Tag Archives: musings

The speed of sound

Image: hear the sounds

One of the things I most miss about being on vacation are the sounds – the remarkable buzz of the hummingbirds, the rhythmic pounding of the waves, the echo of my running feet on the sandy road. Each of those noises reminded me that I no longer was home in the DelSo and I grew relaxed by the music created by nature.

On one of my first days back, I walked down Delaware Avenue to meet a friend near Lark Street. As I made my way past familiar storefronts and homes, there were different sounds than those of which I had recently become accustomed. Music, aggressively booming from cars, the din of traffic, teenaged girls in loudly colored skinnies talking in Spanish, and the lilt of Burmese women speaking softly to their children. The stimulation and energy caused my feet to move a bit faster as I adjusted my pace to keep up with everything going on around me.

Last night’s violent storm, complete with powerful wind, hail and driving rain, prompted a completely different symphony of sounds. There were sirens as emergency vehicles rushed to various locations, the voices of neighbors checking in on each other and sharing the conditions of their basements and the steady drone of machines pumping water into the street. That last noise was what ultimately lulled me to sleep after a soggy run through the neighborhood surveying the storm’s impact.

Sight and smell seem to be the most frequently remarked upon senses, but random sounds and noises are equally powerful reminders of where we are and where we’ve been. Are there noises that particularly resonant for you? How did Tuesday evening’s storm sound out your way?

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Filed under Albany, Delaware Avenue, DelSo, Local, musings, Observations, vacation

Tree hugging

Image: treehuggerfilms.com

Image: treehuggerfilms.com

I was bold this evening. For a few minutes, at least. I went for a run, a short one, and sported only a skort and a modest running bra. This is not my usual attire, especially not during daylight hours, and I vacillated in a somewhat schizophrenic fashion between thinking I was fit and believing that I was fat. You see, exercising my body and brain simultaneously is yet another way I often multitask.

About 3 minutes into my run, I became self conscious and a bit uncomfortable. I felt exposed, and my skort with the stretched out elastic waistband was sliding down without a shirt to which to safety pin it. I ran past a wooded area and, as is my way, I looked to the side for my reflection, which I didn’t see. Or did I?

To my right, rather than the reflective glass of car and household windows I typically see on my city runs, I saw an undeveloped piece of land covered in trees. They were mostly scrub oaks, an unfortunate name for trees which bear such shiny green leaves from their richly textured branches. My mind took in the beauty of each individual tree and I considered how being a tree wouldn’t be such a bad thing. The strength they show in adverse conditions, the glorious splendor with which they salute the pending arrival of winter, the tiptoe and whisper of their spring greeting. There are far worse things to be in the world.

If I had interrupted my run to examine each and every tree, I know I would not have found any two to be identical. They were unique in their beauty, individual. I was struck by a thought – isn’t the source of our own beauty the same? Isn’t it our own unique spark essence fire that causes us to shine in a way that is pleasing? Aren’t the most attractive people those who radiate something special and distinctive beyond the size of their waist or the shine of their hair? Why is this simple truth so difficult to embrace?

Trees probably don’t waste time wishing they were taller, longer limbed or of a different girth. Their beauty is without question, their position within the forest unchallenged by rigid boundaries or demands to alter their appearance. The next time I seek my reflection during a run, I hope I see a tree.

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Filed under beauty, Exercise, musings, Observations, running

Pacing myself

It seems that so much of life involves schedules and commitments. When we’re at work, during our designated work hours, we frequently have to respond to the demands of others, doing what “they” want, when “they” want it. In my chosen profession(s) I have to be responsive to other people’s needs and, when it’s work time, I don’t take issue with it at all. But, when I’m on vacation, that’s just not happening.

I’m a morning person. It isn’t unusual for me to wake up with the birds and I love the sense of feeling in tune with the earth. Since I need something in my tummy before I can drink coffee, breakfast is a mandatory meal for me. Beyond that, though, I’m winging it. I don’t want to feel pressured to have a meal just because it’s lunch time or dinner time. I want to eat when I’m hungry or to line my stomach before enjoying a cocktail or three. It’s vacation. Unless I have reservations for somewhere, I’m all about eating simply when I feel like it.

Not surprisingly for a librarian, I’m super organized. I prefer to stay on top of things in terms of tidying up, laundry and keeping our stuff under control. I hate the feeling of haphazard inefficiency. Seriously, it makes me more than a little insane. To avoid this, I try to combine errands and minimize the number of times I have to get in and out of my car. Particularly when we’re staying on an island that is inaccessible by car when the tide is in.

I’m realizing that I might be challenging to be around on vacation since I feel about vacation as I do about running: it’s my time to completely set my own pace. Beyond the rhythm of the tides, I won’t be pressured to abide by anyone else’s schedule or demands. It’s my vacation and I want to go with my own flow. Don’t you?

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Filed under Cape Cod, musings, Random, running, Summer, vacation

Weighing in

Earlier this year I made the decision to cancel my YMCA membership. Financially and physically it just wasn’t making sense for me anymore and I’ve reallocated my membership $$ to the Hot Yoga Spot.  I haven’t regretted my choice at all.  Well, almost not at all.

I was only taking one class a week at the YMCA, a schedule I have replaced with a wonderfully hot and sweaty hour+ yoga class.  That’s all good.  What I have been missing, however,* is access to the YMCA’s locker room scale. You see, I don’t have a home scale.  At least not yet.

Do you own a scale?  Do you use it?  Me?  I’ve never really had a scale in my home before.  At one point, I had an extended vacation at a friend’s house in California.  This “vacation” coincided with a romantic break-up and I quickly dropped about 10 lbs before I even noticed.  Once I became aware of my decreasing weight, I forged a new relationship – with the scale.  I found myself weighing in first thing in the morning and again before bed.  Sometimes I stepped up to the scale before, or after, a meal or visit to the bathroom.  I realized I was becoming a bit too dependent on the digital feedback I was receiving and initiated my second break-up of the summer – with the scale.

In the many years since then, I’ve always resisted the urge to bring numerical judgment into my home.  But, I had my weekly YMCA weigh-ins (naked, of course) to keep me on track.  For the last 4 months I’ve been trying to push away my need to self-validate through my weight.  Instead,  I’ve practiced checking in with how my clothing fits – how are those jeans feeling, Silvia?  Is that top still pleasingly fitted or has it become snug?  But, it’s been hard and I find myself wishing for an opportunity to step on to a scale to see exactly where I’m at presently.  I mean, what if my clothes have all stretched out?  Or, terrifyingly enough, shrunk?  How will I know?

Please weigh in and share your own scale experiences and obsessions.

 

*Missing beyond the friends I made at the Y, that is.

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The mean streets of Albany

Occasionally when I write, I pause to consider how a particular post is going to play. Will it garner comments? What sort of response will it get? How many retweets or shares will it prompt? I really don’t know how the incident I’m about to share will be received, but I’m just going to put it out there.  Here’s what I experienced yesterday during an evening run.

It was fairly early in my run and still quite light out.  As I headed west on Whitehall Road, I approached a group of teens walking in my direction. There were three or four of them, I don’t exactly remember – or, more accurately, I hardly really noticed.  What I did notice was the tremendously bright smile on the face of the girl closest to me. Spectacular!

As we passed each other, the small group politely fell into single file formation as we met on the not-really-so-wide sidewalk.  The teens were talking animatedly and the big smile girl made eye contact with me and said “She’s got anger issues,” with a nod of her head to one of her companions.  I interpreted her tone as joking, and responded, without breaking my stride, with “She’s working on it!”  What happened next was disturbing enough that it is still bothering me.

The girl with the “anger issues” started yelling at me – to mind my own business, that she’d show me and a few other choice words she felt I deserved for “getting in her business.”  I had the distinct impression that if I had elected to stop and turn around, she would have been right in my face.  Her voice and words were threatening and I chose to keep running, maybe even a little faster than I had been previously.

The incident brought to mind the coverage I’ve seen recently about “girl brawls” which have occurred around the Capital Region.  I reflected on my own teen years and considered whether I would have ever been that aggressively confrontational with an adult in similar circumstances.  My conclusion was no.  I couldn’t imagine speaking to a stranger with such anger and disrespect.

This young woman and I were different from one another, and our differences did not stem from the fact that she is black and I am white.  Her behavior and demeanor were hostile.  She was assaultive and seemed to be actively seeking a fight.  She was indeed angry and somehow viewed me as a potential target for her fury.  She and I were not alike at all.  But…

I won’t make assumptions about her home life, but I can tell you that by the time I was in middle school I had lived at 9 different addresses.  I don’t know what the composition of her family is, but I do know that I never had the good fortune to meet my own father, or a single blood relative other than my mother and brother, until I was an adult. Maybe she comes from a family with limited positive educational experiences.  My mother was limited to an 8th grade education until she was able to obtain a GED in her early 40s.  I know about Medicaid and free lunch and long afternoons spent at social services as a child.  I get it.

What I don’t get is her rage, nor her desire to inflict it upon me.  I have no intention of give up my running route, but I do hope she finds a way to exorcise her anger.

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Filed under Albany, Local, Observations

Good morning, heartache

My middle son is going through a phase which I am calling his “asshole phase.”  Please, hear me out on this.  He is a smart, social, funny and athletic kid and I love him dearly, but he is having a very difficult time understanding that “with great power comes great responsibility.”  As a parent who remembers high school as a time of not necessarily applying myself, I am empathetic to a certain extent, but when I consider the advantages he has compared to what was available to me, my indulgence of his laziness starts to dry up.  Time to figure it out, my friend.

Possessing the myriad of gifts and advantages he has, yet not using them, has prevented him from fully participating in sports this spring.  This should be his third year playing lacrosse, but instead of suiting up and getting on the field, he’s sitting on the bench because of academic probation.  I am so appreciative of the fact that there are academic requirements for extracurricular participation.  It prevents me from dropping the hammer and once again being the “bad cop.”

Today is the last day of his freshman year’s third academic quarter and he has failed to submit his outstanding work for the past 10 weeks of school.  Looks like he’ll continue to be a bench warmer rather than an active participant in his chosen spring sport.  C’est la vie.  It hurts my heart to see him not achieving all he is capable of, but at least I don’t have to worry about him getting hurt physically, right?

As the middle guy struggles with time management and fulfilling the expectations and responsibilities which come from growing up, my little guy is taking steps away from me.  This morning, as I parked my car to walk him into school, I noticed his friend walking down the block, solo.  I pointed out his buddy and asked Quinn if he wanted to walk into school with just his friend.  He quickly said yes and happily joined his classmate for an independent “big guys” walk to school.

I got back in my car, pleased that I would be uncharacteristically early for work.  Before I turned the key, though, I took a moment to watch my baby walking away from me and felt a squeeze around my heart.  He’s growing up soo fast!  I paused, thinking about how parenthood at times feels like a series of nearly physical exertions – sometimes we push from behind, other times pull from ahead.  As I drove away from the curb I glanced over at Quinn at the same moment he turned back to look at me.  We both smiled.

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Filed under Boys, moms, Schools

Longing for spring

As I’ve recently confessed, I love winter.  I like cashmere and wool and boots and colorful scarves and hats that hide hair mishaps. You know I am undaunted by cold temperatures and that I’m happy when there is deep, fresh snow.  Crockpot suppers, roasted root vegetables and hearty stews are some of my favorite (and simplest) meals to make.  Me and winter?  We’re good, but…
unnamed2I also like crisp cotton and exposed ankles and bare shoulders.   I’m tired of sleeping in leggings and long-sleeved t-shirts, on the ready for Jeter’s middle of the night “bathroom” breaks.  My flannels may welcome me with cozy warmth, but I’m ready for the cool comfort of high thread count cotton sheets.  I want to light the grill and sip a refreshing glass of rose’.  And then there’s my garden…
unnamed3Wardrobe, bed sheets and diet aside, I miss watching things grow.  After months of being frozen, the earth is ready to start coming to life again.  There are bunches and clusters of pale green shoots pushing out through the ground and I can’t wait to be reminded what is where in my postage stamp front garden.  I recognize the purplish red leaves of my tulips which have emerged and see the crocus preparing to take their turns – yellow first, followed by white then purple, but there are other beautiful promises which are less predictable.  Did the hyacinth take?  Are my daffodils naturalizing and filling in?  Will the lupine come back?
unnamedAfter a long season without obvious development, spring brings the assurance that there will be change and growth.  The quiet acceptance of winter yields to hopefulness and a sense that things will soon be different.  It’s time to see what comes next.

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Filed under Flowers, Gardens, musings, Observations, Spring, winter