Saturday, May 24, 2008
Last week, before we left for my brother's graduation in North Carolina, my dad and I sat in the living room (my parents' living room) silently. We are a lot alike, my father and I. Observers--patient--always thinking. So I knew he was contemplating my brother's latest milestone in his usual quiet manner before he even said "When Ryan was packing the other day, I thought 'So this is really it..." implying that now that he and I have both left, our parents' role in our lives has evolved into something different than "Daddy, I fell down the stairs-I need a band-aid" and the games we created during thousands of backseat car rides. My dad's nostalgia always gets me because, like mine, his memory is vast and he is able to capture the details and describe them in a way that I can truly remember. Not many people I know can do this...people have a tendency to forget. Oh did that really happen? I'm glad you remember that, because I certainly don't. I don't know how people forget the moments in their lives when in the end, they make up everything you are.
As we were sitting there, we fell back into silence after I reassured him that Ryan would be back, and may even eventually find a position in New York City or somewhere closer...but Dad was adamant. "Yeah, but...it's still not here." And don't get me wrong, he is not wishing for my brother to stay at home and find a local job at all. But there's a part of him, as there's always a part of me, that wistfully wishes that some things could stay the same even as our lives take different paths. After a few more moments, I began thinking of all the events that had happened even in that very room that defined me. We moved there in August 1993, before my freshman year at Masuk. I recall the living room being bare, the French doors shiny, and our neighbors bringing banana bread into the chaos that was our new home. I can fastforward a few years and see myself sitting cross-legged at my 16th birthday party, surrounded by my friends, laughing and watching "A Miracle on 34th Street" in the background. I can visually see Rachel, Kim and I making up a dance on my back deck.
As I quietly played these images through my mind, I turned to my dad and said, "Did you ever think about how many people have been through this space, this living room, over the years?" I explained how I can sometimes see events play out in a sort of time lapse...people coming in, sitting on the couch, going to the refrigerator for a drink, coming back, leaving, watching movies, going outside, flirting, laughing, hugging, crying. I said, "It kind of reminds me of Koyaanisqatsi."
This film was fascinating to me, even as a child. My dad played it for my brother and I sometime in the mid-80's, and the haunting, melancholy score stayed with me for years. It basically shows the juxtaposition of people and technology and what humans have done to the Earth by merely developing as we have. In certain scenes, the time lapse speeds up to show hundreds of people flying through the grocery store, up the escalator, through the streets of big cities. Anyway, I thought of my old house like that...capturing the moments from chorus concerts to high school graduation to new boyfriends and break-ups to college and another graduation. How would my life look if I were able to capture it in the style of Koyaanisqatsi?
The trip to North Carolina was great. I proudly watched my brother's face at the hooding ceremony last Sunday night, right before he received his MBA. I saw the person he has become, and not just the little brother that he always has been to me. He has come a long way from sniffing packs of Carefree bubble gum when he was 3...from making forts with his stuffed animals, playing Contra and Ninja Gaiden, and saying "NO! Duh, duh, duuhhhhh!" in that manic, shrill voice as he cocked his head.
We have both succeeded.
As we were sitting there, we fell back into silence after I reassured him that Ryan would be back, and may even eventually find a position in New York City or somewhere closer...but Dad was adamant. "Yeah, but...it's still not here." And don't get me wrong, he is not wishing for my brother to stay at home and find a local job at all. But there's a part of him, as there's always a part of me, that wistfully wishes that some things could stay the same even as our lives take different paths. After a few more moments, I began thinking of all the events that had happened even in that very room that defined me. We moved there in August 1993, before my freshman year at Masuk. I recall the living room being bare, the French doors shiny, and our neighbors bringing banana bread into the chaos that was our new home. I can fastforward a few years and see myself sitting cross-legged at my 16th birthday party, surrounded by my friends, laughing and watching "A Miracle on 34th Street" in the background. I can visually see Rachel, Kim and I making up a dance on my back deck.
As I quietly played these images through my mind, I turned to my dad and said, "Did you ever think about how many people have been through this space, this living room, over the years?" I explained how I can sometimes see events play out in a sort of time lapse...people coming in, sitting on the couch, going to the refrigerator for a drink, coming back, leaving, watching movies, going outside, flirting, laughing, hugging, crying. I said, "It kind of reminds me of Koyaanisqatsi."
This film was fascinating to me, even as a child. My dad played it for my brother and I sometime in the mid-80's, and the haunting, melancholy score stayed with me for years. It basically shows the juxtaposition of people and technology and what humans have done to the Earth by merely developing as we have. In certain scenes, the time lapse speeds up to show hundreds of people flying through the grocery store, up the escalator, through the streets of big cities. Anyway, I thought of my old house like that...capturing the moments from chorus concerts to high school graduation to new boyfriends and break-ups to college and another graduation. How would my life look if I were able to capture it in the style of Koyaanisqatsi?
The trip to North Carolina was great. I proudly watched my brother's face at the hooding ceremony last Sunday night, right before he received his MBA. I saw the person he has become, and not just the little brother that he always has been to me. He has come a long way from sniffing packs of Carefree bubble gum when he was 3...from making forts with his stuffed animals, playing Contra and Ninja Gaiden, and saying "NO! Duh, duh, duuhhhhh!" in that manic, shrill voice as he cocked his head.
We have both succeeded.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
I hate dust. I am sitting here attempting to write and to concentrate on stringing words together, when all I can see is a sheen of dust on the hardwood floor beneath my couch. It's driving me crazy even though I just vacuumed and dusted yesterday. I am that type of person. The type who takes care of homework first as opposed to going outside to play on the swings first. The type who mows the lawn before going out to lunch with friends. Of course I will definitely swing on the swings and meet my friends for lunch, but only after I have completed the necessary tasks; all in due time. I hate having chores or responsibilities hanging over my head when I am supposed to be enjoying myself. So here it is, Sunday evening, and all I want is to relax and sit and write, while the sensible side of me feels like I should march downstairs, grab the vacuum cleaner again and go to town on the dust bunnies, wreaking havoc on their little dust bunny village. But I won't.
This weekend has been rewardingly long despite the fact that I slept in until 9:30 and 10:00 both days (that is unprecedented for me). We didn't have a lot going on so I spent the majority of yesterday afternoon and this morning propped up on my couch (with the dust bunny village below) reading a very interesting story called The Thirteenth Tale. I call it a story rather than a novel or a book because it certainly was written by a storyteller. I loved the twists and turns surrounding the twins, and I really became enraptured while reading. It's not often (especially lately) that a book has been capable of consuming me, and I thoroughly loved the feeling...of escape. And honestly, in my life there's not a whole lot to escape from. But every once in a while, it's comforting to live someone else's pain, to embrace someone else's emotion, even if that "someone else" is merely a fictional character.
Occasionally life gets too real. This past month or so it seemed as if I was constantly grappling with various thoughts regarding certain friendships/relationships in my life. I am confident in my communication skills to a degree, but when my words have the ability to instill hurt in someone, I often hold back. I guess you can say I've been kind of a lazy friend lately...giving advice when sought after, but otherwise remaining objective and stoic to a degree. For some reason I just don't have the energy most days to truly delve into everyone's situation. But this tiredness makes me feel that I am missing out on real conversations, that I am taking the easy way out by sidestepping confrontations and concern.
Overall I know it's just the fast-paced busy season at work that has been affecting my motivation in the evenings...and I know that it will pass once I have been immersed in the environment for a few months. I've been feeling drained lately--a good drained, but drained nevertheless--in many ways. I have to push myself to run or go to the gym after work, and while I have been trying to focus on eating healthy options, there's been a slight setback with various obstacles at work: Panera bagels "for a job well done," a Chili's lunch tomorrow for Cinco de Mayo, a farewell party for a colleague, etc. I still love corporate America and I'm trying to figure it all out, but in some ways it offers as many temptations as America itself. When I'm working hard to meet a deadline and to mail 2-3 cases in a week, and the head of National Accounts says "Hey, have a bagel for all your hard work", it's not always easy to pass up.
I am trying to keep the Tara I know and love in check. I want to be healthy, motivated, hard-working, successful, and a good friend all at the same time. I guess I'm just trying to balance each compartment and integrate them the best that I can. I know that sometimes one piece of the puzzle is bound to slip out of place for a passing moment, but as long as I am aware that I'm not complete without all of the pieces together, I guess that's one step in the right direction. It's my focus during these next couple of months to put 100% into everything that I do. I don't want to let anyone down, the least of all myself.
This weekend has been rewardingly long despite the fact that I slept in until 9:30 and 10:00 both days (that is unprecedented for me). We didn't have a lot going on so I spent the majority of yesterday afternoon and this morning propped up on my couch (with the dust bunny village below) reading a very interesting story called The Thirteenth Tale. I call it a story rather than a novel or a book because it certainly was written by a storyteller. I loved the twists and turns surrounding the twins, and I really became enraptured while reading. It's not often (especially lately) that a book has been capable of consuming me, and I thoroughly loved the feeling...of escape. And honestly, in my life there's not a whole lot to escape from. But every once in a while, it's comforting to live someone else's pain, to embrace someone else's emotion, even if that "someone else" is merely a fictional character.
Occasionally life gets too real. This past month or so it seemed as if I was constantly grappling with various thoughts regarding certain friendships/relationships in my life. I am confident in my communication skills to a degree, but when my words have the ability to instill hurt in someone, I often hold back. I guess you can say I've been kind of a lazy friend lately...giving advice when sought after, but otherwise remaining objective and stoic to a degree. For some reason I just don't have the energy most days to truly delve into everyone's situation. But this tiredness makes me feel that I am missing out on real conversations, that I am taking the easy way out by sidestepping confrontations and concern.
Overall I know it's just the fast-paced busy season at work that has been affecting my motivation in the evenings...and I know that it will pass once I have been immersed in the environment for a few months. I've been feeling drained lately--a good drained, but drained nevertheless--in many ways. I have to push myself to run or go to the gym after work, and while I have been trying to focus on eating healthy options, there's been a slight setback with various obstacles at work: Panera bagels "for a job well done," a Chili's lunch tomorrow for Cinco de Mayo, a farewell party for a colleague, etc. I still love corporate America and I'm trying to figure it all out, but in some ways it offers as many temptations as America itself. When I'm working hard to meet a deadline and to mail 2-3 cases in a week, and the head of National Accounts says "Hey, have a bagel for all your hard work", it's not always easy to pass up.
I am trying to keep the Tara I know and love in check. I want to be healthy, motivated, hard-working, successful, and a good friend all at the same time. I guess I'm just trying to balance each compartment and integrate them the best that I can. I know that sometimes one piece of the puzzle is bound to slip out of place for a passing moment, but as long as I am aware that I'm not complete without all of the pieces together, I guess that's one step in the right direction. It's my focus during these next couple of months to put 100% into everything that I do. I don't want to let anyone down, the least of all myself.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
It's been a whirlwind of a month. April has practically come and gone and I barely have one entry to show for it. It's all right, though...admittedly, sometimes living life is more important than writing about it.
Here are some new developments in the life of Tara:
Here are some new developments in the life of Tara:
- I've been running a few miles after work 3-4 times a week with Diana
- We invited additional members to join my book club (our next choice is a memoir entitled Her Last Death by Susanna Sonnenberg; I am intrigued)
- Responding to numerous RFPs during busy season at work
- Buying a new (pre-owned) 2006 silver Nissan Altima--yay!!!--which forced me to clean out my old car that I had for 7+ years (I never realized how careless/messy I was until digging out three small bagfuls of loose change from the seats, side compartments, etc.)
- Consolidating our boxes of memories/cards/photo albums that had taken over the spare room downstairs. We might actually be able to create a guest room now!
- Watering our lawn and pretty tulips daily because the crab grass had taken over
So nothing too wild and crazy, but so far it's been a decent spring. Right now I'm sitting on my couch wearing a long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, and jeans and I'm chilly...and all I can say is that I wouldn't mind if it were a little warmer out.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
I tried on my wedding dress yesterday afternoon. It had been hanging in a downstairs closet at my parents' house since the day after our wedding, and I finally sprang it free when I went home on Friday. My parents didn't necessarily want to store it for me, but we had no room for it at our New London apartment, and so there it sat for a year and a half next to my entourage of prom dresses. Now it will live in our cedar closet downstairs.
I have to admit, it still looked pretty. (If also pretty wrinkled.) Due to the fact that I didn't want to spend money on officially "preserving" the dress, the material certainly scrunched up quite a bit, and the bottom layer is covered in dance floor dust. As I glanced in the mirror at the delicate cap sleeves and the fitted bodice, I could immediately replay the events of the day. Breakfast at Friendly's with the girls. Hair and make-up. Walking down the aisle with Dad. Holding Jeff's hand at the altar. Tears came to my eyes and I couldn't tell if it was because I was happy from reliving the memory or sad with the realization that those events will never play out in real time again.
I went out on the deck barefoot in the dress and called for Jeff who was doing yardwork. I actually scared him half to death because he was literally right below me and I didn't see him...so at first he sounded a bit annoyed and was just like "What?!" but then he looked up, stopped what he was doing and came up the deck stairs. I became teary again and twirled around for him like a 6-year-old would before her dance recital. We hugged, and then I came back inside, peeled it off and gently placed it back in the garment bag. I'll admit that I kind of embraced the garment bag before bringing it downstairs to its new home.
We'll be married for exactly a year and a half tomorrow. I can't believe how quickly the time has flown since that day. It seems like we were just testing out cake slices and meeting with our photographer, and now here we are and those are no longer concerns of ours. Three of my close friends have children that they didn't have on my wedding day, my brother is graduating with his MBA next month which he had just started that fall, I have a new career, and everything and everyone is moving forward.
There's really no point to my saying this other than the fact that I have truly been trying to make every day count. Because before you know it, 548 days have gone by, you've brushed your teeth 1,096 times since your wedding night, and if you're not careful to appreciate every day, some of the little things might pass you by. I know this sounds melodramatic, but there's so much that I want to do with my time here, and so many people that I love and want to see, that I just hope I reach all of my goals.
I have to admit, it still looked pretty. (If also pretty wrinkled.) Due to the fact that I didn't want to spend money on officially "preserving" the dress, the material certainly scrunched up quite a bit, and the bottom layer is covered in dance floor dust. As I glanced in the mirror at the delicate cap sleeves and the fitted bodice, I could immediately replay the events of the day. Breakfast at Friendly's with the girls. Hair and make-up. Walking down the aisle with Dad. Holding Jeff's hand at the altar. Tears came to my eyes and I couldn't tell if it was because I was happy from reliving the memory or sad with the realization that those events will never play out in real time again.
I went out on the deck barefoot in the dress and called for Jeff who was doing yardwork. I actually scared him half to death because he was literally right below me and I didn't see him...so at first he sounded a bit annoyed and was just like "What?!" but then he looked up, stopped what he was doing and came up the deck stairs. I became teary again and twirled around for him like a 6-year-old would before her dance recital. We hugged, and then I came back inside, peeled it off and gently placed it back in the garment bag. I'll admit that I kind of embraced the garment bag before bringing it downstairs to its new home.
We'll be married for exactly a year and a half tomorrow. I can't believe how quickly the time has flown since that day. It seems like we were just testing out cake slices and meeting with our photographer, and now here we are and those are no longer concerns of ours. Three of my close friends have children that they didn't have on my wedding day, my brother is graduating with his MBA next month which he had just started that fall, I have a new career, and everything and everyone is moving forward.
There's really no point to my saying this other than the fact that I have truly been trying to make every day count. Because before you know it, 548 days have gone by, you've brushed your teeth 1,096 times since your wedding night, and if you're not careful to appreciate every day, some of the little things might pass you by. I know this sounds melodramatic, but there's so much that I want to do with my time here, and so many people that I love and want to see, that I just hope I reach all of my goals.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Irish coffee
Irish coffee personifies everything about my honeymoon to me. One of my favorite moments in Ireland took place on our second to last day in Dublin. Jeff and I had spent the entire day trekking through the city in the absolute pouring rain, my hood squinched up around my face and both of our jeans soaked up to our knees. The first ten days of our trip had been been absolutely beautiful, but of course we had to experience a torrential downpour at some point or it wouldn't have felt authentically Irish. Since it was late October, of course the rain was freezing cold as it pelted our heads and sloshed up against our sneakers...we had to seek coverage under random buildings where homeless people huddled in their blankets among their belongings.
We found McDaid's pub on Harry Street just in time--a longtime literary hangout of some of Ireland's writers and playwrights from the 1940s. It was the coziest little bar with such an intimate feel. Dim lighting, candles flickering on the tables, five or six tables pushed up against the side of the wall, and my warm Irish coffee. I recall sitting there with Jeff's arm around me with the rain and wind crazily howling outside and thinking, "This is it. This is love."
Tonight we went to Hanafin's, the local Irish pub in New London. I ordered an Irish coffee and Jeff ordered his standard Magner's hard cider. He put his arm around me and we quietly observed people and sang along to the music as the band played loudly. The Tullamore whiskey warmed my throat and I thought back to Ireland and how content we were then...and I realized that I love him even more now. Whether we're in Ireland or Connecticut, it doesn't matter, because when I put my arms around him, he feels like home.
We found McDaid's pub on Harry Street just in time--a longtime literary hangout of some of Ireland's writers and playwrights from the 1940s. It was the coziest little bar with such an intimate feel. Dim lighting, candles flickering on the tables, five or six tables pushed up against the side of the wall, and my warm Irish coffee. I recall sitting there with Jeff's arm around me with the rain and wind crazily howling outside and thinking, "This is it. This is love."
Tonight we went to Hanafin's, the local Irish pub in New London. I ordered an Irish coffee and Jeff ordered his standard Magner's hard cider. He put his arm around me and we quietly observed people and sang along to the music as the band played loudly. The Tullamore whiskey warmed my throat and I thought back to Ireland and how content we were then...and I realized that I love him even more now. Whether we're in Ireland or Connecticut, it doesn't matter, because when I put my arms around him, he feels like home.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Creepy.
Last night I slept over my parents' house because my mom and I were driving to a baby shower in Concord, MA this morning. The bed in my old room is actually the same bed that they bought me when I was three. The same bed that they hooked a yellow gingham guardrail to so that I didn't roll out and flop onto the floor. The same bed that had been moved from our old house to our new house and also positioned throughout various places in my bedroom over the decades. Same mattress, too. So you can imagine it's fairly stiff and uncomfortable after...let's see...25 years.
Anyway, I spent the entire night tossing and turning, dreaming about work and Jeff and rain and some strange hotel and three caterpillars on my pillow (in the dream, not for real!). I woke up this morning and wondered "What the hell could caterpillars possibly represent in a dream?" I looked it up online and I don't think I could have been more surprised by the accuracy of the definition:
Caterpillar
To see a caterpillar in your dream, signifies a stage in your own personal growth and development where you are on your way, but have not yet reached your goal.
Now I am not one to believe everything that I read, but that thought has certainly been going through my mind lately, both inside my head and out. I'm just trying to figure out how my mind was subconsciously able to transform that thought into three caterpillars and send them to my dream hotel pillow. Very random. The brain is a tricky and interesting thing.
Anyway, I spent the entire night tossing and turning, dreaming about work and Jeff and rain and some strange hotel and three caterpillars on my pillow (in the dream, not for real!). I woke up this morning and wondered "What the hell could caterpillars possibly represent in a dream?" I looked it up online and I don't think I could have been more surprised by the accuracy of the definition:
Caterpillar
To see a caterpillar in your dream, signifies a stage in your own personal growth and development where you are on your way, but have not yet reached your goal.
Now I am not one to believe everything that I read, but that thought has certainly been going through my mind lately, both inside my head and out. I'm just trying to figure out how my mind was subconsciously able to transform that thought into three caterpillars and send them to my dream hotel pillow. Very random. The brain is a tricky and interesting thing.
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