So, I started reading through my previous blog posts and realized that I only write when I'm sad, mad or frustrated. I need to change that. And I need to write more, as it's probably the most therapeutic thing you can do. That was the idea behind this blog at the start - to get all of the jumbled thoughts in my head OUT and onto "paper." I was cleaning my room the other day, like really cleaning it and I found old journals that I had written in, dating from 2000-2002. Yeah, I found my junior high diaries. And while I won't go into what they said (silly, pre-teen angsty stuff), I smiled at the fact that my writing style hasn't changed much. But I need to write about happy things again.
So happy things:
May:
My cousin had a baby girl and she's the sweetest thing alive. She looks like a doll and has the name of a warrior princess, Vivienne Athena. My cousin and her husband have wanted a child for so long and she's just perfect. I'm so happy she's here! AND she's getting another cousin. My other cousin, already mommy to the Sass Master Miss Ruby, is having another little girl! YAY babies! They most certainly make the holidays a much better time.
June:
My sister got engaged. I know, weird. My baby sister, aged 21 got engaged to the absolute love of her life. And boy is he a hoot. My new brother-in-law (they got married, but more on that later because I'm nit-picky and trying to go in chronological order) is hilarious, kind, funny, generous, caring, hard working and most of all, a damned saint to spend the rest of his life with my crazy, but amazing, sister. They got engaged the day after their birthdays (two days and two years apart....their Gemini household is going to be something interesting) and his family is now our family and it's all happy :).
July:
My cousin Giusy married her love and we got to back to visit our family in Italy. YAY! It had been four years since I was in Italy, and I don't need to reiterate how much I love that damn country. But family visits are different. They're full of lunch and dinner dates with a different family every day. My dad has a crazy amount of cousins over there and they're all within 5 square miles. We don't eat out when we go there. We don't even cook for ourselves. We'd get yelled at if we did. We, as the four of us, got to spend an amazing 10 days over there and catching up and bonding with our awesome family, language barrier be damned. I finally got to meet my little cousin Giuliana and laugh at her crazy antics. I got to hug my great aunts again, which I treasure SO much because I have no idea what will happen before the next time I get to go back. My heart was bursting so much over there. I didn't want to leave.
September:
I was maid of honor for one of my very best friends and we had an AWESOME bachelorette for her. We headed up to Napa with a party bus and spent the day wine tasting. We went to a gorgeous winery called Castello di Amarosa, which looked a hell of a lot like the medieval castle my cousin in Italy had her reception at. Delicious wine, gorgeous scenery and a fun group of gals. I also got to spend the next day, her birthday, with my friend, doing what we love, watching baseball at a sports bar in Palo Alto. She lives out in Vegas and I don't get to see her much, so it was fun to spend time with her. And gear up for her wedding (more on that later).
October:
I got a new job. FINALLY. I was in the retail mobile tech industry for 2.5 years and that was probably a year too long. It got bad at the end. Like anxiety ridden days where I struggled to get myself to work. BUT happy thoughts...I found a new place. I now work at Cal State Channel Islands, doing administrative work and a teensy bit of event planning for the biology, chemistry and geology programs. Now, if you know me, you'll know that I am downright awful when it comes to science. I was always more english/poli sci/history minded. But I'm happy again. I go to work with a smile on my face again. It had been a long time since I've done that.
November:
My best friend got married and I was her Maid of Honor. I gotta say, for my first time being a bridesmaid, it was crazy fun. We had a great bachelorette in September and she got married at this gorgeous venue in Vegas. The morning of the wedding was probably the most relaxed I've ever seen a bride and it was so much fun getting ready and dressed in the gorgeous suite she had for the day/night. The wedding party was a hoot, the groomsmen wore soccer shoes and the reception was a blast. And the best part was that my best friend married the love of her life. I remember asking him how he was doing at one point and he looked at me and said "I don't like dancing, I hate being the center of attention and I really don't like big parties. But, I love her" with a giant smile on his face.
He's definitely a keeper.
Also in November: A very good friend (I just call him my cousin to make it easier) got married to his amazing wife in a gorgeous wedding up at the Natural History Museum in Santa Barbara. I LOVE outdoor weddings. They're breathtaking. Also, we spent Thanksgiving with more familyfriends and the next day celebrate the marriage of one of their sons as well. It was a really busy weekend.
December:
Holidays, holidays, a little bit of work, and more holidaaaaays! But basically gear up for my sister's wedding. We had a rough start to December with the passing of a very good friend (I mentioned him in a previous post, Alan) and thus spent a lot of time with that part of our familyfriend circle. But it was comforting. I love those people. I have more friends that I can count as family than I do actual family. And I have a LOT of blood related family. But Christmas was spent with my aunt, uncle, cousins and their little families. We're growing! Togetherness is an amazing feeling.
So that was 2014. It was a hell of a year. And thus far, 2015 has been as well and we're only 23 days in. Whew. Here's to more happy times in 2015!
Friday, January 23, 2015
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
MSA, Alzheimers, Cancer and any other life threatening disease SUCK
I meant to post this a while back but felt I needed to simmer on it. I wrote it from a rambling place of sadness and pain. So I think I wrote this a month ago. Since then, happy events have happened, but the pain of missing those who have passed is still here.
For Christmas, my Aunt Ellie (not blood/legally related in any way but friendship and love), the wonderful, loving, amazing widow of Uncle Alan, gave a select group of women necklaces. The necklace is a simple silver chain with an angel wing. She said the only catch to the necklace was that you think of Alan when you wear it. I've worn it everyday.
A MONTH AGO
A few weekends ago, I went to church for the first time in a long time. I don't have a good excuse for not going, just been lazing about on my Sunday mornings. But today I went and in listening to the second reading, something caught my ear. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death" which is 1 Corinthians 15:26. It caught my ear for a few reasons 1) a dear friend was nearing death after beating back so many illnesses in his life and 2) I swear I'd read it in Harry Potter. Mind Blown.
"THE LAST ENEMY THAT SHALL BE DESTROYED IS DEATH"
In the last week, since Friday, December 5th, three people that my family were close with have passed away, one from each of the aforementioned (in the title) ugly diseases. And frankly, I'm mad. I'm mad that these wonderful, kind, sweet people had to endure such injustice. Further, since before Thanksgiving, a few more have passed. I know people die every day and it comes in waves as far as who you know, but sitting here, all I feel is anger. And sadness for the families. And a tiny bit of relief for their loved ones. As much as the deceased suffered, their families had to watch them suffer. Their passing has given a relief. Life will never, ever, EVER be the same, or go back to "normal" but at least now they know that the pain and suffering is over.
I'm rambling. I have a thousand thoughts running through my mind right now. I don't want to come off as insensitive so I'm just going to write.
Uncle Alan, you were one of the best humans to ever walk this planet. You were one of my parents very best friends and you made them better through your friendship. The crazy in love relationship you had with your wife, the lovely Elinor, was evident until the very end. I'm sorry I didn't spend more time with you. Thank you for letting me call you "uncle" even though I had no relation to you besides friendship. You were a brother-in-law to my godfather, but you were more than that. I could see the sadness in his eyes. My dad and John are two of the strongest men I know and to see them sad and near tears at times cut through me. To see you suffering after everything else you'd been through cut through me. We love you so much.
Sandra, you were a light in this world. I haven't seen you in year and years, since your family moved away, but the power of Facebook kept our worlds connected, if only through posts and pictures and status updates from your family. I know my mom's been praying for you since your diagnosis and I'm so sad that you're gone. But like your husband said, I'm happy that you got to witness your two daughters getting married and hold your sweet grandchild, if only for a short time. He will know who you are.
Grandpa Phil, another family friend who we adopted as just plain family. It's been some time since I saw you before you got sick, but I always referred to you as grandpa. Your mind was stolen away by a vile disease, but your family will never forget your warmth and love. Grandma Ginger holds you in her heart and I know I have a few fond memories to look back on. We'll take care of everyone down here.
For Christmas, my Aunt Ellie (not blood/legally related in any way but friendship and love), the wonderful, loving, amazing widow of Uncle Alan, gave a select group of women necklaces. The necklace is a simple silver chain with an angel wing. She said the only catch to the necklace was that you think of Alan when you wear it. I've worn it everyday.
A MONTH AGO
A few weekends ago, I went to church for the first time in a long time. I don't have a good excuse for not going, just been lazing about on my Sunday mornings. But today I went and in listening to the second reading, something caught my ear. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death" which is 1 Corinthians 15:26. It caught my ear for a few reasons 1) a dear friend was nearing death after beating back so many illnesses in his life and 2) I swear I'd read it in Harry Potter. Mind Blown.
"THE LAST ENEMY THAT SHALL BE DESTROYED IS DEATH"
In the last week, since Friday, December 5th, three people that my family were close with have passed away, one from each of the aforementioned (in the title) ugly diseases. And frankly, I'm mad. I'm mad that these wonderful, kind, sweet people had to endure such injustice. Further, since before Thanksgiving, a few more have passed. I know people die every day and it comes in waves as far as who you know, but sitting here, all I feel is anger. And sadness for the families. And a tiny bit of relief for their loved ones. As much as the deceased suffered, their families had to watch them suffer. Their passing has given a relief. Life will never, ever, EVER be the same, or go back to "normal" but at least now they know that the pain and suffering is over.
I'm rambling. I have a thousand thoughts running through my mind right now. I don't want to come off as insensitive so I'm just going to write.
Uncle Alan, you were one of the best humans to ever walk this planet. You were one of my parents very best friends and you made them better through your friendship. The crazy in love relationship you had with your wife, the lovely Elinor, was evident until the very end. I'm sorry I didn't spend more time with you. Thank you for letting me call you "uncle" even though I had no relation to you besides friendship. You were a brother-in-law to my godfather, but you were more than that. I could see the sadness in his eyes. My dad and John are two of the strongest men I know and to see them sad and near tears at times cut through me. To see you suffering after everything else you'd been through cut through me. We love you so much.
Sandra, you were a light in this world. I haven't seen you in year and years, since your family moved away, but the power of Facebook kept our worlds connected, if only through posts and pictures and status updates from your family. I know my mom's been praying for you since your diagnosis and I'm so sad that you're gone. But like your husband said, I'm happy that you got to witness your two daughters getting married and hold your sweet grandchild, if only for a short time. He will know who you are.
Grandpa Phil, another family friend who we adopted as just plain family. It's been some time since I saw you before you got sick, but I always referred to you as grandpa. Your mind was stolen away by a vile disease, but your family will never forget your warmth and love. Grandma Ginger holds you in her heart and I know I have a few fond memories to look back on. We'll take care of everyone down here.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Dreaming of Florence
Last night, I dreamt of Florence. Again. I do this often, but last night's dreamworld wanderings felt so real and vivid that I woke up and wondered where I was for a moment. Then, I remembered that it's been nearly 5 years since that summer and I'm waking up for work in my room back in California.
It was like most dreams I've had, just wandering the streets after dark. I suppose I dream of this because I did it often while I lived there. I swear I could still walk the city with my eyes closed. My apartment was on Via Il Prato, across from the Grand Hotel Villa Medici, on the outskirts of the city center, so most of the time it didn't make sense for anyone to walk me home just for them to turn around and walk clear across the city again. I liked those nights, walking home after an evening of drinking, dancing, laughing and memory making. The city that summer was something magical. Of course, in my waking hours, I tend to let my mind wander again, but focusing on things I want it to. I had an internship in the more suburban part of town, so I would go and catch a bus at the Santa Maria Novella transport center, where a myriad of taxis and buses rushed through and tourists and locals alike hurried to catch the train on the inside of the center. There was a McDonald's right across the street and I would literally scoff at it daily, thinking "what kind of blasphemy is this?!" There was a perfectly good pasticceria across the street that you could pick up a cappuccino and pastry for breakfast.
The one time I had a cappuccino (I have never enjoyed coffee, but, hey, I was in Italy) was a misty weekday morning during my second week. I had been up late the night before with some new friends from my language class and thought I could use a pick me up. My god, I was not prepared for the reaction. All I had was a small cappuccino, not a large coffee like they serve it here. In Italy, you order your drink standing at the bar and the barista (a true one) gives you a little plastic cup of water to drink to cleanse your palette. Then you get served your shot of cappuccino and you take it like a shot. No sipping, no swirling, just take the shot. Then more water and maybe a bite of pastry. It was strong, as is all European coffee, and you could smell the shop from down the street. I had added a little sugar to take the edge off of the bitterness, so it was a nice mix of sweet and how I imagined coffee would taste after the smell alone could wake me. All was well and good until an hour later, back in class, when my entire body was shaking so much that I thought I was having heart palpitations. I had NOT anticipated the caffeine to have such an affect on me, but in retrospect, I hadn't had caffeine since I stopped drinking soda when I was 14.
I was jittery the rest of the day, even after eating a full meal and walking around after class let out. Never again, I swore. And I haven't. But any whiff of coffee sends me back to that moment. A lot of smells do that. That summer, and I'm sure most summers, they were doing construction and restoration on parts of the city. Florence is a walking city, with a bustling city center. During the summer, there are traffic pylons blocking off access on the main roads so that cars can't travel beyond a certain point. It's for the throngs of tourists that clog the city center but luckily, it's not so bad if you know where to go at what times.
Anyways, there was a route that went from my friend Ali's apartment near the Mercato San Lorenzo that took us down a quiet back street that was also being worked on. The Mercato itself was a big building with food stands inside and all around it outside was tent city, jam packed with pop up shops selling their wares, but hot because of the crush of all of the bodies. Once you got away from it, the buildings were tall, so it was mostly shaded. They had broken up the sidewalks and were pouring fresh concrete. I'm not sure why, but the smell of fresh concrete, mixed with the dust, is something of a comfort smell to me. And it was cool down there, so we had some relief. I'm not sure if you've ever been to Italy during the summer, but it's hot as hell. Tuscany is in a valley and it gets upwards of 100 F and practically 100% humidity. My outfit usually consisted of sandals, a cotton skirt and a tank top, with my hair up somehow. It was too hot otherwise.
I liked it best at night, when the sun went down and the heat just sat there, except along the river, where the stone grew cool enough that you could trail your hand on it as you walked for a little relief. The Arno was gorgeous at night, shimmering with the lights from the buildings on either side. My walk home on Tuesday nights was along the river, as the lounge that my friends played at each Tuesday was right on the river. We would spill out of the lounge in the wee hours and yell and hug our goodbyes and good-nights, and I would take off opposite of everyone else. I was careful, never in danger, staying where there were lights. I also had pepper spray in my small purse that I gripped with white knuckles, just in case. Walking home allowed me to clear my head from the day and night. Mornings were good too. I had a Israeli roommate who would roll his own cigarettes each morning while brewing the strongest smelling coffee I have ever smelled. He was a total sweetheart and has this rough voice, thickly accented but spoke perfect English and Italian, but it smoothed out when he sang, and he was teaching himself to play that guitar that summer. He would sing anytime he was home and I could hear him singing Journey songs through the walls. I normally hate the smell of cigarette, but there was something about freshly rolled ones that didn't seem so bad.
I could ramble on for ages about the nooks and crannies of Florence...maybe I will. My most favorite thing about how small of a city center Florence is is that you could peek down any side street and look up and most likely catch a glimpse of the Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore. I don't remember specific street names, but I know the way from the Duomo to Il Gato e La Volpe, one of my favorite restaurants, just as if I had walked it yesterday. You sit at a big wooden table on a bench, and eat Florentine bread, which can't be eaten without their amaaaazing balsamic dip. I can practically taste it now. (Note to self: next time I'm in Florence, buy a case of it and ship back home). I can also tell you how to get to a restaurant that serves the most delicious pear and pecorino ravioli you'll ever come across. If you are standing looking at the front of the Duomo, look to your right, where the wide street leads down the La Piazza della Repubblica, but only go past 3 sides streets and turn to your left. It has a green awning and a tree in a bucket and only seats about 20 people, but my GOD the food is amazing. I can also tell you to go behind the Duomo and past the Bargello (a towering building that was once Florence's prison but is now a museum) and a little bar that gets crowded too fast but the proprietor is so happy to see you. My god, how we wandered those streets.
Do you know the feeling of missing someone so much that it physically hurts? That's how I feel about Florence. It's like my bones ache to be back there. But I know that once I go back, I'll be faced with the reality that it will never feel like it did that summer. But I can go back with fresh eyes and a knowledge of the city that I didn't have before. I'll climb the Duomo again, but make sure to keep my camera extra safe (it was pickpocketed shortly after returning to street level and with it all of my gorgeous photos of the red roofs spread as far as the eye could see). I would actually go INTO L'Accademi and gawk at the real David, not the imitation they have out in La Piazza Signoria.
I would take a whole two days to wander the Uffizi and somehow swing a tour of the upper compartments of Il Ponte Vecchio. If that doesn't work, I'll just wander in and out of the gold shops on the bridge. Fun fact: the shops on Il Ponte Vecchio used to be butcher shops, because it was easier to tip the waste into the river instead of hauling it from a shop more inland. Gross, I know, but now it's shining bright with gold shops and alive with live music sung by musicians asking for a few Euro coins. I would also go back to the Palazzo Pitti and spend a whole day IN the palace and then go back the next day to walk around the Biboli gardens. Now, don't let the name confuse you - the Biboli Gardens is actually an 11 acre park, built for the pleasure of the wife of Cosimo I de Medici, the Grand Duke of Tuscany. She wanted something to remind her of her home in Spain, so she got 11 acres worth.
Ahh, I would do so many things. I miss it so much. For now, I'll just dream.
It was like most dreams I've had, just wandering the streets after dark. I suppose I dream of this because I did it often while I lived there. I swear I could still walk the city with my eyes closed. My apartment was on Via Il Prato, across from the Grand Hotel Villa Medici, on the outskirts of the city center, so most of the time it didn't make sense for anyone to walk me home just for them to turn around and walk clear across the city again. I liked those nights, walking home after an evening of drinking, dancing, laughing and memory making. The city that summer was something magical. Of course, in my waking hours, I tend to let my mind wander again, but focusing on things I want it to. I had an internship in the more suburban part of town, so I would go and catch a bus at the Santa Maria Novella transport center, where a myriad of taxis and buses rushed through and tourists and locals alike hurried to catch the train on the inside of the center. There was a McDonald's right across the street and I would literally scoff at it daily, thinking "what kind of blasphemy is this?!" There was a perfectly good pasticceria across the street that you could pick up a cappuccino and pastry for breakfast.
The one time I had a cappuccino (I have never enjoyed coffee, but, hey, I was in Italy) was a misty weekday morning during my second week. I had been up late the night before with some new friends from my language class and thought I could use a pick me up. My god, I was not prepared for the reaction. All I had was a small cappuccino, not a large coffee like they serve it here. In Italy, you order your drink standing at the bar and the barista (a true one) gives you a little plastic cup of water to drink to cleanse your palette. Then you get served your shot of cappuccino and you take it like a shot. No sipping, no swirling, just take the shot. Then more water and maybe a bite of pastry. It was strong, as is all European coffee, and you could smell the shop from down the street. I had added a little sugar to take the edge off of the bitterness, so it was a nice mix of sweet and how I imagined coffee would taste after the smell alone could wake me. All was well and good until an hour later, back in class, when my entire body was shaking so much that I thought I was having heart palpitations. I had NOT anticipated the caffeine to have such an affect on me, but in retrospect, I hadn't had caffeine since I stopped drinking soda when I was 14.
I was jittery the rest of the day, even after eating a full meal and walking around after class let out. Never again, I swore. And I haven't. But any whiff of coffee sends me back to that moment. A lot of smells do that. That summer, and I'm sure most summers, they were doing construction and restoration on parts of the city. Florence is a walking city, with a bustling city center. During the summer, there are traffic pylons blocking off access on the main roads so that cars can't travel beyond a certain point. It's for the throngs of tourists that clog the city center but luckily, it's not so bad if you know where to go at what times.
Anyways, there was a route that went from my friend Ali's apartment near the Mercato San Lorenzo that took us down a quiet back street that was also being worked on. The Mercato itself was a big building with food stands inside and all around it outside was tent city, jam packed with pop up shops selling their wares, but hot because of the crush of all of the bodies. Once you got away from it, the buildings were tall, so it was mostly shaded. They had broken up the sidewalks and were pouring fresh concrete. I'm not sure why, but the smell of fresh concrete, mixed with the dust, is something of a comfort smell to me. And it was cool down there, so we had some relief. I'm not sure if you've ever been to Italy during the summer, but it's hot as hell. Tuscany is in a valley and it gets upwards of 100 F and practically 100% humidity. My outfit usually consisted of sandals, a cotton skirt and a tank top, with my hair up somehow. It was too hot otherwise.
I liked it best at night, when the sun went down and the heat just sat there, except along the river, where the stone grew cool enough that you could trail your hand on it as you walked for a little relief. The Arno was gorgeous at night, shimmering with the lights from the buildings on either side. My walk home on Tuesday nights was along the river, as the lounge that my friends played at each Tuesday was right on the river. We would spill out of the lounge in the wee hours and yell and hug our goodbyes and good-nights, and I would take off opposite of everyone else. I was careful, never in danger, staying where there were lights. I also had pepper spray in my small purse that I gripped with white knuckles, just in case. Walking home allowed me to clear my head from the day and night. Mornings were good too. I had a Israeli roommate who would roll his own cigarettes each morning while brewing the strongest smelling coffee I have ever smelled. He was a total sweetheart and has this rough voice, thickly accented but spoke perfect English and Italian, but it smoothed out when he sang, and he was teaching himself to play that guitar that summer. He would sing anytime he was home and I could hear him singing Journey songs through the walls. I normally hate the smell of cigarette, but there was something about freshly rolled ones that didn't seem so bad.
I could ramble on for ages about the nooks and crannies of Florence...maybe I will. My most favorite thing about how small of a city center Florence is is that you could peek down any side street and look up and most likely catch a glimpse of the Duomo, Santa Maria del Fiore. I don't remember specific street names, but I know the way from the Duomo to Il Gato e La Volpe, one of my favorite restaurants, just as if I had walked it yesterday. You sit at a big wooden table on a bench, and eat Florentine bread, which can't be eaten without their amaaaazing balsamic dip. I can practically taste it now. (Note to self: next time I'm in Florence, buy a case of it and ship back home). I can also tell you how to get to a restaurant that serves the most delicious pear and pecorino ravioli you'll ever come across. If you are standing looking at the front of the Duomo, look to your right, where the wide street leads down the La Piazza della Repubblica, but only go past 3 sides streets and turn to your left. It has a green awning and a tree in a bucket and only seats about 20 people, but my GOD the food is amazing. I can also tell you to go behind the Duomo and past the Bargello (a towering building that was once Florence's prison but is now a museum) and a little bar that gets crowded too fast but the proprietor is so happy to see you. My god, how we wandered those streets.
Do you know the feeling of missing someone so much that it physically hurts? That's how I feel about Florence. It's like my bones ache to be back there. But I know that once I go back, I'll be faced with the reality that it will never feel like it did that summer. But I can go back with fresh eyes and a knowledge of the city that I didn't have before. I'll climb the Duomo again, but make sure to keep my camera extra safe (it was pickpocketed shortly after returning to street level and with it all of my gorgeous photos of the red roofs spread as far as the eye could see). I would actually go INTO L'Accademi and gawk at the real David, not the imitation they have out in La Piazza Signoria.
I would take a whole two days to wander the Uffizi and somehow swing a tour of the upper compartments of Il Ponte Vecchio. If that doesn't work, I'll just wander in and out of the gold shops on the bridge. Fun fact: the shops on Il Ponte Vecchio used to be butcher shops, because it was easier to tip the waste into the river instead of hauling it from a shop more inland. Gross, I know, but now it's shining bright with gold shops and alive with live music sung by musicians asking for a few Euro coins. I would also go back to the Palazzo Pitti and spend a whole day IN the palace and then go back the next day to walk around the Biboli gardens. Now, don't let the name confuse you - the Biboli Gardens is actually an 11 acre park, built for the pleasure of the wife of Cosimo I de Medici, the Grand Duke of Tuscany. She wanted something to remind her of her home in Spain, so she got 11 acres worth.
Ahh, I would do so many things. I miss it so much. For now, I'll just dream.
Saturday, July 12, 2014
I read a book and cried. Then I wrote about it.
I have read many a book in my day. Sometimes, I read books more than once (and some special ones countless times – here’s looking at you JK), sometimes I don’t make it through it. But in all of those books, funny, sad, intelligent, action-packed, whatever genre, I have NEVER cried. NEVER. I have cried reading stories about real life but never fiction. Until now.
I am on a plane right now and when on planes, I get the inclination to read and to write. A few days ago I was in Target on a pre-trip run and as per usual, I made my way through the book section. This always proves dangerous for my credit card. I once thought it smart to kill time at a book store and walked out with four new books. Anyways, I came across The Fault in Our Stars. You must have heard of it, as it is immensely popular and the movie adaptation stars two of my new favorite actors, not just for their acting ability but because they seem like wonderful, genuine people (I have observed this through the wonderful world of social media –Ansel Elgort, your Vines make me smile. Never stop). I have not seen the film. I’ve seen the trailer, read the reviews, all praising the book to film adaptation as very respectable. I’ve been on John Green’s tumblr and read his tweets. (If you didn’t know, he is the author – I have 3 more of his books on my kindle waiting for me). He is another one of my new favorites. I had not read the book. I bought it.
A week later, I am on a plane and the conversation with the older gentleman to my right has waned and he’s taken up his newspaper, so I pick up my book. And I start reading. And I. Don’t. Stop. Until the very last page. And the book ends in such a way that I literally felt out of breath. Mainly beause this is the first fictional work that I have ever read that has made me cry. Now, let me clarify. I teared up for Sirius’s death in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I teared up when Hedwig died the following book. I teared up again for Tonks, Lupin and Fred. But Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace Lancaster and John Green had me crying real tears. Rolliing down my face, ruining the makeup that I put on before a day and a half of travel to ensure that I wouldn’t look like total hell upon reaching my ultimate destination. I could not stop them. I tried, thought I had succeeded and then there they were again, a few pages and chapters down the way. This is the best, most honest book I have read in a long time. I felt like I knew these kids. (I’m 25 and the characters are 16 and 17). I became attached to them. I will definitely go back to once again get to know them. They’re that good. TFIOS is not a book for sequels. I know that John Green is now an author I can’t ignore and I’m sure that the 3 books I have on Kindle will open me to new characters and feelings.
Go read this book. I’m sure that once I see the movie, I’ll tell you to see that too. This may have been such a random burst of a post, but I had too many feelings after the close of this book.
Also, a reflection on the fact that I haven’t written anything since my post about my Great-Uncle Mikey. I’ve come to view this as a place where I don’t need to write about everyday things. That would be too depressing at some points and sound too forcefully happy at others. I write when I have a lot of feelings. Sometimes it clears my head and makes me feel better and other times it gets me in trouble. Once, it did both.
Until next time.
I am on a plane right now and when on planes, I get the inclination to read and to write. A few days ago I was in Target on a pre-trip run and as per usual, I made my way through the book section. This always proves dangerous for my credit card. I once thought it smart to kill time at a book store and walked out with four new books. Anyways, I came across The Fault in Our Stars. You must have heard of it, as it is immensely popular and the movie adaptation stars two of my new favorite actors, not just for their acting ability but because they seem like wonderful, genuine people (I have observed this through the wonderful world of social media –Ansel Elgort, your Vines make me smile. Never stop). I have not seen the film. I’ve seen the trailer, read the reviews, all praising the book to film adaptation as very respectable. I’ve been on John Green’s tumblr and read his tweets. (If you didn’t know, he is the author – I have 3 more of his books on my kindle waiting for me). He is another one of my new favorites. I had not read the book. I bought it.
A week later, I am on a plane and the conversation with the older gentleman to my right has waned and he’s taken up his newspaper, so I pick up my book. And I start reading. And I. Don’t. Stop. Until the very last page. And the book ends in such a way that I literally felt out of breath. Mainly beause this is the first fictional work that I have ever read that has made me cry. Now, let me clarify. I teared up for Sirius’s death in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, I teared up when Hedwig died the following book. I teared up again for Tonks, Lupin and Fred. But Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace Lancaster and John Green had me crying real tears. Rolliing down my face, ruining the makeup that I put on before a day and a half of travel to ensure that I wouldn’t look like total hell upon reaching my ultimate destination. I could not stop them. I tried, thought I had succeeded and then there they were again, a few pages and chapters down the way. This is the best, most honest book I have read in a long time. I felt like I knew these kids. (I’m 25 and the characters are 16 and 17). I became attached to them. I will definitely go back to once again get to know them. They’re that good. TFIOS is not a book for sequels. I know that John Green is now an author I can’t ignore and I’m sure that the 3 books I have on Kindle will open me to new characters and feelings.
Go read this book. I’m sure that once I see the movie, I’ll tell you to see that too. This may have been such a random burst of a post, but I had too many feelings after the close of this book.
Also, a reflection on the fact that I haven’t written anything since my post about my Great-Uncle Mikey. I’ve come to view this as a place where I don’t need to write about everyday things. That would be too depressing at some points and sound too forcefully happy at others. I write when I have a lot of feelings. Sometimes it clears my head and makes me feel better and other times it gets me in trouble. Once, it did both.
Until next time.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
RIP Great Uncle Mikey
My mom's favorite uncle, her godfather, passed away on Sunday night, December 16. He had been in ill health for a long time and it was expected. I guess we just didn't expect it to happen so close to the holiday. Another of my mom's uncles, from the other side of the family, passed away 2 years ago this Christmas.
I really didn't know him, but my mom and dad both loved him. He was your quintessential New Yorker, the kind of guy who put any wanna be Soprano to shame. With his accent of course, not his life practices. He was my grandma's older brother and my grandpa's best friend. Yep, my grandpa married his best friend's kid sister.
The sobering thought of all of this is that the elderly family members of mine are passing on. My grandma is the only one left out of her siblings. My grandpa only has his sister. Both of my dad's parents are gone and the majority of their siblings have passed on as well. I am not ready for this. I am not ready for my grandparents to be gone from this earth. I haven't spent enough time with them.
But even as I say that, I think back to the kids (yes, I know, different post). Their lives ended at 6 and 7 years of age and Uncle Mikey's ended at nearly 90. The fact that he left this world shortly after they did makes he hope that he is one of the countless adults up here in heaven who will guide them in guiding us.
Oh my head and my emotions are all over the map.
RIP Uncle Mikey. You were one hell of a guy and you will be sorely missed.
(and just like that, I lied about not writing tonight)
I really didn't know him, but my mom and dad both loved him. He was your quintessential New Yorker, the kind of guy who put any wanna be Soprano to shame. With his accent of course, not his life practices. He was my grandma's older brother and my grandpa's best friend. Yep, my grandpa married his best friend's kid sister.
The sobering thought of all of this is that the elderly family members of mine are passing on. My grandma is the only one left out of her siblings. My grandpa only has his sister. Both of my dad's parents are gone and the majority of their siblings have passed on as well. I am not ready for this. I am not ready for my grandparents to be gone from this earth. I haven't spent enough time with them.
But even as I say that, I think back to the kids (yes, I know, different post). Their lives ended at 6 and 7 years of age and Uncle Mikey's ended at nearly 90. The fact that he left this world shortly after they did makes he hope that he is one of the countless adults up here in heaven who will guide them in guiding us.
Oh my head and my emotions are all over the map.
RIP Uncle Mikey. You were one hell of a guy and you will be sorely missed.
(and just like that, I lied about not writing tonight)
Friday, December 14
The first bit of news that I read from this tragedy was that a single teacher had been injured. Of course, we all know this is not the case. We know that this story came out to the public in bits and pieces, some of which were retracted and spit out semi-correctly again. I watched it unfold on my phone at work. Everyone was talking about it. I did not handle it well. I knew I was walking around with a cloud above my head. A coworker even commented that I "looked sad all day." I was sad. And scared. And confused and angry.
20 innocent little lives were taken from this world that day. 6 courageous adult lives were also taken, some of which were about to begin new life journeys. We don't know why it happened and we probably never will. The cowardly bastard took his life as first responders entered the school. The scary thought is that he could have wreaked so much more damage. My heart aches for the families and friends of the victims. Especially their classmates. They will forever be known as the kids who survived the massacre. Same as those at Columbine.
I try not to be political, mainly because I don't pay enough attention to it to make an educated argument one way or the other. There are a few things that I have a strong opinion on. Guns and gun control are not those things. I have no idea where I stand on either one of those. I know that when I see a police officer with a gun holstered to his hip, I feel safer but at the same time fearful that he or she should ever have to use it. When I see photos of soldiers at war with guns up and firing, I wish like hell I could pull them out of there and back to a world that doesn't need guns. I have friends who are gun aficionados and go to the range and shoot for fun. My sister has even gone and came home proudly with her torn-to-bits target. Anyways, I am scared at the direction that we are going in. The stats being released on how many gun-related deaths there are in our country related to the rest of the world are scary as shit.
What scares me the most is that this can happen anywhere. The Aurora tragedy happened at a movie theater, not far from where one of my oldest and dearest friends lives. That same friend is now a high school math teacher and her mother an AD at a local high school here. My mind flew to her on Friday. Also, my mother is an elementary school teacher and the thought of her school being under attack scares me so much and makes me so angry that I write this with shaking hands and teary eyes. When I finally saw her that night after work, I gave her a long and tight hug and swore that if something like this ever happened to her, I would hunt the coward down and kill him myself. I know I wouldn't; that's what the justice system is for. My mind flew to my sister, a student at a community college; to my friend at law school across the country; to my high school; to my college. My mind flew to my cousin's daughter, who is only 10 months old and still in the safety of mommy's arms most of the time. I can't imagine being one of those parents and rushing to see if my child survived. I can't imagine what was going through my cousin's mind that day or any of the young mothers I know who have yet to send their kids off to school. Or even the moms and dads who have young kids in school. I try to remain optimistic about life at all times, but sometimes the walls close in and you just go "why is this happening??!!"
It's going to take a long time for everyone to heal from this. But those little angels will be watching over us. Especially their families. We can't forget them.
RIP Sandy Hook
20 innocent little lives were taken from this world that day. 6 courageous adult lives were also taken, some of which were about to begin new life journeys. We don't know why it happened and we probably never will. The cowardly bastard took his life as first responders entered the school. The scary thought is that he could have wreaked so much more damage. My heart aches for the families and friends of the victims. Especially their classmates. They will forever be known as the kids who survived the massacre. Same as those at Columbine.
I try not to be political, mainly because I don't pay enough attention to it to make an educated argument one way or the other. There are a few things that I have a strong opinion on. Guns and gun control are not those things. I have no idea where I stand on either one of those. I know that when I see a police officer with a gun holstered to his hip, I feel safer but at the same time fearful that he or she should ever have to use it. When I see photos of soldiers at war with guns up and firing, I wish like hell I could pull them out of there and back to a world that doesn't need guns. I have friends who are gun aficionados and go to the range and shoot for fun. My sister has even gone and came home proudly with her torn-to-bits target. Anyways, I am scared at the direction that we are going in. The stats being released on how many gun-related deaths there are in our country related to the rest of the world are scary as shit.
What scares me the most is that this can happen anywhere. The Aurora tragedy happened at a movie theater, not far from where one of my oldest and dearest friends lives. That same friend is now a high school math teacher and her mother an AD at a local high school here. My mind flew to her on Friday. Also, my mother is an elementary school teacher and the thought of her school being under attack scares me so much and makes me so angry that I write this with shaking hands and teary eyes. When I finally saw her that night after work, I gave her a long and tight hug and swore that if something like this ever happened to her, I would hunt the coward down and kill him myself. I know I wouldn't; that's what the justice system is for. My mind flew to my sister, a student at a community college; to my friend at law school across the country; to my high school; to my college. My mind flew to my cousin's daughter, who is only 10 months old and still in the safety of mommy's arms most of the time. I can't imagine being one of those parents and rushing to see if my child survived. I can't imagine what was going through my cousin's mind that day or any of the young mothers I know who have yet to send their kids off to school. Or even the moms and dads who have young kids in school. I try to remain optimistic about life at all times, but sometimes the walls close in and you just go "why is this happening??!!"
It's going to take a long time for everyone to heal from this. But those little angels will be watching over us. Especially their families. We can't forget them.
RIP Sandy Hook
Lots on my mind
There is too much on my mind. As in, if I don't get it all out, it's going to either consume me or make my head explode. Numbering commences...now:
1. Tragedy in Connecticut ( I am seriously on the brink of tears any time I read anything about it)
2. Mom's uncle passing away after a long and full life
3. Applied to grad school. Got into grad school. Chose first 4 grad school classes. Now have first grad school textbook in hand (HOLY SH*T)
4. Work. Oooh good lordy, work.
5. Attached to #1 - parents buying their children phones at younger ages to feel safer all around (not surprised and fully expected)
6. THE HOLIDAYS ARE HERE, THE HOLIDAYS ARE HERE
7. Life in general
I think that the best way to go about this is to write it out post by post. But I'll start it in the morning. I'm tired and it's all on paper. Well, sort of. But you know what I mean.
1. Tragedy in Connecticut ( I am seriously on the brink of tears any time I read anything about it)
2. Mom's uncle passing away after a long and full life
3. Applied to grad school. Got into grad school. Chose first 4 grad school classes. Now have first grad school textbook in hand (HOLY SH*T)
4. Work. Oooh good lordy, work.
5. Attached to #1 - parents buying their children phones at younger ages to feel safer all around (not surprised and fully expected)
6. THE HOLIDAYS ARE HERE, THE HOLIDAYS ARE HERE
7. Life in general
I think that the best way to go about this is to write it out post by post. But I'll start it in the morning. I'm tired and it's all on paper. Well, sort of. But you know what I mean.
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