The Paths We Choose

Last spring, my best friend Stacy and I went on one of our Nerd Girl adventures and visited Longwood Gardens. It was actually a kind of fortuitous accident – we intended to go to Winterthur but they were closed. So instead we took our picnic lunches (from the BEST deli in the world, Pure Bread) and headed off to the gardens. Both of our moms are gardeners so we have been well trained to love our flowers – and after a long winter, it was so exciting to see all the blooms and walk in the sunshine.

We hiked the wildflower meadow, we climbed in the fantasy tree houses, we took selfies in front of the Italian fountain garden, we explored the mile-long greenhouse full of exotic flowers and trees, we discovered the history of the gardens and the duPont family connection – that is to say, we made sure we had the full tourist experience!

As we were strolling through the tulip gardens and consulting the map to all of the various horticultural displays, Stacy asked me what we were going to explore next. My response to her was that it all depended on the path we chose. She looked me straight in the eye and said “there’s a blog in that, isn’t there?”. I laughed out loud because, of course, she knows me so well.

Life is all about the paths we choose. There are a million things to discover and endless paths to explore, thousands of unique experiences to have and countless memories to be made. And we are the ones who choose the paths we travel – for good or for bad. Sometimes the choices we make cause us to miss out on certain activities or experiences (for example, if we turn right out of the Rose Garden, we miss the display of Orchard Trees) but by making those turns we get to explore other areas of life (like the Trillium Trail) that we otherwise might have missed. We sometimes end up on dark paths that we didn’t expect or we meet a snake or spider that spreads poison – but that’s all a part of life. And, by surviving the dark and the snakes, we get to emerge on the other side in the sunlight.  So, dear friends, take this as permission to go on adventures. Please choose any path that you want and live it to the fullest! Explore it, enjoy it, experience it. And don’t forget to stop and smell the roses once in a while…

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Gettysburg: A Love Story

There is nothing like the love between a girl and her….town. Ha, bet you thought I was going to say her man or her dog or her shoe collection. But in my life, one of the greatest love affairs I have is with a town – Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.

I’m not actually sure when this grand affair began. Way back in the dark ages, my father the high school social studies teacher dragged us on a family vacation to the site of one of the great battles of the Civil War. Actually, over the years of family vacations, he dragged us to a LOT of battlefield sites. My family didn’t do theme parks and tropical beaches – we did museums and battlefields (the nerd life is genetic, what can I say?). I actually think we made several pilgrimages to Gettysburg when I was young, although the vague memories I have all sort of blend together into one montage of the electric map, the rocks at Devil’s Den, the campground shenanigans, and Pickett’s Buffet. Long ago, happy childhood moments that certainly didn’t comprehend the scope of the history and suffering that occurred in that little town. Happy childhood memories tucked away and forgotten…

Until, somehow, as an adult, I found my way back. About 6 years ago, I went for a quick and quiet camping weekend. And now I’m in love. In love with the amazing history and opportunities to learn and discover in the town’s museums, lectures, tours, and programs. In love with the kind and friendly people of Pennsylvania who are always ready with a smile and a truly welcoming feel to their town. In love with the hallowed ground where history literally lives in the soil and stories are just waiting to be told. In love with the unique fervor that surrounds Civil War history – only in this little town can you find ghost tours on every street, costumed reenactors waiting in line at the Dairy Queen on any given summer night, kids in kepis waging war on their siblings over the rocks in Devil’s Den, a life-size Lincoln replica shilling sodas on sale at the local grocery store, and large groups of tourists following the rangers like sheep on hikes through the fields of Picketts Charge under the blazing July sun. In love with the small-town feel of the community that somehow still manages to host a million visitors a year. In love with my favorite wineries, bakeries, cider houses, and boutiques where they literally know my name.  

I hope everyone out there reading this has somewhere in the world that they think of as their own special place. A haven, an escape, a place to find peace and comfort and joy. I hope you have somewhere that you love too. But, in case you don’t, please think about making a trek to my little town this summer…visit the military park and listen to the rangers paint the pictures of the men who fought and suffered there, listen to the nightly sound of taps ringing out through the national cemetery, explore the shops and restaurants on the streets around the town square, enjoy a horseback ride with me over the battlefield, visit the farmers market for fruits and veggies literally fresh off the farm. Join me and immerse yourself in history, good people, and amazing summer memories. Maybe you’ll just fall in love too…

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The Definition of Summer

When I was a kid, summertime was by far the most exciting season of the year for me (behind Christmas, of course, even then I was sort of a holiday junkie). It wasn’t because I was off of school – I actually loved school even during those awkward middle and high school years. It wasn’t because of the warm weather either – heat and humidity suck when you grow up in upstate New York where most people didn’t have A/C 20 years ago. It wasn’t because of the ice cream trips that my parents would take us on – hot summer nights were defined by Perry’s ice cream flavors and that special family time. It wasn’t because of the carnivals and parades and special events that marked evenings and weekends – although I had the extreme honor of playing in the Alexander Firemen’s Band in my college years, a wonderful throwback to a bygone era of small town community icons. And it wasn’t because my birthday always marked the beginning of summer – although up until I was about 30 years old, it was awfully fun to celebrate my birthday.  It wasn’t because baseball season had rolled in – although there is nothing better than sitting in the bleachers of a ballpark with popcorn in hand and the crack of the bat ringing through the air. It wasn’t even because camping season had finally arrived – even though those Sprucelands days were the happiest times I’ve ever had, in the wide outdoors surrounded by horses and friends.

In hindsight, I think the reason summer was so wonderful was because it meant FREEDOM. The freedom from routine school days and regular mundane activities. The freedom from parental oversight, especially as I became older and went off to summer camps for the whole summer. Freedom from dark and dreary winter weather – try living in everlasting snow for one winter and see how you feel. Freedom from mean girls and social pressures in school. Freedom to enjoy the sunshine and green grass and fresh air. Freedom to be with my friends and to be myself. Freedom to spend entire days in the sunshine, teaching horses and kids how to be effective teams. Freedom to be silly and laugh and not be serious and studious and boring. Freedom to swim and read fun books and to lay in the grass stargazing with my friends.

I walked out of work the other night into a warm summer evening and, as I took a deep breath of humid Maryland air, I had a flash of that freedom once more. And though the summer is no longer defined by ice cream (damn lactose intolerance) and the fireman’s band (geography limits my piccolo time), summer is still freedom for me. I can still enjoy bright sunshine and camping out in the night air and grilled sweet corn and fresh-picked strawberries and priceless hours in the saddle. My life has changed so much yet I’m still so blessed to enjoy the FREEDOM of summer’s fresh air, frosty glasses of white wine, and friendship.

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…I’ll Be Damned…

When I was a kid, I developed an obsession with the 1955 movie of the Rodgers & Hammerstein musical Oklahoma!. I don’t actually know why this movie was so interesting to me – I can’t even remember when I first became fascinated but I do know I drove my family crazy by playing that VHS almost daily. And I also remember that even then I had no interest in the character of ‘Laurie’, the female romantic lead. Besides one empowering moment of being a strong independent woman in “Many A New Day,” she generally is kind of a wimp. Given the expected roles of women and the gender norms of the days in which both the Broadway production and the movie were made, I shouldn’t be surprised that ‘Laurie’ was young and pretty and looking for a man to complete her, to dream only of making a marriage and of which handsome man will bid on her pretty picnic basket. In popular culture at those times, the characters that were instead allowed to be strong, independent females were usually older, widowed or spinstered women who could offer the sage wisdom of their years and experience.
Enter the character of ‘Aunt Eller’ in Oklahoma!. Even as a kid I recognized that she was just plain amazing! She gets to be sassy and sarcastic, she gets to two-step with the cowboys and look at dirty pictures with them and wave a gun at the town leaders. She gets to be kind and loving to her niece and strong and supportive when things go bad. She gets the funny lines, the scene-saving moments, and the homespun charm of a lovable character.
When my high school put on the production of Oklahoma! in my senior year, I was devastated to learn that I had to choose between the honor of representing my region on a trip to the Model United Nations in The Hague, Netherlands OR to fulfill my dream of bringing ‘Aunt Eller’ to the stage. As my father loves to tell the story, I cried for weeks over this horrible event. In hindsight, I am eternally grateful that I took the chance to travel abroad and to have that incredible and unique lifetime experience in the Netherlands and Russia – BUT I can admit that I also regret missing the chance to be ‘Eller’ for even just those few months.
That regret stems mostly from the fact that now, as an adult, I can understand and honor the type of character and the type of woman that ‘Aunt Eller’s’ creators crafted. As a grown woman with more of that famous life experience and less of the high school naivete, I can more deeply appreciate the strength of this character.
Like her counterpart in Carousel, ‘Nettie Fowler’, ‘Eller’ is the foundation of the town and the support system to whom our lovelorn-clueless-tragic female lead turns to when life falls apart in the climactic moments of the show. Her advice when a character dies and threatens the beginning of ‘Laurie’ and ‘Curly’s’ marriage is:
“If you cain’t fergit, jist don’t try to, honey. Oh, lots of things happen to folks. Sickness, er bein’ pore and hungry even-bein’ old and afeared to die. That’s the way it is-cradle to grave. And you can stand it. They’s one way. You gotta be hearty, you got to be. You cain’t deserve the sweet and tender in life less’n you’re tough.”
As in Carousel, once more, a Rodgers and Hammerstein character reminds us to hold our heads high and to keep pushing forward when life gets difficult.
But to me, the quintessential Eller shines through in this one simple line: “I don’t say I’m no better than anybody else, but I’ll be damned if I ain’t jist as good.” It has taken me a lifetime to learn this lesson well, to realize that I don’t live my life for anyone else but me. I FINALLY have grasped the concept that no one, NO ONE, can sit in judgement of me or my life choices. I’m never going to be a millionaire or a Broadway star or a Rhodes scholar. I’m going to live a quiet life and hopefully make a small difference to someone. I don’t have anything that makes me special or noteworthy – I don’t say I’m no better than anybody else. But I am who I am and the older I get, the more comfortable I have become in my own skin. I have my scars and a chip on my shoulder and a list of mistakes that is 9 miles long. But I will no longer allow anyone to put me down or say that I’m not good enough – I’ll be damned if I ain’t jist as good.
So thank you ‘Aunt Eller’ and thank you Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein for creating happy moments from my childhood and learning moments in my adulthood.

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Revisiting Columbine

Nineteen years ago today, I was in college when the tragic events of Columbine High School unfolded with the eyes of the world watching. I know it wasn’t the first horrific act of terrorism in the world – but it was among the first that my generation had ever witnessed. I remember watching in horror the footage of high school kids, themselves just a few years younger than me, jumping out of windows and running from their school covered in blood and mute in terror. Our tears flowed as security footage showed teachers throwing themselves in front of students to shield them from bullets. Shocked, we watched news footage of law enforcement teams struggling to respond to what was then unplanned-for and unheard-of attacks against children. We organized vigils on campus to raise awareness of the violence that had befallen our generation. We sold ribbons [one of which to this day adorns my work bag], to raise money to send to the fund organized to pay for funerals for the fallen students and teacher. We tried in vain to wrap our young minds around the senseless violence, the hate, the anger, the bloodshed.

Almost twenty years later, we now sit in the aftermath of the high school shooting in Parkland, Florida. And the same feelings pour out – fear for our children, sadness that our world has devolved even further. I shudder to think of what kids must feel when they go to school now, wondering if one day one of their classmates is going to go off the deep end and bring an assault rifle in his tuba case. These children are now organizing walkouts of the classroom to raise awareness for their fear and their desire to be safe – further, and to my mind much more aggressive, steps down the pathway that I started down all those years ago on my college campus. From candlelight vigils to protest walkouts, young people are the ones who are begging adults to take note of their fear, their sadness, their desire for a better world. I just hope that those same kids that are walking out are now also making pledges to be kinder, more giving, more loving human beings. I hope cyber-bullying and “Mean Girls” will become distant memories. Just as we should have done after Columbine, we have to teach our children how to be loving, functioning adults who don’t need guns to solve their problems.

Unfortunately, from Columbine to Parkland, there have been hundreds of mass shootings in between. All perpetrated by people who are seriously mentally ill, monumentally angry, and completely lacking in conscience and moral guidance. We, as a society, now see these shootings on such a regular basis that I’m afraid we are becoming complacent to them. I fear they no longer strike the fear and horror in our hearts like Columbine did. How can we accept these acts of hate as everyday events?

I recently went through a training with our town police representatives on active shooter responses. In our world today, after September 11^th and all of these domestic terrorist attacks, I no longer train just for everyday house fires or car accidents – now we have to drill on active assailants and mass acts of terror. Hearing some of the unedited 9-1-1 calls and radio transmissions from Columbine, I was physically ill with the sounds of the abject terror and bewildered shock in those kids’ voices. And those same scenes are just replaying and rerunning at every one of those mass shooting incidents. And now to think that teachers are having to be trained in defense techniques and combat skills to protect kindergarteners from lunatics with rifles! What is wrong with our world? How can we fix this? The same questions that ran through our minds 19 years ago after Columbine are still begging for answers now.

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Spaghetti vs. Waffles

When the cracks first began appearing in my marriage, a male friend of mine tried to help me understand the male psyche in a way that would sink into my confused mind. His advice to me was that Male Brains are Like Waffles, Female Brains are Like Spaghetti.** 

At the time I didn’t fully grasp what the hell he was talking about. Yes, men like to eat. Yes, men can eat endless amounts of carbs and sweets and never gain an ounce. What the hell, Rob, how is that going to help my marriage? 

What he meant is this: men think of things in tidy little squares. They are able to compartmentalize not only their feelings but also their experiences, their reactions, their entire life. They can keep everything in tidy little boxes and only tackle the sections that they need to at any given time. They can even keep the syrup contained in the areas where they need to.

Women, on the other hand, are a jumbled bowl of pasta, with each strand tangled up in another one and covered totally in sauce. Emotions, experiences, daily moments, they all jumble together and make one massive meal. We aren’t able to separate things out as easily and so can often get confused on what part of life is what.

And yes, males and females are of the same species (follow the metaphor here, we’re both carbs) but are very different. Each are individual creations that can display dizzying arrays of variations (chocolate chip, coconut, plain with butter, pesto sauce, marinara, blond, brunette, thin, fluffy, tall, short, etc). Yet we have to remember that each is undeniably and fundamentally different from one another – which needs to be respected and handled. We need learn to communicate with the other type of food as best we can and to understand that we may never fully comprehend them. A big syrupy strawberry waffle may never be able to understand the bowl of spaghetti ala vodka sauce. But together they’d make a damn good (albeit high calorie) meal. A happy mating of carbs – and humans.

**[I know now that he actually read this theory in a book called “Men Are Like Waffles–Women Are Like Spaghetti: Understanding and Delighting in Your Differences” by Pam and Bill Farrel but at that time I was giving him credit for total brilliance. Definitely read the book, its extremely enlightening and very helpful in opening lines of communication.] 

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For A Limited Time Only

Have you ever had a profound, life-changing event over a cup of coffee? I have – which I know must seem very odd to those of you out there who do not have that special place in your hearts for caffeine. Of course, anyone that knows my mother would not at all be surprised that her little daughter apple did not fall far from the coffee-flavored tree – my mom is as loyal to her coffeepot as she is to my dad, maybe even a little more to the coffee since Dad’s only been her husband since 1966. We used to joke with waitresses at restaurants that they could just run a central IV line to my mom to save them time and energy in refilling her cup. So, with that caffeine addiction running true in my genes, no one should be surprised that I am finding philosophy in coffee.

Ok, so anyway, back to my profound, life-changing moment. During one of my regular runs to Dunkin’ Donuts to grab an iced coffee (one of the few edible/potable vestiges of my former pre-surgery life that I still desperately cling to), I was hemming and hawing over the new “limited time only” flavor selections. I just HAD to try that flavor because it was going away, what if I missed something important, what if there was some goodness that expired because I was too afraid to try something new….what if…what if?

So here’s my epiphany: Life in general should be lived like it’s Limited Time Only. Try those new flavors or that new type of ethnic food, check those items off the bucket list, embark on a new adventure, sign up for that tap dance class, travel to Scotland, learn how to sky dive. Do all those things that you want to do – because there is no guarantee of tomorrow. We, as humans, do have an expiration date so we need to enjoy our one trip on the planet. Live your life to its fullest because it is Limited Time Only!

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The WWE Amazement

If you’d have asked my college-aged self where I thought I’d be in 15 years, never in a million years would I have imagined my current answers – divorced, ‘living in sin’ with a man, working far out of my trained field of study, and working down my bucket list as the years of my life pass by.

But, interestingly, the answer that most would have shocked my 20-year old self-righteous, intellectually snobbish self would have been this – a fan of the WWE franchise. That’s right, I said I’m a WWE fan. Wrestling. Fake, real, predetermined, scripted – it doesn’t matter. It’s just so dang entertaining and for those hours on 2 nights a week, I can set aside adult responsibilities and serious thinking and just lose myself in the often soap operatic quality to the plotlines. The actual matches aren’t really why I watch – I know very little about traditional Greco-Roman wrestling, MMA, UFC or boxing – but I do admire the skill and athleticism that it must take to do some of those stunts and not die. Watch one of them fly off the top turnbuckle sometime and tell me you’re not impressed.

But it’s the silly stories and the constantly changing characters that keep me entertained.  There’s romance, action, friendship, breakups, betrayals – the WWE is sports entertainment as a microcosm of the American experience. I don’t have to invest serious thought into what is happening. I don’t have to question motives when a character turns heel or a tag team splits up. I don’t have to study or take notes or please anybody or answer the damn phone during those hours – I can unplug my brain and guilt and sense of service and just be.

“Oh, It’s True. It’s Damn True!” 

 

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Alone And Lonely are Two Different Words

If I’ve learned one lesson in the last 15 years since I graduated from college and set out on my own, was married and then divorced, and am now on the path to middle age, I have learned that being alone and being lonely are two VERY different concepts.

I struck out for Maryland soon after I graduated from college in upstate New York. I was alone and didn’t know a soul in Maryland but my sense of youthful adventure told me I wouldn’t need anyone, that I had to go live my own story. Of course, a month after moving into my first apartment and starting a job in which I worked almost exclusively with strangers in their 60s, I discovered what it meant to be lonely. I sat on the floor of said apartment and cried for the friends and family that I had left behind – and then I went to the shelter and adopted a rescue cat (who, by the way, lived and loved with me for the next 14 years so I highly recommend those adopted furry friends as a means of combating the blues). I wasn’t mature enough to realize that those times of standing on my own two feet was teaching me how to be independent and strong.

Then I got married – and made the mistake of marrying a man who didn’t share many interests with me. We didn’t spend much time doing things together – except the fire department. We led very separate lives – and I naively congratulated myself that we were one of those amazing modern couples that didn’t need to live in each others’ back pockets. I didn’t know that while I was rounding out my skills in home improvement and gardening, visiting museums and attending cultural events, he was screwing every woman he could find. Eh, life lesson learned on that one. I was often alone and doing things I wanted to be doing and yes, often regretted that he didn’t share any time with me which left me lonely and wanting more.  But I did learn that I don’t need a man to do the things I want to do in this life and I don’t need a man to complete me.

So now, after the divorce and the dating, the readjustment of my whole world view, I spend a lot of time alone. I travel alone, I go to those museums alone, I read and study alone. I can pitch a tent and build a campfire alone – I can fix a toilet or hang a new light fixture alone – I can cook chicken nuggets or a fancy French pastry alone – I can drive 8 hours to see my family alone and I can run a 5K alone. I spend that time alone and quite content with my own company. It’s a vast difference from that lonely girl that moved down here and was so sad and so lost. I now choose to push my own boundaries and discover what I can do by myself. 

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The Instant Fix Switch

As I sit here on only the 4th day of the New Year, sick as a dog* and watching the snow bluster outside, I am pondering how lovely it would be if you could flip a switch and have something instantly repaired. Somewhat in the vein of that old Staples advertising gimmick with the Easy Button but better – not only because I’m avoiding discussions on buttons at all now that Donald and Kim Jong are using their buttons, but also better because instead of making something “easy,” my switch fixes the situation altogether. So here are some situations in which I’d use that switch:

Sick with the Winter Crud? Instant Fix Switch flipped…no more snot dripping, hacking cough, upset tummy, or raging headache!

Running late for work and every little old slow driver decides to drive in front of you and you’ve hit every red light in a 50-mile radius? Instant Fix Switch flipped….you’re teleported directly to your destination and no more commuter stress!

Have a house full of Christmas decorations, indoors and out, and you just can’t find the New Years’ gumption to clean it all up and pack it away? Instant Fix Switch flipped…all of the sparkle and glitter is packed and stowed away for next year’s festivities!

Don’t know what to make for dinner? Running short on groceries in the house? Instant Fix Switch flipped…dinner of any culinary style prepped, ready, and on the table – and for free!

Grumpy coworker or grouchy spouse who just can’t seem to find the right side of the bed to wake up on? Instant Fix Switch flipped…and only the good qualities and happy elements of their personalities are present and accounted for!

Coffee pot running slow or the line at the local Dunkin’ too long to provide the morning brew? Instant Fix Switch flipped…and an automatically-refilling mug will always have that life-saving caffeinated goodness on hand!

Ran out of your stash of New York State and Pennsylvania wines (which, incidentally, are the best in the world, none of those expensive, overrated California and French wines for me)? Instant Fix Switch flipped…and a Star Trek Enterprise-style portal installed in your wall can magically produce red or white nectar upon demand at any time!

Dust bunnies under the bed or a disorganized desk in need of serious filing? Instant Fix Switch flipped…and the house automatically cleans and organizes to a sparkling Better Homes & Gardens standard!

Have picked up a few extra pounds from too much Thanksgiving pies or Christmas cookies? Instant Fix Switch flipped…and you’re a svelte size 6 at all times, able to put on any outfit you wish without worrying about which bulge is showing!

Oh, the possibilities are endless for what that handy Instant Fix Switch could do to relieve the stress of everyday life. Not to mention what amazing things it could do for the political, economic, environmental, and social crises that occur in our world! Could one of those wonderful California tech geeks please work on developing the technology for the Instant Fix Switch?! I promise I won’t insult your wine anymore if you can invent this for me and help fix the world….?

 

 

*[note to self: remember to research where that phrase comes from because, really, I can guarantee you dogs don’t get any sicker than humans, so why are they the species of choice for this phrase?]

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