Last night I was the first to arrive for dinner. It was my monthly book club which rarely talks books but manages to cover a vast range of other topics. I arrived at the restaurant, an old neighborhood standby that had recently relocated to a deserted stretch of 8th street. Not feeling like waiting outside in the cold, about to snow dark, I looked around to see if anything was open where I could browse for a few minutes.
Right next door was a piercing shop. Glancing in the window I recognized almost none of the shining bits and pieces but I ventured in. The man behind the counter took one look at middle aged me and looked back to his magazine. Apparently a funky vintage coat and cool boots don't make much of an impression.
Still, I walked the dimly lit gauntlet to the back of the store and asked if they had any nose jewelry. He glanced at me again, spotted the gold glimmer in my nostril, and pulled out a black velvet display studded with the tiniest of jewels.
He got friendlier as I asked about different options and which were easiest to change and why. I then screwed up courage to ask if he could explain how to get my own piercing out. There's a mysterious labyrinth living inside my nose that's a puzzle I afraid to attempt.
Excitedly he explained how to remove the u-shaped stud, even drawing a diagram to refer to. I then learned that should I buy something there, the salesperson would help me remove the old and insert the new.
I gave a secret moment of silence to those whose job it is to stick their fingers up other people's noses all day.
I saw what I want. A bezel cut tiny diamond set in white gold. Simple. Clean. Sparkly.
I'm thinking that should all my kidney testing go as planned, I'm treating myself to some new nose bling on the way home.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
life changing change
Yesterday morning, while having coffee with a friend, we spent a lot of time talking about potential change. Going back to a conventional job versus staying home with kids, what that juggle might be like, how we felt about where we are, where we could be, where we should be. And then, as we were walking home, we ran into another friend who looked stricken as we said hello. On the verge of tears. She'd found out the day before that her best friend had breast cancer.
Boom.
The trajectory of that woman's life changed in one sentence. Nothing would ever be the same. Out of nowhere she, her husband, her kids, her parents, her support system were plunged into the unexpected, the unknown, a dark, scary place where there were no guarantees everything would be ok in the end.
To be honest, no one can ever know all will work out but we live (or at least I do) in this place where we can pretend to have control.
We don't. Not really.
Not at all.
Another friend of mine lost his apartment this week. The recession hit him hard and he can't afford to keep his home. After years he's starting completely over. He'd tried, for too long, to maintain that everything was fine while his foundation was being worn out from under him.
I too, am standing on a precipice. It's not coming out of nowhere—I'm choosing this road instead of it choosing me. No, actually, it's not that black and white. I'm not choosing this out of nowhere. I'm choosing it because I have no choice. There's no way I couldn't give my brother a kidney. Put more plainly, of course my kidney is his.
Of course.
But this road is fraught with unknowns. My first physical is next week. It could be that I'm a relatively healthy 46 year old. It also could be that there's all sorts of stuff going on in my body I don't know about. Yet. But soon I will. And after all that gets sorted out, once I have the green light to move forward, once we're tested and matched and tested again, once we're in the hospital and prepped for surgery, I still won't know. I won't know until I wake up whether I'll have one kidney or two. My brother's body is so compromised they won't know until they open him up whether he'll have room for a new organ.
All this could lead to nothing. Or a life, two lives, could be drastically, dramatically changed.
Whew.
Life smacks you in the head sometimes and leaves you reeling. But, still, it's better than the alternative.
Boom.
The trajectory of that woman's life changed in one sentence. Nothing would ever be the same. Out of nowhere she, her husband, her kids, her parents, her support system were plunged into the unexpected, the unknown, a dark, scary place where there were no guarantees everything would be ok in the end.
To be honest, no one can ever know all will work out but we live (or at least I do) in this place where we can pretend to have control.
We don't. Not really.
Not at all.
Another friend of mine lost his apartment this week. The recession hit him hard and he can't afford to keep his home. After years he's starting completely over. He'd tried, for too long, to maintain that everything was fine while his foundation was being worn out from under him.
I too, am standing on a precipice. It's not coming out of nowhere—I'm choosing this road instead of it choosing me. No, actually, it's not that black and white. I'm not choosing this out of nowhere. I'm choosing it because I have no choice. There's no way I couldn't give my brother a kidney. Put more plainly, of course my kidney is his.
Of course.
But this road is fraught with unknowns. My first physical is next week. It could be that I'm a relatively healthy 46 year old. It also could be that there's all sorts of stuff going on in my body I don't know about. Yet. But soon I will. And after all that gets sorted out, once I have the green light to move forward, once we're tested and matched and tested again, once we're in the hospital and prepped for surgery, I still won't know. I won't know until I wake up whether I'll have one kidney or two. My brother's body is so compromised they won't know until they open him up whether he'll have room for a new organ.
All this could lead to nothing. Or a life, two lives, could be drastically, dramatically changed.
Whew.
Life smacks you in the head sometimes and leaves you reeling. But, still, it's better than the alternative.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Today was an old-fashioned, juggling, various pieces of my life colliding kind of morning.
After walking the dog, getting 2 kids out and to school, and having a super quick coffee and even quicker conversations with various friends I hadn't seen since before the winter break, I had a FLOW documentary brainstorming session with several writers and producers, one of whom is an old friend, someone I adore but hadn't seen in awhile. After the meeting we spent time catching each other up and in a matter of minutes we touched on cancer, breakups, breakdowns, death, parenting, work, and kidney donations.
There's been a lot going on.
Head-shaking, daunting, soul-shattering stuff going on.
We sighed. We empathized. We nodded our heads like 2 little old ladies sitting out on a stoop in the Bronx, wearing babushkas, sharing the drama and illnesses and challenges we'd be living with.
In spite of everything we're both relatively ok. Dealing with what is. Appreciating where we are. Hoping the worst is over.
It's life and it's not always easy. Sometimes it's impossibly, painfully, heart-crushingly hard.
then went yoga where the theme was all about letting of of expectations and the challenges of being. Just being. After a lovely class that ended with a heavenly shivasana I had a remarkable conversation with my teacher about being present and letting go of trying so hard/too hard to get there.
From there I headed home where my puppy was waiting for me. I scratched her belly until we were both blissed.
Yes, it was quite the morning. Full of connection, movement, emotion, thoughtfulness, creativity, love, enlightenment, sympathy, pain.
My life is so extraordinarily full. Sometimes all I can do is step back and take it all in. Sometimes I'm swimming in it, drowning in it, barely able to stay on top of the water. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed by it all, all I can do is sleep more than usual to keep from losing it.
I'm feeling anxiety creep in.
I'm scared of the road I'm on. There are times I can hold onto being in the moment and letting go of expectations, of the future, of control, but the truth is that more often I want to, need to know everything will be ok. That I'll be ok. That all will be fine in the end.
I once wrote something called "The Everything is Fine Book" and that's the mantra I need to hear when life gets to be too much.
Everything is fine.
And truly, everything is fine. Or at least it is the way it is and one can fight it or be fine with it.
I'm working on the being fine part.
After walking the dog, getting 2 kids out and to school, and having a super quick coffee and even quicker conversations with various friends I hadn't seen since before the winter break, I had a FLOW documentary brainstorming session with several writers and producers, one of whom is an old friend, someone I adore but hadn't seen in awhile. After the meeting we spent time catching each other up and in a matter of minutes we touched on cancer, breakups, breakdowns, death, parenting, work, and kidney donations.
There's been a lot going on.
Head-shaking, daunting, soul-shattering stuff going on.
We sighed. We empathized. We nodded our heads like 2 little old ladies sitting out on a stoop in the Bronx, wearing babushkas, sharing the drama and illnesses and challenges we'd be living with.
In spite of everything we're both relatively ok. Dealing with what is. Appreciating where we are. Hoping the worst is over.
It's life and it's not always easy. Sometimes it's impossibly, painfully, heart-crushingly hard.
then went yoga where the theme was all about letting of of expectations and the challenges of being. Just being. After a lovely class that ended with a heavenly shivasana I had a remarkable conversation with my teacher about being present and letting go of trying so hard/too hard to get there.
From there I headed home where my puppy was waiting for me. I scratched her belly until we were both blissed.
Yes, it was quite the morning. Full of connection, movement, emotion, thoughtfulness, creativity, love, enlightenment, sympathy, pain.
My life is so extraordinarily full. Sometimes all I can do is step back and take it all in. Sometimes I'm swimming in it, drowning in it, barely able to stay on top of the water. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed by it all, all I can do is sleep more than usual to keep from losing it.
I'm feeling anxiety creep in.
I'm scared of the road I'm on. There are times I can hold onto being in the moment and letting go of expectations, of the future, of control, but the truth is that more often I want to, need to know everything will be ok. That I'll be ok. That all will be fine in the end.
I once wrote something called "The Everything is Fine Book" and that's the mantra I need to hear when life gets to be too much.
Everything is fine.
And truly, everything is fine. Or at least it is the way it is and one can fight it or be fine with it.
I'm working on the being fine part.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Home is where the hot water bottle is
Last night, after a mind and body numbing day of travel, of cars and buses and planes, of endless sitting in cramped spaces, I slid into bed at 10, too exhausted to do anything but gratefully lie there.
I had a moment. A delicious, blissful moment. My sheets were soft and smooth from countless washings. I was surrounded by fuzzy pillows and blankets (both something my family can't live without). And as I burrowed down my toes hit my almost burning hot hot water bottle.
I intended to read for a bit but I was so happy, so cozy, so comfortable I laid there letting the warmth seep in.
I was home.
No matter how lovely a vacation is, I'm always so happy to be back home. To drive through NYC in the twilight, street lights reflecting on the wet sidewalks. To breathe the crisp, fresh air. This time, for the first time, to open the door and see a super happy puppy literally vibrating with excitement. To walk crowded sidewalks knowing I'd find a good cup of coffee. To hear the noises of the street as I fall asleep.
Dorothy was right about this one.
I had a moment. A delicious, blissful moment. My sheets were soft and smooth from countless washings. I was surrounded by fuzzy pillows and blankets (both something my family can't live without). And as I burrowed down my toes hit my almost burning hot hot water bottle.
I intended to read for a bit but I was so happy, so cozy, so comfortable I laid there letting the warmth seep in.
I was home.
No matter how lovely a vacation is, I'm always so happy to be back home. To drive through NYC in the twilight, street lights reflecting on the wet sidewalks. To breathe the crisp, fresh air. This time, for the first time, to open the door and see a super happy puppy literally vibrating with excitement. To walk crowded sidewalks knowing I'd find a good cup of coffee. To hear the noises of the street as I fall asleep.
Dorothy was right about this one.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Vacation take aways
I wrote this yesterday but had no Internet connection to post with. And so, while I'm sitting in the dark, docked at port, not yet ready to gear up for a big travel day, I'm happy to relive yesterday for a moment or two:
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me Vacation take aways
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me as it can so often be so hard to get to. But thoughts kept cropping up at the edges. More actually appreciations and I wanted to make them more concrete before they slipped away.
My parents are remarkable. I am so grateful for them and I don't tell them that enough. They love me so whole-heartedly, they make things possible that otherwise wouldn't be, they are accepting and supportive and thoughtful.
I'm better at doing nothing than I thought I was.
The older I get, the less things bother me.
My kids have remarkable manners.
My clothes will soon be shared with a child of mine who already looks better in them than I do.
I can still pull off a bikini.
My body lets me know when it's had enough.
I finally learned all I need on a cruise are comfy pants and a long sleeved t shirt.
Whipped cream in coffee is heavenly.
I can survive without technology.
I'm getting better at letting go of the illusion of control.
Zeppoles stuffed with raisins are far more delicious than one could possibly imagine.
And I'm starting 2011 with no concrete resolutions except to walk up 10 flights of stairs once a day.
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me Vacation take aways
I'm lying here, on a heated chaise, water from the fountains trickling quietly, nothing but ocean and clouds and blue sky and warm sunshine beyond the floor to celling windows.
I was drifting in and out of empty, a gratifying place to be for me as it can so often be so hard to get to. But thoughts kept cropping up at the edges. More actually appreciations and I wanted to make them more concrete before they slipped away.
My parents are remarkable. I am so grateful for them and I don't tell them that enough. They love me so whole-heartedly, they make things possible that otherwise wouldn't be, they are accepting and supportive and thoughtful.
I'm better at doing nothing than I thought I was.
The older I get, the less things bother me.
My kids have remarkable manners.
My clothes will soon be shared with a child of mine who already looks better in them than I do.
I can still pull off a bikini.
My body lets me know when it's had enough.
I finally learned all I need on a cruise are comfy pants and a long sleeved t shirt.
Whipped cream in coffee is heavenly.
I can survive without technology.
I'm getting better at letting go of the illusion of control.
Zeppoles stuffed with raisins are far more delicious than one could possibly imagine.
And I'm starting 2011 with no concrete resolutions except to walk up 10 flights of stairs once a day.
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