Tag Archives: love

(Wo)man’s best friend

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Our new puppy, Jeter, has been part of the family for a few months now and I have to admit I am quite taken with him.  The early weeks were challenging as I sacrificed my sleep to housetrain a puppy who suffered from an ultra sensitive digestive system.  Those cold winter nights, with me sleeping in leggings and a long-sleeved shirt to hasten the going out process, are thankfully a distant memory.  Happily, we’ve now moved on to a much more pleasant stage of puppyhood.

What else can I tell you about the latest Lilly boy?  Well, he’s growing remarkably fast.  We just graduated to a larger collar and he no longer comfortably fits in the bedside chair he staked claim to months ago.  He also now leaps directly on to the bed without relying on the chair as a step.  Pretty impressive, right?  On a related note, this sleeping on the bed thing isn’t something I intended to occur, but I have to admit he is quite the cuddler.  No, really.  He seriously sleeps on his back, stretched out for all he’s worth, with his head frighteningly close to the pillows.  Sigh.  But he’s so damn cute…

Although I was concerned by his initial indifference to water, he is swimming like a champ these days!  Jeter loves taking dips in the Normanskill and has enjoyed a couple of pools in the last week or so.  He needs to be attended to in the pool because he is inclined to paddle around without a plan for either how to get back out again or what his endurance actually might be. Suddenly, he’ll go vertical with his head barely above water – a sure sign that he needs to be guided to a way out.

Jeter and I took our first road trip together earlier this month and he was pretty much perfect. He rode shotgun and was great company during the drive.  I swear my brother gave him more attention than any of my human children have ever received and I’m ok with that.  My brother has always been more of a dog person than a people person.

During that trip to Syracuse, it was duly noted that Jeter is a bit of a mommy’s boy.  True, I suppose.  Maybe it’s our morning routine at the kitchen sink when I share my strawberries with him?  Or could it be the efforts I make to get him to the dog park as frequently as possible?  I am inclined to spoiling the guys in my life, and Jeter is no exception.  I love that he eats berries, pears, apples, watermelon and carrots and have no problem indulging him when it comes to healthy snacks.  Geez, he probably eats more fruit than any of my human children!

Cassidy Bono - seeing her makes me smile and tear up simultaneously.

Cassidy Bono – seeing her makes me smile and tear up simultaneously.

I know that we’ll never stop missing our Cassidy, but, Jeter’s presence has made our house a home again.  I like to imagine that Cassidy is watching over us and knows that she will never be replaced in our hearts by the mischievous puppy we’ve brought into our family.  Hearts, though?  They have the capacity to expand faster than a puppy can grow – and that’s saying something.

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Filed under family, love, Observations

Don’t worry. Worry is useless. John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Where are you at when it comes to worry?  Are you inclined to focus your energy imagining all of the perils lying in wait around the corner?  Do you spend hours (years?) second guessing every decision you’ve ever made in life wondering “If only I had…?”

If your tendency to worry paralyzes you in a way that prevents you from putting your car in gear and driving forward, are you content to live your life stuck in neutral?

I have worries, believe me.  I am uncomfortable when my children are passengers in anyone’s car during long and (too) fast rides.  After two rounds of relatively “good” cancer, I am inclined to being a bit paranoid about not being so lucky if that crabby* bastard decides to lap back around for a third visit.  Being a homeowner makes me incredibly nervous at times because there are far too many things of which to keep track. I wonder, occasionally, if I will ever be in a healthy and satisfying romantic relationship again.  See?  I, too, worry.

But, what can I do about any of it?  Do I give away today with worry about tomorrow? How can I if I don’t have control of any of those things? All I can do is reiterate the importance of driving with caution and stress to the boys how imperative it is to take driving seriously.  I try to keep myself strong with exercise and nutrition in case of further challenges to my health.  I’m learning to ask for help when it comes to maintaining my house and my car.  I’m actively working on things to enable me to keep moving forward in a positive fashion.

I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that life can change in an instant.  When that time comes again, I’d like to believe that I’ll be ready to face any and all challenges thrown my way. What I’m not going to do is this: lose myself speculating and projecting about both all the mistakes I’ve made in life and all the possible ramifications of my future decisions.  Today, this very day, is far too precious to cast it aside for the events of yesterday or the imagined perils of tomorrow.  Go get it.

*In German cancer is called “krebs,” you know, like crab.  Seems an appropriate word to me.

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Filed under aging, musings, Random

Looking for patterns

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I knew that pattern felt familiar…

If you were to look in my closet, you’d notice a number of similar items, like these two dresses, for instance.  My tendency to gravitate to a certain style of shoe (chunky Mary Janes, preferably black), boots (knee-high, brown lace-ups) and sweaters (oversize and loosely woven) is easily discernible.  I’ve got a thing for purple dresses, polka dots and wrap dresses, a predilection I’m aware of and actively trying to work on.  “Step away from that darling amethyst ruched dress, Silvia!  You already have one!”

My penchant for familiar designs, patterns and colors is apparent to those beyond me.  On a shopping trip with my middle son, I was discouraged from buying a(nother) pair of cute black shoes because, as he said, I already had a pair just like that at home.  He was right.

What is that attracts us to things we already have?  Is it comfort?  A sense of assurance that that particular style or color or shape “works” for us?  And, more importantly, does this tendency to continuously replicate what we already know extend beyond the boundaries of our closets to our broader existences?  Specifically – what patterns do we have in our personal lives and are they as flattering on us as a draped jersey wrap dress?

I’ve been divorced for a couple of years now, long enough to have gained some perspective about what did and did not work within what was the longest relationship of my life.  While I valued my husband’s comfort with my desire to travel, both with family and solo, I did not appreciate feeling as if my independence was an easy excuse for my having to shoulder (in my eyes) a disproportionate amount of the responsibility for organizing all of our lives.  It became a vicious cycle of trying to yield control and then being disappointed by the poor (as perceived by me) management of the task at hand.  Naturally, I stopped asking for help.  I definitely don’t want this pattern to be replicated in future years.

In a number of my previous romantic relationships, I’ve been inclined to be bossy.  It’s simple –  I like to take charge and make things happen.  You know what, though?  I’m tired of driving the bus all of the time and I am hoping to learn to be comfortable in the passenger seat.  It’s time to allow someone else to take the wheel for a change.  I want to look out the window a little more and not feel as if I always need to focus on what comes next.

I’ve got a pretty good view right now of the garment rack where much of my wardrobe hangs.  I see something pink peeking through the purple dress section.  There’s also a length of madras nearly brushing the hardwood floor with its eagerness to be worn.  If I look closely, I can just barely make out a gorgeous floral print which is almost audible with its promise to show me a wonderful time, if I’ll only take it out on the town for an evening.

Patterns can be broken.

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Filed under aging, Fashion, love, marriage, musings

The Kiss

There’s been a lot of internet chatter about this video  of “strangers” kissing.  It’s sparked some conversation – about first kisses, the remarkable beauty of the strangers, and about being manipulated, yet again, by a clever marketing strategy.  I haven’t watched the video yet and don’t know if I ever will. I can be resistant, at times, to things which go viral.  I’m really not much of a follower.  But I do like kissing.

I started thinking about what makes a great kiss…

Is it the anticipation finally being realized?  His hand perhaps cupping your chin or tangled in your hair?  Maybe it’s finding the perfect balance between lips and tongue – not too soft, not too firm, and not too wet.

When I reflect on what I believe to have been the most meaningful kiss of my life, what made it an absolute standout in my (somewhat) personal history wasn’t the fact that it absolutely took my breath away.  No, while that did occur, it wasn’t the most awe-inspiring part of that enchanted event.  What ultimately overwhelmed me was the sense of finally, after seemingly years of holding my breath, feeling myself exhale.  Magical.  Organic.   Tender.  Unforgettable.

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Filed under love, musings, News

Giving up

You may not know this, but both of my parents came from large Catholic families.  Is that redundant?  I actually have an aunt and two deceased great aunts, who became nuns, for real.  I grew up hearing about how my mother’s family went to morning mass every day, staying for a marathon mass on Sundays.  It was kind of our family’s version of “I walked to school, uphill and in the snow…”  You get it.

Believe it or not, my mother somehow managed to have her two illegitimate children baptized in the mid-60s.  I can’t imagine that was an easy task.  Growing up, my brother and I made Holy Communion, but did not, other than on Christmas Eve, attend mass with our mother.  She was done.  I remember the challenge of being still and quiet for an hour, while outside the stained glass window summer’s blue sky beckoned.  It was harder than those wooden pews.  As I grew older, I developed more of an appreciation for the ritual – the readings, the up, down, kneel, the music and faces which grew familiar over the years.  And the sooty smoke wafting from those brass orbs dangling from the altar boys’ hands?  I loved it

Eventually, though, I really started listening to gospel, to the word, and some of what I heard I didn’t like.  I was in disagreement about gays and euthanasia and punishment for mistakes made.  I pictured a more benevolent god, sort of a cross between George Burns and John Denver.  I met with a priest at the Cathedral downtown and we talked and I explained my inability to own only part of my religion.  If I couldn’t believe in the whole thing, how could I practice?  Wasn’t it wrong to turn a blind eye to the tenets I found it impossible to embrace?  He echoed what I had been previously told by my Uncle Eamon, “Take what you believe in and leave off the rest.”  I walked away, sad, but committed to no longer feeling partially invested.  I left all of it.

On days, though, like today, I miss it.  The crossed ashes on my forehead, the quiet of the altar and the echo of feet on the stone floors, the honor of sacrifice… I think I’m going to mark Lent this year by exploring churches, be they literal or figurative.  A cathedral, a ski slope, a path through the woods, can’t they all be considered churches?  I’m hoping to hit each of those places within the next 40 days.  If you see me at any of those places, be sure to say hello.  Just don’t ask me join you for Burger Night at the Capital City Gastropub.  I gave up meat.

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Filed under aging, family, Germany, girlhood, holidays, Irish, musings

My love affair with Winter

Valentine’s Day seems the perfect time to express my adoration for Winter.  In all honesty, it’s a love I never imagined experiencing.  Winter was always the cruelest of seasons, I thought.  Endlessly long, yet filled with days which offered mere hours of daylight.  Cold in a way that kept one indoors, in isolation.  Yuck.

Our relationship was purely platonic at the start.  It was a casual thing for many years, sort of a “friends with benefits situation.”  If I had a little extra timphoto 2(4)e, I could maybe work in an hour outdoors on my cross-country skis.  Many people have a summer romance, but we had a winter fling. Winter certainly wasn’t something I was willing to build a life around. It was more a matter of convenience, a circumstance I’d be remiss to replicate in my romantic life, yet acceptable for a relationship physical in nature.

During the snowy years, we got a little more serious with each other and I found myself keeping my skis in my car “just in case.” I explored Capital Hills, familiarizing myself with the various trails, learning which spots tended to get icy and which direction to ski to witness the often stellar winter sunsets.  I bought better cold weather gear and, repulsed by the false consistency of the treadmill, committed to running outdoors year round.

Winter challenged me and I responded with enthusiasm and devotion.  Downhill skiing beckoned and I fell even deeper in love.  The combination of adrenaline, fresh air and sunshine was intoxicating.  Winter was no longer something to be survived, it became a season to savor.  I realized recently that Winter has become my favorite season and I no longer wish it away as I may have in the past.
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Sometimes we find love in the most unexpected places.  Recognizing it, and embracing it with grace, makes our time here, and our hearts, feel remarkably full.  Happy Valentine’s Day.

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Filed under beauty, Exercise, favorites, holidays, Local, love, Normanskill, running, skiing, snow, upstate New York, winter, x-country skiing

Preparing to die

To begin, a couple of childhood flashbacks…

The first time I entered the woods with the boys who have grown to be my dearest male friends, I was convinced they were going to hurt me.  It probably says something about the girl I was that I followed them to their forest fort, despite my certainty that I was about to become a victim.

A number of years after that dusky fall afternoon, on a bright summer day, the home I had known the longest was lost, along with nearly all of my belongings, to fire.  I remember finding irony in the fact that the only clothing that survived the catastrophe were the items I had in my car for a laundromat run.  The things I had worn and soiled were saved, while articles of clothing which had been relegated to my closet, perhaps for a “special” occasion, fell in ashes from their hangers.

During a recent solo afternoon ski, I encountered another skier, a male.  We were in a secluded spot on the course, near the Normanskill, yet I never once felt threatened or in danger. I no longer imagined that someone I didn’t know wanted to bring me harm.

After the fire, I no longer reserved items for only “special” events.  Expensive crystal stemware was used – and broken.  My “good” clothes were worn and enjoyed.  Discarding an item because of a stain, or an irreparable hole, was far more satisfying than seeing an unworn cherished possession turned into a pile of soot and ash.

What does all of this have to do with dying?  It seems to me that there are people who spend so much energy thinking about bad things which might happen, that they fall victim to the ultimate tragedy – missing out on their life.  When we try to anticipate every potential disaster instead of appreciating the wonder that is now, we neglect to experience all the beautiful moments life offers to us each day.

Make no mistake, the thought of my life ending chills me.  There’s still so much I want to see and do and taste and feel!  Any acceptance of death that I may have comes purely from living fully.  What I’m trying to say is this – the only way I know how to prepare for the ultimate end of my life is to live each and every day. Donna Tartt expressed it far better than I. Here, read it:

“That life – whatever else it is – is short.  That fate is cruel but maybe not random.  That nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it.  That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open.”

What she said.

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Filed under aging, musings