2011

Everywhere I look, the past couple of weeks, there is a blogger recapping 2011.  There are memes, countdowns, favorites lists, essays, casual mentions and recaps... countless different ways it's being done.  I see them and I like their ideas for documenting and remembering, and I want to do the same.

I've realized something about myself, though.  I think I think differently from most people.  I see all these year end/new year posts, full of specific memories and timelines from the past year.  And I can't come up with things that happened in the past year.  Which is not to say I can't remember things - just that I remember them in a different way.  I don't think in a linear way.

I group things - events, trips, parties, holidays, even songs and books - into emotional categories, rather than linear, time-related categories.  I can tell you about all the time I spent with my cousins.  I can tell you about the best things Emmett and I have done, seen, eaten & played with.  I can tell you about trips I've taken to PA and trips to CT.  I can tell you about the times we've had people over and the most enjoyable meals we've had out as a family.  I can tell you about the projects I've done on the house (bad example, maybe, since that's all from 2011!).  And I can tell you the best books I've read and the songs that stick out in my mind.

But, unless hard pressed to think it through on a calendar, I most likely can't tell you when these things happened.  Feelings tell me about these things.  Memories and nostalgia and objects that remind me of events and people keep my memories alive.  I think my brain doesn't have a calendar function - at least for memories.

Over the course of 2011, there are really only two events that were major enough to stick out for me on a timeline.  One year ago this week, I had a miscarriage.  And four months after that, in May, we moved into our new home.

I do think linearly, in an organized timeline kind of way, for future planning.  The new year, every year, does feel like a fresh start to me.  While I don't always do resolutions or goals, I do feel a sense of new beginning.  I feared that this year would be different for me.  I am anxious for a bigger family, something we've been trying to do for 20 months now.  Going into 2012 with so much time stretching out in front of me and no real control over the situation seemed daunting and scary and endless.  I discovered, though, that opening up and talking to Mike was an excellent way to center myself and create goals for overcoming secondary infertility and growing our family (imagine - actually communicating in a direct way - who knew?!).

I am feeling more positive about my marriage, my family, my home and my network of friends and family than I have in a very long time.

I am ready for you, 2012.  Bring it.

until it happens to someone you love

Written for an English assignment in high school, what follows is a guest post from my cousin's son Zachary.  He was asked to write about something that changed his life, and he chose to write about my brother. 

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Picture a small, cozy clearing ringed with towering, ancient pine and maple trees.  In the center naturally fallen logs sit around a tall, blazing bonfire.  A gentle breeze slinks into the clearing bringing with it the heady scent of moist wood and whisking the fire’s smoke into the wide blue sky.  This same breeze also makes the trees rustle in a strange, almost other-worldly music.  Listen closely, and you may hear the forest’s heartbeat.  It is made up of the voices of birds twining together with the trees and squirrels in an orchestral imitation of glorious sound around you.  They sing of the simple joys of life.  This is where I believe my second cousin Gregory would visit often.

Gregory was a very likable guy with a great personality.  He lived for the outdoors spending every available second there.  Because of this he worked as a construction worker which provided opportunity to stay outdoors and work hard.  Even as a kid, I am told, he was very adventurous and would often be out skiing, hiking or kayaking (among many others) with his parents (my Great Aunt and Uncle) and his sister Amy.  He enjoyed fishing trips, and as a teen, joined not one, but two Outward Bound programs.  Anyone can see why I liked spending time with him. 

Unfortunately, Gregory was also addicted to drugs.  He had started with marijuana and by the time of his death, he was using heroin.  My Grandmother (his Aunt), speculates that Gregory’s adventurous spirit may have been what caused him to start in the first place.  He died at the age of 22, only 7 years older than I am now.  Right before he died he had been in the process of planning a hiking trip in the famous Appalachian Trail with his girlfriend Aggie.  At the time of his death in 2006, I was 10, soon to be 11 years old.  At this point I was still very much a kid, but I remember being told he had died, and feeling shocked.  He had actually gone to a rehab facility in Oklahoma from July, 2005 to January, 2006.  Unfortunately, when he came back his friends started him with drugs all over again.

Now that I am older I can feel the full effects of this grief and it still hurts to think about him.  Whenever my Grandparents held a party, Gregory would always set aside some time to go out in the yard to play with me.  Before any of this happened I never had a reason to think about drugs.  I knew what they were and what they do but, it was never really a concern of mine.  You never expect anyone you know to die from it.  Almost every night you hear a story about a drug addict dying on the street.  You automatically assume that they were a bad person, and you don’t give it another thought.  Until it happens to someone you love you don’t know what it is truly like.  Gregory wasn’t a bad or stupid person.  He was smart and got help but it didn’t stick.  Now when I hear about a dead drug addict I think about what their family must be feeling.  It is truly a horrible thing and no one should have to go through it. 

Looking back at what happened to Gregory has reinforced my resolution to never use drugs.  What happened to Gregory scares me.  I don’t ever want my life to end in such a way.  As a memorial of Gregory’s death his parents decided to set up a fund in his honor.  The fund benefits such organizations like the AMC (Appalachian Mountain Club) and Outward Bound.  These organizations help young people gain a stronger understanding and appreciation of the outdoors which Gregory loved so much.

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This essay is published exactly as Zachary wrote it, without edits from me.  A few facts in his writing are not exactly accurate as I know them and some points, of which I have a much different perspective, I would have addressed quite differently.  Having said that, the piece is honest, true and accurate to Zachary's knowledge and I think it captures a very special point of view.  Zachary, I thank you for the honor of allowing me to share this piece here.

Information on the memorial fund to which Zachary refers can be found here.

reflecting

If the complete lack of response to last week's post is any indication, I am sort of back to the drawing board here.  I suppose that takes the pressure off - I feel like I'm just writing for myself, for my own therapy and benefit, which is why I started this blog in the first place.  Writing here has helped me wade through a lot of difficult things, as well as celebrate many joys.  I'm going to take this opportunity to go back to writing just for me - when I feel like writing and whatever I feel like writing.  When I write consistently, I am much healthier emotionally.  I am more likely to take things in stride.  I face things instead of shoving them away in my mind to fester.  I write, let the words spill out onto the screen, and once I've done that, I can step back and gain perspective.  If I'm just writing for my own therapy, it will be okay with me.  If you are reading and want to come along for the ride, welcome; I'll be thrilled to have you.

I'm not sure if I've written about this before, but I'm not going back into the archives to check because it's on my mind and I'm going to write about it either way.  One of my most favorite memories with Greg was taking the time to go pick out a Christmas tree together.  He used to work part time during Christmas season at a local tree farm, and he had access to the farm's special reserve sections of trees.  We'd spend ages up there, covering every bit of ground and examining every tree.  We'd argue the pros and cons of this one or that one and finally settle on the very best one.  Greg would cut it down and we'd drag it down the hill to wrap it up and take it home.  For a few years, we did this together, just the two of us. 

This memory remains present and cherished for me.  I love to pick the perfect tree every Christmas, and always feel Greg's presence when I find a good tree and I can almost hear him sighing impatiently and listing all the criticisms he'd have about it.  It makes me happy to choose a tree I know he'd love, too.  And I'm lucky that Mike likes to participate in getting a tree with me.  He grew up with artificial trees but has never questioned my desire for a real tree; he understands how much it means to me choose and enjoy a fresh tree.
The last several years, living in cities, we've mostly been limited to the small tree stands set up around urban areas.  Most of the trees are wrapped up tight, with an impatient staff, unwilling to unwrap tree after tree for my examination.  It's definitely not the same experience.  This year, we decided to go to a farm not far from our house and cut our own tree.  Emmett got to be part of the experience.  He was so excited.  He took off running with complete and utter joy, in and out of the trees, around the entire area.  He loved looking at all the trees and he was so happy right along with me when we found our tree.  Although, after Mike cut ours down, he wasn't finished - he wanted to keep looking; keep finding more trees!

We got the tree strapped to the top of the car, brought it home, and Emmett followed me around and around the tree as I strung the lights.  He keeps shrieking excitedly that we have a Christmas tree!  Like he keeps remembering it's there and he can't believe his luck!  We haven't put on the ornaments yet; we'll get to that later this week.  But it's up, lit, and filling our house with light and holiday spirit. 


I am very thankful that Emmett and Mike share in my joy.  It helps me keep alive my memories of selecting and loving the perfect Christmas trees with Greg.

Choosing a tree is a symbol of the start of the holiday season for me.  It's a tangible start to a time filled with love, giving, feasting, and - most importantly, to me - the joyful and frequent gathering of family and friends.  This is my favorite time of year.

prompts, please?

I have been suffering from serious writer's block lately. I guess that's fairly obvious. I want to write, very badly actually, but I just can't seem to string any meaningful words together.

I don't know if I have any readers left at all by now, but if you're out there and you'd like to see more of my writing, I've got a favor to ask of you. Please ask me a question, make an observation, or suggest a topic you think I should cover here. Absolutely anything goes.

You can submit anonymously or not, either way. Just leave a comment below or email me via link at the top of the page.

I know this is a lot to ask, but I'm getting desperate- this place is such a good outlet for me and I really want to use it. I thank you from the bottom of my heart in advance!

a semi-tuned piano

Shortly before we moved into our house, we came across an opportunity for a piano.  It was in a house about 15 minutes away from here, a house that someone our agent knew had bought to flip.  They just wanted to get rid of it; all we had to do was arrange a time to pick it up and it was ours.  Not having any idea what to expect, we emptied the moving truck, took a few strong friends to help and relocated it to our living room.

It turned out to be a lovely piece of furniture, though it was old and suffered from significant neglect.  It was so violently out of tune that I didn't even let Emmett play around with it.  I shut the lid, waiting for a piano tuner friend of ours to have a chance to look at it.

A few weeks ago, Alissa and Paul came to spend the afternoon and have dinner.  Paul, the piano tuner, brought his bag of tricks and took a look.  His initial evaluation was that the strings were old and brittle, and the entire inside was dusty and rusty and generally neglected.  To fix it properly, it would need lots of parts and lots of work, but he agreed to give it a go, tuning it as is, knowing there was a good chance a string would break at any time, rendering any work done worthless. 

As he began to tune it, he started playing the notes up the keyboard.  The piano was so far out of tune that as he was going up the keys, the pitch actually went back down in a couple of places.  By some miracle, though, he made it all the way through and thanks to his skillful work, the piano became playable!

It is surely not perfect, as the piano itself has plenty of flaws and he only had time to tune it once, rather than the usual 3 times in one day to achieve the best result, and it has, of course, slipped some since the day he worked on it.  It's more like an old church basement piano, slightly out of tune, a little musty sounding, with a couple of notes down near the bottom that sound pretty hollow, but it's my piano.  It is providing Emmett and me with plenty of laughter and music.  I'm not very good, but he doesn't care, and it's making me so happy to have a piano in the house and to be learning to play a little bit again.

community wind ensemble

You guys!  I found a community wind ensemble.  It rehearses less than 10 minutes from my house.  They rehearse once a week and have about 4 concerts September through May.  There are two vacancies: clarinet and trumpet.  I applied this morning, and am hopeful I'll get a call to audition.  I am unbelievably excited about this.  Cross your fingers for me!

hurricanes, generators and neighbors

We went into Hurricane Irene expecting heavy, heavy rain and power loss, rendering our fancy new monster of a sump pump useless, since we don't have a generator on it yet. Knowing this, we spent Saturday emptying the basement as best we could, and raising up/securing things. The storm hit pretty hard Saturday evening into this morning, though we didn't lose power until this morning.

We had about 5 inches of water in the basement at one point, but thanks to an extremely kind, generous and resourceful neighbor, a generator was hooked up to our pump and it remains under control. He knew we didn't have a generator, and he had an old one he'd never run. He was at our house last night from about 11pm to 12:45am, with Mike, getting it up and running for us. He brought it over, tested it, discovered it was missing a part (the governor - which, I gather, is quite important). So he went back over to his house and he built the part for it. It totally saved us.

The rain stopped, the wind has mostly died down, and the water is gone from our garage & basement. The generator has been moved to a new location between the two houses (pictured above), and it gave us some light, cold food/drinks and charged phones for a couple hours tonight. We don't know when we'll have power back or when the trains will start running again, but it doesn't matter too much.

Irene didn't leave nearly as much destruction as she had potential to cause. Our trees are still standing and our basement is drying out. The neighborhood was out in full force this afternoon; we are surrounded by kind, thoughtful, interesting neighbors. And there is cold beer in the fridge.