feelings

your voice

a writer friend once told me about a poem she teaches to her creative writing classes. i’m usually not much for poetry, but it stuck with me then and is still with me now.

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver

“and there was a new voice/which you slowly/recognized as your own.” GAH. those words. so amazing.

i originally wanted this post to be about that because it is those words i am aiming for — to hear and recognize and utilize my own voice both while speaking and writing, but then i realized i’m in a self-imposed writing break as i try to figure myself out, so this post can’t be about that.

then, it hit me.

those words are also relevant for college grads (yay, mina!) who are now finished with their degrees and are headed out into the big, bad world. they’ve spent four (or five or six or two) years researching and reading and listening and watching and living and learning and doing all with the goal in mind of finding their voice.  some may have discovered it, but can’t hear it over the reverberations of expectations. some may have figured it out years ago and followed it to this exact point. some may be afraid of it. some may be proud of it. some may think it’s in another language. some may be.

some may need more time. some may find it in writing, some in mathematics, some in motherhood, some in underwater basket weaving, some in athletics, some in more school, some in cooking, some in teaching, some in whittling, some in engineering, some in music, some in luxury, some in combat, some in foreign lands, some at home.

some may call it a conscience. some may call it attitude. some may call it confidence. some may call it id or ego. whatever it’s called and whatever it is and wherever and whenever you find it, i hope you embrace it. we can’t wait to hear you.

feelings

library cards

i love books. this is not a surprise if you’ve read any of my posts. i read books, i buy them, i borrow them, i work on them at my day job, and yet, i can’t help but be amazed by the stories others tell me about them.

*****

this past weekend, i was at a friend’s baby shower and in lieu of a card, the hostesses had requested we bring a book to start the baby’s library. this idea charmed me, but also rattled me. there are SO MANY GREAT BOOKS out there, how could i ever decide on just one for this baby?

my automatic buy for babies is usually any book by sandra boynton. the board books are sturdy and bright, but most importantly, silly. the words and pictures are crisp and clean and hilarious. how can you not love a book that caters to both babies and parents? however, the countdown to the shower was closer than i realized and i had no time to run to the store. i turned to my own bookshelf.

(why do i have kids’ books on my shelf, you ask? i used to work for a large, corporate, trade publisher in the juvenile division and kept all the best books i (and my coworkers) worked on.)

i settled on THE POLAR EXPRESS.

for me, this book didn’t hold the weight it does for others. christmas books were/are abundant in my parents’ house, but i had zero memories of reading this particular book as a child and as such, my only memories of it were the struggles i incurred while working on the 25th anniversary edition which included the book, a slipcase, a cd, a sticker, and shrinkwrap. it was my first “kit” and there were a lot of moving parts when you were in the production department…

anyways, i realized my experience with this book was in the vast minority, so i tenderly pulled the book off my shelf and prepared it for the shower. when it was time for the mama-to-be to open my gift, she held it high so everyone could see. her mother in law immediately ran over to me with tears in her eyes.

“that’s the first book [my son] picked out when he got his first library card,” she whispered.

*****

until recently, the library in sister J and BILT’s town was a tiny store at the local mall because the main building was under construction, but as soon as the newly renovated library re-opened, a family outing was planned.

it turns out you have to be four years old to get your own library card. baby mac is three. that didn’t stop her.

while sister J was registering for the cards, BILT, baby mac, and bubba mac perused the kids’ section. baby mac was overjoyed with the selection and in fact, would pull a book off the shelf, race over to sister J to show her the new option, and then return to BILT to pick out another one. she ended up selecting four books that day to take home.

first choices

four books may not seem like a lot but it’s a strong enough foundation to support a lifelong love of books.

do YOU have any book stories to add to my collection?

wordpress com stats plugin
feelings

4.19.13

what a wild, nerve-wracking, quiet, loud, small, large, intense day friday was.

my phone had been charging in the other room, so i hadn’t heard the various text messages popping up throughout the night. i did hear the phone ringing at 6:30am, which ripped me out of bed as my phone doesn’t ring often and even more rarely does it ring that early. fearing the worst and feeling confusion as i saw it was the city of cambridge calling, i answered.

it was an automated voice telling me to stay inside as an armed and dangerous suspect was on the run.

i blinked the sleep out of my eyes and the confusion mounted as i saw i had 12 text messages from work’s emergency system, from cambridge’s emergency system, and from my two local-est friends. they painted a picture of an increasingly dangerous situation which started not that far from my apartment and ended up in the town over from mine. i flipped on the news and called my old roommate, hoping they and she could calm my increasing anxiety.

no one knew much other than it seemed the police force was always just on the brink of something.

twitter was on fire as was my phone. texts and calls and tweets made me feel slightly less alone, but the lock down issued for my town ensured i was. the hours pressed on, as did the police. i kept my sneakers on convinced a knock on my door was imminent. i checked in on friends and they checked in on me.

the sense of community was a fluid and strengthening thing, despite the fact none of us could see each other. we were doing our part by staying put and staying out of the way.

stories poured in of friends seeing their work places on TV and poured out: i used to live quite close to where the suspects’ apartment was. a picture of lunchtime, which included 5 extra faces was sent by a friend of a friend. why the extra company and how during a supposed lock down? a family, displaced by the search through the suspects’ old apartment, had been taken in by that friend of a friend. a coworker of mine recognized the older brother suspect as he lived a block away and had stopped to let said suspect pet his dog once upon a time. a friend in my apartment building had been at mile 22 waiting to “run bandit” pushing and coaching and supporting her friend to the finish line even though she herself wasn’t a registered runner. the friend’s pace was slower than anticipated meaning they were far enough from the finish line to get pushed off course by the cops.

more and more and more the stories piled up as the police chased down leads and all our questions remained unanswered. boredom took over as my 400 square foot apartment felt smaller than ever. i paced. i worried. i inhaled. i plopped on the couch. i exhaled. i recognized places on the news. i heard stories of a 19yo boy that painted an entirely different picture than the photos of the bombing did. i inhaled. everything was done with unease.

the decree that the lock down was over despite having no suspect in custody was heard throughout town, but i was too scared to leave. how could they not have caught him? how could he have escaped? how would they find him now? where would he go? they weren’t giving up, were they? was there more terror to come? what should i do now?

a mere 30 minutes later, i sat on the couch with a pounding heart as the suspect was located in a boat barely outside the 20 block search radius. the whoops and hollers and applause could be heard as people finally flooded the streets.

i myself grabbed a drink with a friend at the only open spot, the local-est of dive bars. it felt right being surrounded with the grittiest of bostonians because that day, that week, we all were.

as i walked to the library the next day (which took me past the building which was the younger suspect’s high school), i noticed the hastily scrawled, handwritten “closed until further notice” signs on businesses and the fear i thought i’d breathed away knocked at the corners of my mind. the relief i felt crashed into the sadness of the previous days. the pride and gratitude for the cops and first responders mingled with the uncertainty of how those physically affected by the bombings would heal. the confusion of how a 19 year old with such potential could turn out so dark tickled my writer’s mind.

the fact i couldn’t call my mom to make these feelings go away haunted me.

even those within the state of massachusetts but outside the borders of the locked down areas couldn’t quite understand what it was like hearing nothing outside all day and then a burst of sirens and then nothing and then helicopters and then nothing and then more nothing and then sirens, so how could my mom? how could i expect her to help when i didn’t know how to ask for advice?

i truly felt like an adult in that moment and yet i was sad i was having an experience outside her knowledge because i wanted nothing more than for her hug to soothe everything away.

instead, i commiserated with nearby friends and my neighbors and other locals, all of whom had never looked better or stronger or brighter.

this is boston after all and we are boston strong.

wordpress com stats plugin
feelings

4.15.13

i’m not sure what to say.

as of june 2013, i’ll have lived in the greater boston area for 10 years and to quote this article: “Even if we can’t say we are “from” Boston we surely confirm when asked that we are “of” Boston. It remains in our blood.”

that’s the beauty of boston — its small town feel.

patriots day is our day. it’s a day of cheer and celebration. as a state holiday, there’s no school or work and people flood downtown to take in the exceptional endurance of the marathon runners, to revel in the sense of community as spring like temperatures thaw our winter hearts, and to watch the red sox win, as they always seem to do on this day. smiles and beers and applause flow freely.

not blood. that’s not supposed to happen on patriots day.

nor fear or chaos or anger or confusion or explosions.

i used to work downtown two blocks from the finish line. i still know people who do. i know three people who ran the race. i know even more who were watching from the sidewalk sidelines. i sat there on the safe shores of the other side of the river at work and never before so grateful to be in the office on a day when the majority of this state isn’t.

on 9/11, i was ensconced in a classroom and missed everything as it unfolded. the devastation was external and internal and widespread and it felt far away and yet, too close. much too close.

on 4/15, i was in front of my work computer. the hallways were quiet, but the twitter updates roared in my ears and eyes. i couldn’t believe what i was reading, seeing, feeling. it was the first time i “experienced” a horror in real time.

i recognize every patch of the runner-covered street, each panel of blood splattered sidewalk, each blown out storefront window. this is my city and that area is the heart of it. i felt the panic, the horror, the confusion, the noise.

the love.

texts and voicemails (calls weren’t going through) and tweets poured in from all my long-distance family and friends. i sent out my own emails and texts checking in, accounting for, reassuring my local people. we all wondered what was going on and what was going to happen next.

we still are.

and so for now, amidst our search for answers, it’s important to focus on the good. the first responders who sprang to action. the runners who wore their hearts on their sleeves and left their best efforts on the race path, whether they finished or not. the civilians who offered help in any form they could, be it food or shelter or coats or phones or hugs or support.

the sense of community that always blooms on patriots day has grown wild and free enveloping us, encouraging us, strengthening us as we attempt to move forward, move away from the shadow of the bombing, together.

4.15.13

wordpress com stats plugin
feelings

happy third

dear baby mac,

today, you are 3. (you’re no longer a baby nor have you been one for awhile, but the (blog) nickname stuck and so i’ll address you as such.) you are, in fact, a big girl now. your brain astounds me, both in its cleverness, its sneakiness, its unlimited boundaries and its potential. you are parts silly, sweet, sassy, and stubborn, but your mom is more so, which usually sets you in your place. ;)

you have this unusual ability of appearing not to be paying attention, but when we least expect it, you pipe up with the correct answer or a spot on question or a poignant statement and we learn yet again not to underestimate you.

we’ve also learned you’re starting to know what we mean when we say “n-a-p” or “d-r-i-n-k”. slow down! you’re too smart!

you’re a bundle of emotion bouncing and hopping and running and giggling and screeching. no matter the emotion, it’s contagious, but by none more so than bubba mac (your wee bitty brother). he adores and stares and copies and follows you everywhere. i know you think he’s annoying, but you take your big sister role in stride as you proudly proclaim him, “my baby.”

you’re a funny little thing who’s blossoming into an amazing person.

princess practice
princess practice

your imagination marvels me, but so does your take on reality.

looking at decorations
taking in all the decorations

you may look like your mother’s twin, but your thoughts on having your picture taken are on par with your aunt’s (aka, mine):

silly bday girl

all in all, you’re one grand kid and i can’t wait to see what superhero things you accomplish/come up with next.

super birthday girl

xoxo,
aunt abby