8.7.10
running and sweating
I think that I may be pushing for major personal adjustments with dangerous levels of manic commitment right now. And I can’t necessarily point to what I am even talking about. It’s just a “feeling.” Which is dumb. Maybe it’s all this running I’m doing. Maybe it’s all these activities to which I’ve committed. Can someone feel simultaneously purposeful and directionless?
11.6.10
Flitting
So now, daily, at work I feel simultaneously out of my depth, bored, frustrated and unmotivated. And I know this is entirely my own fault. I spend too much time in headphones, connected to virtual reality, thinking about all the things I should be doing (both professionally and personally) and not really doing any of them. Then I painfully overbook myself for all other hours of the day.
I’m not really sure if this is still coping mechanisms or what – there are parts of my current daily experience that is significantly improved; my relationships with people I hold dear have grown stronger, I have had piles of fun and significant experiences with a lot of very incredible people, I have grown more connected to many communities both real life and virtual. And somehow, all this connectivity and communication has made me only crave more.
It’s weird. I wish I could teleport, I wish I could share all the lovely people I know with each other, I wish I could gain even more experiences even faster. And I wish, somewhere in there, was some sort of financial support. I feel like I’m a composite of accumulation and am not sure what the output will be and even when I’m outputting it doesn’t feel like enough…or something. Something like that. I’m wondering if this feeling is a contemporary human condition. Perhaps everyone may feel similarly especially if life has recently wounded them significantly and shortly thereafter introduced them to shining and unexpected people of fun and merit. Maybe I’ll continue this thought sometime. Right now I am distractedly launching off in a different direction as an illustration of my condition.
I’m not really sure if this is still coping mechanisms or what – there are parts of my current daily experience that is significantly improved; my relationships with people I hold dear have grown stronger, I have had piles of fun and significant experiences with a lot of very incredible people, I have grown more connected to many communities both real life and virtual. And somehow, all this connectivity and communication has made me only crave more.
It’s weird. I wish I could teleport, I wish I could share all the lovely people I know with each other, I wish I could gain even more experiences even faster. And I wish, somewhere in there, was some sort of financial support. I feel like I’m a composite of accumulation and am not sure what the output will be and even when I’m outputting it doesn’t feel like enough…or something. Something like that. I’m wondering if this feeling is a contemporary human condition. Perhaps everyone may feel similarly especially if life has recently wounded them significantly and shortly thereafter introduced them to shining and unexpected people of fun and merit. Maybe I’ll continue this thought sometime. Right now I am distractedly launching off in a different direction as an illustration of my condition.
10.4.10
birthdays
At this time last year, I turned 29. On my birthday, my best friend Janice invited my family and me to celebrate at her house. I can’t remember if I knew she had cancer then. I think I did because I think she had had her first surgery. But I could be wrong. I wish I could remember but I am also a little bit glad I can’t. Janice and her husband Marcus made us delicious fresh apple juice and whiskey drinks, Janice gave me beautiful handmade gifts and my family gave me the Gilmore Girls complete series box set. We concluded the evening with dinner down the street at a neighborhood pub. It was one of my favorite birthdays, full of family, love, fun and silliness.
Janice and I spent nearly every Tuesday watching the Gilmore Girls together so it was celebration that, particularly now, highlighted what a favorite Janice is to me.
Last August Janice turned 30. She had a big birthday with friends and family from all over the country there to celebrate. She had just gotten chickens and one of the party games was to help her name them. I still hadn’t allowed myself to accept that Janice was dying. I knew she was bald from the chemo under her wig but she just looked so beautiful, smiling and hugging everyone, being a gracious hostess, even having a little drink, showing her grace as we all drank liberally, maybe a little desperately. I remember seeing her at one point, standing back, watching us. I know she was seeing all that would go on without her. I wish I had been able to talk to her about it but I never crossed that line. I never really let myself believe she would die until after that night.
I remember talking to her older sister, both of us a little wild eyed from champagne and impending tragedy. She told me she couldn’t remember the last time she was that drunk and that she didn’t know what else to do. It was a party inspired and powered by love but underneath all the familial affection and appreciation, there was panic, an internal gnashing of teeth, a psychic, approaching wail of mourning.
The next morning, I sat outside with Janice, her husband, sister, and my boyfriend. It was a beautiful summer day, we ate breakfast leisurely, cleaned up a bit of party debris and talked. I remember telling Janice she was my favorite person. I remember that as we sat and admired the adolescent chickens, Janice got upset, the only time I saw her get upset throughout the ordeal, because the chickens couldn’t move into their coop right away and they would have to leave that day. That was the only time I saw her allow herself to feel fear about not being able to see a living thing she cared about again. I think it surprised her that she reacted that way to the chickens. We laughed it off but in hindsight, I think that was just the iceberg tip of her struggle with the end of her life.
Janice died the following month. I visited her on her last day. She couldn’t speak or breathe well, her lungs were filling up with fluid and there was nothing anyone could do for her anymore other than ease some of the pain – she was slowly drowning but was clinging to all her strength to stay alive to say goodbye to her sister who was traveling from out of state to see her.
I remember walking into Janice’s quaint, well appointed house. Hospice had set her up in the living room so that she could die in her preferred environment. The stark change in her appearance was a shock. Janice looked like someone dying; her skin was near blue, almost translucent, dark circles under her eyes, no wig to hide her bald head, yet she still radiated such beauty, such love. I was startled to immediate tears but I sat beside her, stroking her arm, telling her how much I loved her. She couldn’t really focus on me or acknowledge that she could comprehend what we said to her but I know she could.
We didn’t stay long. Janice’s family surrounded and supported her and I couldn’t really take seeing her in agony. That was the last time I saw Janice alive.
Now, a few days after my thirtieth birthday and a day before my big birthday party, I realized that my apprehension toward the impending celebration is of course connected to my loss. I wish with all my heart that Janice could be here now to celebrate with me. We have celebrated our birthdays together since we were in 7th and 8th grade. This past year Thanksgiving and Christmas were difficult but I had hosting duties to distract me from sadness – at my party tomorrow I will have no such role. I know I am going to have a fantastic time; I’m already flattered and excited at how much effort my friends have put into this party and I know it’s going to be fun. I just miss Janice.
Janice and I spent nearly every Tuesday watching the Gilmore Girls together so it was celebration that, particularly now, highlighted what a favorite Janice is to me.
Last August Janice turned 30. She had a big birthday with friends and family from all over the country there to celebrate. She had just gotten chickens and one of the party games was to help her name them. I still hadn’t allowed myself to accept that Janice was dying. I knew she was bald from the chemo under her wig but she just looked so beautiful, smiling and hugging everyone, being a gracious hostess, even having a little drink, showing her grace as we all drank liberally, maybe a little desperately. I remember seeing her at one point, standing back, watching us. I know she was seeing all that would go on without her. I wish I had been able to talk to her about it but I never crossed that line. I never really let myself believe she would die until after that night.
I remember talking to her older sister, both of us a little wild eyed from champagne and impending tragedy. She told me she couldn’t remember the last time she was that drunk and that she didn’t know what else to do. It was a party inspired and powered by love but underneath all the familial affection and appreciation, there was panic, an internal gnashing of teeth, a psychic, approaching wail of mourning.
The next morning, I sat outside with Janice, her husband, sister, and my boyfriend. It was a beautiful summer day, we ate breakfast leisurely, cleaned up a bit of party debris and talked. I remember telling Janice she was my favorite person. I remember that as we sat and admired the adolescent chickens, Janice got upset, the only time I saw her get upset throughout the ordeal, because the chickens couldn’t move into their coop right away and they would have to leave that day. That was the only time I saw her allow herself to feel fear about not being able to see a living thing she cared about again. I think it surprised her that she reacted that way to the chickens. We laughed it off but in hindsight, I think that was just the iceberg tip of her struggle with the end of her life.
Janice died the following month. I visited her on her last day. She couldn’t speak or breathe well, her lungs were filling up with fluid and there was nothing anyone could do for her anymore other than ease some of the pain – she was slowly drowning but was clinging to all her strength to stay alive to say goodbye to her sister who was traveling from out of state to see her.
I remember walking into Janice’s quaint, well appointed house. Hospice had set her up in the living room so that she could die in her preferred environment. The stark change in her appearance was a shock. Janice looked like someone dying; her skin was near blue, almost translucent, dark circles under her eyes, no wig to hide her bald head, yet she still radiated such beauty, such love. I was startled to immediate tears but I sat beside her, stroking her arm, telling her how much I loved her. She couldn’t really focus on me or acknowledge that she could comprehend what we said to her but I know she could.
We didn’t stay long. Janice’s family surrounded and supported her and I couldn’t really take seeing her in agony. That was the last time I saw Janice alive.
Now, a few days after my thirtieth birthday and a day before my big birthday party, I realized that my apprehension toward the impending celebration is of course connected to my loss. I wish with all my heart that Janice could be here now to celebrate with me. We have celebrated our birthdays together since we were in 7th and 8th grade. This past year Thanksgiving and Christmas were difficult but I had hosting duties to distract me from sadness – at my party tomorrow I will have no such role. I know I am going to have a fantastic time; I’m already flattered and excited at how much effort my friends have put into this party and I know it’s going to be fun. I just miss Janice.
 |
| From freends |
3.3.10
ugh. Morning.
I began this morning with a cherry-blossom scented walk and filled my ears with The Best of the Left podcast (which always gets me riled up, dismayed at humanity, and angry to be american). Then I get to work, convincing myself that some kind of brisk commitment to the rearrangement of irrelevant data will have an industrious and fulfilling impact on me and I get an email from my mom sharing information about an upcoming retreat. A Grief and Loss Retreat.
This opportunity got a reaction from me very much like the poignant and brilliant Meghan O'Rourke article from the New Yorker did a few weeks ago: it made me immediately panic and weep. Of course, Pandora couldn't stay out of the fray and dropped in
which is also a weep-inducing song though here I tried to include a slightly more upbeat version than the more spare version from Once.
(This is actually a very good representation of how I typically think and operate all day at work. Sounds discombobulating and crazy-making, right?)
So, I'm thinking that since the chance to heal makes me cry and cry, I should probably do it, right?
This opportunity got a reaction from me very much like the poignant and brilliant Meghan O'Rourke article from the New Yorker did a few weeks ago: it made me immediately panic and weep. Of course, Pandora couldn't stay out of the fray and dropped in
which is also a weep-inducing song though here I tried to include a slightly more upbeat version than the more spare version from Once.
(This is actually a very good representation of how I typically think and operate all day at work. Sounds discombobulating and crazy-making, right?)
So, I'm thinking that since the chance to heal makes me cry and cry, I should probably do it, right?
2.3.10
Roots
For some reason I ran across Sepultura today on the internets and am now currently enjoying the Roots re-release from 2008.
I'm not sure why such a thing would inspire me to dig through my email for old Janice emails, but it did. Sadly, there are very little so now I am not only listening to loud, angry music while in my angry-making place (work), but I am also just plain angry that I don't have more immortalized Janice words. Boo death.
I'm not sure why such a thing would inspire me to dig through my email for old Janice emails, but it did. Sadly, there are very little so now I am not only listening to loud, angry music while in my angry-making place (work), but I am also just plain angry that I don't have more immortalized Janice words. Boo death.
1.3.10
epic weekend
I had an excellent weekend and I think it deserves a recap and further contemplation. So, here I go. Beginning with Friday:
Our local community foundation was visiting my place of work in order to unveil their new Vital Community grantmaking strategy. They invited various representatives from community organizations to come together, discuss their new plan and brainstorm ways to share information and community-build. This kind of activity is seriously one of my very favorite things to do; since my Evergreen days, I could honestly spend half my professional time seminaring and the other half getting stuff done. I suppose that’s why I love a good meeting. So, we brainstormed with our peers, talking about the value of community roundtables, what their focus should be, who would attend such meetings, etc. It was fun and inspiring, I like talking, I like listening – it was good stuff. Some of my favorite nonprofit professionals were in the room, including the closest thing to a mentor I have in this town, and I ended up having some very delightful conversations which led to a continuing delightful conversation post-work. I met up with my mentor, we talked further and crafted a possible plan for my future in contributing to Tacoma and my neighborhood. So we’ll see but I felt good, felt affirmed, felt like there might be a reason I’m alive after all.
After that excellent meeting, I met up with my mom, a fabulous friend from choir, one of my oldest friends, and her soon-to-be fiancé. We enjoyed fantastic food and wine at Enoteca, a great little wine bar in the Stadium district. My old friend is moving to Montana with her man who I think is a rare person of quality and this is the first time in recent memory that I have seen her happy. My friend and I were both incredibly close to Janice and it was a treat to see a smile on her face after all we’ve been through.
We continued the fun at Tempest where I learned more and varied things about my choir friend (who is a huge talent and a general bad ass). She has been through just a ton of awful crap and has come out on the other end a star and it is a pleasure to know her. My old friend, her man, and my choir friend said goodnight and I was joined by even more buddies. So, a good and gratifying time into the night.
Saturday began with a trip to the Museum of Glass with the lovable and hilarious Jason Ganwich. I’m trying to recruit him to join me in a podcasting endeavor to which he seems amenable; hopefully this will result in hilarity and fun for all in the coming months. The museum has some really spectacular work on display right now and it was a nice, nostalgic throwback to the good old days. All my friends were blowing glass, we poked fun at the fancy visiting artists and cracked each other up reading the creature descriptions of the kid-designed glass pieces in the Kids Design Glass exhibition.
Ah, culture. Jason and I concluded our time together at Hello Cupcake where I watch Jason enjoy a cupcake and overheard cheerleaders getting really excited about bubblegum-flavored lollipops.
Next, my good friend Susan and I decided to run around all over Seattle, taking in some quality time with a baby, eating food and drinking drink. We managed to succeed in all respects. We first headed to Wallingford to visit the beautiful Miss Carmela, a charming baby person who holds my entire hope for humanity in her future. No pressure, baby friend.
We ate lunch at Jhanjay, a pleasant vegetarian thai food restaurant with her mother and caught up on stuff and things. I feel I must also mention that Carmela’s mother is a dear friend, not simply some awesome lady who made a great baby. Mama Erica is the hardest working woman in Wallingford, raising a baby and getting a law degree.
Susan and I then headed down to Seattle's south end to take in some art and culture. We checked out Western Bridge, a fantastic little gallery in the industrial wasteland between Georgetown and Sodo. The work on exhibit was refreshing
and the architecture of the space itself was sending Susan into fits of enchanted glee. You may or may not know that I am a big fan of mountain goats (the most magical of all goat varietals)and Western Bridge currently features an outrageous installation by Euan Macdonald involving a scale mountain top and two white goats that made my heart very happy.
At this point Susan and I acquired the company of the world-famous Chuck and proceeded to go on a Cuban sandwich hunt which ended in success in Ballard. Paseo’s sandwiches are something to be experienced. We enjoyed the scenery (the sky was doing excellent work), demolished our messy sandwiches, and I was pleased by Chuck’s canny identification of tofu's flavor as that of a cheesy pancake. Of course, a cheesy pancake sounds like the best thing to me ever and an apt homage to tofu which is perhaps a different opinion than Chuck’s when it comes to cultured soybean curd.
The evening was marred with mild tragedy when we witnessed a female duck get hit by a car. She and her mate sat quietly on the side of the road, we called animal control and hung out next to them, feeling useless. Just as animal control was about to arrive and Susan had gone on a mission to find some duck-holding containers from a nearby restaurant, the mallard quacked a few words to his lady duck friend and flew away. Lady duck rallied and took to flight as well, her broken leg dangling depressingly. Ah, humans vs. nature.
Since we were in Ballard, we stopped at Hazlewood, an agreeable, good-looking craft cocktail joint that definitely did me right when it came to a quality Sazerac (or two). Susan then made us a reservation at the Knee High Stocking Co. and we headed over to Capital Hill to see just how successful a speakeasy it is. Knee High was definitely disappointing: a tacky, thrown together, ineptly used space featuring a dreadfully formatted menu. But the service was decent (though untalented), my drink and Chuck’s beer were tasty and the ladies were pretty. So, not a total fail.
To cleanse the palate, we decided we needed one more stop and headed to Spur in Belltown. I really like this bar: drinks are phenomenal, good service, and a thoughtful and handsome space. I was very, very deep in my cups at this point which was embarrassing but was thankfully flanked by amiable and tolerant friends who seemed not to be offended or dismayed by my intoxication so there's a mercy.
Susan and I bade Chuck farewell and zoomed back to T-town where I managed to sloppily throw myself in bed. Apparently my state was clear to the chivalrous Christo who force-fed me liquids until I fell asleep.
Sunday was date day, beginning with a breakfast of Herman’s incredible ham (see boca) burgers and onion rings, moving on to a curtain-acquiring adventure (window curtains...not an innuendo), and concluding with a viewing of The Crazies. I will discuss the Crazies more over at Fully Grown Fan but I will say here that it is possibly one of the best genre films I have ever seen, no joke. I was HUGELY impressed.
I rounded out my Sunday with some much needed television viewing and an early bedtime. Really, it was possibly one of the best weekends of all time: you can’t beat day after day of quality time with (at last count) over 20 friends both new and old. Look at me, not moping on my blog!
Our local community foundation was visiting my place of work in order to unveil their new Vital Community grantmaking strategy. They invited various representatives from community organizations to come together, discuss their new plan and brainstorm ways to share information and community-build. This kind of activity is seriously one of my very favorite things to do; since my Evergreen days, I could honestly spend half my professional time seminaring and the other half getting stuff done. I suppose that’s why I love a good meeting. So, we brainstormed with our peers, talking about the value of community roundtables, what their focus should be, who would attend such meetings, etc. It was fun and inspiring, I like talking, I like listening – it was good stuff. Some of my favorite nonprofit professionals were in the room, including the closest thing to a mentor I have in this town, and I ended up having some very delightful conversations which led to a continuing delightful conversation post-work. I met up with my mentor, we talked further and crafted a possible plan for my future in contributing to Tacoma and my neighborhood. So we’ll see but I felt good, felt affirmed, felt like there might be a reason I’m alive after all.
After that excellent meeting, I met up with my mom, a fabulous friend from choir, one of my oldest friends, and her soon-to-be fiancé. We enjoyed fantastic food and wine at Enoteca, a great little wine bar in the Stadium district. My old friend is moving to Montana with her man who I think is a rare person of quality and this is the first time in recent memory that I have seen her happy. My friend and I were both incredibly close to Janice and it was a treat to see a smile on her face after all we’ve been through.
We continued the fun at Tempest where I learned more and varied things about my choir friend (who is a huge talent and a general bad ass). She has been through just a ton of awful crap and has come out on the other end a star and it is a pleasure to know her. My old friend, her man, and my choir friend said goodnight and I was joined by even more buddies. So, a good and gratifying time into the night.
Saturday began with a trip to the Museum of Glass with the lovable and hilarious Jason Ganwich. I’m trying to recruit him to join me in a podcasting endeavor to which he seems amenable; hopefully this will result in hilarity and fun for all in the coming months. The museum has some really spectacular work on display right now and it was a nice, nostalgic throwback to the good old days. All my friends were blowing glass, we poked fun at the fancy visiting artists and cracked each other up reading the creature descriptions of the kid-designed glass pieces in the Kids Design Glass exhibition.
 |
| From The Law |
Next, my good friend Susan and I decided to run around all over Seattle, taking in some quality time with a baby, eating food and drinking drink. We managed to succeed in all respects. We first headed to Wallingford to visit the beautiful Miss Carmela, a charming baby person who holds my entire hope for humanity in her future. No pressure, baby friend.
We ate lunch at Jhanjay, a pleasant vegetarian thai food restaurant with her mother and caught up on stuff and things. I feel I must also mention that Carmela’s mother is a dear friend, not simply some awesome lady who made a great baby. Mama Erica is the hardest working woman in Wallingford, raising a baby and getting a law degree.
Susan and I then headed down to Seattle's south end to take in some art and culture. We checked out Western Bridge, a fantastic little gallery in the industrial wasteland between Georgetown and Sodo. The work on exhibit was refreshing
 |
| From bits and things |
 |
| From bits and things |
At this point Susan and I acquired the company of the world-famous Chuck and proceeded to go on a Cuban sandwich hunt which ended in success in Ballard. Paseo’s sandwiches are something to be experienced. We enjoyed the scenery (the sky was doing excellent work), demolished our messy sandwiches, and I was pleased by Chuck’s canny identification of tofu's flavor as that of a cheesy pancake. Of course, a cheesy pancake sounds like the best thing to me ever and an apt homage to tofu which is perhaps a different opinion than Chuck’s when it comes to cultured soybean curd.
The evening was marred with mild tragedy when we witnessed a female duck get hit by a car. She and her mate sat quietly on the side of the road, we called animal control and hung out next to them, feeling useless. Just as animal control was about to arrive and Susan had gone on a mission to find some duck-holding containers from a nearby restaurant, the mallard quacked a few words to his lady duck friend and flew away. Lady duck rallied and took to flight as well, her broken leg dangling depressingly. Ah, humans vs. nature.
Since we were in Ballard, we stopped at Hazlewood, an agreeable, good-looking craft cocktail joint that definitely did me right when it came to a quality Sazerac (or two). Susan then made us a reservation at the Knee High Stocking Co. and we headed over to Capital Hill to see just how successful a speakeasy it is. Knee High was definitely disappointing: a tacky, thrown together, ineptly used space featuring a dreadfully formatted menu. But the service was decent (though untalented), my drink and Chuck’s beer were tasty and the ladies were pretty. So, not a total fail.
To cleanse the palate, we decided we needed one more stop and headed to Spur in Belltown. I really like this bar: drinks are phenomenal, good service, and a thoughtful and handsome space. I was very, very deep in my cups at this point which was embarrassing but was thankfully flanked by amiable and tolerant friends who seemed not to be offended or dismayed by my intoxication so there's a mercy.
Susan and I bade Chuck farewell and zoomed back to T-town where I managed to sloppily throw myself in bed. Apparently my state was clear to the chivalrous Christo who force-fed me liquids until I fell asleep.
Sunday was date day, beginning with a breakfast of Herman’s incredible ham (see boca) burgers and onion rings, moving on to a curtain-acquiring adventure (window curtains...not an innuendo), and concluding with a viewing of The Crazies. I will discuss the Crazies more over at Fully Grown Fan but I will say here that it is possibly one of the best genre films I have ever seen, no joke. I was HUGELY impressed.
I rounded out my Sunday with some much needed television viewing and an early bedtime. Really, it was possibly one of the best weekends of all time: you can’t beat day after day of quality time with (at last count) over 20 friends both new and old. Look at me, not moping on my blog!
26.2.10
frantic frustration
The opportunity to have a roundtable brainstorm/discussion with various other nonprofit workers today was a little bit mindblowing. I spend much of my professional time thinking about things that have little relevance to my current position and much relevance to my devoted volunteer activities. I think a lot about how frustrating the world is, how I am having an impossibly hard time thinking about how to put my talents to work, thinking about how my favorite thing to do is make connections and then see things happen via those connections. I truly think that is my FAVORITE thing to do.
I’ve been brainstorming a way to bring it all together: my love of the arts, my wish for artists to be able to thrive and make a living, my love for my deeply flawed community, my love for this silly city I find myself devoted to, a way to make the disparate but deeply similar activities I do come together holistically…I am looking toward some very contemporary models: Etsy, Shunpike, um, I can’t think of others.
I wish I had a mentor, I wish someone other than me could help me think strategically about this, I wish I was more dedicated and could find a way to just sit down and be strategic on my own. I wish I wasn’t scared to just jump off the cliff. Apparently I don’t trust myself.
I’ve been brainstorming a way to bring it all together: my love of the arts, my wish for artists to be able to thrive and make a living, my love for my deeply flawed community, my love for this silly city I find myself devoted to, a way to make the disparate but deeply similar activities I do come together holistically…I am looking toward some very contemporary models: Etsy, Shunpike, um, I can’t think of others.
I wish I had a mentor, I wish someone other than me could help me think strategically about this, I wish I was more dedicated and could find a way to just sit down and be strategic on my own. I wish I wasn’t scared to just jump off the cliff. Apparently I don’t trust myself.
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