:: pause ::

Some weight off my shoulders

2009-03-26T12:47:00.003-04:00

I've decided to take a pause from ::pause:: — permanently.

My apologies to anyone that may actually be reading my blog... your attention is appreciated, and you are a rare gem in this world.

Frankly, I have been too busy enjoying life to stop and write about it, and after 2 months of feeling a nag in the back of my head reminding me that I hadn't blogged in awhile, it occurred to me that, I really don't have to. Ever, if I don't want to.

I find this a proper place to end this blogging adventure, as it was my first foray into the world of online journaling, gave me an outlet when I needed one, and will make a nice 'book' when my mother-in-law staples all the print-outs together (I think you're my only loyal reader!) I have grown extensively from this experience, and learned a tremendous amount about dancing the fine line between personal and public, news-worthy and best-kept-to-myself, and enlightening versus whiny drivel.

Oddly enough, I blog daily... in my head. The problem is that I have more ideas for articles than I have time to write them. Over the past few months, I've envisioned reports about my adventures in the world of Web Design working on a major e-commerce site and traveling for big meetings and presentations, my weekend yoga retreat and renewal experience at Kripalu, my guest blogging invitation from International Interior Design Association Student Blog, news and updates about The Brave and the Kind, or our weekend escapade in New York.

At some point, I may write again... but for now, I prefer to spend the time pausing to myself. Thanks for listening... adeiu.

p.s. There are still too many places to keep up with me: flickr, my site, College Aftermath, Facebook ...

A Rocky Start

2009-01-31T11:29:00.002-05:00

Re-reading my last post, I'm realizing that oftentimes the goals that seem simplest to reach are actually the most challenging.

Be present, rest, and be grateful. Sounds good, right? Certainly an attainable goal for 2009! Why, it's nearing February and I should practically have it crossed off the list by now, right?

Wrong.

Be present.
Being mindfully aware - or, paying attention to your thought patterns and pausing within the moment for reflection and assessment - is so much more difficult than it sounds. Every day of our life we continue to reinforce and deepen the habits of thought and emotional reactions that define our personality. Our responses to stress, fear, anger, frustration; whether we see the glass as empty or half-full; whether we flip-off the driver that cut us off or choose to send them thoughts of goodwill and less aggression; our association of comfort in a glass of wine, a heaping helping of chocolate cake, or a frivolous purchase for [insert random item here] that we don't actually need.

Being 'present' essentially addresses the core of who we are as a human being with patterns, habits, and reactionary tendencies. By being present, one hopes to pause - both literally and figuratively - to draw the mind away from it's usual pathways and redirect it into healthier ones, or pathways that aim in the direction of change we hope to attain. In other words, if my hope is to eat well, and eating well means no more late-night binging on Ben & Jerry's or chocolate bars, then practicing presence would require a few moments of self-assessment and change in habit: 1) deciding not to purchase said items at the grocery store, and 2) pausing to control the cravings and replace them with healthier options. But even in a simple example like this one, there are a myriad of scenarios that complicate the situation. For example, I may want to keep a chocolate bar in the cupboard but learn to nibble at it over the course of a few weeks. Or, what if I'm at my in-laws, and they've just returned from a trip to Italy (a common situation) and there are truffles and dark chocolate, and milk chocolates, and... well, you get the idea.

Regardless of whether I'm talking about eating well or trying to change negative thought patterns or curbing unhealthy responses to stress, the point is that while being present is key, it is much more difficult than it sounds.

Rest.
Ah, rest. Another seemingly simple objective: recognize when your body needs a break, and take it. Why is this such a challenge for me? Perhaps it's genetic: my grandmother is fighting cancer right now, and I have no doubt that much of her ailments stem from years and years of pushing herself, ignoring pain, and rarely taking a moment to relax. My Mom? Same story. She works, works, works... takes care of everyone else, keeps the house tidy, bakes and cooks and almost never, ever stops to breathe, rejuvenate, and collect herself.

You would think that seeing the patterns in my Mother and Grandma would make it easier to change in myself. But for the women in my family, when there's work to be done, all else goes on hold. This past month, I had two major presentations for work, each one requiring hard work and long hours. But for me, I bring the work home, taxing my mind with worry and stress about doing the best job possible. After the first presentation, I crashed with a nasty cold. And after the second, which was yesterday, I find myself weak and exhausted. I know that I should rest today... but sadly, it seems that I need to be forced to before I actually make the effort.

Be grateful.
We're all wrapped up in our little worlds... our little "bubbles," as I like to refer to them. Sometimes it really is hard to see the forest from the trees. Just the fact that I'm sitting in a warm apartment, using a laptop, and enjoying a hot cup of coffee is reason enough to be thankful, especially when you change perspective and realize how many people in this world don't have the simple things we take for granted every single day.

But it is so much easier to say "I'll be grateful" than it is to actually feel appreciation throughout the day - especially in trying times. When work has you stressed out, it's rare that your first thought is "Well, I'm grateful to have this job and this opportunity. Stress means that I care, and I'm grateful that I care so much." Or, for example, this month - when my car heater had decided to break down during the coldest weeks of the year - it was a challenge to remember how lucky I am to even have my own car, one that works and gets me to and from work each day, when I'm freezing my toosh off and stuck in morning traffic.

Gratitude, like presence, and rest, are right there, on the tip of my thoughts every day, yet sometimes so out of reach — so difficult to grasp and bring into my life. Instead, at the end of the first month in 2009, I find myself more off-balance than usual - frustrated with my inability to relax, my seemingly uncontrollable physical reactions to stress, and the irritable (and ungrateful) attitude that this cycle creates.

I guess the lesson for now begins with recognizing the challenges that lay ahead and remembering to just take it one step at a time. Rerouting your brain and changing the way you think and respond to life's stresses cannot happen overnight. Instead, I suppose we all need to realize when the goals we set for ourselves will require a lifetime of attention, and that if we hold in our minds the idea of whom we want to become, stepping forth each day with that person on the horizon, one day—perhaps years or decades from now—we'll realize that person is who we are.

10,000 Days (and counting)

2009-01-04T10:32:00.006-05:00

Last week I was doing research on a project for work when I stumbled upon a website (though not a design specimen by any means) that calculates your "Decimal Birthday." Since I spent much of my day clicking randomly around the web, it easily could have been a forgettable stop on my roundabout search. Curious, though, I entered my information and discovered that only twenty days ago - sometime in the middle of my hectic December - I turned 10,000 days old.

Ten Thousand. Something about that number hit me - that's a lot of days. Often, I still think of myself as young. And being 27 years old, I suppose in the grand scheme of things I absolutely am quite young. But the concept of 10,000 days had me stirring in my seat, and it's popped in my mind a few times since...

How have I spent all of those days?
Have I really lived and enjoyed each one?
Being on the brink of a new 10,000 days, and at the start of a brand new year, is there anything I could be doing better?

Without too much hesitation, I already knew my answer.

These past two months have disintegrated, and I've found myself tromping through each day blindly, like an Eskimo in a snowstorm, trudging ahead through gusts of whiteout nothingness, mind fixed on the warmth and comfort that lies ahead, somewhere in the distance. It's almost like I've gone on auto-pilot, pausing to make to-do lists that map out my days, and pushing myself until I'm glugging orange juice and multi-vitamins to keep from catching cold. This weekend - well, actually today - was the day I finally reached the luminous warmth and comfort ahead: a full day with nothing to do. And yet I find myself scheduling in "yoga" and "take a bubble bath" because I fear if I don't seize the free moment it will be gone again...

December is a complete blur in my memory... shopping trips, wrapping presents, making gifts, baking cookies, decorating, driving driving driving, snowstorms, scraping ice, parties, wine, eating eating eating... And here I am on the other side of it, in my moment of peace, and how do I feel? Bloated, tired, and still fending off the same cold I've been fighting for weeks. This is not the way to start a new year, and especially not how to step forward into a new 10,000 days!

So when one feels out of whack and off-kilter, it's always best to gain some perspective:

Last year I set some steep goals for myself when facing 2008. I learned pretty quickly to be realistic and set a pace I could live with, and peering back at the year I have to admit that I am pretty damn proud of myself:

2008 Resolutions Accomplished
√ Learn advanced CSS development
√ Yoga twice (or more) a week
√ Drink less
√ Work on new web projects

Other Accomplishments I didn't plan for...
√ Attend my first Web Conference and befriend fellow geeks
√ Find a new job that fits, with ample room to grow
√ Kickstart my freelance career
√ Redesign my personal website

So, in retrospect I shouldn't be so hard on myself. '08 was a fabulous year in that I set out with one positive goal in mind: be healthier in mind and body. And with that as the milestone to reach, I took care of myself and became more fit than ever while finally finding my 'place' and confidence as a member of the giant Web world. It's that attitude that I need to hurtle me into 2009 and another successful 10,000 days.

So how can I do better? How can I set a precedent to get the most out of each day to come? With one very important new goal: Maintain the level of balance I discovered last year but focus on finding time each day to rest, be present, and be grateful.

From the mindset of presence and gratitude, anything else can be accomplished and realized quite easily. The other goals I've set for myself in '09 are:

get more fresh air (in other words, leave the computer behind every so often...)
read 1 book each month
cut out processed foods from my diet
continue deepening my yoga practice (maybe attend a retreat?)
plant a vegetable garden
finish paying off our credit cards (we're almost there!)
Learn javascript

And with that, I leap forward into a new year, 10,000 more wonderful days, and a sense of pure gratitude for all of the awesome moments I've been so lucky to experience. Cheers!

Send My Grandma to Italy

2008-11-30T19:12:00.009-05:00

Always the coolest, Gram (second from left) parties with the girls at my sister's Bachelorette party in the spring of 2008.

Two months ago, only weeks before my little sister's wedding, my family received some devastating news: my grandma, only 72 years old, had stage 4 cancer of the lung, liver, lymph nodes, and spleen. It was a slow, dreadful diagnosis with each new test revealing worse news. The prescription? Immediate chemotherapy, with the hopes that it, along with other meds, would give her another year, and hopefully more.

My maternal grandma's real name is Raphael - but she's always gone by "Rae," and half of my name comes from hers (the other half is my other Grandma, Anne). She always been an amazing grandmother... fun, loving, and endlessly supportive, she's lived a simple life and never asked for much. Yet she's always dreamed big, and has always wanted to travel... especially to Italy, where her father was born before he immigrated to the states years ago.

Modeling her new curly blond wig, Gram is all smiles after seeing the launch of her new website. Her chemo treatments are going well, and she was feeling great for Thanksgiving.

When my Mom called me that cool September morning and told me the news about Gram, for some strange reason this little thought was the first thing that came to mind: We have to take grandma to Italy. I said it to my Mom on the phone, and she responded with, "I know. But how?"

I wouldn't let it go, and immediately started dreaming up a way to do so. I would build a website and tell her story. I would collect donations via PayPal. I would send it to everyone I know. I would ask my mother-in-law, Noreen, (a part-time travel agent) to keep her eyes peeled for deals to Rome and Tuscany. I would find a way!

After a month of writing, gathering and scanning photos, and living in front of the computer, I'm happy to announce that SendMyGrandmatoItaly.com is now live and functioning! Check it out, pass it on, spread the word, and please help me make my Gram's wish come true!

Welcome, Change

2008-11-07T20:09:00.002-05:00

I've heard people joke that the only thing certain about life is death and taxes. I'd argue that they're forgetting something else we can always count on: change. I'd also argue that of the three, it's the most troublesome... because unlike death and taxes, change is a constant, weighing reality that often makes life feel somewhat like a day at an amusement park: one minute we're enjoying an ice cream as we stroll along peacefully, and the next we're dangling upside down, screaming at the top of our lungs... half amused, and half terrified.

This past month, for me, can be best equated with the Sky Coaster.

The first time I decided to take flight on the Sky Coaster I was fifteen, quiet, but never one to turn down a challenge. I booked my 20 minute slot for later in the afternoon and spent the entire day trying to ignore the butterflies in my tummy. When my turn came, me and my 2 fellow flyers went through a brief safety tutorial, signed a waiver, and stepped into our harnesses before being tugged backwards, inch by inch, up an 18-story tower. The closer we were drawn to the top, the more my insides fluttered and churned with anticipation, the world below shrinking and fading into a surreal tapestry of miniatures. We reached the top and for a moment felt completely powerless... no longer remembering why I had gotten myself into this situation. And then, 3...2...1.... fly.

We pulled our rip-cord, and for two full seconds I dove, face-first, arms outstretched, wind rushing through my hair... and for one beautiful moment I was free, flying, adrenaline pulsing through every inch of me. And just as quickly as it happened, the bungee cord caught our weight and we swung out... out... and up again, sailing over the park and our family below, screaming and laughing through tears. We reached our peak, and gravity pulled us back again for another ride. There we swang, back and forth, squealing with joy, until gravity finally won... our feet returned to earth, our faces wild-eyed, our hair messed, our spirits soaring. It took me all night to calm down, and for the few hours after I flew on the Sky Coaster, I felt invincible.

The ride began last month, when after months and months of feeling the stir of change on the horizon, I found myself at a job interview at Overit Media in Albany, NY. I knew that it was only a matter of time before the right opportunity found me, and I knew after two hours of chatting with my soon-to-be creative teammates, I knew this was it. It took a few days to iron out the details, but in less than a week my entire life turned upside down and I found myself in a nose-dive, thrilled with the inevitable plunge I had been stressing about for months.

That same anxious feeling that had ignited this change was also pulling us south, and just as I accepted the Web Designer position at Overit, we found ourselves flying around Troy, hunting for a new apartment that would put us closer to our jobs, closer to family, and closer to the hopping cultural scene we've been craving. We coasted back and forth... first wanting to live on the park, then considering buying a house, before finally settling on a beautifully renovated 3rd floor townhouse in the heart of downtown, complete with an in-ground backyard swimming pool. My heart was in my throat, the excitement too much to take!

Within two weeks we found ourselves completely entrenched in the ride of change that we could no longer escape... the inertia kept pressing us forward, and we found ourselves in New York, celebrating new jobs and new adventures with good friends, drinking scotch and wine at cigar bars after eating nachos and tater tots at a bar called "Trailer Park." And the pendulum kept swinging.

Days later we were picking up boxes at the liquor store, packing and sorting our things, cleaning, recruiting a moving team of friends, and reserving a U-Haul. And in three exhausting days last weekend we finished packing, moved in completely, and unpacked our entire house.

On Monday I collapsed... my body wrecked from the change train that just kept going... I took a day to rest and regenerate, but I could feel myself still swinging. The ride wasn't quite over.

And then Tuesday came, and in one last wave everything converged like fireworks, and life exploded in spurts and bursts of emotion. In the morning, our car was towed and we found ourselves forking out $150 to get it back. In the afternoon, we made a left turn in heavy traffic and collided with another car, smashing our front-end and ending up with a ticket - that made 2 in one day! And then, in the evening, our saving grace: Barack Obama was elected president.

Since Tuesday night I can feel the change bubbling, the excitement mounting, and a bristle of energy in the air. I'm tired... absolutely exhausted... but the pulse isn't slowing, and the tide hasn't come in. I can feel a hum of change under the surface of everything, and instead of waiting, waiting, and wondering when I'll touch the ground, instead I'm looking for the next gush of air - the next joyous spree of life, flinging me and the world in a new direction.

I'll be starting my new job a week from Monday, and the holidays are just around the corner. After that, John will be starting grad school at SUNY Albany, eventually phasing out his job at Skidmore College next summer. At some point, I'm sure, things will calm down again and I'll find myself standing still in the thrill of my own quiet moment, meditating on the churning of time that allows for these crazy ups and downs. For now, I'm loving the ride... and the rush of not knowing what will come next. But it'll be nice, I know, to find myself giddy and glowing, ready to conquer the world, whenever my feet do come back down to the earth.

Where did September go?

2008-10-05T21:01:00.007-04:00

September whirled by like a tumbleweed in a tornado... I was so busy-busy that I almost didn't notice autumn sneaking up on me. But now fall has finally descended upon the Northeast - the days are crisp and cool, the air smells damp and fresh, and the leaves are slowly making their colorful transition, scattering themselves across the earth, and painting my daily pathways.

But despite the busy-ness, September was a month of pauses... moments of meditation on love, life, and family. It was a whirlwind of changes and new beginnings, with memories that will live in my mind forever.

The beginning of the month was first cast with a dark shadow. After my Grandma Rae went to the hospital for some mysterious pains, my family was bestowed with the most saddening of news: her diagnosis was stage 4 cancer, which began in the lungs, and had spread to her liver, lymph nodes, and spleen. The doctors estimated without chemo she'd have 4-6 months; but with treatment, they could buy her another year, hopefully more. After the reality of the situation set in, the family instead focused on the positive, and making Grandma as comfortable as possible. I decided that I would make a website (in progress...) to raise money to send Gram to Italy after her treatments are over. She's never been out of the country, and has always wanted to see the Vatican. I'll keep you posted on when the site is complete...

Not long after Gram's diagnosis John and I were driving home to Rochester for my little sister Natalie's wedding. (What better time for the family to come together for both my sister and Grandma all at once?) It's one of those events that you wait for your whole life... Natalie is my only sibling, and for our entire lives we've been pretty much inseparable. As children, we were as close to best friends as sisters can be. While distance and time has pushed us into completely different directions, we still love, support, and visit each other as much as possible.

Natalie and Mike's wedding was beautiful in every possible way. I went home late Wednesday night so that I could begin Thursday at home with my family... Natalie's bridesmaids and fellow Navy girlfriends Candy and Meghan were already there, and us girls spent most of Thursday putting together the biscotti wedding favors I'd brought from the Rock Hill Bake House in Glens Falls.

Our biscotti favors.

That night, my Mom and Dad hosted a family party at our house. The whole family as well as the groom, Mike's, parents and sisters were all there. John and I had the memorable (or, forgettable) experience of losing a game of beer pong to none other than my parents... beginner's luck!

Me and Natalie with cousins Rosie, Rachel and Gramma at the Thursday Night party.

Friday was pretty relaxing, surprisingly. My sister had scheduled everything so comfortably that there was ample time for sitting on the porch with coffee and catching up with the parents - one of my favorite home activities. And Dad, of course, hi-jacked the stereo and made everyone listen to Neil Young while we were getting ready for the rehearsal dinner. The rehearsal left butterflies in my tummy... being the Matron of Honor for a Catholic ceremony meant I had to stand up on the altar with the bride and groom for half the ceremony, as well as remember a bunch of random tasks: take Natalie's bouquet, straighten her dress, move the chair, participate in communion... But all of that quickly faded as we headed to our dinner at the Village Inn, a historic restaurant in our hometown, Albion. My sister handed out her gifts for the bridal party, and I almost cried when I read the engraving on my new beautiful bracelet: "My Sister, My Friend."

Mom and Dad with a sleepy Gavin at the rehearsal dinner.

Saturday... ah, Saturday. It was such a gorgeous day - sunny, clear skies, 72 degrees - just perfect. We girls began the day by hopping in our limo at 10am and being escorted to Battisti's hair salon in Chili, where we spent the next four hours getting beautiful. Not long before we decided to go, Candy and Meghan took off in the limo to the liquor store and came back with a bottle of Patron for the ride home...

The ladies before the big day!

This was pre-Patron :)

And me, Nat, and Mom after our cute 'dos :)

Everything, thereafter, went just a smoothly as the tequila (which Candy and Lindon, Natalie's best friend from high school and also a bridesmaid, nearly polished off before we even made it to the church...).

Natalie heads nervously to her wedding ceremony...

The ceremony went off without a hitch (my butterflies for nothing) and the newlyweds and rest of the bridal party all crammed into the limo and headed to the reception at Hickory Ridge Country Club. The night is a bit of a blur, but I remember lots of hugs, delicious food, dancing to Madonna and Paula Abdul, and bringing everyone to tears with my speech :)

The newlyweds head for their reception.

We partied late into the night, and when we finally came home the tired bride and groom opened all of their cards and presents in preparation for their flight the next day... they were leaving for their Italian honeymoon at 10am the next morning!

We left shortly after I kissed Natalie and Mike goodbye... a four-hour Thruway drive between my family and home. I couldn't have possibly asked for a better time at home or a more perfect wedding day for my sister - my best friend.

See all of my wedding photos

Four days later we were heading to the airport in New Haven, CT for our next September adventure: a five-day holiday in Mexico in celebration of my in-laws upcoming 40th Anniversary! More time to celebrate family and love, more time to rest my mind and take a break from work.

Neil, John's brother, and his girlfriend, Sol-Ana, met us at the airport bright and early, and we began our 3-flight trek to Riviera Maya, just south of Cancun. We arrived at our all-inclusive resort hotel, the Ocean Maya, just after dinner time, and were greeted with frozen cocktails and the humid, salty air of the Carribbean Sea.

The beach at Ocean Maya resort, Playa del Carmen, Mexico.

For the next three days we did little more than lay on the beach, order Margaritas and Pina Coladas from the swim-up bar, indulge in fresh Mexican delicacies, cookies, and cakes, lounge around the pool, do yoga on the balcony, hang out over drinks in the lobby bar... basically, a lot of resting and indulging, which everyone deserves now and then.

Yoga on the balcony!

Highlights of the trip were on Saturday afternoon after a rainy day, us "kids" took the shuttle into the nearest town, Playa del Carmen, where we watched the sunset, shopped, saw a monkey(!), and made friends with our bartender over slushy margaritas. On our final day, I decided to splurge and get pampered with my first-ever full-body massage at the resort spa, which helped me sink into a state of complete and utter relaxation, if I wasn't already there already!

On the beach in Playa del Carmen, a policeman takes our photo.

Sol-Ana gets peed on by the monkey!

We finished our venture with a night out at the resort Japanese Steak House, were we reserved a space at the Hibachi table and surprised the Yosts with an Anniversary cake, which was presented by the resort entertainment staff. Instead of dessert, a full ensemble of dancers and singers in full Mexican dress appeared, complete with confetti, whistles, and of course, cake. It was awesome - and they were totally surprised!

Hibachi de Mexico?

The Yosts get their Anniversary surprise!

The next morning we boarded our shuttle back to the airport, another three flights between us and home. It was over pints of ale at the Cleveland airport that we heard the news of the first bailout's rejection in the senate, and just like that, reality slowly descended back upon us.

See all of my Mexico photos

Now, back at home and back into the swing of things, fall is getting crisper, the leaves are now falling, and the world is in a tailspin with an economic crisis and election buzz. But if I close my eyes, I can transport myself back to the moments of peace I found in September... with a hot cup of coffee in hand on my parent's front porch.... with my feet up in a hammock peering out at the aqua blue of ocean.

It's there that I find myself retreating as the whir of change tumbles forth...

Practicing Imperfection

2008-09-01T10:05:00.002-04:00

For as long as I can remember I've been a perfectionist. My father always reiterated to me that "if something's worth doing, it's worth doing right," words that still echo in my day-to-day life. Perhaps it was my tendency towards compulsive order and obsessive organization, but for some reason I interpreted those words as, "if something's worth doing, it's worth doing the best."

My life path so far has taught me that balance is key in all areas of life, which is why, lately, I'm trying to turn my attention towards insatiable need for control that finds me grappling in the dark, desperately searching for a perfect world that doesn't exist.

I know I'm not alone... women, I believe, by nature have a tendency towards a mental disconnect that happens between the dreaming, the planning, the expectation, and the actuality. This is the reason that some brides just about lose it from the planning of their own wedding - they want perfection and have such a white-fisted grip on the idea of control that they nearly meltdown and on the big day, their head is lost somewhere in the details. I think we all have varying degrees of this characteristic - and for some of us, perhaps it only shows its face during major events that we've spent years idealizing and dramatizing in our minds. A healthy dose of fantasy never hurt anyone, especially if it doesn't interfere with your enjoyment of the real thing.

My problem? I tend to want to control even the little stupid things that don't matter. For example: the order of the cups from tall to small in the cupboard. The amount of books in my to-read stack. The exact schedule and list of events that will occur on my day off. The number of years until I finally have my life figured out... You get the idea. The point is, the cups in the cupboard always be in a different order, my to-read stack will continue to grow, my day-off will never be as productive as I imagine it, and no one ever really has life figured out.

I was reading recently in my Yoga Journal magazine about the concept of transience. Part of yoga philosophy embraces the recognition that all things will, and are, changing, evolving, even falling apart - and into something else. It is the very nature of the planet that all things grow and die, then grow into something else, then die again, and so on. Nothing ever stays exactly the same. In the article, a man who was going through a particularly difficult moment in his life witnessed a group of monks spend 5 days patiently, diligently, from morning to night, carefully construct a colored-sand mosaic. He watched them meticulously, while hunched over but never complaining, sort the tiny granuals into a beautiful peice of art that - once finished - would be blown away, each grain of sand becoming something else. Similarly, John and I watched a documentary about the artist Andy Goldsworthy - a Scottish sculptor who works only with natural materials, and creates amazing work that by nature, is impermanent. His work included forming ice scuptures from melting icicles, strings of leaves flowing down a stream, or intricate piles of collected branches that would eventually wash - in a cylindrical demise - away to sea.

Both the monks' and Goldsworthy's art is about appreciating the process, allowing that process to evolve into something unanticipated, and celebrating the impermanance and imperfection of life.

To expect myself to snap out of it and magically stop trying to control every moment of my life would be taking a step backwards - it would be trying to control my need for control. Like all work on the self, it takes time, patience, and continual reassessment.

For the moment, I'm working on trying to trust myself and my path, recognizing and appreciating each thread of life without having to know where it's weaving me or without seeing the greater context of the whole tapestry. Instead, just enjoying each colorful place I come to and trying to remember that "this too, shall pass..." and that is what makes it so beautiful.

Summer, my oasis

2008-08-12T22:33:00.003-04:00

I'm surfacing just for this quiet moment, in the space between finishing chores and getting some sleep, to report from the eye of the storm. Here it is, nearly mid-August, and I'm up to my neck in summer... the whirlwind of parties, weddings, film shoots, birthdays, late nights at the computer, concerts, sweaty yoga, and life... in all of its beautiful, sunny glory.

I am a summer baby, a Leo if you believe in astrology, and when the sun shines, so do I. How I love the heat, the green, the grassy smells, the cool lakes, the chirpy nights, the hum of a fan, the flip-flops... even the skeeters are fine by me. I find myself drunk on my love of summer, peachy and positive on days when I should be downright miserable.

I want to keep this brief, as another perfectly comfortable night's sleep is calling me from the other room. But I couldn't bear to be absent for another month without at least attempting to recap all of the blissful moments I've been fortunate to live this past month:

weekend of entertaining for good friends, cooking and crewing on the production of The Brave and the Kind
buying a bikini for the first time in my life, and christening it in the great Lake Ontario on the 4th of July at Hamlin Beach
hot-tubbing and scoring pitchers of Red Bull with Mark and Courtney in Rochester
catching up with RIT professors at Jack Beck's wedding
having an impromptu living-room dance party after shooting, one that involved me and Meghan and Holland piled on a wheelchair (and yes, we have it on video)
taking care of Sarah and Bryan's kitties for much of July while they had urgent family issues (thankfully, her Dad is recovering...)
watching The Dark Knight with Tom and Zhenelle, and joining them for delicious faux-sloppy joes at their camp in Warrensburg
watching Lewis Black at the Palace Theatre with the Yosts
making a website for my nephew, Gavin's first birthday
spending a week in the 1000 Islands, doing yoga on the grass, cooking for everyone, swimming in the lake, and staying up all hours of the night drinking ice cold beers under the stars (and squashing swarms of mystery bugs) with the Brave and the Kind crew - and Susie, of course! I'm so glad she came!
getting spoiled on my birthday... presents from Mom and Natalie, and a surprise birthday haircut from the always-amazing friend Trina
taking a life-altering two-day fling to Montreal with my honey, where we saw Radiohead and figured out our lives
salsa-dancing the night away at Ben y Tamara's fabulous wedding in Rochester

The Brave and the Kind cast and crew in the Thousand Islands, NY

I am blessed. I am truly, utterly, wholly blessed. Throughout all of these wonderful experiences, and each and every day in between, I've been deepening my yoga practice and practicing the art of presence: breathing, pausing, and acknowledging each moment as it exists. Summer is not quite over, but I feel that I've lived this one as fully as one could, joyfully drinking up each second and allowing it to wash over me, feeling all of it absorb into my well of memory.

Lucky, I am, but ungrateful I am not. I will remember this summer always, and this spirit of gratitude and awareness will not slip away as the summer eventually will.

An Event Apart, Boston - Or, fate finds me

2008-06-25T14:29:00.007-04:00

Last Sunday, Johnny took me down to the Albany train station in the early afternoon for my evening commute to downtown Boston. This trip somehow get wedged into my brain back in January, and wouldn't let go. I was browsing online, like I always do, reading about Web standards and code, when I discovered a conference called An Event Apart. Founded by two of the most innovative minds in the Web industry, and dedicated to supporting the Web standards movement, the conference seemed like the place I needed to be. For some reason, I felt cosmically drawn to it. I had to go. I needed to go. I would find a way to go.

Never before in my life has any path seemed paved so clearly. From the moment I decided I needed to go, I found support, encouragement, a means, and a motivation. I even found the money. As I shivered in the over-air-conditioned train car, my shoulders aching from carrying four bags and stomach churning from the over-salted bag of almonds for dinner, I wondered what on earth I was doing. I arrived peacefully and too easily at my modest hotel, and tossed and turned all night with cold sweats. I was alone, with little confidence in my ability to fit in with this elusive group.

But from the moment I walked into the Boston Marriott Copley on Monday morning, everything fell into place and all fears were quelled.

From the kind woman that let me register early when I was the first person at registration, giddy with excitement, to the gregarious Frenchman who wouldn't have me sit by myself at breakfast, I was immediately both welcomed and comfortable. It was a slow unraveling, a realization that this great machine of which I'd been one small cog, was churning and moving about me, and I was not just some outsider, oohing and ahhing through the window, but I was really a part of it - I was understood, and I could understand - and I felt both ecstatic and relieved, like an adopted daughter finally meeting her real Mom and she's perfectly amazing.

I don't mind being sappy here, as I've been living in a Web Design bubble for years now, picking up shreds of knowledge here and there, bumbling around in different directions, always uncertain of what I was doing or where I fit in. The Web Standards community is a smart, quiet, humble group with a passion for creating great work that is motivated by a drive to do things well, to push the industry, and in effect, to change the world. They are the guys in the corner, the ones that aren't so quick to take the credit or make a quick buck, but instead spend every waking moment validating their code, making sure their work is accessible by everyone, from any device.

Everyone that I met was talented and excited; from Kelley, who handed out her own hand-made business cards, to Trace, who asked tons of questions and was a great listener, to Peter from Montreal who didn't get too upset when I spilled most of my cabernet on his white shirt, to Yoann, who said, when I asked him how I could work in France, "Give me your resume," and Matt, who was my all-day conference buddy, and was such a nice guy he managed to get the wait staff at the Monday night party to bring all the vegetarian hors d'œuvres right to my side. All of these people were so real and kind, and I felt home with them, like someone had revealed to me that I was actually an alien, then returned me to my home planet where suddenly everything made sense.

The presentations and speakers, too, were phenomenal. I had been nervous about whether I'd be able to keep up, whether the topics would be over my head. But I was surprised at how much I've brought myself up to speed these past six months; I found every discussion relevant, useful, and inspiring, and I actually followed along with every speaker - even on day two, with five hours of sleep and a presentation about Javascript by the Dutch, heavily-accented, Peter-Paul Koch.

But the real icing on the cake for me came at the very end, when six lucky attendees would be randomly drawn to win a website critique by none other than Jeffrey Zeldman, co-founder of the conference and A List Apart, co-founder of the Web Standards Project, founder of Happy Cog, and pretty much accepted as The Man when it comes to Web Design. I had submitted my proudest design, Shop5, and sat there in nervous anticipation, wondering what on Earth I would say if I actually was called up on stage... And then, before I could wonder any longer, I actually was called, and actually was, quite nervously, walking up to the stage! It's all a bit of a blur, but the highlights were this: despite some discussion about clarifying the site's message and getting the client to trust me, his comments were mostly complimentary - the logo was "punchy" and unique, and the design illustrated an "expertise."

I have to admit, after the word "expertise," I zoned out a little bit. Having shown up to the conference alone, with no idea what I was getting myself into and zero confidence in my capabilities, I left walking on air... having found a community that I naturally belonged to, good people to share that discovery with, and a firm "you're on the right track, kid" from the industry's master. I couldn't have possibly asked for any more.

Every thing about my trip felt strangely perfect, like a well-written book. I've been practicing, as part of yoga, a presence in the moment and a trust in fate - in other words, learning how to go with the flow, let go, breathe, and enjoy life as it happens. I arrived in Boston because of an intuition that I needed to go, and I spent every moment savoring it, and trusting that I needed to be there. Now, back home, I feel like a new person; like suddenly, up ahead down the path I've been walking, I can see a clearing and a burst of bright light. I've found confidence that I've never felt before, certainty about my career that I've never experienced, and a renewed drive to create amazing work.

Thank you, life.

Growing, not dying

2008-06-21T00:05:00.005-04:00

A friend told me recently, "A business that isn't growing is dying." This friend just happened to be a Business graduate, and those words have been knocking around in my brain not because I'm interested in business theory, but because I think that statement can also be applied to life, or more specifically, to my life.

If I'm not growing, I'm dying.

I'm not trying to be morbid or overly dramatic; actually, this realization is quite assuring and hopeful to me. In fact, it explains a lot: why I become restless and depressed when my life isn't building towards something, or why I feel hopeless and anxious when I am unclear on a direction to take.

But all of this realizing shines a light on another bigger accomplishment that I am proud enough to write about. I think I have finally squashed my biggest roadblock: myself.

I am my father's daughter, that is for sure. And my Dad, god love 'im, is his own worst enemy. He could talk himself out of taking a shit for fear he'd have to wipe. That may sound harsh, but Dad tends to decide he can't do something before he's even tried. And unfortunately, he carries with him a healthy heaping of guilt. I am just like Dad, and up until this year I've truly been my own obstacle, always down on myself, always full of excuses.

I don't know what happened, really. Maybe I'm getting older, and realized HEY! I'm nearing thirty. Or maybe my husband's constant encouragement finally seeped into my brain. I'm honestly not sure what it was, but somehow I think it's connected to the idea of growing vs. dying.

To look honestly at your own life, realize that you want more, and understand that you are the only person with the power to change that reality is an extraordinary, if simple, revelation. And to actually persist in doing so delivers unending rewards.

Last January, I decided that I was going to make some serious changes in my personal life. It had nothing to do with anyone, but with my relationship with myself. I realized I needed to stop fighting myself, stop blocking myself from success. I needed to be my own friend, to realize my own potential, and to find satisfaction in improving my mental and physical being. Somehow, understanding that was the key to execution; I've been practicing patience, diligence, and presence, and I have poured my heart into yoga, food, and my work, which has become the holy trinity upon which I find meaning. In short, a deep connection to my mind, spirit, and body has been nourished, and I'm feeling stronger as a whole than ever before.

I believe that we all have our own paths that lead us to that feeling. And I also believe those paths will veer, and split, and not always remain unobstructed or easily identifiable. We may all have our own paths to pursue, but the desire to continue striding down each of our own, putting one foot in front of the other, is a universal calling. Growing, evolving, and improving our human condition is the drive of the soul, I believe, and once we stop moving - stop trudging ahead - we die. Either figuratively or literally.

Part of that growth, for me, is the understanding that this is it - this is my life. I can sit back and complain and talk myself out of everything I've ever wanted, or I can suck it up and get to work. So that's what I've been doing. And let me tell you, I haven't felt this clear ever before. And the funny thing is, I have no idea where I'm headed. I just know - without any hesitation - that I'm walking in the right direction.

The Brave and the Kind

2008-05-24T12:08:00.006-04:00

I've written recently about my husband's tireless perseverance and passion for filmmaking. Luckily, he's also pretty damn good at it. Not only do I think so, our friends and family think so, but IndiePix Films - an online film distribution company setting the tone for innovative marketing and distribution - thinks so, too. Which is why they've agreed to fully fund and market John's next feature film, The Brave and the Kind.

It's been an exciting couple of months for us... first with the distribution deal for John's first feature, EVERY GOOD THING to RUST. John immediately connected with Jason Tyrell, IndiePix's Film Submission Coordinator, who was eager to extend the company arm into producing. Through Jason, the concept for The Brave and the Kind was born.

To be shot throughout the next 2 1/2 months, The Brave and the Kind is an alternative biopic, with characters that are all based on - and some played by - real people. And not just any people, but us. That is, me, John, and his family. The main character is John Yost, a filmmaker trying to find direction in his life. And while the script runs parallel to our real life, it veers down a completely different path, "wondering" aloud how our lives would be impacted by major life-changing events.

When John first began working on the script with our buddy Randall Meehl, he asked, "So when are we going to make a movie that's not about you?" Yes, it's true... John's senior thesis film, Johnny, was a similar, but more surreal, musical (there was no dialog at all) version The Brave and the Kind, and RUST was based on John and his buddies during an imaginary catastrophic event. But answering Randall's question, John says that this is the last time - he's done "exploring" himself, and is considering adapting a book if there is another film.

So all of this excitement is subdued right now, as we're both distracted by the colossal amount of work before us. The official film website, which will parallel the production of the film in the same way the script parallels our life, through diary entries and behind the scenes videos, launched earlier this week, with an official announcement scheduled after the Memorial Day weekend.

John with actor Ethan Weiss, who will be playing him in the film. A still shot from the first behind the scenes video. Watch the full video here.

While the shooting schedule is finalized and the timeline becomes clear, IndiePix is laboring over finding sponsors and growing the online life of the project. Sitting back and watching it all unfold, I am strangely calm about it all. We both, of course, hope for success. For John, that means the chance to find a broader audience and make another film with an even bigger budget. For me, that means watching my husband do what he loves and get the recognition he deserves. For both of us, it might mean skyrocketing us towards what we've always wanted: to be free from our burdens of debt, free to continue doing what we love on our own terms, free to go where we please.

But, we're keeping level heads about it all. The potential is there, certainly, and we both realize what a tremendous opportunity has been planted at our feet. Now it's just time to take the ball and run with it... no matter what happens, it's an adventure that we can only benefit from. I'll keep you posted...

Wedded Bliss*

2008-05-17T10:07:00.004-04:00

"Moderation is key." "Balance is everything."

I've heard these little phrases throughout my life, and almost daily I find new applications to their wisdom. Too many cups of coffee and I'm uptight, anxious, stressed. Not enough and I'm a spacey slug. Too much work equals exhaustion, despondence. And too much play creates a disconnect, a lack of appreciation.

Not that I claim to be a relationship expert, but in my seven-and-counting years with my husband John, balance has been the single most important ingredient to our mutual content.

Interestingly, I think relationships of any kind begin with a certain level of selfishness. We want something outside of ourselves to bring us happiness that we cannot attain alone. Even if we feel solid in our own independence, we know somewhere inside that fulfillment must come from an external source. Eager and vulnerable, we seek love and acceptance from others, all the while trying - with varying success - to give it back. We all have friends, I'm sure, that demonstrate varying levels of selfishness in their relationship approach: on one end, the friend that gives and gives almost to their own detriment, never expecting anything in return; on the other end, the friend that - whether intentionally or not - only seems to surface when a need is to be fulfilled, prefers to talk rather than listen.

In any healthy relationship - and especially marriage - a healthy combination of the two is required. One must recognize when to listen, when to vent. When to be a provider, when to let the other be a rock. When to be present, when to allow space.

Since I've grown into an "adult," left home, and found my way, I have occasionally thought back to my young daydreams about marriage and relationships - seeds of idealism and fantasy surely planted by Seventeen and Teen magazines, not to mention the always-available slew of romantic comedies and sitcoms.

The Media seem to paint marriage, for young girls especially, as the apex of life's successes. With the exception of newer trends in media toward the dysfunction of marriage and the uber-cool single hipster lifestyle, Marriage is portrayed as the beginning and end of everything. It is what a girl yearns for her entire young life, thus justifying exorbitant spending on ceremonial absurdities.

And after the wedding? Few films show the truth about what happens after the confetti's been swept and the honeymoon is over. Anyone married will tell you: absolutely nothing. Yes, despite the supposed magic and lucid fantasies, you and your new spouse are exactly the same people after you enter into marriage, now only bound in a legal and spiritual commitment.

Fortunately for me, I figured this out before I tied the knot. In my vows I wrote, "I love you exactly as you are, right now, standing in front of me." I meant it, and today it's still true. John and I entered into marriage with no expectations other than to continue to be together.

Finding the balance in any relationship obviously takes work... honest, open communication (you've heard that one before, I'm sure!), a willingness to listen and grow, and a sincere, deep passion for each other are what help keep the balance in check.

Expectations are the biggest killer of any solid relationship... when we feel we must do something or that we are supposed to do something, real human desire is ignored and replaced with cold obligation. Squashing expectations has been one of the biggest joys of my married life: no, we don't have to have children - ever, even - if we don't want to. No, we don't have to settle down and buy a house. No, we don't have to buy each other meaningless material things on holidays and birthdays just because we're supposed to.

Instead, we try to live our marriage with soulful spontaneity, following our hearts rather than any prescribed pathways, always trying to see when desire is being swayed by obligation.

The joy that comes from doing what you love rather than what you think you should love radiates, and is contagious. My in-laws live this lifestyle whole-heartedly; they will drop everything to take a spontaneous trip, call in sick, sleep in the back of their van if they have to, and never complain when their own decisions make them a little uncomfortable. Their passion for life and each other is infectious and inspiring.

When one becomes two, it is even more important to approach life with flexibility, open-mindedness, and rigor. Expectations only bring disappointment, and ignoring your heart can spawn inner grief hollowness.

My advice (not that anyone asked) is to live wholly, honestly, and allow relationships room to grow. For John and I, it's worked beautifully; I feel content in my individual self, supported in my ever-evolving marriage, and a peace that can only come from pure, unconditional love.

* Bliss is a delusion. From balance comes peace and happiness.

An extremely uncreative but much-needed update

2008-05-04T21:52:00.009-04:00

Spring is finally here... and with the radiant sunshine has come the anticipation of summer, the antsy excitement of life blooming and hope gleaming. Forgive the sap, but I am just sparkling with energy these days.

And in true Yost-Wright fashion (we are indeed an energetic team), the next 5 months are pretty much booked solid with weddings, parties, weekend trips, film shoots and concerts. The whirlwind has already begun...

Last Weekend
We scooted off early Friday afternoon towards Rochester, NY, where my parents live and where my little sister, Natalie, was visiting for the weekend. She'd flown up from Pensacola, FL where she is stationed as an Occupational Therapist for the US Navy. With her she brought her new son and my adorable little nephew, Gavin, as well as her fiancée, Mike to tie up the loose ends for their upcoming September wedding.

I had told her I wasn't able to come... so it was a sweet surprise when we rolled in Friday night. The weekend was fast but fun, with a girls-only shopping trip on Saturday afternoon and a mini-bachelorette party Saturday night at the local bar. My gram, aunts, and cousins all came out and we owned the place... the entire night was spent flinging ourselves around the dancefloor to early 90's dance-pop. We didn't leave town without Greek omelets at the Village House restaurant on Sunday morning...

Mid-Week NYC Romp
And in movie news... John's feature film EVERY GOOD THING to RUST premiered in New York on Wednesday evening as part of the NewFilmmakers series at the Anthology Film Archives. I took a couple personal days and we headed down for a night on the town... Meeting up first at IndiePix, the company currently distributing the film, and then I slipped into my heels for the movie night (note: Manhattan is NOT the best place to break in new heels...).

It was a night of reunions with friends showing up that we hadn't seen in years... after the screening we announced the next feature film, The Brave and the Kind, which is being produced and funded completely by IndiePix, then gathered at the Telephone Bar to reconnect with old pals. What a night! We closed down the bar at 2am, then headed to Brooklyn where we stayed and closed down another bar at 4am, before heading to our friend Katie's apartment for snacks and Wii (well, some of us crashed at that point...)

We didn't leave unscathed however, as we picked up a nice $65 parking ticket... New York never fails to remind us on every return visit why we chose to leave...

Salem, Mass
Friday night after work we packed up the car yet again and printed up our Google directions to Martha and Dougie's place in Salem, Massachusetts. First, though, we stopped briefly en route in Albany for the Albany Center Gallery's yearly Photo Regional, where John's "Stumps" piece was on display. After shooting the shit with some Skidmore professors that happened to be there and downing some red wine, we jumped on the Mass Pike and made it to Salem by 10PM.

We hadn't seen Martha and Doug since they lived out in the middle of nowhere in Maine 2 years ago, but since Martha scored a kick-ass job as the Director of New Media for the Peabody Essex Museum, they've moved back home for another adventure. Star chef Doug took no time moving to the top. After only four months in the area, he starts next week at Grill 23, one of Boston's premiere steakhouses.

The weekend was a blur of rain, wet dogs, red wine, cozy blankets, dancing, candlelight, delicious food, and oodles and oodles of great conversation. Hanging out with those two never fails to be spontaneous and wonderful, and we left today with hugs and promises to not let another two years pass before we do it again.

Next Weekend
The whirlwind continues as friends Dustin and Stacey come to town. We're headed up to Indian Lake for the weekend where we've rented a cabin and plan on canoing, BBQing, bonfire-ing, and more. And knowing Dustin, Keystone Ice is sure to be involved. Ahhh, life is good.

Now
Time to breathe, time to work. Got lots to do to make up for all the fun, and as I like to say: work hard, play hard. Cheers.

An Ode to Hindsight

2008-04-10T22:57:00.007-04:00

I may only be 26 years old, but I already can see glimpses of the transforming perspective that comes with age. I've heard many older adults talk about it... the patterns, pathways, and little evolutions that become visible as time goes on.

What I've been tuning into these past few years is intuition. Some may call it "women's intuition." Others just "going with your gut." But whatever you want to call it, there are gentle nudges and tiny beams of revelation that peek out from inside my conscious and make themselves known. I have no idea where it comes from - similar to the creative process that happens when I am designing a website or print layout - something just surfaces and makes sense.

Intuition might also be called a self-conscience. A quiet whisper or a little poke that you're doing the right thing, going the right way... or the opposite. Having the gift of hindsight, I can recognize the moments when I've ignored my intuition, only to find later on that my first instincts were correct.

But it takes time and clarity of thought to listen and learn from intuition. It's like trying to dial in to a fuzzy radio station; sometimes you can't just turn the knob, you have to mess with the antenna, change your position, or move the stereo itself. Early on, intuition can send mixed signals, and making a decision is like stabbing into the dark.

The perfect example of this in my experience happened in late 2004. John and I spent six months after his college graduation living and working at the International Film Workshops in Rockport, Maine. We had a fabulous summer and because our student loans were on deferment, we were able to save a large portion of our earnings. We'd decided when we first took the jobs - which were temporary six-month positions - that afterwards we would take our savings and move to New York to pursue our careers in film.

Our six months was nearing its end in October, and we began looking for jobs and apartments in Brooklyn, where many of our college friends had moved. We spent almost a month digging through Craigslist, sending friends to scout out apartments, until eventually we found something that would work for us and began the application process. After two weeks of emails, faxes, acquiring co-signers, and filling out paperwork, we were denied the apartment! Stunned and angry, now with only a few weeks before our jobs and lease in Maine would end, we didn't know what to do. We felt burned by the city and took it as a sign: we weren't meant to go.

If I was in tune with my intuition then, I might have tried to extend my position and lease in Maine. I might have kept looking for an apartment in the city. I'm not really sure. But what I wouldn't have done is what we did do: within a week of being denied the NYC apartment we decided instead to move to Austin, Texas.

Blinded by our frustration with NYC, we decided to take a completely different and drastic route. We took our savings, arranged a sublet near the University of Texas, and a week later, we packed up our pickup truck and started driving. It wasn't until we arrived that we realized the miscalculations of our hasty decision: despite having a nickname of the "Third Coast" for film production (after LA and NYC), the job market in Austin was scarce. We were told by neighbors almost immediately upon arrival that Austin had the highest ratio in the country of PHD holders working as waitstaff. We also learned that we had mistakenly found an apartment in the most expensive area of the city. Not a smart move.

Five weeks later we were broke, lonely, with zero job prospects and wounded egos. Despite how much we enjoyed Austin, we re-packed the truck and headed back home.

In retrospect, my intuition told me from the beginning that Austin was a gamble. I chose to ignore the feeling of uncertainty in my gut, never admitting its existence until we fully realized our mistake. But while I know that today I'd make a different decision, I don't regret those five weeks for a second. A whirlwind of self-evaluation and soul-searching, our brief stint in Texas was a priceless learning experience. Not to mention the lingering memory of unmatched Tex-Mex!

But being young(er) and choosing to ignore my gut, I was riskier and perhaps, some might say, a little daft. I hadn't quite come to embrace the power of that little twinge of guidance that, at the time, mimicked a concerned parent.

The older and (hopefully) wiser I get, the more I appreciate the voice of insight that comes when needed. Tuning in and considering all perspectives seems to provide a sounder base for decision-making as well as a clarity of consequence. I hope that one day I can look back and connect the dots - wholly confident in my presence and contented by the paths I've chosen, knowing fully that somehow I knew it all along.

Actions speak louder

2008-03-29T13:53:00.002-04:00

I was psyched today when I noticed that someone turned the lights out at Google: http://www.google.com/intl/en/earthhour/.

Have you seen this? The traditional all-white Google homepage is now all black. But for one day only - today - to garner participation in Earth Hour. Tonight, from 8pm til 9pm in your respective timezone, people will be turning their lights out - literally. In an effort to raise awareness of climate change and encourage human beings throughout the planet to reduce energy, cities across the world are participating by powering down tonight for 1 hour.

Earth Day is soon approaching, too, and I can't help but be excited and optimistic about these moments of reflection and realization that as the planet's only species capable of building up cities and mining resources, we can also care for the planet that gives us life.

Yet lately, I've been in situations where I've overheard other people scoff at the notion of Global Warming. I've listened to others proclaim it as a hoax. I've argued with my own father about how it's a scam to get us to purchase expensive hybrid cars and funky lightbulbs.

But really? I'm confused. I've been quiet about this subject for long enough and the time has come for me to say what I've been thinking all along: Who cares!?

Yes, really, I mean it - who gives a shit whether Global Warming is a hoax, or a scam, or a lie. I'll refrain here, of course, from asking the burning question on my mind - WHAT do the bad-guy-liars and scamming scientists have to gain from this "hoax"? Because clearly, getting people to think about the planet and take care of it by providing facts about glacial melting and changing climates across the world must indeed have some sinister motivation behind it.

Instead, I ask what does it matter if Global Warming isn't true? What does it matter if the scientists' findings are wrong? Perhaps this is indeed just a natural cycle that occurs every so many years and perhaps Earth is indeed more powerful than us and can heal itself. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

But to get to my point: even if it isn't true, what harm can it do to care for the planet? What is so horrible about reducing our carbon emissions? Being less wasteful and more mindful of our impact? Choosing to support companies and products that preserve the Earth and care for the following generations?

Or could it be that we're too lazy and too comfortable? It's a lot easier to proclaim that something is "bullshit" than it is to actually make a change in your life - to actually make some sacrifices.

I don't know if Global Warming is real or not. I've heard shouting on both sides of the argument that is equally loud and equally valid. But regardless of who is right, protecting the environment and treating our planet with the utmost respect can only improve our life here for ourselves and every generation to come!

So rather than choosing a side, rather than standing on a soapbox and shouting about which study says this and which study says that, why don't we all just shut the hell up and start taking some action? We all know what we can do to reduce our own impact on the planet, and there is mountains of info out there to help point you in the right direction.

If we all take some responsibility to be nicer to each other and this world we all have to share, then I truly believe we can prevent any major catastrophes that may or may not happen. And either way, we'll create a beautiful, cleaner Earth to call home.

Honestly... how can that be a bad thing?

Out like a lamb

2008-03-24T21:08:00.006-04:00

This month has been tough. Bitter cold days, limited sunshine, and stress mounting in all areas of life. John and I have been caught in the thick of it... stuck indoors, drinking too much, whining too much, frustrated with being broke and having to once again defer one of our mounting student loans. Well, you know what they say about March, though, right? In like a lion...

The tables finally feel like they're turning for us. All of the hard work is finally paying off.

Today John had a much-anticipated meeting in New York with an online distribution company. For a few months now, John's been discussing the idea of a second feature that would be marketed completely online, with a pre-production blog allowing visitors to follow along with the making of the film. Shortly after lunchtime John called me at work, his voice lighter and more optimistic than I've heard in quite some time.

"We're making a movie!!!" he proclaimed.

Exhale... spring is coming after all! I've been on air all afternoon, excited about what this means for my hard-working husband who pours every ounce of himself into his projects and has never really been rewarded with all that much interest, let alone money. But this time will be different. Not only is he supported with dollars, this company is also going to completely market the film, distribute the film, and generate buzz and interest online. Woohoo!

I am so proud of John Yost. He hasn't stopped working since the day we met... I remember it clearly: he was a Freshman in film school, determined to make the biggest and best production the Freshman class had ever seen! His older friends helped him acquire the equipment he wasn't supposed to have, and at screenings his "epic" showed more effort and technical skill than any Freshman project before it. He hasn't stopped since. Producing a film - or two - every year thereafter, my relationship with John has been synonymous with my relationship with John's projects.

In 2002, John spent a week in Norman, Oklahoma attempting to chase tornadoes with a team of scientists and a video camera. The following year he shot 8 films, including his own called "Johnny", completing his BFA with an emphasis in Cinematography. We road-tripped in 2003, bringing a Bolex, 16mm film, and a car mount, shooting vast landscapes out west. After graduating, John used the gear available to us at the Maine Workshops to produce "Fog," and later borrowed another Bolex to begin documenting friends for "Motion Portrait Film." Scattered in between, a variety of photo experiments and series', including the ongoing "Stumps," the Shining-inspired "Crooked Lake House," and Crewdson-esce "House."

It wasn't until late 2006 that John decided he wouldn't be able to rest until he made a feature film, and weeks later - literally - began production of EVERY GOOD THING to RUST. It was unclear, even after the film's premiere, whether or not it would garner any serious attention or lead to anything else. And John was ready to put down the camera for awhile, having satisfied his feature-bug.

And now this.

March has been especially tough on John, who's been living this new film every day - thinking about it, talking about it, writing it, editing it... all with no idea if it would ever come to be. I've always believed that someday other people would notice how talented and dedicated John Yost is to his work. He is the embodiment of a true artist - committed solely to his craft, driven by his passion for his work, and not distracted by the hordes of wannabes in the film and art world. John doesn't want to be the idea of an artist; John just is one.

Congratulations, honey!

Video documenting our honeymoon in Greece; ATV-ing around the island of Santorini.

Keep checking www.thebraveandthekind.com for more information on the upcoming movie. It will officially be announced in late April, 2008.

Second Opinions

2008-03-08T10:13:00.003-05:00

I'm looking for advice here. Though, I can't promise I'm going to take it.

All of this started last spring. I was sitting in the waiting room at the dentist reading some lousy women's magazine - I think it was Elle - when I stumbled on an article about skin cancer. It was loaded with product plugs and the overall tone was a fearful one: anyone can get skin cancer - anyone!... so be afraid, go to your dermatologist, buy the fifteen-dollar sunscreen. I was completely aware at the article's intent, but having a friend - younger than I - who recently was diagnosed and had to have skin grafts on her face - well, I was, on some subconscious level, affected by it.

I should also note that I have a host of other minor skin ailments - mild breakouts on my face, eczema, and annoyingly sensitive skin. So at my annual physical I decided to ask my doctor to take a look at my skin. Was a skin cancer screening necessary just to be safe... or was I being silly? I've gotten some severe sunburns throughout my life, have fair skin and a nice shower of freckles. He took one look at my speckled shoulders and said, "It wouldn't hurt to see a dermatologist."

Months later my appointment with an apparently-popular dermatologist finally arrived. I was excited to finally get some answers and peace of mind. However, after making my way past the assortment of product posters on the walls and sitting in a smock for 15 minutes, I was given a quick 3-minute scan and assured I was fine. She barely made eye-contact with me.

"But what about my face... the blackheads..." I attempted to stall her robotic routine.

She peered at my forehead, "Oh... I think a little Retin-A would clear that right up. I'll give you a prescription and some samples."

I couldn't think of a response, and she was so quick - so uninterested in what I had to say - that I never did think of one until I left that evening, tossing the prescription slips and samples in the trash: What can I do naturally?... What can I eat? Can I take certain vitamins? Is a prescription really necessary for a few little whiteheads?

The questions kept streaming in, and months and months after the appointment I became more and more irritated with the insincerity of that brief encounter with a dermatologist. My skin continued to fluctuate between acne and eczema breakouts, and I became convinced that I needed a second opinion.

In January I had my second appointment with a dermatologist, and while they were not quite as obvious, all the signs of a formulaic business were there. The posters for botox and other magically beautifying products plastered the walls, the check-in-check-out windows reminiscent of a Dunkin Donuts queue, the waiting, waiting, waiting alone in a cold room for 20 minutes in a paper gown.

This time I was prepared: I didn't want a prescription - I wanted advice. I had particular spots that I wanted checked out. I was ready. The doctor came in and was much nicer than the first, but brought with her a PA, armed with laptop and digital camera. I showed her my complexion, slightly mottled by whiteheads.

"Oh..." she said, squinting to see them. "I would recommend some Retin-A..." and off she went on the schpeal about applying the prescription every night before bed...

"But I would prefer not to have a prescription if necessary," I interrupted, "Isn't there anything natural that I can do? Certain things I can eat? Vitamins I should be taking? Cleansers I could use?"

She looked mildly annoyed and ignored most of my questions, choosing to answer the only one that involved me purchasing something. "We have a great line of skin care products that might help..." In seconds there was a brochure in my hand with a photo of a beautiful, blemish-free woman on the front and some scientific, French name. "We can get you some free samples."

She proceeded to check out my freckles and the spots, growing concerned at a particular tiny red spot on my chest. Leaning in close, she summoned her assistant with the camera. "Hmmm. That one looks strange. Could be basal cell carcinoma..." She went on to explain that basal cell was a very-treatable, non-life-threatening, very common form of skin cancer. Caught early, it was absolutely nothing to be concerned about. But they needed to slice a tiny piece of it and have it biopsied to be sure.

Hmph. Skin cancer? Biopsy? I grew worried just at the words. She was prepared for my face of concern, and reiterated that it was nothing to lose sleep over.

A month later I returned, butterflies in my stomach, for the biopsy. I am terrified of needles and all things medical, and I told the nurse as much as she numbed the area and removed part of my tiny spot. "You'll get a letter in 7-10 days with the results," she explained. "If you don't hear from us in two weeks, please call."

Um, ok. So a letter. I left the office feeling slightly nauseous, afraid to peek under the band-aid until later that night. When I finally did, I was surprised to see she had removed a chunk of skin larger than the spot itself - but only half of the spot itself. Why didn't she just remove the whole thing? I thought.

So I waited. And waited. Two weeks went by without my realizing, then last week - finally - I got a letter. "The results of your skin biopsy showed an atypical mole. There is no cause for alarm, however, this lesion will require further excision... we have scheduled your excision for April 3rd...."

What? An atypical mole? Further excision? Another procedure? They must be kidding... this "lesion" was no bigger than a chiclet! First I was scared. Then I was irritated. Then I was angry.

I researched atypical moles online and discovered that 1 in 10 people have one but they are considered "precancerous." Some doctors think that there is a slight chance that an atypical mole can turn into melanoma - a potentially deadly form of skin cancer. But statistics I found online say that it's highly unlikely - and melanoma can form from anything. Furthermore, atypical moles are only of concern when they change. If they grow bigger, change pigment, or morph in any way, then there is real cause for concern.

I called the office and told the nurse I thought the procedure was excessive, was overkill. Why didn't they just remove the thing to begin with? Why couldn't I just keep an eye on it? She couldn't give me a very good reason why they hadn't removed it already, but explained that this was a better-safe-than-sorry procedure. Yes, it was unlikely that my atypical mole would turn into anything... but, she had seen atypical moles turn into melanoma before.

I didn't cancel my appointment. Yet. But I've been researching it and talking about it with different people. My sister, who is an occupational therapist and knows her stuff when it comes to medicine, is equally torn: is it really necessary to have such a tiny, easy-to-monitor and most-likely-insignificant spot removed... just because it might turn into something? Or are they just trying to get more insurance money out of me for an unnecessary procedure?

I'm not sure. But next week I'm going to cancel my appointment and attempt to find a homeopathic doctor for an alternative opinion.

My overall feeling about the whole thing? In a health care system driven by money, we have to be incredibly cautious and aware of what "doctors" proclaim. If the signs are there - say, purposefully placed cabinets full of expensive, well-designed skin creams with brochures and posters in the examination room - we have to pay attention. The mere fact that this doctor would not offer me any advice or answers that didn't involve another appointment, a prescription, or a purchase at her spa next door (no kidding), has me thinking. The inhumanness of a letter to inform me of my results and already-scheduled appointment (it was clearly a form letter, with certain parts filled in from a computer database). The dividing of all procedures into as many appointments as possible.

All of it put up red flags for me, and while in the past I might easily be swayed by fear-tactics, I'm trying to use my head here. I'm not going to start lopping off every abnormal spot on my body because it might, maybe, someday turn into something. Instead, I want to know what I can do now - on my own - to keep my body whole, strong, and healing itself. A preventative approach, a holistic approach, a human approach.

If anyone has any thoughts, similar experiences, or recommendations for a third opinion, it is much appreciated.

SAD, Snow, and Suffocation

2008-02-27T17:34:00.003-05:00

It's happening again. No matter how well I may be able to predict my own behavior, knowing it is going to happen doesn't make it any easier to avoid.

March is approaching and the snow is ever falling. It's been constant these past few days, and the sun is hidden behind bleak skies of gray. Last week, I must admit, the sun was shining unusually often, but being horribly ill with the flu, I missed every day of it, stuck inside like a leper. Not that I would have gone out and "played" or anything, but it would have done me some good to catch some rays of vitamin D just meandering to and from my car and work.

I'm feeling all of the symptoms of Seasonal Affective Disorder. Fatigue. Lethargy. Laziness. And just an all-around shitty mood. Lately, I don't want to get out of bed in the morning and need several cups of coffee to keep me going. I feel bored and tired most of the day, and things I usually enjoy doing - like cooking dinner or yoga - become annoying tasks preventing me from doing the only thing I currently enjoy: sitting on my butt, eating chocolate and drinking wine. Real healthy, huh?

I hate to clog my blog with whining, but the reality is that my slacking off in blog-writing is directly related to my affliction: I just don't feel like there's anything worth writing about.

I daydream daily about escape... living somewhere far away where winter is brief and sunshine reigns.

The outdoors has never been an obsession for me. I'm not really into sports, I hate bugs, and I tend to avoid activities that involve getting dirty or super sweaty. But I'm not one for total immersion of anything... my life requires continual balance. For me, it's all about atmosphere. I'm a visual person, and my entire mood can be set by a beautiful sunset, a brisk walk down a sun-dappled path, or a scenic drive. Even sunshine streaming in windows gives my whole being a glow. In the summertime, I still work on websites and watch movies and practice yoga... all indoor activities. But it's completely different when the windows are open, the sun shines in til 9pm, and you can walk around the house barefoot and half-naked without freezing your ass off!

It's frustrating that I've been enduring this yearly meltdown my entire life, and even more frustrating that change feels impossible. We are stuck. Just as stuck as I am in the house right now, the snow still piling high out the window, we are financially strapped, and moving anywhere is out of the question. Our student loans are packed around us, suffocating every sliver of freedom, just like the cold white stuff outside.

For now, venting about it here is lifting my spirits ever-so-slightly. And tonight, I'll self-medicate by finishing the bottle of shiraz on the counter and gnawing on some more of my Valentine's chocolate. While venting about it is fine and dandy, doing something about it is even better. And I'm a girl of action. I vow to myself that someday I'll actually go an entire year without pissing and moaning about how miserable the weather is... because I'll be somewhere where I won't have anything to piss and moan about, and this - this venting, this feeling I have in my gut right now - will live only in memories.

Cheers to Your Health

2008-02-25T18:53:00.005-05:00

The last time I wrote I was in complete denial. I knew that my body was fighting something, but to what extent I was strangely oblivious... I spent that Saturday night staying up late and drinking a couple beers, only to spend a long eight hours tossing and turning with cold sweats, waking up to a full-blown flu.

So often in our Western society we take things for granted: food, shelter, freedom. And, as the saying goes, we never really truly grasp what it is we have until its gone. It's not easy to keep things in perspective - to realize as your eating breakfast that somewhere in this world your peanut butter toast is a delicacy, or to remember as your huffing and puffing about your distant parking spot that you should be so lucky to even have a car. Such, of course, is the case when you get sick. It is the ultimate reminder - the ultimate kick in the ass - that HEY! you've got a body that's mostly healthy! Keep it that way!

Laying flat on your back for five days with head-to-toe body aches and a fever sure renews your appreciation for the body's normal state. And it also reminds you - in an almost terrifying way - just how inextricably linked you and your body are. Without it, quite literally you are nothing.

Thinking about all this, and having been downright giddy the past few days thanks to my rejuvenated health, has stirred up thoughts about food and exercise and how horribly unhealthy so many of the habits in our culture really are....

In a culture where virtually every social activity and holiday is connected with food, we certainly have a lot of garbage in our grocery stores. Aisle after aisle of over-processed crap, void of any nutritional value.

My diet changed dramatically in early 2006 when I worked as a prep cook at Perelandra Natural Foods in Brooklyn Heights. Responsible for baking the daily vegan muffins and chopping the veggies for the homemade soups and salads, I was introduced to qunioa, soba noodles, agave nectar, seitan, and the unbelievable capabilities of tofu, which produced everything from delicious stir-frys to vegan cheesecakes.

My dear friend and the head chef there once said something to me that has been burned into my brain: "I don't eat really well because I'm scared of dying someday. I eat really well because I don't want to spend the last 20 or 30 years of my life suffering from poor health."

I think of those words whenever I catch myself overdoing it... and after spending a week horizontal, they ring truer than ever.

Personally, I have grown addicted to how good food makes me feel. Eating fresh fruits and vegetables and dishes made with whole, hearty grains and pure, additive-free ingredients makes my body run like a well-oiled machine, which - in turn - positively effects every other aspect of my life. And after spending much of my life with an unhealthy, out-of-whack relationship with sugar (read: serious binge-eating) I have finally struck a balance with my sweet tooth.

After gaining confidence in myself and reading the book French Women Don't Get Fat (a fascinating read!) I've decided that not only can I have sweets, but I can have some every day as long as 1. I have just a little taste and 2. it is real, pure, and high-quality. And I'll tell you what, it works so well and I have been so spoiled with my household stock of delicious, organic dark chocolate, that I barely flinch when someone offers me a Snickers or an M&Ms... why waste the calories?

Anyway, every body - no matter how healthily tuned - gets sick. But how often and to what degree can be drastically altered by what we put in out tummies. I'm ecstatic to be well again... and have promised myself that I'll continue to eat as well as I know how. I certainly don't want to spend my last years on this planet feeling the way I did last week!

Rest Essential

2008-02-16T19:39:00.002-05:00

It's been three weeks since I've written, but what's incredible about that is that during those three weeks not one day went by that I didn't sit in front of the computer for most of it.

Having multiple Web sites of my own that I maintain, and working as a Web and graphic designer, I literally am on the computer from 9am until 5pm, 5 days a week. Luckily for me, design was first a hobby and second a day-job, so typically - after going home from work, taking care of menial tasks like laundry, dishes, or eating dinner - I park myself back in front of my own computer and go back to work.

What am I working on? Right now my list of Web projects is so long that I had to break my to-do list into realistic chunks, organized by site, so that it's not so overwhelming. But first and foremost, I've been working steadily on the redesign of my friend Trina's site, trinabags.com (she makes beautiful, functional, homemade and custom-designed hand bags). After that, a pet project of mine (literally) called Toonces TV, which will essentially be a video blog for my soon-to-be-famous feline, Toonces. And after that? Redesigning and streamlining my husband's multiple Web sites, which include his personal portfolio site, Nameinuse.com, and the Web sites for his recent and upcoming films. I'm also hoping to spend time optimizing and expanding CollegeAftermath.com, a project I started over a year ago. And somewhere, at the bottom of my to-do list is "redesign RaeanneWright.com"... my personal site which has been vacant for nearly a year now, which I intend to combine with this blog and beautify in some incredibly creative way.

And on top of all that, I'm teaching myself more and currently going through the painful transition to standards-compliant CSS design from out-dated, traditional table-based layouts (I apologize if that is the equivalent of Greek to my readers). In English: I'm relearning how to make Web sites the right way, since I was self-taught and learned 100% of what I know from other people who weren't necessarily doing it right to begin with.

The cumulation of all this learning and all this Web work and all this sitting in front of the computer? A severe need to flex my muscles - literally - during my time away from the screen. I've been going to yoga twice a week now, and practicing more intensely at home, too. So ironically, despite the hours and hours I spend on my ass, I'm feeling stronger than ever and am reaching new levels in my practice that I never really imagined.

All of this is good, yes indeed. It's all in line with my New Year's resolutions and goals for 2008, which were, in short, to improve my body and mind. Check. And check.

This past week, though, I think I've pushed a little too hard. Work has been extra-stressful, and I've worked a couple late nights, thus taking it out harder on myself once I make it to the yoga mat. This morning, I made a ridiculously organized to-do list for the weekend, carving out my Web goals and deciding what was doable in two days. Shortly after? I felt the distant twinge of a sore throat swelling and the mild throb of a headache... I was getting sick! My body has had enough, and is failing. I take pride in my rock-solid immune system... but flus and colds have been going around and picking off pretty much everyone I know, and I wondered if it was only a matter of time.

So rather than spend the afternoon parked in front of the computer editing code, I spent the afternoon parked on the couch sleeping with the cat and drinking hot tea. I'm feeling better, as you might have guessed by my return to the computer, but I've decided I'm taking today off. After a few emails and a blog post (all on my to-do list, of course), I'm clocking out for the week. I need some rest, and my body is demanding it.

I'll be as far away as I can be from my well-worn computer chair until.... well, probably tomorrow.

Not Settling, Not Dwelling

2008-01-19T11:17:00.000-05:00

Winter is a good time for contemplation. Being cozied up in a warm apartment, secluded from the crisp, cold world, it's easy to become a bit preoccupied with your life and the path down which you're headed. John and I have always been consciously self-aware, but lately, being kept indoors by brutal January weather and having an anxious clarity that comes from easing off the evening wine consumption - well, we've just been thinking and chatting quite a bit more than usual.

Earlier this week, in his blog, John wrote about how we are "thinking about the next thing." Like clockwork, time has proven that usually around six months after we've moved to a new place we begin to think about the next step. And coming upon our sixth month in Glens Falls, we're assessing the situation and curious about where this path is leading us.

Coincidentally, today we are heading to a House Warming party for a couple that we've become great friends with during our short time upstate. We were fortunate to attend their wedding this past summer and we were psyched when they bought a house just across town. It's gorgeous - with hard wood floors, fresh, modern paint, a back patio and lawn and open, spacious rooms.

My heart swells with happiness for them; they are hard-working, wonderful people and they have found a home together that completes them. And lately, I've been hanging out with a lot of people like them; People who have beautiful homes and adorable children and families full of love and energy.

And part of me is a little jealous. Not jealous of the houses or the the kids; I know that if I really wanted that, I could have it, too. But envious of the satisfaction that comes along with that life - the feeling of fulfillment and success that I see in their faces.

My adult life thus far has been a continual cycle of learning, growing, experiencing and above all - wondering what will bring me - and us - that contentment. Our conversations revolve around a truth that, at times, makes us feel alien in this place - be it Glens Falls, New York, America, or just this world in general. That truth is that we are seeking some sort of life adventure of which there is no clear path - but settling is really not in the cards. At least not yet.

I can imagine someday, years from now, perhaps finding a place that I can call home and feel fulfillment at just being there. But as of now, I have yet to live in a place that I want to stay for more than a few years. I have no interest in acquiring any more things, but instead enjoy the lightness of knowing my life can be boxed up and relocated in a matter of days. No strings attached, no complications.

I also can imagine someday choosing to have a family. Although right now it is incomprehensible, I am not foolish enough to believe that time won't change me.

I am swirling around my point, which is that I am learning to come to terms with the fact that I - that we - are different. And that's OK. I've written in the past about a fear of settling, a concern for being an endless drifter that approaches middle age with no real roots and a head-full of regrets. But this winter, I'm moving on. I'm focusing on accepting who I am and not dwelling on who I am not.

My biggest weakness - clearly inherited from my father - is my proneness to worry. I stress. I wonder. I dwell. But by realizing this trait about myself I'm accepting that I'll be doomed to a life of regret and uncertainty if I don't embrace who I am and stop feeling bad about it!

I'm not really sure where life is taking me - but I have to admit, so far it's been a damn good ride. I follow my gut. I do what I love. I try my best to be a good person, be honest, work hard, and leave behind me a trail blazing with great memories, admirable people, and work I can be proud of. I am not settling just yet because I know, intuitively, that it's not the time nor place. And I'm not dwelling on it any longer. When the time comes to take the next leap - be it in a year, be it in three - I'll know it, and will do it gracefully, carefully, with much thought and consideration. Regardless, I am accepting that we are seekers, accepting that everyone has a role in this mysterious world, and embracing the beautiful complexity of discovering where each of us fits.

And for the first time ever, I'm feeling excited about it.

Hibernation

2008-01-13T17:12:00.000-05:00

Ah, it's that time of the year. Again.

I just returned this afternoon from a wonderful weekend jaunt at Dartbrook Lodge in Keene, NY - a gorgeous, rustic-modern, cozy, sit-by-the-fire-in-your-own-personal-cabin retreat in the middle of the Adirondacks. John and I were fortunate to spend Friday and Saturday night there as the weekend was a Trampoline Design pow-wow. We had a wonderfully relaxing few days nestled in the Mountains, all snug in our toasty lodges with good food and good company.

When we arrived at the Lodge on Friday it had been raining steadily all day, and the sky was grey overcast, the ground muddy as April. But over the course of our brief stay there, winter slowly made it's undeniable return. The puddles of rain froze along with the softening earth, and the ground was dusted by a Saturday evening flurry. Today when we loaded up the car and headed home, the air was crisp and icy, and the sun made the ground sparkle and my eyes squinty, watching the gleaming light patch across the tree-covered mountains. It was a stunning sight, and I thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it wrapped in my wool coat, scarf, and boots with the heat cranking the entire way.

See, I really don't like winter.

It's beautiful, I know. Especially on a day like today, when the sun glimmers off of everything and the pure white stuff blankets everything in purity and calm. But while I can appreciate the intrinsic beauty of winter, the cold hits me in the core and I prefer to stay inside where it's warm, hibernating until spring.

This has been a fact of my life since childhood. Despite an occasional attempt at sledding or ice skating, I spend 99% of every winter indoors. I read. I write. I work on the computer. I watch movies. I listen to music or play guitar or cook or drink. But I do not go outside unless I am in transit to another heated building.

Whenever I tell people this they usually laugh and say, "So why do you live in Upsate New York?"

Well, anyone that knows me would also know that I've spent much of my adult life trying to escape from New York, but money, family, and circumstance has always brought me back.

I've also been told to take up some sort of winter activity so that I have something to look forward to and associate with snow. Try skiing or snow-shoeing, people say. But honestly, the thought of any voluntary extended stay in the cold makes me shiver at the thought.

Born on the hottest day of the year - the last day of July - I have always been a summer baby. Give me 85 degrees, flip flops, sunscreen, and a clear lake and I'm in heaven. Windows down, music blasting, barbeques, ice cold beers, frisbee, softball, sitting on the porch till sunset...

There's nothing I hate more than the feeling of wishing my life away, but it seems that every year - from January until May - I am counting down the days. I get wicked SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and yearn for the sun, for warmth. Don't get me wrong - I appreciate all of the four seasons, can't imagine Christmas without snow, and love the transistion of winter to spring especially. I just wish that it didn't take so goddamn long.

After a lovely weekend - the kind that makes winter bearable - I'm hunkering down and bundling up. Three months to go... I can get through this.

Keeping Resolutions

2008-01-09T17:36:00.000-05:00

Nine days into 2008 and I'm feeling that What-the-hell-was-I-thinking? thud in the back of my head... Somewhere between making the list of uber-ambitious goals for the new year and taking baby steps to begin accomplishing them I forgot to ask myself what was actually feasible, whether or not I could handle such a hiccup in daily life, and how I would tackle a day like today when the cumulative effects of my baby steps start taking a physical toll.

I've always been ambitious, which - most people would agree - is a good thing. However, couple ridiculous ambition with a personality that teeter-totters between obsessively-compulsively stressed and guilt-laden and it's a recipe for disaster. If I'm not running around like a maniac completing tasks like a tea-kettle whistling into your eardrums, I'm sitting around lethargic and exhausted feeling bad about everything I'm not doing. Ah, it's a lose-lose situation that I've managed to somehow make work for much of my life... before the kettle bursts I tend to kick back and relax, and before the guilt is crippling I pick up pace again.

Tonight I'm coming down from atop Mount Psychotic Over-Achiever to find myself wiped and bummed out. I forgot to take this cycle into consideration when creating these goals for 2008:

Learn French
Learn advanced CSS development
Yoga twice (or more) a week
Drink less - only weekends and/or special occasions
Work on new web projects
Consider/research grad school for 2009
Get more physically active (ideas I've listed include rock climbing, skiing, and ballroom dancing)

The over-arching goal of this year? Healthier body, healthier mind. Good goals, yes... and I've already scouted the path for success: I've been doing online CSS courses daily, adhering to my yoga goals, not drinking, eating well, working on some web projects, and have plans to get cracking on the French Language CD-ROM Mom got me for Christmas. Things are going well.

But today I feel wiped.

Honestly, I've been go-go-going at work and at home and even though I've paused to watch a few movies and - hypothetically - yoga is relaxing, too, the sudden shortage of cookies and chocolate as well as wine and... well, more wine... is definitely affecting me. Tonight I drove home from work daydreaming about the bottle of Bailey's in the fridge and how lovely an ounce or two on the rocks would be...

Tonight is my yoga class. There's no reason I can't go. But every bit of me wants to crash on the couch with a glass of wine and hunk of Ghiradelli dark chocolate. Ugh.

On the bright side, what this experience is teaching me is that I am not at all an alcoholic, as I have casually wondered. An alcoholic would have crashed this sober-train several days ago and the bottle of Bailey's would be long gone. However, I am realizing that I use alcohol as a crutch because, for me, it's the most enjoyable and convenient way of relaxing and powering-down. The challenge is to find other ways to do so that are calorie free.

Well, it's all a work-in-progress. Things are going well and this certainly isn't a precursor to throwing in the towel. Quite the opposite actually: After I publish this post I'm grabbing my yoga bag and forcing myself out the door. And when I get home? I just might have a sip of Irish Cream. Who says I can't have my cake and eat it too?

Besides, the real lesson to learn about resolutions is to be realistic in the first place!

A New Year

2008-01-05T09:06:00.000-05:00

Before we left town for New Year's I wrote briefly about our record of fabulous New Year's festivities, reminiscing about fireworks in London, New York, Rochester, Montreal.

But this New Year's Eve was different. I learned a simple but important lesson: it's not necessarily your surroundings, but the company you keep.

We cruised down to the city on the morning of the 31st expecting an evening similar to the one we celebrated in 2006: a few random house parties where we reconnected with old RIT alums, cracked open PBRs on the subway, and watched fireworks across the city from a Brooklyn rooftop.

But you can't recreate nights like that. People grow, things change, friends and circumstances come and go.

The evening began at Randall's apartment, where we accomplished our main task of the trip: recording the Director's Commentary for John's film, EVERY GOOD THING to RUST, soon to be distributed via online DVD at IndiePix.net. I wasn't expecting to participate, but at the last minute John pulled up a chair for me, too, and Randall, Holland, John and I watched the entire film while cracking open beers and shootin' the shit. It was too much fun, and I suspect the Commentary might be more fun to watch than the film itself, given its seriousness.

But we were off to a good start, and the boys reported that there were oodles of parties to choose from. Bri - Holland's girl and my dear friend and former boss - knew of one in particular.

We parted ways with Randall, heading down to Park Slope to meet Bri for dinner. Despite the hugs and kisses, upon meeting up with her I could immediately tell something was wrong. She was tired, not planning on drinking (perhaps too much indulgence over the holidays) and appeared to have had a rough day at work. The two of them walked ahead of us and seemed to have their own issues to sort out. We went to a delicious dinner at Anthony's where I welcomed a plate of homemade Gnocchi to my gut, but even then conversation was slim. The two of them were quiet, and John - being his buzzed, jovial self - drove the chatter.

When we returned to Holland's apartment to meet up with the rest of the gang and get ready to go out, even there things seemed strange. Friends were standing around awkwardly, others were eager to leave, and most people were watching a rerun of Family Guy. It felt like a family reunion... everyone fond of memories past, but now standing side by side and wondering what to say to each other.

Half of the group went to one party, and three of us couples, including Holland and Bri, went to the party Bri had heard about - supposedly a house party with live bands. The group was quiet: our friends seemed to be in a funk, I was feeling weighed down and tired from the mountain of Italian food, and only John was still in good spirits... but soon his non-stop jokes and caffeinated chatter were grating on all of our nerves.

When we arrived at the party at 11:30pm to find a trashy houseful of strangers and loud, ear-searing noise-rock, we all gathered outside, defeated.

John tried to make everyone laugh, but no one would have it. We called Marianne, our friend who'd gone to the other party, and got directions. If we hurried we could make it before midnight.

So grumpily, we rushed back to the subway. One person in our group lost his ticket, so we missed the first train. Now it was 11:45. Only three stops, but each one seemed to be miles away. We deboarded and rushed down the street, now no one talking but each us checking our watches and phones to see the minutes tick by. Somewhere three blocks before we reached the party, we heard the sound: the faint pop and crack, followed by flashing light and more pops, cracks... it was 2008. The New Year had come, ready or not, as we power-walked down some side street in Brooklyn. Our friends barely flinched, but John - not to be brought down - scooped me up on a street corner for a smooch. And he continued down the street happily, proclaiming "Happy New Year!" to strangers we passed, all of whom returned the greeting with smiles.

I wish I'd realized it then, but there was still more to learn for me as my sour mood hadn't quite dissolved. We arrived at the doorstep of the party, fireworks still sounding around us, to find that the door buzzer was broken. Holland rang Marianne, but there was no answer: clearly, they were celebrating upstairs and couldn't hear the phone. We all stood on the doorstep, looking at each other, again defeated. Now what?

And suddenly it didn't matter. On a rooftop, in a subway, on a street corner... it was New Year's Eve. And we were all together.

"I'm opening a beer." Holland said decidedly.

And we pulled out the six-pack of Stellas we'd been carrying and distributed them, each taking a swig and marveling at the reflection of fireworks in the apartment windows around us. John bellowed, "MARIANNE!!!" up at the third floor apartment, and finally she realized we were outside.

And with that, the night changed for us. Our friends were waiting upstairs and this party was more our pace: intimate, chilled, with good music, food, and drinks. We stayed here for a few hours... catching up, dancing, no longer checking our watches. We left sometime around 2 or 3, and went to a bar in Brooklyn Heights before heading home, not ready for the night to end.

When we finally returned to Holland's apartment, and I curled up with a plate of leftovers and a Heineken in our friend's living room, the conversation now not dying until sometime around 6am... I realized it. It doesn't matter if you're drinking wine in a bathrobe overlooking the Montreal party district, or listening to bagpipes at a London pub, or toasting under the fireworks and stars. While all of that is lovely, what really matters is the people around you, the spirit inside you, and the faith that this year will be better than the last.

Between Holidays

2007-12-29T17:05:00.000-05:00

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!

Humbug Anecdote

2007-12-15T13:20:00.000-05:00

An attempt to prove that we're note quite as Scroogey as my previous post may have indicated:

Two Scrooges

2007-12-15T12:02:00.000-05:00

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!

Me and Snow Falling

2007-12-13T21:07:00.000-05:00

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.

The Magic Hours: Our Adventure in Iceland

2007-11-23T12:55:00.000-05:00

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.

detox

2007-11-15T20:53:00.000-05:00

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?

Just a little girl again

2007-11-10T16:22:00.000-05:00

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.

PMS and Beer

2007-11-09T21:25:00.000-05:00

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.

EVERY GOOD THING to RUST

2007-11-05T17:56:00.000-05:00

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.

Iceland: the Next Adventure

2007-10-28T13:59:00.000-04:00

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.

Toonces takes a bath

2007-10-28T13:38:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-28T13:24:00.000-04:00

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...

something else, uncensored *

2007-10-22T18:12:00.000-04:00

* 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.

everything's coming up music

2007-10-10T12:19:00.000-04:00

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

shopping

2007-09-26T20:43:00.000-04:00

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*

summer of looooove

2007-09-17T21:19:00.000-04:00

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!

a breather

2007-08-25T11:35:00.000-04:00

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.

good to be home

2007-07-16T20:07:00.000-04:00

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.

from the road

2007-06-29T15:16:00.000-04:00

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.

the awkward question

2007-06-15T22:55:00.000-04:00

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)

obsessive, compulsive

2007-06-08T10:47:00.001-04:00

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!

nothing wasted

2007-05-22T21:06:00.000-04:00

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.

shhhh don't tell

2007-05-22T20:59:00.000-04:00

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.

the in-betweens

2007-05-16T19:56:00.000-04:00

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.

welcome.

2007-04-29T20:43:00.000-04:00

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.