Thursday, March 7, 2024

Happy Birthday, Tim!

The day was June 16th. It wasn’t quite summer in Buffalo, and if we’re honest, the snow piles were probably still melting at the end of the driveway like icecaps.  Like the birds, the humans wanted to mate after a long, cold winter.

Nine months later, and voila.  Another child born in the ‘70s.

My birthday is March 8th, and many of you have probably done the math and thought, “Ew, she was thinking about her parents conceiving her.”

I wasn’t.

I was thinking about Tim’s parents conceiving him. Ew. That didn’t come out right. I wasn’t thinking about anyone mating, I was thinking about the day and the weather not the act of conception. Ew.

For the past 30-35 years on this day, I say “Happy Birthday, Tim” within minutes of waking. He doesn’t know it and I’ve probably posted on his FB timeline a few times over the years, but without a doubt, I’ve wished him a happy birthday every March 7th since I can remember.

We were classmates forever.  His birthday is March 7th, mine is March 8th. One more day! One more day!

It started innocently enough during our birthday week. He brought in cupcakes, I brought in cupcakes. I imagine as we got into high school, he pilfered alcohol and cigarettes from his parents or his friends’ parents, I pilfered alcohol and cigarettes from my parents or my friends’ parents… it was a magical cycle through the years.

I suppose his birthday started the countdown to mine. Okay, Tim’s birthday is coming up. We’ll get the party started with him and then we’ll end it with mine. But it didn’t end with mine.  We still had Heb’s and then Missy’s birthday to celebrate in March. What a glorious week in cupcake/alcohol/cigarettes land!

I was always excited to get to my birthday. Not so much for presents, but because I knew the dark days of January and February were over. The birds chattered, the sun rose higher, the school year was nearly halfway done and it would be summer! The icecaps would be long gone… unless they weren’t; and overall, moods brightened. 

All because it was my birthday!

Happy Birthday, Tim.

Wednesday, February 14, 2024

Canis Lupus

Other than February 14th being a kinda, sorta made up holiday, it is also the anniversary of the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre where seven people – six of which were rivals of Al Capone’s gang, were murdered in Chicago. It’s strange to know that this happened 95 years ago in 1929!  95!  Two amazing things about this (to me) – 1) this historic date happened years before my parents were born yet they know who Al Capone was, and 2) I did the math in my head and I suck at math.

I spent a few minutes this morning thumbing through a magazine I bought last week : The History of Dogs.  It’s hard to believe that the domestication of dog breeding happened between 10,000 and 40,000 years ago. Yeah, that's a big space between years. Wouldn’t you just go with 40,000 years ago? I asked the same question and found that the dogs/wolves/canines that were domesticated didn’t live through the ice age. They went extinct just like the wooly mammoth. Duh.

Anyway, there is evidence of dogs (i.e. domesticated wolves) and humans spooning in gravesites together. And there is evidence that about five domesticated lineages existed at the time of the ice age.

Dogs have been bred and domesticated from wolves, foxes, and dingoes, but all dogs trace back to an extinct wolf species shared with the gray wolf: Canis lupus.

The descendants of the gray wolves we now know mate for life.  They have monogamous relationships and flirt with each other, nuzzle their snouts and bump their bodies together.  Of course, the male alpha and the female alpha in any pack have their pick of the litter during mating season. Semantics.

Other animals that mate for life: Sandhill Cranes, Beavers, Bald Eagles and of course, Macaroni Penguins where their joy at seeing one another is evident because they jump up and down, do chest bumps and flap their wings. Interestingly, the male stays at home with the kids while the mama hunts.  

Then we have the Gibbons, monkey-like creatures that mate for life with the occasional side tryst, break-up and make-up. They share a mutual need and understanding to coparent their offspring. 

Being that it’s Valentine’s Day, I fell into an article about love between humans and dogs. Did you know both humans and dogs produce oxytocin when they stare into each other’s eyes? I had no idea but now it makes sense why it’s impossible not to smile when your dog greets you at the door with their tails wagging and their bodies moving.  My Gracie used to smile when she saw me! That memory makes me smile just thinking about it.   

To end this, here is a picture I snapped of my boy while I was on a conference call:

 
 This is the picture I took about two minutes later, still on a conference call:

 
 He wanted to go for a walk and kept creeping closer. 

Happy Valentine's Day. 

Tuesday, January 30, 2024

My Default

 I wish I knew how to make the font Times New Roman the default font on Word. I’m sure there is a way to do it, I just haven’t figured it out; and it’s weird, but I dislike Calibri (body) because it’s the “go-to” font for everything.

I guess the morning hours are supposed to be about writing what comes to mind. If the font in Word is the first sentence then either I’m problem-free, not very intelligent, or avoiding something. I’ll go with the latter, but who knows?

I spent the better part of three hours trying to get to sleep last night. It could be because I play silly games in my bed, sitting askew on my pillows until my shoulder starts to hurt, and then try to fall asleep. I can’t seem to get anything to pull me away from the game. It’s another way to avoid things, I suppose. My heart starts to pound so fast in some moments that I think something is wrong and random pictures come to mind and I start to panic.  Then I inhale through my nose, long exhale out of my mouth a few times and my heart calms. Then I get scared that it calmed too quickly and oh no, what if it stops?

What is that? I mean, I know it’s anxiety but why?  Is it because I’ve failed to write every day – essentially gave it up for a few years in the early morning hours and because of that, my brain rewired itself to have panic be the default emotion?

I recall my early mornings before the kids got up, before the sun stretched it’s arms and yawned, before the birds peeped. Of course, my early morning consisted of a couple cigarettes and some big cups of coffee. It also included many words on paper, mostly about love and sharing kindness. It was my way of finding gratitude without mentioning gratitude or the need to find it.

I love that the Buffalo Bills players have the phrase Be Love on their helmets. I recall saying something similar. Show love, give love, be love. I remember using my label maker to write out the phrase and paste it to my refrigerator so I would repeat it a few times a day. It was so the kids read it too.

It seems a bit naïve now – 10 or 12 years later, but I don’t think it is. I think I was at a place in my life all those years ago where I needed to grow and from all the ignorance I had as a young(er) adult came the knowledge that I was imperfect, vincible (is that the opposite of invincible?), mortal and in need of a shit ton of love.

All those years ago. All those lessons I learned. That faith. It was so strong, so real, so necessary. I fell back on faith and landed softly.

Was I still a nervous fool? I think I was, but I don’t recall fretting over a lack of sleep. But I probably did.

I miss cigarettes right now. But at 51, it’s a habit I can’t have, especially since I’m so out of shape.

Yeah, I’d write, smoke, sip coffee, find faith, spout love and kindness and then I’d greet the children with joy, get them off to school, and start my day. I’d work out, get ready for work and be in the office vibrant and happy – even if I was broken inside, I always showed nicer. 

Kind of like Calibri and Times New Roman. 

For the past few years, Calibri has been my default. It’s fine. It’s convenient, it shows up regularly, it’s a bit rounder, and it’s what the majority of people use because it’s conveniently the default. But I don’t really like it. I tolerate it, sure. I use it conveniently, lazily. But Times New Roman is where it’s at. It’s slender, tighter, and reminiscent of my “finding Carrie” days. 

I’m going to switch it to be my default, minus the cigarettes.

Saturday, January 27, 2024

Forever Here


 Fifteen years ago. Everything changed.


The morning was pleasant. Working on a Dream was released. Bruce was going to sing at the Superbowl halftime show. The kids were at pre-school. I was at the Verizon office, and then out to lunch Jessica for her birthday.

Then Kathy called.

Jeff had a stroke.

My flight was booked. The kids would go with the ex.

Buffalo was in the midst of a snowstorm. Chuck picked me up at the airport. We went straight to the hospital. I lugged my suitcase in, up the elevator to the ICU. Everyone was in the waiting room – Cor, Cliff, Jim, Mom, Dad, John, Dana, Lynn…

Jeff. On life support with a breathing tube, swelling in his brain, bleeding.

Everything changed.

It’s okay that I’m sobbing. It’s okay. It means that I loved. That I love. That love exists in this world. It still exists because I feel the pain of my siblings, my mom. I hurt and love all who love Jeff, who remember him as a solid, vibrant, laughing, generous, broken soul.

Forever changed. Forever carrying grief in my heart like a tattoo. A tattoo that spreads to my head, swirling in the madness of loving and losing, wanting, and needing, disguised by time, cracked open in moments like this when I allow myself to remember, to feel and taste the pain again, to grieve.

It will linger through the day, through the rest of this month and next month. The memories of those six weeks when he was in the hospital, fighting for his life, offering hope and dismay, and hope again.

The smell of the hospital room, the tension in the waiting room. The notebook where we shared our thoughts. The doctor whistling in the elevator, the tune: “If I only had a brain”.

The kids greeting me at the hospital, their little suitcases trailing behind them. Their faces as they tried to understand why mommy was so scared, and sad, and hopeful, all at the same time.

My headphones playing Queen of the Supermarket, marveling at the line where her smile blows the whole fucking place apart.

The waiting room sofa where I attempted to sleep; across the room from Cliff.  When we gave up trying to sleep and getting a cup of black coffee in the early morning hours. Scared. Aware that something big had shifted, that maybe we’d never go back to how it was. How the family was whole. Intact.

The days that followed and then the weeks, and then plans for my birthday weekend. I would spend it with my brother in the rehab facility. I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

That Tuesday morning. The phone call from Mom. Falling to my knees and screaming “No.”

Maybe it’s not healthy to dwell. Maybe it’s not healthy to recall all these painful memories. Maybe it’s not right to know that even fifteen years later the pain is just as piercing, just as present, just as new as it was then. The pain of loving and losing and knowing love. Always secure in knowing that I hurt because I love. And because I love, I’m living. And because I love fully, he’s still living. In my heart, in my head, in the pain that grips me now.

He’s here and he’s still alive.

                                       

Friday, January 19, 2024

The Wolf Man

I was able to spend some time with work acquaintances last night. The Virginia Wireless Association held an event, and my coworker invited me to join. It was fun. I got to see some people I haven’t seen in a while, and more importantly, I got out of my pajamas and socialized.

As usual, when I think of my career in the wireless industry, I think back on my first couple years at Insite where I met Bryan Wolf. I got to know him as a boss when he would score my lease drafts with a red check or if I did a great job, a check plus.  There weren’t many checks without the plus after the first one.  During that time, we became great friends.  Then I got married and had a couple kids.  We still hung out, but not as often.

When the marriage was falling apart, Bryan called me out of the blue and asked if I needed some part time work. He didn’t know I was heading into divorce and the job I had at the ex’s company would soon be over. (Side note: I remember my resignation letter from that job. “I quit. The owner, my husband, is cheating on me and I feel it is a hostile work environment.”)  Bryan hooked me up doing Title reviews and offering reports on how to cure Title. He took 10% off the top and gave me the remainder. I made a lot of money for about six months while the contract lasted.

After that, we saw each other more often. We’d grab a beer on a random Tuesday evening (the one night during the week I didn’t have the kids) or we’d meet up with my neighbors on a weekend night I didn’t have the kids. We laughed. A lot. When you meet a decent human being who is fundamentally good and kind, you tend to gravitate toward them.  That was Bryan.

He died last August. It was a complete shock to all of us, and my heart broke in another place. I spent three sleepless nights crying and asking why.

Last night I met with my coworker, and she said she had run into another friend of mine who was very close with Bryan. He told her to say hello to me. I told her he was also a great human being and that we had a mutual friend who had passed recently.  Of course, I got somewhat emotional – swallowing back the tears that threatened to escape.  She nodded and said, yes, he mentioned it. He had to swallow back the tears as well.

I thought of a title for a story: The Wolf Man. I’m not sure where I’ll go with it or if I’ll even write it, but the protagonist is going to be this very tall, very kind, always smiling man. A man who loved his children beyond measure. A man who helped everyone and formed a social group that met once a week for years on Fridays for Happy Hour. I wasn’t part of the group, but I was always invited.

The last time I saw Bryan was in late June. We met up for a beer and made plans to see each other more regularly. He had invited me to his yearly summer fest and I regularly attended but had to miss this year – I was in Boone with Paige for college.

If I had known…

The Wolf Man.

I miss you, Bryan.


Friday, September 1, 2023

Fair Trade

I awoke early again, but was able to accomplish a deep sleep for nearly five hours. That’s triple the hours I slept over a span of forty-eight. Actually, I don't know if it's triple the hours. I tried counting but I suck at math. 

And I'm tired.

I suppose it’s okay to sometimes embrace insomnia. It won’t necessarily kill me to be up before the dawn. I used to do it all the time.

During my adolescence, I spent many nights tossing and turning – thinking about my siblings and my parents. For the most part, my parents got along, but inevitably they argued, sometimes quite vocally. Bickering sometimes erupted into insults that spewed through the air, landing hard on the surfaces around them. It was tough to sleep on the nights they had a blowout. Didn’t every child who heard their parents fighting fret about the marriage’s demise? I guess some people never heard their parents argue so fretting was over something stupid, like a boy. 

My point isn’t about my childhood. It’s about the reasons why we inadvertently lock ourselves inside insomnia’s cage.

In college, my schedule was erratic. In bed by midnight, up by 7 or 8, in classes; and then the power naps where I’d go back to the dorm or the apartment, lay on my back and shove my hands into my arm pits and fall asleep like a chicken tucking its wings. (It’s quite comfortable).

In law school, I spent a few all-nighters with the music blaring while I wrote legal briefs or research papers. I don’t even remember sleeping but I must have done it.

And then maturity and adult decisions. Where to live. Who to love. What to drive. What do for a living. What to do, period. If you marry and have children, the decisions you make include your spouse’s desires or your children’s needs, so consistent sleep is laughable.

Maturity does to sleep what infidelity does to a marriage. 

It fucks it all up.

I wanted to say it destroys or obliterates it but that’s not true. It devastates and damages it, but with help and sleeping pills (necessary for sleep or being crushed by your spouse’s behavior), you can overcome.

And I guess that’s my point. I’m running on about seven hours of sleep over a period of seventy-two hours (again, I suck at math), but for the second day in a row, I watched the sun rise over the waters in front of me. 

Trading some shut eye for that every once in a while is okay.

It’s better than okay. 

It’s dandy.

Thursday, August 31, 2023

Insomnia


I’m dealing with the second day of no sleep. Last night I went to bed at 10pm, fell asleep quickly and then woke ten minutes later… wide awake. I took melatonin. Nothing. I took a Benadryl. Nothing. I drank a glass of almond milk which always worked before. Nothing. I tried counting Bruce concerts I’ve attended. I tried thinking about book characters and plot lines. One of these always worked. Nothing.

NOTHING. I was up until 5:45am, tossing and turning. And cursing. And nearly crying.

Second day – very similar. Went to bed at 10pm, slept until 12:35am and I’ve been awake since. It’s now 5am and the coffee is brewing.

It’s been a rough couple of months. I was laid off in June, moved in July, got a new job in July and finally sold my Maryland house last week.  The new job has slowed to a crawl. Telecom (my industry) has had massive lay offs and defunding so I may end up unemployed again soon. Oh, and my husband got laid off. He got a severance package, along with about 750 other people in his company, but still.

The unemployment, the stress of moving. 

Small stuff. 

My windshield got hit by a rock, cracked down the middle. 

Small stuff. 

The mower broke. The boat broke. The faucet shot massive amounts of water. All small stuff.

One of my closest friends died last week. It was unexpected. I’ve known him and adored him for 23 years or so… just saw him in June. We laughed a lot. 

Big stuff. 

Big, big stuff. 

I cried for days, and I’m still shaken by it. 

It's why I’m not sleeping.  Every time I try, I think about him and his son & daughter and their children – his grandchildren, whom he adored. I will dearly miss my good friend. Always.

It’s still dark out and I’m awake. The sun will rise shortly, and I will see it peek over the trees in front of me as I write. It will glisten off the water and light will bob in the lake waves. The insects will fly so low over the water, touching it so lightly that it looks like it is raining.

I moved from bustling Maryland to a sleepy town in Virginia – a small town, and our house is on a cozy lake. My office faces the water. An office that was built from scratch on one side of the basement. An office I absolutely adore. It has my books, my pictures, my plants, my decorations… all mine.  Sometimes I daydream about Reese Witherspoon interviewing me for my bestseller and I will bring her down here and show her around. There’s a lot to take in… inspiration from how-to write and edit books, best sellers, classic authors, poetry. I have it all. And it’s mine.

I lost a job. I lost a couple nights sleep. I lost a good friend and consequently, I lost another little piece of my heart to the ether.

I have my family. My work. My writing. My books and my health. I have a dog superior to all dogs. I have children and a husband I feel very much the same about.

Ah, insomnia. If I’d been sleeping, I wouldn’t have written this.  

Ah, gratitude. I needed it. I found it.

It brought me back to me.

Happy Birthday, Tim!

The day was June 16 th . It wasn’t quite summer in Buffalo, and if we’re honest, the snow piles were probably still melting at the end of th...