I was not one of those kids that knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. In fact, I was pretty jealous of my friends that wanted to be "a doctor, a physical therapist, a lawyer". It always baffled me that I just didn't know. The fear of not knowing what you want to do with your life is only exacerbated over time. I remember in grade school you can say whatever you want to be and it's fine if it changes the next day. You could want to be a mermaid one day and a firefighter the next and both are socially accepted. In high school the tension rises a bit as you find yourself separated from fellow classmates in a "less accelerated" math course. Or maybe you find yourself thriving in Chemistry while your best friend can easily explain the physics of how their cardboard boat won the paddle race across the school swimming pool.
On to college and the dreaded "major" choice. I remember feeling the weight of the world that I didn't know what I wanted to do. If I didn't know, how could I pick a major?! Oh, the agony. I watched as some of my friends diligently worked their way through Business Economics classes, on their way to be recruited by the "Big Four" accounting firms before they even had diploma in hand. Other of my friends laboriously studied through O-Chem and Biology, trudging through the extra lab practicum classes they were forced to take as part of being a science major.
I had a bit of a different course taken. I entered college with the profound "Undecided" major slapped to my admittance. I toyed with the idea of becoming a lawyer (the idea provoked by my willingness and veracity to argue a point against my parents until I won). So I dutifully completed a summer internship at a family law office. Three weeks in I decided divorce cases and custody battles were not my cup of tea. I would need to take a different path. Perhaps I could be on TV and become one of those reporters. Better yet, a news anchor. My dream job morphed into the desire to take Katie Couric's place on the Today Show. So I applied and was accepted to an internship at the local ABC affiliate in Santa Babara. My duties were to write teases prompting the upcoming news stories. I was tasked with searching through archives of footage to find everything from pictures of the President when the story called for such images, to scouring through archived footage of a baby elephant when they were doing a story on the local zoo. After shadowing some of the reporters out on the field, I decided I didn't quite like thrusting a microphone in people's faces and waiting for a juicy candid sound bite. It seemed all too invasive to me.
I thought I would never figure out a major so opted for a broad approach. I would be a Communication Major. To make a long and frustrating saga short, I didn't get into the major. What does that mean? Well, it means my grades weren't good enough. Perhaps it was fate guiding me along the way, or maybe it was that midterm I fell asleep in. Literally, I dozed off while filling in Bubble A on the scantron. So it was back to square one in my Sophomore year of college.
Maybe I should pick something really broad. So I would become an English major. Turns out this was a good choice for me. It led to my finding a Writing Minor that I felt fit perfectly with my major choice. So four years later and a journey through majors, I graduated with a degree in English and minor in Professional Writing. Here I am, four and a half years from the day I stood proud in cap and gown, and I've learned that for me, not exactly knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up has proved to be a fantastic and exciting journey.
Through constant self-discovery and questioning, I've realized that perhaps what I am and what I have become is and will continue to be a constant learning process. The undertaking of owning a business with my significant other has been a whirlwind of excitement and challenges that have been both challenging and rewarding to work on.
In a new turn of events I have recently decided to apply to grad school. It is an MFA Masters Program in Creative Writing. The program is local at the University near where I live, and seems like a great opportunity to hone and further develop my writing skills. With this undertaking has come a whole set of emotions I didn't quite expect. It's nerve racking and a bit scary to apply for something and have the uncertainty about whether or not I will be accepted. Yes, I'm scared of rejection. The fear of failing is a very real and present one. As part of the application, I must submit a short story. No problem, I'll just write one. The project is so much harder than I thought it would be. So I've been working on twenty-one pages of prose; pouring over each sentence, trying vainly to choose the right words that will harmoniously come together to make a fascinating tale. Something about writing a story makes me feel vulnerable to the world. Is it interesting enough? Is it believable? The words on the page seem to stare back at me in defiance and it seems like I'll never achieve a final draft.
Maybe I'm too focused on the fact that I didn't know what I wanted to be when I grew up. I'm not sure any one's life story is perfectly conventional. Maybe I should think about what I have become along the way: A high school and college graduate, a business owner, a blog writer, a wife, a traveler, and now an applicant.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Big Sky, Open Air
There is something about breathing in fresh mountain air and a cool breeze that glides over open skin and sends goosebump kisses running up and down your arms and legs. There is a quiet peacefulness when surrounded by nature that heightens the senses and allows for escape into a world without the stresses of everyday life. I think Montana is such a place.
I recently embarked on a trip to the state; specifically to visit Glacier National Park where we toured the majestic mountains driving through the winding roads and then we ventured on to a town two hours West where we could partake in Fly Fishing adventures. We truly live in an amazing and beautiful country where there are cities as grand as New York City, coasts as beautiful as in Southern California, and skies as big and grand as in Montana (clearly I have some bias having lived in two of the aforementioned places).
Fly fishing was something I had never attempted before. Actually, fishing was something I had hardly attempted - if you don't count haphazardly thrusting a pole off a dock when I was 10... We were mostly fishing Rainbow trout and did so from a boat floating down the river. Learning to cast is like learning to master a pirouette in ballet. It's the movement of your arm that sends the line gliding out over the water to land just right, tempting the hungry fish below to take a bite. Like any sport or hobby, there are masters of the craft that can execute a cast without effort and with pristine fluid motions. I clearly have a lot to learn and practice in fishing as my guide pointed out that my casts were beautiful but I reel in a fish like a linebacker... I'm still deciding if that's a good thing or not.
Fly fishing from the boat was peaceful, challenging, competitive and relaxing all at the same time. Bald eagles could be spotted from the trees and the few times I actually caught a fish and reeled it in, I couldn't help but marvel at the small animal's brilliant colorful scales. The fish were all thrown back in the water, watching them swim away was like watching a few glittering sparkles fade into the depths of the water.
When I visit a new place, I often wonder about the people that call it home. About a different way of life that I would find foreign in practice. There are obvious differences with how people live abroad in Europe, Asia or Africa. But there are also differences to the way of life around the U.S. This obviously came to mind when I looked up at the big open sky in Montana. The scenery alone was so different from what I am used to looking at every day. Mountains and beautiful trees that painted the countryside green and reached high until it was met with the blue of the sky. Fishing and hunting are a way of life and a common undertaking much like shopping on 5th Avenue or hunting for the best new restaurant or eateries is in New York City.
Whenever I miss California I close my eyes and think of the rolling sound of the surf and the cool ocean breeze that carries salt through the air. Whenever I miss New York I close my eyes and can hear the cabs rushing down the street, the excited fast pace and movement of people going about their various tasks or the eerily quiet of the city when the snow is falling. When I am nostalgic for the cool mountain air and the peaceful coexistence of wildlife I'll think of Montana and that big blue open sky.
I recently embarked on a trip to the state; specifically to visit Glacier National Park where we toured the majestic mountains driving through the winding roads and then we ventured on to a town two hours West where we could partake in Fly Fishing adventures. We truly live in an amazing and beautiful country where there are cities as grand as New York City, coasts as beautiful as in Southern California, and skies as big and grand as in Montana (clearly I have some bias having lived in two of the aforementioned places).
Fly fishing from the boat was peaceful, challenging, competitive and relaxing all at the same time. Bald eagles could be spotted from the trees and the few times I actually caught a fish and reeled it in, I couldn't help but marvel at the small animal's brilliant colorful scales. The fish were all thrown back in the water, watching them swim away was like watching a few glittering sparkles fade into the depths of the water.
When I visit a new place, I often wonder about the people that call it home. About a different way of life that I would find foreign in practice. There are obvious differences with how people live abroad in Europe, Asia or Africa. But there are also differences to the way of life around the U.S. This obviously came to mind when I looked up at the big open sky in Montana. The scenery alone was so different from what I am used to looking at every day. Mountains and beautiful trees that painted the countryside green and reached high until it was met with the blue of the sky. Fishing and hunting are a way of life and a common undertaking much like shopping on 5th Avenue or hunting for the best new restaurant or eateries is in New York City.
Whenever I miss California I close my eyes and think of the rolling sound of the surf and the cool ocean breeze that carries salt through the air. Whenever I miss New York I close my eyes and can hear the cabs rushing down the street, the excited fast pace and movement of people going about their various tasks or the eerily quiet of the city when the snow is falling. When I am nostalgic for the cool mountain air and the peaceful coexistence of wildlife I'll think of Montana and that big blue open sky.
Monday, August 30, 2010
On The Edge Of A New Season
The air is starting to feel slightly cooler, the sun not quite as scorching and hot when it's high in the sky at midday. The roads have a more constant stream of cars as people have for the most part embarked on their summer getaways and have resumed the daily grind of a five day work week. At the grocery store, the watermelons are not piled quite as high and the beer selection has shifted from those light summer ales to more hoppy and festive choices - I even saw a Pumpkin Ale the other day... These are all the subtle signs that summer is winding down. Fall always seems to creep right up on me. Perhaps since summer is my favorite season, I always hope that the sunscreen scented days will linger on, that they'll stretch out just a bit longer and grant me a few extra chances to work on my tan.
Even though I consider myself a summer seasoned gal, I'll admit I do have a certain excitement now when fall starts to roll around. My husband explained to me a few weeks ago that we were in the "dog days". Of course I nodded, naturally thinking he just meant it was sweltering outside and doggone HOT! He knows me all too well, that I didn't have a clue, so proceeded to explain that he meant we were in the few weeks of summer when there are no sports to watch on TV. This was my window... I think now he regrets informing me of such a time span since I jumped on the opportunity to commandeer the remote control so that we wouldn't miss any of the riveting shows featured on HGTV, Food network or the Travel Channel.
I can say with full confidence that I enjoyed the "dog days of summer". I relished in the opportunity to continuously indulge in my choice of TV programming. But now those days are over and I can also say, I'm ready for them to be. We are now entering the highly anticipated football season - and I for one am actually looking forward to it.
With football season upon us, there is a felt sense of competition in the air. I wont pretend that I'm a die hard sports fan. You wont hear me rattling off player stats or reciting a short monologue on the history of a head coach. But I will admit, after last years season, I think I'm more a fan of football now than ever before. Perhaps its the extra time spent at bars with other fans. Or maybe it was my new found love for cooking that prompted me to whip up nachos and spinach dip at home to watch the game. Or maybe it was that we moved to a college town dripping in the SEC football team colors year round...
In not knowing the intricacies of the game there's one other aspect of football season that I've come to enjoy. It's a conversation that my sports enthusiast significant other and his friends sometimes engage in: which team mascot would win in a fight against the other? The game consists of picking a side and lobbying for why that mascot is tougher, stronger and better fit to win against its opponent. The mascot that has the edge would clearly be the team with a better chance of winning the actual game. Admittedly, this is a hilarious and sometimes ridiculous way to think of two teams matching up. Let's take, for instance the 2010 NFL season. The Cincinnati Bengals will play the New England Patriots. The Detroit Lions will take on the Chicago Bears. And the Arizona Cardinals will fight the Saint Louis Rams... so we have a Tiger against a Patriot, a Lion and a Bear and a Bird against a Ram... should be interesting.
We took the extra step at becoming loyal football fans this season and bought season tickets to the USC Gamecock football games. I'm looking forward to seeing how that mean looking rooster matches up against opposing forces. In case you were unaware, a picture of the USC mascot is below.
So although summer is drawing to a close, I'm optimistic that the approaching fall season will offer up it's signature happenings that I always enjoy. Football, the vibrant color of changing leaves, Thanksgiving, and a welcomed crispness to the air.
Even though I consider myself a summer seasoned gal, I'll admit I do have a certain excitement now when fall starts to roll around. My husband explained to me a few weeks ago that we were in the "dog days". Of course I nodded, naturally thinking he just meant it was sweltering outside and doggone HOT! He knows me all too well, that I didn't have a clue, so proceeded to explain that he meant we were in the few weeks of summer when there are no sports to watch on TV. This was my window... I think now he regrets informing me of such a time span since I jumped on the opportunity to commandeer the remote control so that we wouldn't miss any of the riveting shows featured on HGTV, Food network or the Travel Channel.
I can say with full confidence that I enjoyed the "dog days of summer". I relished in the opportunity to continuously indulge in my choice of TV programming. But now those days are over and I can also say, I'm ready for them to be. We are now entering the highly anticipated football season - and I for one am actually looking forward to it.
With football season upon us, there is a felt sense of competition in the air. I wont pretend that I'm a die hard sports fan. You wont hear me rattling off player stats or reciting a short monologue on the history of a head coach. But I will admit, after last years season, I think I'm more a fan of football now than ever before. Perhaps its the extra time spent at bars with other fans. Or maybe it was my new found love for cooking that prompted me to whip up nachos and spinach dip at home to watch the game. Or maybe it was that we moved to a college town dripping in the SEC football team colors year round...
In not knowing the intricacies of the game there's one other aspect of football season that I've come to enjoy. It's a conversation that my sports enthusiast significant other and his friends sometimes engage in: which team mascot would win in a fight against the other? The game consists of picking a side and lobbying for why that mascot is tougher, stronger and better fit to win against its opponent. The mascot that has the edge would clearly be the team with a better chance of winning the actual game. Admittedly, this is a hilarious and sometimes ridiculous way to think of two teams matching up. Let's take, for instance the 2010 NFL season. The Cincinnati Bengals will play the New England Patriots. The Detroit Lions will take on the Chicago Bears. And the Arizona Cardinals will fight the Saint Louis Rams... so we have a Tiger against a Patriot, a Lion and a Bear and a Bird against a Ram... should be interesting.
We took the extra step at becoming loyal football fans this season and bought season tickets to the USC Gamecock football games. I'm looking forward to seeing how that mean looking rooster matches up against opposing forces. In case you were unaware, a picture of the USC mascot is below.
So although summer is drawing to a close, I'm optimistic that the approaching fall season will offer up it's signature happenings that I always enjoy. Football, the vibrant color of changing leaves, Thanksgiving, and a welcomed crispness to the air.
Monday, July 26, 2010
A Very Special House
If a house had arms. If a structure could be more than just a shelter, if it could provide comfort and warmth and if it could have a relationship with a person. What makes a house a home?
It all started several months ago, about six months after moving to a new town. I had just gotten married, quit my job, and moved to a place I had visited three times. It was an adjustment to say the least but that aside, I was searching for a great project in the community to get involved with. I suddenly found myself in a position where I had more time... something I couldn't find much of in my past living environment.
It was a Thursday in late winter, early spring when I first set foot in the Ronald McDonald House. What greeted me upon walking through the doors of the house was a rather chaotic situation. I was thrown in with a group of people who were vigorously sorting stuffed animals. Yes, stuffed animals - hundreds had been donated and were being sorted so they could be appropriately distributed to the children's hospital. It was a rather unorganized process. I asked several times for the manager of the house but she happened to be in a meeting. Although I felt just a bit overwhelmed, and I'll admit, I contemplated just leaving, I stayed. Sorting of the animals transitiioned into a few other chores around the house and I found myself still there an hour or two later and enjoying myself. This house was something special, of that I was sure.
The manager of the house finally appeared and took me aside, apologizing for the unconventional start to my volunteer day there and then promptly gave me a tour of the place. I noticed immediately, this was an exceptional person. She radiated energy, and her smile lit up the room. Her 5 foot maybe 3 inch frame gave off an infectious aura that exuded endless enthusiasm. She struck me as the kind of person you meet and can't help but smile back at. I'll explain what happened next with brevity... I found myself agreeing to a one day a week shift every Friday as the manager of the place.
I'll admit, I was a slight bit apprehensive about agreeing to the commitment, but found my apprehension was overwhelmed with excitement over the opportunity to consistently work at a place with such a strong and important mission. For those that don't know, the house is a place where families can stay at no cost when their child is receiving treatment at one of the local hospitals. Mostly, the house is filled with families that live too far away to make the daily drive back and forth, or in this particular case, there are families that have a newborn in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit). Families are provided with a place to stay and meals throughout the day. Essentially, a home away from home.
My job is to make sure the families are provided with anything they need and to "watch over" the house accepting the many donations we get and making sure it's clean from top to bottom. In the time I have been working there over the past few months I have seen probably about 40 families or so come and go from the house. It would be difficult to explain into words how I feel about being surrounded by these families who, each and every one, are going through heart wrenching and difficult times.
I have watched families leave the house with elation and smiles that their child's stay in the hospital turned out for the best. And I have unfortunately watched families leave their stay because their baby did not make it through it's recovery. Those are instances that I hold my breath and have a difficult time grasping how anyone copes with that kind of loss. In those times, I remember the importance of the work, that the house is a haven. The hope is that whatever hardships those families are facing, they do not have to think about where they will stay or what they will eat for dinner. The simple and everyday routine motions in life are offered in that house.
It's a place that has affected and changed me in ways I'll be forever grateful. I have met some of the other staff that work at the house who have open hearts and giving ways which is always an inspiration. I am appreciative to the families that have stayed and will stay in that house in the future for showing me that important things in life are your family and commitment to one another during hard times. I am appreciative for the house manager, director and a good friend and fellow staff member I've made in my time working there for showing me how to be a little more selfless and how to be committed and giving to strangers.
So if a house had arms that it could wrap around someone. Just to be there for a person, to provide comfort and warmth and a sense of security. I've decided it would be that house.
Ronald McDonald House Charities of Columbia: www.rmhcofcolumbia.org
It all started several months ago, about six months after moving to a new town. I had just gotten married, quit my job, and moved to a place I had visited three times. It was an adjustment to say the least but that aside, I was searching for a great project in the community to get involved with. I suddenly found myself in a position where I had more time... something I couldn't find much of in my past living environment.
It was a Thursday in late winter, early spring when I first set foot in the Ronald McDonald House. What greeted me upon walking through the doors of the house was a rather chaotic situation. I was thrown in with a group of people who were vigorously sorting stuffed animals. Yes, stuffed animals - hundreds had been donated and were being sorted so they could be appropriately distributed to the children's hospital. It was a rather unorganized process. I asked several times for the manager of the house but she happened to be in a meeting. Although I felt just a bit overwhelmed, and I'll admit, I contemplated just leaving, I stayed. Sorting of the animals transitiioned into a few other chores around the house and I found myself still there an hour or two later and enjoying myself. This house was something special, of that I was sure.
The manager of the house finally appeared and took me aside, apologizing for the unconventional start to my volunteer day there and then promptly gave me a tour of the place. I noticed immediately, this was an exceptional person. She radiated energy, and her smile lit up the room. Her 5 foot maybe 3 inch frame gave off an infectious aura that exuded endless enthusiasm. She struck me as the kind of person you meet and can't help but smile back at. I'll explain what happened next with brevity... I found myself agreeing to a one day a week shift every Friday as the manager of the place.
I'll admit, I was a slight bit apprehensive about agreeing to the commitment, but found my apprehension was overwhelmed with excitement over the opportunity to consistently work at a place with such a strong and important mission. For those that don't know, the house is a place where families can stay at no cost when their child is receiving treatment at one of the local hospitals. Mostly, the house is filled with families that live too far away to make the daily drive back and forth, or in this particular case, there are families that have a newborn in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit). Families are provided with a place to stay and meals throughout the day. Essentially, a home away from home.
My job is to make sure the families are provided with anything they need and to "watch over" the house accepting the many donations we get and making sure it's clean from top to bottom. In the time I have been working there over the past few months I have seen probably about 40 families or so come and go from the house. It would be difficult to explain into words how I feel about being surrounded by these families who, each and every one, are going through heart wrenching and difficult times.
I have watched families leave the house with elation and smiles that their child's stay in the hospital turned out for the best. And I have unfortunately watched families leave their stay because their baby did not make it through it's recovery. Those are instances that I hold my breath and have a difficult time grasping how anyone copes with that kind of loss. In those times, I remember the importance of the work, that the house is a haven. The hope is that whatever hardships those families are facing, they do not have to think about where they will stay or what they will eat for dinner. The simple and everyday routine motions in life are offered in that house.
It's a place that has affected and changed me in ways I'll be forever grateful. I have met some of the other staff that work at the house who have open hearts and giving ways which is always an inspiration. I am appreciative to the families that have stayed and will stay in that house in the future for showing me that important things in life are your family and commitment to one another during hard times. I am appreciative for the house manager, director and a good friend and fellow staff member I've made in my time working there for showing me how to be a little more selfless and how to be committed and giving to strangers.
So if a house had arms that it could wrap around someone. Just to be there for a person, to provide comfort and warmth and a sense of security. I've decided it would be that house.
Ronald McDonald House Charities of Columbia: www.rmhcofcolumbia.org
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
First Anniversary
My hair was swept up into an intricate winding collection of curls pinned to my head. Nestled within the curls was a broach that belonged to my Great Grandmother, three generations before me. When I close my eyes I can see the folds of the white dress that fell just right tapering out towards the ground. The blues, greens and whites of the flowers blend together in my mind like a brilliant watercolor. I can hear voices of family and friends, a calm excitement that filled the air. The sky was a brilliant blue and I remember a bright sun high in the sky...
With such vivid images and memories, it's hard to believe that almost one year has swept by. One year seems like a significant amount of time and it is. But by the same token, one year can pass by so quickly sometimes it's hard to take in all that happened.
So on Sunday it will officially mark our First Anniversary. We made it. For us the first year included leaving our jobs, moving to a new state, and working alongside one another... triple whammie. With such immense change applied to our lives, I admit, at first I was a bit apprehensive of what the year would bring. No doubt, I knew it would be an adventure, but how would it all unfold? With 360 of the 365 days now in the past, I can say in complete and utter honesty - It has been nothing short of wonderful.
Thinking about a year gone by always makes me think about a year ahead. What will it bring? What new things will be discovered? What experiences will be lived? In looking back and reflecting on the past, I always find I have new sense of awe and wonderment for what is to come. One year ago I remember feeling the anticipation of such a momentous occasion which was only five days away - my wedding day. In all honesty, I had a picture of what the day might look like, but really wasn't sure what to expect. What unfolded was a dream transformed to reality. Beautiful colors and sounds, so many familiar faces and all around an unforgettable experience. I'm not sure I could have ever truly anticipated the emotion that was felt and all that the day encompassed.
I suppose it is virtually impossible to know a feeling or emotion or what something will actually be like until it is experienced. I'll always look back on that day, almost a year ago, and relish in the beautiful and intoxicating memories - thinking of those, I can't wait for what is to come.
With such vivid images and memories, it's hard to believe that almost one year has swept by. One year seems like a significant amount of time and it is. But by the same token, one year can pass by so quickly sometimes it's hard to take in all that happened.
So on Sunday it will officially mark our First Anniversary. We made it. For us the first year included leaving our jobs, moving to a new state, and working alongside one another... triple whammie. With such immense change applied to our lives, I admit, at first I was a bit apprehensive of what the year would bring. No doubt, I knew it would be an adventure, but how would it all unfold? With 360 of the 365 days now in the past, I can say in complete and utter honesty - It has been nothing short of wonderful.
Thinking about a year gone by always makes me think about a year ahead. What will it bring? What new things will be discovered? What experiences will be lived? In looking back and reflecting on the past, I always find I have new sense of awe and wonderment for what is to come. One year ago I remember feeling the anticipation of such a momentous occasion which was only five days away - my wedding day. In all honesty, I had a picture of what the day might look like, but really wasn't sure what to expect. What unfolded was a dream transformed to reality. Beautiful colors and sounds, so many familiar faces and all around an unforgettable experience. I'm not sure I could have ever truly anticipated the emotion that was felt and all that the day encompassed.
I suppose it is virtually impossible to know a feeling or emotion or what something will actually be like until it is experienced. I'll always look back on that day, almost a year ago, and relish in the beautiful and intoxicating memories - thinking of those, I can't wait for what is to come.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Ode to Summer
In just a few short days my favorite season will officially begin. Maybe it's because I'm a June baby and was lucky enough to partake in beach birthday celebrations and other outdoor activities in the warm light of the sun. Or maybe it's just something inherently built in me that warrants my fervent love for summertime. When I think of summer, I think of the smell of suntan lotion, tanned skin, the stiffness of your hair after taking a dip in the salty ocean, or the way your skin feels after spending a day in the chlorinated pool... Ahh yes, summertime...
This summer, I can already tell, will be just a bit different from summers past. I turned on the news a few nights ago to the local weather man dancing across the screen proclaiming the entire state of South Carolina was currently in a "heat advisory". I looked down at the clock, 6:15PM. I then glanced outside and noted that the sun was still high over head as if it were only noon. The weatherman then pointed to a yellow and red chart that flashed across the screen and explained that when the temperature rises to 100 degrees, the heat index feels like it's about 105 and we should all take caution to, as he put it, "use common sense". He didn't stop there, he continued on to say we had reached 100 degrees that day, but not to worry... we didn't beat the record. We missed it by 2...Thanks weatherman. It has been in the nineties for about the past month here so I can say I'm getting at least acquainted with the heat. 100 degrees and the official start of summer hasn't kicked in... I think I'm in for an experience.
Nevertheless, walking outside in this type of heat has some upsides. Iced tea, lemonade, heck even a cold beer could not possibly taste better in such sweltering temperatures; and although I feel ridiculously hot and sticky, so does everyone else!
There are good things about the heat. Not ever having to grab a sweater before walking out the door is a blissful convenience. Who wants to bother with big bulky clothes? The heat welcomes tank tops, sundresses and shorts. Summertime is also wonderfully classified by long days with lots of sunshine and plenty of chances to soak up that vitamin D that everyone is saying people should be getting more of. The season invokes smells of family and neighborhood barbecues, picnic tables, burgers and for a kid, a chance to stay up past bedtime since it stays light out for so long. Watermelon should be named the official fruit of the season because it never tastes better than in does on a hot summer day. Lounging at the beach or by the poolside are not looked at as laziness but as merely embracing and celebrating the season. What could be better than summertime?
So even though its sweltering outside, I'm ready to welcome summer - bring on the sunscreen, barbecues and sundresses and even that hot southern heat.
This summer, I can already tell, will be just a bit different from summers past. I turned on the news a few nights ago to the local weather man dancing across the screen proclaiming the entire state of South Carolina was currently in a "heat advisory". I looked down at the clock, 6:15PM. I then glanced outside and noted that the sun was still high over head as if it were only noon. The weatherman then pointed to a yellow and red chart that flashed across the screen and explained that when the temperature rises to 100 degrees, the heat index feels like it's about 105 and we should all take caution to, as he put it, "use common sense". He didn't stop there, he continued on to say we had reached 100 degrees that day, but not to worry... we didn't beat the record. We missed it by 2...Thanks weatherman. It has been in the nineties for about the past month here so I can say I'm getting at least acquainted with the heat. 100 degrees and the official start of summer hasn't kicked in... I think I'm in for an experience.
Nevertheless, walking outside in this type of heat has some upsides. Iced tea, lemonade, heck even a cold beer could not possibly taste better in such sweltering temperatures; and although I feel ridiculously hot and sticky, so does everyone else!
There are good things about the heat. Not ever having to grab a sweater before walking out the door is a blissful convenience. Who wants to bother with big bulky clothes? The heat welcomes tank tops, sundresses and shorts. Summertime is also wonderfully classified by long days with lots of sunshine and plenty of chances to soak up that vitamin D that everyone is saying people should be getting more of. The season invokes smells of family and neighborhood barbecues, picnic tables, burgers and for a kid, a chance to stay up past bedtime since it stays light out for so long. Watermelon should be named the official fruit of the season because it never tastes better than in does on a hot summer day. Lounging at the beach or by the poolside are not looked at as laziness but as merely embracing and celebrating the season. What could be better than summertime?
So even though its sweltering outside, I'm ready to welcome summer - bring on the sunscreen, barbecues and sundresses and even that hot southern heat.
Friday, May 28, 2010
The Ultimate Man Toy
Often times throughout life we make decisions not based entirely on need, but instead heavily influenced by what we want. We made a recent purchase that was based on this particular notion, and despite my husbands protest, I like to call the purchase the ultimate man toy.
There are an infinite number of differences between living in New York City and living in an undeniably smaller town in South Carolina. Then again, there are an infinite number of differences between living in New York City and living anywhere else in the U.S. Either way, there is one major difference in way of life that warranted an immediate change when we moved, and that is owning a car.
When we first moved from New York, we knew there would be a mad rush to find a car and fast. Where before public transportation was a way of life and great convenience living in a big city, we were now living in a place where public transportation was not an option. We would need a car. After three days, one rental car and a painful process with the dealership, we purchased our ride: a purple (more like amethyst) mid-sized SUV. A used Chevy Equinox - the purple-people-eater.
Over the course of the past ten months we have lived in South Carolina, Eric and I have shared the ride. Any time we would reveal this bit of information about our current situation to a new person, the response was unwavering. "I had to share a car with my wife one time when her car was in the shop... how on earth do you do it!" Or, "Wow, that must be really something to have to share a way of getting around". It seems this sharing transportation notion invoked flashbacks of bad carpools from the past to many people. To us, it was fine. I mean we live together, now we work together, it seemed natural to be sharing a car. It felt this way for the majority of the past ten months until one day, as I was dutifully driving back across town from our apartment to work to pick up Eric who was patiently waiting, I happened to notice the odometer... we had put 150 miles on the car in one day... and we had stayed in town. Time to get a second car.
We decided that the purple-people-eater would be "my car" and he would pick out a second vehicle. Something "beat up", "worn", something just to get around town from Point A to Point B. Naturally, this meant getting a truck.
Now I have known people with Trucks. I even expressed to my significant other that I liked Ford F-150s in particular - yeah, I liked how they looked and they seemed like a great truck. We proceeded for the next month to spot trucks on the side of the road in varying degrees of distress. Many with For Sale signs tacked onto their side or scribbled in white chalk across the windshield. And often I would think why would anyone want to buy THAT thing. Of course when this thought appeared in my head, it usually meant before long I found myself pulled over on the side of the truck, peering into the vehicle to see it's condition. Then the remark: "This doesn't look that bad... what do you think?". At that point, I would smile and nod.
We would scour the web for cars on sale, and he would methodically call out to the sellers asking all kinds of questions about said trucks - what kind of engine, is it 4 wheel drive, how is the clutch? I listened, thinking - maybe I dont know so much about trucks...
Then one night I was called over to look at one he found on a website. It was white, it was a truck, it was exactly what he had been looking for. Instead of the numbers 150, on it's side were the numbers 250 which frankly I didn't understand... "What do you think?" he asked. My reply: "I think it looks great. If it's everything you are looking for, it sounds good to me."
So we went. We drove the 3 1/2 hours to go see the truck. As we passed through the fourth small mountainside town in Georgia, we both looked at each other and without having to speak communicated that we sure hoped this was "the one". We pulled up to the dealership, and were immediately approached by the salesman. "I got the keys for you right here, lemme show you the truck!" He was excited... I was curious and I'll admit, a bit nervous. We walked up to the truck and I think my jaw dropped. It was the largest thing I had ever seen... A monster. He started it up and it growled and sputtered and then transitioned to a hefty idling noise. I could tell, Eric seemed a bit apprehensive about such a bit purchase - and it wasn't the money for the beat up thing... it was a physically BIG purchase.
Then it was decision time. And you know, it was one of those great times when you find yourself looking at the intended item thinking: Did we really need that kind of car... no. Would it be better if we got the truck?... probably didn't matter. Would it be fun?... most definitely. And sometimes, you make decisions because you want to and not because you need to.
So we drove off the lot with the monster, me following in the purple-people-eater. I watched as car after car would move out of the truck's way - dwarfed in it's looming shadow. When we safely arrived back home we looked at each other and nervously laughed at our somewhat crazy purchase.
"You do know what this is, don't you?" I asked. "It's the ultimate man toy - let's go for a ride."
There are an infinite number of differences between living in New York City and living in an undeniably smaller town in South Carolina. Then again, there are an infinite number of differences between living in New York City and living anywhere else in the U.S. Either way, there is one major difference in way of life that warranted an immediate change when we moved, and that is owning a car.
When we first moved from New York, we knew there would be a mad rush to find a car and fast. Where before public transportation was a way of life and great convenience living in a big city, we were now living in a place where public transportation was not an option. We would need a car. After three days, one rental car and a painful process with the dealership, we purchased our ride: a purple (more like amethyst) mid-sized SUV. A used Chevy Equinox - the purple-people-eater.
Over the course of the past ten months we have lived in South Carolina, Eric and I have shared the ride. Any time we would reveal this bit of information about our current situation to a new person, the response was unwavering. "I had to share a car with my wife one time when her car was in the shop... how on earth do you do it!" Or, "Wow, that must be really something to have to share a way of getting around". It seems this sharing transportation notion invoked flashbacks of bad carpools from the past to many people. To us, it was fine. I mean we live together, now we work together, it seemed natural to be sharing a car. It felt this way for the majority of the past ten months until one day, as I was dutifully driving back across town from our apartment to work to pick up Eric who was patiently waiting, I happened to notice the odometer... we had put 150 miles on the car in one day... and we had stayed in town. Time to get a second car.
We decided that the purple-people-eater would be "my car" and he would pick out a second vehicle. Something "beat up", "worn", something just to get around town from Point A to Point B. Naturally, this meant getting a truck.
Now I have known people with Trucks. I even expressed to my significant other that I liked Ford F-150s in particular - yeah, I liked how they looked and they seemed like a great truck. We proceeded for the next month to spot trucks on the side of the road in varying degrees of distress. Many with For Sale signs tacked onto their side or scribbled in white chalk across the windshield. And often I would think why would anyone want to buy THAT thing. Of course when this thought appeared in my head, it usually meant before long I found myself pulled over on the side of the truck, peering into the vehicle to see it's condition. Then the remark: "This doesn't look that bad... what do you think?". At that point, I would smile and nod.
We would scour the web for cars on sale, and he would methodically call out to the sellers asking all kinds of questions about said trucks - what kind of engine, is it 4 wheel drive, how is the clutch? I listened, thinking - maybe I dont know so much about trucks...
Then one night I was called over to look at one he found on a website. It was white, it was a truck, it was exactly what he had been looking for. Instead of the numbers 150, on it's side were the numbers 250 which frankly I didn't understand... "What do you think?" he asked. My reply: "I think it looks great. If it's everything you are looking for, it sounds good to me."
So we went. We drove the 3 1/2 hours to go see the truck. As we passed through the fourth small mountainside town in Georgia, we both looked at each other and without having to speak communicated that we sure hoped this was "the one". We pulled up to the dealership, and were immediately approached by the salesman. "I got the keys for you right here, lemme show you the truck!" He was excited... I was curious and I'll admit, a bit nervous. We walked up to the truck and I think my jaw dropped. It was the largest thing I had ever seen... A monster. He started it up and it growled and sputtered and then transitioned to a hefty idling noise. I could tell, Eric seemed a bit apprehensive about such a bit purchase - and it wasn't the money for the beat up thing... it was a physically BIG purchase.
Then it was decision time. And you know, it was one of those great times when you find yourself looking at the intended item thinking: Did we really need that kind of car... no. Would it be better if we got the truck?... probably didn't matter. Would it be fun?... most definitely. And sometimes, you make decisions because you want to and not because you need to.
So we drove off the lot with the monster, me following in the purple-people-eater. I watched as car after car would move out of the truck's way - dwarfed in it's looming shadow. When we safely arrived back home we looked at each other and nervously laughed at our somewhat crazy purchase.
"You do know what this is, don't you?" I asked. "It's the ultimate man toy - let's go for a ride."
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
My Southern Living Exposure
I've been a terrible blogger lately. I'm trying to break my silence today with a feeble attempt at an entry. So bear with me. It's not that I have something profound to say or a story that will make you think, wow, that's amazing. It's just that I like to write and I haven't been doing it. So as the ever-popular saying goes - I'm getting back on the horse.
For a girl that had only been to "The South" but once or twice before taking up residence in one of the deepest parts, I would say that of late, I'm becoming quite acquainted with it. This past weekend we took a trip up to Atlanta, GA where we indulged in a fabulous performance by Zac Brown Band. Now, if you don't know who this band is, they are kind of a cross between country and Dave Matthews or jam-band type music. I suppose that generally they are considered a country group but as I found out this weekend in talking to some "true" southerners, there are bands that fit the country grain way more than Zac Brown Band.
We sat and enjoyed the concert at a beautiful (but cold) outdoor amphitheater and listened to Zac and his band sing their hearts out with songs like "Chicken Fried", "Highway 20 Ride" and "Sick 'em on a Chicken". Now I at first thought "Sick 'em on a Chicken" was called "Sick OF Mamma's Chicken"... boy was I wrong! Case in point, I'm learning new things every day. Apparently the song was not at all about Bad Chicken, but rather how they Sick the Dog on the chicken and then proceed to fry the bird...
The concert was wonderful, the songs were great and once I actually got the words right, I felt really a part of this southern thing. As we were driving back home to South Carolina from Atlanta, my husband asked me a quite pointed question: "Sooo, what do you like better, South Carolina or Georgia?" I have to confess the look I gave him was somewhat of a blank one... well, gosh, I had never really thought about it until he posed the question. After a few moments in thought as I looked out the window down Highway 20 at the seemingly endless road lined by a mass of beautiful green trees. It is in those moments, it's hard to imagine cultures and areas more different than California, New York, and South Carolina. I suppose I'll have to ponder that one for another day and keep exploring the many things the two states have to offer...
I've been pleasantly surprised living in our town in South Carolina at the amount of festivals and events they have going on almost every week. There are live bands that play each week outdoors this time of year, and there seems to be a rotating festival featuring some kind of Southern delicacy or tradition every time I turn around. Sadly, we missed the Crawfish Festival two weeks ago due to work, but hey, maybe we'll catch the BBQ event going on Saturday - they say they'll have 40 different kinds of barbecue... I wasn't even aware there were more than two kinds!
One last Southern Moment to share before I sign off for the day, victorious that at least I've completed a blog. We live in a great apartment complex that is built right by a river and canal. It's a wonderful thing living by water, especially for a California girl like me that has an unprecedented love for the ocean. While taking a sunset stroll just a few weeks ago, we stopped at the railing to peer down into the canal (I guess from that far away I was hoping for a gator sighting... yes, gator). Well most lucky for us, it wasn't a gator, but a water rat. Yes, a water rat. If you haven't ever seen one, it looks just as it sounds. A rat that swims. It seems the rat, which we affectionately have named Frank, has a home in that canal outside our apartment. We've seen him four or five times since the first sighting, swimming back and forth from his home - I guess he must be doing errands. So as you can see, I'm embracing my life in the south. Learning songs like "Sick 'em on a Chicken" and looking out for my neighbors like Frank. Until next time, bye y'all :-)
For a girl that had only been to "The South" but once or twice before taking up residence in one of the deepest parts, I would say that of late, I'm becoming quite acquainted with it. This past weekend we took a trip up to Atlanta, GA where we indulged in a fabulous performance by Zac Brown Band. Now, if you don't know who this band is, they are kind of a cross between country and Dave Matthews or jam-band type music. I suppose that generally they are considered a country group but as I found out this weekend in talking to some "true" southerners, there are bands that fit the country grain way more than Zac Brown Band.
We sat and enjoyed the concert at a beautiful (but cold) outdoor amphitheater and listened to Zac and his band sing their hearts out with songs like "Chicken Fried", "Highway 20 Ride" and "Sick 'em on a Chicken". Now I at first thought "Sick 'em on a Chicken" was called "Sick OF Mamma's Chicken"... boy was I wrong! Case in point, I'm learning new things every day. Apparently the song was not at all about Bad Chicken, but rather how they Sick the Dog on the chicken and then proceed to fry the bird...
The concert was wonderful, the songs were great and once I actually got the words right, I felt really a part of this southern thing. As we were driving back home to South Carolina from Atlanta, my husband asked me a quite pointed question: "Sooo, what do you like better, South Carolina or Georgia?" I have to confess the look I gave him was somewhat of a blank one... well, gosh, I had never really thought about it until he posed the question. After a few moments in thought as I looked out the window down Highway 20 at the seemingly endless road lined by a mass of beautiful green trees. It is in those moments, it's hard to imagine cultures and areas more different than California, New York, and South Carolina. I suppose I'll have to ponder that one for another day and keep exploring the many things the two states have to offer...
I've been pleasantly surprised living in our town in South Carolina at the amount of festivals and events they have going on almost every week. There are live bands that play each week outdoors this time of year, and there seems to be a rotating festival featuring some kind of Southern delicacy or tradition every time I turn around. Sadly, we missed the Crawfish Festival two weeks ago due to work, but hey, maybe we'll catch the BBQ event going on Saturday - they say they'll have 40 different kinds of barbecue... I wasn't even aware there were more than two kinds!
One last Southern Moment to share before I sign off for the day, victorious that at least I've completed a blog. We live in a great apartment complex that is built right by a river and canal. It's a wonderful thing living by water, especially for a California girl like me that has an unprecedented love for the ocean. While taking a sunset stroll just a few weeks ago, we stopped at the railing to peer down into the canal (I guess from that far away I was hoping for a gator sighting... yes, gator). Well most lucky for us, it wasn't a gator, but a water rat. Yes, a water rat. If you haven't ever seen one, it looks just as it sounds. A rat that swims. It seems the rat, which we affectionately have named Frank, has a home in that canal outside our apartment. We've seen him four or five times since the first sighting, swimming back and forth from his home - I guess he must be doing errands. So as you can see, I'm embracing my life in the south. Learning songs like "Sick 'em on a Chicken" and looking out for my neighbors like Frank. Until next time, bye y'all :-)
Saturday, March 27, 2010
No Pain, No Gain
I inhaled deeply and tried to concentrate on each step I was taking. I tried to keep my head up and focus on my end destination so I wouldn't loose sight of the goal. Why was this so difficult today? I've been finding that question present itself in my thoughts every time I embark on such a challenge. It was just a run, but sometimes a run seems so tough, even if I have been running frequently, and there are days when I find it is flat out discouraging.
Lately, I have been thinking back to when I was growing up and participated in competitive sports. Most of the time, I think of swimming. It's odd I would compare gliding through the water to running on concrete but the actions to me seem very alike. Swimming back and forth across the length of a pool is not all that different than running back and forth along a path - both activities take a necessary level of commitment and self determination paired with the right amount of motivation.
I swam on a competitive recreational team from the time I was 5 until I was 18. We were the Dolphins, the Mighty Dolphins in fact, and our coach was tough but he was great. "No pain, no gain" he would say, as me and my team mates were lined up along the swimming pool wall, staring up at him with half blank expressions. I'll admit, I understood this mantra at quite different levels when I was five than what I understood when I was eighteen. "You have to put in a lot of effort and push yourself to get better results". Hmmm, no pain, no gain. I learned this was a mantra that proved to be incredibly true.
Oddly enough, the stroke I was good at happened to be butterfly. This is the stroke where both arms literally fly out of the water simultaneously. As you dive back in each time you move forward through the water by "kicking" with both feet held together. Ironically, butterfly arm movements are paired with a dolphin-like kick. Some people think this is one of the hardest strokes, but if you ask me, that endowment would go to backstroke. I never could get backstroke down. In high school, the event I swam during meets was the 100 yard butterfly. This is four lengths of the pool and I remember that at the end of such events, I was for lack of better terms, pooped.
I can vividly recall standing on top of the diving block, looking out over the pool. At one meet against a neighboring high school, I waited for the starters commands: "On your mark", I stood tall and looked out across the length of the pool, deep breath in, don't be nervous, just concentrate "Get set" Reach down and grab the block, ready to catapult at the next command "GO!" I shot off the block and into the water. As I moved down the pool I could see out of the corner of my eye I was keeping pace with the other girls. My arms flew out of the water and I tried to take as many strokes before taking a breath as I could possibly stand. I reached the first end, touched and shot back off the wall - three more laps to go. I kept my concentration... no pain, no gain - well this was pain, I hoped it was paying off. Finally at the fourth lap it was time to step it up with what little energy was left in me. I could see I had a chance to pull forward - as I took the last half length of the pool I felt good about the race. My fingers touched the wall at the finish and I looked up from the pool at the time keeper "What was my time?". Instead, one of the referrees posed me an odd question: "What time is it?", I looked at my watch and replied "Uh, 4:30". "Well, you're disqualified, you can't wear a watch or any jewelry during a race."
Competing is tough.
You can imagine after the unfortunate disqualification, I never made that mistake while racing again. I realize how valuable all those years of swimming were to help me push myself, learn to be a little bit tougher, and to sometimes push myself physically to where I wasn't even sure I was capable. Now as I go for my four mile runs I try to think back about all those things. I mostly try to remember my coaches, the tough practices and the challenging races, meets and matches I participated in to help push myself now, even though I'm not competing in a race. And when it seems my motivation is lacking, I think back at that mantra - if I want results - no pain, no gain.
Lately, I have been thinking back to when I was growing up and participated in competitive sports. Most of the time, I think of swimming. It's odd I would compare gliding through the water to running on concrete but the actions to me seem very alike. Swimming back and forth across the length of a pool is not all that different than running back and forth along a path - both activities take a necessary level of commitment and self determination paired with the right amount of motivation.
I swam on a competitive recreational team from the time I was 5 until I was 18. We were the Dolphins, the Mighty Dolphins in fact, and our coach was tough but he was great. "No pain, no gain" he would say, as me and my team mates were lined up along the swimming pool wall, staring up at him with half blank expressions. I'll admit, I understood this mantra at quite different levels when I was five than what I understood when I was eighteen. "You have to put in a lot of effort and push yourself to get better results". Hmmm, no pain, no gain. I learned this was a mantra that proved to be incredibly true.
Oddly enough, the stroke I was good at happened to be butterfly. This is the stroke where both arms literally fly out of the water simultaneously. As you dive back in each time you move forward through the water by "kicking" with both feet held together. Ironically, butterfly arm movements are paired with a dolphin-like kick. Some people think this is one of the hardest strokes, but if you ask me, that endowment would go to backstroke. I never could get backstroke down. In high school, the event I swam during meets was the 100 yard butterfly. This is four lengths of the pool and I remember that at the end of such events, I was for lack of better terms, pooped.
I can vividly recall standing on top of the diving block, looking out over the pool. At one meet against a neighboring high school, I waited for the starters commands: "On your mark", I stood tall and looked out across the length of the pool, deep breath in, don't be nervous, just concentrate "Get set" Reach down and grab the block, ready to catapult at the next command "GO!" I shot off the block and into the water. As I moved down the pool I could see out of the corner of my eye I was keeping pace with the other girls. My arms flew out of the water and I tried to take as many strokes before taking a breath as I could possibly stand. I reached the first end, touched and shot back off the wall - three more laps to go. I kept my concentration... no pain, no gain - well this was pain, I hoped it was paying off. Finally at the fourth lap it was time to step it up with what little energy was left in me. I could see I had a chance to pull forward - as I took the last half length of the pool I felt good about the race. My fingers touched the wall at the finish and I looked up from the pool at the time keeper "What was my time?". Instead, one of the referrees posed me an odd question: "What time is it?", I looked at my watch and replied "Uh, 4:30". "Well, you're disqualified, you can't wear a watch or any jewelry during a race."
Competing is tough.
You can imagine after the unfortunate disqualification, I never made that mistake while racing again. I realize how valuable all those years of swimming were to help me push myself, learn to be a little bit tougher, and to sometimes push myself physically to where I wasn't even sure I was capable. Now as I go for my four mile runs I try to think back about all those things. I mostly try to remember my coaches, the tough practices and the challenging races, meets and matches I participated in to help push myself now, even though I'm not competing in a race. And when it seems my motivation is lacking, I think back at that mantra - if I want results - no pain, no gain.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
A Town Painted Green
As the snow begins its very first stages of the melting process in many parts of this country, we can all smell a hint of spring awaiting us right around the corner. It's mid-March which not only is synonymous with the madness of college basketball but is also marked by perhaps one of the craziest holidays all year round: Saint Patrick's Day.
St. Patty's Day to me is always a curious study of people's love to celebrate. I for one, don't have any Irish in me (or at least I don't think I do...), but that aside, every year I am quick to don a green outfit and join the masses in eating bangers and mash and swaying to Irish songs alongside all my friends at an "Irish Bar" no matter what city I'm living in.
New York, known for gloriously celebrating holidays, always had a fantastic Saint Patricks Day Parade. Now the holiday usually falls during a week day so unfortunately, I was never able to go see the parade... there were other obligations, namely work, that prevented me from a mid-week rendezvous. But fear not, someone a long time ago thought - why should a holiday mid-week prevent everyone from celebrating?! Easy solution: move the party to the weekend. Every year the Saturday before or after, whichever was closer, would hold a city-wide Saint Patricks Day celebration. In a city so cold this time of year, I think it is not only a day to celebrate Irish heritage but also to celebrate the coming of spring.
This year, even though I wasn't in NYC, the celebration this past weekend was still huge. Actually, I think it's one of the biggest all year that takes place in Columbia, South Carolina. Complete with green-dyed fountains, the town was transformed into a sea of green, and I mean that quite literally. 25,000 people came out to celebrate Saint Patricks Day. The festival was complete with food vendors, beer trucks and three stages graced by a continuous string of bands filling the air with music. Of course I was soaking up the nice weather with green beer in hand, yes green, and not holding back in my indulgence of Irish bangers, bbq sandwiches and the free nachos one stand was giving out... hey, it's an American celebration of Saint Pats and in the South no less.
Being new to town, we decided that it would be fun to "volunteer" during this festival, at least for part of it. Our charitable duties including nothing more than standing in front of a Budweiser truck and pouring out a selection of beers for any thirsty festival-goer willing to shell out $3. It was a site to see watching people pass by our truck. Since we worked the morning shift which ended at 1PM we hardly saw the tip of the iceberg, so-to-speak, of people in attendance. I did however, see a few families with babies in strollers who ever so cautiously would eye our truck, almost making it all the way by until one person (I saw it happen via Mom AND Dad) would hang a sharp left with the stroller, whip out some change and sheepishly say - well I guess I'll have one! Amongst the crowd was lots of green hair dye, sparkling and even light-up mardi gras beads and yes, I even saw a 6 foot tall leprechan - complete with orange hair, top hat and cane.
Although it was quite the interesting crowd, I noticed that fortunately it was a nice and well behaved one with everyone genuinely happy to be celebrating a great day with food, music and lucky for us - sunshine. I love that Saint Patricks Day is a day to celebrate such a strong and proud heritage. I hope one day I get the chance to actually travel to Ireland, which I hear is beautiful and inhabited by very gracious and fun people. For now, I'll just continue to find as much green clothing in my closet as I can and join the masses in food, drink and good times, every March to celebrate Saint Patricks.
St. Patty's Day to me is always a curious study of people's love to celebrate. I for one, don't have any Irish in me (or at least I don't think I do...), but that aside, every year I am quick to don a green outfit and join the masses in eating bangers and mash and swaying to Irish songs alongside all my friends at an "Irish Bar" no matter what city I'm living in.
New York, known for gloriously celebrating holidays, always had a fantastic Saint Patricks Day Parade. Now the holiday usually falls during a week day so unfortunately, I was never able to go see the parade... there were other obligations, namely work, that prevented me from a mid-week rendezvous. But fear not, someone a long time ago thought - why should a holiday mid-week prevent everyone from celebrating?! Easy solution: move the party to the weekend. Every year the Saturday before or after, whichever was closer, would hold a city-wide Saint Patricks Day celebration. In a city so cold this time of year, I think it is not only a day to celebrate Irish heritage but also to celebrate the coming of spring.
This year, even though I wasn't in NYC, the celebration this past weekend was still huge. Actually, I think it's one of the biggest all year that takes place in Columbia, South Carolina. Complete with green-dyed fountains, the town was transformed into a sea of green, and I mean that quite literally. 25,000 people came out to celebrate Saint Patricks Day. The festival was complete with food vendors, beer trucks and three stages graced by a continuous string of bands filling the air with music. Of course I was soaking up the nice weather with green beer in hand, yes green, and not holding back in my indulgence of Irish bangers, bbq sandwiches and the free nachos one stand was giving out... hey, it's an American celebration of Saint Pats and in the South no less.
Being new to town, we decided that it would be fun to "volunteer" during this festival, at least for part of it. Our charitable duties including nothing more than standing in front of a Budweiser truck and pouring out a selection of beers for any thirsty festival-goer willing to shell out $3. It was a site to see watching people pass by our truck. Since we worked the morning shift which ended at 1PM we hardly saw the tip of the iceberg, so-to-speak, of people in attendance. I did however, see a few families with babies in strollers who ever so cautiously would eye our truck, almost making it all the way by until one person (I saw it happen via Mom AND Dad) would hang a sharp left with the stroller, whip out some change and sheepishly say - well I guess I'll have one! Amongst the crowd was lots of green hair dye, sparkling and even light-up mardi gras beads and yes, I even saw a 6 foot tall leprechan - complete with orange hair, top hat and cane.
Although it was quite the interesting crowd, I noticed that fortunately it was a nice and well behaved one with everyone genuinely happy to be celebrating a great day with food, music and lucky for us - sunshine. I love that Saint Patricks Day is a day to celebrate such a strong and proud heritage. I hope one day I get the chance to actually travel to Ireland, which I hear is beautiful and inhabited by very gracious and fun people. For now, I'll just continue to find as much green clothing in my closet as I can and join the masses in food, drink and good times, every March to celebrate Saint Patricks.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Road
There is a famous poem by Robert Frost that you are probably familiar with. It's his poem titled The Road Not Taken and as I was trying to fall asleep last night, the verses unexpectedly popped in my head. I suppose my sudden attention to the poem was some sort of after-effect of having been an English major, which included the study of many authors, poets, poems and stories.
This particular poem by Frost is a beautiful and honest questioning that not only invokes images of choosing a literal path but also provokes thought about past decisions, future decisions and the blatant fact that we as people are faced with choices very often in life.
In case you aren't familiar with the poem, it goes like this:
This particular poem by Frost is a beautiful and honest questioning that not only invokes images of choosing a literal path but also provokes thought about past decisions, future decisions and the blatant fact that we as people are faced with choices very often in life.
In case you aren't familiar with the poem, it goes like this:
The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Definitely one of the more well-known and popular poems, I love The Road Not Taken for its irony and quite literal contemplation of a journey.
It's curious that such thoughts could be applied to something so ordinary, like which way I decided to drive to our office this morning. Then there are the more significant and life-altering paths we choose, or are rather drawn to in life. It seems at first, maybe the speaker in the poem is hesitant about his choice, even trying to peer as far down the fork in the road as he can, as if to try and see what the result of that choice would bring.
I received a very excited phone call from my sister just last night. She has been accepted to a graduate program to receive her masters and teaching credential. Words can't quite express how proud I am of my little sister and how thrilled I am for the journey she is waiting to begin. It made me think, before she decided to go back to school, she too was looking down two paths. Deciding to take the one, her results will be much different than if she hadn't embarked down that route. These are truly the exciting and defining moments that are filled with anticipation and curiosity about what a chosen path will bring.
In thinking more about choices and the points Frost brings up in his poem, I have one additional comment. I think it's the irony the poet is trying to bring to front with his words but it's interesting the speaker chooses one path while thinking about the other. While I too constantly think about what if one decision would have been made over the other, I think I'd rather resolve to focus on the choices I did make and the wonderful outcomes most of them have had. Maybe I would have titled the poem The Road I Have Taken instead of The Road Not Taken... But that's enough poetry for one day, tonight when I fall asleep I hope to put Frost aside and be thinking about what my next great adventure could possibly be.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Slopes
I struggled as I worked to secure the last buckle on the stiff plastic boot. The five layers I had piled on that morning were simply not conducive to indoor activity. As the last buckle snapped into place I stood up straight, relieved I was finally ready to go. Stiff legged, I ackwardly waddled around the hords of people and out into the cold, crisp morning air. I was ready to hit the slopes.
Skiing is my most favorite winter-time activity. I consider myself more of a beach goer and summer person rather than snow and winter person; however, when each winter rolls around and I find myself flanked by cold I immediately see a silver lining when a ski trip has been planned. Turns out, I embarked on such a trip this past weekend.
Skiing is quite different now that I live on the East Coast. Growing up out West I was accustomed to traveling to Lake Tahoe or Park City Utah or even the local LA mountains of Big Bear and Arrowhead in California. The climate is dry, the mountains are large with expansive ski resorts and usually the snow there is bountiful. I know I seem bias, and that's because I am, but out East the options are more limited with some of the best East Coast skiing featured in Vermont where it is usually colder and much wetter resulting in icier conditions.
In search of the slopes, we made the trek from South Carolina up to Vermont, passing through no fewer than 5 states in 4 days to make the journey. But it was all worth it. That said, I thought it would be a relevant time to go through some of the things I love most about skiing as well as a few points I find utterly perplexing about the cold weathered sport.
1. The Attire:
Ski boots are uncomfortable. I think most people would agree. What surprises me is why hasn't someone come up with a better option? Snowboarders practically get to wear tennis shoes while skiers are doomed to wear boots that look like they belong part of a Star Wars Storm Troopers costume. And how about all those layers? I usually feel like some rendition of the Michelin Man when fully equipped for the sport.
2. The Ski Lifts:
First let me say I'm glad there is such an invention so I don't have to shimmy up the hill on foot with all that heavy gear in tow. That said, some lifts are much better than others. This weekend I was nearly knocked flat on my face as I was waiting for a lift. It swung around so fast I was lucky to have quick reflexes to grab the bar and hoist myself up before the chair continued up the mountain. It was going with or without me on it.
Then there was the time when I was young and was on a ski lift with my Mother. Her fanny pack (it was a functional piece at the time) got stuck on the lift and to my horror I watched as she failed to exit the lift, instead swinging around, clinging to the bar and trying to get the fanny pack unstuck, at which point she had no choice but to ride the chair back down. (Dont worry, she wasn't hurt which made this for a fantastically hillarious story for years to come).
3. The Lodge:
This past weekend we were skiing with a group of 12. This group was at all levels so naturally we would split up and go on our separate runs to meet back at the summit Lodge at a given time. Each time I entered the lodge it was impossibly crowded with no seats open. Of course this meant retorting to "lodge manners" where we would promptly stare at a table that looked like it was almost finished, only to pounce once they started grabbing their gloves and hats in preparation to return to the mountain. It seems that all dining norms change when you're on a ski slope and what's more is I think everyone feels like a different person since you can't really tell who people are and what they normally look like with so much gear on.
4. Moguls:
Maybe it's because the Winter Olympics are currently taking place, or maybe it's just my inner desire to be an expert skier, or maybe it's that I think I'm a much better skier than I am... I'll go with the latter. We went on several runs this trip that were markedly more difficult with the addition of moguls. Moguls are those treacherous mounds of snow that undoubtedly will give you a great skiing workout with the result being a sore back, tight knees and sore legs immediately following. Naturally, this is appealing to me so we went on a few of those runs. I tried my hardest to picture how Lindsey Vonn takes on the slopes... come on, Rachel, try to do it like she does. Needless to say I have no idea what I looked like but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Lindsey Vonn - especially when I happened to loose my footing resulting in a rapid slide down the mountain turtle shell style for a few hundred yards...
5. The Beautiful Scenery:
Now that I've laid out my qualms, which I'd like to note are also the details that have me already looking forward to next years ski trip... There is one undeniably universal thing that is wonderful about skiing, and that is the scenery. Whether your on the East Coast or the West Coast or perhaps even in another country, skiing is I believe a therapeutic exercise not matched by many activities. I love the quiet surroundings where many times the only sound is the swish and movement of snow passing underneath skis. The evergreen trees that surround you while skiing is a constant reminder of nature's quiet and constant beauty. The trees are present in their natural climate no matter how cold, icy, stormy or miserable it gets on the mountain. The views from the top of the mountain are like looking at a real life snow globe except it gives you the opportunity to see miles of terrain you can only view from the top.
Despite some of the uncomfortable and funny rituals we all partake in when we want to go skiing; it will remain one of my favorite sports to do in some of my least favorite weather conditions. Back from our weekend trip, I just finished packing up our layers of coats and winter wear and tucking them away in the closet. But I'm already anticipating when winter again presents itself next year, and hopefully, there will be a ski trip to look forward to.
Skiing is my most favorite winter-time activity. I consider myself more of a beach goer and summer person rather than snow and winter person; however, when each winter rolls around and I find myself flanked by cold I immediately see a silver lining when a ski trip has been planned. Turns out, I embarked on such a trip this past weekend.
Skiing is quite different now that I live on the East Coast. Growing up out West I was accustomed to traveling to Lake Tahoe or Park City Utah or even the local LA mountains of Big Bear and Arrowhead in California. The climate is dry, the mountains are large with expansive ski resorts and usually the snow there is bountiful. I know I seem bias, and that's because I am, but out East the options are more limited with some of the best East Coast skiing featured in Vermont where it is usually colder and much wetter resulting in icier conditions.
In search of the slopes, we made the trek from South Carolina up to Vermont, passing through no fewer than 5 states in 4 days to make the journey. But it was all worth it. That said, I thought it would be a relevant time to go through some of the things I love most about skiing as well as a few points I find utterly perplexing about the cold weathered sport.
1. The Attire:
Ski boots are uncomfortable. I think most people would agree. What surprises me is why hasn't someone come up with a better option? Snowboarders practically get to wear tennis shoes while skiers are doomed to wear boots that look like they belong part of a Star Wars Storm Troopers costume. And how about all those layers? I usually feel like some rendition of the Michelin Man when fully equipped for the sport.
2. The Ski Lifts:
First let me say I'm glad there is such an invention so I don't have to shimmy up the hill on foot with all that heavy gear in tow. That said, some lifts are much better than others. This weekend I was nearly knocked flat on my face as I was waiting for a lift. It swung around so fast I was lucky to have quick reflexes to grab the bar and hoist myself up before the chair continued up the mountain. It was going with or without me on it.
Then there was the time when I was young and was on a ski lift with my Mother. Her fanny pack (it was a functional piece at the time) got stuck on the lift and to my horror I watched as she failed to exit the lift, instead swinging around, clinging to the bar and trying to get the fanny pack unstuck, at which point she had no choice but to ride the chair back down. (Dont worry, she wasn't hurt which made this for a fantastically hillarious story for years to come).
3. The Lodge:
This past weekend we were skiing with a group of 12. This group was at all levels so naturally we would split up and go on our separate runs to meet back at the summit Lodge at a given time. Each time I entered the lodge it was impossibly crowded with no seats open. Of course this meant retorting to "lodge manners" where we would promptly stare at a table that looked like it was almost finished, only to pounce once they started grabbing their gloves and hats in preparation to return to the mountain. It seems that all dining norms change when you're on a ski slope and what's more is I think everyone feels like a different person since you can't really tell who people are and what they normally look like with so much gear on.
4. Moguls:
Maybe it's because the Winter Olympics are currently taking place, or maybe it's just my inner desire to be an expert skier, or maybe it's that I think I'm a much better skier than I am... I'll go with the latter. We went on several runs this trip that were markedly more difficult with the addition of moguls. Moguls are those treacherous mounds of snow that undoubtedly will give you a great skiing workout with the result being a sore back, tight knees and sore legs immediately following. Naturally, this is appealing to me so we went on a few of those runs. I tried my hardest to picture how Lindsey Vonn takes on the slopes... come on, Rachel, try to do it like she does. Needless to say I have no idea what I looked like but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Lindsey Vonn - especially when I happened to loose my footing resulting in a rapid slide down the mountain turtle shell style for a few hundred yards...
5. The Beautiful Scenery:
Now that I've laid out my qualms, which I'd like to note are also the details that have me already looking forward to next years ski trip... There is one undeniably universal thing that is wonderful about skiing, and that is the scenery. Whether your on the East Coast or the West Coast or perhaps even in another country, skiing is I believe a therapeutic exercise not matched by many activities. I love the quiet surroundings where many times the only sound is the swish and movement of snow passing underneath skis. The evergreen trees that surround you while skiing is a constant reminder of nature's quiet and constant beauty. The trees are present in their natural climate no matter how cold, icy, stormy or miserable it gets on the mountain. The views from the top of the mountain are like looking at a real life snow globe except it gives you the opportunity to see miles of terrain you can only view from the top.
Despite some of the uncomfortable and funny rituals we all partake in when we want to go skiing; it will remain one of my favorite sports to do in some of my least favorite weather conditions. Back from our weekend trip, I just finished packing up our layers of coats and winter wear and tucking them away in the closet. But I'm already anticipating when winter again presents itself next year, and hopefully, there will be a ski trip to look forward to.
Friday, February 12, 2010
If These Walls Could Talk
Bubble wrap. There was lots and lots of bubble wrap. I was watching the news a few weeks ago when the anchor mentioned the inventor, Alfred Fielding, had passed away. The anchor explained that Mr. Fielding's ingenious idea had come to him while on an airplane. As he looked out the window at the bubble-looking clouds below, the idea came - why not create wrap that could be used as a protective layer?
That's one of those, now why didn't I think of that momments.
In this particular instance, I was glad they used so much of that plastic pop-wrap. It was layered and taped to protect a table and six chairs that had just arrived at my apartment after making a cross country journey. I was fortunate enough to inherit this beautiful set of furniture from my Great Aunt who recently passed. It's the first time I have owned a passed down piece from my family and consequently, the nicest piece of furniture I have.
As I worked my way through the stubborn and tightly bound wrap, I couldn't help but think about the journey this table and six chairs has been on. How many people sat in those seats, how many meals were served, cups of coffee poured and pieces of cake sliced? This table undoubtedly has a story, and I'm sure a fascinating one. But of course, the whole of it, no one will ever know. Those experiences and happenings will only be recorded through the wear in the wood, maybe an occassional stain on one chair or maybe even just the silent presence of such a beautiful piece of furniture.
Imagine what stories we would have if that table, other family heirlooms, even rugs, clocks, a piece of jewelry, or the very walls in an old home could talk. I know this is not a new concept but nonetheless it's an interesting one to think about. As the table sits in our living room, people will pass by each day, conversations will be held in its seats and meals will be set on its surface. As me and my family partake in the continuation of this table's history, I'll simply continue to wonder about its past.
Maybe it's crazy I wonder so much about an inanimate object's experiences. My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes... nevertheless, until that table and chair gets bubble wrapped up again to make it's next journey, there will be lots of coffee poured and cake sliced and holidays had on it's surface right here in my home.
That's one of those, now why didn't I think of that momments.
In this particular instance, I was glad they used so much of that plastic pop-wrap. It was layered and taped to protect a table and six chairs that had just arrived at my apartment after making a cross country journey. I was fortunate enough to inherit this beautiful set of furniture from my Great Aunt who recently passed. It's the first time I have owned a passed down piece from my family and consequently, the nicest piece of furniture I have.
As I worked my way through the stubborn and tightly bound wrap, I couldn't help but think about the journey this table and six chairs has been on. How many people sat in those seats, how many meals were served, cups of coffee poured and pieces of cake sliced? This table undoubtedly has a story, and I'm sure a fascinating one. But of course, the whole of it, no one will ever know. Those experiences and happenings will only be recorded through the wear in the wood, maybe an occassional stain on one chair or maybe even just the silent presence of such a beautiful piece of furniture.
Imagine what stories we would have if that table, other family heirlooms, even rugs, clocks, a piece of jewelry, or the very walls in an old home could talk. I know this is not a new concept but nonetheless it's an interesting one to think about. As the table sits in our living room, people will pass by each day, conversations will be held in its seats and meals will be set on its surface. As me and my family partake in the continuation of this table's history, I'll simply continue to wonder about its past.
Maybe it's crazy I wonder so much about an inanimate object's experiences. My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes... nevertheless, until that table and chair gets bubble wrapped up again to make it's next journey, there will be lots of coffee poured and cake sliced and holidays had on it's surface right here in my home.
Monday, February 1, 2010
To Dream
It was Saturday morning. I opened my tired eyes and stared up at the white ceiling. The fan in my room was endlessly spinning and I tried to focus on just one prong as it continuously looped around in a tireless circle. I laid there, noticing the calm quiet of the room that I so very much appreciate early in the morning. Just moments ago I had been in a deep and peaceful sleep. Or had I? As I laid there I tried to remember what was in that vivid dream I was having just before I met my waking reality.
I hate when that happens. I can't remember what my dream was about.
I've always been curious about dreams. There are theories we are taught, some based on Freud, some based on other scientific scholars who try to dissect the neurological happenings while we sleep. What causes a person to dream? I find dreaming fascinating. There are countless times I have woken to think that what took place in my subconscious was in fact a reality. Dreams seem so real sometimes that it is difficult to decifer whether the events actually took place or not.
It is curious to me that we use the same word for stories and images in our sleep as we do for a goal or even fantasy that we wish to come true in the future. Dreams.
As you can tell this isn't the first time I've thought so much about dreaming... after several days of thinking about writing on the topic, this morning I awoke and stared once again at that ceiling fan. I did in fact dream last night and once again can't remember what it was about... in any event, I couldn't help but smile slightly, today I would once again resume living in what I consider part of my very real and wonderful dream.
I hate when that happens. I can't remember what my dream was about.
I've always been curious about dreams. There are theories we are taught, some based on Freud, some based on other scientific scholars who try to dissect the neurological happenings while we sleep. What causes a person to dream? I find dreaming fascinating. There are countless times I have woken to think that what took place in my subconscious was in fact a reality. Dreams seem so real sometimes that it is difficult to decifer whether the events actually took place or not.
Where there are dreams of flying, winning a championship race, traveling and embarking on exciting adventures all that evoke positive feeling and amusement - there are also those dreams that evoke fear, bewilderment and uncomfortable evils... nightmares. I would love to know how I could turn the bad dream button off. Maybe nightmares are our consious fears just projected, intensified and animated in our sleep. Whatever the case, I could do without them.Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so shall you become- John Ruskin
I have had dreams, and I have had nightmares. I overcame the nightmares because of my dreams.What about waking dreams? Daydreaming, I believe, is a wonderful opportunity to think about successful things coming true in a personal future. There are times I catch myself daydreaming about a certain outcome. What if I were to become a successful and known writer? How many children will I have? What kind of career will I have in the next ten years? Daydreams seem to be more closely connected with real-life happenings. Or at least I like to think so.
- Jonas Salk
If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with success unexpected in common hours.
- Henry David Thoreau
While these are only my (and a few fairly famous people's) humble thoughts on such a fantastic concept, I can say that I sort of hope scientists and psychologists don't ever completely define or explain why we so very often dream. There remains a mystery and pleasant introspection that comes from dreaming. It is one of those things that perhaps shouldn't be fully explained but always thought and wondered about.If you can dream it, you can do it. Always remember this whole thing was started by a mouse.
-Walt Disney
As you can tell this isn't the first time I've thought so much about dreaming... after several days of thinking about writing on the topic, this morning I awoke and stared once again at that ceiling fan. I did in fact dream last night and once again can't remember what it was about... in any event, I couldn't help but smile slightly, today I would once again resume living in what I consider part of my very real and wonderful dream.
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Facebook Revolution
Social media. It seems that every time you turn on the television or open up a magazine, people are talking about social media and how it's "taking over the world". And at the forefront of the revolution: Facebook.
I confess, it has very much become a big part of my day. I find that some days I am eager to see what new posts people have written on Facebook. What are all my "friends" doing? All 587 of them. Even as I write this I feel a bit bemused that I am so interested in the everyday happenings of everyone elses life.
587 - to some, this would only comprise a small fraction of their "friend pie". Maybe your friend tally is in the thousands. Me? I can't beleive I know 587 people... Okay, I'll admit, every so often a request comes across and I can't remember how I know the person - maybe I don't... What's fascinating to me is that of those 587 some are my best friends, some are my family and a very large portion are the acquaintances I have met along life's journey. High school friends, college friends, some I studied abroad with, some I met while living in New York, and even some I have met at functions here in South Carolina.
I remember when Facebook was first picking up steam. I was a Junior in College at UC Santa Barbara. Back then, it was the battle of Myspace and Facebook. Facebook was limited on the information you were allowed to share. There certainly wasn't a Newsfeed like there is now (modeled after Twitter), where people can literally write what they are doing or thinking at any second and share it. I'm not even sure you could post or share pictures. But the intention of the social network has always remained the same - to change the way we communicate and share information.
From the day I signed up for Facebook it opened a whole new venue of connectivity. I could send a message to my friend at college across country even if I didn't have her email or phone number. As long as other people shared, you could keep up on the break-ups and make-ups, who was taking the same course as you and who was working on the same paper you were. The flow of information was dramatically changing. Back when it started, Facebook was only limited to college students. You had to have a University or College email address to register which kept it as a college network of 18-21 year olds sharing the good times we were all having in school.
Fast forward to 2010... my Mother is on facebook, my grandparents are on Facebook. Now I am able to see friends that not only graduated college but who are getting engaged, married, even having children. The amount of information seems to be ever increasing and sometimes overwhelming. I made a Facebook page for our business and from time to time receive requests to connect with other businesses in the area. I admit, sometimes I am confused by this... what once started as a purely social portal all limited to one age group has now ballooned to an all-inclusive network. Caution is now warranted, I have to think before writing messages and posts and sharing pictures of friends and family. Do I want to share this with the world? If not, maybe Facebook isn't the best place to share my information...
I often wonder how social networking will change and adapt even further. It is ever increasingly becoming a part of business, of marketing and it seems to be a place where people go first for the latest information whether personal or professional. I'm sure there will always be more avenues provided to share information, whether Facebook or another portal, there will be places to catapult personal information across cyberspace. Although I'm not the most internet savvy person there is, I'll try to keep up with these adaptations. But for now, I'll just continue to feel perplexed as to how I know 587 people...
I confess, it has very much become a big part of my day. I find that some days I am eager to see what new posts people have written on Facebook. What are all my "friends" doing? All 587 of them. Even as I write this I feel a bit bemused that I am so interested in the everyday happenings of everyone elses life.
I remember when Facebook was first picking up steam. I was a Junior in College at UC Santa Barbara. Back then, it was the battle of Myspace and Facebook. Facebook was limited on the information you were allowed to share. There certainly wasn't a Newsfeed like there is now (modeled after Twitter), where people can literally write what they are doing or thinking at any second and share it. I'm not even sure you could post or share pictures. But the intention of the social network has always remained the same - to change the way we communicate and share information.
From the day I signed up for Facebook it opened a whole new venue of connectivity. I could send a message to my friend at college across country even if I didn't have her email or phone number. As long as other people shared, you could keep up on the break-ups and make-ups, who was taking the same course as you and who was working on the same paper you were. The flow of information was dramatically changing. Back when it started, Facebook was only limited to college students. You had to have a University or College email address to register which kept it as a college network of 18-21 year olds sharing the good times we were all having in school.
Fast forward to 2010... my Mother is on facebook, my grandparents are on Facebook. Now I am able to see friends that not only graduated college but who are getting engaged, married, even having children. The amount of information seems to be ever increasing and sometimes overwhelming. I made a Facebook page for our business and from time to time receive requests to connect with other businesses in the area. I admit, sometimes I am confused by this... what once started as a purely social portal all limited to one age group has now ballooned to an all-inclusive network. Caution is now warranted, I have to think before writing messages and posts and sharing pictures of friends and family. Do I want to share this with the world? If not, maybe Facebook isn't the best place to share my information...
I often wonder how social networking will change and adapt even further. It is ever increasingly becoming a part of business, of marketing and it seems to be a place where people go first for the latest information whether personal or professional. I'm sure there will always be more avenues provided to share information, whether Facebook or another portal, there will be places to catapult personal information across cyberspace. Although I'm not the most internet savvy person there is, I'll try to keep up with these adaptations. But for now, I'll just continue to feel perplexed as to how I know 587 people...
Saturday, January 2, 2010
To Health Wealth And Happiness
Black-eyed peas, collard greens, spinach cornbread. As I recently found out, these are a few of the southern culinary traditions to bring in the New Year. New Years Eve is one of the most widely celebrated nights of the year. Parties, champagne, trying to stay up till midnight to watch that glittering ball drop in Times Square - I still can't figure out why all those people wait there in the cold... This year, my New Years Eve consisted of me and my wonderful husband relaxing on the couch watching a movie. As my Dad wisely pointed out to me during our conversation earlier that day "It's not like you haven't been to big NYE parties in the past." Dad, you have a point...
As 2009 came to a close, I, like most other people, began to think back at the year that would soon be in the past. This time, it was not only the year, but the decade. Attempting to reflect on it all was at first overwhelming. The past decade included my high school graduation, college graduation and most recently my wedding. [see below - you get the idea...]
From Senior Prom to starting my first day of work in New York City, the past decade has certainly been filled with ups, downs, sideways challenges and everything imaginable in between. My ego aside, the past decade was also filled with great loss of very dear loved ones whose memory certainly will carry on. Through hard times and through joyous times, 2000-2009 is a vault of impressions.
Conclusion: I am infinitely grateful for my loving family and friends who have been there for me through it all.
What I like about New Years is that it gives all of us a chance and opportunity to not only reflect but to look forward as well. In anticipation of the next year and the next decade, I can't help but think about the significant moments that happen all the time - what memories will I be reflecting on next New Years Eve? I suppose that's one component of New Year's Resolutions; to think about what is to come and how you want to positively impact it. I would like to think I am constantly trying to resolve as a person... can that be a resolution? To resolve all year and continuously make commitments? That's going to be one of my resolutions.
Since this was a quiet New Years Eve, we decided to cook - and I mean really cook a New Years Day meal. Walk into any grocery store in the south around New Years and there is an abundance of collard greens and black eyed peas. In trying to participate in the southern tradition - we cooked up cornbread, chicken casserole (okay, not part of the tradition, but yummy just the same), black eyed peas and collard greens. Black eyed peas are said to be for health in the new year and collards (or greens) are for wealth (there were a LOT of collards on our table...). I have to say this was a fun tradition to partake in, one that I think will maintain in my home for years to come.
(left, spinach cornbread. right, collard greens and black eyed peas)
I'm not sure what path 2010 will lead me down - or how that path will wind through the next decade. But I am thankful for my friends, family and for the memories of the past decade that I will cherish. And here's to health, wealth and much happiness to come.
As 2009 came to a close, I, like most other people, began to think back at the year that would soon be in the past. This time, it was not only the year, but the decade. Attempting to reflect on it all was at first overwhelming. The past decade included my high school graduation, college graduation and most recently my wedding. [see below - you get the idea...]
From Senior Prom to starting my first day of work in New York City, the past decade has certainly been filled with ups, downs, sideways challenges and everything imaginable in between. My ego aside, the past decade was also filled with great loss of very dear loved ones whose memory certainly will carry on. Through hard times and through joyous times, 2000-2009 is a vault of impressions.Conclusion: I am infinitely grateful for my loving family and friends who have been there for me through it all.
What I like about New Years is that it gives all of us a chance and opportunity to not only reflect but to look forward as well. In anticipation of the next year and the next decade, I can't help but think about the significant moments that happen all the time - what memories will I be reflecting on next New Years Eve? I suppose that's one component of New Year's Resolutions; to think about what is to come and how you want to positively impact it. I would like to think I am constantly trying to resolve as a person... can that be a resolution? To resolve all year and continuously make commitments? That's going to be one of my resolutions.
Since this was a quiet New Years Eve, we decided to cook - and I mean really cook a New Years Day meal. Walk into any grocery store in the south around New Years and there is an abundance of collard greens and black eyed peas. In trying to participate in the southern tradition - we cooked up cornbread, chicken casserole (okay, not part of the tradition, but yummy just the same), black eyed peas and collard greens. Black eyed peas are said to be for health in the new year and collards (or greens) are for wealth (there were a LOT of collards on our table...). I have to say this was a fun tradition to partake in, one that I think will maintain in my home for years to come. (left, spinach cornbread. right, collard greens and black eyed peas)
I'm not sure what path 2010 will lead me down - or how that path will wind through the next decade. But I am thankful for my friends, family and for the memories of the past decade that I will cherish. And here's to health, wealth and much happiness to come.
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