So. It's been quite a while. I've been busy writing, fighting off colds and the general malaise that comes with turning the clocks back, etc. I've been reading a lot, too - my goal is to break 400 books by the end of the year, and I have a little more than 100 books to go.....
One of my favorite publishers is Hawthorne Books. Their books are a distinct rectangular shape, with heavy, thick, beautifully done covers with inside flaps, and they always smell good. Oh, come on - if you're a booknerd you KNOW you smell new books. But more than that, I can honestly say I have yet to read a Hawthorne book I don't like. The thoughtfulness with which they are chosen is clear. The writing is intelligent and fierce, the characters are vibrant, the memoirs are heartbreakingly beautiful. Really looking forward to allll the books coming out, especially "I loved you more" and Ariel Gore's memoir. I want to read ALL THE BOOKS.
I was lucky enough to get an advance copy of the book The Mary Smokes Boys, by Patrick Holland, which comes out early next year. The first thing I noticed about the writing is how lyric, how poetic it is. The prose dances on the page: "...He watched wet oats and feathertop glinting in the broken light..." This is a story about a brother and sister, Grey North and Irene North. Their mother died in childbirth and their father comes and goes and is a drunk. Mary Smokes is a small town, with many people working with horses. The book unfolds over years, following both Grey and Irene as they navigate growing up, and watching Grey protect his sister because there is no one else to do so. Each character in the book is so richly drawn that the layers of stories never feel confusing or like too much; rather, they pull the reader in and demand you become part of them. Without giving anything away, I can say that I was devastated at the end of the book. I did not see that plot twist coming, and had to put down the book for a minute because it was so unnerving. I wanted to stay with the Norths forever.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Monday, September 30, 2013
One thing I'm loving right now....
So it's the end of September, National Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. The bag company LeSportsac put out a print called Hope Rose, and the proceeds from it went to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund.
These bags are made of this indestructible nylon, are easy to clean, and last forever. I have several over the years, and they're well worth the money -- and they're not even that expensive. I am loving the enamel teal ribbon keychain -- you can put it on any bag you happen to be wearing, or add it to your keys.
But with October starting tomorrow, and we all know what that means -- pink, pink, and more pink -- let's not forget about breast cancer's cousin cancer, ovarian cancer. It's deadly, silent, and we are lacking even a screening tool, let alone better, less toxic, more effective drugs to kill the disease. Let's raise money and awareness all year long, not just in September.
These bags are made of this indestructible nylon, are easy to clean, and last forever. I have several over the years, and they're well worth the money -- and they're not even that expensive. I am loving the enamel teal ribbon keychain -- you can put it on any bag you happen to be wearing, or add it to your keys.
But with October starting tomorrow, and we all know what that means -- pink, pink, and more pink -- let's not forget about breast cancer's cousin cancer, ovarian cancer. It's deadly, silent, and we are lacking even a screening tool, let alone better, less toxic, more effective drugs to kill the disease. Let's raise money and awareness all year long, not just in September.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
fall = frustration?
It's been a while since I've posted....life's been busy. My beautiful niece was born in late July, and I've been doing a lot of reading and trying to write. And honestly, I've been trying not to let customers get to me as much as they were. It's hard though. The lack of basic manners never, ever fails to irk me. I get very irritated. It takes two seconds to say "please" or "thank you." You gain nothing by being demanding or demeaning to a shop worker. I just don't get it.
There was a woman today who was not only condescending while looking for books, but when she went to pay, didn't like the manufacturer's sticker on the back of the book. We cover the price with our sticker, but she didn't understand that we couldn't take off the manufacturer's sticker because it would rip the cover of the book. She started getting irate, her daughter was like, mom, calm down. I said that I doubt the child would mind, and she got all huffy and said SHE would mind. Come on. It is a sticker on the back of a book jacket. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing. Chill out. She even grabbed the book out of my co-worker's hands and I thought things were going to get physical. This woman was a trip. The daughter must have been used to this, because she hustled her mother out quickly.
Then - and I know I may get flack for this - there was the woman who came in wanting books on transgender issues for a second grader. My first thought was, hmmm, that's a bit young, no? I mean, we have "My Princess Boy" and all that, but my gut reaction is just, why bring this into childhood so young? Just let the kid do what they want and be a child for a bit longer. We had books for teens, but the mom voted them down. Okay, but if you're bringing that topic up, obviously you think your child is mature enough to talk about and grapple with this....so....I'm not sure what level you're looking for.
I just wish everything were simpler. Things seem like they were simpler when I was a kid. No "special topics" section, we read the classics, I went to a private school where everyone's parents wanted them to be successful but I don't remember anyone's parents pushing them like these parents do. And for Christ's sake, people, don't take yourselves so seriously! I mean, really. None of this is a life or death situation. I promise. Much of these are serious #firstworldproblems of the highest degree. I hate to break it to you, but no one outside Manhattan really cares about your child's 40k per year grade school. Most people probably think it's ridiculous. How did we get to this place?
There was a woman today who was not only condescending while looking for books, but when she went to pay, didn't like the manufacturer's sticker on the back of the book. We cover the price with our sticker, but she didn't understand that we couldn't take off the manufacturer's sticker because it would rip the cover of the book. She started getting irate, her daughter was like, mom, calm down. I said that I doubt the child would mind, and she got all huffy and said SHE would mind. Come on. It is a sticker on the back of a book jacket. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing. Chill out. She even grabbed the book out of my co-worker's hands and I thought things were going to get physical. This woman was a trip. The daughter must have been used to this, because she hustled her mother out quickly.
Then - and I know I may get flack for this - there was the woman who came in wanting books on transgender issues for a second grader. My first thought was, hmmm, that's a bit young, no? I mean, we have "My Princess Boy" and all that, but my gut reaction is just, why bring this into childhood so young? Just let the kid do what they want and be a child for a bit longer. We had books for teens, but the mom voted them down. Okay, but if you're bringing that topic up, obviously you think your child is mature enough to talk about and grapple with this....so....I'm not sure what level you're looking for.
I just wish everything were simpler. Things seem like they were simpler when I was a kid. No "special topics" section, we read the classics, I went to a private school where everyone's parents wanted them to be successful but I don't remember anyone's parents pushing them like these parents do. And for Christ's sake, people, don't take yourselves so seriously! I mean, really. None of this is a life or death situation. I promise. Much of these are serious #firstworldproblems of the highest degree. I hate to break it to you, but no one outside Manhattan really cares about your child's 40k per year grade school. Most people probably think it's ridiculous. How did we get to this place?
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
the ugly side of smart.
(Identifying details have been changed, just so you know). Oh, you Manhatannites. Why do you make this so easy for me? Seriously. Tonight, at work, this older couple comes in. The woman looks high-maintenance, wears her sunglasses inside (maybe she doesn't know the sun's going down and um, we're inside), and they explain they came here this weekend and bought their 5-year old grandson 2 Diary of a Wimpy Kid books, but he already has them. And you know, the grandmother informs me, he's been reading since he's 2 -- self-taught, no less -- and he understands everything, so nothing is too hard for him. The grandfather was more realistic and realized that, hello, the kid is still five and not 15. As they're checking out, my coworker was talking with them, and the grandmother goes, "I just don't understand it. He got a 99 percent on standardized tests, not 100. His best friend -- who I don't think is really as smart as he is -- got a 98 and got into Collegiate, and he didn't. How could he not have gotten 100? Is that what they want?" My coworker explained that with standardized testing, a 99 percentile score means he did better than 99 percent of kids taking the same test, and it's not really feasible to get 100. Then the grandmother starts talking about how smart the grandson is -- did she mention he taught himself to read at only two years old -- and she just really wants to find out why he didn't get into Collegiate but got into Hunter, but of course they won't tell you, and she doesn't think they ask about reading because if they did, he would be in for sure. At this point, I believe my blood pressure was probably somewhere near 200/150 and I don't know what my face must have looked like. I couldn't actually believe what I was hearing. Remember -- THIS IS FOR KINDERGARTEN. They're talking about Kindergarten, and the gifted and talented programs for kindergarten. Can you imagine what these grandparents would be like about COLLEGE admissions? *shudder* I SO wanted to tell them that there's different kinds of intelligence, that the kid is only 5, for Christs' sake, that it's KINDERGARTEN, no one really cares where you go for it. And gifted and talented kindergarten? We've had this conversation before. Get over yourself. (The snark in me was all, yeah, well if he's so smart, why didn't he start kindergarten at 4, like me? BAM. kidding. I don't really care. Just being obnoxious to meet them at their level.). Eventually, they left the store, with the grandmother still talking her husband's ear off about how she really wants to find out why their grandson didn't get accepted to certain schools, and I'm sure he was tuning her out by then. I just turned and looked at my coworker, speechless. I literally could not believe what had just happened, that people like that actually exist. It was like The Devil Reads Scholastic. I hope this child has more supportive parents, healthier parents. My Lord.
She's going around dogging his best friend, saying he's not as smart as he is - when, clearly, he is - geez, woman. The kid is five. If someone ever disparaged my nephew over his struggles with reading, I would throw down in a hot minute.
This woman doesn't know the courage it can take for a kid to open a book.
I miss being with my nephew even more on days like this. When I talk to him on the phone and he tells me he wants me to come home so we can get another cat in the hat book, and then I have an interaction like this one -- such a stark contrast makes me so grateful for my life and my nephew. My nephew might not be reading fluently, but he has found a niche he enjoys, and I cannot tell you how happy it makes me when he asks if it's okay to read in bed. Or when he excitedly tells me he has a diary. Or when he wants to go to the "liberry." He has a heart of pure joy and happiness, and draws in everyone who meets him with his infectious lovingkindness. You can't learn that. And that's more important than any G&T program or standardized test.
She's going around dogging his best friend, saying he's not as smart as he is - when, clearly, he is - geez, woman. The kid is five. If someone ever disparaged my nephew over his struggles with reading, I would throw down in a hot minute.
This woman doesn't know the courage it can take for a kid to open a book.
I miss being with my nephew even more on days like this. When I talk to him on the phone and he tells me he wants me to come home so we can get another cat in the hat book, and then I have an interaction like this one -- such a stark contrast makes me so grateful for my life and my nephew. My nephew might not be reading fluently, but he has found a niche he enjoys, and I cannot tell you how happy it makes me when he asks if it's okay to read in bed. Or when he excitedly tells me he has a diary. Or when he wants to go to the "liberry." He has a heart of pure joy and happiness, and draws in everyone who meets him with his infectious lovingkindness. You can't learn that. And that's more important than any G&T program or standardized test.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Bram Stoker must have known Manhattan parents.
Today was Lindsay's memorial service. I didn't/couldn't go. I had work and didn't plan ahead to ask off and carpool up to Buffalo. Things have just been crazy insane, it feels like, between work, reading, writing, endless fatigue and daily life chores. It's hard to explain. It's been busy.
Manhattan parents, as always, have been a source of astonishment/frustration/disgust/and then some. Can someone, PLEASE tell me the point of smash cakes? They're exactly what they sound like. For a child's first birthday, it's a small cake the child SMASHES and mashes into their face and outfit, while everyone cooes over how cute they are. And people pay top dollar to have custom-made, expensive smash cakes. Then, a dad came into the store with a bag full of Eleni's cupcakes, all frosted and sparkly and personalized Happy Birthday-ed out -- at nearly $50 for a dozen, he had at least two dozen. And he picks up a picture book for the kid. I get that you want a memorable birthday. But if you're giving your daughter a picture book, do you think she gives a shit if her cupcakes are from Eleni's? Save yourself some money and go to Magnolia Bakery. Or - gasp - just get store-bought ones. Whole Foods actually has really nice ones. If you REALLY feel like roughing it, you could make them YOURSELF. Or have the nanny do it. Sigh. I just don't get it. And you - yeah, you, the mother who loads up on workbooks for her daughter so she "has an edge" on the other kids come September? Buying books that are a grade ahead to give her that "edge?" You keep going, and she's gonna fall off that edge. Take my word for it. Or not. But it won't be pretty.
And the babies and toddlers learning Mandarin. Another thing I don't get. Is this to trot them out as shoe ponies, showing how smart they are, that they are learning a super hard, culturally sophisticated language? Wouldn't, say, Spanish, be more useful? Hell, I wish I knew Spanish.
Then -- then -- I almost lost it this morning. This morning! Early! I hear banging and smearing on the front window - these kids are jumping and then smearing their hands down the front windows, and their parents are standing RIGHT THERE, looking at them, talking to them, seemingly having a normal conversation. Honestly, I was thisclose to walking outside and asking them to control their children. I just think that's complete disregard for other's property and outright disrespect. My parents would not have tolerated that behavior with my brother and I - we don't tolerate that behavior NOW, with Trey -- and he would never even think to DO that. I just am amazed at the entitled behavior of these little monsters sometimes. Really. It's like The Nanny Diaries, but multiplied a thousand times.
Then there are the sweet grandmothers who come in and I help them find books for their granddaughters, or we talk about the original Nancy Drew mysteries, and I tell them that I read them from my grandmother. Or the kids who are so genuinely mannerly and thankful for your help.....these are the rare ones. But it's nice when it happens.
I still really don't understand the need for multiple books about giving up pacifiers or diapers. I'm not sure how I feel about the AIDS books for kids in the "special topics" section. (when did we become a society that even needs a special topics section? My favorite title in this section is "No one wants a nuclear war." NO. SHIT.). Kid, you shouldn't even know what nuclear war IS.
But there are mixed messages. We do carry the Magic Fairies series, which is cute, I admit. There's a bunch - the Weather Fairy series, the Music Fairy series, the Sports Fairy series, the Color Fairy series. All is well and good until the fucking FASHION FAIRY series. Really? Do we really have to carry this? The Accessory Fairy? The BEAUTY Fairy? If you're going to tell me that it's so important to be progressive and have Meaningful Picture Books downstairs with Deep Messages, why do we have the Fashion Fairies? This causes way more anger than it really should.
Deep breath. I just figure my kid will get stuck with Madeline, Paddington, Corduroy, Dr. Seuss, PD Eastman, Berenstein Bears, Curious George, Eric Carle books, Beatrix Potter....classics. I don't need witty "word play" books or gender-neutral characters or whatever. If you do, more power to you.
They're kind of like vampires, Manhattan parents. They suck the life and energy right out of you. And most of my college classmates are these people. Lord help me.
Manhattan parents, as always, have been a source of astonishment/frustration/disgust/and then some. Can someone, PLEASE tell me the point of smash cakes? They're exactly what they sound like. For a child's first birthday, it's a small cake the child SMASHES and mashes into their face and outfit, while everyone cooes over how cute they are. And people pay top dollar to have custom-made, expensive smash cakes. Then, a dad came into the store with a bag full of Eleni's cupcakes, all frosted and sparkly and personalized Happy Birthday-ed out -- at nearly $50 for a dozen, he had at least two dozen. And he picks up a picture book for the kid. I get that you want a memorable birthday. But if you're giving your daughter a picture book, do you think she gives a shit if her cupcakes are from Eleni's? Save yourself some money and go to Magnolia Bakery. Or - gasp - just get store-bought ones. Whole Foods actually has really nice ones. If you REALLY feel like roughing it, you could make them YOURSELF. Or have the nanny do it. Sigh. I just don't get it. And you - yeah, you, the mother who loads up on workbooks for her daughter so she "has an edge" on the other kids come September? Buying books that are a grade ahead to give her that "edge?" You keep going, and she's gonna fall off that edge. Take my word for it. Or not. But it won't be pretty.
And the babies and toddlers learning Mandarin. Another thing I don't get. Is this to trot them out as shoe ponies, showing how smart they are, that they are learning a super hard, culturally sophisticated language? Wouldn't, say, Spanish, be more useful? Hell, I wish I knew Spanish.
Then -- then -- I almost lost it this morning. This morning! Early! I hear banging and smearing on the front window - these kids are jumping and then smearing their hands down the front windows, and their parents are standing RIGHT THERE, looking at them, talking to them, seemingly having a normal conversation. Honestly, I was thisclose to walking outside and asking them to control their children. I just think that's complete disregard for other's property and outright disrespect. My parents would not have tolerated that behavior with my brother and I - we don't tolerate that behavior NOW, with Trey -- and he would never even think to DO that. I just am amazed at the entitled behavior of these little monsters sometimes. Really. It's like The Nanny Diaries, but multiplied a thousand times.
Then there are the sweet grandmothers who come in and I help them find books for their granddaughters, or we talk about the original Nancy Drew mysteries, and I tell them that I read them from my grandmother. Or the kids who are so genuinely mannerly and thankful for your help.....these are the rare ones. But it's nice when it happens.
I still really don't understand the need for multiple books about giving up pacifiers or diapers. I'm not sure how I feel about the AIDS books for kids in the "special topics" section. (when did we become a society that even needs a special topics section? My favorite title in this section is "No one wants a nuclear war." NO. SHIT.). Kid, you shouldn't even know what nuclear war IS.
But there are mixed messages. We do carry the Magic Fairies series, which is cute, I admit. There's a bunch - the Weather Fairy series, the Music Fairy series, the Sports Fairy series, the Color Fairy series. All is well and good until the fucking FASHION FAIRY series. Really? Do we really have to carry this? The Accessory Fairy? The BEAUTY Fairy? If you're going to tell me that it's so important to be progressive and have Meaningful Picture Books downstairs with Deep Messages, why do we have the Fashion Fairies? This causes way more anger than it really should.
Deep breath. I just figure my kid will get stuck with Madeline, Paddington, Corduroy, Dr. Seuss, PD Eastman, Berenstein Bears, Curious George, Eric Carle books, Beatrix Potter....classics. I don't need witty "word play" books or gender-neutral characters or whatever. If you do, more power to you.
They're kind of like vampires, Manhattan parents. They suck the life and energy right out of you. And most of my college classmates are these people. Lord help me.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Lindsay (1987 - 2013)
I write this blog post not even really believing what I'm writing. My dear friend Lindsay passed away today. She had alveolar soft-part sarcoma, a very rare sarcoma that has an extremely poor prognosis. But Lindsay had such a positive attitude. She did chemo, radiation, spinal surgery, craniotomy, rehab, OT, PT -- she did what needed to be done, with a smile on her face and a belief that she would beat this. She did yoga, was into nutrition -- she did everything she could to be healthy.We either met through LiveStrong or the "crazysexycancer" nutrition message boards; I can't remember which, to be honest. For over 5 years we emailed, Facebooked, texted -- while I was in NC, she was in NY, and we vowed that if I were to move back to NYC, we'd have to get together for cupcakes. And after I moved here, she relocated to MD to be near Hopkins for her treatment. She was there so often anyway. She loved the OBX, and shared my enthusiasm for pinkberry, Sperry Top-Siders, plaid shirts, the Rolling Stones, and the South.
After her two strokes earlier this year, I knew that wasn't good, but this was Lindsay: if anyone could overcome this, it was her. Capturing the whole thing on Instagram as she went along. When I wanted DBS (deep brain stimulation) for the tremors, I had planned on going to Hopkins -- I told her this, and she was so excited that we'd finally get to meet - under less than ideal circumstances, but if anyone could put a positive spin on things, it was her. We were both sad when it turned out I probably wasn't going to go for consultations about the surgery.
And today, scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed, I see that one of our mutual friends left her a message about how she "will be missed." My breath caught in my throat and I said out loud, NONONONONO. I immediately went to Lindsay's page. It was true. She had passed away earlier today. I'm stunned. I feel like this must have been sudden, because she was doing so well. I just don't understand the Universe.
I can't even believe this is true. Sending prayers and good thoughts to her parents and two brothers.
After her two strokes earlier this year, I knew that wasn't good, but this was Lindsay: if anyone could overcome this, it was her. Capturing the whole thing on Instagram as she went along. When I wanted DBS (deep brain stimulation) for the tremors, I had planned on going to Hopkins -- I told her this, and she was so excited that we'd finally get to meet - under less than ideal circumstances, but if anyone could put a positive spin on things, it was her. We were both sad when it turned out I probably wasn't going to go for consultations about the surgery.
And today, scrolling down my Facebook newsfeed, I see that one of our mutual friends left her a message about how she "will be missed." My breath caught in my throat and I said out loud, NONONONONO. I immediately went to Lindsay's page. It was true. She had passed away earlier today. I'm stunned. I feel like this must have been sudden, because she was doing so well. I just don't understand the Universe.
I can't even believe this is true. Sending prayers and good thoughts to her parents and two brothers.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
it's wednesday.
So my tremor's gotten significantly worse, and I spoke to my movement d/o doctor today. She said that stress definitely can increase the tremors, but we need to see if the increase continues to determine whether this level of intensity is here to stay. She then told me that a colleague of hers told her about octanoic acid, or caprylic acid, which is thought to possibly mimic alcohol's effect on tremors (i.e., temporarily calm them). I found the study. It's a small study, like she told me. 19 people. The supplement started to work nearly three hours after taken. But it worked. For some. So I went to the Vitamin Shoppe and bought the stupid supplement. I don't even want to get my hopes up, because if it doesn't work, I'll be even more disappointed.
I thought I would be back in Chapel Hill. I thought that being down South would have a calming effect on my whole body, inside and out, my stress levels, my happiness, etc. -- which would translate into a reduction or disappearance of the tremors. I was kind of banking on North Carolina being the remedy. But obviously, I need to reframe. I'm trying to minimize my stress levels, but that hasn't really been working lately, obviously.
My grandparents bought me an air conditioner, which feels like a delicious luxury here in NYC. Makes me never want to leave the house even more.
I thought I would be back in Chapel Hill. I thought that being down South would have a calming effect on my whole body, inside and out, my stress levels, my happiness, etc. -- which would translate into a reduction or disappearance of the tremors. I was kind of banking on North Carolina being the remedy. But obviously, I need to reframe. I'm trying to minimize my stress levels, but that hasn't really been working lately, obviously.
My grandparents bought me an air conditioner, which feels like a delicious luxury here in NYC. Makes me never want to leave the house even more.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
again, people.
For the love of G-d. I just keep reminding myself to take deep breaths. Manhattan parents, I just cannot even. There was a father today with a little girl - she couldn't have been more more than four, five at the very, very most - and he asked for suggestions. So naturally, I suggested Fancy Nancy or Pinkalicious. Apparently she has all the Pinkalicious books already, and after looking at the glittery Fancy Nancy book, he said he doesn't want her to read more of "this stuff." Okay. I suggested Clifford, the big red dog. Nope, she has read ALL of those. How about Dr.Seuss? Yup, she's gone through those. All of them. Every single one. I suggested the Curious George series. The genius has read all of those. She's also read "The Velveteen Rabbit," every Madeline book, dad voted down "The Giant Dance Party" without even looking at it...get the hell out of here. If she's read every single one, get this girl a goddamn medal. He just wanted to get something so he could feel morally and intellectually superior so he wasn't buying a book about Caillou from Canada or a big red dog. The little girl would have been happy with anything. Although, really, she seemed pretty passive and didn't show attraction to anything but Pinkalicious when it was mentioned. What these parents don't seem to get is that no reading is in vain. You don't get it, do you, people? Foster your child's interest. Make it fun. If they show an attraction to a book, take a look at it - don't dismiss it because it's not "intellectual" - if you show disdain, your kid will subconsciously pick up on that. Every time. Believe me. Even if they don't quite know what that feeling is.
There were maybe 3 or 4 kids who actually thanked their parents when they bought the books for them. It's sad when that's an anomaly. There were the few kids who were very sweet and said please and thank you and they were a joy, as were their parents. I wish there were more of them.
I know I sound crotchety and old, but seriously, the entitlement is just way too much. It's not even that - it's lack of basic manners and social skills. But what should I expect when parents actually don't even let the person in front of them put their change in their wallet before putting their own purchases in front of the person, practically forcing them out of the way. There are the parents who come up to the side of the desk while I am still helping the person in front of them - and they'll shove their stuff onto the table! Basic line etiquette, people. I thought we learned that in preschool, no? Or did we have to go to the gifted and talented preschool for that? Oh, snap.
I also think maybe the whole competitive, driven academic thing is nagging me. I have been a gunner my entire life. Meaning I have been competitive in classes. Always doing the readings. Raising my hand. Honors classes. Honor Roll. Everything depended on it. And then in grad school, at UNC, everything depended on getting into a PhD program. And when I didn't, my entire world as I knew it dissolved. I had no idea who I was. I worked freelance and nannied for 2 years, and then applied to the MFA programs. At 30, I finally let go of the need to try and be the best. (and yes, I get the irony that I wound up at Columbia). Maybe I've failed. Maybe I haven't. It's all in who's seeing the picture, I guess.
Another thing I don't get is this phenomenon of parents buying a gift for a child on the way to said child's birthday party. They have waited until they are en route to the party to get a gift. Making it essential that they get out of the store quickly. With the present wrapped. In the good ole' days, we used to go ahead of time and pick out a present, really take time with the decision, and then wrap it at home. I just don't understand this. Does this happen everywhere or just here? Is it a generational thing?
If I sound cranky, I am. I'm tired. I'm still not physically 100%. I have made absolutely no progress on my thesis because I'm always so tired or blah. My tremors are especially pronounced lately. My next appt is at the end of June, but what's the movement disorder dr going to do? There is no more medication to try. Klonopin dulls the tremors a little, but to see any real improvement, I have to take a full pill, which knocks me out, which does not bode well for taking it during the day. And it has a long half-life, so even if I take it at night, I have that "hung-over" and super tired feeling the next day, which is a bummer. And people, benzos are addictive substances. As Nancy Reagan taught me, "Just say no to drugs."
But parents, here's a gifted kid pro-tip: In the real world, people don't really give a shit if you're "gifted" or not. So along with buying whatever book you're buying, teach your child to say please and thank you. And I promise - promise - your child will not disintegrate if you tell her "no" to something. Hard as it may be to believe, it is, in fact, true. If you don't feel comfortable trying it at home, do it in a public place first, just in case.
There were maybe 3 or 4 kids who actually thanked their parents when they bought the books for them. It's sad when that's an anomaly. There were the few kids who were very sweet and said please and thank you and they were a joy, as were their parents. I wish there were more of them.
I know I sound crotchety and old, but seriously, the entitlement is just way too much. It's not even that - it's lack of basic manners and social skills. But what should I expect when parents actually don't even let the person in front of them put their change in their wallet before putting their own purchases in front of the person, practically forcing them out of the way. There are the parents who come up to the side of the desk while I am still helping the person in front of them - and they'll shove their stuff onto the table! Basic line etiquette, people. I thought we learned that in preschool, no? Or did we have to go to the gifted and talented preschool for that? Oh, snap.
I also think maybe the whole competitive, driven academic thing is nagging me. I have been a gunner my entire life. Meaning I have been competitive in classes. Always doing the readings. Raising my hand. Honors classes. Honor Roll. Everything depended on it. And then in grad school, at UNC, everything depended on getting into a PhD program. And when I didn't, my entire world as I knew it dissolved. I had no idea who I was. I worked freelance and nannied for 2 years, and then applied to the MFA programs. At 30, I finally let go of the need to try and be the best. (and yes, I get the irony that I wound up at Columbia). Maybe I've failed. Maybe I haven't. It's all in who's seeing the picture, I guess.
Another thing I don't get is this phenomenon of parents buying a gift for a child on the way to said child's birthday party. They have waited until they are en route to the party to get a gift. Making it essential that they get out of the store quickly. With the present wrapped. In the good ole' days, we used to go ahead of time and pick out a present, really take time with the decision, and then wrap it at home. I just don't understand this. Does this happen everywhere or just here? Is it a generational thing?
If I sound cranky, I am. I'm tired. I'm still not physically 100%. I have made absolutely no progress on my thesis because I'm always so tired or blah. My tremors are especially pronounced lately. My next appt is at the end of June, but what's the movement disorder dr going to do? There is no more medication to try. Klonopin dulls the tremors a little, but to see any real improvement, I have to take a full pill, which knocks me out, which does not bode well for taking it during the day. And it has a long half-life, so even if I take it at night, I have that "hung-over" and super tired feeling the next day, which is a bummer. And people, benzos are addictive substances. As Nancy Reagan taught me, "Just say no to drugs."
But parents, here's a gifted kid pro-tip: In the real world, people don't really give a shit if you're "gifted" or not. So along with buying whatever book you're buying, teach your child to say please and thank you. And I promise - promise - your child will not disintegrate if you tell her "no" to something. Hard as it may be to believe, it is, in fact, true. If you don't feel comfortable trying it at home, do it in a public place first, just in case.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
what a day.
So.....staying in NY. Working (at a job I love, a kids/YA/teacher/parent bookstore), trying to write my thesis, reading a lot. My paternal grandmother passed away, making that three family members I have lost in less that a year and a half. Trying to find an angle into an essay on that. Still on one medication for tremors, at the lowest possible dose. I'm trying not to let the tremors interfere too much, but sometimes scanning things or in stressful situations they get bad. At least they did today.
Manhattan parenting....yeah. Getting an inside view. It's stressing me out, and I'm not even the kid. I don't know. I could never raise a child here. Parents are buying $50 books to get their children ready to take tests to get into Gifted and Talented Kindergarten. What could you possibly do in GAT kindergarten? Learn relaxation techniques during nap time? Meditate? And really, will that make a difference in your child's educational career path? I would wager a guess and say probably not. And honestly, if you keep pushing and pushing and pushing.....have you ever seen the movie "Little Man Tate?" Great example. A kid needs to know they're not *just* their achievements. They need to be allowed to screw up and read silly things and do messy projects and sometimes do things below their age level that they just love. A kid can only take so much pushing. Really. Because eventually, they'll internalize it and do it themselves, thankyouverymuch, and though this is good to an extent, if your self-esteem and identity is built around it, this can be not so great. Drive is wonderful, huge fear of failure is not.
Not every book has to Have a Message. Sometimes it can just be fun, like Pinkalicious. It's just important to instill a love of reading in the kid. Give the Intellectual Stimulation a break.
I read Madeline as a child and was not traumatized because she was an orphan.
I read Clifford the Big Red Dog and am not dumb because it's more "commercial."
I read the Berenstein Bears and am not morally deficient because they "don't always send the right message."
Christ, I read about Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake and My Little Ponies. I think I turned out okay. People are amazed at how much I read. This is why. Because I learned to love it at an early age. And, I happened to be good at it. It was/is My Thing.
If reading isn't your kid's thing or doesn't come easily, that's okay - my brother was/is an excellent artist and great with putting things back together. Not to mention he's much more logical than I am. Being smart manifests in all different kinds of ways. I wish I could remind some of these parents of that.
Manhattan parenting....yeah. Getting an inside view. It's stressing me out, and I'm not even the kid. I don't know. I could never raise a child here. Parents are buying $50 books to get their children ready to take tests to get into Gifted and Talented Kindergarten. What could you possibly do in GAT kindergarten? Learn relaxation techniques during nap time? Meditate? And really, will that make a difference in your child's educational career path? I would wager a guess and say probably not. And honestly, if you keep pushing and pushing and pushing.....have you ever seen the movie "Little Man Tate?" Great example. A kid needs to know they're not *just* their achievements. They need to be allowed to screw up and read silly things and do messy projects and sometimes do things below their age level that they just love. A kid can only take so much pushing. Really. Because eventually, they'll internalize it and do it themselves, thankyouverymuch, and though this is good to an extent, if your self-esteem and identity is built around it, this can be not so great. Drive is wonderful, huge fear of failure is not.
Not every book has to Have a Message. Sometimes it can just be fun, like Pinkalicious. It's just important to instill a love of reading in the kid. Give the Intellectual Stimulation a break.
I read Madeline as a child and was not traumatized because she was an orphan.
I read Clifford the Big Red Dog and am not dumb because it's more "commercial."
I read the Berenstein Bears and am not morally deficient because they "don't always send the right message."
Christ, I read about Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake and My Little Ponies. I think I turned out okay. People are amazed at how much I read. This is why. Because I learned to love it at an early age. And, I happened to be good at it. It was/is My Thing.
If reading isn't your kid's thing or doesn't come easily, that's okay - my brother was/is an excellent artist and great with putting things back together. Not to mention he's much more logical than I am. Being smart manifests in all different kinds of ways. I wish I could remind some of these parents of that.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
NY under water.
Water. New York City. Jaime. Which of these is not like the others and does not belong? That's right!!!! Jaime!!!!! I am especially bitter today because it has been a *very* rainy day, and I hate when it rains in the city. But I had been running errands/getting prescriptions filled/etc when it started to thunder, and I just had to pick up a few things at the market....I figured I'd beat the rain home. Now, West Side Market on a GOOD day makes me lose faith in humanity. Try getting stuck inside with a horde of other people, including people who have run in off the sidewalk to escape the apocalyptic rainstorm. After about 20 minutes, when it seemed to be easing up a little, I opened my umbrella, slid my bag of overpriced groceries onto my wrist, and held the umbrella directly in front of my chest, since that seemed to provide the most protection with this rain. The whole walk home you can imagine what I was muttering.
Then I decided to do laundry. I put my clothes in a washer, add soap, pay for it, and then a guy tells me he just washed his in that washer, but it didn't wring out all the water so he has to rewash them. Since I already paid for it, I was like, okay, I'll take my chances. Well, whaddaya know? Same thing. I have the brilliant idea of bringing it upstairs to dry on the drying rack. Do you KNOW how heavy a load of wet laundry is? So I'm hanging stuff on the rack, thinking, this might work, when I realize there is a small ocean under the drying rack, and my clothes are saturated. I grabbed towels, wiped the whole mess up, threw the clothes in the bag, and went back DOWN to the laundry room to rewash my clothes. I pay for this privilege.
You know, if I had been stuck somewhere down South, people would have started talking with each other. Here? Nope, everyone's glued to their iPhones, posting updates and texting and talking to people. People are pushing each other aside to get a little more room for themselves and their bags. Everyone on their own little island. Sometimes in situations like that, I find myself almost starting a conversation with someone - and then I realize it would be weird here. Sigh.
Then I decided to do laundry. I put my clothes in a washer, add soap, pay for it, and then a guy tells me he just washed his in that washer, but it didn't wring out all the water so he has to rewash them. Since I already paid for it, I was like, okay, I'll take my chances. Well, whaddaya know? Same thing. I have the brilliant idea of bringing it upstairs to dry on the drying rack. Do you KNOW how heavy a load of wet laundry is? So I'm hanging stuff on the rack, thinking, this might work, when I realize there is a small ocean under the drying rack, and my clothes are saturated. I grabbed towels, wiped the whole mess up, threw the clothes in the bag, and went back DOWN to the laundry room to rewash my clothes. I pay for this privilege.
You know, if I had been stuck somewhere down South, people would have started talking with each other. Here? Nope, everyone's glued to their iPhones, posting updates and texting and talking to people. People are pushing each other aside to get a little more room for themselves and their bags. Everyone on their own little island. Sometimes in situations like that, I find myself almost starting a conversation with someone - and then I realize it would be weird here. Sigh.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
wrinkles in time.
I am sitting here on my bed, listening to Birdy, Ke$ha, and James Taylor on my iPhone, surrounded by books - ARCs, school books for the make-up classes I have next week, and books on childhood literature. There's also one I bought today that I keep picking up, running my hands over the shiny cover, and hesitate to actually start reading. The book is the 50th anniversary edition of Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time. I vaguely remember reading this as a young girl, and loving it -- yet I hesitate to start it again, as if by opening its pages, I'll open up a tesseract of my own. What is it about these books we love from our childhood that stay with us all these years? I remember wanting to sleep over in the museum after reading From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. I wasn't a huge fan of The Phantom Tollbooth, sad to say. I loved Scott O'Dell's Island of the Blue Dolphins. But what is it about L'Engle's book that is giving me such pause? It's just a book, Jaime, not a magical portal. I wonder if it will come back to me once I start reading it. This is the magic of books. This is why I want to be a writer.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Trey's 6th Birthday Letter
My sweet Trey,
Happy 6th Birthday, buddy. I marvel that it's been that long, because the years have flown by, not giving me enough time to let the time fully sink in so I can capture it. I look at you and see everything, all wrapped up in one body -- I see you learning to walk, talk, your laugh, pushing your stroller....and the boy you are growing up to be. I love your obsession with Dr.Seuss books, and how you will ask me to read you a story before bed. Our trips to B&N are things I treasure more than you can ever know. Your thoughtfulness and sensitivity will make you a wonderful big brother, and your sister will have you as a role model. When I first held you six years ago, I had no idea the extent to which you would change me or my life -- I can't remember life without you, buddy -- and I was just learning what it was to love someone I'd just met, more than I loved anyone in the world. For no reason other than instinct. As you get older, I have this urge to protect you more and more, maybe because I am scared of what this world is becoming and want to shield you from hurt and harm. But I know I can't. I know you will get hurt at times in your life, and I already ache, thinking about that. But the thing is, you are resilient. Your heart is like a starfish -- it regenerates and heals itself. Your unguarded, hopeful love is perhaps one of the most beautiful things about you. Hold onto that as long as you can, even though this doesn't make much sense to you now. And know that there are so many of us around you who love and support you, T-man.
When you started kindergarten this year, your bravery amazed me. You went on a bus and went to a big school. I didn't do that at your age -- it was scary enough for me to do that in high school. But you did it, and when I visited your classroom in January, you were doing wonderfully. You are like your daddy in that way -- with some things, necessary things, you leap, and throw yourself into life. I admire that.
Your life is going to change when your little sister comes, buddy, but you're gonna be great. I know you'll be a huge help, and we'll still do the things we always do -- no babies allowed. :) Being nervous or scared is normal, but trust me, you will be the best big brother ever. I know it.
Trey, six years ago I became your aunt, and have treasured that role ever since. You've changed me in ways I can't even describe, but I'm grateful. Grateful for all the lessons you've taught me without even knowing it. Grateful for the love you've brought into everyone's life. I can't believe it's been six years already. I love you, Trey, and am so, so happy to be your aunt.
Love,
Aunt JJ
Happy 6th Birthday, buddy. I marvel that it's been that long, because the years have flown by, not giving me enough time to let the time fully sink in so I can capture it. I look at you and see everything, all wrapped up in one body -- I see you learning to walk, talk, your laugh, pushing your stroller....and the boy you are growing up to be. I love your obsession with Dr.Seuss books, and how you will ask me to read you a story before bed. Our trips to B&N are things I treasure more than you can ever know. Your thoughtfulness and sensitivity will make you a wonderful big brother, and your sister will have you as a role model. When I first held you six years ago, I had no idea the extent to which you would change me or my life -- I can't remember life without you, buddy -- and I was just learning what it was to love someone I'd just met, more than I loved anyone in the world. For no reason other than instinct. As you get older, I have this urge to protect you more and more, maybe because I am scared of what this world is becoming and want to shield you from hurt and harm. But I know I can't. I know you will get hurt at times in your life, and I already ache, thinking about that. But the thing is, you are resilient. Your heart is like a starfish -- it regenerates and heals itself. Your unguarded, hopeful love is perhaps one of the most beautiful things about you. Hold onto that as long as you can, even though this doesn't make much sense to you now. And know that there are so many of us around you who love and support you, T-man.
When you started kindergarten this year, your bravery amazed me. You went on a bus and went to a big school. I didn't do that at your age -- it was scary enough for me to do that in high school. But you did it, and when I visited your classroom in January, you were doing wonderfully. You are like your daddy in that way -- with some things, necessary things, you leap, and throw yourself into life. I admire that.
Your life is going to change when your little sister comes, buddy, but you're gonna be great. I know you'll be a huge help, and we'll still do the things we always do -- no babies allowed. :) Being nervous or scared is normal, but trust me, you will be the best big brother ever. I know it.
Trey, six years ago I became your aunt, and have treasured that role ever since. You've changed me in ways I can't even describe, but I'm grateful. Grateful for all the lessons you've taught me without even knowing it. Grateful for the love you've brought into everyone's life. I can't believe it's been six years already. I love you, Trey, and am so, so happy to be your aunt.
Love,
Aunt JJ
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
faking it until I'm making it - again.
For as long as I can remember, I've laid my clothes out for the next day, the night before. It saves time in the morning, and in my half-sleep daze, I can just pull whatever on. For some reason, tomorrow I have the urge to wear the craziest thing -- black Under Armour nylon exercise pants, aqua Nike dri-fit v-neck, and my black Ironman thin lycra zip up that says "140.6 Miles of Awesome" on the back. That was my goal. I wanted to do a 70.3 before my 35th birthday. Maybe that's still possible, I don't know. Last year I let my Triathlete and Runner's World subscriptions expire. I just didn't have the time. I'm glad I did. Ever since the beginning of these tremors, I haven't picked up either of those magazines. No, that's a lie. I did flip through a Triathlete, and it made me too sad. I think getting out of the city will help. Once I'm back in Chapel Hill, I can go back to the Wellness Center, start swimming, biking, and walking again, and build my strength up in a place that is familiar and medically safe.
Right now, I feel like a phony even putting on a sports bra. It's hard to believe, to remember those days where I would voluntarily wake up at 4:30am, go swim laps, get dressed for the day, go to A&P lab, do freelance work, then go to class. I remember every day and night, that feeling of calm that swept over me the minute I entered the Wellness Center. Like I belonged. The smell of chlorine and sweat and muscle cream. I remember the first time hearing my knees crackle as I walked down my steps. I had to buy joint salve, the tingly kind. No one warned me that I shouldn't shave before I put it on. So not only did I smell like a pine foresty old man, but my knee areas were pretty much on fire that first night I used it.
I wore my rubber Ironman watch 24/7 - no need to take it off. My RoadID was right above it. The constant chlorine smell of my hair was comforting. Slowly, I forged tentative friendships with older people at the gym who were also in the tri club. They helped draw me out of my shyness. I had a place there.
All this is to say that wearing simple nylon sportswear is like, a big deal for me for some reason. I haven't worn any really, since the tremors started. But I miss the girl who did. I miss the girl who went running in the woods with her running group twice a week. I miss the girl who watched old Kona Ironman specials and got chills every single time. I miss the girl who, even when exercising or doing sports, coordinated her Nike outfits and preferred running skirts to shorts. I miss the sound of ground and leaves crunching under my feet as I run on the trails. I miss my running coach, Mimi, who made me think I was a runner. I miss the girl who actually, seriously considered entering the Kona lottery but didn't have the extra money to spare to sign up. I think she's still in there. I just have to find her and get her stronger. No, I know she's still in there. Because I haven't yet heard the words shouted over the loudspeaker, "Jaime, YOU are an Ironman!" But I will. If I have to crawl to and across the finish line like Julie Moss did in 1982, I will.
Right now, I feel like a phony even putting on a sports bra. It's hard to believe, to remember those days where I would voluntarily wake up at 4:30am, go swim laps, get dressed for the day, go to A&P lab, do freelance work, then go to class. I remember every day and night, that feeling of calm that swept over me the minute I entered the Wellness Center. Like I belonged. The smell of chlorine and sweat and muscle cream. I remember the first time hearing my knees crackle as I walked down my steps. I had to buy joint salve, the tingly kind. No one warned me that I shouldn't shave before I put it on. So not only did I smell like a pine foresty old man, but my knee areas were pretty much on fire that first night I used it.
I wore my rubber Ironman watch 24/7 - no need to take it off. My RoadID was right above it. The constant chlorine smell of my hair was comforting. Slowly, I forged tentative friendships with older people at the gym who were also in the tri club. They helped draw me out of my shyness. I had a place there.
All this is to say that wearing simple nylon sportswear is like, a big deal for me for some reason. I haven't worn any really, since the tremors started. But I miss the girl who did. I miss the girl who went running in the woods with her running group twice a week. I miss the girl who watched old Kona Ironman specials and got chills every single time. I miss the girl who, even when exercising or doing sports, coordinated her Nike outfits and preferred running skirts to shorts. I miss the sound of ground and leaves crunching under my feet as I run on the trails. I miss my running coach, Mimi, who made me think I was a runner. I miss the girl who actually, seriously considered entering the Kona lottery but didn't have the extra money to spare to sign up. I think she's still in there. I just have to find her and get her stronger. No, I know she's still in there. Because I haven't yet heard the words shouted over the loudspeaker, "Jaime, YOU are an Ironman!" But I will. If I have to crawl to and across the finish line like Julie Moss did in 1982, I will.
Friday, April 5, 2013
second semester art school rambling
I am listening to a Spotify mix called "sunshine", which includes "Walking on Sunshine," "Brown Eyed Girl," "Bette Davis Eyes," "Heaven is a Place on Earth," "I Can See Clearly Now," and "Build Me Up Buttercup." I need this today. It's just been a shitty, shitty week. Second year is kicking everyone's ass, and yesterday one of my guy friends who's really funny - after our reading at an art gallery last semester we wound up at a pizza place at like one in the morning - he was like, "You look really, really tired today. Like especially. I'm worried." And I started crying (damn Topamax, plus the neurologist's appt), and he was like, "Want some candy?" And that solved it.
So yeah, I saw the movement disorder doctor yesterday. It was a weird visit. I went with the intention of going off all medication. The other day I was talking about it with my therapist, and I showed her my hands, and she was honest, and said she didn't see a difference. I'm glad she was honest, I don't want to be lied to. I thought there was, but that's probably just hopeful thinking. My legs shake terribly though, now, I've noticed. In the bookstore today, they were horrible. I felt like everyone could see them. Nothing helps those tremors. Anyway, she did the standard exam, she wants me to see a GI dr since I seem to have a problem with B12, so she wants to rule out celiac (although I was tested a few years ago) or Crohns. Then - THEN - she turns and looks at me and says, you know, nitrous oxide can cause low B12. I'm like, okay....She says, "Nitrous oxide is like the stuff the dentist gives you, it's in aerosol cans, stuff like that." And it slowly hit me that she was ASKING ME IF I WAS HUFFING. I was stunned. Because the Topamax makes me cry at anything, I started tearing up and said, "Are you asking me if I huff? I don't even know HOW that works. I'm 32. I'm in grad school. I don't use drugs. If I huffed I wouldn't be here trying to stop this." She said she had to ask, and on some level, I know, but still. Jesus. Fucking huffing. Seriously, I don't even know how that works. Then she says, "You might want to see a psychiatrist," because I was still crying. I looked at her, and said, "I see a therapist, but I think my reactions are normal for a 32 year old who's been diagnosed with a progressive neurological disorder. I don't think they're pathological or problematic."
She referred to the tremor as benign essential tremor and I actually interrupted her (I was in no mood yesterday) and said it's not benign for the person who has it, not at all. It was a really odd visit. I think they don't know what to do with me. I asked about deep brain stimulation (DBS), and she laughed. She gave me the name of the NYU surgeons, but I want to check out Hopkins, who like, pioneered it. It has an 80-90% success rate. They put electrodes into your brain and a pacemaker-like thing near your collarbone that sends messages to the electrodes that help stop the tremors.
You KNOW that when someone is practically begging for brain surgery, they're hanging on by only a few threads.
Right now, those threads are my family, especially my wondrous nephew and my niece who will join us in July. Those threads are friends who text me at just the right times. Those threads are books. Those threads are songs like those on the playlist "sunshine."
Nine years ago, a former therapist/now a mentor was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was devastated and felt incredibly helpless. But I didn't get that feeling from her. She said something to me that I repeated to myself during her treatment (and she is now in remission, thank G-d). She said, "I can't control what happens to me. But I can control how I react to it." Amen.
So. This situation sucks. I've cried almost every day about it. I'm frustrated over simple things and feel like a freak sometimes if I'm handing money over to a clerk and it's shaking like I have Parkinson's. But I had bracelets made. I'm selling them. I'm raising money for research. I'm taking control of my own treatment plan. But it's hard, I'm not going to lie. It's frustrating. Dr.Jimmie Holland, a psycho-onocologist from Sloan-Kettering (and my idol) talked about the "tyranny of positive thinking," - that if you had any negative thoughts, you were a "bad" patient. I think it's all part of the process. Like the cycle Kubler-Ross developed. Because a part of you, a part of your life has died. So I am controlling how I react to the things in my life.
Anyway, it's the final stretch and I can't believe it's over. I did it. Well, not yet. Thesis looms, and I have 3 years to do it. I hope i get the teaching fellowship. Then I can get my MFA - Mother Fucking Artist. No, it's really Master of Fine Arts. But I like mine better. I never thought I would call myself an artist. Or see myself as an artist.
And you know what? For all the debt I have - and it's six figures worth of debt, just like everyone else in my cohort - I don't regret it. I got to talk to Mary Karr last night. I talked with Oliver Sacks. Margo Jefferson was my workshop instructor. I went to a lecture by Zadie Smith. Deborah Eisenberg and Richard Ford are common sightings in the office. And they're friendly, normal people.
On my deathbed, I won't regret a thing. So for the anonymous person who writes mean-spirited comments which is why I had to moderate them, I am living my life to the fullest. Trying not to have regrets. Checking off my bucket list. All the things I've tried and failed and loved and hated have brought me to where I am now and made me who I am. And I'm happy with that. Can you say the same?
So yeah, I saw the movement disorder doctor yesterday. It was a weird visit. I went with the intention of going off all medication. The other day I was talking about it with my therapist, and I showed her my hands, and she was honest, and said she didn't see a difference. I'm glad she was honest, I don't want to be lied to. I thought there was, but that's probably just hopeful thinking. My legs shake terribly though, now, I've noticed. In the bookstore today, they were horrible. I felt like everyone could see them. Nothing helps those tremors. Anyway, she did the standard exam, she wants me to see a GI dr since I seem to have a problem with B12, so she wants to rule out celiac (although I was tested a few years ago) or Crohns. Then - THEN - she turns and looks at me and says, you know, nitrous oxide can cause low B12. I'm like, okay....She says, "Nitrous oxide is like the stuff the dentist gives you, it's in aerosol cans, stuff like that." And it slowly hit me that she was ASKING ME IF I WAS HUFFING. I was stunned. Because the Topamax makes me cry at anything, I started tearing up and said, "Are you asking me if I huff? I don't even know HOW that works. I'm 32. I'm in grad school. I don't use drugs. If I huffed I wouldn't be here trying to stop this." She said she had to ask, and on some level, I know, but still. Jesus. Fucking huffing. Seriously, I don't even know how that works. Then she says, "You might want to see a psychiatrist," because I was still crying. I looked at her, and said, "I see a therapist, but I think my reactions are normal for a 32 year old who's been diagnosed with a progressive neurological disorder. I don't think they're pathological or problematic."
She referred to the tremor as benign essential tremor and I actually interrupted her (I was in no mood yesterday) and said it's not benign for the person who has it, not at all. It was a really odd visit. I think they don't know what to do with me. I asked about deep brain stimulation (DBS), and she laughed. She gave me the name of the NYU surgeons, but I want to check out Hopkins, who like, pioneered it. It has an 80-90% success rate. They put electrodes into your brain and a pacemaker-like thing near your collarbone that sends messages to the electrodes that help stop the tremors.
You KNOW that when someone is practically begging for brain surgery, they're hanging on by only a few threads.
Right now, those threads are my family, especially my wondrous nephew and my niece who will join us in July. Those threads are friends who text me at just the right times. Those threads are books. Those threads are songs like those on the playlist "sunshine."
Nine years ago, a former therapist/now a mentor was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was devastated and felt incredibly helpless. But I didn't get that feeling from her. She said something to me that I repeated to myself during her treatment (and she is now in remission, thank G-d). She said, "I can't control what happens to me. But I can control how I react to it." Amen.
So. This situation sucks. I've cried almost every day about it. I'm frustrated over simple things and feel like a freak sometimes if I'm handing money over to a clerk and it's shaking like I have Parkinson's. But I had bracelets made. I'm selling them. I'm raising money for research. I'm taking control of my own treatment plan. But it's hard, I'm not going to lie. It's frustrating. Dr.Jimmie Holland, a psycho-onocologist from Sloan-Kettering (and my idol) talked about the "tyranny of positive thinking," - that if you had any negative thoughts, you were a "bad" patient. I think it's all part of the process. Like the cycle Kubler-Ross developed. Because a part of you, a part of your life has died. So I am controlling how I react to the things in my life.
Anyway, it's the final stretch and I can't believe it's over. I did it. Well, not yet. Thesis looms, and I have 3 years to do it. I hope i get the teaching fellowship. Then I can get my MFA - Mother Fucking Artist. No, it's really Master of Fine Arts. But I like mine better. I never thought I would call myself an artist. Or see myself as an artist.
And you know what? For all the debt I have - and it's six figures worth of debt, just like everyone else in my cohort - I don't regret it. I got to talk to Mary Karr last night. I talked with Oliver Sacks. Margo Jefferson was my workshop instructor. I went to a lecture by Zadie Smith. Deborah Eisenberg and Richard Ford are common sightings in the office. And they're friendly, normal people.
On my deathbed, I won't regret a thing. So for the anonymous person who writes mean-spirited comments which is why I had to moderate them, I am living my life to the fullest. Trying not to have regrets. Checking off my bucket list. All the things I've tried and failed and loved and hated have brought me to where I am now and made me who I am. And I'm happy with that. Can you say the same?
Monday, March 25, 2013
everyone's a Napoleon.
wow. It's been a while. The last semester has been very busy, and I've taken some time to take care of myself. I've applied for a teaching fellowship here but am still applying to other jobs here and in NC, because I honestly don't know if staying in NY would be the best - or healthiest - option for me. I applied for a job at The Strand - and the rumors are true. There is a goddamn literary quiz on the application. A pretentious, obscure, eye-roll worthy lit quiz where you match up authors with their books. Authors like Gogol and Naipaul and McCullers and Ibsen. I think I got most of them, but really? You have got to be kidding me. THIS is what you are weeding us out with? There is a sign that says if they don't call you within a week of your application, there's not a spot for you there. Obviously, it's been like, three weeks, so the Strand evidently does not want me. FINE. I DIDN'T WANT YOU EITHER, SURLY BOOKSHOP PEOPLE. I like to smile at people and talk with customers, not act like I'm too cool for you and unless you're reading something totally obscure, can't give you the time of day.......like many people there seem to be. But I still go there, because the $1.99 ARCs are just unbeatable and the creaky wood floors and the smell of musty old paper makes me feel less alone and like I've found a home of sorts in this city of misery. Lately I have preferred books to people, because books don't form cliques and forget about you. Books don't act like assholes. I honestly think that even in a grad school environment, there is something about it that for some people, makes them revert back to middle school and it's like Mean Girls, redux. Using people when it's convenient for them, then casting them aside when they feel they've "moved up" in the social ranks. Fuck that, I'm not playing your game. Over it. Sometimes it is all I can do to go to class and smile and not breathe again until I go back to my apartment.
Monday, February 18, 2013
Great Expectations.
Before I start writing this, let me put a pre-emptive statement out there - especially for my anonymous friend who writes such heartfelt comments - I'd really love to address you by name one day. This is not a "poor me" pity post. Far from it. It's an "I'm kind of struggling right now with everyone else along in my cohort but that's where we're supposed to be maybe...." I'm not quite sure what it is, but it's not a pity party. That I know for sure.
Walking in the halls and sitting in the classrooms of the writing program, there are framed posters of collages of book covers of books published by graduates of the program. Seventies, eighties, nineties. Who knew that the Jennifer Aniston movie "The Object of My Affection" was based on a book from an alum? Not me. "Clockers?" Nope. Then there's the more literary ones, like the one about Rwanda, "We Wish to Inform you that Tomorrow We will Be Killed With Our Families." Then there are the quiet ones I've read and loved: "Ithaka," "The Cure for Grief," "Atmospheric Disturbances," and Alexandra Styron's book about her father. Depending on the mood I'm in, these can be either inspiring and reassuring, or they can be mocking and pressuring.
To whom much is given, much is expected. I know this well. And I usually don't disappoint. I have faith - ridiculous, blind, wondrous, childlike, full-fledged faith - that this decision was a good one. This was actually maybe the first decision in my entire life that I made completely on blind faith. And the first day I hold a review copy of my book in my hands, I'll run my fingers over the cover and remember the anguish and nervousness of finally accepting the ofer and the naysayers telling me it was a mistake. If it's a JK Rowling blockbuster, awesome. If it's a quieter, cult-like followed book, great. But no one can take it away from me. Even if one person reads it.
It's just hard to remember that when you're in the muck of reading 3 books this week that you haven't even looked at, critiquing workshop pieces and getting yours ready, figuring out what your thesis is really going to look like, applying for jobs and summer writing conferences, paying medical bills, and dealing with this damn tremor. I just have to *breathe.* In. Out. In. Out. Repeat on a continuous basis.
Walking in the halls and sitting in the classrooms of the writing program, there are framed posters of collages of book covers of books published by graduates of the program. Seventies, eighties, nineties. Who knew that the Jennifer Aniston movie "The Object of My Affection" was based on a book from an alum? Not me. "Clockers?" Nope. Then there's the more literary ones, like the one about Rwanda, "We Wish to Inform you that Tomorrow We will Be Killed With Our Families." Then there are the quiet ones I've read and loved: "Ithaka," "The Cure for Grief," "Atmospheric Disturbances," and Alexandra Styron's book about her father. Depending on the mood I'm in, these can be either inspiring and reassuring, or they can be mocking and pressuring.
To whom much is given, much is expected. I know this well. And I usually don't disappoint. I have faith - ridiculous, blind, wondrous, childlike, full-fledged faith - that this decision was a good one. This was actually maybe the first decision in my entire life that I made completely on blind faith. And the first day I hold a review copy of my book in my hands, I'll run my fingers over the cover and remember the anguish and nervousness of finally accepting the ofer and the naysayers telling me it was a mistake. If it's a JK Rowling blockbuster, awesome. If it's a quieter, cult-like followed book, great. But no one can take it away from me. Even if one person reads it.
It's just hard to remember that when you're in the muck of reading 3 books this week that you haven't even looked at, critiquing workshop pieces and getting yours ready, figuring out what your thesis is really going to look like, applying for jobs and summer writing conferences, paying medical bills, and dealing with this damn tremor. I just have to *breathe.* In. Out. In. Out. Repeat on a continuous basis.
Monday, February 4, 2013
20 Under 40, live.
I'm taking a science writing class this semester, which I am very excited about. Each week we read a book, talk about it for the first hour, and then the second hour, the author comes and we get to ask him/her questions about writing the book, the book itself, the process, etc. Our first author came today. The book was on superstring theory and hidden dimensions and it all went over my head, but Rivka assured me this was the hardest book we'd read all semester.
Rivka is our teacher. She is one of the reasons I am so excited about the class. Besides her artist-hipster clothes that would look ridiculous on me but somehow fit together perfectly on her, she was picked as one of the The New Yorker's "20 Under 40" in 2010. Other people picked were Chris Adrian, Tea Obrecht, Nell Freudenberger, ZZ Packer, Karen Russell, Sarah Shun-lien Bynum, Dinaw Mengestu, and Wells Tower. Columbia MFA graduates accounted for a fifth of the people chosen, only surpassed by Iowa. I remember reading about Rivka in Time Out New York - she caught my eye because something about her father being Israeli maybe? I don't remember, but I do remember reading that not only did she have her MFA, but also her MD. Turns out she didn't really like medicine, but that's not my story to tell. I know they're all fiction writers, and they don't really do things like this for nonfiction writers, but goddamn, what an accomplishment, no? I remember getting off the phone with the person who called me to let me know I got into Columbia, running upstairs, and picking the book of the 20 Under 40 and thinking, holyshitholyshitholyshit. But anyway. Let me just say this: she is down to earth, very cool, but not untouchable cool. She was in school with Nellie, which is also neat. She is just one of those people whom I want to sit down and ask, how do you get this way? How do you pick out your clothes and combine them? Because I don't think I could pull it off. Her book is called Atmospheric Disturbances, and I know I read it years ago, but I need a refresher. I always like reading books that my teachers have written so I get a better sense of them.
For next week we have to read a graphic novel about Marie Curie, which should be very awesome. This is one of those classes where I realize how lucky and blessed I am, and how thankful I took this risk to be here.
Rivka is our teacher. She is one of the reasons I am so excited about the class. Besides her artist-hipster clothes that would look ridiculous on me but somehow fit together perfectly on her, she was picked as one of the The New Yorker's "20 Under 40" in 2010. Other people picked were Chris Adrian, Tea Obrecht, Nell Freudenberger, ZZ Packer, Karen Russell, Sarah Shun-lien Bynum, Dinaw Mengestu, and Wells Tower. Columbia MFA graduates accounted for a fifth of the people chosen, only surpassed by Iowa. I remember reading about Rivka in Time Out New York - she caught my eye because something about her father being Israeli maybe? I don't remember, but I do remember reading that not only did she have her MFA, but also her MD. Turns out she didn't really like medicine, but that's not my story to tell. I know they're all fiction writers, and they don't really do things like this for nonfiction writers, but goddamn, what an accomplishment, no? I remember getting off the phone with the person who called me to let me know I got into Columbia, running upstairs, and picking the book of the 20 Under 40 and thinking, holyshitholyshitholyshit. But anyway. Let me just say this: she is down to earth, very cool, but not untouchable cool. She was in school with Nellie, which is also neat. She is just one of those people whom I want to sit down and ask, how do you get this way? How do you pick out your clothes and combine them? Because I don't think I could pull it off. Her book is called Atmospheric Disturbances, and I know I read it years ago, but I need a refresher. I always like reading books that my teachers have written so I get a better sense of them.
For next week we have to read a graphic novel about Marie Curie, which should be very awesome. This is one of those classes where I realize how lucky and blessed I am, and how thankful I took this risk to be here.
Friday, February 1, 2013
shakin' it up.
I just saw the Parkinson's/Movement Disorder specialist yesterday, after months of seeing the MS doctor (who is wonderful), and they basically came to the same conclusion: it's Essential Tremor, or ET. It's getting a little worse. It's spread to my legs, which is rare in ET, but can happen. Sometimes I feel my lips tremble but I'm not sure if it's in my head. ET typically strikes the hands, then moves up to arms, head, mouth, and voice. ET is a progressive neurological conditon, and usually strikes those 65 and older, although - surprise - young people can get it, too. There is no cure. Usually it runs in families, but not in mine. Doctors are very candid with patients - tremor is the hardest thing to treat. It usually isn't effective.
The top line medicines for it are the beta-blocker propranolol and the drug primidone, both of which did not help. Now we are on gabapentin (Neurontin) three times a day, with klonopin twice a day, and we are slowly upping the Neurontin to see if that works. After that, there's only Topamax. There IS one doctor in the city, at Mt.Sinai, who can prescribe an experimental drug - Xyrem - and its active ingredient is GHB. Yes, you read that right. GHB, the date rape drug. Roofies. In small doses, apparently it calms tremors. But because it is so tightly federally controlled, only certain doctors running the program can prescribe it. I looked it up - first of all, it's over $2,000 a month. Second, the side effects don't seem worh it. So I'm not considering that as an option.
I'm not going to lie. Everyone's like, oh, thank goodness it's not PD or MS. Well, I appreciate the sentiment, I really do - but if it were one of those, at least we'd have a treatment plan. With this, we're just like, okay, up the meds, see if it works, if we add Topamax and it still fails, you're shit outta luck. At least for now.
If I sound bitter or angry, I am. Two years ago I was training for a triathlon, and now I can't even run up and down steps. I am the girl everyone goes around when walking down subway steps, because I am the one holding onto the railing and taking each step slowly. I've learned to wait until the crowd subsides and then walk down. I'm tired all the time. I can't write longhand, which I love. I mean, I can, but it tires me out and it looks like chicken scratch, which only angers me more.
So with the help of Pura Vida bracelets, I am making a custom bracelet whose proceeds will be given to the NYU MS center, the NYU Center for Parkinson's and Movement Disorders, and the International Essential Tremor Foundation. They'll be coming in in a few weeks, and if you're interested, let me know. I'll be selling them for $5 and all proceeds go to the organizations. The string colors will be purple, white, black, lime green, and gray.
Yesterday, after my appointment, I felt hopeless. Like I only had a few more chances to deal with this tremor that has hijacked my life. I went to Brother Jimmy's BBQ (which claims to be Carolina BBQ) and ordered a beer and a Cheerwine float, along with hush puppies and pulled BBQ chicken with cornbread and fries. And another beer. And then I came home and went to the store and got Mike's Hard Lemonade. I drank three and proceeded to pass out on my bed. This is not typical behavior, but really, what are you supposed to do? I wallowed in it for one day and now I'm taking action.
I am a person who has been athletic all her life. This has seriously impacted me. It's also impacted my cognitive abilities a tiny bit to the point where I need to take notes when I read to remember things, and whereas it used to take me a day or two to finish a book, I need all week. It is incredibly disheartening. It used to be called "benign essential tremor," but they realized that it was anything but benign. So Google it, ask me questions, buy a bracelet.....millions of people suffeer from ET, and we deserve a cure just like any of the cancers. Or at least more medication options.
The top line medicines for it are the beta-blocker propranolol and the drug primidone, both of which did not help. Now we are on gabapentin (Neurontin) three times a day, with klonopin twice a day, and we are slowly upping the Neurontin to see if that works. After that, there's only Topamax. There IS one doctor in the city, at Mt.Sinai, who can prescribe an experimental drug - Xyrem - and its active ingredient is GHB. Yes, you read that right. GHB, the date rape drug. Roofies. In small doses, apparently it calms tremors. But because it is so tightly federally controlled, only certain doctors running the program can prescribe it. I looked it up - first of all, it's over $2,000 a month. Second, the side effects don't seem worh it. So I'm not considering that as an option.
I'm not going to lie. Everyone's like, oh, thank goodness it's not PD or MS. Well, I appreciate the sentiment, I really do - but if it were one of those, at least we'd have a treatment plan. With this, we're just like, okay, up the meds, see if it works, if we add Topamax and it still fails, you're shit outta luck. At least for now.
If I sound bitter or angry, I am. Two years ago I was training for a triathlon, and now I can't even run up and down steps. I am the girl everyone goes around when walking down subway steps, because I am the one holding onto the railing and taking each step slowly. I've learned to wait until the crowd subsides and then walk down. I'm tired all the time. I can't write longhand, which I love. I mean, I can, but it tires me out and it looks like chicken scratch, which only angers me more.
So with the help of Pura Vida bracelets, I am making a custom bracelet whose proceeds will be given to the NYU MS center, the NYU Center for Parkinson's and Movement Disorders, and the International Essential Tremor Foundation. They'll be coming in in a few weeks, and if you're interested, let me know. I'll be selling them for $5 and all proceeds go to the organizations. The string colors will be purple, white, black, lime green, and gray.
Yesterday, after my appointment, I felt hopeless. Like I only had a few more chances to deal with this tremor that has hijacked my life. I went to Brother Jimmy's BBQ (which claims to be Carolina BBQ) and ordered a beer and a Cheerwine float, along with hush puppies and pulled BBQ chicken with cornbread and fries. And another beer. And then I came home and went to the store and got Mike's Hard Lemonade. I drank three and proceeded to pass out on my bed. This is not typical behavior, but really, what are you supposed to do? I wallowed in it for one day and now I'm taking action.
I am a person who has been athletic all her life. This has seriously impacted me. It's also impacted my cognitive abilities a tiny bit to the point where I need to take notes when I read to remember things, and whereas it used to take me a day or two to finish a book, I need all week. It is incredibly disheartening. It used to be called "benign essential tremor," but they realized that it was anything but benign. So Google it, ask me questions, buy a bracelet.....millions of people suffeer from ET, and we deserve a cure just like any of the cancers. Or at least more medication options.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Shabbat musings
Today I had a visit at NYU's Multiple Sclerosis Center. I've been going for a few months, because of this tremor and associated symptoms. I have a clean MRI but was diagnosed with an Essential Tremor. But there are symptoms he can't explain, so he is sending me to a movement disorder/Parkinsons specialist, whom I see next month.
So I'm walking to the Shuttle to get back to Times Square, and I had just cried openly on the streets of NYC on the phone to both my mother and my father, because I'm hoping this med combo decreases them and because they are REALLY bad. It's noticeable. Anyway, I'm walking and I'm sure I didn't look super happy, and I saw the Chabad people and somehow got into a conversation with one. He asked if I was Jewish and I said yes - I'm not going to lie - and we got to talking. He asked me if I light the Sabbath (Shabbos) candles and I said no, so he pressed some into my hand and asked me to light them tonight, because it's a mitzvah. He also gave me the parsha of the week. For some reason, I am taking this as a sign. I usually ignore those people. but I cannot lie if I'm asked my religion - I can't, I won't - and somehow I was reminded today of the simple joy of lighting Shabbat candles. So at 4:46pm, I will be saying the Sabbath blessing and having some challah.
Sometimes I do miss being "more Jewish." I miss not going to synagogue, and I really should read the portion of the week. There are some Orthodox traditions that are beautiful. I went to an Orthodox kindergarten and Conservative day school until high school. We welcomed the Sabbath every friday at the end of the day. I understand the modesty traditions of the more Orthodox; when I was in Israel I didn't hesitate to pull on the long gauzy skirt I bought for the occasion over my shorts, and take one of the shawls to cover my shoulders and arms. That was at the Kotel.
For some reason, I am taking this as a sign. A sign to hold onto hope and faith, and not get too discouraged. And maybe stop and light she Shabbos candles every week.
So I'm walking to the Shuttle to get back to Times Square, and I had just cried openly on the streets of NYC on the phone to both my mother and my father, because I'm hoping this med combo decreases them and because they are REALLY bad. It's noticeable. Anyway, I'm walking and I'm sure I didn't look super happy, and I saw the Chabad people and somehow got into a conversation with one. He asked if I was Jewish and I said yes - I'm not going to lie - and we got to talking. He asked me if I light the Sabbath (Shabbos) candles and I said no, so he pressed some into my hand and asked me to light them tonight, because it's a mitzvah. He also gave me the parsha of the week. For some reason, I am taking this as a sign. I usually ignore those people. but I cannot lie if I'm asked my religion - I can't, I won't - and somehow I was reminded today of the simple joy of lighting Shabbat candles. So at 4:46pm, I will be saying the Sabbath blessing and having some challah.
Sometimes I do miss being "more Jewish." I miss not going to synagogue, and I really should read the portion of the week. There are some Orthodox traditions that are beautiful. I went to an Orthodox kindergarten and Conservative day school until high school. We welcomed the Sabbath every friday at the end of the day. I understand the modesty traditions of the more Orthodox; when I was in Israel I didn't hesitate to pull on the long gauzy skirt I bought for the occasion over my shorts, and take one of the shawls to cover my shoulders and arms. That was at the Kotel.
For some reason, I am taking this as a sign. A sign to hold onto hope and faith, and not get too discouraged. And maybe stop and light she Shabbos candles every week.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
headin' back
Headed back to the city tomorrow. Mixed feelings. All I really want to do is go back to North Carolina, and I am hoping a job comes through. I can't see myself in NYC much longer - it is killing my spirit inside and out, and taking a toll on my body. I'm looking forward to classes - I have some awesome teachers, including Sheila Heti and Honor Moore. It's a full load, so it's gonna be nonstop. And then "fake" graduation and then thesis time and job time. good times. :)
And you know, people can say what they want, but I have had two years to do what I love - read and write - with the added bonus of a hefty fellowship covering much of tuition. I have talked with some of the brightest and most interesting people to me, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. Yes, the MPH was practical.....but this, the MFA....this was my heart. And it has filled me with such joy, that even during frustrating or angering times, I am always glad I took this chance. Even when the thought of the new student loan payments hits me, I try to achieve a Zen state and think everything will work out. Karma, you know?
And you know, people can say what they want, but I have had two years to do what I love - read and write - with the added bonus of a hefty fellowship covering much of tuition. I have talked with some of the brightest and most interesting people to me, and I wouldn't trade that for the world. Yes, the MPH was practical.....but this, the MFA....this was my heart. And it has filled me with such joy, that even during frustrating or angering times, I am always glad I took this chance. Even when the thought of the new student loan payments hits me, I try to achieve a Zen state and think everything will work out. Karma, you know?
Thursday, January 17, 2013
home stretch.
Classes start Monday and already I have to finish a book for Wednesday. I would expect nothing less from this program. I'm excited for this semester - Mary Karr is coming to speak, I'm applying for fellowships and jobs, it might mean my time in the city is coming to an end......the possibilities are endless! Last semester was disillusioning for many reasons, and maybe it was my own naivete and foolishness that added to it. I had assumed simple manners; apparently that's optional nowadays. I haven't read nearly as much as I've wanted to, nor have I writtten....almost at all. here's to hoping I kick it into high gear.
Monday, January 14, 2013
one month later.
It's been a month since the Sandy Hook shootings. Not many news things affect me like this one has. Yesterday, my nephew was playing around and then fell on the floor and said, "I'm dead!" and immediately I said "G-d forbid" and explained to him that that's not funny. But for a split second, I could see those tiny bodies laying in classrooms or next to a teacher. Mickey Mouse shirts or little Uggs. His little body, sprawled on the floor, hit it home for me. I cannot even begin to fathom what the first responders had to witness and work with. TIME magazine voted Obama as "Man of the Year." Give me a fucking break. Aside from politics, The 6 teachers that died protecting the school and students have done more than he will ever do. The teachers who hid their students in closets and locked them into bathrooms and huddled under desks with them - these are the real heroes. In Judaism, there is a saying that if you save one life, it is like you have saved a world - because of all the things that person will do to create a ripple effect. 26 worlds were destroyed a month ago. Countless others are still picking up pieces, trying not to panic while walking in school, or saying goodbye to their other children while an empty bedroom continues to whisper.
I'm volunteering at my nephew's kindergarten class for a little bit as a "teacher's aide" on Wednesday. For the first time ever, I feel stirrings of nerves about going into a school. Has it really come to this, getting buzzed in at elementary schools, metal detectors in middle and high schools, requiring students to wear ID badges......my school days were very different, and I'm thankful for that. It seems like such an innocent time period. Well, it WAS before Columbine.
I guess I'm just trying to sort this all out in my head; I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about those who were killed, and what their families must be going through. Maybe it's my psychology background, I don't know. Maybe it's my love of children. But I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the horror of that day.
Pura Vida bracelets are handmade bracelets that create jobs for local Costa Ricans and donate money to various charities. They have a Sandy Hook bracelet for $5 and 100% of the proceeds go to the Sandy Hook Family Foundation. This provides ongoing support for the 26 families who lost loved ones. Unfortunately, it's not green and white, the school colors, but it is a light aqua color. When asked, PV replied that the color reminded them of angels. So why not, instead of that latte you were gonna buy, buy one of these instead. Things can change in an instant. A month ago, 26 families found that out in the most brutal way ever.
I'm volunteering at my nephew's kindergarten class for a little bit as a "teacher's aide" on Wednesday. For the first time ever, I feel stirrings of nerves about going into a school. Has it really come to this, getting buzzed in at elementary schools, metal detectors in middle and high schools, requiring students to wear ID badges......my school days were very different, and I'm thankful for that. It seems like such an innocent time period. Well, it WAS before Columbine.
I guess I'm just trying to sort this all out in my head; I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about those who were killed, and what their families must be going through. Maybe it's my psychology background, I don't know. Maybe it's my love of children. But I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the horror of that day.
Pura Vida bracelets are handmade bracelets that create jobs for local Costa Ricans and donate money to various charities. They have a Sandy Hook bracelet for $5 and 100% of the proceeds go to the Sandy Hook Family Foundation. This provides ongoing support for the 26 families who lost loved ones. Unfortunately, it's not green and white, the school colors, but it is a light aqua color. When asked, PV replied that the color reminded them of angels. So why not, instead of that latte you were gonna buy, buy one of these instead. Things can change in an instant. A month ago, 26 families found that out in the most brutal way ever.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Warm Whispers and Precious Things
I'm lying on my bed, trying to finish "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn," because I've somehow managed to evade it all through my English classes. I love it; I'm almost at the end but it's one of those books that you don't want to end, you want to stay with the characters a little longer.
I'm listening to a playlist on Spotify, and what should come on is Missy Higgins's "Warm Whispers." I love this song. I found it while at UNC and I can't tell you how many times I sat at my desk, trying to figure out biostatistics while listening to music that kept my spirit intact. The song reminds me of my running group, who, to this day, I think about often - the runs on the concrete, the trail runs, the sprints, everything. How veneers slowly came off as we sweated and pushed out bodies to keep going.
The next song is "Precious Things," one of my very favorite Tori Amos songs (but let's be real, I kind of like all of them). I love the angry pounding of the piano, the righteous anger in the song. There is a force to that song.
Music has always been a part of my life. It's been there when I felt hopeless and my family was turned upside down. It was there when, in high school, I listened to Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" at Lilith Fair, and decided I wanted to live, and made up my mind to agree to try antidepressants. It's been there during frat parties where we drank semi-warm beer from cups and thought that these were the days we'll remember, these are the days - singing "Livin' on a Prayer," "Glory Days," and so forth. I can't help but smile when I hear those songs. Study sessions with Manda, with Ani DiFranco or Sarah McLachlan in the background. "Build Me up Buttercup" was our unofficial sorority song. Norah Jones got me through the move to Florida and the confusion I felt that I made the wrong choice. Guster was a big deal in college. Phish - man, I saw them in concerts a lot. Now those are great memories.
lately, this is my life soundtrack:
"Dirty Love" by Ke$ha
versions of "Hallelujah"
"Hot Topic" by Le Tigre
"Napoleon" by Ani DiFranco
"Carolina in my Mind" by James Taylor
"Skinny love" by Birdy
"Come Alive" by Jes Hudak
"Let it Be" by the Beatles
What are the songs that define us? Or add color to the mosaic that is yourself? What songs do we turn to in moments of sadness, or joy, or anger? How does our personal soundtrack change over time? Interesting thought.
Here's Missy Higgins, with "Warm Whispers." The video is just a picture with the song going - all the live videos I saw weren't that great.
I'm listening to a playlist on Spotify, and what should come on is Missy Higgins's "Warm Whispers." I love this song. I found it while at UNC and I can't tell you how many times I sat at my desk, trying to figure out biostatistics while listening to music that kept my spirit intact. The song reminds me of my running group, who, to this day, I think about often - the runs on the concrete, the trail runs, the sprints, everything. How veneers slowly came off as we sweated and pushed out bodies to keep going.
The next song is "Precious Things," one of my very favorite Tori Amos songs (but let's be real, I kind of like all of them). I love the angry pounding of the piano, the righteous anger in the song. There is a force to that song.
Music has always been a part of my life. It's been there when I felt hopeless and my family was turned upside down. It was there when, in high school, I listened to Sarah McLachlan's "Angel" at Lilith Fair, and decided I wanted to live, and made up my mind to agree to try antidepressants. It's been there during frat parties where we drank semi-warm beer from cups and thought that these were the days we'll remember, these are the days - singing "Livin' on a Prayer," "Glory Days," and so forth. I can't help but smile when I hear those songs. Study sessions with Manda, with Ani DiFranco or Sarah McLachlan in the background. "Build Me up Buttercup" was our unofficial sorority song. Norah Jones got me through the move to Florida and the confusion I felt that I made the wrong choice. Guster was a big deal in college. Phish - man, I saw them in concerts a lot. Now those are great memories.
lately, this is my life soundtrack:
"Dirty Love" by Ke$ha
versions of "Hallelujah"
"Hot Topic" by Le Tigre
"Napoleon" by Ani DiFranco
"Carolina in my Mind" by James Taylor
"Skinny love" by Birdy
"Come Alive" by Jes Hudak
"Let it Be" by the Beatles
What are the songs that define us? Or add color to the mosaic that is yourself? What songs do we turn to in moments of sadness, or joy, or anger? How does our personal soundtrack change over time? Interesting thought.
Here's Missy Higgins, with "Warm Whispers." The video is just a picture with the song going - all the live videos I saw weren't that great.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
2013
A new year, a new start. First, some good news - I am going to be an aunt again! The baby is due in July, and I'm very excited. I've been collecting materials for my thesis and writing (though not as much as I should be) and I was able to do some freelance work. I have found a mentor for my thesis, and I plan on taking no more than a year of Research Arts. (hopefully just a semester). I'm applying for jobs down South that I am very excited about, and I continue to have blind faith that things will work out. Things happen for a reason.
A blog reader sent a nasty comment, which I chose not to publish - if I'm not mistaken, this person has done so several times before. You know what I was always taught? "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all." What good comes out of putting other people down? Does it boost one's self-esteem? If so, that's a problem. All too seldom do we see kindness anymore, and hiding behind an anonymous name and screen makes it that much easier to hurt people. Whatever happened to the Golden Rule? sigh. I guess some of us just never left kindergarten.
Speaking of which, my nephew is doing wonderfully in kindergarten, and I am so proud of him. We went to the library and got some books, and now he wants to go again, which makes me happy. I like sharing the love of reading with him.
And of course, the Sandy Hook shooting - I still can't get it out of my mind. How do you tell your kids that their sibling has been shot? How does someone go into a school and shoot ANYONE, much less kids 6 or 7 years old? I admire the teachers who protected their students that day - those are the real heroes, TIME magazine. The special ed teacher who was found slumped over several students. The teacher who locked herself and her class in a bathroom and helped them stay calm and survive? And the students themselves - what courage it takes to go back to school. A place that was a safe haven, changed forever. Yes, it's a new building, but a class is missing. My heart breaks everytime I think about what those children must have been thinking.
The medicine for the tremors isn't working as well as I'd hoped; I fell down the steps twice in NC and my hands still shake. The good thing is, I get out of handling dishes and food! haha. No, seriously, I am hoping he maybe increases the dosage and it'll work out.
Happy New Year, everyone!
A blog reader sent a nasty comment, which I chose not to publish - if I'm not mistaken, this person has done so several times before. You know what I was always taught? "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all." What good comes out of putting other people down? Does it boost one's self-esteem? If so, that's a problem. All too seldom do we see kindness anymore, and hiding behind an anonymous name and screen makes it that much easier to hurt people. Whatever happened to the Golden Rule? sigh. I guess some of us just never left kindergarten.
Speaking of which, my nephew is doing wonderfully in kindergarten, and I am so proud of him. We went to the library and got some books, and now he wants to go again, which makes me happy. I like sharing the love of reading with him.
And of course, the Sandy Hook shooting - I still can't get it out of my mind. How do you tell your kids that their sibling has been shot? How does someone go into a school and shoot ANYONE, much less kids 6 or 7 years old? I admire the teachers who protected their students that day - those are the real heroes, TIME magazine. The special ed teacher who was found slumped over several students. The teacher who locked herself and her class in a bathroom and helped them stay calm and survive? And the students themselves - what courage it takes to go back to school. A place that was a safe haven, changed forever. Yes, it's a new building, but a class is missing. My heart breaks everytime I think about what those children must have been thinking.
The medicine for the tremors isn't working as well as I'd hoped; I fell down the steps twice in NC and my hands still shake. The good thing is, I get out of handling dishes and food! haha. No, seriously, I am hoping he maybe increases the dosage and it'll work out.
Happy New Year, everyone!
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