run down memory lane

Start on Couch St, slowly, finding my pace.


Turn right onto William St.
College house party.
I remember the white and blue-striped top I wore.

Jog passed Zuke's Deli and cross Brinkerhoff Ave.
We'd hang out there after school, biding our time before practice.
One time, in 8th grade, we found a pornographic book in the church parking lot.
We brought our promiscuous loot to Zuke's and read it with fervor and confusion.

Left onto Cornelia, then a quick left onto Grace Ave.
Pass by Kate's childhood home.
Many days and many sleepovers. 
Her mother's lasagna.
Her parents have split.
The house is sold.


My pace quickens and my stride lengthens.
Left onto Bailey Ave, then right onto Lynde St.
Pass by Lafayette. 
Jake Lessor lived down that street. 
After-prom party.
Busted party.

Now Boynton Ave.
The relentless sun, fresh and hard after a passing storm,
Beats down on my face.
Breathing slow,
Easy.


Straight unto Cumberland Ave.
Pass by Katie Dahlen's childhood home.
Spent the ice storm of '98 there.
Crept out in 8th grad.
Her sister
Picked us up on the side of road.
Brought us to a college party.
We're no longer friends.

The humidity starts to get to me.
Sweat drips down my face.
But the breeze rushing off the lake
Cools and refreshes me.


Pass by McDonough Monument
I took my prom pictures there.
I wore a light blue strapless dress with a gathered hem.
I felt like Cinderella.

Up the hill.
I hate hills.
Chugging along, I want to walk up it.
I keep running.
I pass by the spot where I won the pie eating contest.
It was a cherry pie with a piece of bubble gum in it.
I had graduated high school.
I got my eyebrow pierced immediately after.

Through downtown Plattsburgh, onto Court St.
I know I'm almost done.
I pass by my high school.
A part has been torn down.
It's being converted into senior citizen housing.
The art wing was included in the demolition.
I had two murals painted there.
The only evidence of any artistic ability I possess. 

The end is in sight, 
Left onto William St., then Couch St. 
The home stretch.
I slow to a walk,
and saunter back to 
My car.

It seems so long, a run.
But a blur when it's done.
And you see it behind you.
The phantom steps 
The linger.

a conversation with a 7-year old

My sister, Emma, and I were doing at-home pedicures when she asked me about Ty.

"What happened with you and Ty?" She inquired.

"Well, we decided we shouldn't be together anymore," I replied.

"Did you have a fight?" She went on to ask.

"No, it just didn't work out."

"Yeah, boys are silly. They don't know what to do with you."

"Very true. You shouldn't be worrying about boys, anyway. You should just have a lot of girlfriends."

"You're right. And then when you do have a boyfriend, you can tell them what to do."

...This made me smile. We should listen to our inner seven-year old more often. Sometimes it's the most simple sentiment that makes the most sense.

needs

I have a reasonable suspicion that Ty has a girlfriend (reason #599 that I need to take a break from facebook). I had a feeling, though. He stopped texting and asking that we "hang out."

So, how do I feel?

I don't really know. Different feelings run through my mind. Sadness. Relief. Confusion. Release. A part of me misses him and is mad that he moved on first (thanks, sinister sarah).  Another part (the more dominate and sane part, might I add), thinks, "Ha, not my problem anymore!" 

I thought I needed Ty. I thought I needed the reassurance, the attention, his ability to take apart my futon and bookshelf, his powertools. I relied on constant texting and contact.

But honestly, I can take my own futon and bookshelf apart. And I can advocate for my own happiness. I can be alone and be okay with it. My phone doesn't have to be constantly buzzing. To quote SATC: "That's the thing about needs. Sometimes when you get them met, you don't need them anymore." 

At the end of the day, I don't need him. I need me to the best I can be. And I couldn't be that person when I was with him.

what i've learned from my dad

My dad is a man's man. He grills. He golfs. He drinks beer. But he also is the type of man whose life has taught him many things, and in many difficult and happy ways. When I least expect it he offers up little nuggets of wisdom that's held true for him, and me as well.

Still waters run deep.

Here is just a sampling of what I've learned from my dad.

Be clean.

Have a sense of humor.

You have to see the forest through the trees.

Your health is the most important thing. 

Running, even when you're hungover, is the key to physical fitness.

Take good care of your car.

Preparation is imperative for work and play.

Naps can do wonders.


While it's easy to be bitter, the truth is you have to be accepting of others. 


Don't owe anyone money if you can help it (this is a lesson I have yet to learn...).

When you really love someone, you show it in your own way.

No regrets.

Happy father's day, Dad.

bookends

Time it was and what a time it was it was,
A time of innocence a time of confidences.
Long ago it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.




This past weekend I went to a wedding shower in Westchester county. The couple are friends from college. We were on crew club and I even lived with them for a part of a summer. After college, as it typically happens, you find out that the ties that bound you no longer hold you together. So naturally, we went our separate ways with intermittent smatterings of contact.

I felt some hesitance going. I hadn't seen Chris and Kelly in well over a year, with the only contact being via random facebook messages. In fact, I almost didn't even go. But I did, and I am so very glad I did.

The happiness on Kelly's face seeing me (she didn't know or even expect that I was coming) brought back all these memories and good times we shared during college. I even saw other friends from college that I fell out of touch with as well.

I have always marveled about how people come into our lives and these intense moments of happiness, joy, crisis, and bonding are shared. These people are the molders of the person you eventually become, be it high school friends, college friends, colleagues, boyfriends, etc.

And yet, they leave so easily and effortlessly. Sometimes, you forget about them or even that they exist.

Why is that?

Do people have certain roles in our life and once those purposes are fulfilled they move on and make room for the next batch of individuals?

There is a certain feeling of sadness, nostaglia, and wistfulness when I reconnect with old friends. I love the reminiscing and reconnecting and laughter shared. But it's that feeling after, when I realize that those days are over, that I realize we are not those people anymore we once were. And sometimes that's not a bad thing entirely. We have to grow and grow up.

But it's a thing of beauty when old friends can still be friends.

As the people they are now.

In gratitude to the people they knew then.

Thank you...

who am i really mad at?

My friend and I aren't really speaking at the moment. It's like a contest to outlast each other in talking things out.

On Saturday, we out with some teammates from her softball team. I met Kevin, a 20-something guy.  I was mildly interested and I say mildly because even though I knew he wasn't my type I was still intrigued. He was on the shorter side, living in an apartment I'd mistake for a college apartment, and seemed like a player. But it was like wearing skinny jeans or sky-high heels; the idea of it is much more appealing than the actuality of it. Anyway, I told Alissa about my interest and she encouraged it; she thought we'd be "cute together," whatever that means...

We went to a bar downtown, so not my scene. My aqua tank, jeans, and flip flops were sorely out of place with all the short skirts and plunging necklines.

We went to the section where there was a dance floor. The awful music was pounding, hurting my head and tired body (I had done the Freihofers Run for Women and played a softball game earlier that day. I was not in the mood for bad music and gyrating bodies. I should've known this was a bad idea...).

And wouldn't you know, Kevin asked Alissa to dance and they danced seducively with each other for a chunk of the night. I didn't want to care (I mean, he wasn't even a good dancer), but I did care. I cared that Alissa, knowing I was interested in him, spent the night dancing and talking with him. I cared that he didn't ask me to dance. It soured my night and Alissa knew it. Yet she didn't say anything and actually made an extra effort to be extra nice to me. I was talking to another friend we were out with and she said the reason Kevin went after Alissa was because she was "more attainable." Okay, what does that even mean??

It wasn't so much the guy and Alissa that upset me. It was the principle of the matter. The element of competition has been a part of our friendship for some time. It's like she's threatened when there is an ounce of attention placed elsewhere. This type of thing has happened before, too. And yes, I know, I am guilty of it as well...But another case in point in our competitive friendship!

So, I haven't talk to here unless I've had to talk to her, and I'm trying to keep it to a minimum. I don't have anything to say to her. I'd rather get over it and have some space than try to talk to her about it.

Who am I mad at, really? Alissa, for making this a pattern in our competitve friendship? At Kevin, who didn't want to dance with me and talk to me? Or, am I really mad at myself? For being too thin-skinned; for not being outgoing enough like Alissa; for being incredibly awkward?

Perhaps I should talk to her, afterall. Because letting her off the hook would mean I'm letting myself off the hook. And maybe that's not such a bad thing after all...

Six-Word Memoirs

Six-word memoirs are a way to tell your story, using exactly six words. I read a collection of them, It All Changed In an Instant recently and I was inspired. You see, I've been dealing with writer's block lately. These got me writing again. Smith Magazine  is a blog-a-zine that collects and shares these stories.

The first six-word story was actually written by Ernest Hemingway. He wrote it supposedly to settle a bet (knowing Hemingway, I'm sure there was some alcohol involved).  For sale: baby shoes, never worn.

His story is only six words, yet it speaks of hundreds more in what's not said. 

They're fun to do, yet it's hard to pinpoint the six most important words to tell your story.

Here are some of mine:


*I've moved thirty-one times. I'm twenty-six.

*Went to Australia. Missed college graduation.


*Brother's attempted suicide kept me awake.


*Mom could've had an abortion. Didn't.

*Books plus beaches equal peaceful spirit.