Saul Good and Co.

What Binds

Last week I spent a lot of time in Maine, with my family. Some at the home where I grew up, some in another town, a place I've never been, where my aunt lives now. Maine is.... pretty dang rural. It's also pretty dang beautiful. We had a nice time together, laughing, reminiscing. Having a big family sleepover like the old days, though we never did get to play any games. We gathered to pay our respects, to say our goodbyes to Joe.

Of course it's always sad when a life ends, particularly one that touched so many others, but it's also such a beautiful thing to witness all those lives together, remembering, reverent, full of love. Seeing a body does nothing for me, nothing. I might as well be looking at a doll. But seeing Joe's grandsons accompanying his casket down the aisle, followed by Joe's sons and daughter and their families, the rest of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren, made me well up with emotion. That is what it's about. Those left behind, those keeping the flame alive.

It amazes me, the layers of lives. How incredible in the first place that Joe and Memere were able to build a life together in their third act, and a hell of a robust life at that. And beyond that, the fact that  there can be all these people connected by the two main people, thriving enclaves who didn't know each other well, but deeply respected and appreciated how much the matriarch and patriarch meant to each other's families. To me one of the best parts of the memorial process was seeing pictures of Joe as a young man, which I've never seen, but also seeing so many pictures of my own grandmother that I've never seen at birthdays, graduations, all the important gatherings for Joe's people where she was as big a presence as he was in ours. It just touched my soul and made me feel so solid good that living can be that way. Love multiplied by love. There is so much in the world that just breaks a person down, I mean look at the news today (or don't), I'll never get over how rare and wonderful it is, this thread among humans.  I say it's as a fine a thing as any not to get over.

This isn't exactly the picture I wanted to use today, and I've used it before besides, but it's one of my favorites anyway. I don't think I have to say why.

 

FIVE

My truest love, my greatest joy, my one and only boy is five today. This guy! Just, this guy. Every year I say it's the best year of my life, the best age, and every year it's the truth.

Welcome to the even best-est, my magical weirdo. All my love, Mama.

So Long, Much Love

When I was younger I used to have sleepovers at my aunts' houses all the time, and we'd stay up late and play cards or board games and gab. These sleepovers are responsible for some of my favorite memories, with so much talking and laughing, I learned so much about life, and got to spend priceless quality time with some amazing women. I have an especially clear and fond memory of the time I was staying at my Aunt Peg's for a few days as I often did in my childhood, my Aunt Patti was there too, maybe my cousins were there at the time, maybe not, but Memere definitely was. And my aunts were teasing her about the gentleman she'd just started seeing, with whom she planned to attend a county fair.

"The Skowhegan Fair? Or the 'Affair in Skowhegan?'" Aunt Patti quipped, and we all laughed, even if I was too young to appreciate the joke, happy for Memere that she had a chance to do something fun, to spend time with this gentleman, with whom she seemed quite taken. His name was Joe, and his "affair" with Memere turned into one for the ages. These two, both widowed at a young age, found love in their sixties, forming a partnership based on mutual respect and commitment to faith and family that lasted for a few solid decades, the last few years with a ring on Memere's finger. At the heart of it, they were the best of friends. And this weekend my Memere's best friend passed away, peacefully and surrounded by family.

Joe was one of a kind. A real New England character, he knew how to do everything, from managing a thriving garden to building...anything. He was also probably the physically toughest person I've ever known, but such a gentle soul, a good sport, his disposition a perfect complement to Memere's. I was always grateful that he and Memere had each other for such a long time, and in such good health, living actively and independently until the very end. They danced and socialized and kept sharp with endless games of dice and cards. They embraced each other's large families, and were in turn embraced. So many kids were born into my family after they got together, Joe being the only grandfather (or great- and great-great-grandfather) that they knew. He was there for everything, and there for my grandmother. And as it happens when people live such long lives, when she died, he followed not long after.

It is a loss, and of course I'm sad. But his was such a long and well-lived life. His legacy of  love and kindness deserve be celebrated. But oh, we will miss you, dear Joe.

 

 

One Direction Would Not Be a Fan of Me

I've been down on my body lately. Way more than I want to admit to anyone. I don't want to talk about it in any detail. All I want is for it to go away, I'm so bummed out and sick of it. In an effort to rise above my latest bout of unshakeable idiocy, I'm challenging myself to list 10 ways I unabashedly appreciate and care for my physical body. No self-deprecating comments. No qualifying or conditional statements. Just love. OK here goes:

1. I'm strong in ways I never anticipated. Earlier my yoga instructor had us attempt tripod headstand. It's a basic headstand, in yoga terms, but if you asked me this morning if I thought I could support my body's weight on my head and hands and hold it for 10 breaths, I would have said no.

2. I've got great eyebrows. Even when plucked-to-the-bejesus brows were all the rage, I loved these babies the way they were because they are distinctive and they make me...me.

3. Nice strong, defined shoulders. Proud shoulders. The kind halter tops were made for.

4. Cute feet. If you are the kind of person who is capable of seeing feet as attractive at all (I know a lot of people aren't), you would agree that mine are a nice pair.

5. Good posture.

6. Nice skin. Plus I like my laugh lines, because they tell me that my face spends a lot of time laughing and smiling.

7. I can still lift and carry my kid when I need to.

8. My legs are muscle-y.

9. My hair is thick and a little wavy and has natural highlights and always bounces back, no matter how I chop it.

10. I am in optimal health. Everything works. I'm not limited by mobility or breathing or any illness-related obstacle. I could do whatever I wanted to do if I tried. And my working brain knows this and still often fails to appreciate it properly. But I really really am grateful for it.

I could name 50 things I want to change about my body in the blink of an eye, but rounding up this 10 was really hard, even for me who is typically able to achieve a higher-than-average level of  comfort in my skin. That is so dumb! I think we--women mostly--have this tendency to apologize for ourselves so that we don't sound like we're conceited. I'm not worried about sounding conceited though, that's not what this is about. It feels defiant. Like sexy freedom, listing ways you happy with yourself and focusing on those things.

I'm not saying that if you want to change something about yourself that you shouldn't. Not at all. Just that if you are trying to change something, you shouldn't wait until it's changed to find a modicum of inner peace. Honor yourself along the way. Life is too short and even if you're 20 you've probably already wasted a lifetime's worth feeling inadequate. I don't know that I'll ever succeed in my quest to re-wire my thinking so it doesn't default to the critical place, but this is a way to help fake it on the journey. You should try it! And share the love.

I've Had a Few, But Not Too Few to Mention

You know that saying, that it's better to regret something you have done than something you haven't done? I think it's mainly true. Except in the case of, you know, murdering. And I've stated before that the only real regrets I have in my life are related to the times I've hurt someone, which is also mainly true. Then this morning Mike and I were talking about being kids, and how cruel they can be, and we talked about the ways that we were little a-holes as children, and how it was our job now to keep HR from repeating the little monster pattern to the best of our ability.

What the conversation brought up for me, as I thought back on the times that I was cruel as a child, was that  while I was rarely actively mean or hurtful, I had the ability to do something about other kids' cruelty, but I didn't. I didn't speak up. I didn't make a stand, even when I felt something was wrong. That is a case where I didn't do something, and I fully regret my lack of action.

Look, I'm about as easygoing as it gets. Sensitive. Averse to confrontation, and with a teacher's pet eldest child's peacemaking tendencies. I've always preferred to just float along, living and letting live. But it doesn't mean I wasn't a jerk from time to time. I make no excuses for it. I knew what it was like to be excluded, but I still excluded people, even my best friend, when it suited me.  And worst of all I was a bystander. More than once. But there was a particular ongoing incident of targeted bullying in my circle of friends that comes to mind. I never took up for the victim, and in a way I think it's worse than the straight bullying, because I had all these bad feelings in my heart about what was going on, but I swallowed them. I didn't stand up for her. I didn't personally attack her. Hell, I didn't love her, but her presence didn't offend me. I didn't get any pleasure in making her life hell. I did have a lot of fun mocking her behind her back with my girlfriends, and I regret that too. But mainly it was letting it go on without even trying to be a voice of dissent, that's what troubled me even then. My mother caught wind of what was going on and was horrified that I could be a part of something like that. When I assured her that I didn't do anything (technically true, but she's no dummy), instead of punishing me, she told me a story about a time she witnessed a cruel prank when she was in high school, and about the breakdown she nearly suffered trying to find justice for its victim. It was a very sad story, and I cried and felt fully ashamed listening to it. This was a very smart parenting play as well as solid evidence to my mother's character, but it still didn't make me brave. I should have taken a stand against my friends, but I didn't. I didn't take my Neville Longbottom moment, not when it counted.

Anyway, we all grew up. The bullied girl turned out fine as far as I know. Everyone else turned into lovely adults who went on to have children. Both the growing up and the spawning change how you see everything. These women, whom I still and always will love, maybe have their own regrets, or have made some peace with the situation. It's so very far behind us now. I tell this story not to vilify or shame anyone else involved. I can only speak for myself, and my role in it, and how I hope I never have to share it with HR but how I probably will in some form. A lesson, a cautionary tale. Maybe there's some redeeming value in that, maybe not. Things happen all the time for no reason and children will always be little a-holes. I have a distinct zero-tolerance parenting policy on certain behaviors, and meanness to other kids is already high on the list. Mike and I will always be hyper-vigilant about that. I accept that even the greatest and most well-meaning parents can produce terrible kids, or good kids who have terrible moments,  but as much as I can possibly control the situation, NOT ON MY WATCH. 

And that's enough of that heavy for such a glory of a day.

Modern Day Bartleby

I've been thinking a lot about the concept of "busy" and people who are always busy and how I'm not one of those people. Not really. It's partially by design. I truly value my free-form lazy time. But I am also extremely skilled at opting out of things I don't really want to do. Don't get me wrong, I fulfill my obligations. I do all the grown up stuff. Going to my job. Getting my kid to school. Doing what is required without complaint. That's just life. As a family, we get an A-plus for time management, and I think that helps cut down on the frantic-ness that makes you feel stressed and overburdened.

If you ask Mike, he would probably say he's busy. Even though we live in the same house and share a family existence, his experience is different from mine because his job never ends. The one he goes to with actual hours, and the one he's doing all the time in almost every spare minute. I get to come home after my 40 hours and be done. He doesn't have that luxury. But he also chose that, it was part of a family decision that enabled him to be home with our boy for the past five years. HR will be in kindergarten in the fall, and I hope we can do some rearranging so that he gets a chance to be more chill. Conversely, as HR gets older there will probably be things that will make us busy- activities and that ilk. But for now, I relish how un-busy I am. I hope that never changes.

With few exceptions, if there's something I really want to do, usually I will find a way to do it. Performances, trips, parties, weddings, try and keep me away. Otherwise I hardly ever feel obliged to attend something I'm not really into. Bridal showers for a close friend or family member, for example, is an exception. Funerals. That ilk. Who likes these things? You just go anyway because they mean something. But generally speaking, I don't feel put-upon because I don't martyr myself into it. Saying that could come across as selfish, and to some degree it is. I'm selfish with my time. And things like turning down an invitation to, say, a Pampered Chef party, are totally freeing. Maybe I'll buy your shit if you give me a catalog for use on my own time. But I'd prefer not be scheduled to the teeth with something that is not up my alley. And I don't feel even a little bit bad about it.

I'm not saying I have the secrets of life all figured out or that you should try to be an unrepentant quasi-antisocial lazy bean like me. Just giving a peek into my psyche. The diary of a busy-fighter.

A Little Short, A Little Sweet

Hot damn what a weekend! I riggedy-wrecked myself on our highly anticipated first annual Siblings' Feaster Crawl, but in the best way. There was copious eating and drinking and... surprise karaoke. The consensus is that every phone running out of charge by night's end was a blessing, as I do not need to be confronted with evidence that my brother's and my duet on "Dream a Little Dream" was anything short of a harmonious masterpiece. Let me have my little illusions.

The lot of us rallied way too early for HR's belated Easter clue hunt, he was thrilled, and were still able to make the most of yesterday's gorgeous, longed-for (to the point it felt a figment of our collective imagination) 70 degree day.

And now Opening Day at Fenway Park. Go Sox, Go Spring, Go Life!

Fluff, Frippery and Eye Snacks

I'm excited because I ran this morning for the first time since the summer and so far my heels are feeling fine. I did a very easy mile and a half, just to test out the equipment, and even though I couldn't help lamenting lost progress, it just felt so good to be moving like that again. Just in time for spring and all the outdoor freedom it potentially affords. I do love my treadmill, but running outside is just better. Sorry, that shit's boring to read about.

You know what's never boring though? Cute boys. I mean, to people who think that boys are cute. As I mentioned, spring is maybe going to happen any day now, and it kicks into gear that part of me that takes inventory of famous or semi-famous people whose whole deal I enjoy taking in through my eye-holes, and I dedicate an entry to unrepentant objectifying. I swear I'm not a total creep, I just appreciate nice aesthetics, it interests me who/what is appealing to people and why. I will point out that each of these dudes bring something to the table that doesn't quite fit into two dimensions, even if that's the only way I'm going to present them.

Babes, Spring 2015 Edition

Do you watch Fresh Off the Boat? If you don't, start now. Every single person on the show is adorable but the dad, played by the fly Randall Park, wins for adorablest.

What's not to love about beer-brewing Scots? Both of the Brew Dogs have their charms, but I'm team Martin.

Lisa Bonet's baby daddy Jason Momoa is not a new addition to the roster, but the start of Season 2 of The Red Road reminds me. I mean, just come on with that. All that barely contained menace.

Kumail Nanjiani - something about that little lisp, I think. I'm pumped for Silicon Valley.

I am bored to deff by Fiona's storyline in this season's Shameless, but I do approve of  her boss. If Jeffrey Dean Morgan's fine shoes had to be filled by someone, I'm glad it was Dermot Mulroney.

Five is enough, I think. Though there might be additions in the comments for days (please add your own, obvs). Luckily for life there's no shortage of cute boys and girls in the world, non-celebrity ones even.

Maybe I'll close out the week with something substantial for tomorrow's entry. Or maybe I'll just leave this up here awhile for my fellow looky-loos.

Semi-appropriation

I've never cared for the word "yummy" and I don't use it. To me, it's a sleazy wink of a word, creepy and reductive, crammed  with unwelcome innuendo. Predatory, even. I didn't realize I had so much baggage about this word, yeesh.

(^^ These guys would say "yummy."^^)

Anyway the thing is that lately I'm warming up to it, in terms of imagery. One of my yoga instructors uses it from time to time to describe a certain feeling during practice, and it evokes stretched and singing muscles, good warmth and contented sighs. ("Join us for this class with acoustic guitar. It'll be a chill flow. Yummy.") Yesterday when I asked HR how his day was, he replied, "It was yummy!"

I don't know what he's talking about, oh, 60% of the time, so it could have been referring any part of his day or the day before, most likely a snack he had eaten five minutes previous, plus he could have been using the term inaccurately to begin with, but the way the statement was delivered made me think how much of my life I want to fall under that banner of yumminess.

What I mean by that is, a down-in-the-belly but not necessary food-related feeling. It's the way I imagine Nigella Lawson feels all the time. I mean idealized TV Nigella, not the flesh and blood person with actual feelings and flaws. Unapologetic about placing priority on enjoyment, very warm and comfortable, just rock solid allll right. Well shoot, I just described a Hobbit. But I also relate to Hobbits even as I'll avoid books about them at all costs.

I want to make a point of isolating that feeling of yumminess when I encounter it, identifying it when it's happening, appreciating and making the most of it. I also want to make a point of taking all the things I associate with it and applying them to a better word because YUMMY still skeeves me out.

Suggestions? (Not "delicious," either. That's an 80s soap opera word.) Also, do you have a complicated relationship with a certain word?

 

Sprung

The sun is shining, it's opening day for baseball, and I have every reason in the world to be psyched about life. Hence, I am. We had a great holiday weekend, spending Friday with Mike's family celebrating Passover, having a low-key Saturday, and Easter Sunday being like... every other Sunday. That's because next weekend worked out better for my family, so we will observe then. I wonder if there will come a time when HR becomes a stickler about the actual dates of things, or if he'll be content to go along with our tendency to formally celebrate things like birthdays and holidays when they're most convenient. It's just how we roll, hopefully he'll keep rolling with us.

The time on Passover was especially nice because HR has a gaggle of cousins on Mike's side, and he got a concentrated amount of time with them. He and his age-mate cousin get along like magic, which makes me so happy. I feel like I hardly saw him all day because they were off playing, and that's all I could ever have hoped for. Plus the food, drink and company was top notch as always and I got a proper baby nephew fix. My oldest nephew left for a few hours for his first official driving lesson meaning he's grown up now and what is this craziness? The Passover when he attended in his little vibrating baby chair, barely a few weeks old, can't be 16 years ago, and yet it is.

Anyway, it's nice to have a belated holiday to look forward to, with an egg hunt for HR and a special FEASTER night out for my siblings and me. Not that I want to wish this week away, but I actually sort of do.

Don't sweat it bunny, you'll be right on time at our place.