Backlog

I'm totally backed up. I've got a serious backlog going of crap I need to get to and wonderful things I want to get to. The list of crap includes the following:

1. Clean out the pantry (The chopped macadamia nuts in there have, in fact, been there since last Christmas for the Paula Deen Chocolate Cherry Chunk Cookies I never got around to baking.)
2. Paint the bathroom. (I prepped the ceiling and bought the shower curtain for color selection, just need to buy paint and bang it out.)
3. Take dog to the groomers. (He seriously stinks.)
4. Move giant Love Sac from downstairs to attic. 

Last week (see above) began with an all day lacrosse showcase with the boy at Endicott College. Then cooking, errand day with the Pug, and the bi-weekly hair appointment in Brighton. The week ended with a serious bang. The light snow that utterly depressed me on Friday was nothing compared to what was coming the next day. I drove Connor to a Halloween party on Saturday night just as the snow started moving in. When we couldn't find the house and the branches started falling into the road, we bagged the whole adventure and headed home to ride out the storm. Sometime around 2am, we lost power completely and although he slept soundly, I barely caught a wink what with the sound of tree branches snapping and the house shaking when they hit the ground.

When we finally got up on Sunday morning, it was an unbelievable sight. We weren't in Wrentham in October but the house had obviously been picked up and planted in the middle of a winter wonderland snow globe. My parents hadn't lost power and when Connor heard they had cable, he couldn't get in the car fast enough, so, with The Man out of town, we packed up and headed to NH. Three days of fun was had by all including the pugs, but school was back in session on Wednesday. Back to the cold reality of Chestnut Street. But the gods were smiling on me that day and by noon, the National Grid truck pulled up and restored the power. (Insert angel choir here) On Thursday, I headed out for the volunteer knitting gig, but the end of the week brought the biggest surprise I've had in a while: a part-time job!

Since closing the Pilates studio, I've been able to duck and dodge getting another job, but that was just not going to be sustainable for the long term. I'd been trolling Craigslist and the local papers fairly regularly for something that wouldn't make me totally miserable, but as U2 said it the best: I still hadn't found what I was looking for. On Friday, through a series of fortunate events, I had a conversation with my friend Cheryl who owns my local (and favorite) yarn shop. Next thing I know, I've landed myself a part-time job  including my first paid knitting teacher gig. (Insert gulp here) I went in for training on Saturday and of course I had to make The Boy snap a pic.

Better get to the laundry...it's not going to fold itself (contrary to what the people I live with think).

7 for 7...I'm in Heaven

Woo Hoo! Seven pictures taken 7 days in a row in my Project365 venture. Now, I know I said to myself when I started this that although perfection would be lovely, it was not, in fact, the goal of this exercise. Frankly, I've had quite enough experience with the pursuit of perfection in my earlier days and it was highly overrated. Here's a lovely bonus of getting older: I'm started to not give a crap about the "shoulds" in life and that is NOT overrated. Not even a little bit

In case you're interested, my week went something like:

• Sunday: Transformation through Expressive Art at Salve Regina. The tree was outside our building.
• Monday: Submitted first homework assignment (first time in a loooooong time) for class
• Tuesday: While searching for AA battery, I realize Real Simple mag maybe right...my junk drawer might need organizing
• Wednesday: View from window at Mr. Dooley's for lunch. So cute and yummy.
• Thursday: Loved this little tree that was keeping me company while waiting for an appointment. (I'm thinking I have a thing for trees. I take their pictures a lot.)
• Friday: Big Apple Farm for apples (Photos of first pie of the season to come)
• Saturday: Lunch with Hubby and Son (Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy! Fun with the teenage Boy) You'd think he could smile. We are feeding him after all.

Well, it's Sunday night and there are no Pats on. The team has the Bye Week so the Hubby is home and we got to go to a Lax Showcase with the Boy at Endicott College today. Is it just me or are these campuses like resorts? I sooo want to go back to college if not for the access to unlimited Captain Crunch cereal 3 meals a day. (They've probably removed the unhealthy food from the dining hall anyway.)

Photo365 - Week 3

Well, I got my Week 3 post just under the wire. I actually remember snapping a pic 5 out of 7 days. It's funny, when my day starts and I review what's on my agenda on a given day, I actually think about moments that would be great to capture. But then I get there and I completely forget so I end up snapping a photo of something totally not sexy (I actually considered photographing the laundry pile). I want to portray this image of my life that is blog-worthy, but then real-life gets in the way. It's like my life as filmed by a reality TV film crew vs. my life filmed by a not-so-well-paid nephew. I imagine that when the cameras are off, the Karadashian girls spend a good part of their day cleaning out the linen closet, too, right?

In any event:

Sunday: Found me in my happy place: on the sofa watching the Pats with the pug, Rocky
Monday: I sew this adorable apron out of fat quarter. Love it!
Tuesday: Apparently a blur
Wednesday: While looking for something else in the attic, I stumbled upon these Halloween decorations I made last year. Yay! (Can't remember if I found what I originally went looking for, though)
Thursday: Apparently a blur...again.
Friday: If it's Friday night, it's soup night from SoupWorks - the Lobster Bisque is amazing.
Saturday: 1st day of my Transformation through Expressive Arts class at Salve Regina. The campus was crazy gorgeous.

Off to write, clean, knit, homework, drive, cook...

Photo365 - Week 2

The end of the weak (Oops, I meant week...must have been a Freudian slip so I'll leave it) finds me stuffed up with a sore throat and the deep desire to close my eyes and sleep until sometime on Tuesday. At least the Pats beat the Jets. I am proud to say that I've complete Week 2 of taking a picture a day. Ok, so I missed Friday, but nobody's perfect. In case the print on the page is unreadable, it says:

Sunday: Why is trash day so tedious. (Seriously...I hate trash day.)
Monday: Workout day at Koko FitClub
Tuesday: Connor's haircut gave me 20 minutes of reading time (Pure bliss!)
Wednesday: 2nd day of homemade apple crisp (with local apples no less)
Thursday: Spent the day in NH with my parents and the bro-dog, Malcom
Friday: Digi-scrapped photo I took in NH (Connor loved these cows when he was little)
Saturday: Starting to get a cold (In bed by 7:30...feeling like an old person)

Happy Week 3!

Half-Baked

While driving to New Hampshire yesterday to visit my parents, I saw a man pulled off on the side of the road. He was staring down at his car engine, no tools or movement that I could see. He was using his hand to hold up the hood with his forehead leaning along the edge for additional support or maybe he was hoping physical contact with the car would help him divine information from it.

I know how he feels, except for me, I'm standing over the open skull of my 16 year old son, peering down at it, hoping the answer to fixing the problem will be obvious and fixable.

I don't know if you've looked at your car engine lately, but when I looked at mine, the only recognizable things were the radiator and windshield wiper fluid caps, and the oil and that's only because they had those cute little pictures on it. Without those, I could easily find myself pouring windshield wiper fluid into the radiator. I'm not even sure if the radiator has a specific fluid. I know it needs something and without it, there are problems, but I wouldn't bet on me knowing what that was without consulting my father or Google.

I had to consult the manual to open the hood for the picture!

I've had these conversation with my son recently that swing from highly enjoyable to down right frightening. He seems to be operating with a level of good information combining with the urban myth of the privileged suburban teenager. Case in point: If you are at a party where there is underage drinking, the police are not allowed/do not arrest kids under 15.

Really?

When I tried to tell him that in fact, the police arrest kids under 15 quite often, he didn't believe me. What about juvenile hall, I asked. Not for drinkers, he said, without wavering.

Really? Note to self: lock your son in the attic until at least 18.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. I look back on the days when I was praying for just a moment to myself without him climbing all over me. Now I wish I shove him back in the womb so his teenage brain has a chance to finish baking without him having to suffer any consequences for just being a teenager. In the meantime, maybe he'll let me lean my forehead to his forehead and I can get a little insight to what's going on in there. On the other hand, maybe I don't really want to know!

Photo365 Week 1: In with cake, Out with a bang

One week ago yesterday was my 42nd birthday. I've seen various Photo 365 project on different blogs and websites. The challenge is to take one picture every day for a year. It looked like a pretty cool thing and participants seemed to get a lot out of doing it and my birthday felt like the perfect occasion to try it out. I did a little research and decided to download the Photo365 app (there are a several good options actually) thinking I'd have a better chance of success if I used my camera phone rather than the big clunker. Hopefully, I'll remember to snap a pic everyday, but let's face it, some weeks will be better than others.

I'm always feeling the need to "Live My Best Life" (thanks a lot, Oprah), but what I'm starting to realize is that although my "best life" is happens in the big, sexy moments, most of my authentic life happens in the everyday, not so sexy, sometimes truly mundane moments. And since there are a lot more of that stuff, I'd better start celebrating that or I might miss most of my actual living.

So, here is Week 1. In case the print on the scrapped page is too small, it reads:

My Birthday fell on a Sat this year.This should have been a good thing, but Fred had to leave for Buffalo that day.We had dinner at Davios on Fri, which was absolutely amazing from start to finish.Watched the Pats on Sunday, delivered my first batch of Knitters Knecklaces Mon and took Rocky to the vet Tues.Ended Wed night knitting.Thurs brought my mums into blossom but Fri night was wild.Around midnight, I heard glass shatter.I happened to be on the phone with Fred who heard it, too.I called the Police and they found the culprit. A sun catcher popped off my kitchen window into my sink. 

New York State of Mind

I spent today, Sunday, September 11, with my son, Connor, at the Laurie Cox Classic, a lacrosse showcase for high school Juniors & Seniors, at New England College. We stumbled out of bed at oh lord o'clock and were on the road by 6:15. With the car seat heater on high, coffee in the cup holder, and Connor plugged in and passed out in the passenger seat, I turned on the radio for a little company. WGBH 89.7 was playing "Reflections in Song", a two-hour program of music to mark the the 9/11 ten year anniversary. The songs were sent in by listeners along with the reason for their musical offering.

Some of the songs were familiar, others, completely new to me. Billy Joel's "New York State of Mind" came on just at the sun fully rose and I found myself thinking about my college friends and seeing him play at the Carrier Dome in 1990. John Lennon's "Imagine" played somewhere along Route 293 in New Hampshire. An airplane crossed the sky and I worried about my husband, scheduled to fly to Miami later in the day.

The songs stream on. Elvis Costello challenges me to wonder what exactly is so funny about Peace, Love, and Understanding. Allison Krauss' compelling invitation to go "Down to the River to Pray" reminds me of the comfort that getting still and centered can bring. U2, Paul Simon, and Turn, Turn, Turn by The Byrds, each so very distinct from the other, but they feel so connected under this particular umbrella.

"My City of Ruins" by Bruce Springsteen is the second to last song. The song was written before September 11th for Asbury Park, New Jersey, but was included on The Rising, a cd to commemorate the attacks. To me, the chorus is both a command and a prayer:

Come on, rise up
Come on, rise up

repeated over and over again. It so captures what a lot of us where feeling in those days. The desire to have the Towers stand again, to demand those lost in their collapse to walk away whole, for the country to find her footing again. It is just impossible to accept what has happened. What we have seen.

The program ends with "This Land is Your Land" and I am immediately taken back to a Grandparents Day/Memorial Day concert at Connor's elementary school. I can see his sweet little face and hear him proudly singing like it was yesterday. This sleeping, hulking mass beside me was once the size of a football I could carry on one arm. That feels like yesterday, too.

We are just about at the New England College campus. The highway was mostly quiet and easily travelled, but it did get pretty foggy at times and I had to slow down because I wasn't always sure of the way. Just like some songs we know by heart, others not so much. In the ten years that have passed since that original September 11th in 2001, I have come to learn that part of living in the world means staying on the journey, roads I know and songs I don't included. And when I feel my faith falter, I will draw upon the wisdom Paul McCartney offered this September 2011 morning: There will be an answer. Let it be.

Forgive me, Blogger for I have sinned. It has been 58 days since my last post.  Here's what I've been up to since last we met:

After my final week of teaching, my family headed out of town for a good old-fashioned summer road trip. Connor had two lacrosse tournaments in Pennsylvania, first in Swathmore and then in Gettysburg, so we decided to take the time off to embrace our inner tourists. We went to Philly and did the double-decker bus thing. Swathmore is a pretty college town and we spent an evening in Media, another cute, college town. We loved Peddler's Village in Bucks County where we ran into Connor's 8th grade math teacher while we were at dinner. Small world.

We were supposed to spend at least 3 days in Gettysburg at another lacrosse tournament, but our team had to pull out due to the lack of commitment of the other players. (Don't get me started on this!) We decided to cut our losses and head home early to spend the remaining vacation days poolside.

No sooner had I unpacked and caught up on the laundry from our trip, the Fourth of July was here. I found this great little American flag at Michaels the day before the holiday. We bought fireworks in Connecticut on our way home and that night, we had our own little fireworks show in the front yard. I made the most awesome Blue Velvet Cake from a cake box recipe my neighbor hipped me to. It was delish! Our friend Andy came and we flipped back and forth between the Pops and DC concerts. And of course I had to rock my Old Navy flag t-shirt. It's such a bargain.

I went to Narragansett Beach for the first time this summer and Town Beach is officially my favorite beach. The water was so warm, the waves were fantastic, the beach is super clean and there's a great snack bar and bathroom facilities. I Heart Town Beach.

Connor took Driver's Ed at the end of the summer, so this was my last summer of driving my kid. I had the secret pleasure of driving him and his friends to the beach a lot this season and I loved every minute of it. Of course, once we got to the beach, they set up on their own, but occasionally they stop by my blanket to visit. Those beach days are some of my favorite summer memories.

Three years ago, one of my best friends from high school started the tradition of getting together for dinner when she comes to visit her family in New Hampshire. This year, we met on a beautiful night in Portsmouth, NH. Our friend Susan didn't make it this year and she was missed. I'm already looking forward to next year.

Summer wouldn't be complete with family visiting. My brother and his family stopped in Labor Day weekend on there way back home to NYC.  It was a great way to celebrate the official end of summer.

I'd have to say, Summer 2011 was one of the best summers I'd had in a while. I felt like we really embraced the season and made the most of it. Maybe the brutal winter made me feel like I needed to dive into the gift of the warm weather. Hurricane Irene was a good reminder to make the most of nice weather when it's around.

Summer was great, but I'm ready to return to some of the routine that the school year brings. (Plus, my food bill will shrink significantly now that the boy is out of my house for most of the day.) There is something to be said for seasons. They do provide the opportunity to hit the reset button on some things, which is a nice option to have, I think. So...Welcome, Fall.

Thankfully, he still lets me take a "First Day of School" pic! :)

PS: And it won't be 58 more days before we meet again.

Summer Sunday or Glad to Be Home

Photo by Me, Sky over our yard, 7/10/11

Well, we're home again after our third lacrosse tournament weekend of the summer. We started at the end of June at the King of the Hill Tournament in Swarthmore, PA and were supposed to head to Gettysburg for the Gait Cup. The second tournament was cancelled because several players decided they had "better options". (Don't get me started on this particular topic.) We were already in Gettysburg when we got the cancellation email having planned a vacation around the tournaments.  So we decided to wrap our sightseeing up early, pack up and head home to sit poolside for the balance of our vacation and July 4 weekend.

Hoping for a fresh start, we headed off to Amherst. I'd never spent any time in Western Massachusetts, so we went a day early so we could explore a bit. Considering our team's commitment level, it was risky to go a day in advance, but we figured the worse that could happen was a day away from home. Miracle or miracles, enough boys showed up to field a team.

There were 100 teams, some as far away as Florida and California. Connor's team had 3 games Saturday and 2 more set for Sunday. Unfortunately, Connor took a huge, high crosscheck early in the third game and suffered a mild concussion. Needless to say, that was the end of Connor's day. We went back to the hotel for quick showers and headed back home early. Again.

So today, sitting under a spectacular summer sky, we decided to scrap the final tournament scheduled for next weekend. There will be plenty of time for Connor to play lacrosse, but relaxing under the summer sun is a limited engagement. Maybe we'll try again...next year.

Yum!

Went to the Big Apple today and picked up some beauteous looking cherries and raspberries this afternoon. I took the back roads home and drove by the Mount Saint Mary's Abbey. I think their wind turbine rocks and I just to see that thing turn. It's mesmerizing and quite beautiful. Turned the corner and got caught behind a farmer on his tractor coming from the fields. God, I just love this time of the year when all this fresh,  local produce abounds. Truly blessed to have access to it.

Cherries for dinner? As that chick in the Stop & Shop commercial says: Works for me.

Road Trip

Elfreth's-Alley.jpg, a photo by Nikki Kirsch on Flickr.

We had a free day before Connor starts his lacrosse tournament tomorrow so we headed into Philly and caught the Double Decker Bus tour.

K2TOG

Tuesdays are turning out to be my favorite day of the week. Actually, Tuesdays were always up there because it's my knitting night. But now, the daytime hours are gaining ground because it's the day I knit with the women at the New Hope House.

I participated and completed the training program with the New Hope Domestic Violence Agency of North Attleboro earlier this spring, and started volunteering at the shelter about a month ago. I thought I was going to do Pilates with the women, because that's what I do for work. But, I wanted to try something new, so I decided to knit with them. Now, I am not a knitting teacher. I know knitting teachers. I have great teachers at In the Loop. What I've come to know is that I can pick up some of the best tips during Sit and Knit, when we're all just sitting around the table with no official teacher. We just share what we're doing and I've learned a ton around that table. My plan was to get them started with knitting and purling, start with a simple dishcloth pattern, and then let the real learning begin.

I committed to 10-11 on Tuesday mornings, figuring I couldn't get into too much trouble in an hour. I bought some cotton yarn, a few sets of needles, and off I went. There were 5 women that first day, different in just about every way women can: age, color, language, etc.  By the end of that first hour, I'd figured out how to "teach" each one according to her needs, and they'd figured out casting on and the knit stitch. Their homework: just keeping knitting until you either run out of yarn or run out of patience. In the case of the latter, frog it all and start again.  I floated home. It was THE BEST hour I'd spent in a long time.

Three weeks later, we're still knitting dishcloths, but as practice for learning new techniques. We've SSK'd, PSSO'd, cabled and cast off. They're working on afghans now and chomping at the bit to start scarves and sweaters. One woman is absolutely begging me to knit a dress! Each week, the time we spend around the table gets a little bit longer and I've set 3 hours as my limit although I could probably stay all day if they'd let me.

My mother taught me to knit and I made dishcloths until they were coming out of my ears. The first time I came into the shop and told Cheryl I wanted to try something a little more adventurous, she couldn't have been more generous with her time or her spirit. Her welcoming energy was infectious, and it wasn't long before I started spending the grocery money on yarn rather than food for my family.  (Screw 'em.) Ellen probably doesn't remember helping me pull out a scarf I was making (badly) with a Tilli Tomas yarn. It had tiny beads in it, so pulling it out was a total pain in the ass. She sat at the table with me and went row by row until we'd frogged it all and rewound the whole thing.  Soon, I joined a class, came to the sit and knits, and fell in love. And it is my absolute privilege to pay it forward with these amazing women on their journey to rebuild their lives.

But of all the best lessons I've learned around the table either at the shop or the House, it is always what happens when we K2TOG. Whether people, a broken heart, or knitting it is always better, stronger together.

It's Bloomin' Monday!

Things are looking pretty good over here on Chestnut Street. After the ass-kicker of a winter, I never would have thought the yard could have come back as beautifully as it as. I continue to be amazed by the range of Nature's power; at times a seemingly merciless punisher, and then forgiveness offered in a big. blue sky and a golden sun. Her endless creativity and ability to continuously recreate herself. It's truly astounding.

So off I trotted to the yard with my camera in a feeble attempt to capture the beauty of her offerings and to use some of the skills I learned in my online digital camera class. Here's my best:

My Nana

Well, it's been quite a while since I've written a post. But, I have been working away at some digital pages and what not during my writing hiatus.

I just finished reading, The Help about a week ago and I loved it! As soon as I put the book down, I jumped on the web to find out more about the author, Kathryn Stockett. Apparently, she got some criticism for writing the voice of the African-American characters in the novel. I, however, am always amazed by any author who can write in a voice so different from their own, whether it's a man writing as a woman, an adult writing as a child, etc. I didn't find her style or use of dialect offensive at all and I can't wait to see these amazing women come to life in the movie coming out in August.

I had the privilege of knowing my maternal great-grandmother, Lucille Manning, who we called Nana. She worked as a domestic to support her family. We have the most beautiful picture of her in her uniform. It looks like she's stepped straight off a movie set. The picture was taken while she was working a party thrown by the family she worked for. No one in the family knows the name of the gentleman in the picture, just that he worked as the chauffeur.

I've always loved this picture, and I was inspired to do something with it after reading The Help. I think Nana looks so elegant. Good stuff!

Come to the edge

Come-to-the-Edge.jpg, a photo by Nikki Kirsch on Flickr.

Flying-Girl

Flying-Girl, a photo by Nikki Kirsch on Flickr.

Crossroad

Bike-Ride

Bike-Ride, a photo by Nikki Kirsch on Flickr.

Happy Mother's Day!

It's a Hard Dog's Life

1:17am:  Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

2:25am:  Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

3:38am:  Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

I rub behind his ears until he falls back asleep.

5:05am. Hot pug breath envelopes my face, amplified by the cone that covers both our heads now. I rub again and nudge back down to the end of the bed.

Bleeeeep...bleeeeep...bleeeeeep...bleeeeep. The alarm is set to crescendo from faint to pleasantly audible. It's supposed to be less jarring.

It's not.

Making coffee:  Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

Getting dressed for work: Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

Curling my hair:  Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

"Look Rocky," I say, "You've got to wear that thing for two weeks, so you'd better start making peace with it." He cocks his heads, looking at me like he knows I'm probably saying something amazingly interested, but he he no idea on God's green earth what it could possibly be. I'm used to this look. Everyone with balls in this house looks at me this same way when I talk these days.

I sigh:  Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

Two weeks. Twenty-four hours in a day. One day down. Only 13 more to go.

Skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet, skreet.

Shit.

Wish-fill Wednesdays

Phoebe Snow died last week. She was a popular singer-songwriter in the 70s, although she wrote, recorded and performed as late as last year. Her music was a large part of the soundtrack of my childhood as my mother was a huge Phoebe fan. I was sad to hear of her passing and found myself playing a lot of her music on my iPod last week. One of my favorite songs is "Harpo's Blues" and I thought the lyrics were just the thing to share on this Wish-fill Wednesday.

I wish wish I was a willow
And I could sway to the music in the wind
And I wish I was a lover
I wouldn't need my costumes and pretend

I wish I was a mountain
I'd pass boldly thru the
clouds and never end
I wish I was a soft refrain
When the lights were out 
I'd play and be your friend

So, what do you wish to be today? Get creative and please share it with me.

Born in the USA

After my son Connor was born, the State of Maine sent his birth certificate. Actually, what they sent was his Certificate of Live. I filed it with the other important papers: the marriage certificate, copies of our birth certificate, and our original social security cards. Over the years, it was joined by other significant documents: his baptismal record, the divorce decree, the new marriage certificate. Every once and a while, I'd need to pull out proof of Connor's age like for Little League, Pop Warner, or other legal proceedings. There was never a problem...until Donald Trump.

For the last few weeks, the media couldn't get enough of Donald Trump's claim that President Obama's Certificate of Live Birth proved nothing. They'd herald the polls that some crazy percentage of Americans didn't believe that the President was born in the United States. And I'm ashamed to admit that I bought into their fear-mongering. I called my mother in a panic, worried that when Connor and I went down to the Registry for his driver's permit, some nut behind the counter would question Connor's legitimacy because he didn't have a birth certificate, but rather, a certificate of live birth. The next day, I ordered the long-form version (which cost me a whole lot more than I wanted to spend), and I told Connor he couldn't get his permit until the new version came, which it did less than 5 days later.

There. Now, no-one could question Connor's legitimacy. I was armed and loaded for bear. But I was also feeling another feeling I couldn't quite put my finger on. It hovered somewhere between sadness and anger. I was sad/mad that I'd let Donald Trump make me question my son's obvious existence. I was sad/mad that I was becoming suspicious and paranoid about the people I would encounter throughout my day. And I was down-right heartbroken and apoplectic when Obama called a press conference releasing his long-form birth certificate. I understood why he did it. But I couldn't help but wonder he felt angry, humiliated, frustrated, tired, or all of the above. What did he tell his daughters? Did any of the kids at school say anything? The Donald got into my head and I'm just a regular girl in Wrentham, Massachusetts, never mind being the President of United States. 

But as I was going to bed last night, I checked onto the Huffington Post for no particular reason, only to find that the President was going to be making a major announcement around 10:30pm. The President? On the Sunday night? This...was...BIG. We got into bed, put on CNN, and waited. Then in came: Osama Bin Laden was dead. Holy crap. OBL, American's boogeyman, was dead. We sat, glued to the coverage. Then they started showing the crowds gathering outside the White House and Ground Zero, cheering and sining the national anthem. And I felt a shift inside of me. Here we are again. Poised at a critical moment in our history as a nation, when we can put our differences aside and see ourselves in each other; each one an American. 

September 11, 2001, was a dark day in America. But the days that follow did, for many, bring out the better angels of our natures. I often what could have been if we'd been able to bottle or harness that energy. I can't help feeling that we're at that crossroad again or at least that I'm there again. I let fear pull me from my center. I will be careful not to let that happen again. It wasn't a wrong decision to get another version of Connor's birth certificate, it was the spirit in which the decision was made that I would change. As it turns out, the new version doesn't look much different from the first. It's slightly more official looking with a big green flourish border, but both have a raised seal and can testify that Connor Burns Eschmann was "Made in the USA".

Announcing: Wish-filled Wednesdays

Let me begin this post by saying that I am a believer in the power of prayer. I've seen it. I've done it. I've been the beneficiary of it. That being said...there's something about wishes.

Prayer, for me, carries a feeling of seriousness, both in its intent and outcome. I have prayed for seemingly frivolous things (Please, God, let me not get a speeding ticket from this police officer today), I always quickly add in a "and I'll never ask for anything this stupid again". But I've never, ever, ever qualified a wish. And I've never passed up an opportunity to make a wish. If I see a falling star, I'll make a wish. Birthdays; you better believe it. Judging by the number of "Please do not throw coins into this _________" I'm not the only one who wishes over just about any standing body of water.

I don't make wishes for nothing, either. I believe God is listening, wanting whimsy, joy, and my heart's desires for me and for all of us. I don't know about you, but the more opportunities I have to actively, consciously, and intentionally call for joy to come into my life, the better. There is something to pausing, thinking about what it is you'd really want, saying it out loud, and then sending it out and up. 

So with that being said: I, by the power vested in me by none other than my Creator, proclaim Wish-filled Wednesdays. 

I will be bold, silly, thoughtful, and yes, quite serious about my wish for the week, the day, the year. World Peace? Why not! Jeans that fit? Heck, yeah! 

1. Pause and think about what you want, 
2. Type it out, and 
3. Post it. (Do me a favor and post on my blog as well as FB. I want to see if my Comment Box is working. Thx.)

If you have the ability to help someelse's wish come true, then by all means, grab your best pair of angel wings, strap 'em on and have at it. We're all angels in disguise anyway, but some days we just need a little push off our big, puffy cloud.

My First Wish:

I wish I could make peace with my muffin top

Homage to My Hips

Ok, so I'm having a fat day today. And I know you know what I'm talking about. Some I'm driving home from taking Connor to lacrosse practice, feeling the tops of my jeans cut into my muffin top, when I hear this great poem by Lucille Clifton on the Callie Crossley show on WBUR 89.7 FM. It was so good that when I get home, I bee-line it to my Mac to check out more of her work when I stumbled onto this little jewel:

Homage to My Hips


these hips are big hips.
they need space to
move around in.
they don't fit into little
petty places. these hips
are free hips.
they don't like to be held back.
these hips have never been enslaved,
they go where they want to go
they do what they want to do.
these hips are mighty hips.
these hips are magic hips.
i have known them
to put a spell on a man and
spin him like a top


Amazing, right??!!! Once again, an affirmation from the universe that

1. Poetry does not have to impossible to understand in order to good
2. I'm not the only woman who's spent time thinking about her body

What I love it that this particular woman had a creative outlet to take what is held up as a negative, and make it into something so awesome. Makes me smile inside every time I read it; knowing I've got a little bit of that magic in me. How about you?

Day 40: It is Finished

We've just gotten home from Easter dinner with my parents. It's been our recent tradition to go to the York Harbor Inn and it's fantastic. On the way up, we got off the highway to drive along the coast, where I snapped this photo of this beautiful swan. I have no idea of its gender, but he gave off male energy so I kept referring to it as he and him. I was amazed by his size, elegance, and attitude. He was all sweetness and light while he was being fed, but once his Cheez-itz where all gone, he got pretty aggressive. I can relate to that.

On the way home, I started thinking about this last post in my 40 Day of Writing experiment. Actually, I've been thinking about it for some time now. I have enjoyed this challenge and it brought focus and meaning to Lent, something I have lacked for a number of years. Some days the words came so easily, I could barely keep up at the keyboard. Other days, the images drove the post. I learned a lot, but these are my top three:

• There is value in a participating and committing to a creative discipline. Knowing I had to write everyday made me pay attention to the details in my life in a whole new way.
• If I'm not feeling particularly inspired on a given day, it's okay. Having space to recharge is a good thing.
• Being authentic, even though it feels risky at times,  is always the best bet. It just makes everything less complicated.

Huge, huge, HUGE thanks to all of you who joined me along the way. Your words of encouragement were such a gift to me. I will keep writing (there's no going back now) and I'm thinking of ways to open up the conversation and up the participation factor. After all, why should I be the one having all the fun?!

Day 39: Can You Drink the Cup?

It's been at least 10 years since I've read Henri Nouwen's book, Can You Drink the Cup, but I woke up with it on my mind this morning. The book is based around Matthew 20:20-23:

‘Then the mother of the sons of Zebedee approached him with her sons and did him homage, wishing to ask him for something. He said to her, “What do you wish?” She answered him, “Command that these two sons of mine sit, one at your right and the other at your left, in your kingdom.” Jesus said in reply, “You do not know what you are asking. Can you drink the cup that I am going to drink?” They said to him, “We can.” He replied, “My cup you will indeed drink, but to sit at my right and at my left, (this) is not mine to give but is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.”

The cup Jesus refers to is the crucifixion that he knows lies ahead. In his book, Nouwen explores the metaphor of the cup using the images of holding, lifting, and drinking to represent the basic principles of spiritual life.

It's April vacation and my son, Connor, was set to go to the movies last night, but his plans fell through at the last minute. When we asked him why he couldn't go with anyone else, his response was: "Everyone else is in the Caribbean." What I heard was: Why do all my friends get to go away and we are stuck here is crappy and cold Massachusetts. Now, part of the reason we are home is because he play Varsity lacrosse and missing an entire week of games and practices would not go over that well with his coach, never mind his teammates. Also, everyone actually isn't in the Caribbean. Case in point...us. And, in reality, Connor never mentioned being stuck in Massachusetts. That's all me.

It used to be easier for me to get sucked down into the comparison vortex, especially when Connor was in elementary school and the Suburban Mommy Gang ruled the mean streets of Wrentham. They ruled with iron fists and razor-sharp tongues with techniques learned in Junior High and perfected through the fires of childbirth and rearing. Ski vacations, weeks on Cape Cod, First Communion luncheons, birthday parties. The territory was steep and loaded with hidden pitfalls.  My family held their own, but the game never ended and finish line, elusive. Eventually, I got tired and dropped out all together. And thankfully, Connor was the kind of kid that made that decision easy.

But every now and again, I get tempted by someone else's cup. Her cup has pretty flowers, or it's bigger. Another is better insulated, or it's made from PBA-free plastic. And what's she got in her cup she's holding so tightly? Do I know her well enough to ask for a sip or even the recipe? How did she get what she's got and how can I get it, too?!!!

When Jesus asked the two sons of Zebedee if they could drink the cup he would have to drink, they said yes without any hesitation. At first glance, I was amazed they could jump in so quickly without asking any clarifying questions. But then again, how many times have I come home to Fred wanting to go out get the latest whatever that so-and-so had without any real information either. I just plain wanted what she had. Jesus does not say yes or no to the men. He says it's not up to him to give, but rather his Father who has lays the path for each of us.

On this Easter Thursday (Maundy Thursday) I can say that I will stick to the cup I've been given. It's always being filled and emptied, lost and found, broken and repaired, and generally enjoyed on a regular basis. And that's kept me pretty busy so far.

Day 38: Training Completed, Intention Set

As of 3:30pm today, I am officially a Domestic Vioience/Sexual Assault Advocate. Now that I have completed training, I can begin volunteering for the agency. What a week it has been. My worldview has changed so significantly, it's hard for me to find the words to adequately express what I am feeling. I can only imagine how I will feel once i begin working with real people. I am so grateful for the women who put on such an incredible course and for the work they do. I am so grateful for each of the women who went through the training with me and for allowing me to be a part of here journey. It is my prayer to be able to serve the agency and its clients to the best of my abilities. It is my intention to remain open to the process and to find the best place(s) for me to serve in order to be a source of hope for those seeking options for.  I feel truly blessed today. I truly do.

Day 37: Still going...

I completed my third day of DV training at New Hope today. The topics are hard, but the level of awareness and empathy I am developing around domestic violence and sexual assault will change me forever. And when I sat down tonight, feeling really tired, I told myself I could let writing go. I don't want my 40 Days of Writing to become achievement orientated and mucked up by striving for perfection, which is how I approach all goals in my life. This approach has served me well, but frankly, I'm tired. So as I snuggle in my bed with my knitting, watching the Bruins, I'm also watching the clock tick down to midnight and I realize that more than I feel the need to write, I want to write. I want to see the cursor blinking at me and what's going to come.

Day 37 and I'm still going at it. Not bad. Not bad at all.


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Day 36: Second Day of New Hope Training

Today's topic for training: child physical and sexual abuse. I had planned on working tonight after class. I'd given my clients a head's up last week that I might need to cancel class because I was unsure of how I would feel at the end of the day. By 2pm, I'd let them know that I would, in fact, need the evening to process the day. And I feel terribly guilty about it. But that's typical of me. I hold myself to this standard that I should be able to go through this training and maintain everything as is. I know I've done the right thing by practicing self-care, but it does not come easily to me, and I know that it's a hard thing for most women to practice.

Here are the words of wisdom that have been ringing in my heart and ears all day:

I am grateful for what I learned in training and for having a safe home to return to at the end of the day.

Day 35: First Day of New Hope Training

Today was the first day of a 4-day training I need to complete in order to become a volunteer for the New Hope, a domestic violence (DV) services agency. We went from 10-4 today and the most intense part of the session was watching a video of a real domestic violence situation. The victim's daughter, concerned that her mother would killed by her stepfather, recorded the incident in case she needed to provide evidence of the abuse. The batterer did, in fact, end of killing her mother and the family allows the video to be used for DV training purposes only. There was no video, just audio. My heart was pounding through the brief (about 15 minute) DVD and I broke out into a sweat. I have always reacted very strongly to DV situations in movies or television shows, so I was panicked that I wasn't going to be able to handle it. The trainers encouraged us to step out of the room if it was too much or it triggered something. I made it through, but it was incredibly difficult. One of the trainers shared this piece of advice with us when dealing with hearing victims' stories. I thought it was really powerful and a good word, not only for volunteering, but during this challenging time of parenting a teenage boy who doesn't want to hear to much from his dull-witted parents these days.

Back for Day 2 in the morning. My worldview has already changed and I'm anxious to learn more.

Day 34: I'm getting a little obsessed

Ok, so I wake up at 1:44am this morning and I'm thinking about my blog. Unable to fall back to sleep, I grab my iPhone off the nightstand and start surfing the web. I'm looking for ways I can execute the ideas I've shooting through my mind about my blog. Waking up in the middle of the night with a burst of creativity is not uncommon, I know. I was doing it under the covers. The screen is pretty bright and I didn't want to wake Fred, so I set myself under the covers. Like when I was in the 5th grade reading Are you there God, it's Me, Margaret, when I was supposed to be asleep. Luckily, I was able to drift back to sleep before Fred woke up. I can only imagine what would have gone through his mind to find me under the sheets with a small flashlight...

Day 33: Nesting, Part II

It was a meandering and yet highly productive Sunday. It started with the usual nonsense: laundry, vacumming, etc, but went up from there. Fred and I headed to the Seed and Feed store on Route 1 in Walpole. I'd been wanting a bird feeder for the tree I see from my kitchen window. First we relocated the squirrel-proof one from the front yard to the back yard, then off for seed. The woman at the store was incredibly helpful (insert Fred groaning here) and set us up with the right seed mix to attract interesting birds as well as a good hanger with a seed block for it. Who knew bird seed was so intense? We got everything all set up and sure enough, the birds came a flocking. Soon I'll be a birding fool.

The birds actually put me in mind of my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Roberts. He was an old-school style teacher. He could have started each school day with that childhood chant:

Concentration has begun
No more laughing
No more fun
If you show your teeth or tongue
Out goes Y-O-U

Mr. Roberts put the tense in Attention. Anyway, it was his tradition to assign The Bird Project every year in the Spring. (The Leaf Project was in the fall.) I don't remember all the details, but I know each of us was responsible for identifying a minimum 40 if not 50 birds. There were rigorous and exact requirements for the project and woe unto you if you weren't able to complete it. That was the year my family went to Disney World for the first time. Disney had a huge bird sanctuary at that time. Jackpot, right? Wrong. I could use the birds I saw there as extra points, but I still was responsible for identifying 40 local birds.  I can still remember some of the birds I learned about because of that project. Every time I see a Red-Wing Blackbird or the Black-capped Chickadee I think of Mr. Roberts. The chickadess were in full force today in my backyard tree and Mr. Roberts was in my thoughts. It's funny the things we remember.

I then headed inside to finish putting together the dresser and nightstand from Ikea. I got it done and although I'd love to say I did it all by myself, I didn't. While Fred took Connor to ref his third lacrosse game of the day (he's been bitten by the money bug), I attacked the nightstand. I was so proud that I had most of it finished by the time he got back. Of course, the fact that I nailed the back panel to the wrong side, which I had put on backwards, was a minor point. He had the good grace (and sense) to make a joke of the whole thing. He loves when I play Lucy to his Ricky. It's a common theme in our marriage. (Note to Self: Write pilot for new Lucy show with Lucy as black woman and Ricky as typical sitcom husband. :D)  Once I got it taken apart, including taking out all 27 of the tiny nails), I got it put it back together the right way in record time. Guest bedroom redo getting closer to finish.

Now to sit, knit, and watch the Sox. Better grab my rally cap...I'm pretty sure I'm going to need it.

Day 32: A Night at Symphony

It's a beautiful Saturday night and I am pleased to announce that: We are out of the house!

The Christian Science Church
(We parked are car in their garage)

We are out of the house and in Boston for a night at the symphony, thank you very much. Fred brought home tickets from work and as fate and luck would have it, they are playing Mozart's Clarinet Concerto. This is one of if not the most important pieces of my clarinet career.

Symphony Hall

Now Fred has brought home some amazing tickets throughout the years. But tickets to a live performance of the Clarinet Concerto??!! I've just got to let my band geek flag fly. Hard.

A girl can dream, right?

Some of my best memories are playing my clarinet. To me, making music is the ultimate conversation. To be able to play your part and be able to listen and allow others to play their part with you, there's just nothing like it. I could go on and on about it, but they've just put up the sign telling the audience to turn off all electronic devices, and my worst nightmare is to be the a-hole who forgets. More to come later, but signing off for tonight.


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Location:Symphony Rd,Boston,United States