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.