the sound of a train whistle
the smell of cilantro
Bob's laugh
Patrick's hugs
reruns of "Frasier" and "The King of Queens"
Fenway Park
ginger ale
leaf-shaped cookies from Modern Pastry Shop on Franklin Avenue
Art Six coffee
my grandmother's words of wisdom
Sports Center
baseball season
newspapers
magazines
Shakespeare
Groundhog Day
The Sound of Music
"Monk"
"Thriller"
sleeping
teaching
learning
cleaning
smiling
Monday, December 27, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Trivia
In ancient Rome, a trivium was an intersection of three roads (tri, "three" + vium, road).
When people met at a trivium, what did they tend to do? According to the Romans, they would shoot the breeze and discuss trivialis ("inconsequential things") – which eventually helped give trivia its modern meaning. (From Merriam-Webster Online)
I wanted to title this entry "All-Time Triples Leader," but I do not know who holds that title. I would love to be partial to one of my favorite baseball players, Nomar Garciaparra, and call him the leader, but I'd have to consult my older brother's vast sports knowledge for verification.
Instead, I called this entry "Trivia" because it is full of useless tidbits (as many self-indulgent blogs are) about this past year of my life. I found Merriam-Webster's passage on the word's etymology interesting because I am approaching my third decade. The number 3 dominated my behavioral patterns this year. I hope next year, my thirtieth on this planet, will bring more surprises and challenges but also some peace of mind. A wrap-up of 2010's highlights (or low lights):
--I sported three different hair colors.
--I changed jobs three times.
--I was dumped three times by the same person.
--I finished my third course toward my teacher certification (and earned my third A in the process).
--I eagerly anticipated a third win for the Bills, who finally managed to score one.
--I had three different telephone numbers.
--I was arrested for an unpaid traffic ticket about three yards from my front door (ALMOST escaped the heat!).
--I saw three great live acts: Keane, Ingrid Michaelson, and The Black Keys.
--I was lucky enough to have the love, comfort, and support of many more than three great friends as I wallowed, cried, and struggled to find myself.
Here's to 2011 and my next decade. Happy new year! Thanks to my family and friends for everything you've done for me.
When people met at a trivium, what did they tend to do? According to the Romans, they would shoot the breeze and discuss trivialis ("inconsequential things") – which eventually helped give trivia its modern meaning. (From Merriam-Webster Online)
I wanted to title this entry "All-Time Triples Leader," but I do not know who holds that title. I would love to be partial to one of my favorite baseball players, Nomar Garciaparra, and call him the leader, but I'd have to consult my older brother's vast sports knowledge for verification.
Instead, I called this entry "Trivia" because it is full of useless tidbits (as many self-indulgent blogs are) about this past year of my life. I found Merriam-Webster's passage on the word's etymology interesting because I am approaching my third decade. The number 3 dominated my behavioral patterns this year. I hope next year, my thirtieth on this planet, will bring more surprises and challenges but also some peace of mind. A wrap-up of 2010's highlights (or low lights):
--I sported three different hair colors.
--I changed jobs three times.
--I was dumped three times by the same person.
--I finished my third course toward my teacher certification (and earned my third A in the process).
--I eagerly anticipated a third win for the Bills, who finally managed to score one.
--I had three different telephone numbers.
--I was arrested for an unpaid traffic ticket about three yards from my front door (ALMOST escaped the heat!).
--I saw three great live acts: Keane, Ingrid Michaelson, and The Black Keys.
--I was lucky enough to have the love, comfort, and support of many more than three great friends as I wallowed, cried, and struggled to find myself.
Here's to 2011 and my next decade. Happy new year! Thanks to my family and friends for everything you've done for me.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Time is a Privilege
I often consider the disparities between Americans, and one of the ways I view such disparities stems from distinctions of the working classes. Now, let me first explain that my interpretation of "working class" does not adhere to the customary, blue-collar view of a working American. Instead, I simply mean those who do whatever work they can find in order to support themselves financially. These workers may not reap the benefits of rewarding work and are often so unfortunate as to loathe their jobs.
What specifically prompted my consideration of this topic is a passage from Frank McCourt's book, Teacher Man. McCourt details his experience as a public school teacher in New York City. He recalls his interactions with the parents of children who struggled to pass his courses. Many parents, upon McCourt's urging for them to spend more time supervising homework and providing tutoring opportunities, reacted with claims of not having enough time because of the demands of their jobs. They argued that ensuring their children's success in the classroom fell solely upon McCourt as a job responsibility.
Some argue that they lack opportunities for working in their desired fields. For instance, those who aspire to act or sing may be hampered by lack of financial assistance for professional training. Many yearn for higher education opportunities but miss their chances when obligations such as work and family call. Such obligations take away precious time that can be used to cultivate passions, formulate ideas, create art, and share feelings about the human condition. Is it elitist to conclude that only those who have attended college are capable of participating in such lifestyles?
My studies of the Romantic poets--Shelley, Keats, and Byron--led me to believe these writers luxuriated in ample amounts of time to do whatever they wanted. I do not suggest that these men shirked their responsibilities as citizens, but they certainly appeared to spend their days as they pleased, observing their natural surroundings and writing nature's praises. How lucky writers such as these were to spend their days unconfined and unrestricted by mandated tasks or goals to reach financial means. How fortunate are those who spend their days unhampered by job descriptions or expectations from superiors. I am just as fortunate as I sit at my desk at work, composing this entry, free to think beyond the measures of my job.
Of course, those who have so much time that they don't know how to spend it must be careful in their choices. They should be generous and thoughtful and willing to give to the greater good of community. I have found that monetary excesses do not always contribute to charitable means. Donating time does. Time is a gift.
What specifically prompted my consideration of this topic is a passage from Frank McCourt's book, Teacher Man. McCourt details his experience as a public school teacher in New York City. He recalls his interactions with the parents of children who struggled to pass his courses. Many parents, upon McCourt's urging for them to spend more time supervising homework and providing tutoring opportunities, reacted with claims of not having enough time because of the demands of their jobs. They argued that ensuring their children's success in the classroom fell solely upon McCourt as a job responsibility.
Some argue that they lack opportunities for working in their desired fields. For instance, those who aspire to act or sing may be hampered by lack of financial assistance for professional training. Many yearn for higher education opportunities but miss their chances when obligations such as work and family call. Such obligations take away precious time that can be used to cultivate passions, formulate ideas, create art, and share feelings about the human condition. Is it elitist to conclude that only those who have attended college are capable of participating in such lifestyles?
My studies of the Romantic poets--Shelley, Keats, and Byron--led me to believe these writers luxuriated in ample amounts of time to do whatever they wanted. I do not suggest that these men shirked their responsibilities as citizens, but they certainly appeared to spend their days as they pleased, observing their natural surroundings and writing nature's praises. How lucky writers such as these were to spend their days unconfined and unrestricted by mandated tasks or goals to reach financial means. How fortunate are those who spend their days unhampered by job descriptions or expectations from superiors. I am just as fortunate as I sit at my desk at work, composing this entry, free to think beyond the measures of my job.
Of course, those who have so much time that they don't know how to spend it must be careful in their choices. They should be generous and thoughtful and willing to give to the greater good of community. I have found that monetary excesses do not always contribute to charitable means. Donating time does. Time is a gift.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Supermodel
Shyness affects a lot of people. Some stay shy, while others overcome what is often a debilitating personality trait. Staying shy almost seems the easier of the two paths, as it becomes a crutch or excuse. Conquering bashfulness deserves recognition.
My grandmother, Catherine, identified herself as shy for most of her life. She relied on the affliction to explain her limited social activity. She was the youngest in her household of a Depression-era Bostonian family. She met her first husband upon the urging of a gregarious girlfriend at a crowded dance hall in 1945. She started college in her 50s. She devoted every minute to her husband and family without any resentment. Then, as a grandmother, she chauffeured, babysat, cheered, cooked, and cleaned. She sacrificed plenty for the happiness of others, and one of these sacrifices was enjoying the company of peers.
I do not mean to suggest any malfunction of her personality, however. My grandmother is kind and generous, funny and sensitive. She accounts for her sense of humor by claiming her Irish heritage. Her kindness and strength of character have made it easy for me to call her my role model.
My grandmother's strength comes not necessarily from her inherent traits but also from those fostered by circumstance. My grandfather died at 56, leaving a widow of 53 and five daughters. My grandmother was alone for 30 years until she remarried a wonderful man she met after moving back to Connecticut. After two years of happiness with him, she lost him to poor health. She rid her system of perfunctory tears and, while occasionally reflecting on her husband with sadness to this day, she has proceeded with life once again.
By doing this, after recovering from another grave loss, my grandmother modeled the most impressive amount of strength I have witnessed. The shyness she overcame to ingratiate herself into a new community (her retirement home in Middletown, CT), granted her the strength of support. Because she made efforts to befriend many, she received a wealth of compassion and sympathy after her second husband's death. Her magnetism of concern and genuine interest in others came back to her tenfold, right as she needed people the most. The choice to break free of smaller circles and be encompassed by a larger net of friendship shows my grandmother's resolve to find the positive side of life at any level. She has been selfless in her actions. The response of kindness and admiration by others is her greatest reward.
My grandmother, Catherine, identified herself as shy for most of her life. She relied on the affliction to explain her limited social activity. She was the youngest in her household of a Depression-era Bostonian family. She met her first husband upon the urging of a gregarious girlfriend at a crowded dance hall in 1945. She started college in her 50s. She devoted every minute to her husband and family without any resentment. Then, as a grandmother, she chauffeured, babysat, cheered, cooked, and cleaned. She sacrificed plenty for the happiness of others, and one of these sacrifices was enjoying the company of peers.
I do not mean to suggest any malfunction of her personality, however. My grandmother is kind and generous, funny and sensitive. She accounts for her sense of humor by claiming her Irish heritage. Her kindness and strength of character have made it easy for me to call her my role model.
My grandmother's strength comes not necessarily from her inherent traits but also from those fostered by circumstance. My grandfather died at 56, leaving a widow of 53 and five daughters. My grandmother was alone for 30 years until she remarried a wonderful man she met after moving back to Connecticut. After two years of happiness with him, she lost him to poor health. She rid her system of perfunctory tears and, while occasionally reflecting on her husband with sadness to this day, she has proceeded with life once again.
By doing this, after recovering from another grave loss, my grandmother modeled the most impressive amount of strength I have witnessed. The shyness she overcame to ingratiate herself into a new community (her retirement home in Middletown, CT), granted her the strength of support. Because she made efforts to befriend many, she received a wealth of compassion and sympathy after her second husband's death. Her magnetism of concern and genuine interest in others came back to her tenfold, right as she needed people the most. The choice to break free of smaller circles and be encompassed by a larger net of friendship shows my grandmother's resolve to find the positive side of life at any level. She has been selfless in her actions. The response of kindness and admiration by others is her greatest reward.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Sister, Sister
I sit here, using my sister-in-law's MacBook (and failing miserably, as I am partial to PCs), being prodded on by her encouragement to write. While staring at a blank screen, I distracted myself with her makeup bag and songs about her dogs, Bear and Honey. We joked about Catholic hymns, the ridiculously inexcusable amount of time it is taking me to finish the final Harry Potter book, turquoise eyeshadow, and the WB comedy hit "Sister, Sister."
As a child, I longed for a sister. I failed as a tomboy and instead holed myself up in my bedroom with Cabbage Patch Kids and, later, choreography to Paula Abdul tapes. As I grew older, though, I learned to appreciate the company of my brothers. They have greatly improved my sports knowledge, for one thing. Those who know me best know that baseball is one of the most valued things in my life.
But, let's get back to my sister-in-law. Two years ago, my younger brother married a lovely lady named Olivia. She truly amazes me and has become a dear friend as well as sister. She is a business owner, actor, singer, songwriter, aunt, wife, friend, and giver. She is amazingly talented and generous. In her generosity, she created this blog for me.
I did not have the nerve to create a blog. Despite being a closet writer and journalism major, I dismissed the idea of maintaining a blog as yet another contribution to my generation's egotism. Olivia, however, encouraged the idea as a way of cultivating my passion. She even deserves credit for the title, as she searched for information on writer's block and found a link to George Orwell's novel, Keep The Aspidistra Flying.
So, to conclude, I dedicate this first blog to Olivia. Thank you, dear sister, for your faith in me. Your creativity has fueled my own. I promise to maintain this blog for you!
6/16/10
As a child, I longed for a sister. I failed as a tomboy and instead holed myself up in my bedroom with Cabbage Patch Kids and, later, choreography to Paula Abdul tapes. As I grew older, though, I learned to appreciate the company of my brothers. They have greatly improved my sports knowledge, for one thing. Those who know me best know that baseball is one of the most valued things in my life.
But, let's get back to my sister-in-law. Two years ago, my younger brother married a lovely lady named Olivia. She truly amazes me and has become a dear friend as well as sister. She is a business owner, actor, singer, songwriter, aunt, wife, friend, and giver. She is amazingly talented and generous. In her generosity, she created this blog for me.
I did not have the nerve to create a blog. Despite being a closet writer and journalism major, I dismissed the idea of maintaining a blog as yet another contribution to my generation's egotism. Olivia, however, encouraged the idea as a way of cultivating my passion. She even deserves credit for the title, as she searched for information on writer's block and found a link to George Orwell's novel, Keep The Aspidistra Flying.
So, to conclude, I dedicate this first blog to Olivia. Thank you, dear sister, for your faith in me. Your creativity has fueled my own. I promise to maintain this blog for you!
6/16/10
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