My dear friend Ingrid who died of cancer in April of 2009 was amazing in so many ways. She had a knack for finding hidden gems to explore during extended weekend adventures. For years she tried to turn me on to Cedar Key, a little island in the Gulf of Mexico due west of Gainesville, Florida. I never made it there until after she died.
"There's only one place to stay in Cedar Key," Ingrid used to tell me as I joked that she was being paid by their Visitor's Bureau. And then she proceeded to pimp out the Cedar Key Bed and Breakfast as the sweetest, most charming place in Florida.
When I met Bill and Alice--the owners of Cedar Key Bed and Breakfast--in the summer of 2009, I told them that Ingrid had sent me. They were sad to hear the news about her death. They knew the world was at a loss without her.
I felt Ingrid's persuasive words about the place follow me during our stay. The Sunrise Suite, her favorite accommodation at the B & B and our choice as well, had long windows that opened up to the Gulf, welcoming the water and the sky into the sun porch and the living room. You can't imagine the view from the bedroom.
I enjoyed talking with Bill and Alice about their lives during that trip with Husband and D-Man, and when I returned in the Fall with a group of women for a girls' weekend, it was easy to feel like we were picking up where we left off. There was a lot of hope and light in those brief conversations.
Bill had discovered a cancerous tumor on his leg earlier in the year, but with some experimental treatments in Mexico, he was cured and so grateful for the bill of good health. We talked about it during both of my visits.
Yesterday I called to make a reservation for the Sunrise Suite for a long weekend in March. When a young girl answered the phone, I asked if Bill and Alice were still running the place.
"Just Miss Alice," the girl said. "Bill died of cancer in December."
The sound of her words kept churning and amplifying like a singing bowl. I was thinking about how Alice was holding up, about whether Bill suffered, about why he couldn't be helped.
No matter how many times I'm jolted with the news of death, I seem to quickly lose touch with the fact that life is too short to get caught up in the minutia of meaningless details. I want to hold on to that. I want to be wiser and stop letting people take my power who are not worthy of it. I want to laugh more, take myself less seriously, and never miss an opportunity to be the person I am. And I want that for all of us.
We're all so much like Ingrid, we just don't know it. She was 100% authentic, 100% of the time.
Today I imagine her kicking back in the Sunrise Suite with Bill, looking out at the Gulf, sipping a margarita and sending love to those who are still here in the world.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Sunday, December 19, 2010
A New Holiday Tradition
This year I wanted to initiate a special gathering with friends to celebrate Christmas and the completion of another year. Dinner or breakfast--argh. Another reason to eat this time of year is not cool. A party at my place--there's enough stuff strewn all over with decorations and I can't stand the stress of people crowding in here.
So I decided on a Holiday Nature Walk at Robinson Preserve. Today was the day, and naturally it was the one day in the last twenty years it has rained here in December. Okay, yes, that may be a slight exaggeration about the twenty years. But it is not an exaggeration to let you know how many times I dropped the f-bomb while driving to the preserve.
As the windshield wipers went back and forth, I wondered how many of the 20 great ladies planning to come to Bradenton from Sarasota would make it and how many would actually want to walk in this weather. On a Sunday morning, there wasn't much room for a Plan B.
One by one, they all showed up except two. They were ready for an adventure. Not one suggested we didn't go or looked unenthused. Decked out in varying degrees of rain coats, umbrellas, hoods and quilted jackets, we set out. We had a unbelievably peaceful walk in the light rain and soft mist through the preserve. Small groups formed and re-formed differently throughout the few miles as old friends saw acquaintances and new people met for the first time. I enjoyed it all and am thankful to know such a great assemblage of women.
We shared a simple lunch at Atlanta Bread afterward. I returned to the house and read and napped for half of the afternoon. I'm thinking the others did the same.
I love the new tradition and hope to do it every year.
So I decided on a Holiday Nature Walk at Robinson Preserve. Today was the day, and naturally it was the one day in the last twenty years it has rained here in December. Okay, yes, that may be a slight exaggeration about the twenty years. But it is not an exaggeration to let you know how many times I dropped the f-bomb while driving to the preserve.
As the windshield wipers went back and forth, I wondered how many of the 20 great ladies planning to come to Bradenton from Sarasota would make it and how many would actually want to walk in this weather. On a Sunday morning, there wasn't much room for a Plan B.
One by one, they all showed up except two. They were ready for an adventure. Not one suggested we didn't go or looked unenthused. Decked out in varying degrees of rain coats, umbrellas, hoods and quilted jackets, we set out. We had a unbelievably peaceful walk in the light rain and soft mist through the preserve. Small groups formed and re-formed differently throughout the few miles as old friends saw acquaintances and new people met for the first time. I enjoyed it all and am thankful to know such a great assemblage of women.
We shared a simple lunch at Atlanta Bread afterward. I returned to the house and read and napped for half of the afternoon. I'm thinking the others did the same.
I love the new tradition and hope to do it every year.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Travel, Security and Being New
I am so grateful for the luxury of travel. Wish I could do it all the time.
It makes me appreciate the larger world we all share. While it reinforces the diversity of Earth in terms of the unique flavor of places, traveling also drills in the unifying factors of the human experience in general.
Understanding I’m not exactly talking about a visit to China here, I still enjoy knowing that no matter where you go, people are people. And you are yourself wherever you go.
I feel the great sense of appreciation knowing how fortunate I am to return to Husband and D-Man. My dear friend in Arizona is alone. She’s new in a big new place, looking for work, the right man, and a group of friends she can be herself with. Those are hard things to come by at any time in life, in any place.
Over the last few years but particularly after this visit, I realize I’ve taken security for granted—that which comes from knowing I have a steady, trusted group of people on which I can depend. Knowing someone is waiting for me when I come home is huge. Being the independent person I’ve always tried to be, I’ve lost sight of how much peace of mind I derive from Husband, the parents and others. Self-sufficiency has little to do with it. It’s more about connection and safety.
I often wonder why it’s such a small priority for us to be receptive to new people with whom we come into contact. Perhaps we don’t know when someone new to our community really needs us—they don’t tell us they’re new or we don’t think to invite them out with us. Or maybe it’s because we think there just isn’t room for anyone else in our busy schedule. Our lives are so full and settled as they are—so many superficial details taking up most waking hours of our days.
I’m going to make a bigger point of discovering and embracing new people in Sarasota. I am grateful to those who did it for me when I was new so many years ago.
It makes me appreciate the larger world we all share. While it reinforces the diversity of Earth in terms of the unique flavor of places, traveling also drills in the unifying factors of the human experience in general.
Understanding I’m not exactly talking about a visit to China here, I still enjoy knowing that no matter where you go, people are people. And you are yourself wherever you go.
I feel the great sense of appreciation knowing how fortunate I am to return to Husband and D-Man. My dear friend in Arizona is alone. She’s new in a big new place, looking for work, the right man, and a group of friends she can be herself with. Those are hard things to come by at any time in life, in any place.
Over the last few years but particularly after this visit, I realize I’ve taken security for granted—that which comes from knowing I have a steady, trusted group of people on which I can depend. Knowing someone is waiting for me when I come home is huge. Being the independent person I’ve always tried to be, I’ve lost sight of how much peace of mind I derive from Husband, the parents and others. Self-sufficiency has little to do with it. It’s more about connection and safety.
I often wonder why it’s such a small priority for us to be receptive to new people with whom we come into contact. Perhaps we don’t know when someone new to our community really needs us—they don’t tell us they’re new or we don’t think to invite them out with us. Or maybe it’s because we think there just isn’t room for anyone else in our busy schedule. Our lives are so full and settled as they are—so many superficial details taking up most waking hours of our days.
I’m going to make a bigger point of discovering and embracing new people in Sarasota. I am grateful to those who did it for me when I was new so many years ago.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
I Thought Florida Had the Trademark on Sunsets
I'm out in Arizona for a few days, visiting with my long lost friend the Coaching Goddess who left me back in the spring for a new land. It's so good to see her. The little town of Carefree, just up the road from Scottsdale (just up the road from Phoenix) is lovely.
The big sky surrounded by a silhouette of mountains lends itself well to sunsets.
The big sky surrounded by a silhouette of mountains lends itself well to sunsets.
Monday, October 18, 2010
A Changing Doctor's Office
I often consider how absurd it is for me to have the luxury of health insurance and accessibility of medical care and to hate--dread--going to the doctor's office so much. It really is terrible of me.
A good friend I reconnected with this weekend was telling me that she's working in a doctor's office while she's going back to school. Working at the reception area, she is often at the receiving end of complaints from people who are sick, exhausted, frustrated and angry about their loss of mobility, fear over their condition and the whole mix of emotion that comes when you're not well.
True to the fashion she wears each day of life, she sees it as her duty not just to check in the patients as assigned, but to give them a warm and genuine smile, to make conversation to put them at ease, and to embrace them as if she truly cares about the whole person standing there--not just getting them to sign the requisite clipboard necessary for admittance. So quickly, the same people who came in with rigidity, apprehension, tension and fear start to relax and feel that everything just might be okay.
From one or two simple acts stemming from her caring, she transforms what most people dread into something they can deal with. It separates the factory feel of the clinical setting to a nurturing atmosphere that is the prelude to healing.
I realized through this conversation that half of my "doctor's office dread" comes from the straight-faced, empty method of meet and greet in most of the practices where I've been seen. You're going in for something deeply personal to you--your body, right? And most of the time, it's more about the insurance card, the almighty clip board and of course the tons of medical pamphlets that have colorful diagrams of your intestines and heart and reproductive organs. Good GRIEF, would it kill them to put up a freaking happy painting or something?
I'm so proud of my friend. We talked about her feelings that this job is a step down, since she used to have a position with much greater responsibility. But I feel that she's there for a reason. Not just to lift the atmosphere of the place, but to really make a difference in the lives of people who need it. And let's face it, we all need more positivity.
I never underestimate the power of someone's kindness. And when you're sick, facing serious illness, or walking into the uncertainty of what is unknown and scary, a friendly face is more precious than anything I can imagine. She sets a great example. And we can follow it wherever we work, shop, eat or play.
A good friend I reconnected with this weekend was telling me that she's working in a doctor's office while she's going back to school. Working at the reception area, she is often at the receiving end of complaints from people who are sick, exhausted, frustrated and angry about their loss of mobility, fear over their condition and the whole mix of emotion that comes when you're not well.
True to the fashion she wears each day of life, she sees it as her duty not just to check in the patients as assigned, but to give them a warm and genuine smile, to make conversation to put them at ease, and to embrace them as if she truly cares about the whole person standing there--not just getting them to sign the requisite clipboard necessary for admittance. So quickly, the same people who came in with rigidity, apprehension, tension and fear start to relax and feel that everything just might be okay.
From one or two simple acts stemming from her caring, she transforms what most people dread into something they can deal with. It separates the factory feel of the clinical setting to a nurturing atmosphere that is the prelude to healing.
I realized through this conversation that half of my "doctor's office dread" comes from the straight-faced, empty method of meet and greet in most of the practices where I've been seen. You're going in for something deeply personal to you--your body, right? And most of the time, it's more about the insurance card, the almighty clip board and of course the tons of medical pamphlets that have colorful diagrams of your intestines and heart and reproductive organs. Good GRIEF, would it kill them to put up a freaking happy painting or something?
I'm so proud of my friend. We talked about her feelings that this job is a step down, since she used to have a position with much greater responsibility. But I feel that she's there for a reason. Not just to lift the atmosphere of the place, but to really make a difference in the lives of people who need it. And let's face it, we all need more positivity.
I never underestimate the power of someone's kindness. And when you're sick, facing serious illness, or walking into the uncertainty of what is unknown and scary, a friendly face is more precious than anything I can imagine. She sets a great example. And we can follow it wherever we work, shop, eat or play.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Brave People
The evening was as beautiful as the day was. The hints of fall and the large half moon surrounded kids running on the lawn, grown-ups carrying their red, gold or silver balloons and music coming from various corners of the park.
This was my first year participating in the Light the Night Walk, an annual event of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. It was humbling to be in the company of so many brave people: survivors of blood cancers, those who have lost loved ones to blood cancers, those who are battling blood cancers today, and their families, their friends, their co-workers.
Beyond all the losses of life, time spent in hospital rooms, missed days of work and adjustments to uncertain outcome was a pervasive sense of happiness, of togetherness. No, the walk wasn't sad, but it was celebratory. For those touched by cancer in whatever way--there is a rawness that opens the lens of reality. It brings a heightened awareness of small pleasures, of the importance of seeing each moment through with as much joy as you can muster.
The crowd this evening was all about life. Our team walked for Ingrid, and it's true that she was an example of living to the fullest. She lived bravely, faced her untimely illness bravely and died bravely. The last time I saw her in her hospital room, Ingrid looked at me and said, "This is it, Susie." It disarmed me completely. She was facing "it" squarely and with the kind of resolute truth and courage that only the bravest person possesses.
Going forward, I've tried to remember that you have to be brave to live life to its fullest. In one way or another, we'll all meet our own day, and when we do, wouldn't it be fine to say we did all we could, all we wanted?
Yes, you have to be brave to live. I give thanks to all those who face such adversity and set a lesson for the rest of us. Is it not better to stop hiding in the nooks and crannies of life and open up to the lovey opportunities before us? There's no one else to do it.
This was my first year participating in the Light the Night Walk, an annual event of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. It was humbling to be in the company of so many brave people: survivors of blood cancers, those who have lost loved ones to blood cancers, those who are battling blood cancers today, and their families, their friends, their co-workers.
Beyond all the losses of life, time spent in hospital rooms, missed days of work and adjustments to uncertain outcome was a pervasive sense of happiness, of togetherness. No, the walk wasn't sad, but it was celebratory. For those touched by cancer in whatever way--there is a rawness that opens the lens of reality. It brings a heightened awareness of small pleasures, of the importance of seeing each moment through with as much joy as you can muster.
The crowd this evening was all about life. Our team walked for Ingrid, and it's true that she was an example of living to the fullest. She lived bravely, faced her untimely illness bravely and died bravely. The last time I saw her in her hospital room, Ingrid looked at me and said, "This is it, Susie." It disarmed me completely. She was facing "it" squarely and with the kind of resolute truth and courage that only the bravest person possesses.
Going forward, I've tried to remember that you have to be brave to live life to its fullest. In one way or another, we'll all meet our own day, and when we do, wouldn't it be fine to say we did all we could, all we wanted?
Yes, you have to be brave to live. I give thanks to all those who face such adversity and set a lesson for the rest of us. Is it not better to stop hiding in the nooks and crannies of life and open up to the lovey opportunities before us? There's no one else to do it.
Thank you to those who donated to Team Ingrid. Special love to Ruth and her amazing parents, who must surely be together again.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Hiatus and Scattered Reports from In Between
One of my least favorite words of all time is "hiatus." It's right up there with "hyena."
I've taken the longest writing hiatus on Gropius since I started the blog but I'm checking in to report a few scattered happenings since we've talked last. My mind, work, and everything-in-between-and-overlapping have been too tied up in details to put anything reasonable on the old scrolling digital journal. And most of those things I felt that I would regret writing about later.
So here's a tiny sampling on the reportable mini-happenings from the last post:
I've taken the longest writing hiatus on Gropius since I started the blog but I'm checking in to report a few scattered happenings since we've talked last. My mind, work, and everything-in-between-and-overlapping have been too tied up in details to put anything reasonable on the old scrolling digital journal. And most of those things I felt that I would regret writing about later.
So here's a tiny sampling on the reportable mini-happenings from the last post:
Why "Hello there, Bono!" Thank you very much to the gal at work who Photoshopped us together when the latest professional staff photos came in. Some people got a wrinkle or two removed; I got Bono. I'm really happy about the choice. Husband has been a great sport about it, since I obviously printed this and put it up on the fridge.
This is sweet Ingrid with her husband Stig. You may remember from previous posts that we lost her over a year ago to blood cancer. She was an amazing and inspirational soul for nearly everyone who met her--whether it was for an afternoon or a decade. I miss her daily. I've put a team together to walk in her honor on October 16. The Light the Night Walks take place all over the country to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Many thanks to Pines Lake Redhead & all the others who gave money to support the cause. You rock, and I appreciate you so much. If you'd like to contribute to the cause, you can check out our team and donate here.
Thank goodness for the angels who walk here on Earth. My sweet Flanders is 12, and we woke up one morning to find her stumbling about. Every few steps her legs just seemed to give out. Her eyes were darting back and forth wildly like she was speed reading. Our normal vet couldn't see her that day. I was panicked.
A vet practicing an hour from our house (who donates every ounce of time outside of her practice to local animal rescue groups) took my call on her cell and came in on her day off to see Flanders. I am so grateful. Turns out Flanders had "old dog" vestibular disease, making her dizzy. That, along with arthritis, put her in bad shape. She's doing much better now, and I have her under the care of someone who looks at her as a member of my family, not just a furry object who lives in my house.
This is not your brain on drugs. This is my brain (not on drugs). Thoreau was not kidding when he said our lives were frittered away by detail. There are so many things I'm trying to mentally keep track of, I've been a bit scrambled lately. Okay, totally scrambled. Completely and totally freaking scrambled. I'm working on that since life doesn't usually change in it's pace, but the way you handle it can.
To all the regular Gropius visitors, thanks for hanging out with me. I'll be catching up with you this week during my down time in my trip to Charlotte. If you're new, thanks for reading and I hope you'll come back.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The Bravery of Friends
Somewhere in the details of life, relationships, work and the daily routines of opening mail, making obligatory phone calls, getting groceries--we forget that death is imminent. Our loved ones will not be with us forever. Our own lives are so tenuous they could end without warning at any minute. Perhaps we simply choose not to think of this often. For if it invaded our thoughts too frequently, we'd be paralyzed in that form of separation and would forget to live.
There are circles of people with whom you just feel fortunate to be associated. It's not because of outward prizes they have attained through profession or decorated accomplishment; it's because of who they are--rare souls who understand what a friend is and who are there for each other through all joys, all sadness.
A fine graphic designer who has provided services for our organization for so many years suddenly lost her husband at the age of 53 this week. Leading the ship of his unexpected departure through the lightest and most calm waters possible has been a mutual friend, who for years has been generously nurturing of me on a professional and personal basis. Friday, this friend of endless composure and presence received word at a luncheon that her own father had passed.
Even with this most personal loss, she stood at the pulpit with her whole family during Saturday's funeral. She shared their 25 year friendship with the Hritz's and all it has meant to them. Can you imagine the joy of having the privilege to know someone who could be so strong and courageous to be there for her friend--now a widow--after entering a new world without a living father, less than 24 hours before? Her words were eloquent, soothing. Authentic and beautiful in her love for who he was, with a comfort that encircled everyone. And there wasn't a trace of her own personal grief to show for it. It was absolutely selfless.
That's a friend who many do not experience.
I realize my own fortune, a living fortune embraced by those who are still with me in life. The others are facing empty beds, the formality of services and the lines of those waiting to receive them with sympathy. Even in my own gratitude, I know death isn't something any one of us will or can ever escape.
It's been a weekend filled with sadness. I think of the beautiful Hritz family, two teenagers in high school another young man in college--all of them amazing human beings--now without that man they so admired and loved at their disposal in the mornings, evenings and weekends. I can understand a fraction of what they are experiencing, knowing that at least for a while, they cannot communicate in that direct and concrete way with husband and father the way they're used to.
What else is buried here in this grief? It's true, I try to live completely but I feel sadness too at my missed opportunities, imperfect relationships and time lost. I hope the great bravery of these friends will help me more frequently choose peace over being right, loving action over fleeting frustration.
It really is the collection of so many small things that forms our lives and that contributes to the happiness or detriment of those around us we love the most. Angels are all around, living and watching over us. I give the deepest thanks to have such inspiration and hope that I have the sense to keep it close to heart while the people I love are here.
There are circles of people with whom you just feel fortunate to be associated. It's not because of outward prizes they have attained through profession or decorated accomplishment; it's because of who they are--rare souls who understand what a friend is and who are there for each other through all joys, all sadness.
A fine graphic designer who has provided services for our organization for so many years suddenly lost her husband at the age of 53 this week. Leading the ship of his unexpected departure through the lightest and most calm waters possible has been a mutual friend, who for years has been generously nurturing of me on a professional and personal basis. Friday, this friend of endless composure and presence received word at a luncheon that her own father had passed.
Even with this most personal loss, she stood at the pulpit with her whole family during Saturday's funeral. She shared their 25 year friendship with the Hritz's and all it has meant to them. Can you imagine the joy of having the privilege to know someone who could be so strong and courageous to be there for her friend--now a widow--after entering a new world without a living father, less than 24 hours before? Her words were eloquent, soothing. Authentic and beautiful in her love for who he was, with a comfort that encircled everyone. And there wasn't a trace of her own personal grief to show for it. It was absolutely selfless.
That's a friend who many do not experience.
I realize my own fortune, a living fortune embraced by those who are still with me in life. The others are facing empty beds, the formality of services and the lines of those waiting to receive them with sympathy. Even in my own gratitude, I know death isn't something any one of us will or can ever escape.
It's been a weekend filled with sadness. I think of the beautiful Hritz family, two teenagers in high school another young man in college--all of them amazing human beings--now without that man they so admired and loved at their disposal in the mornings, evenings and weekends. I can understand a fraction of what they are experiencing, knowing that at least for a while, they cannot communicate in that direct and concrete way with husband and father the way they're used to.
What else is buried here in this grief? It's true, I try to live completely but I feel sadness too at my missed opportunities, imperfect relationships and time lost. I hope the great bravery of these friends will help me more frequently choose peace over being right, loving action over fleeting frustration.
It really is the collection of so many small things that forms our lives and that contributes to the happiness or detriment of those around us we love the most. Angels are all around, living and watching over us. I give the deepest thanks to have such inspiration and hope that I have the sense to keep it close to heart while the people I love are here.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Basking in Weirdness with a Giant Pinch of Hot Creepy
You can't call the Bubble Room a dive, but weird it is. And so chocked full of memorabelia this restaurant with the wobbly roof is, one wonders if the occassion to dust and clean ever comes around more than once in a very long time. Situated on a charming spot on Captiva Island, the Bubble Room is quite possibly the strangest place you'll ever grab a bite to eat. ...If you don't count the Linger Lodge here in Bradenton, which is bathed in a very odd assortment of badly taxidermied mammals and rattlesnakes spelling out words on the walls. I diverege from the subject at hand...
To me, there isn't much that can be creepier than monkeys, monkeys with instruments and oversized rabbits on the front porches of doll houses.
...except maybe clowns--clowns that look mean, like something out of that movie that ran on HBO for two centuries in the late '80's, Killer Clowns from Outerspace. Remember that jewel? Brother used to love it.
Then again, I can't say enough about statues of ravenous animals like a llama that belongs on Poltergeist--looking at you with a creepy stare as if it will soon come alive and attack with its bizarre pink and black lips...
...and a hippo head the wild Nile River has never seen the likes of--jaws thrown open 180 degrees.
Where the HELL did these things come from. And did Stephen King have a hand in their creation?
I can't forget the cage from a circus side show, inhabited here by a local writing Goddess and Gropius reader.
Despite my apparent Bubble Room bashing, it's such a cool place to visit. The pop history you find within these walls nearly blinds you from too many detailed movie posters, action figures, faded postcards and worn stuffed animals, vintage stuff that could or could not be worth millions in Antique Roadshow. You can't possibly imagine all of the oldie moldy collector's items, including a giant filthy Micky Mouse from the Macy's Day parade, looming over the tables; dolls with frozen cries on their faces; metal ferris wheels; Alice in Wonderland's real life tea party; a room filled with aquariums and nautical treasures; etc. etc. All of the tables have glass tops under which a myriad of Christmas treasures and random bits of creepiness are mixed together.Now you simply cannot be in this part of the world without having a meal at the Bubble Room, or at least stopping for one of the 70 pound slices of cake.
A coconut cake slice one of the six friends took home stayed wrapped in the hotel room overnight, followed us through hot car rides around the island the next day and was finally eaten with a shared fork in the car just before we pulled off the highway home. Ah, friends. Nice to have a bizarre place to share an adventure. Tomorrow I'll post photos of the gorgeous natural treasures of Sanibel/Captiva. They won't be nearly as creepy.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The Changing Face of Lemonade Stands
The kids who live across the street from us are the cutest things in a thousand mile radius. Their father has been a good friend to Husband. We fondly call him "The Biotch." (Don't ask, it's another blog post.) Their mother, a shrewd and kind woman who loves to hold garage sales on Saturdays, has been a fabulous sentry for us with D-Man between the home-from-school and home-from-work hour. We love our neighbors.
Taking on their mother's industrious weekend spirit, I saw the two kids set up shop with a lemonade stand as she was tending to this week's sale. It was only 9 am but I was starting to salivate over the taste of lemons on the tongue, and so I sent D-Man over with a message:
"You're making me awfully thirsty, and I'd sure love to taste what you're selling."
Not only were the sweet lemons calling to me, but I was delighting in the image of the two darlings making the lemonade with their mother.
So what did D-man return with? An ice cold cup of lemonade in a Dixie cup?
Nope. A can of Coke, a can of Sprite, two bags of chips and some DoubleBubble. What the hell? And now I feel once again like a grandmother, "These kids. I can't believe how things have changed."
Taking on their mother's industrious weekend spirit, I saw the two kids set up shop with a lemonade stand as she was tending to this week's sale. It was only 9 am but I was starting to salivate over the taste of lemons on the tongue, and so I sent D-Man over with a message:
"You're making me awfully thirsty, and I'd sure love to taste what you're selling."
Not only were the sweet lemons calling to me, but I was delighting in the image of the two darlings making the lemonade with their mother.
So what did D-man return with? An ice cold cup of lemonade in a Dixie cup?
Nope. A can of Coke, a can of Sprite, two bags of chips and some DoubleBubble. What the hell? And now I feel once again like a grandmother, "These kids. I can't believe how things have changed."
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Big Move
This was my last weekend with my best friend. She's moving to Arizona where she will live with her sister briefly and set up a new life in a place that's hopefully filled with more professional possibilities and new soul-friends waiting to meet her.
I'm famously good at keeping in touch with phone, e-mail, texts, letters. But there's no replacement for being near someone, just a phone call away from a lunch date or an inpromtu walk on the beach. I'm going to miss her terribly.
She's caught between two worlds now, still in disbelief about where fate is taking her and finding it hard to say goodbye. Yet, she feels that our town is an old item in the refrigerator--the expiration date has long since passed.
Change is inevitable and inevitably hard. Even harder when it seems to lead us by the hand without the element of choice.
When I was in eleventh grade, my parents announced we were moving to Florida after the school year was over. And after getting over the incredible loss, disappointment, shock, where-has-my-world-gone feeling, I realized that no matter where I was, I would be the same person. At the same time, I was suddenly anonymous. I could reinvent myself if I wanted. With that came enormous excitement, freedom and strangely, peace once I came to terms with it.
It wasn't an easy year for me. And no doubt the big move had some negative effects. But for whatever reason, it's what was in the cards. And I have to believe it was for a reason. We don't know everything. And for one, I have faith that when the element of choice is taken away from us, something greater is guiding us.
In this way, I believe that my friend is being led to Arizona. Sure, her level of success and happiness there will largely depend on what she builds for herself. But I rest in the comfort of feeling that none of us is alone. When we feel the hour is darkest, we're secretly being looked after and guided just where we need to be.
I'm famously good at keeping in touch with phone, e-mail, texts, letters. But there's no replacement for being near someone, just a phone call away from a lunch date or an inpromtu walk on the beach. I'm going to miss her terribly.
She's caught between two worlds now, still in disbelief about where fate is taking her and finding it hard to say goodbye. Yet, she feels that our town is an old item in the refrigerator--the expiration date has long since passed.
Change is inevitable and inevitably hard. Even harder when it seems to lead us by the hand without the element of choice.
When I was in eleventh grade, my parents announced we were moving to Florida after the school year was over. And after getting over the incredible loss, disappointment, shock, where-has-my-world-gone feeling, I realized that no matter where I was, I would be the same person. At the same time, I was suddenly anonymous. I could reinvent myself if I wanted. With that came enormous excitement, freedom and strangely, peace once I came to terms with it.
It wasn't an easy year for me. And no doubt the big move had some negative effects. But for whatever reason, it's what was in the cards. And I have to believe it was for a reason. We don't know everything. And for one, I have faith that when the element of choice is taken away from us, something greater is guiding us.
In this way, I believe that my friend is being led to Arizona. Sure, her level of success and happiness there will largely depend on what she builds for herself. But I rest in the comfort of feeling that none of us is alone. When we feel the hour is darkest, we're secretly being looked after and guided just where we need to be.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Big Friendships
Facebook has taken "Friends" to a whole new level of mediocrity.
It really sucked the day I realized that no matter who you are, there are few people you can call true friends. So many are there when times are good, when there's something they're getting from the relationship. Could be that you're the one to confide in, or the unfailing lunch date, or the one at the end of the phone call, or the faithful blog commenter.
But when it comes down to having someone who considers you as essential and important as life itself, that narrows your pool of "friends."
Having realized this fairly early in life through some devastating disappointments, I now feel empowered by it. I reconize the Big Friends in my life. They're the kind of people you don't have to speak with everyday, but you know in a heartbeat, you could pick up just where you left off. And we would do almost anything to care for one another. Isn't it grand to know someone like that? And to feel that way about someone else?
I'll have a chance on Saturday afternoon to spend some time with one of my Big Friends. We haven't seen each other in months. We live in the same town but also live very different lives. Still, she could call on a me and in a moment's notice and I would be there, and know I could expect the same with her. We may have different perspectives, but we always have a common ground of trust and respect. And I find brilliance in her comments, thought processes and ability to see a purpose in everything--make everything work somehow, even when she doesn't fully understand it.
Any experiences with Big Friendships?
It really sucked the day I realized that no matter who you are, there are few people you can call true friends. So many are there when times are good, when there's something they're getting from the relationship. Could be that you're the one to confide in, or the unfailing lunch date, or the one at the end of the phone call, or the faithful blog commenter.
But when it comes down to having someone who considers you as essential and important as life itself, that narrows your pool of "friends."
Having realized this fairly early in life through some devastating disappointments, I now feel empowered by it. I reconize the Big Friends in my life. They're the kind of people you don't have to speak with everyday, but you know in a heartbeat, you could pick up just where you left off. And we would do almost anything to care for one another. Isn't it grand to know someone like that? And to feel that way about someone else?
I'll have a chance on Saturday afternoon to spend some time with one of my Big Friends. We haven't seen each other in months. We live in the same town but also live very different lives. Still, she could call on a me and in a moment's notice and I would be there, and know I could expect the same with her. We may have different perspectives, but we always have a common ground of trust and respect. And I find brilliance in her comments, thought processes and ability to see a purpose in everything--make everything work somehow, even when she doesn't fully understand it.
Any experiences with Big Friendships?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Peaceful Retreat
The trip began with a rainy drive to central Florida through one-gas station towns and seedy roadside restaurants that offered a burger and food poisoning. The moonscape left from Mosaic's active and obnoxious phosphate mining operation eventually gave way to orange groves. And orange groves. And a few more orange groves.
It was cold, rainy and desolate at Bok Tower gardens when we arrived on Saturday. But we put on layers, armed ourselves with umbrellas, and enjoyed an adventurous tour in the rain with a senior volunteer and passionate Bok-lover named Mary. She did her best with a small green and white umbrella that barely covered her increasingly wet coat, and insisted on plowing ahead to reveal more of the garden's secrets and history. Most enjoyable and unique--and an experience you couldn't enjoy with meek and wimpy adventurers for sure!
We returned to Bok Tower Gardens today under blue skies without a single cloud and enjoyed the most inviting signs of spring: flowers from camelias to witch hazel and all kinds of birds including quail, catbirds, brown thrashers, cardinals, eastern towhees, Carolina wrens, and an ovenbird.
(taken today, in the sun obviously)
It was cold, rainy and desolate at Bok Tower gardens when we arrived on Saturday. But we put on layers, armed ourselves with umbrellas, and enjoyed an adventurous tour in the rain with a senior volunteer and passionate Bok-lover named Mary. She did her best with a small green and white umbrella that barely covered her increasingly wet coat, and insisted on plowing ahead to reveal more of the garden's secrets and history. Most enjoyable and unique--and an experience you couldn't enjoy with meek and wimpy adventurers for sure!
What can I say about our stay at the Chalet Suzanne, five minutes from the garden? We were a little hesitant when we first arrived at the end of the meandering drive that deposited us at a partially crooked pink house with purple and yellow doors and funky tiles. Ask me about it now, and I'll tell you I'm a convert. Everyone who's in for something unusual and fine flies into the airstrip behind the chalet and dines there at least once--certainly if you're the likes of Dina Shore, Ed McMahon or Bono. So maybe Bono wasn't there. But there was quite a collection of autographed celeb photos displayed at the reception area.
We returned to Bok Tower Gardens today under blue skies without a single cloud and enjoyed the most inviting signs of spring: flowers from camelias to witch hazel and all kinds of birds including quail, catbirds, brown thrashers, cardinals, eastern towhees, Carolina wrens, and an ovenbird.
And yes, there were two swans as well. Both males, to prevent the inevitable mating and offspring that sparks aggression with guests. I can't say the theory worked--these were intent on eating shoes and pants in an attempt to bully us into feeding them. Yes, they knew they were "hot."
The gardens were designed for the purpose of providing a haven of peace and tranquility with nature, woodland creatures and music. I was surprised to find the tower--seemingly random plopped right in the middle of a hillside in the middle of Florida--so beautiful. Carillon music rings out twice each day, and decorates the nearby neighborhoods and groves in the timed assurance of calming sound.
"gilded" front door of the tower
the very top...don't get me wrong, it's reallly high
hilltop bench overlooking orange groves
(this is on a huge lawn that also includes the tower on the opposite end)
(this is on a huge lawn that also includes the tower on the opposite end)
Pines Lake Redhead is a most excellent travel companion, and the trip wouldn't have offered the same peace and renewal without her lovely company! She even knitted me a scarf, which kept Gropius warm and toasty, even in the freezing rain.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Roots
So sit back while I share the fairy tale of Gropius with you.
Once upon a time, a little homeless kitty found its way to a friend of mine who seems to be a perpetual bachelor. I believe he has a fear of commitment, though he might argue on this point. It was so pronounced, this fear of commitment, that after having the kitty for three weeks, knowing he would keep it, he still hadn't named it. Because, you know, once you name a pet, it's yours baby.
The two of us were enjoying an architecture exhibit at a local museum, where we were introduced to the work of Walter Gropius. A German architect who taught at Harvard and founded the Bauhaus school and style of modern architecture, he was an interesting character.
- Me: "Aha! Gropius. It's the perfect name for your cat. It's different. No one can accuse you of being run of the mill. It will spark conversation for sure. And it will force you to do what you know you are doing anyway-keeping him!"
- Fear-Of-Commitment-Man: "Hmm."
But for me, it's a real question about whether you want to be unique and exciting or regular and boring. You know? Gropius vs. Eddie. So this blog was birthed partly as a joke. The whole idea was that if I could put this much time and effort trying to convince him to name the cat Gropius, I should win for sure.
It's been a while. The cat is now a man (minus the parts that neutering took care of). His name is Gropius. He's odd, but not too odd. He's not your average gentleman. And here we are at post 300.
I've always been more of a dog person so find it odd that, of my own creation, I refer to myself with the same name as Fear-Of-Commitment-Man's cat. Yes, strange indeed. And there you have it.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I Miss Ingrid
Last April, one of my dearest friends and no doubt the one of the rarest of souls to grace this planet died of cancer.
Not a day goes by when she doesn’t enter my subconscious—she’s with me everywhere.
My grief over this loss comes in waves. Some days I just remember a part of her that would have said in her Swedish accent—“Don’t give it another goddamn thought, Susie” or “Sweetheart, don’t let it bother you” or something provocative just to elicit a response in that inner Gropius prude.
Other times, like the last few days, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of loss. I miss her incredibly. The WORLD misses her. I think of circumstances with our coinciding circles and how different they would be with the gift of her energy, laughter, ability to make everyone feel both acknowledged and humble at the same time.
Honestly, there was no one who didn’t love Ingrid. She was that once-in-a-lifetime kind of person. She could live in the present like no one's business. She could turn an ass into an angel in a matter of minutes. She knew who she was but she was always up for learning more.
We are blessed now to have a continued relationship with Stig, her husband. He’s doing okay, missing her deeply, but carrying on with life just as she would want him to. An 87 year old, her senior by almost 20 years, he comes in to volunteer for me to keep himself busy. He works on Excel spreadsheets entering data. How amazing! I love the smile on his face when we stop by his house with a cheesecake.
Today I drove past the entrance to her neighborhood. A red shouldered hawk was sitting up on the light post. Is it the same one we’d always admire when I dropped her off those hundreds of times after work?
The pond on the corner of Whitfield and Lockwood Ridge is as lovely as ever. We both loved to soak in its colors, expanding grasses—scanning for alligators and wading birds. That corner is forever marked “Ingrid.” Many things are marked this way.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Ouch
I really am a super nice person. I’m just exhausted after a long day at work. And obviously, I can count on this moment for someone I haven’t spoken to in a very long time to IM me on Facebook. The "conversation" went kind of like this:
Long Lost Friend: Hey. How are you?
Gropius: Very busy, but everything is fine. How in the world are you?
Long Lost Friend: I’m recently engaged.
Gropius: Oh congratulations!! Tell me about him. It’s a him, right? Hahaha.
Long Lost Friend: HE lives in Sarasota and I’m moving closer. Will be working for the March of Dimes.
Gropius: That’s wonderful! Maybe you can get them to stop animal testing. Where are you living now?
Long Lost Friend: I live in Tampa.
Gropius: Still in your townhouse?
Long Lost Friend: Yes, but I’ll be selling it.
Gropius: Good luck in this market.
Long Lost Friend: I have to go now and do some work.
Oh. So now I get it. Being tired can transform a person into one you sincerely regret ever selecting with the instant message icon. Unfortunately, I was that person. And I never want to be that person. Somewhere in the Universe I will be forgiven, and we can all love each other again. ...As long as this blog post isn't discovered by one Ms.-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Long Lost Friend.
Long Lost Friend: Hey. How are you?
Gropius: Very busy, but everything is fine. How in the world are you?
Long Lost Friend: I’m recently engaged.
Gropius: Oh congratulations!! Tell me about him. It’s a him, right? Hahaha.
Long Lost Friend: HE lives in Sarasota and I’m moving closer. Will be working for the March of Dimes.
Gropius: That’s wonderful! Maybe you can get them to stop animal testing. Where are you living now?
Long Lost Friend: I live in Tampa.
Gropius: Still in your townhouse?
Long Lost Friend: Yes, but I’ll be selling it.
Gropius: Good luck in this market.
Long Lost Friend: I have to go now and do some work.
Oh. So now I get it. Being tired can transform a person into one you sincerely regret ever selecting with the instant message icon. Unfortunately, I was that person. And I never want to be that person. Somewhere in the Universe I will be forgiven, and we can all love each other again. ...As long as this blog post isn't discovered by one Ms.-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Long Lost Friend.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Do I have to come back?
Cedar Key was maaarvelous. If you're not from these typically tropical parts of the US, you can ID its location by picturing it hanging out in the Gulf of Mexico just south of the western bend in Florida. ...Just far enough to make you feel like you're nowhere close to the reality of life.
Yes, it was colder than a well digger's ass, but the rain shuffled off after 10 am and yielded a blue sky we welcomed like the last piece of Elvis Bites on earth.
New paintings, pottery and potbellies from margaritas were the take home prizes. Throughout the weekend of eating (and eating and eating), we also chewed on well-endowed discussions and scenic stories, driving around with six of us happily packed in one vehicle. It was fun to be crammed in the back. With good company, anything is fun.
Yes, it was colder than a well digger's ass, but the rain shuffled off after 10 am and yielded a blue sky we welcomed like the last piece of Elvis Bites on earth.
New paintings, pottery and potbellies from margaritas were the take home prizes. Throughout the weekend of eating (and eating and eating), we also chewed on well-endowed discussions and scenic stories, driving around with six of us happily packed in one vehicle. It was fun to be crammed in the back. With good company, anything is fun.
At the top of the edible highlights list were Elvis Bites (fried bananas with peanut butter ice cream) and fried green beans at Tony's. For all of you strange vehicular obsessives, here's a good find, all decked out for Christmas. Bonus: it's for sale.
I bought a killer painting of thunderclouds that Husband hates (Gropius predicted!!), but we both agree that this special find takes the cake. It's a mosaic shelf for the...ah, not sure which room...but now that it's securely home, I can figure that out later, right?
Check out my Flickr feed on the right for the full scoop of nature photos, group shots and other fun stuff. The real darling of the weekend was discovering the ladies I thought were talented, kind and funny are actually talented, kind and funny, even when spending every waking moment of 2 days together. It was a trip. And there were plenty of wedgies for everyone.
Sadly, it's always true--just when you get in the ultimate relaxation mode, there's a day called Monday that threatens to bring you back to life-as-you-know-it.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Hell or High Water (Maybe Both?): Cedar Key is Still On
In southwest Florida this time of year, one can rely on clear skies with highs in the upper seventies--a combination that produces the best of outdoor adventures. Of course, that's what I was banking on 4 months ago when I planned a girls' weekend in Cedar Key for December 5-6. And here we are the day before--all eight of us who agreed to spend the weekend on this mystery trek--looking at a weather map that tells us a high of 58 degrees with a 70 percent chance of rain is our destiny there tomorrow.
You see, Cedar Key is an isolated little place off the western bend in Florida. It's cloaked with quaint marshes with tall grasses and old wooden boat houses, a few short streets lined with artsy gift shops hosting art and trinkets, and a fantastic boat tour (well usually). This leaves me certain of one thing: I have no idea what you do there when it's cold and raining.
Sex, alcohol and sleep are the obvious choices. One of those is out for sure, since it's all ladies and no Husband. The second of those I may partake in, but I've never been much of a drinker. Give me a glass and a half of wine, and I'm either even crazier than I am under normal conditions, or I'm out like a light.
What will we do given the circumstances? Not sure, but you will surely read all about it on Sunday night. Wish us happy adventures. After all, it's the company that counts. And we have some great people along for the ride.
You see, Cedar Key is an isolated little place off the western bend in Florida. It's cloaked with quaint marshes with tall grasses and old wooden boat houses, a few short streets lined with artsy gift shops hosting art and trinkets, and a fantastic boat tour (well usually). This leaves me certain of one thing: I have no idea what you do there when it's cold and raining.
Sex, alcohol and sleep are the obvious choices. One of those is out for sure, since it's all ladies and no Husband. The second of those I may partake in, but I've never been much of a drinker. Give me a glass and a half of wine, and I'm either even crazier than I am under normal conditions, or I'm out like a light.
What will we do given the circumstances? Not sure, but you will surely read all about it on Sunday night. Wish us happy adventures. After all, it's the company that counts. And we have some great people along for the ride.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The 3 "Anti" Facebook Reasons
Just when I had almost declared this evening non-blogworthy, I came across this. It's a response I just received from a friend who has been missing on Facebook for a while. "Gave up on Facebook?" was my question. Answer:
1. I never figured it out.
2. I think it’s adolescent in many ways.
3. I think it has great potential for identity theft and viruses…
Other than that, I LOVE IT…
It just seemed so mocking and sarcastic, I had to share it. Personally, it seems like the bad attitude all relates to his reason #1.
1. I never figured it out.
2. I think it’s adolescent in many ways.
3. I think it has great potential for identity theft and viruses…
Other than that, I LOVE IT…
It just seemed so mocking and sarcastic, I had to share it. Personally, it seems like the bad attitude all relates to his reason #1.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
It's the Small Stuff
You can't always estimate the power of dedicating two minutes of your day to give another person the reassurance that someone cares.
Talking with Rams yesterday, I heard that many of the professionals who go to his gym have lost their jobs. They come in at the same time--what used to be after work--to use the machines and feel the normalizing effect of the old schedule, sweat and physical activity. They're little more than strangers to him, but he makes a conscious effort to stay a bit longer and chat with them to keep building that human connection.
It's pretty demoralizing to have lost your job, after years of hard work and experience, without the ability to scoop up another one. If you have a family, double that feeling of loss and fear.
That deliberate act of reaching out in conversation is comforting, don't you think? It's good to have the awareness that angels of simple kindness are walking amongst us.
Talking with Rams yesterday, I heard that many of the professionals who go to his gym have lost their jobs. They come in at the same time--what used to be after work--to use the machines and feel the normalizing effect of the old schedule, sweat and physical activity. They're little more than strangers to him, but he makes a conscious effort to stay a bit longer and chat with them to keep building that human connection.
It's pretty demoralizing to have lost your job, after years of hard work and experience, without the ability to scoop up another one. If you have a family, double that feeling of loss and fear.
That deliberate act of reaching out in conversation is comforting, don't you think? It's good to have the awareness that angels of simple kindness are walking amongst us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)