Tempest Temptress (Revision of an Old Story)

"Why did you take me here?" We were sitting on a park bench over a cobblestone walkway.  His arm rested on the bench behind me as we looked out at the ending stages of an autumn sunset. I rolled a loose stone under the sole of my boot. In front of us was a life-size bronze statue of a boy holding the world at his fingertips. The globe was so delicately attached I worried that a strong wind would cause it to break off and shatter. Through the reservoir, light from a park lamp was reflecting onto the boy’s face. I searched his eyes to see if he was also concerned for the world, but I did not find any answers there.

The day had been dark. Leaves that seemed so brightly colored yesterday were covered in dirt and breaking at their seams with every footstep. With winter’s impending fate, I was trying to hold onto longer days and painless weather. I shifted closer to him, trying to ward off the cold, to hinder what was coming, unavoidably.

"I come here alone a lot. I just wanted to share it with you."

I reached for his hand draped on the back of the bench and closed my eyes as I drank in the moment. I wanted to share everything with him. "Look over there," he pointed to an assembly of dark clouds in the distance. “You can see the rain out there.” I could not see the rain; I still nodded. "There’s a storm coming. Let’s wait for it." His hand was warm and his voice was as calm as the reservoir before us. So we stayed.

There was a couple on another bench, a man and a woman near the end of their lives. I imagined it was not their first time waiting for a storm together. They sat side by side, looking straight ahead. His pinky intertwined with hers. They were surrounded by serenity and their silence screamed of loyalty, of love that could only come after a lifetime of watching storms roll in and out together. The old man turned to look at us and caught my eye. Would we be like them? Did we remind him of their youth together? We smiled at each other.

"You've made this old man's day," he laughed. Maybe, I thought, but this woman has made his life. So we sat, and we waited.

We laughed when we felt the first drops. It had taken awhile and we were excited it was starting. For a few moments we sat there with our palms up gathering the drops, watching others race out of the park. He even let me wipe a rain drop off his eyelashes before he leapt off the bench. “Come on, let’s go.” He started running backwards, motioning me to follow. I did. We had four long blocks before the shelter of his cheap apartment. As we ran, I turned and looked back at the couple on the bench. The woman had not moved at all, but the man had taken off his jacket to cover her. Through blurred vision, I saw him lean close to kiss her on the cheek.

He ran ahead of me, laughing between the raindrops, as they poured harder and harder with each block. The water soaked through our clothes, matted our hair to our faces. “Wait for me,” Black makeup was running down my cheeks and stinging my eyes. “Wait.” Thunder howled, demanding our attention; he did not hear me.

He stretched his arms out to the sky, fingers wide open; he ran.

He did not have a care in world; he ran.

 

He did not cover me with his jacket; he ran.

 

He just kept running.

It is winter now, years from that day in the rain. I find myself back in the park again. The bronze boy is frigid and ready to trade the world for a pair of mittens and a hot cup of soup. With no warm hand to hold, the bench is freezing. I stretch out both my arms and drape them across the bench’s back, embracing the winter. I let my breath out slowly, deliberately, watching as it drifts towards the world at my fingertips. I let the sole of my boot roll over a loose stone.

I have seen a lot of storms since him.

I have seen him in a lot of storms since then.

White Mourning

On a nice day it is easy to get lost in the Sharon, Massachusetts’s Memorial Graveyard. This past Thursday it was snowing. The ground was covered in white, each snow flake different, like I imagined each life had been. Looking out in front of me was the same view as looking behind and down and up, all equally white. There was something beautiful about new, fresh powder dancing around old souls.


We followed a caravan of cars to the hole that had been dug for my Grandma. My family arrived to watch them lower her grave into the ground. Right in front of our eyes, the plain wood box containing years of our memories went into the earth. Someone commented how glad they were that they did not just drop it down. I wished we had arrived a few minutes later. The men doing the work could not have been much older than 20. They wore blue uniforms and work boots covered in dirt and snow. Their hands were protected by work gloves and they talked as they worked, smiling, not disrespectfully, every once in awhile. We stayed in the car for as long as possible before the ceremony since it was scheduled to be outside in the cold.

They set up a tent for us with chairs for the family and the rabbi that knew my Grandma led the service. It was short, due to the cold, and maybe due to this long awaited moment, a death that not only saddened, but relieved, to be out of pain, to stop worrying and guilt, to finally imagine her smiling with Grandpa. The rabbi said wonderful things about her and I heard muffled sobs in each direction.

In Jewish tradition, we all buried her. The first person picked up the metal shovel and used the back end to throw dirt into the earth. We use the back because this should not be easy, the Rabbi told us. And, it was not. He stood the shovel up in the pile of dirt next to the grave and walked away. If he had handed it to the next person, it would have meant asking them to help. The person should only do this on their own free will. The second person pulled the shovel from the pile and again used the back end to help cover my Grandma. Then they turned the shovel over and used the regular side a few more times. At this point I could not feel my toes from the frost and found it hard to feel my heart. Eventually I heard the shovel slammed into the dirt and it was meant for me. I pulled it out and used the back end. As the dirt fell, so did stones and broken twigs. They made clanking noises against the wood. The rabbi had told us not to be offended by this. Just as we cannot take all the bad people out of the world, we cannot pick all the stones out of the earth. It is natural, just like death. It felt wrong to slam the shovel in the pile when I finished. I did not like the aggression I used, but knew I had to since the cold made the dirt stiff and broken. I walked away and got back into my father’s car where I turned on the heat and warmed my toes.

From the car, it felt like I was watching a movie. The people, all dressed in black, with hats and gloves and winter jackets to their ankles were contrasted by the soft white snowflakes that landed everywhere, on noses and cheeks, on winter hats and boot toes, on the grass and the dirt and in the hole in the earth that held my grandma’s body. They disappeared when they landed, dissolved into fabric, or joined the other flakes that created the white blanket on the ground. And then it was over. After so much heartache, it was over.

As everyone began walking back to their cars, I started to feel my toes again.

Eddie Spaghetti

Eddie Spaghetti with the meatball eyes,

Put him in the oven and you get french fries.

Sprinkle on the cheese, if you please,
Be careful with the pepper, 'cause you just might sneeze!






This song is originally from my cousin Ed's childhood, and now Ed and Carey sing it to their 10 month old baby, Lil' Eddie.  At our annual day after Thanksgiving party, we decided that each year we will come up with a new verse to the song.  By the time Lil' Eddie is 13 he will have so many versus, he won't know which one to be embarrassed by the most!

This is one of my favorite days of the year.  Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!!

Chasing the Leaves, the Tradition Continues

Every year since I graduated college my father and I pick a fall day to set out on a road trip and chase the leaves. We use foliage trackers to find peak seasons and have traveled all over the northeast. In the past we have gone to Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Connecticut. Our stops have included look out points off spiraling country routes, abandoned barns, fields with cows and horses, wineries, state parks and any exit off a highway that shows a stick figure man with a backpack and walking stick. We have met many strange, hick characters and sometimes run back into the car happy we still have all our teeth.

During the drive, there is plenty of time to chat. The first year, we talked about finding me a job. I had just graduated with an English degree and needed some guidance from my Dad. The years following had a similar tone, whether it was about making the most of the position I held, or striving for a new one, my Dad loves to talk business. We also talked about my boyfriends and my Dad’s business and our family, and music and leaf colors and pointed out different shaped clouds and hawks flying over head. At the end of the day each year, we are both exhausted, after hiking for hours and driving for more, and we are that much closer to each other.

This year was a little bit different. I had lost my job and due to the economy my father does not have that much business. Besides these facts it was harder for us to find a day to go for some reason. We missed the peak season of the north and even Connecticut had lost its luster by the time we found a date. We both felt the need to continue our annual ritual so we decided this year we would drive south. The top of Maryland and Delaware were peaking and we were up for the challenge.

My alarm went off at my parent’s house at 5:20AM, giving me just enough time to grab the coffee my Dad had made and walk out the door for 5:30AM. Off we went. Things were going really well and we were in New York on highway 87 in no time. My Dad prides himself on taking routes off the beaten path to avoid traffic. He calls them “short cuts” which is weird because they tend to be the opposite. That is the beauty of this day though. We are simply chasing leaves so every road we take brings its own adventure and we never worry about the time. However, on highway 87 we did hit some traffic. In fact, it was so bad that we turned the car off for an hour and waited for an accident to be cleaned up. All of a sudden Maryland was looking like a far off dream. We settled on Pennsylvania and picked up without missing a beat when the traffic began to clear. This being a foliage day, we try to keep the GPS to a minimum and use handheld maps to pick our routes, finding paths to State Parks.

As we drove, we listened to classic rock and Elvis and talked like we always do. This year I noticed that our conversations were less focused on me and my work and my romantic life. There was more of an equal balance, perhaps it is becoming a level playing field. We are two adults, a father and a daughter, two friends, rather than a dad and his child. Of course there was advice to be given, and I appreciated it, like I always will.

If you are picturing the scene and seeing red, yellow and orange foliage surrounding us with sunlight and blue sky, you are wrong. The day was overcast and the trees were barren. As we drove through New Jersey basically along the turnpike, I thought about why it was called the armpit of America. The towns we passed were run down with a lot of strange people out and about, clearly not working. The roads were ugly and the only fields we saw were littered with billboards. Finally after six hours of driving, we stopped at a New Jersey diner. It was the first place that did not have dirt on its door, or a hanging letter off its name’s sign. It seemed nice enough and my dad, who enjoys talking, was able to spark a long conversation about whether or not the crab meat in the crab cakes was fresh with the waiter. I could have easily answered 'no' for him, but he insisted on talking to the waiter who spoke English very well, but when I say that, I am lying.

“Is the crabmeat fresh?” My dad asked after exclaiming how great it was that there were so many options on the menu.

“Okay, crab cakes for you sir, and for you, miss?” The waiter turned to me.

“No, no, I just wanted to know if the crab was fresh.” my dad continued.

“Yes, yes very good”

“Yes, but is it fresh, or frozen crab?”

“Many, many compliments on the crab, sir.”

“Okay, but is the meat fresh or frozen?”

"Yes, delicious, one of the favorite dish."

"So, it is fresh."

“Ah, yes the crab meat is very fresh, from a can.”

That was the end of that conversation, but my dad thought he was very helpful and he enjoyed the Mexican dish he ended up getting very much.

I guess the reason I am telling you about this ridiculous diner experience is because it was really one of the highlights of the trip. My Dad and I got back into the car and decided we had gone far enough and it was time to head home. We would hike closer to home instead as the further south we went the trees just were not getting any prettier and it would not be worth the drive. We were both relieved to hear the other was happy with that decision and off we went. After driving some time we ended up stopping in Norwalk where my oldest sister teaches. It was her birthday and we made her day by showing up and surprising her. This was another highlight, seeing my sister’s classroom where she makes magic with her kids. In the parking lot of her school we saw the best leaf colors we had seen all day.

On the way home, we decided not to stop and hike anywhere. Exhaustion had set in and it was time to end the trip. My dad ended up confessing that he knew from the beginning we probably would not make it to Maryland, and he just wanted to spend quality time with me and continue the tradition. After hearing this, I realized I had thought the same thing. Our trip each year is not just about the leaves, but about each other. I am so lucky to have a dad I can spend 12 hours in a car with and actually enjoy it. (Once a year!) Although the sights were not spectacular, the ride was and I am so glad we went.

Con'GRAD'ulations

"Yo, look it up dude.  If you put that Sh*t in the ground, a f**king mushroom grows," Ah the sweet sounds of college students.  This is an actual quote coming from a group of boys I passed on my way to see the career counselor at my alma mater.  I wonder what kind of mushrooms they were referring to.  Portobello most likely.

Coming from an insurance company, a university is like an alternate universe.  People are walking leisurely, reading outside on the library steps.  The men have earrings and the women have Greek letters across the back of their pants.  While one student plays a guitar another tosses a frisbee and a professor catches it.  A girl is frantically writing some last minute assignment and a boy is smoking.  I resist the urge to tell him to stop now before it gets too hard.  Laughter and insecurities fill the air.  There is this special aura of growth and learning, development and dreaming that make the campus quad come alive.  It puts an extra spring in your step, because with education the possibilities are endless.  The only direction you can go is up.  You learn here, experience here, become a better you through knowledge here.  It is incredible.

I ran into an old professor who calmly congratulated me when he heard I had been laid off, and then offered to write me recommendation letters without skipping a beat.  Under his sunglasses and multi-colored beret, he smiled sincerely at me.  And why not.   He was out for a stroll on a beautiful campus, a break between classes where he teaches something he cares about.

I joined a lunch table of an old history professor and his history colleagues.  We chatted for a bit and they also told me congratulations in their own thoughtful ways.  Soon the conversation turned to history, confirming what we all always thought we knew.  Teachers eat, sleep and breathe their passions.  Interestingly enough, this also happens at Insurance lunches.  At least I think.  I was sleeping.

Today reminded me how great it was to be a student.  I look forward to trying it again.

Pumpkin, Ginger, Cloves, Oh My!

As my house filled with the smell of pumpkin and ginger, I could not help but reflect on fall.  A season of change.  The only season awarded not one, but two names.  It is crisp and efficient and if you do not plan, if you do not get outside to experience its wonders, if you blink, the leaves are already on the ground.  Fall is our chance to transition from summer's easy living to the harsh winds and bitter nights of winter.  It comes in gently, lulling us in with its sweet whispers,

"Look at my leaves, children.  Look how beautiful I am.  Come and climb my trees and hike my mountains.  Breathe deep, for this is fresh.  Breathe it in, for this is real.  This is beautiful.  This is autumn.  Take me in."

We always hear her, but do we listen?  This fall when you go pumpkin picking, head out as far as you can.  Do not miss out on the lonely pumpkin in the back. When filling your bucket with apples, sample at least five on the way back to the barn.  As you rake your front lawn into piles of leaves you better jump on them because before you know it the piles are frozen and it will hurt like hell when you land.

Too soon fall leaves us behind and winter begins to creep, the trees become barren and dark, the sun shines less and less and the air gets cold and tight and unfriendly.  Left of her are only the leaves on the ground, slowly mixing with mud and being covered by frosts and then snows and then blizzards.  Every once in awhile, in the dead of winter, you see a yellow leaf peaking through a frozen mass, and she winks at you, "Remember me?"

Fall marks change and transition.  It helps us bridge from one extreme to another, but we cannot forget about the wonders of fall itself.

That was when I noticed a faint burning smell coming from the kitchen.  Luckily I was able to rescue my Pumpkin Ginger Bread out of the oven before I damaged it too much.  I think I will have a slice with some cider.

Amusement (Park)

When I first heard about the drama going on in my old work place, I could actually feel the stress start to creep through my veins.  It started in my back and traveled up to my neck where I used to get sore from sitting and staring at a screen all day.  My legs felt restless from hours of crossing and uncrossing them at meetings.  My fingers began to ache from typing reports and I remembered the paper cuts, the staple removers and the look on an otherwise wonderful man's face when he was about to ask you for the smallest favor ever.  I went through a roller coaster of emotions. 

                                                            I felt the stress aforementioned.

Then guilt for not being there to help the poor souls who have had my old responsibilities dumped on top of their own.   

                                             

After that I felt this strange wave of happiness, like I was floating, like I had just come in from a run in the middle of a beautiful day and had the world at my fingertips...

                 

                               Then guilt again for feeling happy.

                           

                                      

Ultimately, I landed on content because I remembered that 'The Man' running the roller coaster had paused the big machine and politely asked me to get off.

I think I will have a corndog while I mull over my next ride.

                                

Robinson

I used to rip my calendar's last month's pictures out and hang them in my cubicle.  A polar bear family, a lone wolf, an African sunset, a hot air balloon, palm trees in the tropics, anything that made me smile, and made my co-workers smile...  This is one of many tell tale signs I might not belong in corporate America.

Last night I was cleaning out my cube and I began to take down each picture and put it on my friend's desks as a last good-bye.  They were not there, as it was 6:30PM- marking the latest I have ever stayed at the office.

It was just me and Robinson, the afternoon janitor who comes by each day to empty our trash bins.  Sometimes he would leave me Mexican candies next to my keyboard, and more recently a post-it note with a red flower, (personally hand drawn), next to my mouse.  We always said hello, how are you and good-bye.  It was a nice relationship and a good way for me to end, and for him to start, our day.

When I told him it was my last day and he began to cry, it came as a bit of a shock to me.  His english is not perfect so he held up a finger and repeated "sorry, sorry" as he backed away and the tears spilled out. I did not know what to do.  He explained to me, in broken english, that he had been working there for 11 years and it was hard for him to see people come and go.  He said he considered me a friend and he is only human, so this makes him sad that I will not be there anymore.  I ended up giving him one of my calendar pictures, a red flower, because he is a friend.  I think we would all be surprised how many people we affect everyday and this was just another reminder for me.

At the end of the day, I knew I would be missed. 

By the way, today marks the official first day of the rest of my life.  Wish me luck.

HR at the BAR

I went into my last Human Resources meeting with a pretty good attitude. I was pretty much fresh out of tears having already filled up two buckets that morning. So, I went in smiling. Lorie, my representative, was smiling as well and very kind. We soon found out we had grown up on the very same street, although 15 years apart. I even enjoyed this fact as she handed me my final packet to sign. We discussed her adorable shoes and how my co-workers and I were going out for a happy hour after work.
"Where are you having it?"
"At the new place down the road."
"Oh, I haven't checked it out yet..."
"Well, Lorie, you are more than welcome to join us" I laughed.
She laughed, too. "Oh, no, I don't want to give anyone a heart attack..I know my nickname is the grim reaper."
Hahaha. We both laughed and I told her to have a great night as I shut her office door behind me.

So, wasn't I surprised when Lorie walked into the bar. So was everyone else. She threw back one beer like a champion, said hello to everyone and then left for an early business dinner.

I actually enjoyed the fact that she came. (though I can't speak for everyone) It took a lot of guts. The whole thing was just another reminder to me that this situation is not easy for anyone. Not even the grim reaper.