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.

truth hurts?

I've been musing over truth lately. Be it recent events or old scars that's led me to these meditations, I'm not too sure. When is truth necessary? When is it unnecessary?

Sometimes I'm not good with honesty. When I tell the truth, oftentimes I feel bad for it. I think it's "easier" to adjust my expectations for someone else for the sake of harmonious relations. In in the end, it's me who gets burned with the truth as it simmers inside.

I avoid telling the truth  because I'm afraid of what people would say. But I'm lying to myself; convincing myself that what I really think doesn't matter. In this, a false and fraudulent picture is painted. It's an illusion. I am illusion.

I don't want to hide from the truth.

I want to be freed from other people's perceptions.

It boils to the face that I'm not true to myself.

If I were to tell the truth...


The truth is...I'm arrogant and haughty. I think very little of myself, so I make up for the deficiency by thinking that I'm better than everyone else. It's easier to judge others than myself. I don't think I've ever admitted that before!

The truth is...I'm angry. I'm angry at my family for its dysfunction. We all walk around on eggshells because we're afraid of what would happen if we said what was really on our minds. Can't we simply all just get along? My life largely revolves around my family. So when there is a breakdown with the family, there is a breakdown with me.

The truth is...I don't know when I'll be over Ty . I don't want to reconcile with him. I'm possessive of him. I need to know what he's doing. Just because we're not together doesn't mean he can be with anyone else (Wow, I don't think I've admitted that either. That's slighty psychotic.). Even if we were to get back together, nothing would change. He's not going to move. I'm not going to move (for him). Even if were together, I'd still be here, alone in my apartment, missing him. Nothing would change.
 
The truth is... I'm want to be loved.

The truth is...I love.

The truth is....I'm afraid.

The truth.

i lost my mojo, man!

My inspiration went missing.
My creativity is on strike


They must be co-conspirators.

Hatching diabolical schemes
to keep me in the monotonous grays
and cut off from brilliant blues and radiant reds.


Can we negotiate?
Perhaps come to an agreement?

I'm stumped;
I've stalled.

I need it all back...

in bloom

Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.  ~Rainer Maria Rilke 

 Tulipfest in Albany is one of my most favorite things about living here.

So many different colors and shapes...

It's the weekends like these, surrounded by beauty and friends, that I think that everything and anything is possible. 

That youth will last. 

That life is unfolded before me. 

I hold on to these moments.