It's Been a While

 I haven't written in a long time. Writing was a passion but, when it became a job, it became more pressure than release. I know that, to be a good writing teacher, I should write. But life makes me tired and writing isn't something I like to do when I'm tired. 

And yet, here I am. Tired and writing. In my continued pursuit of happiness, this has been a challenging year - or three years. Everyone is tired from this pandemic. Or they are just ignoring it. Many have found new paths and new people because of it, while others have lost people and paths. I'm not here to write about the pandemic, but I would be telling half-truths if I didn't acknowledge it's place in life.

My chest feels so heavy. I worry that it's a heart attack or blood clot. I could spiral worrying that there is something physically wrong with my insides. But the most likely cause is anxiety. 

I try to practice the tools that I know will help my anxiety - painting, playing piano, talking to people I love, moving my body. Today, the thought of doing those things - when I've already tried them - is not motivating. And so, I'm writing. Because I've been told it will help. 

This week, a young woman in my city died from childbirth. I can't wrap my head around it, despite knowing the facts - childbirth is still dangerous, even in our first-world country; women of color disproportionally die from childbirth birth because they don't get the care they need; ageism is a thing - against the young and the old. 

And it just feels like another injustice in this world that will never be undone. 

Clothes, Hair and Cheesy TV

Disclaimer:  I wrote this last night and didn't get to post it.

Spin class was just brutal tonight.  Getting through it was probably the most difficult thing I did all day, and that says a lot considering the fact that I teach 7^th graders.  So, when I got home I’d have to say that I was not in the happiest of moods.  (I like to leave the gym feeling like I rocked my workout, not like my workout rocked me.)

As I sat at my kitchen table, eating some delicious soup that I made myself (HUGE accomplishment), I tried to think of the little things that happened during my day that made me happy.  First thought: wearing my favorite pink sweater.  Nope, it had a hole in it when I put it on.  Next thought: data team meeting.  Ummm… Love the ladies, not the data.  Third: administering our December District Assessment.  Seriously?  Last thought: first dinner theater rehearsal.  Don’t get me wrong; I heart dinner theater rehearsals, just not the first one.  There’s way too much paper work to get through. 

Little things that make me happy, little things that make me happy – And then the little holiday bell went off in my head.  Granted, this has nothing to do with the holidays, but… Tis the season for bells!  Right?

I LOVE TV dramas. I especially like ones filled with beautiful young people who say witty things and find themselves in predicaments that I truly doubt could occur in real life, though I guess one never really knows for sure.  Tonight’s guilty pleasure: Gossip Girl.  I know, absolutely ridiculous.  You and my husband can agree on that.

I guess it started in the late 80s with Saved by the Bell and Full House.  After school or at night, I could sit down and get lost in some crazy story told by people with perfect hair and trendy clothes.  My brother and I would sit in front of the TV and laugh at Screeh and Uncle Joey.  I would oogle at Tiffani Amber Thiessen’s hair and clothes.

I guess you might say it only got worse from there.  I would beg to differ.  It only got better. Boy Meets World faded into My So Called Life.  I wanted Claire Dane’s dyed red hair, though it didn’t look quite the same on my dark brown hair.  That’s when things got really dramatic.  That’s when I just HAD to see my shows. 

Gilmore Girls, Dawson’s Creek, Felicity – They got me through high school.  Loreli was the perfect mother, Dawson was the sweetest neighbor and Felicity got to live in New York City.  And, oh, the clothes!  Rory, Joey Potter, and Felicity (I know, I said that name already) – I loved their hair and their outfits.  I mean, for crying out loud, why couldn’t I have curly hair like Kerry Russell? 

 

But, much to my husband’s dismay, it didn’t stop there.  Next came Gossip Girl, Pretty Little Liars, and 90210.  My clothing purchases went through the roof.  I wanted to dress like I lived on the Upper West Side.  If I couldn’t live there, I could at least look I did. 

And yet, I’m not done.  Finally there was Glee, which my husband harassed me about mercilessly.  This continued, that is, until he watched it.  He may never get the clothing thing, but at least he knows how I can get caught up in the stories.  

30+1

My 30^th birthday was nothing like I imagined it would be.   I don’t mean the celebrations.  (Though those were awesome – especially the multiple Tiffany boxes from my friends and family, orchestrated by my husband.)  I mean the actual day. 

I expected my birthday to be happy and awesome.  And it was.  But it was also sad and reflective.  As I was turning 30, my husband’s aunt was dying.  And her two beautiful, strong daughters were watching her do it.  This had a more of an impact on me that I thought it would.  My emotions shifted almost hourly, from happy and excited about my special day to nervous and mournful.

I had always planned to wear my wedding tiara for my birthday.  Any excuse to be a princess works for me and I had paid enough for the tiara that an extra wear would be good for it.  I didn’t even notice my tiara the day of my wedding.  It was almost as if I didn’t have it on. But yesterday it pinched and poked my head.  I was tempted to take it off.  Instead, each time it got uncomfortable, it reminded me to be happy – for my day and my life. 

As I taught my students and listened to them serenade me with many rounds of “Happy Birthday,” I thought about how lucky I am to have students who care, even if they test my patience and leave me feeling exhausted.  I thought, over and over, how lucky I am to have a career that I love. 

As my co-workers gathered for lunch, laughing at me as I skipped around at the sight of cupcakes from my favorite bakery, I thought about how grateful I am for them.  They supported me from the beginning of my career, my marriage, my dinner theater.  I hear about people who don’t get along with their co-workers.  I am very lucky.

As I met friends for drinks and then arrived home to my husband, only to find more gifts and piles of cards, I realized how lucky I am to have so many people who care about me enough that they thought of me on birthday, some even wanting to spend time with me for part of it. 

And, as I sat across the table from my husband, at a lovely, cozy restaurant enjoying an amazing dinner, I realized how blessed I am to have found a partner who supports, encourages, calms, pokes fun at and adores me. 

All the moments when I stopped to think of Brendan’s aunt and his two cousins, I began to feel sad at the loss and injustice of it all.  But instead it inspired me to be the best person I could be and to be there for all of the people in my life who are there for me, who matter so much.  She was a kind person, always a smile and hug for you.  She raised two proud, confident, beautiful, gracious young ladies.  Those are attributes one should strive for. 

My 20s were filled with anxiety and questions.  What if…?  Am I doing the right thing?  Maybe I should do this differently?  Only one day into 30 and I already know what I should be doing, what I want to be doing.  Life is too short and too precious to waste questioning things.  I want to embrace it all, soak it all in and give back as much as I can.  I am so happy to be 30.

Not Quite the Happiest Place On Earth

As my husband and I arrived at our pre-planned destination today, we received so many warm, smiling welcomes made by gracious, charismatic, kind people you'd think we were in Walt Disney World.  But we weren't in WDW.  In fact, we were far from it - and not just in terms of driving distance.  And, while we did feel extremely welcome and were pleasantly surprised by the attitude of every single worker (note I did not say "Cast Member," another clue we were not in Disney), our destination was definitely not the happiest place on earth.  Instead, it may have come close to actually being one of the saddest.

When we finally found various members of my husband's family waiting in the Smilow Surgical Family Lounge at Yale-New Haven Hospital, his uncle was already in surgery.  The outcome could be pretty good or really not so good.  The five of us spent the afternoon together waiting, eating lunch, conversing.  His aunt paced - much as I would have done.

Shortly after lunch the doctor met with his uncle's closest family members, while we waited outside.  Happily, the surgery was successful and things are looking up.  He was in a lot of pain and we didn't get to see him, but he knew we were there, and that's what matters.  It's a good day when things go the way you want them to.

I Don't Care About a King's Speech

When I asked my husband if he wanted to watch the movie "The King's Speech," he replied that he didn't know.  He said he didn't really care about a speech a king gave.  I laughed (just a little) and explained that it wasn't speech as in giving a speech, it was speech as in how he spoke - that he had a speech problem.  After that, he seemed a little more interested and offered to watch the movie with me.

We finally watched "The King's Speech" last night and I've been thinking about it all day.  Even though I had heard some luke-warm reviews from some friends about the movie, I loved it.  I don't know if it was the historical time period (the 30's and 40's always intrigues me), the English accents and wit, or the actors, but I found the whole thing well produced and entertaining.

In the movie, the "doctor," who is not really a doctor and much more of a teacher, works with King George VI to remedy his stammer when speaking.  I liked a lot of his methods and, having just taken a Reading Diagnosis and Remediation course, wondered if any of it would work with students and reading aloud.  For example, the "doctor" asked George VI to read aloud from Hamlet.  When he cannot read aloud without stammering, the "doctor" put headphones on George VI.  Before George VI begins to read again, the "doctor" turns up classical music so that all the future king can hear is the music, and none of his own reading.  When he reads this second time, he does it perfectly.  Maybe this same technique could be used with some of my own students?  Maybe several of the techniques could... though not the swearing one.  That might actually cause more problems.

Anyway, I highly recommend this movie.  Colin Firth definitely earned all of the accolades he received for the role.

P.S. For all of you Harry Potter fans out there, Timothy Spall (Peter Pettigrew/Wormtail), Helena Bonham Carter (Bellatrix Lestrange) and Michael Gambon (Professor Dumbledore) are all in this movie!

Settling In

I can't believe how long it's been since I posted.  I know that I am one who does not easily keep up with things like blogs and journals, but I love to write (and reading what I write, and hearing what other people say about what I write) so I always start these things and do my best to keep them going.  I try not to chastise myself too much when I don't keep up with them the way that I believe I should.

Anyway, so much has happened since April that has kept me from the blog, yet so much of it made me happy and would have been worth at least a short entry.  In May, I and two other amazing women produced our school's second annual dinner theater.  In just one year the production grew from 20 cast members to 40 and from 1 night to 2.  It was incredible to watch the students grow - their friendships, their self-confidence, their joy.  It makes all of the tears, turmoil and tense moments worth and, in the end, makes me overwhelmingly happy.

And then, in June, my husband and I bought our first house together.  He had had his own house, purchased at the ripe old age of 23, in which we lived together after our marriage.  (Okay, and maybe a year or two before that.)  Finally, though we found one that could be ours.  Albeit, it's on the side of town I prefer, in a neighborhood of my choosing, on a piece of property he would never have chosen had it been solely his choice, but I love it.  We've been slowly putting things together and having friends over one or two at a time.  It's an amazing feeling to wake up in a house that you know you had a hand in choosing and financing.  It makes me so happy.

Finding Friendship

When life gets overwhelming (like it has constantly been for me as of late), it becomes hard to see past what is right in front of you.  Sometimes it feels like the things that make you happy have to take a back seat because, at that moment, it is more important to do the laundry, write a Masters paper or go to the doctor.  But, one week ago today, life gave me the opportunity to stop and really see one of the happy things in my life - my best friend.

I met her in 6th grade music class on the first day of middle school.  I knew to look for her because a family friend lived in her neighborhood and told me to find her.  The family friend thought she and I would hit it off.  She was right.  We were in all of the same classes and shared many of the same interests - reading, boys, and Broadway.  We bonded over Guys and Dolls, Les Miserables, Anything Goes and Hair.  We performed together in 1 play, 3 musicals and countless numbers of school concerts throughout middle and high school.  She didn't care about my lack of fashion sense or my inability to sing well.

Our relationship grew and changed over the years.  Sometimes we would talk everyday.  Other times we would barely say a word for weeks.  Either way, we always found our ways back to each other.  We saw each other through boyfriends, show rehearsals, bad grades, summer camp, college applications and leaving home.  We made it through college, helped plan each others weddings and visited our new houses.

One week ago today, my best friend had a baby.  Her first child, he's a beautiful little boy named Dillon.  She looked amazing when I went to see her in the hospital.  Holding that little peanut who would coo and ahh and cry, her skin glowed and her eyes twinkled as she talked to him, telling him he was all right.  I watched as she talked to her endearing husband, then back to her baby, then to me.  We're adults now.  We have husbands and jobs and responsibilities far beyond what we had in sixth grade.

But, as I watched, I could see her 19 years ago, in Mrs. Solar's sun-drenched music classic at the end of the hall by the girls' locker room.  Sitting in the cold, hard, tan-colored desk, she turned around to talk to me when I said her name.

"Do you know Katie?" I had asked.
Her long, unruly curly hair bouncing as she nodded.
"Yeah, I do," she had replied.  "How do you know her?"

And so began an almost 20 year conversation.   If someone had told me then that she and I would still be friends when we turned 30, I don't know what I would have said.  I probably would have believed it, but still, there's so much that can happen over time and so much that can change.

Sitting in the chair in her hospital room, holding her son for the first time, I felt as if I were meeting my best friend all over again.  I'm even more happy about it this time than I was the first.