Day 30 - Make it Count

Well, friends, the thirtieth day is here.  As I sit down to write this blog, I am so overwhelmed with thoughts and ideas that I am almost at a loss.  Have no fear though, if there is anything I always have enough of, it is words. 

To start, I have to say thank you to each and every one of you who read this blog.  Whether you read one entry, or ten, or all thirty, you supported me on this journey.  Thank you for the likes on Facebook, the comments, the text messages, the conversations in the hall at work, on the phone, or just in passing.  You allowed me to share a part of myself and my life with you, and in doing so, you shared yourselves with me.  You made these last thirty days fun.

Secondly, I’d like to thank my friends and family who made my party last night and my day today more special than I could have hoped for.  If you caught my album on Facebook, then you already know that the party was a nautical themed white party – specifically set on the doomed ocean liner, the Titanic. 

When my girlfriend Katie and I met and became friends our freshmen year in high school, Titanic was, without a doubt, our favorite movie.  We watched it incessantly, owned it on VHS, and sang along to “My Heart Will Go On” with all the fist-pumping, chest-pounding enthusiasm of Celine Dion herself.  Add that to my repeatedly voiced desire to throw and/or attend a “White Party” and you have the most glorious recipe for a thirtieth birthday party I possibly could have imagined. 

In the movie Titanic, Jack convinces Rose to take a chance on him, telling her to “Make it count.  Meet me at the clock.”  Katie took a part of this quote, and had it emblazoned on a banner.  In full, it read “You’re 30!! Make it count.”   Today, I got to thinking about that quote.  For the last thirty days, this blog has allowed me to “make it count” every single day.  When I first started, I was apprehensive about my ability to carve out the time in each day to write.  I was also anxious about having enough to write – what if nothing interesting happened?  What if my blog fizzled, flopped, failed?  In the end though – none of that mattered.  I realized that if I simply opened up a new word document every day, and started to write, I couldn’t fail.  I hadn’t set out to write the next great American novel, I had set out to live, and pay attention.

Pay attention, I did.  I made each day count, in a way I wouldn’t have otherwise.  I drove my car in total silence and listened, I felt the sun warm my face and soaked it in, I went to Mass and fully participated, I cleaned my closet and learned from it, I cooked my dinner and made it an event, I taught my students and really recognized their brilliance, I spent time with my friends and family, and truly acknowledged their importance in my life.  I lived these last thirty days with a heightened sense of awareness that was invigorating, exciting, and beautiful. 

I knew when I began this endeavor that I would come out of it altered in some way.  Doing anything for thirty days is necessarily transformative, if for no other reason than it demands a certain level of commitment.  This thirty-day journey has made me more aware of the gifts in my life – I am more cognizant of and engaged with the daily experiences I would normally take for granted.  I realize that, ironically, the real challenge starts today.  The true test will be if I am able to maintain this level of awareness without the pressure of a daily blog to keep me honest.  If I’ve learned anything in the last thirty days, it’s that my days will never go as planned, I will slip up, I will struggle, and I will stumble.  But, I will also wake up to beautiful surprises, I will laugh, I will find joy, and I will triumph.

Many of you have asked me if I am going to continue to blog.   You have shared your interest, and encouraged me to keep this whole writing thing up.  Well, I’m going to do it – although I haven’t quite figured out in what way.  I want this blog to stand just as it is – kind of a birthday present to myself, a digital monument to my entrance into my thirties. 

So for today – it’s not goodbye, it’s just “see you soon.”  Until then, thank you, thank you, thank you, and remember to make it count.

Day 29 - Last Day of 29!

There are couple of things that are new today. 1) This is the last day of my twenties and 2) I am about to get ready for a birthday party that I did not organize and plan for myself.

As far as days go, I would say that so far it has been an exceedingly ordinary day.  I woke up early, and was unceremoniously kicked out of my girlfriend’s fiance’s condo so the girls could start decorating for the party tonight.  I went to an 8am yoga class, taught two hours of dance, and then went to my parents to chill with my family and the dog. My mom made pancakes and bacon, and I took an epic two-hour nap curled in a chair because my six-foot-four brother is in for the party and he commandeered the couch. 

I woke up, wasted time on Facebook, ate some Chex mix and a chicken sandwich, drank a cup of coffee and graded one and a half essays.  Yes, not one and a half class sets, but one and a half essays.  Super productive. 

Mostly, I’ve spent the day in limbo, waiting for the evening to get here, so I can go to the first party that has been planned for me since I was, I don’t know, five.  I remember my fifth birthday with incredible clarity.  I wore my very favorite forest green sweatshirt with bright, multi-colored, puffy paint splatter all over it.  My parents had a party for me, and my aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents came over to celebrate.  I remember blowing out the candle in the shape of a five, and I remember the stacks of presents lined up on the stereo all for me.

Now, I’m sure my parents threw parties for me after I turned five, but for some reason, it is the one that I remember most vividly.  I remember spending the morning before everyone came over nearly overwhelmed with barely suppressed excitement.  I’m sure I chattered the entire day, jumping around, sticking my nose in closets and under beds looking for presents, incessantly opening the refrigerator to look at my cake.  I loved that it was my birthday, and I loved that all these people I loved were going to be there for me.

I have felt a little bit like that all day today.  There is a theme to tonight’s party, and I have no idea what it is.  I told the girls that I didn’t want to know – that I wanted a surprise.  Every time someone told me they were coming tonight, the first words out of my mouth were “don’t tell me the theme.”  I have never had a surprise like this, and needless to say, I’m super excited. 

I’m also overjoyed to have so many of the people I treasure in my life together in one room tonight.  I’m not sure when I became this way, but for most of my adult life, I’ve been a “people over presents” kind of person.  The best gift my friends can possibly give me is to just show up ready to rock and give me a big birthday hug. I’m looking forward to many of those tonight.  Now I'd better go get ready.  I don't want to be late to my own party :)  

Day 28 - Gearing up with my Wolfpack

As I sit here writing this blog, I’m with two of my very best friends.  My friend Darya drove in today from Lexington Kentucky to celebrate my birthday weekend, and we are at my friend Katie’s fiance’s condo having wine and chatting – gearing up for a weekend of awesomeness.  The three of us, along with our friend Sheena, have been close friends for the past five years, and in the tradition of the great cinematic classic, The Hangover, we call ourselves “the wolfpack.”

Over the past four years, we have celebrated bachelorette parties, birthday parties, engagements, one wedding, Christmases, St. Patrick’s Days, Halloweens, Martin Luther King Days, International Women’s days, and absolutely nothing at all. (You get the picture – we like to celebrate.  Together.  For any reason.)  We have always celebrated here in Chicago, and when Darya moved to Lexington four years ago, we started celebrating there too.  

  

I always have an incredible time when I’m with these three girls.  We have a blast no matter what we are doing – when we have planned a complicated themed party; when we are at the Village Tap on Roscoe, and we are the only ones dancing,; when we are dolled up and betting on horses at the Keenland races in Kentucky; and when we are sitting, drinking wine, and watching Backstreet Boys' videos.  We could spend every waking minute of a weekend together, and still be laughing when it’s over.  We take hundreds of pictures, and then spend weeks looking back at them, reminiscing over our good times.  

 

Another of our friends remarked a few months ago, as we gathered to pose for yet another picture at Katie’s thirtieth birthday party “these four girls always take the same picture.”  We do.  If you’ve ever perused my profile or cover photos on Facebook – you know exactly the girls I’m talking about. I’ve never counted, but I know from over the years, I have dozens of pictures of the four of us – and in every single one we look genuinely happy to be together.

In general, I have amazing people in my life.  As I get older, I see more and more how lucky I am that I have these friends who are willing to put time and love into our relationship – strengthening the bonds as we grow older, mature, and build our adult lives.  To have these girls, who support and complement me in so many ways, is truly a gift.  I am so excited to be turning thirty – and these wonderful friends of mine have planned a night full of awesomeness for all of us, and many more, to celebrate tomorrow.  I couldn’t be more grateful.  Two more days!

Day 27 - A Series of Acts, Strung Together...

Today, I’m having trouble finding anything at all new in my day.  It was one of those days when I put my nose to the grindstone from the moment I got up, and I’m just looking up now.  My students were diligent, and discussion was lively – but nothing too out of the ordinary happened (if there is such thing as an “ordinary” day teaching high school).  I'm in the process of plowing through over 150 essays before the end of quarter next Friday, so every single minute that I’m not planning, teaching, eating, drinking coffee, or catching my breath has been spent bleeding red (or pink, or purple, or teal) over student papers.

So it’s the very, very little things that stand out to me today – and I have to look for them.  Today, in response to discussion on Chaim Potok’s My Name is Asher Lev, one of my freshmen said, “Well, of course his life can seem mundane and repetitive because when it comes down to it – that’s what life is.”  He didn’t mean it as a negative comment – it’s true.  It’s something we have talked about in his class before.  If life is just a series of moments, a string of repetitive acts, then each of those moments becomes important.  Each moment finds its weight in the truth that, in and of itself, that moment is life.  That is what my day was today – a series of repetitive acts made special simply because I lived them. 

Looking back on today – what stands out to me?  What were those moments?  Well, in first period, it was one student’s birthday, so we did “fireworks” – a highly effective teaching tool that I learned from a friend and have appropriated to a) celebrate birthdays and b) occasionally bribe students to work until the bell.  Every time we do “fireworks” for a birthday, the student is, invariably, gleeful – so thrilled to be recognized on his or her special day.  For me, it’s just another day, but for them – it is their chance to tell me how old they are, what they are having for dinner, if there is going to be cake (I ask this every time) and then – the all important question, “What color do you want your fireworks to be?”  Fireworks, of course, are colorless.  They are just hand motions, claps and sounds performed simultaneously – but kids will sit for 30 seconds or more deciding what color they want their fireworks to be.  It’s adorable.  Today, we did red fireworks.

In fourth period, a student asked if her class could start doing the “word of the day” that I do with my honors freshmen classes.  She shared the word “omphaloskepsis” – the art of contemplating one’s navel, and the entire class was excited about sharing words definitions, and sentences each day – not for credit, just for “fun.”  These kids share my idea of fun.

In seventh period, a student raised her hand and said “I don’t know why, but every time we read a book, I keep thinking back to those questions from Lord of the Flies” (Essential Questions, if we’re using the correct terminology – but I’m not being picky).  I wanted to hug her.  That’s exactly what an essential question is – something I want them to retain when they forget all the details.   “Which question?”  I asked.  “Is man essentially evil?” she said.  When I asked her what she thought, she said “Yeah, I think so.”  Well – that's what we get when we’re knee deep in A Tale of Two Cities.
 

When I got to my dance studio to teach, the moments were just as uplifting and adorable.  There was the serious furrowed brow on an eight year old as she tried to do her step perfectly while practicing for a St. Patrick’s day show, and the grin of self-satisfaction when she nailed it.  There was the six year old who still can’t tie her complicated dance shoes, and came running up to me to help her.  Through gapped teeth, she lisped to me that she could tie her regular shoes just fine, but these were “just too hard.”

A series of repetitive acts strung together to make a day.  Written that way - as a phrase, as a page torn out of a daily calendar - it’s easy to mistake each of those acts as mundane, unnecessary, or unimportant.  Looked at as moments that make up a life, though, they take on a special shine all their own.  What is life but a whole bunch of little things made special because they belong to us? And so, I find myself one more special day closer to thirty.

Day 26 - A View from the Chair

Today, I got my hair done.  Getting one’s hair “done” can mean many different things to many different people.  To me it means cut and highlights.  Depending on how adventurous I’m feeling and whether I’m in a “grow it out,” “maintain it” or “chop it all off” mode – that cut could be anywhere from a half an inch to six inches.  Today was in the half an inch range.

You’re thinking, "Kathleen, you already blogged about your hair.  There is a limit to how many blogs a girl should write about her hair, and that limit is zero."  Ok, ok.  I hear you – but this blog isn’t really about my hair, it’s about my hair stylist.

On my way home from getting my hair done, I started thinking about the fact that one of the longer and more sustained relationships in my life is with my hair stylist.  I’ve seen her every 8-10 weeks with incredible regularity for over seven years.

When and if I ever have to leave her, it will be legitimately hard for me.  Every couple of months, I count on seeing her smiling face and sitting down in her chair knowing that I will leave with hair the exact blend of honey blonde and golden brown nature took away from me when I was five.   Except for the times I have steered her wrong (“No, I want it an inch above my chin” or “Dye it brown.  Dark brown.”) – I have never left her chair unhappy, and I have followed her to different chairs.  For a brief time a little over a year ago, I learned she had left her current salon, and I was paralyzed.  I had to find her.  She sent me the information for her new salon, and I heaved an audible sigh of relief.

I honestly enjoy the hour and a half I spend with Constance four or five times a year.  She knows about my career and my second job as a dance teacher.  She asks about trips I’ve been on, weddings I’ve stood up in, and parties I’ve planned.  Her memory for detail is impeccable, and the time flies by quickly as she combs, foils, cuts, and blows out my hair.  As we have grown older and, incrementally, gotten to know each other better, we have begun to laugh about things that wouldn’t have come up when we could barely drink legally.  We talk about our lives as adults, and that funny feeling that someday, someone is going to come up and tell us we don’t quite belong in this big, bad adult world.  We're just kids in mommy’s high heels, children playing house.  It's funny that she and I have, in some ways, grown older together.

Inevitably, as I only see her a few times a year, the conversation turns to how “time is flying.”  The brevity of each visit and the space between our meetings make it seem like this is so - but the length of my roots and the stories I have to tell suggest otherwise.  Today I told her about my impending thirtieth, and, after asking how I felt about it, she was genuinely excited for me.

I don’t have any contact with Constance other than the several hours a year I spend in her chair.  We are not connected on Facebook, and we are not friends in any true sense of the word.  There is, however, something totally unique about the relationship I have with this talented woman.  I trust her with my stories, my dreams, my plans, and – above all – my hair.  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Day 25 - A Visit With Grandma

 

Well, today saw the biggest snowfall since February of 2011, and I did not have a snow day.  We did however, have an early dismissal, which was a welcome relief from classes full of squirrelly teenagers who were practically crawling the walls to get out.

Today, I had planned on going to visit my grandma after school, and despite the snow, I carried out my plans.  My grandma still lives in the house where she raised her six daughters, and where she has lived alone since the death of my grandfather almost twenty years ago.  In November, she turned 89 years old, and for the past several months, she has had caregivers staying at her home to help her with the basics – cooking, cleaning, etc. 

My grandmother is and always has been a beautiful, brilliant woman.  When she was in her early forties, with six children, she earned a PhD in English literature from Loyola University.  During all of my years in school, she was a source of encouragement and inspiration.  I would tell her about what I was reading or writing, or what courses I was taking.  She would share stories from her years at Loyola – from squeezing into desks when she was eight months pregnant, or rocking her dissertation on Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.  (Of course, she didn’t say she “rocked it” – but I know she did)

It is not just my grandmother’s scholarly career that has fascinated me over the years.  I could never get enough of her stories from her youth.  There were the parties on boats with young scholars from the University of Chicago, and the colorful stories about her uncles, Bert and Dennis, who loved her dearly and helped her widowed mother raise her.  Then there was her romance with my grandfather – a naval officer during WWII – that is the stuff of a Nicholas Sparks novel.  They met when she accompanied a friend who was going to break off an engagement with another Naval officer.  After their brief meeting, my grandparents fell in love through lengthy letters, and as she has always said of him “Oh yes, I chased him until he caught me.” 

They say our parents’ past is integral to our present, and I feel the same way about our grandparents.  I’m so lucky that I have had my grandmother for so much of my life, and that there are elements of my personality I can trace to her.  Her literary mind, her classic sense of style, and her feisty Irish spark are all characteristics I admire, emulate, and at times have to repress in myself (I’m referring mostly to my tendency toward a sharp tongue and strong opinions). 

Over the past couple of years, my grandma has begun to struggle with memory and mobility.  I know that at times I subconsciously avoid visits, because it is difficult to see such a vibrant woman ravaged by the inevitable passage of time and the effects of age.  Today, though, was a good day.  As I came to the door, she was radiant in a top the exact color of her clear blue eyes, her always red hair (albeit different shades over the years) was perfectly combed, and on her lips a perfect shade of red lipstick.  She wanted to make me food, but I assured her coffee was just fine, and we talked for well over an hour.  While at times, the faltering of her mind was evident, there were other moments where her edges were just as razor sharp as they have always been.  We had what I can only describe as a lovely afternoon, and she was so appreciative of my visit, it has renewed my commitment to see her more often – to take advantage of the time I have with this woman who has been so influential in my life and the lives of my family.

Watching our loved ones age is both a blessing and a curse.  While it is difficult to see them struggle with the challenges of growing old, having more time with them is a gift.  I am awed by the strength of my mom, her sisters, and their husbands as they have helped my grandmother ease into this time in her life, and today inspired me to acknowledge and accept her just as she is – beautiful, brilliant, and aging with all the grace and class with which she has lived her life.

Day 24 - Spring Fever

Today was a wonderful day off.  I spent it pretty much as I expected too – I filled it with things ordinary, but relaxing.  The highlight of my day was a shopping trip with my mom. 

I have to say, I’m completely in love with the colors and styles that are popular this season.  I can’t walk into a store without wanting to buy almost everything on the shelves.  I love the pastels, the jewel colors, the polka dots, and the skinny jeans.  I love the airy scarves, the spring weight sweaters, and the delicate jewelry. 

Going into a mall this time of year is a little like taking a trip to a warm climate only to return home to the reality of early March.  Whether you step into a department store or a specialty boutique, you are confronted with the possibility, indeed the inevitability, of spring.  Sweaters, dark colored jeans and boots are relegated to the clearance racks, and everywhere you turn you are taunted and tantalized by pretty blouses, cropped pants, and wedge sandals you won’t be able to wear comfortably for at least two months.

I fell quite happily into this trap today.  As I walked into store after store, I was inundated with more and more spring styles I couldn’t wait to try on.  I tripped happily to fitting rooms, my arms filled with bouquets of colorful dresses, pastel jeans, and bright tops.  I gleefully tried all of these on.  Inevitably, I strongly disliked some of the pieces, but others I loved.  I loved them so much, I just had to buy them.

All in all, I bought four tops, a pair of jeans, a dress, a necklace, a scarf, and a “bun donut.”  For those of you ladies who don’t know what a bun donut is, you are missing out.  A donut is a fantastic, puffy piece of mesh with a hole in the middle of it that allows you to make perfect buns out of not so perfect hair.  I made my own bun donut out of a cut off tube sock, but the one I bought today from H&M almost perfectly matches my hair in color.  Now I don’t have to worry about the white tube sock peaking through my imperfectly placed strands when I sport my casual topknots.  Yes!

So as I put away my purchases, it will be like wrapping my own presents – to be unwrapped in warmer days to come.  I’m sure that during tomorrow’s onslaught of winter weather, it will be difficult to imagine bare arms and ankles, but in the oasis of the mall today, I could almost conjure the sun warming my arms and comfortable breezes ruffling my hair.  It won’t be long now. 

As I forge my way to work tomorrow (as all you snow-day-ers snuggle warm in your beds – no, I’m not bitter), I will think of my new purchases and look forward to the day I will wear them.  Perhaps it will warm my heart – and my fingers and toes.