$20 dress shirt. I can wear it Saturday with shoes and pants I already own, and I can wear it to work for meetings.
Too bad it's made in China.
*sigh*
Monday, September 17, 2007
summer of looooove
Things are finally ramping down... the air is cool, the leaves are looking fragile, and the summer of love has almost passed. I thought it would be quite nice to pay homage to the friends and family members who have "tied the knot" in the summer of '07 and were kind enough to let us share in their celebrations...
Christy & Rich
August 4, 2007 at the Crooked Lake House, Averill Park, NY
Wedding Photography by my hubby, John Yost. Christy is one of his high school friends, and having seen John's photo series of the Crooked Lake House, she asked him to be her photographer. It was his first gig, and he did a beautiful job...
Sarah & Bryan
August 11, 2007 in Syracuse, NY
Our former Lake George neighbors and my former co-worker Sarah... but still very current and wonderful friends. The lack of even one good wedding picture is due to the fact that we had a ridiculously awesome time at their wedding...
Eddie & Villy
September 2, 2007 at Hamlin Beach State Park, Hamlin, NY
My like-a-brother cousin Ed marries his hard-working, sweetheart of a bride, Velichka, a.k.a Villy, a Bulgarian beauty he met and works with at InterGrow, a hydroponic tomato plant back in my hometown. I was honored to be Villy's Matron of Honor, as her family was unable to afford the flight to the USA.
Michele & Scott
September 8, 2007 at Hurd Orchards, Holley, NY
John's cousin Michele finally gets hitched to her boyfriend and best friend of thirteen years. A beautiful, intimate ceremony in an apple orchard.
And finally... it may not have been a wedding, but it was an occasion of L-O-V-E in it's purist form. On the weekend of Ed & Villy's wedding, I finally meet my first and only nephew:
My sister, Natalie, and I with Gavin Michael, born July 29, 2007, two days before our shared birthday. Taken at the Buffalo Airport... my first time ever holding him!
Christy & Rich
August 4, 2007 at the Crooked Lake House, Averill Park, NY
Wedding Photography by my hubby, John Yost. Christy is one of his high school friends, and having seen John's photo series of the Crooked Lake House, she asked him to be her photographer. It was his first gig, and he did a beautiful job...
Sarah & Bryan
August 11, 2007 in Syracuse, NY
Our former Lake George neighbors and my former co-worker Sarah... but still very current and wonderful friends. The lack of even one good wedding picture is due to the fact that we had a ridiculously awesome time at their wedding...
Eddie & Villy
September 2, 2007 at Hamlin Beach State Park, Hamlin, NY
My like-a-brother cousin Ed marries his hard-working, sweetheart of a bride, Velichka, a.k.a Villy, a Bulgarian beauty he met and works with at InterGrow, a hydroponic tomato plant back in my hometown. I was honored to be Villy's Matron of Honor, as her family was unable to afford the flight to the USA.
Michele & Scott
September 8, 2007 at Hurd Orchards, Holley, NY
John's cousin Michele finally gets hitched to her boyfriend and best friend of thirteen years. A beautiful, intimate ceremony in an apple orchard.
And finally... it may not have been a wedding, but it was an occasion of L-O-V-E in it's purist form. On the weekend of Ed & Villy's wedding, I finally meet my first and only nephew:
My sister, Natalie, and I with Gavin Michael, born July 29, 2007, two days before our shared birthday. Taken at the Buffalo Airport... my first time ever holding him!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
a breather
this summer is being yanked out from underneath me. it seems that every day i'm looking at the calendar in amazement, mulling over the often-heard words... 'where has the time gone?' everyone says it, yet there's still no moment's rest to even look.
i enjoy being busy, but i can never truly appreciate my life routines without a second to stop, take a breather, and glance back. today, for the first time since spring, i have that moment. oddly though, i am tired. the 90 degree heat has my head in a fog, and i want to do nothing more than find a patch of grass... or beach... and veg-out.
it's not like me to be so lazy, but this past week has been the culmination of a summer packed to the brim with constant fun. it began with our two-week roadtrip... a physical and mental adventure that jolted us directly into the thick of July. upon returning, i began a new job. another moment of standing at the threshold of unknown; another journey beginning. it's been fun and exciting and challenging and fortunately the most steadfast calm of the summer. next came the move.... a house we thought we would rent and the dreaming of a country retreat turned into a 2-week race to find any apartment that would do. luckily, we found a great one.... open and cozy and classic and modern all at the same time. the moving process was a long and exhausting one, grabbing chunks of our evenings and weekends over the course of a week.
and in between it all has been the train of weddings.... two so far, three more to go. it's interesting to realize that throughout my crazy summer, couples have been experiencing their own breakneck pace of planning a one-day celebration that will be a blip on the radar of everyone else's July, August, September... but those blissful pauses between weeks, when friends and family unite to celebrate love and joy are the real anchors of humanity, reminding me of what it's all really about.
so on this hot, sticky Saturday morning, i'm half-venting, half-remembering, half-looking-forward to more of those moments, and these moments like this one right now... when i can sit with a coffee, put my feet up, pet my cat and take a breath to soak it all in. life certainly doesn't slow down, so sometimes, i guess, you have to.
i enjoy being busy, but i can never truly appreciate my life routines without a second to stop, take a breather, and glance back. today, for the first time since spring, i have that moment. oddly though, i am tired. the 90 degree heat has my head in a fog, and i want to do nothing more than find a patch of grass... or beach... and veg-out.
it's not like me to be so lazy, but this past week has been the culmination of a summer packed to the brim with constant fun. it began with our two-week roadtrip... a physical and mental adventure that jolted us directly into the thick of July. upon returning, i began a new job. another moment of standing at the threshold of unknown; another journey beginning. it's been fun and exciting and challenging and fortunately the most steadfast calm of the summer. next came the move.... a house we thought we would rent and the dreaming of a country retreat turned into a 2-week race to find any apartment that would do. luckily, we found a great one.... open and cozy and classic and modern all at the same time. the moving process was a long and exhausting one, grabbing chunks of our evenings and weekends over the course of a week.
and in between it all has been the train of weddings.... two so far, three more to go. it's interesting to realize that throughout my crazy summer, couples have been experiencing their own breakneck pace of planning a one-day celebration that will be a blip on the radar of everyone else's July, August, September... but those blissful pauses between weeks, when friends and family unite to celebrate love and joy are the real anchors of humanity, reminding me of what it's all really about.
so on this hot, sticky Saturday morning, i'm half-venting, half-remembering, half-looking-forward to more of those moments, and these moments like this one right now... when i can sit with a coffee, put my feet up, pet my cat and take a breath to soak it all in. life certainly doesn't slow down, so sometimes, i guess, you have to.
Monday, July 16, 2007
good to be home
Cross Country Photo Album
Rather than share every little detail of our last week on the road, take a looky at our photos via the above link.
In summary, let's just say it was an unforgettable time. There's something about being on the road - constantly moving and flying by so many people in their daily lives - that shakes you up a bit and forces you to open your eyes and see things in a new way. You see how similar we all really are. You see how everyone's just trying to live their life, just like you. And you get a glimpse at how massive the world really is... the entirety of it all hits you and you feel small but grateful for the opportunity to see it all. You feel like a voyeur, always peering out the window with sweeping eyes, yet somehow you fit in just at that moment. You realize that wherever you go, you are always home. And you accept the grand placement of all things as time lays it all out.
Really though, it feels good to be home. To come back to our little apartment and the silly material things within it that bring comfort and peace. The quiet rhythm of daily life and its soothing pull that fills you up and solidifies your soul.
So much is happening now in my life... our trip was exactly what I needed to smash myself into a million little pieces and carefully, perfectly but them back in place. I am ready for what' next.
Rather than share every little detail of our last week on the road, take a looky at our photos via the above link.
In summary, let's just say it was an unforgettable time. There's something about being on the road - constantly moving and flying by so many people in their daily lives - that shakes you up a bit and forces you to open your eyes and see things in a new way. You see how similar we all really are. You see how everyone's just trying to live their life, just like you. And you get a glimpse at how massive the world really is... the entirety of it all hits you and you feel small but grateful for the opportunity to see it all. You feel like a voyeur, always peering out the window with sweeping eyes, yet somehow you fit in just at that moment. You realize that wherever you go, you are always home. And you accept the grand placement of all things as time lays it all out.
Really though, it feels good to be home. To come back to our little apartment and the silly material things within it that bring comfort and peace. The quiet rhythm of daily life and its soothing pull that fills you up and solidifies your soul.
So much is happening now in my life... our trip was exactly what I needed to smash myself into a million little pieces and carefully, perfectly but them back in place. I am ready for what' next.
Friday, June 29, 2007
from the road
four days into our cross-country trip and there's already too much to write, and much fun to report on. this is absolutely the vacation i needed... a mental detour after a stressful but important month for me (and us).
spent monday evening with the yosts drinking wine on the porch. they were quite ecstatic to care for toonces for 2 weeks, and brought us to the albany airport at 4am tuesday morning for our 6am flight. after a layover in detroit, we arrived at las vegas airport at 10:30am pacific time. despite much experience with jet-lag, we took a few days to adjust to the 3-hour time change due to our unusually early flight. good thing we had a hotel to sleep in on our first night...
my parents are on vacation this week in vegas, and we got to crash on a cot in their hotel room at the circus circus. plus, they spoiled us by taking us out to a nice dinner and drive down the strip. mom has an infatuation with slot machines, and the two of us played the penny and nickel slots until she'd won about 30 bucks (on penny slots, no less). we were all zonked, especially my dad, as this was his first time out of the eastern time zone. we crashed by 10:30, and spent the next morning together at Red Rock Canyon, west of vegas. it was stunning, and so cool to see it with my parents who've never seen desert in their lives. we parted ways thereafter, them returning to their hotel and us on our way through the mojave desert to los angeles.
we've been in l.a. since wednesday night and it has been non-stop fun, with reunions with old friends every day. staying with our dear friends thad and jeff and on our first night we went to a buffy the vampire sing-a-long with my girl amy who has been in love with sarah michelle gellar for years. john and i were the only freaks in the audience who'd never seen an episode, but we had a fantastic time laughing and popping noisemakers along with everyone else. at the end, john and amy were star-struck when director/producer joss whedon made a surprise appearance, 5 feet from us (we were in the 2nd row).
yesterday we had a relaxing day at the getty center, one of the coolest most beautiful museums i've ever seen. the humble photography exhibit and impressionist room were both pretty cool, but the highlight by far was tim hutchinson's uberorgan, a giant construction made from wires and plastic that played a music and resonated throughout the building. stunning!
last night we reunited with more rit film kids... kurt and debbie, marcos and crystal, greg and kim, and kurt's brother mike. we had pizza and hung out at their apartment before going out to the red lion - a german pub that served my favorite authentic german lager, bitburger. it was so great seeing everyone and we all agreed we need to do so more often...
today begins late after sleeping in, but john and i are off to zooma zooma beach (the best, according to thad) to get some swim and sun. tonight we may have a party here at thad's to see everyone again one last time before we head north tomorrow. still have a few friends we haven't met up with... should be another fun day.
this will probably be my only post, as from tomorrow on we will be camping...
having a ball, and must say that l.a. has surpassed my expectations. i can see why so many people have come here. it's beautiful, and so much more laid back than nyc.
spent monday evening with the yosts drinking wine on the porch. they were quite ecstatic to care for toonces for 2 weeks, and brought us to the albany airport at 4am tuesday morning for our 6am flight. after a layover in detroit, we arrived at las vegas airport at 10:30am pacific time. despite much experience with jet-lag, we took a few days to adjust to the 3-hour time change due to our unusually early flight. good thing we had a hotel to sleep in on our first night...
my parents are on vacation this week in vegas, and we got to crash on a cot in their hotel room at the circus circus. plus, they spoiled us by taking us out to a nice dinner and drive down the strip. mom has an infatuation with slot machines, and the two of us played the penny and nickel slots until she'd won about 30 bucks (on penny slots, no less). we were all zonked, especially my dad, as this was his first time out of the eastern time zone. we crashed by 10:30, and spent the next morning together at Red Rock Canyon, west of vegas. it was stunning, and so cool to see it with my parents who've never seen desert in their lives. we parted ways thereafter, them returning to their hotel and us on our way through the mojave desert to los angeles.
we've been in l.a. since wednesday night and it has been non-stop fun, with reunions with old friends every day. staying with our dear friends thad and jeff and on our first night we went to a buffy the vampire sing-a-long with my girl amy who has been in love with sarah michelle gellar for years. john and i were the only freaks in the audience who'd never seen an episode, but we had a fantastic time laughing and popping noisemakers along with everyone else. at the end, john and amy were star-struck when director/producer joss whedon made a surprise appearance, 5 feet from us (we were in the 2nd row).
yesterday we had a relaxing day at the getty center, one of the coolest most beautiful museums i've ever seen. the humble photography exhibit and impressionist room were both pretty cool, but the highlight by far was tim hutchinson's uberorgan, a giant construction made from wires and plastic that played a music and resonated throughout the building. stunning!
last night we reunited with more rit film kids... kurt and debbie, marcos and crystal, greg and kim, and kurt's brother mike. we had pizza and hung out at their apartment before going out to the red lion - a german pub that served my favorite authentic german lager, bitburger. it was so great seeing everyone and we all agreed we need to do so more often...
today begins late after sleeping in, but john and i are off to zooma zooma beach (the best, according to thad) to get some swim and sun. tonight we may have a party here at thad's to see everyone again one last time before we head north tomorrow. still have a few friends we haven't met up with... should be another fun day.
this will probably be my only post, as from tomorrow on we will be camping...
having a ball, and must say that l.a. has surpassed my expectations. i can see why so many people have come here. it's beautiful, and so much more laid back than nyc.
Friday, June 15, 2007
the awkward question
this past january i decided, after many years of considering it, to become a vegetarian.
it was an easy decision, surprisingly. i've never eaten much meat, in my entire life. as a child, my mother was always frustrated because she would labor over dinner and i usually would eat only the veggies and potatoes. sometimes i would skip dinner altogether and eat cereal.
but interestingly enough, the hardest part about becoming a vegetarian was something i never really expected: The Question.
it has come up many times now, and the first time it was asked i was quite stunned, without really any answer for it. "Why did you become a vegetarian?"
it really is a complicated answer, though it makes perfect sense in my mind. and until now, i hadn't been able to find a concise, clear, and perfect response.
i found this quote today, and i couldn't have said it any better:
"Do we, as humans, having an ability to reason and to communicate abstract ideas verbally and in writing, and to form ethical and moral judgments using the accumulated knowledge of the ages, have the right to take the lives of other sentient organisms, particularly when we are not forced to do so by hunger or dietary need, but rather do so for the somewhat frivolous reason that we like the taste of meat? In essence, should we know better?"
- Peter Cheeke, PHD (Contemporary Issues in Animal Agriculture, 1999)
it was an easy decision, surprisingly. i've never eaten much meat, in my entire life. as a child, my mother was always frustrated because she would labor over dinner and i usually would eat only the veggies and potatoes. sometimes i would skip dinner altogether and eat cereal.
but interestingly enough, the hardest part about becoming a vegetarian was something i never really expected: The Question.
it has come up many times now, and the first time it was asked i was quite stunned, without really any answer for it. "Why did you become a vegetarian?"
it really is a complicated answer, though it makes perfect sense in my mind. and until now, i hadn't been able to find a concise, clear, and perfect response.
i found this quote today, and i couldn't have said it any better:
"Do we, as humans, having an ability to reason and to communicate abstract ideas verbally and in writing, and to form ethical and moral judgments using the accumulated knowledge of the ages, have the right to take the lives of other sentient organisms, particularly when we are not forced to do so by hunger or dietary need, but rather do so for the somewhat frivolous reason that we like the taste of meat? In essence, should we know better?"
- Peter Cheeke, PHD (Contemporary Issues in Animal Agriculture, 1999)
Friday, June 8, 2007
obsessive, compulsive
I have always had OCD. It was, without any doubt, inherited from my father - whom, god love'm, would vaccuum religiously once a week, spending about an hour doing so in our tiny house, going over each square-inch of carpet at least four times to make sure every speck of dirt, lint, or dust was gone.
I never knew that I had OCD, and to this day, I have never actually visited a doctor for it. It was only brought to my attention by my husband, who was mystified by my inability to complete tasks out of order, and my odd habit of straightening items in front of me, or actually stopping to think about the arrangement of plates, cups, and dishes on the dinner table.
I am sure that my case is a mild one, as it is by no means debilitating. In fact, now that I've noticed my own "psychosis" (as we like to refer to it), I am understanding it, intrigued by it, and actually - quite grateful for it.
When I was home for Christmas last winter, one of my younger second-cousins was blatently affected, too, by this clearly-genetic sydrome. I was chatting with his mother, when we noticed he was re-organizing the plastic cutlery, carefully, quiety separating the spoons from the forks. He looked intense, almost bothered by the mess. His mother talked about him as if he weren't three feet from us - "I don't understand what his problem is." She hid her face with her hand and was visibly embarrassed by her son's quirk. Moments later, she ordered him to stop. I realized then, that what she saw as a abnormal - almost freakish - in her son, was actually a beautiful attention to detail that she should embrace, rather than be ashamed of.
Since then, and since paying attention to my often pointless obsession with organization, I've realized how deeply this compulsion takes its course in my life, and how much of who I am is affected by it. My job as a web designer makes more sense to me than ever - only someone plagued with OCD would stand the mind-numbing task of cleaning up code, carefully, neatly making certain that each line is in order, and is as efficient and lean as possible.
And design goes without saying, I'm realizing. Graphic design is like an addiction for someone who's mind feels a release - a calm - in the visual organization of objects. Whether it's my home space, my work space, or my computer screen - everything in it's place: neat, clean, organized just so. I don't quite understand when I have it - that is, when the pieces of the puzzle are in tact - but when I see it, I know it. And my compulsion is satisfied.
How beautiful it is to revel in our own oddities!
I never knew that I had OCD, and to this day, I have never actually visited a doctor for it. It was only brought to my attention by my husband, who was mystified by my inability to complete tasks out of order, and my odd habit of straightening items in front of me, or actually stopping to think about the arrangement of plates, cups, and dishes on the dinner table.
I am sure that my case is a mild one, as it is by no means debilitating. In fact, now that I've noticed my own "psychosis" (as we like to refer to it), I am understanding it, intrigued by it, and actually - quite grateful for it.
When I was home for Christmas last winter, one of my younger second-cousins was blatently affected, too, by this clearly-genetic sydrome. I was chatting with his mother, when we noticed he was re-organizing the plastic cutlery, carefully, quiety separating the spoons from the forks. He looked intense, almost bothered by the mess. His mother talked about him as if he weren't three feet from us - "I don't understand what his problem is." She hid her face with her hand and was visibly embarrassed by her son's quirk. Moments later, she ordered him to stop. I realized then, that what she saw as a abnormal - almost freakish - in her son, was actually a beautiful attention to detail that she should embrace, rather than be ashamed of.
Since then, and since paying attention to my often pointless obsession with organization, I've realized how deeply this compulsion takes its course in my life, and how much of who I am is affected by it. My job as a web designer makes more sense to me than ever - only someone plagued with OCD would stand the mind-numbing task of cleaning up code, carefully, neatly making certain that each line is in order, and is as efficient and lean as possible.
And design goes without saying, I'm realizing. Graphic design is like an addiction for someone who's mind feels a release - a calm - in the visual organization of objects. Whether it's my home space, my work space, or my computer screen - everything in it's place: neat, clean, organized just so. I don't quite understand when I have it - that is, when the pieces of the puzzle are in tact - but when I see it, I know it. And my compulsion is satisfied.
How beautiful it is to revel in our own oddities!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
nothing wasted
there is an incredible amount of satisfaction i get from getting the most out of the silly little material things in my life. i imagine that it's part of my duty to the planet - one of those little daily offerings to the world, one of my baby steps towards being a good person and being pleased with my contributions to the universe.
i believe that everything adds up. the good, and the bad. the things we do accumulate and really do leave a footprint behind us. that's why i try not to waste anything. and i mean anything.
food goes without saying. i use up every little scrap, either in another dish, as leftovers, or as a contribution to the compost pile. there are too many hungry mouths in the world to toss out food.
lately, we have been manic recyclers. but it's a mania i feel good about. i save jars that i like for dry foods, and sometimes bring them to the co-op to fill with bulk goods. the rest, i recycle, along with cans, plastic containers, paper, and paperboard. it's becoming habit to really pause before tossing anything. i think it's an important habit to acquire.
the best way to prevent excess trash is to not have it in the first place... which is why i've also been thinking before buying. it's actually quite easy, because most food that is good for you has minimal packaging to begin with.
everything else, i try to use until it has nothing more to give. i wear my clothes and shoes out, and try to take good care of them so they will last as long as possible. otherwise, they are off to goodwill or handed down. we don't have much stuff at all, but the furniture and things that we do have, no matter how old and ratty, we try to take care of it all and pass on what we no longer need. the idea is that nothing is wasted, nothing collects dust.
we're by no means perfect - in fact, the other night i tossed out the remains of a disappointing take-out meal that, had i eaten the rest, i may have been ill - literally. but it's the recognition that matters - the fact that i even thought about it is a step.
i believe that it's essential to mankind that we maintain aware of ourselves, our actions, and the impact that we do and can make. while something as thoughtless as tossing rubbish shouldn't put a kink in your day, i do think that taking small measures to pay attention to these things can open our eyes to even better solutions.
i believe that everything adds up. the good, and the bad. the things we do accumulate and really do leave a footprint behind us. that's why i try not to waste anything. and i mean anything.
food goes without saying. i use up every little scrap, either in another dish, as leftovers, or as a contribution to the compost pile. there are too many hungry mouths in the world to toss out food.
lately, we have been manic recyclers. but it's a mania i feel good about. i save jars that i like for dry foods, and sometimes bring them to the co-op to fill with bulk goods. the rest, i recycle, along with cans, plastic containers, paper, and paperboard. it's becoming habit to really pause before tossing anything. i think it's an important habit to acquire.
the best way to prevent excess trash is to not have it in the first place... which is why i've also been thinking before buying. it's actually quite easy, because most food that is good for you has minimal packaging to begin with.
everything else, i try to use until it has nothing more to give. i wear my clothes and shoes out, and try to take good care of them so they will last as long as possible. otherwise, they are off to goodwill or handed down. we don't have much stuff at all, but the furniture and things that we do have, no matter how old and ratty, we try to take care of it all and pass on what we no longer need. the idea is that nothing is wasted, nothing collects dust.
we're by no means perfect - in fact, the other night i tossed out the remains of a disappointing take-out meal that, had i eaten the rest, i may have been ill - literally. but it's the recognition that matters - the fact that i even thought about it is a step.
i believe that it's essential to mankind that we maintain aware of ourselves, our actions, and the impact that we do and can make. while something as thoughtless as tossing rubbish shouldn't put a kink in your day, i do think that taking small measures to pay attention to these things can open our eyes to even better solutions.
shhhh don't tell
i'm enjoying writing to a blog that no one knows about... it's almost like having a diary and leaving it out in the open where you know someone will find it...
as long as i have that false sense of privacy, it's easy to tell secrets, vent and lecture as if to some invisible, eager ears. it's almost dangerously easy. until i get that first comment, i am content in my fantasy.
as long as i have that false sense of privacy, it's easy to tell secrets, vent and lecture as if to some invisible, eager ears. it's almost dangerously easy. until i get that first comment, i am content in my fantasy.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
the in-betweens
it seems lately that my life is always teetering back and forth, playing with the fine line between too much work and too much fun. in either case, it's constant excess. always go go go. there are so few moments of peace, of calm. and even those moments must be penciled in.
work seems to suffocate every weekday. my dayjob is a constant race of completing tasks so that more tasks can be assigned, always working as quickly and efficiently as possible, my mind continually sorting and unsorting, organizating and reorganizing. the scramble dances its way into the evening, when i begin the evening routine of household chores. dinner, dishes, cleaning, laundry, litter box. bills gas groceries. garden recycle compost.
i don't wish to complain, as i've chosen my life and am quite happy with it. and the minutes that are not completely consumed by work are consumed entirely by play.
i can't imagine working so hard, every day, without giving equal effort in having fun. every second of work is motivated by the quiet buzz in the back of my head... the stirring of anxious anticipation of something great coming up... parties. campfires. friends. conversations. drinks. road trips. movies. dancing. good reads. good wine. good food. i play hard, and i love it.
but it's the in-betweens where everything happens. where the stirring begins, where the excitement happens. where the motivation and determination is planted. the quiet, quick little moments between the work and the fun where i am stuck with myself, my thoughts. it's the meditative drive to and from on the northway. it's the seconds before sleep staring at the ceiling. the contemplative glance around the kitchen after a great meal. and yes, even those moments alone in the loo with nothing much else to do.
these are the minutes, seconds even, that define everything else. the definitive pauses that allow us to chart the path for tomorrow, or next week, or next year. life, lately, has been a little song of go go go go pause. go go go go pause. and it's at the pause, in between the gos where we find the strength, reason, and will to continue.
work seems to suffocate every weekday. my dayjob is a constant race of completing tasks so that more tasks can be assigned, always working as quickly and efficiently as possible, my mind continually sorting and unsorting, organizating and reorganizing. the scramble dances its way into the evening, when i begin the evening routine of household chores. dinner, dishes, cleaning, laundry, litter box. bills gas groceries. garden recycle compost.
i don't wish to complain, as i've chosen my life and am quite happy with it. and the minutes that are not completely consumed by work are consumed entirely by play.
i can't imagine working so hard, every day, without giving equal effort in having fun. every second of work is motivated by the quiet buzz in the back of my head... the stirring of anxious anticipation of something great coming up... parties. campfires. friends. conversations. drinks. road trips. movies. dancing. good reads. good wine. good food. i play hard, and i love it.
but it's the in-betweens where everything happens. where the stirring begins, where the excitement happens. where the motivation and determination is planted. the quiet, quick little moments between the work and the fun where i am stuck with myself, my thoughts. it's the meditative drive to and from on the northway. it's the seconds before sleep staring at the ceiling. the contemplative glance around the kitchen after a great meal. and yes, even those moments alone in the loo with nothing much else to do.
these are the minutes, seconds even, that define everything else. the definitive pauses that allow us to chart the path for tomorrow, or next week, or next year. life, lately, has been a little song of go go go go pause. go go go go pause. and it's at the pause, in between the gos where we find the strength, reason, and will to continue.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
welcome.
Here goes. I feel it's high time for a blog. Really, I just need a place to vent once in awhile. For someone that does everything to live a healthy lifestyle, I sure do a lot of inner harm holding in my daily frustrations with mankind. I'm not really sure what it is that I'm afraid of, but I do have a serious issue with confrontation... I avoid it at all costs. Time for that to change, and this is the first step.
I think since this is technically my first post, it would be appropriate to state my purpose and point out what it is I plan on ranting about:
Purpose.
To pause. To take a moment to reflect on the present and it's impact on my own life and the lives and beings around me. To ignite thought and inspire action.
What I will be ranting about.
Human beings and the millions of things that we are capable of doing on a daily basis to make the world a better place.
I think since this is technically my first post, it would be appropriate to state my purpose and point out what it is I plan on ranting about:
Purpose.
To pause. To take a moment to reflect on the present and it's impact on my own life and the lives and beings around me. To ignite thought and inspire action.
What I will be ranting about.
Human beings and the millions of things that we are capable of doing on a daily basis to make the world a better place.
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