Bobby Hearts Barry

Okay--color me convinced! (I love the Bob--he's a former JV.)

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2008/03/28/sots.casey.obama.cnn

"Gin" & Juice

So...what's up with "gin up" these days?

I like to consider myself up on the parlance of the times. And I am, to quote my dear friend Chris, "a lover of language." But this is a new one for me.

Not only that, ever since Obama gave his "groundbreaking" (really? more on that later) speech on race in America last week, the term has been popping up everywhere. I counted at least three usages in the Inquirer this week.

Am I an old fart? Or just dumb? ("Honey...we're both," I can already hear my hubby sighing.) Or...is Obama just too trendy and relevant for me?

Okay, so back to good ol' Barry. I tend to stay away from politics in my blogs, because there's nothing I hate worse than a half-informed person on a self-indulgent rant. So I'll say this. I REALLY, really like him. I think he's genuinely positive, kind, optimistic, fair-minded. I really enjoy the fact that he's steered clear of the mudslinging. So he had a crazy pastor. (As a Catholic, all I can do is wryly sympathize.) I'm sure he's a good senator. I'm sure someday he could make a terrific president. His daughters are adorable. Michelle is class personified. But I'm a wee wary of how blindly people are jumping on his lil' choo-choo of "change". I've asked several devoted followers (in a completely innocent, "I really honestly want to know, I'm not baiting you" way) what exactly they like about him, and all I get are blissful sighs and glassy-eyed stares off to the distance and lots of talk about "change" and "future." Okay, sweet. Sign me up. But when pressed to name his acconplishments as senator, no one can give a straight-up list. So...what IS he all about, really?

There's a radio ad down here right now, targeted directly to the young 'uns, about how "he gets what our generation is all about." Okay, cool! Um...what is it that he gets? I've watched the debates, I read "Dreams of My Father" (okay, well, most of it), I read his speech (which was really beautiful, and timely, and necessary...but was there a new school of thought voiced that I missed? I've been having the same conversation with people for years.)

Fret not. I finally registered as a Democrat this year (after 12 happy but frustrating years an Independent). I voted for Kerry, whose name I still can't say without shrugging indifferently. And come April 22, I will most definitely be voting for Obama and his mission of change. I just want to be assured of what that change will be.

"Dreams are like fish..."

"...you gots to keep on reelin'."

So goes one of my favorite songs by Philly boy G. Love.

Dreams have been the subject of note these days. I just finished teaching Death of a Salesman and A Raisin in the Sun to my seniors, so we have beat the subject of the "American Dream" to death over the past few months. (Side note: I really didn't think P. Diddy was THAT horrible in the film version Monday night on ABC. He's definitely not picking up any Emmys, but he wasn't the train wreck I was expecting. And Phylicia Rashad is a freaking goddess.)

So...what is the American Dream? Damned if I know. I really don't think there is a cookie-cutter dream assigned to us today. It's no longer the house, 2 cars, 2.5 kids and a dog. It seems (and so my students agreed) that the American Dream of the new millenium is simply to find true happiness through success (whether it be personal, financial, what have you.)

We had an in-service day on the topic of time management. (Funny that it took about 4 hours to learn about how to manage your time...when all I could think about was everything I needed to take care of as soon as the meeting was done! By the end of the day, I had doodled a frighteningly long "to-do" list on the back of my very thick training manual...)

Anyway, one section was devoted to prioritizing goals and deciding whether they were to "prevent pain" or "achieve gain." (Don't you love the precious little catchphrases that corporate trainers whip up? "Fight back the fear!" "Management is measurement!") At one point, we had to turn to a colleague and share something we wanted to do in life that we have not yet done. She shared that she wanted to do the Inca Trail and learn the guitar. Completely cool.

I'm happy to report that it took me a REALLY long time to respond.

Not to say I don't have dreams. But so many things that the speaker offered as possibilities...I had done. And there are so many experiences--really, ever since college--that have exceeded my wildest dreams. I'm still kind of in awe that I've lived them.

And life continues to bless me with happy surprises: how much I've enjoyed being a mom this year, buying our first house, being invited to present at NYU this spring, snagging a writing gig for a local women's magazine. I'm really not trying to brag; I'm just shocked and honored by the good fortune that my family has been blessed with.

Both of the plays my students read had to do with dreams being stifled, or just too big for the dreamer in the first place. My girls were completely fed up with the protagonists by the last pages. "Ugh, why is Willy so obsessed with his own funeral?" "Why can't Walter appreciate what a nice family he has?" The consensus seemed to be that a healthy dose of realism was sorely needed by these guys.

I'm definitely a realist, but certainly not a pessimist. I simply try--and don't always succeed--to seek peace and balance in my life. It seems that more often than not, when you make good choices for good reasons (i.e. beside yourself), you wind up reaping the benefits. As my dear friend Jen said during her toast at our wedding: "When you give glory to God, the glory comes back to you."

In closing...two wonderful friends have achieved incredible dreams over the past month. I just have to give them a big ol' shout-out because they have WORKED THEIR BUTTS OFF to make this happen--while remaining just plain good peoples. So here's to DOCTOR Christina McMahon, newly appointed professor of theatre at Santa Barbara, and Diva Julia Spanja Hoffert, who made her MET DEBUT!!! I am deeply awed and insanely proud of you both. :)

R.I.P., Janam Tea

Janam Tea, an adorable little tea shop in downtown Jersey City, is closing.

Well, actually relocating--the owner is packing up and heading out to Portland, OR. (And really, can you blame her?)

This shouldn't bum me out--I don't even live in JC anymore--but this little shop has a special place in my heart.

The day we found out we were expecting, we were on cloud nine, but definitely in shock. That night, we stopped by Janam for a cup of tea and some shortbread. We curled up on a couch in the window, gazing at the neighborhood we'd lived in for years, basking in the glow of our news and talking excitedly about the future.

This part of JC (known oh-so-quaintly as "Harsimus Cove") has definitely seen some changes. Run-down parking lots have given way to luxury condos; an abandoned old community center is now a day spa. It's where I had my first apartment, my first teaching job, and where Nick and I first started our marriage. I know this particular strip pretty well, as I used to walk down it to the PATH every morning. I know the dry cleaners (who always spelled my name "Dana" on the receipt), the bagel shop, La Conguita where you could get insanely huge servings of pernil for about $5, the camera shop with the fat old cat chilling on the counter, the apartment with crazy brick sculptures in the front yard...Janam was a perfectly weird and wonderful addition to the corner of Newark & Grove. And now it's leaving.

Well, JC's loss is Portland's gain. Maybe some other dorky couple, scared to death but drunk with joy over their bun in the oven, will have a similar "Janam moment" out west. :)

Green Cleaning!

You know that dizzying yet satisfying feeling you get from the smell of Pine-Sol or Tilex? That nostril-burning, nauseating, eye-reddening sensation?

Thing of the past in the Romero household these days.

No, we're not on a cleaning strike...although that's awfully tempting. :) I've taken on the mission of greening our cleaning. Yes, it sounds awfully crunchy; but you know what, I'm starting to embrace my innate crunchiness. (After all, I did live in a vegetarian household for a year.)

When I was home on maternity leave, I became addicted to "The View" (I can proudly say that I witnessed, live, the infamous Rosie/Elisabeth fight--and damn, was it great!) One day, Deirdre Imus was on to plug her new book, Green This (see above), singing the praises of "green cleaning." And you know what, it made a lot of sense.

So, I'm starting out small. Being that the bathroom is my domain (see "The Stepford Husband," below), I focused on that first. With vinegar (to disinfect), lemon juice (to deodorize), and baking soda (to scour), I scrubbed away and was shocked by the result. My bathroom was sparkling, and I didn't feel sick afterwards like I usually do! We're so conditioned to think that the smell of bleach = clean, but that's not necessarily the case.

I also made a few other changes...using non-toxic glass cleaner, freshening up our bedroom with an essential oil diffuser, and adopting some plants (which, so far, I haven't killed yet). Maybe it's psychological, but I really do feel a little healthier.

Something about moving to the 'burbs has made us want to live a more intentional lifestyle--making small but important choices to better our family, our community, and the world. Just a few minor changes can make a big difference. (I mean, we're not about to blow all our money on organic cotton sheets!)

Another thing we're trying is to become "localvores" (buying food from local farmers as much as possible.) We'd toyed with the idea of joining a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), but you're never quite sure what you'll end up with--and the next thing you know, you have a crisper full of rotting broccoli rabe and three sad little radishes.

But we did find a great little place: Farm Fresh Express (www.farmfreshexpress.com). Based out of Lansdowne, they carry products from local and/or organic farms. Either way, you feel good--buying local, you're supporting a local farmer and cutting down on fuel used to transport produce from all over the world; buying organic, you know it's just a little healthier for you and the environment. Monday, they send you a list of their choices for the week, you place an order, and then you can pick it up or have it delivered. We stopped by on Saturday, and they are so friendly and just EXCITED about their business. (You don't really get that at Acme!) Plus, they offer free, YUMMY fair-trade coffee from Mexico and Ethiopia. (Caveat: It IS a little more expensive, so we're only going to do it once a month or so at first. We are teachers, after all!)

Sure, we still drive a SUV. Let me expiate my guilt by cleaning my bathtub with vinegar and eating my organic peanut butter. :)

JUNO!!!

Quite possibly the best movie I've seen in a LONG time.

Go see it. See it again. Then download the soundtrack. Guaranteed happiness. :D

The Stepford Husband

As I write this, my husband is happily strolling through the aisles of Acme, carefully composed grocery list in hand, dutifully bypassing any product for which he hasn’t clipped a coupon.

No, I’m not home sick on the couch. Nor did we have a wicked fight for which he’s atoning. Rather, I’m married to a singularly unique yet no longer rare creature—The Evolved Husband.

When we first started dating, I smiled bemusedly when he first offered to cook for me. “Aw,” I thought as he whipped up a delicious chicken parm, “this must be the ‘special occasion’ dish his mom taught him to impress girls with.”

Yet that chicken parm gave way to roast chicken with homemade gravy, sausage lasagna, salsa and guacamole from scratch, gourmet Saturday morning breakfasts (with my choice of fluffy blueberry pancakes or omelets with spicy home fries)…as I slowly realized that I’d hit the culinary jackpot with this guy, my burgeoning cooking skills took a backseat. (After all, I’m Irish, and we’re not exactly known for our prowess in the kitchen!)

Not only does he cook and do the grocery shopping, but he also vacuums, sweeps, mops, cleans out my car, takes the dog out, and does the dishes. He also takes equal care of the Teege—feeding, changing, bathing, and playing. This is on top of the typical “male” chores he carries out—yard work, painting, killing spiders, etc.

So what, you may ask, do I do, exactly?

Well, laundry. And boy, is there a lot of it. My biggest shock after getting married was how much laundry there suddenly was. Nick has never been a “wear and air” kind of guy—a sweatshirt worn for two hours, over an undershirt, is promptly deposited into the hamper. Throw a baby’s endless dirty clothes into the mix, and laundry is suddenly a Sisyphean task.

Cleaning the bathroom is another chore falling squarely on my shoulders. Early in our marriage, Nick remarked how glad he was that I “loved to do the bathroom.” Feeling guilty that this was not nearly as taxing as making dinner every night and dealing with the supermarket every weekend, I smiled sweetly and answered, “Oh honey, I don’t mind at all!” Thus, I sentenced myself to a lifetime of rubber gloves and Soft Scrub.

Oh, and I did go through nine months of pregnancy and a little event called childbirth.

Sure, I’m spoiled rotten. But I know that each task Nick does is out of love for us and the home we’ve created. A few days after our son was born, he braved the blizzard to shovel the car out of the snow so he could make yet another run to Target for diapers. As I watched him from the warmth of our living room, I thought to myself, “This man was born to be a husband and father.” He finds such joy in completing these seemingly mundane chores. It has certainly made my decision to return to work an easy one, knowing that he will happily shoulder the burden of homemaking with me.

Some prefer diamonds; some prefer pearls. I’ll take chicken parm any day.

Sibling Rivalry

I read a book a few years back (chick-lit, for shame) in which the protagonist, a Philly newbie, remarked on how "Philadelphia was the type of place where the local newscasters were major celebrities." Growing up, I thought nothing of the fact that Lisa Thomas-Laury, Dave Roberts, and "the entire Action 6 news team" were household names. I vividly remember eating dinner in front of the television (a huge no-no in the Kelly home) one night, seeing my mom tear up as she watched the news about Jim O'Brien dying. I also remember going to Houlihan's by St. Joe's during college, in hopes of running into John Bolaris (who ALLEGEDLY ate lunch there.) And when our bus would take us back down City Line from a field hockey game, we would all hang out the window and screech for the weather forecaster who reported from outside the studio.

In the family of major east coast cities (with New York being the successful if rather self-important first son, Boston the cranky grandfather, and D.C. the dad who's always away on a business trip), what is Philly? Perhaps the brother who never went to college, is enormously talented at what he does, but never gives himself credit. Instead, he's content to lay around and bask in the glory days of high school.

Philadelphia is a city obsessed with its past. Rightfully so--it is oozing with rich, solid history. Yet unlike its founding fathers, who were always marching towards the future, its current citizens (and suburban denizens--because, let's face it, anyone within a 50-mile radius tends to refer to themselves as "from Philly"--including yours truly!) love, love, LOVE to wax nostalgic. We're like a collective Willy Loman; "woulda coulda shoulda" is our mantra. (Can you tell I'm teaching Death of a Salesman this week?)

Don't get me wrong--I adore Philly (and my dear old Delco). And I tend to have a silly little chip on my shoulder, having lived away for so long. But, like any good writer (as sporadic as that might be), I enjoy a love/hate relationship with my homebase.

My sister and I have a favorite pasttime of putting on bad Philly accents and concocting the typical Philly fam as follows:
Jim (but everyone calls him Jimmy) - big ol' sunburnt Irish guy, spiked blond hair, white sleeveless T-shirt, cutoff jeans, runs a "landscapin' compnee" and is a volunteer firefighter (tattoo: shamrock)
Denise - tanned to a crisp, halo of frosted blonde hair (which is always half-up in a fluorescent scrunchie), tight tank top, stretchy pants, Reeboks, extra scrunchie around the wrist (just in case), raspy voice (from the daily pack of Parliaments) tattoo: Tazmanian Devil ('cuz she's so CRAAAZY!)
Two non-descript kids with names like Tyler and Brianna (always dressed in various Disney paraphernalia--Brianna is especially partial to her bedraggled "Belle" dress)

You get the picture. (Or pitcher, as we like to say down here.)

My Excuse For Not Blogging...

He's a pretty freakin' cute excuse, huh?

I had grand plans of blogging all about childbirth, the blissful first few months of motherhood, the joys of nursing, all that good stuff...but truth be told, there were days it was a huge, huge triumph just to get through the day in one piece and find five minutes to shower.

Oh, and remember that pie-in-the-sky blog about moving to PA for a pastoral change of pace? Well, we did it, but boy was it a stressful trip getting here! House-hunting, job-hunting, countless trips to PA with a newborn in tow...we're finally all settled into our cute little house in blessed suburbia, and I feel like I can finally BREATHE after a year.

So "the Teege" is amazing...just the happiest little boy in the world. He truly is a Superbaby. :) All the cliches they say about parenthood are true. It's a fairytale like no other. The first three months are HARD AS HELL, full of self-doubt, loneliness, and frustration, but the payoff is incredible.

Life is good. I'm back in the classroom, where I'm happiest. Teaching at a private girls' academy, where every day I fear I'll say something to get myself fired. ;) I'm not teaching drama or directing shows, which is a bummer, but it's also a beautiful luxury to leave at a normal hour--so I can go home and hang out with my boys.

We miss New York more than we thought we would...especially when we see it on TV (where, of course, NYC is always this magical wonderland of bistros and gorgeous people and carriage rides through Central Park...instead of urine-scented subway stations, maniacal cabbies, and people slammed up against each other in every direction.) We miss our friends, students and coworkers. We miss our reputations. We miss our schools.

But we don't miss the commute, the noise, our crappy neighborhood, and throwing tons of money away on rent. That's for damn sure.

Almost every morning (as I DRIVE to work now, passing horse farms...so surreal), I cue up "One Thing" by Finger Eleven on my iPod. It's really become my anthem for this year, ever since the Teege entered our lives:

Restless tonight
Cause I wasted the light
Between both these times
I drew a really thin line
It’s nothing I planned
And not that I can
But you should be mine
Across that line

If I traded it all
If I gave it all away for one thing
Just for one thing
If I sorted it out
If I knew all about this one thing
Wouldn’t that be something

I promise I might
Not walk on by
Maybe next time
But not this time
Even though I know
I don’t want to know
Yeah I guess I know
I just hate how it sounds

My Teege. He's "this one thing."

Sometimes I'll stop for a minute and think, "What am I forgetting? I feel like I'm missing something." And then I check in with myself and realize, "Oh wait...this is what peace feels like." It's such a new feeling...but one I think I can get used to. :)

Blaming Dr. Seuss

So, it's my first day of maternity leave. Friday was an emotional roller coaster of a day, saying goodbye to my students and colleagues. I'm just so afraid that I'll never find another job that gives me such satisfaction and affirmation.

It also doesn't help that I haven't really had any nibbles with the job search. People are like, "Well, that's okay! You can stay home with the baby for a year!" Yeah, it's not that easy anymore...it's not the 70's when that wasn't such a financial strain.

It stinks. We don't want a lot--just a house, a bambino, and jobs we love. (Is that a lot?)

So NR and I are a bit stressed about the move. Luckily, he has some nice prospects, but we just want everything SETTLED before baby comes. An idealistic scenario, perhaps, but we would feel a lot better.

I just finished a book (see above) called "It's a Wonderful Lie: Truths About Life In Your Twenties." Parts of it I totally related to (crappy first apartments, starting your marriage someplace unfamiliar, seeking solace in grad school, constant second-guessing); others I very happily could not (specifically the serial dating or lack of romantic prospects.) Hot damn, I am so lucky I met The One when I was 21! God only knows what rocks I would have dug up trying to find him.

Anyway, the recurring theme through all 26 essays in this book was the overwhelming buffet of choices we're treated to in this generation. On the one hand, it gives us amazing freedom; on the other, it's terrifying. So we rack up debt, financial and emotional, trying to find our one true path, only to long for simplicity and direction. Freshly out of my twenties, I'm ready to settle down and enjoy some quiet, and I can't help feeling a TINY bit guilty about that just because of the messages we receive to knock down doors and kick some ass.

I blame it on a simple gift that most of us probably received for college graduation: Dr. Seuss' "Oh! The Places You'll Go!" Harmless enough, right? A furry little Seussian creature bounces through fuzzy trees and stalactites, chirping about the fantastic adventures you're about to embark on. So we dive feet-first into the world, clinging to life boats along the way (friends, jobs, traveling, etc.), discarding some along the way when we find something better. Then we think we've reached the luxury liner--the dream job, the stable relationship--only to look back nostalgically at those crappy rafts that got us to where we are.

I wouldn't say NR and I have reached the luxury liner just yet. And maybe we won't. (Hard to afford on a teacher's salary.) But thank God I have a terrific first mate and lots of support along the way.

Pimp My Nursery

Very productive weekend on Baldwin Avenue! My parents brought up the crib, we went on a crazy shopping spree at Babies "R" Us, and the nursery is now pretty much ready to roll--all we need is a baby to put it in. :0

The mural was done by two of Nick's former students. We paid them in Chinese food and art supplies; they were happy as clams. Hmm, maybe we'll try that tactic when we finally have a house of our own one day..."Thanks, Mr. Plumber, for putting in those fabulous granite side-by-side sinks. How about some McDonald's and a couple of pipes and washers? Deal?"

I'm home sick today. One of the lovely perks of being a teacher is the many gifts your students give you: gratitude, inspiration, the occasional Barnes & Noble gift card, and the common cold in all sorts of lovely variations. Of course, being preggers, I'm relegated to saline spray and Kleenex as my drugs of choice...so it's Couch City with Rocco today, accompanied by "E!"

I have less than a month left with my students. I'm trying to just focus on the positive--we're moving for a good reason, everything will (somehow) work out--but it's still incredibly sad to say goodbye to a job I adore. But the way I see it, my life is going to change in ways I can't possibly fathom. So best to just keep an open mind, take a deep breath, and (try!) to relax.

Philadelphia Freedom?

So, the hub and I have made a pretty huge decision...we're moving to PA this summer. Back to the land of cheesesteaks and scrappy Eagles fans, of terrible accents and tourists running up the Art Museum steps.

Well, we're not actually moving to the City of Brotherly Love, but probably my old hood of Delaware County. Back to the land of barrel-chested women with buzz cuts, dark lipliner with frosted lipstick, men built like trucks who call their sons "Pal," and beef 'n beers at the local parish center.

The reason, of course, is the lil' bambino on the way. Nick and I both grew up close to our grandparents, and can't imagine our childhoods any other way. Being a "mixed-coast" couple, we know that's just not possible, so PA has won for its affordability and proximity to my fam.

Not to mention...it's just a different way of life down there. Everything's just a little bit slower, cheaper, and not so hectic. Every morning when I get off the subway at 86th & Lex, I literally have to take a deep breath and fight my way through the crowds. My heart starts racing, my body tenses up, and I can just feel the blood pressure rising. Even when it's a beautiful day out, I barely notice because of the massive buildings, construction, and nonstop jitteriness that pervades the streets. I swear I can imagine B.R. inside me, waking up and saying "Mom, what the hell? It's too damn loud out there!"

And it wasn't always like this. When I first moved up here, I loved just diving into the crowd and being shuttled along like a sardine. You know, that whole "Oh, I'm in the pulse of the urban wonderland!" I would imagine the camera focusing on me and switching into slo-mo as I bounced along, just a silly little twentysomething in the mix. I remember when I was doing a show at the Producers' Club, and I absolutely loved walking down 46th Street past the theaters with my costume and make-up tucked away in my backpack, feeling so smug that I was one of the hundreds of Times Square actors scurrying off to work. (Never mind the fact that the show was a steaming pile!)

Now, I'd rather just take Rocco for a walk down a quiet, tree-lined street, then sit on a porch and read for a while.

I guess it's better to feel this way at 30, rather than wake up one morning and say "Dammit! Where did my twenties go? I missed out on so much!" I remember the panic I felt my senior year of college, when I realized graduation (and the real world) was looming, and I really hadn't done squat. I DEFINITELY think I worked that bug out of my system, and now this is God's way of telling me, "Look, you've done a helluva lot, and now it's time to slow down."

Well, maybe he wouldn't say hell. ;)

Well! Look what happens when you don't update your blog for a while--you get knocked up!

Actually, I found out I was expecting back in July, but we didn't "go public" with the news until September. Since then, time has been tripping merrily along, my blog has gone blissfully ignored, and yours truly is getting bigger by the day!

Here's a pic of the hubby and myself receiving our very own "Charlotte York McDougal Goldblatt" diaper cake (that's for all the SATC fans) at our shower on Saturday. Clearly I was suprised, as you can see from my frump-a-dump hair and lack of make-up!

I'm definitely excited to meet the little guy--partially because I'm hoping the maternal instincts will finally kick in. So far, all things Elmo and Dora are pretty foreign and bizarre to me. They were giving away "Wiggles" tickets on the radio the other morning, and Hubs was like, "Yikes, we're going to have to take our kid to see this crap, right?" Oy...well, my parents were never ones to give in to the latest kid trends--instead, we were museum vets and musical theater geeks by the age of 5. I actually remember Rosie all dressed up, prancing around the living room, pretending to be Josephine from "H.M.S. Pinafore." One little girl's Disney Princess fantasy is another's Gilbert & Sullivan heroine, I guess!

In any event, I promise to be better about updating this, especially with the exciting events coming up in the months to come...

Summer slackerdom

Whoo-boy! A whole month since my last blog. Well, it's the summer, and I've finally found peace with just taking it easy and doing whatever the hell I want. Because I can. :)

Some highlights from the past month:

• Cruise to Alaska with the in-laws! Great food, amazing sights, terrific family bonding. Who knew we'd have so much fun stuffing our faces and playing bingo every day?
• Cape May with the Kellys! Such a pretty little beach town, and always a good time for my family to reconnect and relax.
• Spending a week at the New York Public Library, spending time with an inspiring poet (Jill McDonough) and getting to WRITE for hours...
• Getting cast in "Design for Murder" at the Attic! I'm playing Nora. I've really wanted to work with this director for a while, so this will be a fun little project.
• And other big news...which will have to wait just a while. But it's damn good, I can tell you that much. :D

Unfortunately, there have been some valleys among the hills...my Nana passed, very peacefully, but now my dad and his siblings have a slew of issues to work through. The funeral was an exercise in chilly diplomacy, and while I'm amazed they survived that, I'm not looking forward to the drama and bad blood that's sure to be stirred up in the months to come. My sister and I just keep promising each other that we'll never get to that point.

Hubby's dealing with a terrible work crisis, and there's nothing I can do about it. It positively sucks to see him so upset, and all I can do is listen when he wants to talk or leave him alone when he doesn't. Basically, it's one of those situations where you're smacked with the horrible reality of being an adult and having to deal with sh*t, and there's no counselor/mentor/parental figure to help you out and make it all better. Remember in high school, how whenever you had a question or problem, you just went to the front office and it was somehow taken care of? I wish we had a "front office" in life. (Maybe that's what therapy is.)

My dear Mams is coming up tomorrow...we're going to see "Sweeney Todd" on Broadway, with Patti LuPone. Should be an awesome time.

Think I'll pop on the iPod and go for a power walk...take advantage of this abnormally cool weather!

Fun with Sonnets

I'm taking a seminar on the sonnet at the New York Public Library this week. So be forewarned: pretentious poetry ahead!

THREAT
Juliet fell on her "happy dagger"
After Romeo drank a bit too much
Ophelia plunged into murky water
While Hamlet ranted about "words" and such
In falling for the strong and silent type,
Portia drowned all her troubles in hot coals
Imaginary blood she could not wipe
Caused Lady Mac to simplify her goals
Cleopatra met a venomous snake
When Antony was found to reason lack
And Lady Anne saw she could not fake
Another night in bed with that hunchback

Yet fret not, love; my spirit is too strong
To buckle under one who's done me wrong.

UNIVERSAL MOTHERHOOD
(For Erna)

They mop her brow with dirty, soaking rags
Four warped walls frown upon the child bride
Outside, he drinks his Belikin and brags
About the son arriving just inside.

"Truly peaceful," Brad crowed to the whole world
Upon the birth of Shiloh Jolie-Pitt
"An amazing adventure," Angie purred
300K they gave--aren't they the shit?

Now turned thirty, a mother of seven
Thirty-seven wounds he made with his knife
She lifts her shirt and cries up to Heaven
to save her babies from this hellish life

"The superstar mom" has movies to make
While in Belize, a mother's spirit breaks

Ode to the Adirondacks

On Reaching the Summit of Mt. Jo

Breathing in pine and sweet damp earth
Sweat pouring down to foster my rebirth
Heart crying out to escape my chest
Pleading with Katie for "one more rest"
Nearing the top, trees grow less dense
--I am blessedly in the present tense--
Scraping up walls of rock and mud
(Remnants of yesterday's fleeting flood)
Collapsing in joy on the sun-baked peak
My spirit is soaring; my body quite weak
We whisper and laugh, so glad for a friend
There is nothing like Placid to make my soul mend.

Recharge

Back from a terrific weekend visiting the fam.

Years ago, Oprah touted an "Attitude of Gratitude" journal--just listing things you were thankful for that had happened that day. I did it with Rosie while preparing her for Confirmation, and I continued for some time. I think it's time to resurrect this very worthy practice, so here is what I'm thankful for this weekend:

• Quality bonding with the sis over Coldstone and "Devil Wears Prada" (awesome movie--reminds me how women are taught to hate each other)
• Fabulous family party (featuring a magic show by my pa--just like old times)
• Holding my friend Jenn's BEAUTIFUL little daughter Natalie (amazing that the girl I used to write notes to during Algebra is now a mommy!)
• Appreciating my extended family with all their quirks and eccentricities
• Surprisingly good visit with my Nana at the nursing home
• Walking around suburbia and actually enjoying it (God, I'm getting old...)
• Taking in the Wyeth exhibit at the Philadelphia Art Museum (and learning so much about an artist I've looked at for years, but never quite understood)
• Official "Philly date" with Nick at Bridgid's (great little hole-in-the-wall with excellent beer-battered chicken)
• Yuengling in the backyard with my dear friend Jennifer, b*tching about life
• Dessert with Jennifer and her long-suffering fiance ;)
• Waiting for an hour outside Suky's, sweating with Jennifer's bridesmaids, to try on dresses
• Topping it off with a peaceful evening in the park, watching Rocco chase lil' doggies

Such a good time to reconnect with friends and family; to rejuvenate.

Off to Lake Placid tomorrow, one of my favorite places in the world, to reconnect with another friend--dear old Katie, one of my JVC roomies. I adore going up there--not just because Katie and I always have an awesome time, but because I get to revel in nature (hiking the Adirondacks, swimming in the lake) that I so rarely get to see around here. Also, Katie and her husband Brad are just genuinely good, sweet people, and their home is like a retreat for me. We spend hours reminiscing about our time volunteering, which is always a wonderful reminder of an extremely transformative time in my life.

I feel very full of love and appreciation right now. My cup runneth over.

Returning to the motherland

What I'm listening to: "Left Me a Fool" (Indigo Girls)

This weekend, I'm traveling to PA to spend some time with the fam. My parents bought a new house about six months ago, so they're having an open house.

Over Christmas, we helped them pack and move everything, and I was a lot less nostalgic than I'd expected. Part of this is because we'd already gone through the process of packing up my grandparents' house in 2000, which was extremely difficult. THAT was the house I associated with my childhood, and still do; I often find myself dreaming about that house. The yellow curtains in the kitchen window, my blackboard and chalk in the basement, the strangely comforting smell of Camel cigarettes, iced tea with mint picked from Grandmom's backyard, the big orange pillow I'd sprawl on with Pop to watch "Lawrence Welk" (while we ate Breyer's peach ice cream), the blue flowered blanket I'd snuggle under in the back bedroom, the drawer full of dress-up clothes (which Grandmom would always stuff with fabulous scarves)...it's amazing how clear and vivid those images are, whereas the memories of 117 Drexel are quickly fading.

I think this is healthy. For so long, I clung to old plans and expectations. How couldn't I, when every time I visited my parents' house, the entire street was rife with memories of my childhood and young adulthood? I moved away from home when I was 21; yet whenever I'd come back for a visit, I was immediately a kid again. And this was not necessarily a good thing.

Now, it's a whole new start for everyone. My mom is finally away from the street she grew up on; my dad finally has a flat lawn to fuss over. My sister is finally moving on to campus next year. And as I keep telling my parents, this new home is a PERFECT "grandparents' house." (Here's hoping!)

"So no one told me life was gonna be this way..." (clap clap clap clap clap)

...or, "why watching Friends makes me philosophical."

Back in high school, I was convinced I'd made the best friends of my life. Jenn, Erin, Dan, Tom, Jim, Pauly, Trish, Joey Freds...we loved and supported each other through break-ups, first dates, parental pressures, disappointments, driving tests, the works. Every morning, we'd gather in front of the auditorium to greet each other dramatically (my specialty was jumping into the arms of a waiting boy--we WERE theater geeks, after all), dish about the weekend, whine about our latest rehearsal, flirt, cry, cram, and laugh at the underclassmen who would desparately try to infiltrate our group. (Our favorite target was Angela--a poor soul whose facial mole would mysteriously migrate from day to day.)

Then college hit. We all scattered to different colleges, and even though nobody went very far (Dan was the brave soul who went to NYU--a whole two and a half hours away!), things changed. I tried valiantly to keep the home fires burning, but things were just never the same. This was before the time of email, so communication was limited. Yet I began to wonder--how valid was our friendship in the first place? Was it just circumstantial? Out of sight, out of mind?

Since then, I've approached friendships with a big ol' yield sign. I'll make the first "move," but you need to reciprocate. Friendships need to be nurtured; they can't be accessed simply when you're going through a rough time, or lonely.

I've also realized the value of cultivating a friendship with one person, instead of toting around a whole passel of peeps. Granted, passels are fun, but as I get older, I cherish a glass of wine with a girlfriend infinitely more than screaming in a bar with a bunch of quasi-friends.

Luckily, I have found some friends up here who follow the same policy. Most of them are through the "Jesuit Mafia" (Nick and I both work at Jesuit schools, which are rife with young, interesting, intelligent people--not to toot my own horn!), but I think that common bond is a valid one. We've known each other long enough now that we're starting to push past the politeness phase. I can be open and honest with them, warts and all. We're all starting to realize that we are flawed, weird, difficult individuals...and that's okay.

It's tough to find real friends. Yet once you make them, the real work begins--keeping them.

Weekend Cheers & Jeers

CHEERS...
To Hal Sparks, Chuck Nice & Judah Friedlander at Caroline's Comedy Club on Saturday night!

JEERS...
To "A History of Violence" ($3.00 and 96 minutes of my life I'll never get back...boo, Viggo Mortenson, BOO!)