As someone obsessed with my calendar, I'm always looking ahead, plotting things out and theorizing about how life is going to unfold over certain especially busy times. That leads me to feel a sense of discombobulation when those dates actually arrive, and I find I question myself with, "Today? Really?" It's like my mind can't comprehend that enough time has passed to actually be here, in those theorized moments.
This weekend is one of those. When Hannah got the invitation to attend a camp friend's bat mitzvah in Connecticut, we thought about how it might be able to work out. We thought about seeing if other locals could join her. Emails were sent, plans were made, RSVPs were sent, and somehow they're leaving this afternoon to have this weekend away. Hannah's excited, of course. But I'm left asking, "today, really?"
I first noticed this tendency in myself on June 21, 2002. I was up early at home in Ohio with my family, and getting married in two days. The "Today Show" was just coming on, and it started with its usual "today is" and the date. "Today? Really?" This date that I'd been planning towards for the past 13 months wasn't just some date on a hypothetical schedule anymore. It was real, very real--and amazing and terrifying and exciting.
But not something out in the future anymore. It was present, and all-too-soon to be past.
Friday, November 4, 2016
Thursday, November 3, 2016
Vanity Fair Proust Questionnaire
Lindsey from "A Design So Vast" recently published her answers to the Vanity Fair Proust Questionnaire, which she said provides answers to some of the "minutiae" of life. I love minutiae myself, so I thought I'd take a stab at answering these too.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Back pain. Something I know all too well.
Where would you like to live?
I really like where I live now, but eventually I'd like to live someplace where snow removal isn't a major concern.
What is your idea of earthly happiness?
My kids singing "The Cup Song" together in the backseat of the car.
To what faults do you feel most indulgent?
Harboring high expectations.
Who are your favorite heroes of fiction? Who are your favorite characters in history? Who are your favorite heroines in real life? Who are your favorite heroines of fiction?
It was this series of questions that made me want to NOT do this quiz, but then I thought my answer here is kind of interesting after all.
I don't really have any.
Maybe Meredith Grey, of Grey's Anatomy, but that's because I've watched her for so many years mostly. But it's hard for me to choose because there is good and bad in everyone, and whenever I think of of someone, I can't invariably say I love everything they've ever done, fictional or not.
Your favorite painter?
Jackson Pollock. And not just because of his last name. I had this up in my office until they replaced all my walls with glass and turned it into a fishbowl.
Your favorite musician?
Early Counting Crows. I can't say I've kept up with them much over the last decade.
The qualities you most admire in a man?
Compassion
The qualities you most admire in a woman?
Compassion. Because I'm not sure what gender has to do with this question.
Your favorite virtue?
The ability to let things go. I'm not good at that.
Your favorite occupation?
I once wanted to be a playwright.
Who would you have liked to be?
A singer on Broadway. Maybe someday.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Back pain. Something I know all too well.
Where would you like to live?
I really like where I live now, but eventually I'd like to live someplace where snow removal isn't a major concern.
What is your idea of earthly happiness?
My kids singing "The Cup Song" together in the backseat of the car.
To what faults do you feel most indulgent?
Harboring high expectations.
Who are your favorite heroes of fiction? Who are your favorite characters in history? Who are your favorite heroines in real life? Who are your favorite heroines of fiction?
It was this series of questions that made me want to NOT do this quiz, but then I thought my answer here is kind of interesting after all.
I don't really have any.
Maybe Meredith Grey, of Grey's Anatomy, but that's because I've watched her for so many years mostly. But it's hard for me to choose because there is good and bad in everyone, and whenever I think of of someone, I can't invariably say I love everything they've ever done, fictional or not.
Your favorite painter?
Jackson Pollock. And not just because of his last name. I had this up in my office until they replaced all my walls with glass and turned it into a fishbowl.
 |
| Jackson Pollock's "Convergence" |
Your favorite musician?
Early Counting Crows. I can't say I've kept up with them much over the last decade.
The qualities you most admire in a man?
Compassion
The qualities you most admire in a woman?
Compassion. Because I'm not sure what gender has to do with this question.
Your favorite virtue?
The ability to let things go. I'm not good at that.
Your favorite occupation?
I once wanted to be a playwright.
Who would you have liked to be?
A singer on Broadway. Maybe someday.
Wednesday, November 2, 2016
Where I Live
 |
| Lincoln Street in Newton Highlands |
But just like my Tuesdays, I've been using my Wednesdays to get some errands in, and today was no exception...except that it was a particularly lovely fall morning. Okay, yea, the leaves are off all of the trees in the photo above, but that didn't matter. The temperature was perfect for a few walkable errands in my village center. Yes, village.
This morning I was able to go to the dry cleaners, stop at the post office, have a yummy breakfast burrito, buy a baguette for dinner at the local bake shop, and get a manicure all in about 90 minutes, on foot. Which is extra good, because our car, as Marc described it, decided to dress up as Frankenstein on Halloween by getting a bolt lodged in its tire, so I'm without access to a car today.
I love feeling so accomplished by 9:30 in the morning. Then I was able to dive right in to work when I got home, without all of those things nagging over my head for the rest of the day. Or, um, week, as can be the case when it comes to taking in the dry cleaning. ;)
Tuesday, November 1, 2016
Another #NaBloPoMo
So, Busy Since Birth seems to be barely alive. I've posted only 17 times so far this year, which is pathetic. But like almost every other blogger I've ever encountered, it seems to be getting harder to sustain this (non-paying) medium, and the psychic payoff for doing so is minimal. This March will be 10 years of blogging though, and I am committed to at least hitting that milestone, even if I barely make it to first base.
Oy. A sports metaphor. I'm really sorry about that. Too much time pretending to care about sports at the office. Though, since we're here now, go Tribe! (My Cleveland is showing.)
Anyway, it's another NaBloPoMo, which translates to "bloggers cajoling other bloggers into writing every something every day for a month because we think it's good for us until it actually drives us insane." I've done this a few times now, and those last few days of November are PAINFUL, but the month overall is fantastic. I do feel better when I make time for writing every day, and as my post count this year shows, I haven't been feeling my best this year. Definitely not enough moments of nacho happiness.
I'm still project-less. I mean, Hannah's upcoming bat mitzvah is a huge distraction/amazing thing, and I have some volunteer things that start up soon, but I'm still missing my Having It All Project/Listen To Your Mother side gig that's mine, all mine. I keep waiting for inspiration to strike, but I have yet to find it at the bottom of an episode of Real Housewives (though I'm really digging Siggy on RHONJ, anyone else?). So I am giving myself until mid-January for the idea to just come to me, and if it doesn't by then, I will find ways to actively seek it out.
And in the meantime, a little NaBloPoMo never *really* hurt anyone, right? Here we go.
Oy. A sports metaphor. I'm really sorry about that. Too much time pretending to care about sports at the office. Though, since we're here now, go Tribe! (My Cleveland is showing.)
Anyway, it's another NaBloPoMo, which translates to "bloggers cajoling other bloggers into writing every something every day for a month because we think it's good for us until it actually drives us insane." I've done this a few times now, and those last few days of November are PAINFUL, but the month overall is fantastic. I do feel better when I make time for writing every day, and as my post count this year shows, I haven't been feeling my best this year. Definitely not enough moments of nacho happiness.
I'm still project-less. I mean, Hannah's upcoming bat mitzvah is a huge distraction/amazing thing, and I have some volunteer things that start up soon, but I'm still missing my Having It All Project/Listen To Your Mother side gig that's mine, all mine. I keep waiting for inspiration to strike, but I have yet to find it at the bottom of an episode of Real Housewives (though I'm really digging Siggy on RHONJ, anyone else?). So I am giving myself until mid-January for the idea to just come to me, and if it doesn't by then, I will find ways to actively seek it out.
And in the meantime, a little NaBloPoMo never *really* hurt anyone, right? Here we go.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
What Happens to An Unloved Tree
The other week I felt a moment of profound sadness for a tree. This is rather uncharacteristic of me, because while I like trees, well, I don't always notice trees.
During autumn, around my birthday like it is right now, I notice them in their daring "look at me!" tantrums of color. I notice the leaves that get embedded in the rug at the front door, stuck wet to shoes hastily shrugged off. I notice the tree on the tree lawn of our house, with its huge branches that could break during a storm and crush a car below. But this particular tree, on another part of our property, I'd really never bothered to notice before.
It is/was wedged between our garage (something else I barely notice, as it is not wide enough to accommodate a car) and the fence that belongs to our neighbors and their garage. Per the survey done on our property during last year's renovation, it is/was definitely our tree. But given its location, a few feet behind where one could easily walk and the fact that it was just so large, it somehow just became background.
Over the summer, "my" car, our SUV, got less use while the kids were both at camp, and I took to parking it at the end of the driveway, near the tree. But then when I did go to use the car, I'd find it covered in bird droppings and other debris from the tree. After this had happened several times, I finally looked up and saw it, really saw it. In the middle of the summer, its branches were completely bare. The tree was dead, and based on the woodpecker activity, probably rotting away quickly.
It took a couple of months for us to bump "tree removal" to the top of our schedule. Spending a four-figure amount just to get rid of something really didn't appeal to us, but it was the responsible, adult thing to do. It would have been worse for us to wait and see what the winter would bring, likely broken tree limbs and destruction. So on a Friday morning, a very brave man, in a bucket raised high into the sky, cut down the tree.
Coincidentally, both Hannah and Max are studying trees at school. Trying to appeal to seventh graders, Hannah's science teacher told the kids that they might some day impress love interests with their knowledge of trees (the kids were #notimpressed). Hannah had a leaf project where she had to gather, research and document a large variety of leaves from trees she found locally. They needed to be local trees so that they could be identified, so she was specifically told not to go to Arnold Arboretum in Boston, as they have trees from all over the world there. So of course that's where Max's class is going on a field trip. He's been learning about how tree trunks get their rings. And I can't help tying all of the stories together, as fifteen years ago, *I* was the one being romanced and getting a new ring in Arnold Arboretum. Well, Marc proposed to me there, under an unidentified lilac tree, though my ring wasn't ready for another couple of days. But it was the beginning of trees being special to me. We followed up with a tree on our ketubah (Jewish wedding license), and trees created at Hannah's and Max's Hebrew naming ceremonies, and more since then.
So you can see why I felt so sad about this long-neglected tree that had been right there, unnoticed by me for the last ten years. I only seem to notice special trees, and this wasn't one of them, until it was about to be gone. Only when it was about to be gone did I bother to see just how beautiful it was.
During autumn, around my birthday like it is right now, I notice them in their daring "look at me!" tantrums of color. I notice the leaves that get embedded in the rug at the front door, stuck wet to shoes hastily shrugged off. I notice the tree on the tree lawn of our house, with its huge branches that could break during a storm and crush a car below. But this particular tree, on another part of our property, I'd really never bothered to notice before.
It is/was wedged between our garage (something else I barely notice, as it is not wide enough to accommodate a car) and the fence that belongs to our neighbors and their garage. Per the survey done on our property during last year's renovation, it is/was definitely our tree. But given its location, a few feet behind where one could easily walk and the fact that it was just so large, it somehow just became background.
Over the summer, "my" car, our SUV, got less use while the kids were both at camp, and I took to parking it at the end of the driveway, near the tree. But then when I did go to use the car, I'd find it covered in bird droppings and other debris from the tree. After this had happened several times, I finally looked up and saw it, really saw it. In the middle of the summer, its branches were completely bare. The tree was dead, and based on the woodpecker activity, probably rotting away quickly.
 |
| My unloved tree--almost too big to fully fit in the photo |
Coincidentally, both Hannah and Max are studying trees at school. Trying to appeal to seventh graders, Hannah's science teacher told the kids that they might some day impress love interests with their knowledge of trees (the kids were #notimpressed). Hannah had a leaf project where she had to gather, research and document a large variety of leaves from trees she found locally. They needed to be local trees so that they could be identified, so she was specifically told not to go to Arnold Arboretum in Boston, as they have trees from all over the world there. So of course that's where Max's class is going on a field trip. He's been learning about how tree trunks get their rings. And I can't help tying all of the stories together, as fifteen years ago, *I* was the one being romanced and getting a new ring in Arnold Arboretum. Well, Marc proposed to me there, under an unidentified lilac tree, though my ring wasn't ready for another couple of days. But it was the beginning of trees being special to me. We followed up with a tree on our ketubah (Jewish wedding license), and trees created at Hannah's and Max's Hebrew naming ceremonies, and more since then.
So you can see why I felt so sad about this long-neglected tree that had been right there, unnoticed by me for the last ten years. I only seem to notice special trees, and this wasn't one of them, until it was about to be gone. Only when it was about to be gone did I bother to see just how beautiful it was.
Tuesday, September 6, 2016
My Last Work From Home Tuesday
Over five and a half years ago, I started working from home on Tuesdays. This post from 2012 sums up why, and Hannah and I once made the front page of The Boston Globe for it, but for a quick refresher, a childcare gap during the afternoons due to early release schedules each week necessitated someone being at home then. That someone was me. Now that Marc has started a new job where several other people work from home on Tuesdays, it's going to be him.
This is a good change for me, but a bittersweet one. Over the last year, it seems my Tuesdays have gotten more hectic. With two kids coming home at different times, my work was interrupted twice for catching up with each kid. Orthodontist appointments were sometimes thrown in. Max's piano lessons interrupted as well, and since his teacher was on the unreliable side, that sometimes added disruption too. And while I liked making the kids laugh as we waited for their Hebrew school carpool to arrive, some days it was hard to tear myself away from work one more time. I always got everything done, but my Tuesdays were far from easy. (I think Marc tends to be less distractable while working than I am, so I don't expect he'll have as hard of a time dealing with this as I did. We shall see.)
While all the interruptions sometimes complicated things, I will miss the extra time I got to spend with my kids. I think it was good for all of us. I think Marc will benefit from it now.
In a couple of weeks after I do some travel for work, I'll be starting a new routine of work from home Wednesdays. It's going to take a bit of time to shake out because I already agreed to some Wednesday meetings, but eventually I'll be working from home with a longer stretch of uninterrupted time. Sometimes I may have to take Hannah to a mid-afternoon rehearsal across town, and again, I'm grateful to be able to have that flexibility. But now it's an exciting thought that I can work from home one day a week mostly because it's good for me, and not just what I need in order to make life work.
So with the kids starting back at school today (7th and 3rd grade OMG HOW?), I'll be saying goodbye to Tuesdays, at least for now. Maybe in a year it'll all change again. Mostly, I remain grateful for this opportunity that I've had, and I continue to hope that others can be afforded similar flexibility.
This is a good change for me, but a bittersweet one. Over the last year, it seems my Tuesdays have gotten more hectic. With two kids coming home at different times, my work was interrupted twice for catching up with each kid. Orthodontist appointments were sometimes thrown in. Max's piano lessons interrupted as well, and since his teacher was on the unreliable side, that sometimes added disruption too. And while I liked making the kids laugh as we waited for their Hebrew school carpool to arrive, some days it was hard to tear myself away from work one more time. I always got everything done, but my Tuesdays were far from easy. (I think Marc tends to be less distractable while working than I am, so I don't expect he'll have as hard of a time dealing with this as I did. We shall see.)
While all the interruptions sometimes complicated things, I will miss the extra time I got to spend with my kids. I think it was good for all of us. I think Marc will benefit from it now.
In a couple of weeks after I do some travel for work, I'll be starting a new routine of work from home Wednesdays. It's going to take a bit of time to shake out because I already agreed to some Wednesday meetings, but eventually I'll be working from home with a longer stretch of uninterrupted time. Sometimes I may have to take Hannah to a mid-afternoon rehearsal across town, and again, I'm grateful to be able to have that flexibility. But now it's an exciting thought that I can work from home one day a week mostly because it's good for me, and not just what I need in order to make life work.
So with the kids starting back at school today (7th and 3rd grade OMG HOW?), I'll be saying goodbye to Tuesdays, at least for now. Maybe in a year it'll all change again. Mostly, I remain grateful for this opportunity that I've had, and I continue to hope that others can be afforded similar flexibility.
Tuesday, August 9, 2016
Making the Montage
So as I mentioned in my recent Kveller.com piece, I am working on assembling a photo montage for Hannah's upcoming bat mitzvah. For the uninitiated, at some bar and bat mitzvah parties, video montages are shown depicting photos of the child growing up, set to sentimental music. It's not a requirement by any means, but I've always loved watching them, regardless of how close I am to the kid involved. I usually even shed a tear or two. Kids grow up, time passes, we're all getting older. How can you not cry? Just thinking of making Hannah's has had me on the verge of tears many times already.
And yes, I've started to work on it now, after admitting I hadn't yet gotten to it during the first half of the summer while both kids were gone. But this past Sunday I spent a significant chunk of time going through the over THIRTY THOUSAND PHOTOS we have access to online. How amazing is it that virtually every photo taken of this kid since the moment she was born is available to be accessed on a computer? I remember sorting through physical photos of me, with my parents, to make the montage that was shown at my bat mitzvah.
Thankfully though, Hannah isn't in all thirty thousand photos. In fact, there's an awful lot that I should delete, and many photos are duplicated due to various systems used over the years. But my first cut of the photos left me with about 250 from which to chose, probably 100 or so more than I need. It will be harder to cut the number down, because oh my, what an amazing, lucky, wonderful, fantastic life has she (and I) had over the last twelve and a half years? These photos highlight so much, from her first patriotic outfit on the Fourth of July, to the three times she was a flower girl, to amazing vacations. So many photos with Max and Marc and me, and many other family members and friends. School projects. Plays and concerts. It's a true highlight reel.
That version is what we'll show at the party. Obviously, a party like this is when you're supposed to look back on only the highlights. But it's not the full truth.
I won't include photos of the hard days. There won't be photos of tantrums or tears. I won't show the school project that was only completed through force. You won't have to watch video of the recital that didn't go well. There aren't photos of the endless piles of laundry or carpool runs done in the rain. There aren't photos of the conversations at bedtime, about a how a "friend" wants to copy your work at school. And you won't notice the three month period when no one took any pictures of my children, because I was completely incapacitated before back surgery.
The hard stuff doesn't make the montage, but it's still there, in our history. We wouldn't be able to see how wonderful the wonderful moments are, without acknowledging the hard is there too.
I last watched my own bat mitzvah montage a few years ago, showing it to my kids. Mine was a highlight reel too. I didn't cry when I saw it as a newly minted 13 year old Jewish adult, but I did re-watching it then. I cried for the grandparents and other relatives since lost. I cried for the way my Dad picked just the right songs, synchronizing the photos to land at just the right moments. I cried that my own mom is in too few of the photos, being behind the camera herself. I cried for the passage of time, wanting a new highlight reel to reflect what happened from age 13 on.
And then I realized that I'd be making Hannah's montage. While Hannah's accomplishments are hers, not mine, so many of the best moments of my life over the last 13 years have involved her, and Max, and this life Marc and I have built together. So in a way, this video will be a highlight reel from ages 26-39 for me, too.
Now to find the perfect music for making me cry.
And yes, I've started to work on it now, after admitting I hadn't yet gotten to it during the first half of the summer while both kids were gone. But this past Sunday I spent a significant chunk of time going through the over THIRTY THOUSAND PHOTOS we have access to online. How amazing is it that virtually every photo taken of this kid since the moment she was born is available to be accessed on a computer? I remember sorting through physical photos of me, with my parents, to make the montage that was shown at my bat mitzvah.
Thankfully though, Hannah isn't in all thirty thousand photos. In fact, there's an awful lot that I should delete, and many photos are duplicated due to various systems used over the years. But my first cut of the photos left me with about 250 from which to chose, probably 100 or so more than I need. It will be harder to cut the number down, because oh my, what an amazing, lucky, wonderful, fantastic life has she (and I) had over the last twelve and a half years? These photos highlight so much, from her first patriotic outfit on the Fourth of July, to the three times she was a flower girl, to amazing vacations. So many photos with Max and Marc and me, and many other family members and friends. School projects. Plays and concerts. It's a true highlight reel.
That version is what we'll show at the party. Obviously, a party like this is when you're supposed to look back on only the highlights. But it's not the full truth.
I won't include photos of the hard days. There won't be photos of tantrums or tears. I won't show the school project that was only completed through force. You won't have to watch video of the recital that didn't go well. There aren't photos of the endless piles of laundry or carpool runs done in the rain. There aren't photos of the conversations at bedtime, about a how a "friend" wants to copy your work at school. And you won't notice the three month period when no one took any pictures of my children, because I was completely incapacitated before back surgery.
The hard stuff doesn't make the montage, but it's still there, in our history. We wouldn't be able to see how wonderful the wonderful moments are, without acknowledging the hard is there too.
I last watched my own bat mitzvah montage a few years ago, showing it to my kids. Mine was a highlight reel too. I didn't cry when I saw it as a newly minted 13 year old Jewish adult, but I did re-watching it then. I cried for the grandparents and other relatives since lost. I cried for the way my Dad picked just the right songs, synchronizing the photos to land at just the right moments. I cried that my own mom is in too few of the photos, being behind the camera herself. I cried for the passage of time, wanting a new highlight reel to reflect what happened from age 13 on.
And then I realized that I'd be making Hannah's montage. While Hannah's accomplishments are hers, not mine, so many of the best moments of my life over the last 13 years have involved her, and Max, and this life Marc and I have built together. So in a way, this video will be a highlight reel from ages 26-39 for me, too.
Now to find the perfect music for making me cry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)