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. 

Day 23 - An Unexpected Day Off

Today, I received a wonderful gift - an unexpected day off of work tomorrow, in celebration of our girl’s basketball team winning the State Championship yesterday.  This is truly something new.

I blogged last week about the anticipation and expectation created by the possibility of a snow day.  This day is like getting a snow day without all that baggage.  We simply got an email that explained the reason for the celebratory break, congratulated the team, and encouraged us to enjoy the day off.

I initially had a difficult time wrapping my mind around the reality of this day off.  I was expecting to put in eight plus hours of work tomorrow, and suddenly I found that those same eight hours can be spent however I want. 

When presented with a hypothetical day off, I have any number of fantasies of how I will spend it.  I imagine that I might do any or all of the following in no particular order: sleep in, make a delicious breakfast, sit in my pajamas for as long as I want, read a book, take a yoga class, paint my nails, go shopping, visit a friend, take a nap, do a happy dance, clean my bathroom, vacuum, get Starbucks, do another happy dance, go for a run, go see a movie, clean my stove, tell everyone I know how excited I am to have a day off, lay on my couch, watch bad television etc. etc. etc.

Now, I’m pretty good with time management, and I can see clearly that I will never be able to do all of the above in a single day off.  Should I attempt to pack my day with even three quarters of those things, it will fail to be a day off at all.  10 pm will roll around, and I’ll be exhausted. 

So the question becomes, then, just how should I spend my day off?  Am I under any obligation to do any particular thing?  What if I sit in my pajamas, eat anything and everything edible in my apartment, and watch the entire Lord of the Rings Trilogy? (I don’t own it, but what the heck – I could go out and get it for the occasion).  What if I sleep until noon, then go shop at the exorbitantly priced boutiques on Damen Ave. and spend way more than I can afford on scarves, dresses, and Lululemon yoga clothes?  What if I wake up at eight, load up on snacks and coffee, get in my car, then drive north until I hit snow?  I could get out, make snow angels, scream at the top of my lungs, and then sit in the muffled whiteness.  What if I spend all day using my teacher ID to visit, for free, every museum in Chicago?  I could peruse ancient artifacts at the Field Museum, make faces at the fish at the Shedd, and sit silently and contemplatively before Monets at the Art Institute. 

I could do any of these things – and the “what if’s” are endless. The beauty of a day off is that it gives us the chance to imagine – to act like children again, when days off could be filled with trips to moon on a bicycle or treks up Mt. Everest on the incline in one’s own backyard.  It’s fun to fantasize, but at the end of it all, a day is just a day – far too small to fit all the wild dreams of one eternally grateful English teacher. 

I don’t know what I’ll do with my day tomorrow – but I do know that those twelve or so “found” hours are my oyster, and I can’t wait to find the pearl.  Here’s to free days, and filling them with anything we dare – or just filling them with dreams.

Day 22 - Go Spartans! Roll on St. Paddy's Day :)

As I sit down to write my blog for today – I have to congratulate my alma mater and current place of employment on our third state championship in school history.  Go Spartans!! I’m so proud to have spent so much of my life connected to such a wonderful school.  

Today, I spent the evening running a dance show with my own dance teacher, Kathy.  It was a small show at a local parish – the kind of show that, in my later years of dancing, I might have viewed as an obligation rather than a privilege.  I would have gone, danced, smiled, bowed, and gone on with my night.

Tonight, we had some trouble with our music.  The CD player provided to us malfunctioned, so we had to rely on the live musicians to play reels and jigs for our planned numbers.  Nothing beats dancing to live music, but it can be difficult for dancers who are not used to it. 

I was charged with announcing the show, so when I learned that we would not be able to use our CD, I was worried.  I didn’t know how the show would turn out, and I was apprehensive because I was, in part, a “face” for the performance.  Ultimately, our dancers performed beautifully.    The audience was appreciative, and the talents of both the musicians and our dancers shined. 

Watching our dancers arrive and perform, I was brought back to my own experience as a dancer.  They were so excited to be there – to dance, and be recognized and appreciated for their talent and efforts.  They loved the crowd, the music, and their own performance – and the mutual appreciation in the room was palpable.

I was reminded of the myriad reason why I love March, and I was renewed with my own enthusiasm for the coming weeks.  I have not only my birthday, but also one of my favorite holidays to look forward to – roll on St. Patrick’s Day!

Day 21 - Stations Revisited

Today marked the end of a very long week, and I ended it in a very lovely way – doing something I haven’t done since grade school.  I’d say that it qualifies as new.  Earlier in the week, my girlfriend Katie texted me to see if I wanted to go Stations of the Cross at Old St. Mary’s today.  I had tentative plans for the evening, so I wasn’t sure I would be able to go, but I found myself feeling like it was something I really needed to do.  When my other plans were rescheduled, I decided to join her.

My memories of grade school are not the sharpest, but I’m pretty sure we had to go to Stations every week during Lent (and that was how I felt about it – I had to go).  I remember the experience in that vague way that I remember so much of my childhood.  I remember the smell of the wooden pews, the shape and color of the stations hung at evenly spaced intervals around the church, and I remember having to either stand far away from each plague or climb over pews to get close to it. 

Mostly, I remember thinking that the Stations lasted so, so long.  The half hour or so they must have taken felt like an eternity in my tiny, pre-pubescent world.  My mind would wander to something, anything – most likely an upcoming test, or what was in my lunchbox, or the candy I had given up for Lent.  Feeling guilty, I would wrench my thoughts back to the moment, and try to wrap my mind around the story that was being told to me, for me, and around me.  I tried to grasp it, feel it, understand it, or identify with it in some way.  I simply could not comprehend the enormity of Christ’s journey, and invariably, I would feel as though I was missing something – like everyone else was “getting” something that I wasn’t. 

Returning to the Stations of the Cross as an adult was, in many ways, a very different experience.  Remembering how long they used to feel, I was almost startled by the brevity of the service – in the same way that, upon returning to a former grade school, one is shocked by the tiny chairs and knee-high water fountains.  There were a small number in attendance, but it was a meaningful and faith-filled experience, and I was able to draw my attention not just to the story being told, but to consider the meaning of Christ’s journey in my life – to have the kind of integrated, reflective, and truly prayerful experience I longed for as a child.

One might question whether I see any value in those hours spent at the Stations of the Cross in my youth.  The answer is an emphatic, yes. It was the seeds planted in those years, the relationship with God I didn’t realize I was building, that allowed me to fully appreciate and experience my time in Old St. Mary’s today. 

There are so many things in our lives that we do because we know, instinctively, that they are good for us.  We go to school, we read, we build relationships, we eat well, we exercise, we pray.  Often, in the midst of these endeavors, we feel like we might somehow be missing the point - like everyone is dancing and we’re the only one who can’t hear the music.  Then, one day, we have a moment like I did today – where our past experiences collide with our present, and the result is something truly beautiful and new.   Today, I’m thankful for my past and the gift it is to my present.      

Day 20 - A Good Hair Day

Hello all.  So today my something new is how I chose, or rather chose by default, to wear my hair today.  You might be thinking, oh no – she’s hit a new low.  She’s blogging about her hair.  Before you judge, indulge me with your attention.  If by the end, you feel I’ve wasted 3-5 minutes of your life, I’ll buy you a drink.

This morning I set my alarm a half hour early, as I suggested I might last night, in order to write a quiz.  The quiz, however, took more than a half hour to write, so by the time I got out of the shower – time was in very short supply.  I rushed around getting dressed, grabbing food, packing a bag to teach dance etc.  By the time I got back in front of a mirror to figure out what to do with my appearance, my hair was already halfway dry.  Rather than straighten it out with a blow dryer as I do every morning (it takes about 4 minutes) – I sprayed a little hairspray on it, fluffed it, plopped my hood over my head to protect my still damp strands from the elements, and ran out to my car.

The compliments started with my mom, although she always compliments me, so I don’t know if she counts.  “Your hair looks cute!” she said.  Others quickly followed suit.  “Ooooooh! I love your hair today!” several students in my first period class commented. “Ohmygosh we’re HAIR TWINS!” an especially exuberant student in my fourth period exclaimed.  In seventh period – my hair started a discussion.  By seventh period, a sneeze could start a discussion, so this is not remarkable.  “I love your hair like that!! Is that your natural hair!?  Why don’t you always wear your hair like that!? It’s my FAVORITE.”   A couple of my colleagues also commented on how much they liked my hair today.  It didn’t end at school, but continued to my dance studio, where one of my adorable six-year old students saw me and immediately blurted “Why is your hair curled? Your hair is always straight.” Not necessarily complimentary, but an accurate statement of fact.

The interest in and positive reaction to my hair when I leave it curly always befuddles me – mostly because I generally feel less polished and put together when I don’t blow it dry.  Curls are my default setting in the summer, but during the school year if my hair is curly, it’s usually because I’ve blown it out and re-curled it.  Crazy? Maybe.  But it got me thinking about a phenomenon called "The Ikea Effect" that I heard about on NPR.  The reporter explained the results of a study which revealed an odd pattern in human behavior. It turns out we place a higher value on those possessions or things we spend time and energy on – often overestimating or inflating that value.  It’s the reason we tend to privilege our own research in a project, think our dogs are the cutest, or believe the Ikea bookshelf we put together is worth more than the $800 one being sold at Macy’s. 

It’s not that I don’t like my hair in its natural state.  In fact, I kind of like it, and it saves me a step in the morning.  But perhaps I don’t appreciate it as much because it doesn’t involve any work.  It’s so odd that I can’t see the value in something that I haven’t spent ten precious minutes of my morning working on.  Others, however, have no problem seeing the value inherent in my God-given hair.

Sometimes we need to appreciate things just as they are – and some things in our lives just don’t need doctoring to be good.  Our faces are pretty without makeup, our bodies beautiful without Spanx.  Our family dinners are valuable without fancy food or place settings, and our quality time with one another better without the background noise of music or television.  I might pull out my blow dryer tomorrow, and I might not – but the positive reaction to my hair led me appreciate exactly what I have.

Below is the curly hair that is the subject of this blog.  It might be the only “selfie” of me ever published on the Internet.  In the future, feel free to remind me of its existence:

Day 19 - A Happy Anniversary

 Today I’m blogging in advance of my “something new.”  This premature posting is due largely in part to my energy level right now.  I know when I get home, I’ll think about writing the quiz I need to write for tomorrow, decide I can do it in the morning, set my alarm a half hour early so I can type it up then, and then I’ll go promptly to bed.

Tonight I am celebrating an anniversary with two beautiful friends of mine, and in celebration of our “friend-iversary” I’m offering my thoughts on timing, luck, and the people who are meant to grace my life with their joyful presence.

Two years ago tomorrow my friend Sheena and I decided to go to an event hosted at Old St. Pat’s.  I had recently joined the church, and the Young Adult association was putting on an evening of Irish dancing.  Now it takes guts and a little faith to go to a function at a place that is relatively new, but I had my secret weapon of eighteen years of competitive dancing in my back pocket.  If I didn’t know anyone other than Sheena, at least I knew how to dance.

When we arrived, the church basement was bustling, and there was a tiny woman with a brogue who took the mike and quickly started calling the shots.  She was not teaching individual dances, but ceilis – or group dances.  The event was a combination of people eyeing others and sizing them up while trying to figure out what to do with their hands, arms, and feet. 

A short time into the evening, Sheena and I ended up in a four-person dance with two girls who clearly knew what they were doing. Through a slightly breathless exchange while hopping and stepping around each other, we learned that they had both danced in their youth, and they were both Catholic school teachers.  We stuck together the rest of the night, and at the end we had an awkward phone number exchange that went something like this “Ummmm, so we think you guys are really great and we’d like to hang out again.”  Just a few weeks later we did, at St. Pat’s Siamsa ni Gael concert, and it has been true friendship love ever since. 

We’ve shared birthdays, parties, marathons, dance competitions, wine nights, and more in our two years of friendship – and I can’t help but feel very deeply that these two amazing women were meant to be a part of my life.  Last year at this time, we celebrated our one-year anniversary, and I couldn’t believe it had only been a year – I felt like I had known them my entire life.

There are so few people in the world that one can click with so instantaneously, and I’m so lucky that I literally danced into these two.  Finding their friendship makes me believe in the possibility of chance, and the certainty that those who are meant to be in my life will find their way there - and stay.  Happy Anniversary Erin and Antoinette. Here’s to many, many more. You girls rock . 

Day 18 - Don't Anticipate - Participate

This morning I woke up to skies that were gray but free of the impending flakes Tom Skilling promised were on the way.  As I drove to work, I contemplated what today might bring.  I thought for sure my drive home would be long and stress inducing – exacerbated by a long day at work, the “wintry mix” of sleet and snow, and highways clogged with tentative drivers and those driving too fast for conditions.  I’ve had drives home like that before, and I thought that if the day brought nothing new or exciting, I could surely blog about my drive.  I could work to find patience and serenity as I slid along ice coated streets, and skidded behind salt trucks. 

Then I rushed out of work, started my drive home, and encountered zero traffic.  Sure, the pavement wasn’t dry, and I had to turn my windshield wipers on, but the streets were salted and relatively clear.  It seemed that many people left work early or took alternate routes home because there were few cars on the road at all.  There went my “something new!”  How could I cultivate a calm mind amidst chaos when the chaos eluded me?  That got me thinking a little bit about anticipation and expectation.

There is no anticipation like the anticipation of a snowstorm amongst high school students.  They whisper about it, talk openly about, insist loudly and emphatically that it won’t happen – all the time crossing fingers and toes that it will.  This behavior is not limited to students.  In faculty rooms around school, “Snow-day” is whispered in hushed tones, weighted with a reverence generally reserved for royalty and sleeping newborn babies. 

A snow-day is like pitching a perfect game or winning the lottery – you worry that if you talk about it too much it won’t happen, and so you leave school saying “See you tomorrow!” in a voice dripping with certainty and sarcasm - tinged with optimism and a hint of desperation.  You don’t dare to hope for that day of blissful freedom, yet the possibility of it lingers in the margins of your consciousness – daring you to reach for it as it recedes before you.  One of my students imitated Patrick Stewart playing Macbeth, but instead of grasping at an invisible dagger, he snatched at the air crying “Is this a snow day that I see before me?!” It’s how we all feel this time of year, and often the promise of a heavy snowfall is far worse than clear skies and dry streets.

Today was just such a day.  I anticipated snow, and expected that its tumultuous arrival would be the subject of my blog.  The anticipation was exhausting, and my expectations for my drive home were a hindrance to this journey I am on.  This blog is not an exercise in looking forward – in anticipation - but in slowing down and noticing the realities of my life.  In my attempts to find something new, I came dangerously close to forcing something new. 

I began to think of all the times that I do this – the times I have preconceived notions about how an event, a day, a moment, or relationship should play out, happen, or progress.  Without intending to, I prefabricate my life – or at least intend to – until the rug is ripped out from under me, and I’m left wondering why the event, day, moment, or relationship didn’t fit the mold I tried to shove it in to.  I don’t want a cookie cutter life – I’ve never had one and I never will, but sometimes we all want our cookies to turn out just right.  I can’t blame myself for slipping up, but I can be responsible for remaining cognizant of this tendency in myself.  As we tell students on our Kairos retreats– don’t anticipate; participate.  Today, a little sleet, a little snow, and a hassle free drive home reminded me to be a participant in my own life. 

Day 17 - A Pinterest Recipe Conquered

Be forewarned: today I’m going to be one of those people who shares pictures of her dinner. 

Today I conquered a Pinterest recipe.  I went to Jewel after yoga, and, of course, my phone only had 2% battery left when I got there, and I didn’t have my car charger.  Therefore, I had to guess at the ingredients for the avocado chicken salad with cilantro and lime that I wanted to make.  I figured if I got those four ingredients, I’d be pretty much set.  I was right.  I loaded up my basket with fresh cilantro, lime, and avocado, and cheated with canned chicken (hey – give me a break ok?)  Then I even bought fresh bread at the bakery counter to toast and make open faced sandwiches, and I topped my basket off with the fixings for a goat cheese, cranberry, walnut salad (I know they don’t go together. I don’t care.)  I apologize if I’m sounding defensive about my dinner.  It’s wholly unnecessary.

As I checked out, I decided to recommit to going green at the grocery store, and bought two new re-usable bags in my favorite color.  Turns out I only needed one, because the contents of my basket- that would normally be bagged in three or more plastic bags - fit in just one re-usable bag.  So genius! So environmentally sound! So much easier to carry up to my apartment!  I took a picture of the before:

And the after (look how much stuff fits in there!):

Now the challenge is to make sure the bags make it back into the trunk of my car and into Jewel the next time I shop.  For some reason, that is a very real and serious challenge for me.

When I got everything unpacked from my sweet, magical, bottomless bag, I started on the making of my chicken salad.  I will not bore you with all the details - just some of them.  I chopped up fresh cilantro and green onion I had left over in my fridge (it was a bit dodgy).  Then I diced the avocado which, despite Jewel’s claim that it was “RIPE NOW!” – was not, indeed, ripe.  I figured I could tolerate about half of it, so I cut it up really small and tossed it together with the chicken, onion, and a mixture of lime juice and mayo. In case you were wondering, lime juice does amazing things to mayonnaise, and the dressing was delish (Yes, I just said "delish"): 

I toasted my bread, made my salad, and fixed it up nice and tidy on a plate.  I cracked open my bottle of Cupcake Pinot, and sat down to my very Pinterest-y dinner. 

I have an aversion to monochromatic meals, and the chicken salad runs dangerously close to being “too many green things on a plate,” but the salad and bread shook up the color palate just enough.  I think I liked the salad better than the sandwich  (of course – it was infinitely easier to make), but all in all it was a good meal. While I ate, I watched videos of Jennifer Lawrence being adorable - which made the experience even better.  One recipe down, fifty-some to go before I make everything on my "Recipes to Try" board.  Maybe I’ll go for those soft, chewy, delicious cookies next.  Here’s to Monday friends.

Day 16 - Here Comes the Sun

Sundays are by far the hardest day of the week for me to find something new.  If every day has a pattern – Sundays are a rut ground into the earth reminiscent of the Oregon Trail.  My Sundays consist of some combination of the following in no particular order and often with occasional additions or omissions: wake up, decide I need to sleep longer, go back to sleep, wake up again, teach dance, exercise, procrastinate, grade, procrastinate, lesson plan, procrastinate, go to Mass, procrastinate, watch something on television, read, procrastinate, surrender to the reality that I have to go to work the next day and do my job, go to sleep. 

You may have noticed that the common thread that holds my Sundays together is procrastination.  This can take many forms, including but not limited to looking at random people’s pictures on Facebook, looking at random pins on Pinterest, watching television, reading, napping, contemplating my navel, doing laundry – you get the idea.  Basically I have a hard time facing the impending workweek – particularly during this time of year.  Today was no exception.  My procrastination of choice today was to get a pedicure while reading the US weekly I bought along with my fake and bake cookies last Wednesday.  It was full of salacious celebrity gossip and vapid tidbits of absolutely nothing.  It was perfect for an hour or so of procrastination, and my toes are now a perfectly obnoxious shade of hot pink that makes me happy just thinking about it.  I also taught dance, graded, ran, did laundry, went to Mass – you get the idea.  It was a typical Sunday with very little that was new.

It was in the spaces in between the procrastination and the usual “stuff” filling my Sunday that I recognized the “something new” seeping into my awareness, reflected and refracted into my consciousness by the remaining inches of snow on the ground.  Today, I made a concerted effort to appreciate that big, burning star that gives us life and light.  I saw the sun.  I squinted against its brightness during my morning run, and instead of being annoyed by the glare it created on my not-so-clean windshield, I appreciated that the glare was there at all.  I put on my sunglasses, and then to better appreciate the view, I took them off.  I noticed how blue the sky was, and felt the left side of my body warm as I sat in traffic on my way home from teaching dance.  As I came around the curve on 94, I noticed just how beautiful the city looked with the glint of the sun on the buildings, and, looking out on that breathtaking landscape of steel and glass, I could almost imagine it was the middle of July and I was on my way to the beach.  In this month of twenty-eight days so often devoid of sunlight – today was a welcome change. 

I haven’t looked at the forecast yet, so I don’t know if the sun will be making an encore appearance this week.  Even if it doesn’t, I’m glad I made the effort to appreciate it when I got the chance.  Roll on spring and sunshine.