Last week I went over my friend Tani's house for kind of a birthday/holiday celebration (her birthday is at the end of November, and mine's December 13th). After one martini each and an hour of reminiscing and interesting conversation, she broke out her tarot cards. Now I'm usually fairly wary of those types of things--psychics, tarot cards, palm readings, etc.--because I don't want to know what's going to happen in my life, for better or for worse. What's the point of living if not to find out what's around every corner? But that night, I thought, why not? I'll just take everything with a grain of salt since I believe I'm essentially responsible for creating my own future. I spent a considerable amount of time shuffling the cards in the hopes that my mind would know when to quit on a positive note. Well, unfortunately I must have no telepathic ability whatsoever because my cards showed some strange emotions and figures in my life: a jealous male figure, an overpowering female figure, loneliness, bitterness and a miscarriage. Hurray! Talk about a lively drinking game. Of course I am not going to allow the reading to weigh heavily on my mind, but one aspect of it did stick with me. Tani told me that the "loneliness" card was listed as part of my present state of mind, and she looked confused about it because she knows that I am very happy in my marriage, I have a group of great friends and a wonderful family. Overall, I am pretty well-balanced. But I stopped her and said, "You know, that's weird. The other day I was home with Jeff and yet I realized I was feeling lonely." She seemed surprised.

I know that the loneliness has nothing to do with Jeff...but I was thinking that maybe I do miss a few of my friends (around the holidays especially). Some of these friends are people I haven't talked to in years, and others are close friends that I feel are drifting away. Both types of relationships make me feel slightly empty inside because I guess I believe I failed the friendship and the person in some way. When I think back to a few of my best friendships, I can't truly understand what went so fatally wrong and why. I know that I dwell on the negative in this case too much, and people are always telling me "Some frienships are bound to slip away after a while" or "That's only natural"...but to me, it's never natural. I guess that I just feel if I maintain the effort and really care about someone, that the friendship should never fail. Once I'm attached to someone, I find it incomprehensible to let them go without a fight...but it has happened to me on more than one occasion.

During Christmas, I want to see everyone I care about. As you know from my last entry, I love presents and thoughtful (material) things, but mostly I love talking, gatherings, drinking wine, laughing. I am currently sitting in my living room and I am having this vivid daydream where ALL of my friends and family are sitting in this huge circle on my hardwood floor (I know my living room would never comfortably hold all those people but that's why this is a dream), and we are all talking, laughing, and sitting so closely to one another that one person's red fleece blends into another person's blue wool sweater in a cohesive yet fuzzy purple blur. I want to hug people, to tell them I love them, to make them understand how much they mean to me. As I'm writing this, tears are literally springing to my eyes and I don't know why.

I am making a firm resolve to take care of the friendships that mean so much to me during the New Year. I seem to recall that one of my New Year's resolutions last year was to "not care so much" because I was constantly getting hurt...but you end up feeling lonely either way. And I'd rather be lonely with friends than without.

When we were in church on Sunday, the priest's homily focused on Advent and the holiday season, and how we shouldn't become too wrapped up in consumerism (yes, the present pun was intended). He was advising us to connect with the spiritual nature of Christmas as opposed to the material, but honestly, I'm just not the most spiritual person. Well, maybe that's not accurate. I'm not a very religious person. I may be Catholic but there are many aspects of the religion that I disagree with; many instances where the church sees things as either "black" or "white" when in reality there are various shades of gray. I'm not entirely sure what I believe in (I know that some may find it interesting that I believe in ghosts without ever having encountered one, but when the issue of God is raised, I'm more scientific and seeing is believing). However, regardless of the fact that I'm not incredibly religious, I find ways throughout the year to help people, to enhance their lives. I don't need Christmas to remind me to be a good person or to give of myself freely because for the most part, I live my life with the intention of making other people happy in the process.

That said, I sincerely love Christmas and all that it has to offer. So what if some of the things are tangible (ornaments, white lights, crisp outdoor air, "O Holy Night," cherry-flavored candy canes--I'm obviously not a purist--"Claymation Christmas" on TV). Maybe it's the comfort of childhood that can be found within those holiday traditions, or the knowledge that no matter how far away your family is, you know that you will be close to them during the holidays. There's an immeasurable number of factors that make the entire month of December one of my absolute favorites of the year. I don't think it's possible for me to stay grumpy...all someone has to do is put on an iTunes holiday mix and in five minutes I'm singing along at the top of my lungs, acting out Ella Fitzgerald's every movement "Off with my overcoat, off with my glooooves...I need no overcoat, I'm burning, burning looove!" If only every day could capture the anticipation of Christmas.

When I started this entry, my first thought (a selfish and greedy one, I might add) was to write about how I would love to go on a shopping spree this season. If you were born in the late 70s like I was, then you remember those Toys R Us commercials where the kids won a shopping spree and they had a certain amount of time to race through the store, and I don't think they even paid attention to what flew into their cart. It was a lot of random, rushed grabbing from shelves and tearing down the aisles. I remember Ryan and I would turn to each other, our eyes as big as saucers while watching the spree go down. Now, as a respectable adult (ahem), just for 10 minutes, I would love to have the opportunity to go on that kind of crazy and out-of-control shopping spree at...Ann Taylor Loft. Or Pottery Barn. Or J. Crew. You get the picture. Velvet blazers, cute heels, beautiful picture frames, cocktail dresses, a side table...everything I could ever want for the holiday season. Am I a Grinch? Probably. But just remember...I always give to the Salvation Army...I am here for my friends...I help when I'm needed. So to quote "A Charlie Brown Christmas," "All I want is what's coming to me. All I want...is my fair share." ;)

Happy early Christmas to you all...and to all a good night!

I've been thinking about starting a book club. I'm constantly looking for something productive to do with my time, and as you know, lately I've been facing some difficulty in the book-choosing department. I'd love to have someone else recommend a novel for me, and I'd even be willing to try new genres and authors.

Many of my friends are already avid readers, but we never take the time to truly discuss what we're reading or how it relates to real life situations. I think it would be interesting to get to know my friends on a more intellectual level, and similar to Scrabulous (an online version of Scrabble for you non-facebookers), it would keep my brain warm and active in a way that a gingerbread latte could not. Besides that, people tend to become reclusive during the winter months, and this would be the perfect way to ensure at least a few jovial gatherings, full of revelry, witticisms and the like. All right so I exaggerated that sentence because it's Sunday afternoon, I'm bored, it's quiet, and large words have the tendency to entertain me. But seriously.

About a year or so ago, I read Elizabeth Noble's first novel entitled The Reading Group which takes place in Ireland. She has a Maeve Binchy-esque way of delving into the characters' lives, intertwining them and making the reader care about each and every story. It all revolved around a group of local Irish women who created their own book club, and the plot was enhanced by showing their reactions to certain pieces in the novels they were reading and how it corresponded to their families, friends, and everyday lives. I'll have to find this book downstairs, because I remember in the back there were guidelines on how to create your own reading group. I've been intrigued by the idea for a while now, but I think I'm ready for the next step. Oooh we could even occasionally meet at Borders to make our group seem even more official! Okay, I'm excited now.

I think that I've become a fairly articulate and eloquent speaker by default. I say "by default" because it's certainly not through any natural ability of my own. When I was in kindergarten, I was so shy that I refused to play with my fellow five-year-olds. I sat alone in the corner stacking colorful plastic blocks that interlocked (I believe they were used for counting and one-to-one correspondence) while the other kids played house or dress-up together. In 2nd grade, my peers thought that I was a snob because I wouldn't speak to them. I had three close friends throughout elementary school (Sara, Jessica D. and Jessie B.) and they were all that I felt I needed. We played "Witch" on the hopscotch boards during recess and took turns hosting sleepovers. I often let them speak for me even if I didn't agree with them or their actions. It was easier. It was non-confrontational...and I regret it now.

It's funny, but sometimes when people ask me to describe myself, the word "shy" still rolls around on my tongue before I snap the thought away and swallow it whole. I'm not shy. I'm no longer even close to shy. But it was always a defining characteristic of mine; one that teachers noted on my report cards and friends' parents teased me about. ("Remember the first time you came over our--Sara's--house? You just sat there on the couch and kept asking "When is my mom coming to get me?") I've been thinking about this common thread for a few days now...for various reasons. The first being that on Facebook, my friends recently "compared" me to others, and they voted me as "more outgoing". I kind of laughed because I just don't see myself in that light. However, upon further study, I imagined myself rambling on to my girl friends over dinner, becoming increasingly loud and obnoxious over a martini at Lupo, exploding into a giggling fit with Megan at work, or politely introducing myself to major donors during intermission, and I realize that I have changed. I have made it a point to communicate, to really know people. I suppose my interest in human drama and everyday life has forced me into a level of interaction that I never experienced previously.

This past Saturday, I made Lifetime at Weight Watchers which basically means that I've maintained my goal weight for 6+ weeks and I no longer have to pay to attend meetings. There were probably about 40 people at the meeting, and our leader Katie asked me why the program worked for me. I used to feel my face turn bright red when I felt pressured to respond, but when I opened my mouth, all the right words were there. I was able to pinpoint my each and every success and every reason behind it; I gave credit to the support I had received from Jeff, his mom, and the others in the room; and I was so proud of the fact that I was able to string together complete and interesting sentences *like that* (snaps her fingers).

I guess I shouldn't be altogether surprised. I know that I am fairly smart and capable of expressing myself...but I usually hide behind my pen and paper, or behind my computer screen. I haven't always been so comfortable and at ease with my ability to express myself. It's a skill that I've developed over the past few years, inadvertantly. And I'm proud of it.

It's official. I am addicted to the internet. I have been home for two hours and 45 minutes, and with the exception of making/eating my dinner and asking Jeff how his day was, I have spent all of my free time online. To be fair, I also attempted to watch TV, but A&E's Cold Case Files was a repeat and I've already seen the Travel Channel's "Do's and Don'ts" for vacationing in Hawaii. I read my book for about 10 minutes during dinner but the truth is, I could care less what happens to the characters at the end. It's called Starting Out in the Evening and I highly don't recommend it.

I need to find a hobby. I enjoy writing but I feel that I should dedicate serious time, energy and effort to it. My brain is definitely not at its best after a long day at work; the creative synapses in my head are disjointed at night and I can't clearly communicate the (brilliant!) thoughts that occur to me during the day. I like singing as well but that's a hobby I save for car rides, wine nights with friends, and the occasional Josh Groban sing-along in the office. Baking is great and has the beneficial side effect of making the house smell delicious, but I have a feeling that eating 48 of my own peanut butter cookies would most likely be counter-productive to the progress that I've made up to this point.

Turning my computer on is almost an instinctive reaction for me first thing in the morning, and in the evening when I come home. Being online doesn't require much brainpower. I play "Scrabulous" with my friends on facebook (that might stretch the brain cells just a little bit, and it allows me to form words with random letters--FUN!), then I check the local news on WFSB. National news on MSNBC. Hotmail. Stuffonmycat. Myspace. Weather. Read Heather's always informative and interesting blog. Return to MSNBC for breaking news. Check facebook again because, after all, someone may have left me a comment during the past five minutes. Talk to my brother or Rachel on instant messenger. Why not check my horoscope on Yahoo to waste some more time. Back to Hotmail. Etc. etc. etc. Am I alone in this? Why can't I just shut my computer down and walk away?

Because I don't know what else to do if I am not attached to my laptop. I reviewed my options: I could...clean. *shudder*. I could...read the dumb book that I don't like. I could...reorganize my dresser drawers. Watch a movie. Find music on iTunes. (Wait!! This is the 4th time I've read this over for editing purposes and I only just realized that finding music on iTunes requires...you guessed it...being online). Basically that's all I could come up with, besides blogging (which was obviously my final decision). It's too cold and dark outside to take a walk. I don't own any exercise equipment or I might actually get off my lazy butt and MOVE. But, alas. Sigh.

As much as I love Connecticut and New England, there are times when I wish darkness and winter didn't set in as early or for as long as they do. It's only the beginning of November and I'm already starting to feel claustrophobic like I'm stuck in the snowy season and I can't get out. Maybe I should focus on the positive aspects. Holidays. Friends. Wine. (that's the 2nd wine mention, isn't it? You can see where my priorities lie. ;) Snowy days spent reading under blankets. Corduroy pants and cozy sweaters. Snowball fights. Sledding. Hot chocolate with fake marshmallows. Trivial Pursuit.

Okay, I feel a little better now. And a bit more productive. Perhaps I should make a list of the things I hope to accomplish this winter. The goals I hope to achieve. That's one proactive way to spend the rest of my evening...

This will be different...

This afternoon Jeff and I went for a walk through the salt marsh at Rocky Neck. We watched hundreds of minnows glide downstream, saw four large purple jellyfish bobbing in the water, observed two ducks mating (that was interesting) and took turns throwing clam shells back into the ocean. We shuffled/ran through crunchy dead leaves like little kids and sat on a huge outcrop of rocks in the sun overlooking the Four Mile River. We were relatively quiet the entire time, just enjoying each other's company and the relaxing peace. So of course that meant my mind was reeling with past experiences (I don't think there's ever a time when my mind is actually blank). I passed a pine tree with those tiny pale blue seeds (I'm not entirely sure if they are actually seeds) and that reminded me of my next door neighbor's house growing up. I spent hours playing with April and Shelly in their backyard among similar trees...and that memory segued into the day I sprained my ankle back in third grade. Shelly and I had been taking turns jumping from this enormous dirt pile in the lot next door (a short walk through the woods) when all of a sudden, I landed on a rock, twisted my ankle and fell. What a surprise. I thought about my old swingset (see 2005 blog entry swingset) and how Ryan and I poured water in the dirt ovals beneath the swings, shoved popsicle sticks into the mud and pretended they were people swimming in the ocean.

Our old house had a wrap-around sidewalk from the front door to the side door. At the top of the sidewalk, where we kept Cupcake's food dish, there was a little divet in the asphalt with grooves in it. Ryan and I also poured water into that divet and let it run down and around the corner, taking out many ants' lives in the process. (Cupcake lived a long and healthy life, and on a side note, she died last month after 21 years. I had her since I was in third grade. In fact, she may have even been witness to my first broken ankle!) I relayed some of these memories to Jeff as we sat in the sun, but many of them silently played in my head as they usually do.

I thought about how Jeff reads National Geographic and how he is always so aware of current issues. He's up on everything that's occurring in the Middle East. He tries to explain the concept of "growing fuel" to me, and I listen patiently for a few minutes but then I lose interest. I hate to believe I'm selfish and that I only care about the issues/memories/experiences that personally affect me, but I suppose I am. I guess I'm just comfortable discussing or writing about the things that I can completely understand, whereas Jeff is willing to let new things in all the time. I am nostalgic and he is adventurous. I suppose it's the same way with people. I love spending time with my closest friends; he would be perfectly happy sitting with a table full of people he didn't know--and he would make the most of it even if he knew he'd never see them again. The two of us are different in so many ways but we balance each other out in a way that complements us.

Thinking back on these memories, I realized that on the way down to North Carolina, I had started a list entitled "100 Favorite Childhood Memories in no particular order...for now" and I managed to jot about 30 down before we had to get out of the car. Here they are!

1. Saturday afternoons with Dad and Ryan when Mom worked 3-11. A particular memory that stands out is our long walk at Hop Brook in Middlebury; our discussion of mica and archaeology.

2. Playing "space" with glow-in-the-dark Construx with Ryan in his room.

3. "I have an extra hand," a hotel employee informed us as he tried helping us with our luggage during a thunderstorm and power outage when we arrived at Yellowstone National Park in 1995...this statement was followed by Dad's "I'm sorry to hear that" and fits of giggles for hours (and years) later.

4. Friendly's dinners with Mom--I would always order the Chicken Lickin' Platter.

5. Swimming in the pool and going in my first hot tub at the Americana Holiday Motel, Cape Cod, circa 1985.

6. Camping at Rocky Neck, especially the group get-togethers at night with the Ruedes, Reks, etc. We would sing "Hi, my name is Joe...I work in a button factory..." around the campfire.

7. Playing in the "burger jail" outside McDonald's on Lakewood Road in Waterbury.

8. Any and every trip to the bookstore (Waldenbooks) at the Naugatuck Valley Mall.

9. Checking out the La Brea Tar Pits in Los Angeles, CA. http://www.tarpits.org/

10. Playing on our swingset, and later--in middle school--swinging on the swings while listening to Color Me Badd and Boyz II Men on my Walkman.

11. Going to Chuck E Cheese with Ry and Dad, especially jumping in the ball pit.

12. Shopping at G. Wizz with Mom and looking at the cool pens and stationery (some things never change!)

13. Snow days at Amy and Chris's house and tubing down the double hill in their back yard.

14. All the summers at Quassy Beach Club--Mom's pink lemonade, Fritos, the occasional stop at Dairy Mart for Hershey's chocolate milk.

15. Going on my first backwards/upside-down rollercoaster with Dad in Wildwood, NJ, 1989.

16. Shopping with Mom and Grandma at the Meriden Square.

17. Panning for gold at Sutter's Mill in California, 1992.

18. Hiking at Sleeping Giant with my My Child, Gretel, and Ryan's stuffed lamb named Babas.

19. Watching "The Dark Crystal" while eating Cape Cod chips in a brown wooden bowl and drinking Pepsi.

20. Playing Nintendo in Scott's room at the Ruedes' house in Reading, MA, 1989.

21. Tea parties with my stuffed mouse, Mousie, and my Holly Hobby tea set.

22. Playing Super Cycle on our Commodore 64 in 1987.

23. Checking out Aunt Marty's new house in Waterbury--Ryan and I each declared a room "ours."

24. Playing baseball (wiffleball) with the entire fam in the backyard.

25. Going to the Scoreboard restaurant with the Keeleys and playing the basketball game and pinball in the game room.

26. My Special Day with Dad to NYC because of my good report card--we went to the Doubleday bookstore, had a pretzel in the park and even saw the Hard Rock Cafe (I was psyched because it was mentioned in the "Baby-sitters Club" books!)

27. Going to the Cheshire Library with Mom and Ryan after school--I'd get lost in the Sweet Valley High section.

28. Making up the Lunchables song on the Midwest trip in 1995.

29. Christmas 1990 when Ryan and I opened our big gift together and simultaneously screamed "NINTENDO!"

30. Aunt Marty and Kevin's wedding, 1993.

I am still somewhat stunned by this accident. It occurred on Friday morning merely two exits away from ours, on a route that Jeff and I both travel constantly. It's a fairly dangerous stretch of I-95 because there are only two lanes and there's a merge on the right and an on-ramp to I-395 a few hundred feet ahead on the left. I've often felt a bit claustrophobic and defensive driving through there because the drivers behind me usually fly up at 80 m.p.h. as the people in front of me slam on their brakes to let other drivers in or to allow people to move over to the on-ramp. On more than one occasion I have braced myself for an impending collision because I have nowhere else to go when the car behind me doesn't look like it's going to stop. Just weeks ago I happened to glance in my rearview mirror and literally saw the grill of a Mack truck and nothing else. I felt trapped.

These tractor trailers and tanker trucks seriously need to slow down. I've been passed on the right, and I've seen trucks playing games with each other as it appears these two were on Friday morning. Most likely, 90% of the time their erratic behavior will only result in annoyance and a few choice hand gestures from other cars on the road. However, these speeding/passing games take a toll when all of a sudden the driver can no longer handle his own vehicle. If I had been on the road at the time of that accident, I probably would have succumbed to an anxiety attack and crashed my own car even if I wasn't directly involved. Car accidents have been a great fear of mine for as long as I can remember. I can't imagine anything worse than seeing a horrific situation and not having enough time to manuever around it. The fact that two innocent people lost their lives due to someone else's carelessness and recklessness really affects me. Now someone is without his wife...another couple is without their son. This could have been avoided. The tanker was carrying home heating oil, and no one was going to be any worse off if they received their delivery 10 minutes later.

All I could think of when I heard that three people had died was "What if it's someone I know?" Luckily I had heard the news from Jeff and his mom so I knew it wasn't them, but still. It could have been them. It could have been me. I had just traveled that route the night before to go to the Crystal Mall after work. You just never know when these random events might happen. As it is, I worry enough about something terrible happening to Jeff. When you love someone that much and don't want to imagine your life without them, it's only natural. I still worry about my parents' safety, as well as my brother's down in North Carolina. But there are only so many aspects of your environment that you can control, and the rest is left up to chance. I am a careful driver. Not slow or extremely cautious, but definitely aware of my surroundings at all times. I attribute this to my absolute fear of car accidents and to the fact that I never want to be involved in one. However, if I had been driving on that patch of 95 for whatever reason that morning, it wouldn't matter that I was careful. It wouldn't matter that I was driving the speed limit or that I wasn't tailgating anyone. The tanker truck came through the median into oncoming traffic and I'll bet the people who died literally didn't even know what hit them.

Since I don't have the control or power to stop accidents from happening, I can only hope that this story and its tragic outcome will cause truck drivers (and all other erratic drivers) to think twice about their actions. There are other people on the road. People with families and lives and goals...and you don't have the right to take all of that away from them.

I am back. It takes 12 hours to drive to Winston-Salem, North Carolina, and about 11 hours to drive from the Outer Banks back to Connecticut. This means that I had 23 entire hours to think, relax and just be. A rarity these days, but it was necessary. I don't think my head has felt this clear since last December, and my body is far less tense. I laughed a lot, I read, I enjoyed the company of my family. The car rides were two cozy bookends that encompassed everything in between. Car ride One: Ryan, Sakshi, Wake Forest, 6th and Vine, Indian food, Red Sox games, Pilot Mountain hike, Shelton Vineyards, Nags Head, Ocracroke, Lost Colony of Roanoke, Wright Brothers Museum, moonlit walk on beach: Car Ride Two. I latched onto so many different ideas and thoughts throughout the trip, but it's hard to articulate slices of them so I've been attempting to find the common thread. I think there might be a few separate blog entries.

First of all, I am thankful that I live in New England. I loved North Carolina and would go back and visit in a second, but driving home on Route 13 was like driving straight through an Andrew Wyeth painting. The word that kept creeping to the forefront of my mind was "dull." Desolate was a close second. Sad, lonely, unbelievable were the other choice few. Rural Virginia and North Carolina leave much to be desired, at least from a Connecticut girl's standpoint. We drove for over an hour and didn't pass a single restaurant or grocery store. We passed cotton and peanut fields, dilapidated/boarded up houses (with "No Trespassing"--don't worry--and "Bad Dog lives here" signs). I saw heaps of junk in people's front yards from old rusty cars to tires and broken plastic chairs. The faded wooden billboards seemed to sing out from a different era (circa 1981) and advertised "Discount Cigs, Firecrackers and Guns". We came to a stoplight, passed another trailer park and then a school that wasn't in session...most likely because there aren't enough students in the area to make running the school worthwhile.

It didn't help that it rained for a majority of the ride and was mostly cloudy for the rest. Mist and fog drifted across the farms and fields, and the irrigation systems stood, rendered useless. It seemed to me that no one actually lived in these towns; they were like ghost towns because (with the exception of local traffic) no one was visible to the casual observer. The towns appeared to have a persona all their own which included beyond run-down houses, ramshackle sheds and overgrown lawns. I felt a sense of disgust for whoever let the places fall to pieces like that. I kept thinking how happy I was to be returning to a beautiful small town where, for the most part, people are friendly, out and about and willing to take ownership for their corner of the world. I verbally announced to my family on more than one occasion how thrilled I was that I didn't live in any of the towns that we passed through. I began to feel like a snob but then decided that I'm not actually a snob, but I have a high regard for my home, property and town and could never abandon them utterly.

I think I am beginning to run on. It's nearly 1 a.m. and perhaps it's past my bedtime. I will continue over the weekend...

Hiatus

I know I've been terrible at updating this blog lately. I have been incredibly busy and by the time I come home at night, the last thing I want to do is sit down and stare at my computer for another minute. Buuuttt...the good news is: I am now officially on vacation! YAY! Let the celebrating begin. Jeff and I are riding down to North Carolina in style, in my Dad's Cadillac, to visit my brother at Wake Forest. Then we're off to the Outer Banks. I'm looking forward to staring lazily out the window, to eating junk food and to hanging out on the beach. I apologize, this isn't a deep or interesting post; it's just an FYI so that everyone knows where I am. See you next weekend!

I am getting greedy. I want so many things right now but I can't quite afford them and yet I still think about them constantly. And I'm not being profound here and saying that I want to feel peace with my inner-self or that I want to be all zen-like or anything. The things that I want are just that...things. My current want is a new car. Well, a new/used car. New to me. And I want a Nissan Altima. And I want the color to be Mystic Emerald Metallic. It's so PRETTY! I just researched the price online (because it's so damn easy when everything is right at your fingertips), and as I'm yelling to Jeff down the hallway to ask him the proper downpayment for the price, he wastes no time yelling back at me that we don't even have enough for the downpayment, and that basically ended our car conversation for the day. So.

This isn't to say that we don't splurge occasionally on big ticket items. In fact, yesterday we bought a large flatscreen TV. When I saw the price ring up on the cash register at Best Buy, I have to admit I nearly fell off the stool I was sitting on. You would think that after purchasing something so bank account-draining that I would choose to be frugal. Instead, I am researching car prices and dreaming big. It doesn't mean that I am going to run out and buy the Altima tomorrow, but let's face the facts: the green Chevy Lumina that has serviced me for so many years (since January 2001 to be exact) is on its 156,000th+ mile and it's no longer beautiful. I've spilled one too many cups of coffee on the gray carpet, the sides were splattered with egg yolk in New London by teenage losers so now it's rusting in spots, and I scraped against the red and yellow pole at the McDonald's drive-in one night about five years ago--you get the picture. When I'm driving my car, I feel a bit unprofessional. It's kind of similar to the fact that I can't afford trendy, fashionable clothes: I know that on the inside, a cute, professional, well-dressed Tara is just dying to come out, but instead she has to make due with what she has.

Okay, okay. I just realized that I sound incredibly ungrateful, and I have so much, I do. I love my life and my house and our new furniture...but we all have a wish list, don't we? We are always striving for something more, whether tangible or spiritual. I know material things don't make you a better person, but I would feel more confident if I were able to afford a shiny new car and an Ann Taylor Loft wardrobe.

I had two separate discussions this week, with Jeff and then with Megan. We all came to the same conclusion: that our generation is a "must have" generation. When we see something new/trendy/interesting, we just have to have it. There's no way around it. As soon as a DVD box set comes out, it's ours. We want two Tivos to tape our programs? Done. When our parents recommend that we wait a few months to get settled into the house before buying a couch/loveseat/coffee table/end table, we pause for a second, look at each other, say "Nahhhh" and proceed to Crate & Barrel.

Growing up, I was always excellent at saving money. I would buy maybe one toy a month, and I think my parents mostly bought my books for me. I saved my allowance and report card money. I was responsible. Maybe now there are just so many marketable items that it's overwhelming. But I still have to give myself props, because for every 5 items that I want to buy, I only purchase one.

I know that my grandparents and my parents didn't have half the things that I have at 27. I also know that they hadn't been to Europe four times or on a cruise or to Hawaii. It was just completely unprecedented at the time, and they have nothing to compare their lives to except for future generations; our generation. I guess we literally have the world at our fingertips, both online and in real time. And that's just something I find hard to pass up.

I want a pumpkin, apple cider, mums, corn chowder, and a big pile of crunchy leaves to jump in. I want to wear my cute puffy vest over a long-sleeved shirt with jeans and lace-up brown shoes to go hiking. I want the crisp air in the morning to fill my lungs and invigorate me before I even get into my car and drive to work (er, Dunkin' Donuts. First things first).

I DON'T want 80 degree weather in October. I don't want to wear my summer clothes for another half a second. I don't want humidity, iced coffee, cookout food or plants. I am tired of taking care of our hanging baskets on the deck. They need more attention than I am willing to give them, and besides, it is October. Die already! I want to see pretty, colorful leaves covering the ground. I don't want to see wishy-washy brownish green leaves clinging to the trees.

Where is the Fall that we all know and love? I feel like it's the summer that never ends...yes it goes on and on, my friends...I know that there are people out there who embrace the everlasting warm weather but really. Enough already.

Rachel and I are getting together on Saturday. We both want pumpkins and we're hoping to go hiking somewhere locally, and other than that we threw around the idea of drinking wine and baking cookies (and maybe addding a little wine to the cookies? I don't know). All I'm saying is that I better be able to wear corduroy pants and a sweater because I am not picking out my pumpkin wearing shorts and flip flops. It's practically sacrilege.

When I lived in London, I walked everywhere. From our flat on Sutherland Avenue to the grocery store blocks away...from Farringdon Station to City University...from Leicester Square to Trafalgar. I did some of my best thinking on those walks. London is a city that's full of life but not in an overwhelming, fast-paced way. It has a pulse but it's beneath the surface--in the walls of the National Gallery, throughout the bricks of the White Tower, under the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. The streets are busy, the bars have an energy, the restaurants are warm and inviting and there is color everywhere. Neon blue for Pizza Express, red and green lights in Piccadilly, blue and red trim on the Tower Bridge. Orange easyeverything internet cafes. I don't know if it was merely my mind's eye but storefronts sparkled there in a way that they don't here. Westminster Abbey gleamed in the sunlight despite the fact that its facade is dark gray and shadowy. Even Highgate Cemetery looked beautiful with the play of light through the trees. I loved London so much that I still think of it as a second home to this day. I've been there four times and I know that I could live there for a year or two if I ever had the chance.

I never felt rushed or threatened there, and I remember feeling like I fit in almost immediately. In fact, Jeff is convinced that I lived there in a past life (as a writer of course) and that I must have died when a horse-and-buggy ran me down in the middle of the road. (I am horribly afraid of getting into a car accident although in this life I've never been involved in anything more severe than a fender bender.) What I miss the most is the walking. I take many walks here and at work, and while they are relaxing, they don't add up to walking miles and miles each day. My head would feel so clear as I briskly passed the local Pret-a-Manger on the way to class, or as I listened to my Walkman (yes, it was before the invention of iPods believe it or not!) on a Saturday afternoon by the River Thames. I need to find a way to de-stress that's as satisfying as those long, powerful and thought-provoking walks. And I'd like to find it sooooon.

Isn't it funny how the little things can literally see you through a long week? Right now I am living for pumpkin spice Friday. What exactly is pumpkin spice Friday, you might inquire. Well, Megan stops at Starbucks everyday on her way to work, and last week we decided that this Friday we would both indulge in some seasonal flavored coffee. Seeing as pumpkin spice ranks a close second to gingerbread latte on my hot drinks scale, I have been waiting in anticipation for days now as if putting my hands around that cup will actually assist me in obtaining a major goal of some kind. Seriously, though. (Note to self: you use the word seriously far too often.) The minute to minute play-by-play of my life isn't always rife with excitement...unless you consider processing memberships and producing accounting reports enthralling, which I don't. But blasting Tori Amos at 9:00 a.m. and screaming "EVERY FINGER IN THE ROOM IS POINTING AT ME", getting up from my desk to randomly dance/do jumping jacks/make faces at Margot and Karen in the other office through the window during the 3:00 p.m. lull, and contemplating about how one reads their address with a straight face when they live on Weekeepeemee Road are all the types of instances that get me through the day.

Many people would consider my life monotonous. I know what to expect at work. I have my routines at home, both in the morning and when I come home at night. I eat the same kinds of food, I take walks. I talk with friends. I blog. I read. I watch girly TV. But I am funny and witty. I know this because I take the time to make people laugh. To cheer them up if they're about to rip someone's head off. I sing at the top of my lungs at work off-key to break up the tedious aspect of our jobs and to lighten the mood. I am pro-active and willing to help, and I take my career and life very seriously. However, I also take the time to smile...to tell Kermit jokes...to send silly forwards labeled "How to stop office gossip" because I want people to know that I care. That I'm interesting. That I'm interested.

Today Erica called me from up the street in the Production Shop. Not for business reasons, but to ask me what my favorite drink was because she had a list of drinks that matched up to certain personality traits. I answered apple martini and she basically told me I was high maintenance. I laughed. It was human interaction, and it had nothing to do with numbers or budgets or events or work. I appreciated the extra 2 minutes that it took out of her day.

Tonight I went for a walk by myself. I ended up sitting on a large piece of driftwood overlooking the water and I thought "This is an amazing view and it's right at my fingertips." I stared out over the ocean for about 10 minutes and then I continued walking. As I was wandering down the grid of streets in our neighborhood, I had the pleasure of first smelling burning leaves (my favorite)...then a block later the soft and comforting smell of fabric softener...and at the end of the street: fresh, cut grass. I felt like I was in heaven and I was only a quarter of a mile away from my own house. I love it. I love the little things because they truly make every day stand out. I don't know what I would do without them.

A Rainy Saturday

I secretly enjoy rainy days. Even rainy Saturdays. There's always something cozy about gazing out the window at the stream of water running down the street while you're wrapped up in a comfy blanket on the couch. Rainy days are an excuse to be lazy for a change. I'm usually doing something all the time and if it's sunny out, I feel the need to be productive. I should...mow the lawn, go for a walk, plan a picnic, sweep the deck, shop at the outlets, etc. Although I suppose you could say the same for rainy days. I guess I should be motivated to do something productive INdoors like...unpack boxes, clean the floors, dust the furniture, organize the junk drawer, get rid of old clothes. But for some reason it's not as pressing for me to be productive on days like today because, eh, I just want to relax. I feel like reading. Like watching The Travel Channel for 3 hours straight. Like hanging out in my shorts and sweatshirt and not bothering to do my hair. For those of you who know me well, you probably know that I would never leave the house looking unkempt...but on rainy days, who really cares? I am productive 96% of the time, and rainy days offer me a reprieve.

Last night I went to the Book Barn after work because this week I blasted through yet another $14 book which was only halfway decent. Lately I've had pretty mediocre luck in the book choosing department. I've read about five in the past month and a half, and not one was worth telling a friend about. Seeing as the only fun activity I've had time for recently has been reading, I find that sad. So if anyone has any suggestions for me, by all means, please let me know. I'm not a huge fan of actual chick lit unless it's also well-written (such as Bridget Jones's Diary, The Reading Group or something similar); however, I am up for any type of interesting fiction or a decent memoir.

They are currently rearranging their teen section at the Book Barn so after I picked out two books from the adult fiction section, I decided to peruse the titles for young adults. I laughed out loud upon seeing the "Point" books from my teenage years--the murder mysteries by Christopher Pike and Richie Tankersley Cusick...then I moved down the aisle and saw the "Freshmen" series I loved to read in high school...and even further down were stacks and stacks of unalphabetized books just waiting to be organized. It was comforting to be in that environment because as far back as I can remember, book stores have been home to me. When I was 8 or 9, I would literally become giddy with excitement when we entered the (very tiny) Waldenbooks at the Naugatuck Valley Mall in Waterbury. Obviously it can't compare to the present-day meccas known as Borders and Barnes and Noble, but at the time all I cared about was buying my one Baby-sitters Club or Sweet Valley Twins book a week. I remember rushing into the store, basically saying "See ya" to my parents and hightailing it to the back where the young adult section used to live. Wringing my excited little fingers all the while.

This week was a stressful one for me, but as soon as I surrounded myself with those familiar titles, I began to relax. That is my method of escape. As nostalgic and silly as it may sound, it brings me back to a time when I had no real worries, and it truly makes me happy. I could sit in the young adult section at the Book Barn (because it's less embarrassing than pulling up a chair to read a book for 13-year-olds in Borders!) for an hour and not get bored. If I'm reallly lucky, a cat might just wander up next to me to hang out and then life really would be perfect.

Seriously, though, rainy days and books go together. All I need to feel content today is a good book, a soft blanket, a mug of coffee and comfy clothes. Looks like I'm all set.

I am sleepy. I say that almost every night around this time. I honestly can't remember when I last enjoyed a terrific sleep-through-the-entire-night slumber. It's been months, at least. I always seem to have so much on my mind that it either seeps out in dream interpretations or literally keeps me awake so that I toss and turn constantly. I battle concerns all night long...and I feel for my poor crumpled up pillows.

My current concern: Tomorrow is Laurie's last day ever at Goodspeed. She has played an integral role in my development there, both personally and professionally. From Opening Night parties to martinis at Lupo to venting walks and Editorial meetings for Curtain, she has been there...as a sounding board, a co-worker, an advice-giver and good friend. She has been the "go-to girl" for everyone in the organization (she has jokingly referred to herself as the Jane of All Trades) and I know that she will sincerely be missed.

As I've mentioned several times in previous blogs, I don't necessarily like change...even when I know it's for the better. I prefer my nostalgic, carefree comfort bubble. (Perhaps that's why one of my friends chose the adjective "idealistic" to describe me in my Johari Window. http://kevan.org/johari?name=TaraAutrey). I usually tend to think of myself as realistic verging on cynical due to my sarcasm and dry sense of humor, but I suppose that she's right in a way. I hold onto the past, I view the memories in my head with such a high regard that occasionally I find it difficult to truly appreciate the present for what it's worth. It's an awful trait, really, to focus on friendships that dwindled away years ago...to reminisce about the joys of being 12 when in actuality being 12 proved to be a serious hardship sometimes.

I know that change is necessary in life. It helps us grow as people, it challenges us to reach for new heights merely because the person who used to assist us is no longer available. I suppose it's a sign of maturity to just accept and get used to the various types of changes that occur. Over the course of the past year, I have experienced a lot of positive change: our marriage, a new last name, a house. These instances are obviously shaping my life for the better, so I don't question them. But it's the more challenging changes--when the people you love leave your organization...or move...or stop calling you...or even stop loving you altogether...that you have to face head-on. We're constantly defining ourselves by examining the pieces of the puzzle that make up our persona. Every change and every reaction serves to further enhance our experience. I don't know if I necessarily believe in the "blessing in disguise" cliche, but I do know that life moves on whether you are ready or not. I hope that I'm ready, but my mood may be off for a few days. A few weeks, even.

And I am still sleepy.

Six Years Ago

9-11-01 (from my personal journal)

This day will go down in the History books as one of the most violent terrorist attacks against America. This morning 2 passenger planes were hijacked and smashed into each tower of the World Trade Center. Then 2 other hijacked planes crashed: one into the Pentagon and one in Pennsylvania (its possible destination the Capitol or White House?) There was also a report of a flight crashing on or around Camp David.

I first heard of the story when I came into work. Around 9:00 a.m. Karlene came in and told me a plane had crashed into the side of the World Trade Center. At that time I thought it was a possible accident or something but a few minutes later Karlene's sister Pam from Florida called and said that another plane crashed into the second tower (just 18 minutes after the first one). Then Jeff called and other clients were calling, buzzing about the news. At this point, these phone calls were our only source of information.

Then we tried plugging in our TV but it didn't work without a cable so Cesar and Jose found us a cable and hooked up the TV in my office. The four of us (C, J, K) and Tony all sat at the TV to watch...apparently while we were hooking everything up the first tower completely crumbled to the ground, totally collapsed. We were watching Channel 3 with Dan Rather, and they showed the smoky New York skyline, now with only one Twin Tower, and they kept showing actual footage of the 2nd plane exploding in the side of the second tower. Anchor newspeople gave first-hand accounts , found eyewitnesses, and everyone speculated who was behind the attacks. (Afghanistan? Palestinians?) Then they showed the lone 2nd tower standing on its own, billowing with smoke. Cesar had just said it looks like it's leaning a little, when all of a sudden on live TV the 2nd tower crumbled and vanished, disappearing without a trace. People ran through the streets in mass chaos, inhaling smoke, getting hit with debris and covered in inches of ash.

Everything major occurred between 8:45 a.m. and 11:30 a.m. We found out about the Pentagon shortly after New York City which is still burning now at 10:45 p.m. The number of casualties at this point remains unknown, but 50,000 people worked at the Trade Center, 200 firefighters are missing and many people got trapped under falling materials, or even incinerated as they sat in traffic.

9-13-01

2 days later. God I can't even spell or write anymore. As you can imagine, it has been an emotionally draining few days for everyone. The 18 hijackers have been identified by the FBI but there are still between 20-30 accomplices at large possibly in the U.S. and Germany. Most of these Middle Eastern men have ties to Osama Bin Laden, a millionaire who has been living in Afghanistan.

Over 4,000 people are missing at the WTC, and about 94 confirmed dead. This is because the rescue effort, although large and amazing in its dedication, is moving along slowly due to the tons of steel and concrete that buried so many people. There have been a few glimmers of hope such as cell phone calls from beneath the rubble as well as the rescue of about 14 people alive under it all. But for the most part, Manhattan is full of many relatives with pictures and stories of their loved ones, breaking America's heart. From answering machine messages to last minute cell phone calls, from people's biographies to their tears and prayers...

Everyone waits for a sign that their brothers, husbands, wives, etc. will be among the survivors. America has united in this attack--Democrats and Republicans, rich and poor, young and old--in an effort to overcome these "acts of war" as President Bush called them. 700,000 people went to the Red Cross to donate blood in 24 hours, and constant donations of clothing, food, water and money have been in supply. Thousands of volunteers rake the scene for any signs of life, although many become terribly affected by what they see.

I've been feeling less than adequate these days. Well, maybe I should rephrase that. I feel very adequate in most aspects of my life, but when it comes to my education and future career, I am completely uncertain. Currently, my brother and his girlfriend are studying for their MBAs at Wake Forest (they are 3 years younger than I am), Jeff is working towards his Master's degree through Pfizer and Temple University, and most of the people who received a Connecticut Teaching Certificate are doing just that: they're teaching. Meanwhile, I am merely floundering around trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up. It just doesn't seem right. I have a decent degree and lately I've been hearing stories about people with lower-level degrees earning almost twice as much as I do. Sometimes it seriously brings me to tears of frustration. I don't know what else to do. I am tired of working so hard and yet feeling like I have nothing to show for it. I am sick of wearing the same four outfits because most of my clothes hang off me and yet I can't afford to buy new, cute and professional ones. I am 27 and I guess I always thought that by this age I would be making a real living with a career that I could be proud of. And it's not to say that I don't care about and appreciate what I do--because I still understand and strive to fulfill the mission--but I am smarter than this. I can do more than this. I want to make a difference...and I'm just not sure how to go about doing it.

Why does it always seem like August is the month of change? It used to mean new lunchboxes and backpacks for the first day of school, new teachers and bus routes and school shopping trips with Mom. August was always a sign that summer was about to let go of its tenacious hold; a warning that the aroma of burning leaves would soon fill the crisp air. I never truly enjoyed August because, as my friend Angela so eloquently put it "It's like a long Sunday." It's so true, if you think about it. August only slowly stalls the inevitable from happening. When we were little, eventually we would all be back on the bus riding to school, we would have homework and projects dutifully doodled in our assignment pads.

But most of the time, come September, we realized that change could, in fact, be good. Maybe fifth grade would be more interesting than fourth grade. Maybe my Care Bears lunchbox would reap more compliments than my Strawberry Shortcake one. Maybe I would have fun at the middle school dance that I wasn't old enough to attend the previous year.

Today was full of change...not for me, but for a few of my close friends. I want to write about them on here but they aren't my stories to tell. All I can say is that their changes encompass three of the major milestones we all encounter in life at some point or another: birth, career and death. My thoughts are with Heather right now and I know she will have a beautiful baby girl within the next twelve hours or so. I'm not going to mention the next person's name just yet but they know who they are--many congratulations and best wishes to you...and Megan, I hope the past few days have gone as smoothly as they could have considering the circumstances.

I just realized that this is starting to sound like a personal email, but I couldn't help but notice the common link between all of the changes I discovered today. I felt like I should document them. We are always making choices to propel ourselves forward. We choose to become parents, we choose which direction we want our career to take if we are no longer satisfied, and although we don't choose to die, the choices that we make during life certainly define us at the end of our days. I can only hope that I make the right choices. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about every aspect of my life, and knowing that I've done the best that I can so far helps to keep me grounded.

I used to think of September as the first month of the year because it was the first month of the school calendar. I'm going to wipe my slate clean and pretend that September is New Year's this year as well. Watch for a very positive, goal-oriented Tara in the coming months. You won't be disappointed.

Couches are comfy

I'm sprawled out on our new couch in the living room, ceiling fan blowing, crickets chirping outside (do they chirp? they certainly sound chirpy) with a nice, toasty laptop keeping my legs warm. I don't think there's a cozier place in the entire universe on nights like this. I am content with myself and my surroundings, writing from the soft glow of the hallway light. The only thing missing is a cat curled up by my feet. Then life would be perfect...

A couch is a very important element of a living room. Heather and I have discussed this before, and I think Corrine may have touched upon it in one of her blog entries as well. Certain couches are lumpy, others stiff, some are noisy because the leather creaks and others are just...hideously ugly. When I was really little, my parents had a retro-looking brown, black and white plaid couch and matching arm chair (which complemented the olive green carpet in the living room and the brown and orange carpet in the adjoining kitchen). When I was about six, they upgraded the entire downstairs--pretty new carpet for both rooms as well as a brand new couch and loveseat. They were never the type to plastic-wrap the furniture or tell my brother and I that we were banned from the room, so that couch became my first favorite couch...where I watched "The Dark Crystal" with Ryan and Dad while eating Cape Cod potato chips, drinking Pepsi and hugging Paddington Bear with all my might. (on a side note, I lost Paddington Bear in the bathroom at the airport in California nearly a year later and had a crying fit all the way home)...I read "Flowers in the Attic" on that couch and stared out the bay window praying for school to be cancelled in the winter. I shivered on that couch under blankets when I was feeling sick and my parents would come home and pat me on the head, asking me if I needed anything. It was my childhood couch.

My next favorite couch was (is) Jeff's navy blue one from IKEA. I first became acquainted with this couch in 1999 when I began visiting him at his off-campus apartment after a night of proofreading at The Daily Campus. I would wander in around midnight and we would watch movie after movie...for some reason, 3 a.m. never seemed an absurd bedtime to either of us...despite my 8 a.m. classes. We lounged around on that couch during Sunday mornings, we would eat almost an entire plate of freshly baked biscuits for "brunch", then at night we would make mac & cheese...and it didn't seem to matter that we were being completely unhealthy because we were together and happy. I danced around wearing his too-big-for-me American Eagle sweatshirt, and he made my stuffed animal talk and do dances (that's how I knew he was the one...he had a sense of humor about the fact that I still slept with a teddy bear...and he even imitated his voice properly...because after all, Beary DOES talk and he has a high-pitched voice). I fell in love on that couch many times over.

As I sit on this couch, tonight and every night, I contemplate the future...will we have holidays here, will people enjoy a glass of wine with us in this room, will my children someday take a nap here with me? Will my cat curl up across from me on the loveseat? What does the future hold? I know that many wonderful things are still in store...and I know that a lot of them will happen right here.

Oh, those Sweet Valley twins

Today was the perfect day to clean out my desk at work. It was rainy and chilly outside and yet cozy in our warm (hmm, stuffy, actually) office and, what can I say, I was tired of updating the revenue document. So around 3:30 I pulled open my file drawer and began sifting...and sorting...and sifting again. I read through old emails from Laurie and Beth (who has worked at the Bushnell for almost two years now) where I had composed a lovely little poem including the two rhyming words "brie" and "pee." I found notes from the first Gala I ever attended, the Britain calendar I received for Christmas in 2004, an old lunchbox (that was a bit sketchy), surveys from Angela and Lisa, the guacamole recipe that I thought Theresa had never given me, etc. And then I rediscovered an envelope which I had so carefully tucked away back in May...an envelope with Francine Pascal's name and return address!

When that piece of mail appeared in our department's mailbox, I immediately pounced on it and came bouncing back down the hallway with glee. I believe I then set the envelope down momentarily, then promptly picked it back up and kissed it. Francine Pascal is a Goodspeed donor, and inside the envelope was her contribution to this year's Gala honoring Jerry Herman. But you might be asking--what's so great about Francine Pascal? Many of you are probably not aware of this, but she is the creator of the greatest young adult series of all time, the Sweet Valley Twins, Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield.

On my fourth day at Goodspeed, I had the opportunity to meet Ms. Pascal at the Opening Night party for Mack & Mabel. Her brother Michael Stewart, who passed away years ago, had collaborated with Jerry Herman (are you seeing the connection now? Good.) to write the book for the musical. (Jerry was there as well for Opening, as he had composed the music). When I say "I had the opportunity to meet Ms. Pascal," what I mean is, she was standing there in all her glory about five feet away from me but I, being the newly-appointed bumbling Development Associate, could not muster up enough courage to go and profess my undying love for her Twins.

To this day, I terribly regret my decision. After all, how many times are you in the same room as your childhood idol? Oh, wait. One time I was in a room with Julie Andrews (and half of her cast) and I DID speak to her! Go me! Umm, even if I stuttered and what came out of my mouth was, "Would you like some rejected cheese pieces?"--that is still a story that will live in infamy. (Similar to the one in which Big Jules threw out her Power Bar wrapper in Lisa's garbage can and we debated selling it on Ebay for about two minutes before we decided we would most likely get fired). And at least I went to a Jodi Picoult book signing where she told me I had a lovely coat. Hmm, come to think of it, I blanked talking to her as well...I think I was super original..."I love the way you write. It's just so real" or something to that effect.

My point is, if you are ever that close to someone you admire, do yourself a favor and tell them. I'm sure they will be flattered (I'm even sure that Francine would have been--I mean how many people are still obsessed with the 1987 phenomenon of Sweet Valley Twins? I am probably her sole crazy fan!). It's worth it in the long run, despite whatever embarassment you might have to overcome as a prerequisite. In fact, my "Garden State" moment may very well be asking Julie Andrews if she wants rejected cheese pieces. I bet that no one else ever muttered that exact phrase to her, ever. "Blah blah blah I loved The Sound of Music" just doesn't have the same ring to it. Agreed?

A bit tedious.

Burnt popcorn. The acrid, headachy-smell that ranks right up there with the pungent aroma of nail polish remover. I don't know I managed to do it, because I put the bag in for 2 minutes and 30 seconds like I always do...and yet the smell has permeated the entire house. So here I sit, huddled in my sweatshirt, waiting for the crisp air blowing in from all four windows to make some semblance of difference. It's reminiscent of my freshman year at UConn on the sixth floor of Hale Hall. Someone would always be making popcorn--for breakfast, lunch, dinner, a snack, it didn't matter--and at least once a week I would come home to this nauseating stench which would last for hours and hours and occasionally an entire day. Ugh. I can't say I miss that aspect of college.

I meant to add in my last entry that being a Weight Watchers leader would serve as a supplement to my current income; it's not a full-time job in and of itself.

This blog is somewhat random. Please blame the popcorn. I can't think straight.

A certain calling

"On another note, have you considered working for us? You have a very good and caring approach that I think would help lots of people. Think about it." I received this email on Friday afternoon from my Weight Watchers leader, Katie. She has been an incredible inspiration to me this past year because of her uplifting attitude, her positive words of encouragement, her empathetic nature...and the fact that she acts human and is willing to share her mistakes with a roomful of people. (She once admitted to eating an entire package of Fig Newtons after a stressful day). This isn't the first time she has asked me to consider being a leader, either. A few months ago she handed me a postcard regarding training information, and although I was flattered, I stuffed it into my bag, mentioned it in passing to Jeff and my parents, and then completely forgot about it until her recent email.

Now that I have reached my goal, I am eligible to become a leader and I have decided it's something worth looking into for the future. Throughout my life, I have never really been a leader. I was never the person in the group to raise her hand confidently, or to saunter to the front of the class in order to give a presentation. In fact, for the most part I would sit towards the side of the classroom in the hopes that I could camoflauge myself against the wall. This changed gradually in college after my English 105 T.A. told me that my writing was excellent but that she wished I would speak up and share my ideas with the rest of the class. I didn't immediately follow her advice that semester, but over the course of my four years at UConn, I became more comfortable with my knowledge in my major field. As I began taking Irish Lit., Journalism and Creative Writing courses, I heard her voice in my head and often participated and shared my opinions, if somewhat timidly.

I have gained a lot of confidence in my 20s, but I've still never really seen myself as a teacher. Even when I was student teaching fourth grade and loving every minute of it, something in the back of my head was always murmuring "You can't really do this...you're shy...you wouldn't have good classroom management skills..." even though everyone else--from my students to my cooperating teachers and my friends--thought that I would be great ("you have so much patience," "you are so good with kids".) So when I finally received my K-6 Certification, I attempted to find a teaching job for a few months (I applied to 54 positions) but when nothing came of it, I quickly resorted back to my English degree because it provided me with a comfort zone. I could return to writing, editing and playing a role behind the scenes as opposed to taking stage front and center, where people would look to me to make the right decisions and show them the way.

Despite all this, though, I have always wanted to make a difference. I remember when I first mentioned becoming a leader to my Dad in passing a few months ago, I had said "But I don't think I would really consider it", and he questioned me: "Why not? You wouldn't want to make a difference in people's lives?" which made me think for a moment but we ended up changing the subject and discussing something else. But come to think of it, I do want to help people. I want to have the opportunity to say "I've been there. What can I do for you? How can I help?" because that is at the core of my identity: a genuine interest in people and their well-being. Concern for those who might need a little prodding. Ears for those who just need someone to listen to them. It might honestly be a perfect fit for me, after all.