April Moms@Work & Women@Work catch-up

My byline snap

Notice I said catch-up instead of catsup or ketchup.  We all (or those of us who hang on every word of dialogue in Mad Men at least) know there’s only 1 ketchup.

I digress – anyway, here are some blog posts from my other spot out here on the internet, Moms@Work.

• Would you do it all again?  (“Probably not” was the impression I apparently conveyed in this one.)
• Travels in parenthood (Includes a nifty picture of me doing a ringer of  Molly Ringwald impersonation.)
• Tests of spring  (Where I talk about the NYS math assessments, but don’t acknowledge that I can’t do 8th grade math.  I saved that for FB and Twitter.)
• What do you think about a “good enough life?” (Even if you don’t read my post, read the one which inspired it.  Please.)

Also, excitedly enough for me, the print edition of the May/June issue of Women@Work is now available in all sorts of lobbies and waiting rooms around town.  Grab one, why don’t you and read my piece on page 59.  Don’t forget to linger over my name on the page listing of contributing writers!

Levels of exposure

Burned out

Things have been a bit odd lately,  to the point that I’ve been wondering about “being out there.” In recent weeks, I’ve been busy, almost exhaustingly so.  On more than one occasion, I’ve fantasized about getting that stomach bug everyone had so I could drop 5lbs and stay in bed for a couple of days. Pretty sad, right?  Or maybe you’ve been here, too?

There have been events in the past couple of weeks (in January, the “quiet” month we all need after the hecticness of the holiday season) that have made me concerned that my name and my face have been a little too present in the local news.  And, no, disappointingly enough, I wasn’t arrested at some meaningful  protest or anything. It started when I took some pictures at the Wine Fest and ended up, through no preference of my own, having a picture of me being featured on the TU website in that particular slide show of shots.  Ok, great, how vain do I look?  Whatever.

The following weekend’s tragic house fire kicked things up dramatically. First, there was the interview with the very nice, Lily Jaymil.  It seemed rude to not answer a few questions, and her attempt to extract something meaningful from me about the residents of the seriously damaged home was more polite than pushy.  It felt like only minutes after she left, when the doorbell rang again – this time it was Bryan Fitzgerald of the Times Union.  We had a quick conversation and I shared a couple of photos with him, which he included in his story, in print and online.

These encounters were, I felt, in the realm of what one could expect when there is situation like the one which occurred across the street from me.  The next couple of things, though, were beyond my comfort zone, both physically and mentally.  The news truck parked in front of my house, with its constantly running engine, was beyond disruptive.  The phone call I received at work 2 days after the fire, from someone seeking information about the identity of the person recovered from the scene, made me feel nervous.  Apparently, after seeing my name on the news, this person unleashed the power of the Google and tracked me down at the school district where I work.  His actions were born of innocent concern, but it still felt invasive and I was left feeling uncomfortable.

I accept complete responsibility for the extent that I share my “thoughts, experiences and adventures*” as a writer, but I do need to consider my comfort level, along with the perils of overexposure. Bear with me, ok?

*The DelSo blog motto in a nutshell.

Comings and goings

Do you ever wonder why certain people enter our lives?  The whole timing of the introduction of individuals, the circles overlapping for some random length of time, interests me and makes me wonder why some people come and stay, others come and are gone, and still others come and go repeatedly. What does it mean?  Is it a lesson about ourselves or an opportunity to learn about, and from, others? And when, if ever, do questions like this get answered?

Although I have a core group of friends who have been along for the ride for 30+ years, I remain open to meeting new people.  The various spheres of my life;  mom, educator, server, writer, photographer, expose me to potential friends every single day, just as I imagine you must be in your own lives.  Why is it that some of these potential friends have an impact upon us while others make not a mark?

Someone once blew through my life at a speed that can only be described as Ferrari fast.  The surprise of his attentions, and the pleasure they prompted in me, left me feeling conflicted.  My heart was firmly in the hands of another, yet I felt an interest in this person that I found puzzling.  Why now?  Was the appearance of this person a message to be deciphered?  What was the lesson?

The message I ultimately chose to embrace was that my heart has a limitless capacity for love.  I knew that the one who held my heart was perfect for me, yet, I also knew that if things did not go as hoped, I would still ultimately be happy.  I believe that sometimes those people who pass through our lives like shooting stars, do so not to show us what we’re missing, but more to remind us of what we have.

Ghosts of Christmases Past

Christmas always makes me feel melancholy.  I don’t think it is a lack of presents or cookies or family or traditions – I have as much of those things as I desire. Each year when this emotional deflation occurs, it surprises me.  The unanticipated sobering, despite festive bubbles imbibed, seems to sneak up on me when I finally have met, to the best of my abilities, my holiday obligations.  The shopping, cleaning, prepping, wrapping, cooking flurry has come to an end and what’s left?  A sense of … not quite disappointment or dissatisfaction, just a slightly disconcerting hollowness.  There’s something missing.

In years gone by, I’ve been able to look to physical and mental tiredness as likely culprits for my reflective mood.  Lack of sleep and overindulgence certainly could be held responsible for my feelings.  For many years, we hosted a decadent dinner party on Christmas Eve, which, naturally, was followed by a too brief night’s sleep and a midmorning drive east to join family.  That’s not the case, though, now.   My house is quiet and a nap beckons.  The boys are gone – they even took the dog.  They’ll continue to make the drive East for the foreseeable future, a realization that makes me smile.

Last year, I flew to the desert on Christmas Day.  I spent 5 days running and doing yoga and absorbing sunshine and love from a dear friend.  It may have been my favorite Christmas ever.  Self-indulgent without being an orgy of commercialism or consumption, it was stimulating and relaxing in equal measure.  I came back to New York renewed and satiated.

Thinking about that trip makes me feel happy.  So, today, I’ll snuggle back into my flannels, close my eyes and hopefully dream about the magical desert mountains where the sand flies when my sneakered feet pass through.  When I wake up, I’ll pull on my running clothes and make the dusting of snow outside do something similar.  As I count off the miles, I will remember Christmases gone by and imagine Christmases future, but mostly I will try my best to enjoy the present of today.  Merry Christmas.

Instant Karma

image:greatmodernpictures.com

On the anniversary of John Lennon’s death I can’t help but remember where I was at that time.  Freshman year, high school, almost winter. The news took me by surprise, of course. First John Bonham, now John Lennon.  Two of my favorite bands were clearly never ever getting back together, a reality that predates Taylor Swift’s assertion by more than 3 decades.

I heard the news on the radio, I have vague memories of lying in my twin-sized bed listening to WPLJ in the dark, and hearing the breaking news.  He was shot – injured – dead,  all reported in an amount of time which seemed so rapid in those pre-Internet days, yet would certainly seem impossibly slow in our current digital days.

I was just becoming aware of NYC as the city at the center of fashion, entertainment and opportunities.  After this tragedy, I wasn’t scared about what had happened in this wondrous city, just sad that a man who had chosen to make a home here with his family, had fallen victim to one of the mentally unstable attracted by the magnetism that is New York City.  There was a memorial service, and Yoko asked those wishing to show their respects, to honor John’s memory with ten minutes of silence, a request I solemnly granted.  The time passed quickly.

I have vague memories of a bean bag chair and a window looking out to a sky filled with snow of the most pure white imaginable. There was a sense of peaceful quiet, a cottony muffled feel to the afternoon which was comforting. Things were going to be different, but life would continue.  Thirty-two years later, I still subscribe to that belief.

“What we’ve got to do is keep hope alive. Because without it we’ll sink.” – John Lennon

Rivers of green and blue tears

image: http://www.monograms-plus.com

There was a boy at school today wearing a Shenendehowa letterman jacket. A legitimate, old school jacket with well-worn leather sleeves which were a bit grungy at the wrists.  Traditional and classic, it fit him well.  When I asked how he had come to own such a vintage jacket, he quickly, and proudly, said it belonged to his father and hadn’t been out of the closet in a long time.  A lifetime, perhaps.  He was wearing it out of respect for the students who had lost their lives this past weekend in an accident that exemplified tragic in a way that exceeded any Greek drama ever taught in high school English class.  Truly.

By the time one becomes a high school senior, it is safe to assume that death has entered the lives of most teens. Perhaps a grandparent, if the fates are kind and taking lives in chronological order, or maybe the loss of a family friend to an aggressive cancer or chronic illness.  But, this?  A situation where four close friends should be struck by an overly aggressive and potentially intoxicated driver, as they went on their way with apparent responsible care, was proof that life is fragile in a way that most young people have never had to consider, much less believe. Horrible.

I spent some time looking through a sideshow of photos of Deanna Rivers.  She was undoubtably a beautiful girl, but what impressed me the most was the happiness on her face in nearly every picture.  She was a girl who looked to be in love with life, a love that was reciprocated by the universe for far too short a length of time.

Teens don’t often understand how life can change in an instant, how  lives which are an open book of possibility and potential can be taken in the blink of an eye.  We need to all be cautious…be sober…be mindful.  Jackets shouldn’t have a longer length of life than the student athletes who wear them with pride.

When Thanksgiving became Independence Day

Many years ago,  pre-children, I remember discussing the merits of instructing children to cross only at the green vs. teaching them how to jaywalk intelligently.  Their father and I agreed that the latter was the ideal and vowed to do exactly that when we eventually had a family.  I thought about this conversation during my recent trip to NYC with the boys, and am pleased to report that we have accomplished this goal – the Lilly boys have grown to be adept at forging their own way with a wonderful balance of confidence and caution.  Let me elaborate…

During our Chinese Thanksgiving dinner, I received a phone call from the parent of one of my 13 y/o’s friends.  She was calling to invite Griffin to join them for that night’s Jets/Patriots game at the Meadowlands.  (The Patriots are Griffin’s favorite team.)  I explained that we were in NYC without a car, and that I needed a few minutes to look into the transportation options and consult with his dad for approval.  A quick search revealed a direct bus from the Port Authority to the Meadowlands, and with no protest from the paternal side of things, it seemed doable.  I checked in with Griffin to measure his comfort level with traveling solo on a bus to NJ and he assured me he was fine.  We made the call to confirm that he could meet his friend and Griffin added yet another item to the lengthy list of things for which to be thankful.

So, I walked him to the very same  bus station that was my point of arrival for numerous NYC adventures when I was a teenager 30+ years ago.  We got him set up with his ticket, found our way to the necessary gate and I put him on a bus bound for the best football game he could imagine.  As the bus pulled away, I quickly considered all the terrible things that could happen to him, things I won’t honor by noting them in writing here.  After about 20 seconds of that train of tragic thoughts, I thought about how if something horrible happened, I would be vilified as the mother who placed her 13 y/o on a bus to travel from one unfamiliar place to another.  I rejected that thought, too.  I knew that I wouldn’t always be able to tell him where he could go and what he could do, all I could do was try to prepare him to live his life, fully.  He would be making these sorts of decisions and arrangements independently in no time, and experiences such as this exact one would provide him with the confidence to determine the strength of  his capabilities.

Well, he was fine.  He found his friends, watched his Pats stomp beat the home team and made it back to the Port Authority at approximately the same time I often was caught running to catch the last bus north to Greenwood Lake after a show at the Garden.  He and I walked back to our hotel at a pace much more  leisurely than that desperate-to-catch-a-bus-home speed I recalled from my teens.  We may even have jaywalked.