tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39131250654214510972024-02-19T08:06:38.691-05:00Mastering the Art of My LifeFor 50 years, I have lived with labels, wife, mother, teacher, chief cook and bottle washer...as I turn the corner onto a new path in life's journey, I am exploring the nuances of who I was, who I am and who I shall become. Let's learn and laugh together.Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-22347721968472863502015-10-08T13:12:00.000-04:002015-10-08T13:12:54.358-04:00Living in the City vs Residing in the CityIt is one of those crisp October mornings that begs you to be grateful for living in New England. The air smells good...the sky is beautifully blue and people walk with pep in their step.<br />
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This is our first Autumn as citizens of Boston, so I am excited to see what unfolds as the days grow shorter and cooler. Already, I've noticed that Reilly's and my walks are longer...more leisurely. We are veering off our familiar routes adding this side street or that...lingering longer in the Public Garden. It may not be the most cardio-driven exercise, but I feel the benefits all the same.<br />
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Now those of you familiar with Reilly the Wonder Dog know that she is an Ambassador Extraordinaire. No exaggeration, daily we are stopped by locals and tourists who need a little Groton Terrier love. The students over at Suffolk, at first reticent about asking, now look forward to seeing her and some even seem to to be waiting on the corner of Temple and Derne for their dose of Reilly enthusiasm. It is because of Reilly, I think I have hit the fast track of Boston living...I'm out several times a day with her...I challenge myself to meet new people, face my trepidations and discover something new as often as possible. We have a fine mix of routine and revelation.<br />
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Over these past months residing as renters and now homeowners, I have observed something interesting. Those who reside in the city, do not always "live" in the city. I have met neighbors who have a place to put their heads a night, but come daylight they are off to work and on the weekends they leave the city...they never hang around to enjoy our Hub. I get needing a break...I learned that lesson in Paris...just about every six weeks or so, Bill, Reilly and I would hop on the TVG and head outta Dodge...um, Paris...but in Boston, the urgency to do so hasn't been quite the same. Perhaps it is because we are still in the new nest phase...but too, I think Boston has so much to offer me that the city walls have yet to close in on us...also, we are from around here....we've been there, done that...so the desire to reach beyond the city limits has tamed for us...but back to those folks who flee...and it is not just here and there...we are so surprised at how many people leave Boston for weekends and holidays...good for us, I guess...more parking spaces. I chuckle when city folk ask us,"so what are you doing this week/weekend?", and they are surprised when I share an event, location or quest that is readily available to anyone willing to peruse a local neighborhood newspaper, <b>The Improper Bostonian</b> calendars or any number of social media outlets...speaking of <b>The Improper Bostonian, </b>it is delivered at least monthly... and when I rented I loved getting it...four copies would be delivered and we were the only ones to pick up a copy...insert frowny face...after a few months of copies piling up in the foyer, I would recycle them on trash days...such a shame to ignore free knowledge...<br />
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I have noticed that our transitional populations...students and medical residents mostly...seem immune to Boston...I live across the street from Suffolk off campus housing...and seen that many, too many, students dash out their front doors, ear buds firmly implanted, and never looking up or around...never saying hello to neighbors. It strikes me as odd that given the great blessing and privilege to be a college student in a world class city, in a stunningly beautiful and historic neighborhood, that they're not so keen to be immersed in their neighborhood. Perhaps the sense of transiency stifles their connection to the 'hood. Alas, I've witnessed uncomely behavior...it starts on Thursdays...at about 3pm...the students return to their residences with cases and bags and boxes of alcohol...stocking up for a weekend of drinking...the delivery services frequent the Hill regularly from Thursday through Sunday too...people at the freest times of their lives squirreled away in their apartments...tsk, tsk...they reside...they occupy a place...they don't take ownership of their space and time...and this is typical across the city...I wonder if helicopter parents dampened the ability or spirit in their kids to be out in the world...they certainly can be oblivious to common courtesy...apparently a value not thoroughly shared with many of today's GenZ.<br />
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The example that comes to mind to is trash day...oh...my...goodness...now admittedly, I am a bit of a fussbudget when it comes to refuse. I have yet to meet I rat I like and I will continue my crusade to make our neighborhood as rodent repellent as possible...so back to trash...I have noted that my young student neighbors do not get the concept that tidy trash closes down the all they can eat rat buffet. Boston has very specific and necessary regulations about trash disposal. And from the moment I set foot in this city, I have made it my goal to have curbside trash that makes my neighbors envious and a pleasure for our hard working sanitation engineers to remove. The college kids on the other hand are gross. They dispose of their garbage with no care...I will spare you the disgusting details...but I've learned a lot about these youngin's and their parents' failings to teach them about sanitary living...pardon me while I gag and shiver a little...What gets my goat though is not matter how, when or why you share perspectives on proper trash stashing...one gets the look...like...really? you're worried about trash? Someone in the city will fix it...and if I get a ticket for not following the guidelines...no biggie...the building management will pay it...isn't that what I pay rent for?...grrrrr....Although there are times when the city inspectors...my heroes...rule the day. Boston City Hall brilliantly developed an app called 311...using which allows citizens to report problems from potholes to improper trash disposal...and the city sends out inspectors to address the problem...I have noticed a remarkable difference in our rodent problem and it is because Inspectional Services gets right on it and corrects it...so be warned if your trash is out on the wrong day or time...these urban warriors have no problem tearing into your bag and finding the paper with your name, or other identifier on it and make a special, educational visit to your door. <br />
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I love it too when Karma visits...there is a young lady across the street who gave my neighbor Ted a bit of lip when he placed her ill timed trash back in the lobby of her building. He politely explained the scheduling and reasons for the rules and she told him to mind his own business. He retorted that because he lives on the street, it is his business...she left the trash in the lobby...he continued on his walk, stopping to share his experience with a group of us, who were meeting to discuss the plan for fall plantings on Hancock. Later in day, the same said young lady plopped her trash out on the curb...too early...just as the city inspector was walking up the sidewalk...he whipped out his ticket book and fined her on the spot...no ifs, ands or buts...no second chances...Karma baby. <br />
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I gripe about trash day because with a wonder dog, one cannot be too careful. Fridays and Mondays are trash days...pick up for us is always between 7 and 7:30 am...awesome! But in many cases, the garbage has been sitting curbside since 5pm the night before...stewing and attracting rodentia...so when the trash truck comes by..if there is a hole in the bag or if the homeless have rooted through it...and stuff is strewn about...the sanitation workers may or may not clean that up, thus leaving a mess for residents to address...and you know that college student isn't going to clean it up...so when I have to walk the dog early on trash days...it becomes a tug of war so Reilly won't scarf down the oogy pizza crust or worse...remember I said I wouldn't tell you?, well, I still won't....shiver, shiver..<br />
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Shifting gears, thankfully, right? I guess city living and residing in the city are states of being...we consider ourselves citizens of Boston...invested in the city...engaged with our neighbors, however they may come...we choose to embrace the culture, the history and the quirks of Boston. I find that every day I become a bit more urban and hopefully urbane. We moved to Boston to become Bostonians. Here's to the journey!<br />
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<br />Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-13658341889097280142015-07-16T12:46:00.000-04:002015-07-16T12:46:06.724-04:00What's Wrong With People?For those of you who bless me by reading my stuff, you know that I can find humor in just about every situation...from dark to silly, slapstick to sentimental, I can find the funny.<br />
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I have been sitting on this recent experience for a couple days now and it just ain't funny. <br />
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Let me tell you what happened, and you can share if you think I'm getting too thin skinned in my middle age...once upon a Tuesday night, Bill and I hosted dear friends from Paris and their traveling companions to dinner in the North End. As this was their first time in Boston and earlier, I ran them ragged about the city, giving them my insider's tour, I was excited to bring them into this quintessentially comforting section of our fair city and a guaranteed delicious meal.<br />
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I am a foodie...I know quite a bit about wine, food service and the hospitality industry, so my choice of restaurant was calculated...can you sense the foreshadowing... I won't reveal the name of the restaurant, yet, as I am waiting to hear back from the owner or management...but I am getting ahead of myself.<br />
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As I often do when we have more than four people in our party, I booked the reservation on Open Table. It gives the restaurant a heads up, I can make changes or notify them of special occasions, allergies and food preferences...as I did for that evening because there were both...a vegetarian (who enjoys fish) and a nut allergy...I got my confirmation and we were good to go.<br />
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Like I said, I had run these folks ragged on a humid afternoon, up and down the cobbled hills of Beacon Hill, on through the Commons and Public Garden up and down Newbury Street and Boylston...I was jazzed to share the sights and sounds...they were pooped. So, once we sat down and our waiter came to the table...he was very handsome and charming...we ordered ice water and I introduced our guests from Europe...Berlin by way of Paris and Geneva, also by way of France. I ordered a bottle of Prosecco for the table so we might toast the day. What I failed to anticipate was that for some in our party from France, drinking Prosecco is akin to drinking a wine cooler...but they raised their glasses and we talked about sparkling wines...being wine snobs and so on. We had fun with it!<br />
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We ordered our appetizers and my friend from Paris/Berlin asked if one of his companions might do the honors in selecting the wine...this is usually my territory, but I deferred and this very knowledgeable woman selected a 2009 Nebbiolo...and we all got excited...but our excitement tempered when a large party of 9 or 10 were seated next to us. They laughed a little too loudly and attempted to have conversations over each other and across the tables...insert eye roll....I found that when folks at my table seated across from me were speaking, I had to lean way in to hear. Culturally, Europeans tend to converse <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #878787; line-height: 15.6000003814697px;"> </span></span>tête-à-tête...quietly, conversationally...no need for your neighbors to know your business. Our neighbors on the other hand wanted the whole world to know just how jolly they were. Irksome.<br />
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When our charming and handsome waiter returned to the table with our wine, he poured some into our expert's glass...without presenting the bottle for her inspection. After smelling and tasting the wine, she asked politely, in her best English, to see the bottle and I knew something was up. He brought a 2011 instead of the 2009...now a couple of points here...this lady knows wine!!!!, and whenever an establishment has a wine list and they do not bring the wine listed, it is common courtesy to first let the patrons know of the substitution AND tell you what the price of the bottle being offered is. This is where things start to go south, as I say. Waiter Charming tried to explain that the year doesn't matter...(wrong)...that they sold the last bottle of 2009 YESTERDAY (bullsh*t)...he has no control over pricing the wine (then bring me the person who does)...what he did do right was offer to bring the wine list back but seeing how he handled the situation and crankiness setting in, we opted to drink the wine offered. Okay...a hiccup, right?<br />
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Our neighbors, in a very short amount of time had cocktails and wine in hand and were making quick work of it all...and refills were at the ready. In the restaurant biz, the bar and wine list are huge profit centers...which is absolutely fine...but when restaurants over serve...it becomes a big problem.<br />
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With our appetizers presented, Charming asked if we wanted to place our entree orders...ironically, he had to ask the ladies at the end of the table twice what they wanted and he confirmed the entire order with me as I was seated at the end of the table closest to him, because even he couldn't hear us due to the cacophony coming from a foot away.<br />
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At this point, I sensed I had "put a puss on", as I had direct line of sight to the gesticulating loudmouth couple who just had to laugh harder and screech louder, as being the center of their world was all important. My face must have read like a book because a man seated next to Mr. Devil May Care, said, "Come on... they are gonna kick us outta this place."...which made Mrs. Devil May Care shriek with laughter and get louder.<br />
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Pretty much all conversation ceased our table...we actually started texting with each other...and I NEVER text at the table...I, to my discredit, checked in on Facebook with a snarky comment about our neighbors, something about them being " Massholes"...and later posted and apology...I was not myself in that situation...Our neighbors seemed to be on the same course as us so when their appetizers arrived, the noise decreased to a dull roar...a bevy of biddies at the end of the table started up a conversation...at a normal decibel but Mrs. DMC wasn't seated near them, so she kept hurling, "What? WHaaat? WHAT!?" at them...<br />
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Our dinners arrived...everyone got what they requested, thank goodness...and as this is an Italian establishment, cracked pepper and Parmesan were proffered, accepted and... forgotten...our waiter never returned to the table...he was having too much fun taking selfies, bringing complimentary Grappa and Limoncello to the obnoxiously loud party. We had finished our bottle of wine and were never asked if we wanted more...we did get constant refills of water from the bus man, even he rolled his eyes apologetically... but once Waiter Charming started joining in the fracas, laughing and taking selfies with the others, I had to do something...he took a group picture of both parties, us and them..at the beginning of the meal...no problem right...but when he is having so much fun that other patrons are neglected...that's when I had enough...I was so upset, I was becoming ill. I was embarrassed before my guests and ashamed that people in Boston would behave this way and infuriated that the restaurant would allow such boorish, invasive and down right rude behavior to continue...and with free drinks... to encourage it.<br />
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I excused myself from the table...my husband asked where I was going...to the restroom was the response and the truth...BUT on my way back I asked to speak to a manager. Lo and behold, there was no manager on that night. The bartender asked me if she could help and I explained my plight. I assured her that I understood that the restaurant is not responsible for the content of the character of their patrons, but they are responsible for the comfort and enjoyment of all paying customers...not just those who think they are having a private party with puzzled onlookers...she noted that others had left because of the ruckus but because she was behind the bar at the back of restaurant she was not aware of how loud things were...at this point Waiter Charming sees me talking to the bartender...although not Italian, I do speak with my hands...he got the point that I wasn't swapping cocktail recipes. He came over and before I could say anything...asked me why if we were so uncomfortable with the noise...didn't we say something sooner...he would have moved us...to a table two feet away from the loud party...BIG MISTAKE...the bartender started to speak...but I put up my hand and with other, gently placed it on his arm...and said...I am speaking up now...if you had bothered to return to our table with cheese and pepper requested, I would have said something then, but you were having such a good time taking selfies and over serving alcohol to our friends there...I found that this was most opportune time to speak to someone. I get that you want everyone to be happy...you make a living doing this...but this one large of group is not paying for all your patrons...you need to attend to every paying customer with the same pleasure. Please do not blame me for your lack of attention. <br />
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I went on to state that this is their restaurant...they set the mood...they cater to the clientele...all clientele...and if you are happy that half of your clients are being disturbed and ignored...then you've met your goal. I think the owner or manager may have different goal. To which Charming asked..."So what would you do?" I said," I'd be happy to tell, but shouldn't you be asking your manager that question?" Off he went to call his manager...the bartender asked me what would I do...and I said, "I'd go over to the table and tell them I am happy they are having such a good time, but the excitement is overwhelming our small space and would they like some coffee or tea as they make their conversations quieter?" No need to say anyone is complaining...no need to scold anyone...just create awareness...in the meantime...Waiter Charming becomes a tattletale...and goes over to Mr. DMC to say I am complaining...I go back to my seat only hear our rude neighbors shushing me as I walk by...and in stage whispers...oh no we have to be quite...sh-sh-sh.....the waiter also belatedly brought cheese to our empty plates...my half-finished pasta was removed from the table while I was gone, and he had the temerity to ask my guest why didn't he speak up...he should have said something earlier...the waiter was blaming my guest for the situation we found ourselves in...my husband said enough...he went off to pay for the meal...just as we were getting up, Waiter Charming runs over and throws dessert plates forks on the table and plunks three pieces of cake saying that the table next to us was sorry we were upset (bullsh*t) and bought us dessert...I said no thank you...he said it's free...I said we're done...he walked away leaving the dessert and not bothering to offer coffee...and Bill was still waiting to pay for our meals...The women at our table refused to eat the offering, as we were insulted by trivializing our discomfort...the two seated gentlemen felt refusing the offering would be an insult...so they ate it...even if I wanted to, I would not have been able to eat as there were nuts in it...we then left...the food was delicious but the night was ruined...our tab was over $350...and the tip was sufficient, not the normally generous 25% we leave...we didn't want to not tip as there were some people who actually did their jobs...but...it was a way to show our dissatisfaction.<br />
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We walked along the waterfront and my gracious friends looked around at the gardens and architecture and talked of returning to Boston again...the tension slowly lessening...the city soothing the citizens...<br />
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I couldn't sleep...I wrote letters in my mind...practiced the discussion I might have with the owner...outline the blog I would write...practiced the review I would write on Open Table.. I woke from the fitful night with a "post wedding reception" sore throat...you know the kind you get from shouting over the band at a function hall...and my stomach was still upset...poor me...I contemplated my complaint over a cup of hot tea. Before I did anything, I first touched base with my brother-in-law, a chef/owner down in Newport News, VA and asked him how would he prefer a patron to communicate about the less than expected dining experience...I knew the answer before I asked him, but I wanted to cool down before acting and I wanted perspective...I got very good advice...now I am waiting for my call to be returned...<br />
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So what do you think? When did being rude become an entitlement? Should I have said something to the offenders? And, if you have ever found yourself in a party of Devil May Cares...how did you handle it? Discuss!<br />
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Thanks and cheers!<br />
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<br />Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-64612905773478800722015-03-24T15:06:00.000-04:002015-03-24T15:06:29.965-04:00Maddening MarchIt is no secret that March is my least favorite month. I've written poetry, blogs and opinion pieces about this miserable 1/12 of the year.<br />
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March is cruel. It teases and taunts you with longer days, brighter sunshine and hints of warmth. The sun is at about 41.5 degrees above the horizon during the day...its rays just strong enough to brush your cheeks with a kiss of warmth...but powerless against the bitter cold running through the streets of the city...a meteorological middle finger from the North. <br />
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I bundle up...pull on my boots...and leash up the dog for our afternoon recreational constitutional. She is as anxious as I to get out into the fresh air...to feel the imagined warm caress of the early spring sun. As we trot up Bowdoin, past the State House, a slight sea breeze blows, nipping at the tips of my ears. It is not enough to register a wind chill...but a chill registers nonetheless. Reilly, lowers her head and steels herself to move through the concrete and brick wind tunnel, heading toward Beacon Street.<br />
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The sidewalks to this point are clean and clear with some slight puddling from the run-off of melting snow upon the State House lawn... the sad, sad, grimy, gray-green turf is still too weary from this winter's beating to even try to absorb the gift of solar rejuvenation...it is tired...it too, is sick of March.<br />
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The illusion of Spring has brought more and more groups protesting or informing about their cause or ideology. They stand outside the wrought iron fence, huddling for warmth...their faces cover by scarves, muffling their words, their ideas. Passersby are more determined than ever to keep their heads down and move quickly by...to keep warm or to skirt the issues under the cool guise of being too cold?<br />
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As we broach the corner of Beacon and Park, our destination...our refuge, The Common, lays before us. We cross diagonally across the intersection and down the stairs into the park, the wind lessens significantly...not having tall buildings to channel the gusts into buffeting blows. The sun feels warmer and the walkways are wetter. Here we find more trash and dirt and yuck...the snow banks now barely a half a foot high are tinted with soot and grit. Park benches are still somewhat buried; they beckon for Bostonians to sit and lunch or read or chat...to raise one's countenance to the sun, eyes closed dreaming of warmer breezes and the sting of the sun...not the bite of the wind. Alas...they are unreachable and unappealing among the icy remainder of winter's historic spewing.<br />
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Beyond the snow mounds are what will someday soon be grassy islands...now they are plots of mud and gunk...littered with paw prints from the park's denizens and visitors seeking renewal. The squirrels are no worse for the wear...fat from gorging on tidbits found in the many trash bins. The rats did not seem to fair as well...I counted three corpses among the snow banks...chalk that one up for the winter. Boston pups romp in the designated doggie parks...leaving deep impressions in the snow and mud... taking dirty souvenirs of their excursion home on their paws, coats and underbellies...to be bathed away in a near daily ritual of the season.<br />
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As we meandered up and down the crisscrossing paths, I noticed that much like Parisians, Bostonians prefer to wear black in the winter...occasionally, a toddler might be sporting pink or blue...but many kids are wearing the darkness of winter as well. I, on the other hand, have a bright magenta pea coat. With my rose colored shawl, draped chic-ly over my shoulders, I stand out like the proverbial sore thumb. This is by design of course...people remember the lady with colorful coat and cute dog who promenades about Beacon Hill each day. The Park Rangers at the State House and the police on the Common notice and say hello, heads nodding, implying...yeah, I know her...she's a regular.<br />
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When we reached the center of the Common...I experienced what I reckoned to be a "Schindler"s List" moment...there we were...me in my bright, deep pink coat...among the black and white of the cold, cruel month of March...the paths were faded gray...the snow mounds gray with dirt, dust and detritus...the puddles were dark with mud and the people, in every direction looked like dark shadows...and there I was, like the little girl in the red coat...alone in the monochrome of the landscape.<br />
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But then, I looked up and saw the beauty of the bluest skies...nowhere else in my travels have the skies looked this blue...it is one of my favorite things about New England. My eyes wandered to the trees...gray-brown limbs outstretched against the bright blue...and there at the tips of the branches, was a hint of yellowish green...and over there, the buds were deep purple-red...mimicking the hue of my coat...and unlike the ill-fated red coated girl in Schindler's List, I felt hope, because, in a week and a day, March would be but a memory.<br />
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We took a last turn about the Common and headed back up the stairs to wander among the brownstones and trip over the cobbles...I strained to feel the heat radiating from the city's iconic bricks...but not yet...March still grips the city.<br />
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<br />Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-26308510798143980562015-03-10T15:30:00.001-04:002015-03-10T15:30:18.159-04:00Moving StuffIt is hard to believe that I've been living in Boston for over three months now! The time has gone by in the blink of and eye and in the heart of an historic winter! What a way to begin the next chapter of our lives..."It was a cold and snowy winter on Beacon Hill". But now, the state of being busy has calmed a bit and we've adjusted to a downsized life.<br />
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As I sit enjoying my morning coffee, I can reflect on what the heck has happened in the past year! Since returning from Paris in 2010, Bill and I have talkedseriously about living in Boston... and in 2014, our nest was truly empty...our 3200 sq. ft. house sitting on just about two acres was more than we needed and starting to be more than we could handle. I mean, really...dusting and vacuuming three bedrooms that remained empty most of the time...our family room in the basement had become a catch all for stuff...stuff we'd outgrown...stuff we'd inherited and were too sentimental to toss...stuff that spoke of a different stage in our lives...and was becoming the stuff of spider webs, dust and wasted potential.<br />
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The house too, which we had lovingly customized to our needs and wishes over the course of our first five years in residence, was starting to show signs of fatigue...I replaced the cooling unit in my Sub-Zero refrigerator drawers...the gaskets of the burners on my Wolf range needed annual replacing and tightening...granted I used my dear range to a fair the well...walls needed painting...carpets replacing... our gorgeous landscaping was maturing and in need of refreshing...and as these tasks mounted, we thought...heck...if we are going to do this, let's get everything up to snuff...clean up, clear out and downsize with the goal of getting out of Dodge (aka Groton!) and start living the next phase of our adult lives.<br />
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Last spring, we started researching what needed to be done to make our home sale-able and market ready...and all for the most bang for our buck! First on the list was...insert dramatic dun,dun, dun...the septic system...Title V... the bane of all my home-owning experience. Upon inquiry, we were told that with a system approaching 30 years old, it would be highly unlikely that our currently fully functional septic system would pass the regional Board of Health inspection...so we hired engineers, contractor and laborers who installed a brand spanking new system.<br />
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After tearing up the back yard, it was now time to refresh and restore our garden oasis...and open the pool...about 6 weeks later than expected! Walls deconstructed so heavy equipment could traverse our lovely sloped side yard had to be reassembled...the ten year old blue spruces were worse for wear, enduring the biting winds of winter's Polar Vortexes...out they came...replaced by rhododendrons. New grass seed...a bush here, a shrub there...when all was said and done....it was once again paradise.<br />
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Our faithful, 15 year old hot tub just didn't want to work for anyone one else...and two weeks before we listed the house, it died. It took some finagling and about $400 to have it carted away and discarded properly...you just don't plunk a 6 person spa on the curb for trash pick up! On the plus side, the brick patio upon which the hot tub sat made for a lovely sitting area and we brought our trusty fire pit up from the pool area to create a cozy spot for toasting marshmallows and telling ghost tales!<br />
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As all this work was going on from May to September, I was busy inside tackling closets, cubbies and cartons. My strategy was first, have a deadline. I knew that our town's Boy Scout Troops held an annual Labor Day Yard Sale and I was bound and determined to donate as much useful stuff as I could to the cause. I hated the thought of trashing perfectly useful things which no longer fit in our schemes and dreams. From kiddy board games to the old pots and pans I retired when I went all gourmet in my kitchen in 2004...these things still had purpose and my hope was they would make other families happy and offetr the stuff of new memories.<br />
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With my deadline set, I went about sorting things in each room...there were storage totes and packing boxes of things we would continue to keep or sell...bags and boxes of things to donate...and in what I considered a stroke of brilliance, a rented dumpster out next to the garage...if it was to be tossed...then let's toss it and take it away. We had the dumpster for 5 days...so another deadline to keep me motivated.<br />
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In addition to donating to the Scouts, I had to find outlets and resources for things they couldn't take...like mattresses, upholstered furniture, clothing....and for those things that I thought might bring a financial return. Welcome to the (unregulated) world of Estate Sales and Consignments...I researched a number of companies that specialize in clearing houses of goods...mostly from homes when folks passed away and grieving families couldn't or didn't want to cope with the disposal of their history, but empty-nesters, downsizing or moving were becoming a greater client base. I checked our companies through the Better Business Bureau...I got references...I did drive-bys of estate sales...and so on....but dealing with that level of cleaning out was a long way off...or was it?<br />
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The tricky part to downsizing and refreshing a place was juggling a schedule...which comes first, storage units or the estate sale? The sprucing in the house or waiting until setting the stage to sell...what if color trends change? what if the hot water heater goes..what if, if , if ? I favored having the sale first so I made the executive decision...sell what can be sold... Why move stuff multiple times to accommodate painters and the rug guys...alas. their schedules and my executive-ness did not align. It worked out in the end...and when the time came, the estate sale folks took great care to cover the new wall to wall carpets and freshly painted walls. <br />
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So in September, we had several rooms repainted then the new rugs went in...the landscaping was completed...the pool closed...and we had just started looking at rentals in the city. What an eye-opener! <br />
<br />
Our plan is to rent for a year, maybe two, learning about city life...exploring the neighborhoods we thought would set the stage for our as yet unwritten future. Working with the best real estate agent, who "got us", we set upon finding a new roost...but back in Groton, I needed to find someone who'd honor our legacy...and find the family who would call High Oaks Path home. <br />
<br />
I interviewed three real estate agencies and based on the first two interviews, my heart sank...my dream nearly shattered as the news about the market and comps failed to live up to our expectations.<br />
<br />
The first agent, who in all honesty was the person I thought had the best reputation and success rate asked us, based upon her research which she had sent over earlier, what we thought the house should go for...and upon hearing our number told us that if we expected her to sell at that price, she'd have to walk away. !!!! When we asked where she'd price the house, it came in about $100,000 less than our figure. She said she'd try it at $40,000 higher than her price point, but we should be prepared for lots of underbids. I was not a happy camper.<br />
<br />
Two days later, we met with the next broker and her firm assessed our house at $30,000 more than the first agent's price...but less than the number Agent 1 begrudgingly laid out as our high point. Agent 2 told us that is was foolish to "test" the market and that she was sure we could only get that price at which she'd listed the house. <br />
<br />
At this point Bill and I were seriously questioning whether we could and or should move now...but darn it...we were ready...we had one more agent to interview. If she came in around the same price point, we were prepared to wait at least until spring to reassess...but man, with all the work we'd done and funds invested, we were so ready!!<br />
<br />
Agent 3 arrived on a Thursday and yes because of the disappointment of the previous two meetings, I opted to celebrate Champagne Thursday...a toast to hope. The painter was putting the final touches in the bathrooms...but the house had been staged by me to show a home where life was lived and lives loved. She walked around, measuring...asking questions...seeing what we saw...seeing a home that would make somebodies very happy. We talked about strategies for marketing and selling the house...she explained the services her company offered and then...she recommended we sell the house for just what Bill and I expected...whew! She actually came in a little higher than we thought...but our valuation had taken a beating and when Karen Earnest came in higher...oh...what relief.<br />
<br />
Our apartment hunting was not going easily...we have a dog and for some reason, dog loving Bostonians are reluctant to rent to dog owners...but our intrepid rental agent dogged it out. On October 11th, we found a cute place in the South End and filled out an application...which was promptly accepted! YIKES! We expressed our preferred move in date of Dec. 1, but the owner wanted a November 1 date...we countered Nov. 15th...our house wasn't even on the market yet...and although we could swing the mortgage and the rent...why should we?...we had time. So when the apartment's agent...who lobbied really hard for us because he thought we were the perfect tenants...came back that the owner was holding firm to the Nov. 1 move in date...so we let it go.<br />
<br />
<br />
We talked it over with Betsey, our rental agent, and thought perhaps we should put our apartment hunting on hold until later in November or December...giving us a chance to get Groton on the market...and if there was no interest, we might have to revisit the whole process in the spring real estate season. Betsey understood and gave us encouragement that more rentals would be available with Spring's warm weather...so keep chins up!<br />
<br />
In the mean time, Karen set about marketing our Groton home. On October 15th, the professional photographer came in and took amazing pictures for the RE/Max website and by Thursday afternoon, the interactive house tour of High Oaks Path was live! The page had nearly 50 views by noon on Friday. Karen scheduled appointments for Saturday 10/18...and five interested parties popped by to see the house. One couple asked if they could return with her mother and the kids on Sunday...and by 9 am on Monday, we had an offer for above our asking price! We were moving! But wait!..to where...oh crap...my stomach was flip flopping...things got turned over to agents and lawyers and we needed to find a place to live with an early December move-in...we were set to close on December 8...what once looked like a bleak situation now turned into a feeding frenzy of emotions, appointments and new scheduling which, if my hair weren't already gorgeously gray, would have turned it so!<br />
<br />
A storage unit was rented...home inspections schedule...legalese abounded...and as we approached November 1...we needed to find a home. Much to the chagrin of my very patient real estate agent, I became a real estate app junkie...constantly filling in profiles and setting filters...but it paid off! <br />
<br />
Very early in our apartment hunting experiment, on the last sunny Sunday in September, Betsey took us to see a Hancock Street apartment on Beacon Hill...it had just listed that morning and yes, it was $1000 above our budget and stated no pets...but it was open to see, so we popped in. It was lovely...had parking...was 2 floors....in unit laundry... a workable kitchen, and so on...but being way over budget and the first apartment we looked at, we said good-bye. We looked and looked until the South Boston find...that fell through and thus began my feverish obsession with Zillow, Trulia, and Redfin!<br />
<br />
On October 31, as I was making a pass of updates on Zillow, a familiar address popped up...the first Hancock St. apartment was still not rented and the rent was $500 lower! Now, what I had come learn was, there is rental season in the city. Generally apartments are leased from September 1 to August 31...that window had come and gone for this unit...and in general, if rentals are not leased by 11/15...the owners or management companies let them go dormant until the spring...I called Betsey and asked her to inquire about Hancock Street...ask about the dog...she's small...seeing that it is late in the rental season...maybe they'd drop the rent another $500...can you imagine my teeth gritted grin!?!...What a ballsy risk! We were a month from being homeless...not in a tragic way...but no roof over our heads in sight...and glory be...they bit and took our offer...we immediately filled in the application and sent over a deposit...all based on the first impression of the first apartment I saw months before...I guess somethings are meant to be and lessons need learning...(foreshadowing for another blog).<br />
<br />
With a future address in sight, I set about the final stages of leaving High Oaks Path. We contacted and contracted with a terrific moving company, one that is comfortable with the peculiarities of moving in Boston...one way streets...on street parking...permits...street sweeping.<br />
<br />
The estate sale company came in mid-November , pricing and staging 30 years worth of belongings...the beds my kids slept in...the Beanie Babies they collected....36 place settings of Pfaltzgraff Yorktowne dishes and accessories (I owned the pattern and then inherited my mother's and mother's -in-law sets)...pictures and frames...arts and crafts crap...tools...a houseful of stuff...a grandfather clock...windchimes...jelly jar glasses...STUFF! And on a warm, sunny Saturday...strangers came and bought my things. Thank goodness I wasn't home...the manager of the estate sale highly recommended we leave...pets in tow...as seeing and hearing how others regarded your stuff could be sad, infuriating and weird.<br />
<br />
The sale went well. We got a little more that was estimated and somethings we hoped and prayed would sell did...and we were surprised at what didn't...the bedroom suites, the dishes....not a bite...but those Flintstone jelly jars from the nineties, which had been boxed up when we moved from Billerica 15 years ago...(they sold for $1 each)...found a new home!<br />
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As I examined the aftermath of the sale...it was a bit of organized chaos...I wondered what I should do with the stuff that needed new families...and lo and behold, a message popped up on the Groton Google group...the PTA for one of our elementary schools was looking for books, DVDs, CDs, and games for their annual holiday Craft Fair and Book Sale...I contacted the organizer and told her we had a large assortment of all those items and would she like to come by and take what she wanted...she took it all...and she told us it was the largest donation (single or otherwise) the PTA ever had...and that the funds would go to help with library, playground and music programs...hallelujah!<br />
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I contacted the outreach services and food pantry at Devens... they took 6 bags of clothing, toiletries and some of the pantry items I wasn't sure I wanted to bring to the city...who needs a case of black beans when there are only two of you?<br />
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The remaining items found an outlet through an agency called HGRM, located in Acton. They gratefully took our donations of furniture, linens, curtains, all those Pfaltzgraff dishes ! The mission is to provide gently used...well loved items that will help homeless families transition from shelters into a new, private home. The clients can "shop" in their warehouses for items that they need and develop their vision of home...I am most satisfied with this decision for our stuff.<br />
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In the end just about everything found a new place to call home...and so did we!<br />
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We moved into the city on December 2...sold the house on December 8...never was homeless...thank goodness...and now with about 6 months left on our lease, we are exploring the awakening real estate market in the Hub...be still my heart...and here goes my stomach, flip-flopping again...will we rent again...renew our lease...or is the next dream home to own out there waiting for its new family with a new story and memories yet to share? I'll let you know.<br />
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Cheers!Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-5912464863821016282015-02-23T11:19:00.000-05:002015-02-23T11:19:11.088-05:00Living With the Things You UseMy goodness, it has been some time since I have put my thoughts in any order, never mind writing them down! <br />
<br />
The last time I took a moment to write, I was strolling down memory lane amid piles and boxes, mementos and gee-gaws. I found a poem from my childhood...discovered long lost letters from my mom...sorted through the myriad of stuff accumulated over 30+ years as a homeowner.<br />
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It is funny how we surround ourselves with stuff...the stuff of legends (in our own minds)...the stuff others give us...and sometimes the right stuff...the stuff that puts the polish on one's character and nature.<br />
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As I began the process of organizing and plotting our downsizing, anticipating a move into Boston, a funny thing happened, I stopped needing so much stuff...not just emptying a nest...but a real sense of need versus want...my husband said it best recently, "Live with the the things you use." <br />
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For nearly three months now, we find ourselves in a very nice rental apartment on Beacon Hill...2 bedrooms, an office...a serviceable kitchen and a parking spot...yay! We still have a bit too much stuff, but as we live in a smaller space and look for a new property to purchase, we are learning about what we need...what we like. For example, being who we are, we each have our favorite coffee mug...mine is a roundish black and green mug from Duck Donuts that I picked up a couple of years ago from a happy little doughnut place in Duck, NC. It is just the right size and fits my hand well...I like the roundness of it...I can wrap my hands around it...take in a deep breath of fresh brewed aroma...warm my hands...it is just what I need for my morning coffee..I wash it out after each use so it is ready for the next cup later in the day...so why in heaven's name did we have roughly 100...yes you read that correctly...100 mugs packed away in boxes in the attic? I'd say that 95 of them were gifts from thoughtful folks...they didn't know that other people had given Bill and me each, a pithy mug...mugs that said thanks in multiple languages...holiday mugs...floral mugs...mugs with mice ...cartoons...sports logos...corporate logos...who doesn't need a mug, right? As a former teacher, PTA volunteer and CCD teacher, I got mugs...and candles...and tea towels...see where this is going!?! Now please don't get me wrong. I loved the thought behind each gift. I appreciated the validation that I somehow made an impact in someone's life...and I will always own that...the experience has shaped me...directed me to who I am and where I am today...and God willing, I will always know that...I don't need a trinket to remind me...that intersection of our lives has moved me down a path of a life well lived and loved...hopefully with many more miles to go...but now I hope the markers of that journey are not in things accumulated, but in the direction others go along their life's journey...that each encounter leaves someone happier, smarter, affirmed...a kind act, word or smile suffices to cement our connection in my being...but if you come over for coffee...fear not, I still have a lovely mug or china cup for you too!<br />
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I have had the same discussion with many people as of late...how do you downsize...how can you cleanse yourself of the things that you've owned for a lifetime? Won't you miss this or that? Won't you forget? For me, the answer is that although an item might bring to mind a memory...it doesn't own the memory...that has and always shall live in me. Bill and I have come to a point in our lives where we'd like to see our stuff build lives and memories for others. <br />
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As we sorted through our stuff, it became necessary to designate our piles...keep...donate...sell...recycle...and I did my research for each of these designations. One resource/outreach service that brought joy to our goal was HGRM in Acton. We were able to donate much of our furniture...all of which we offered to family first with no takers, wah, wah...to this organization that affords families transitioning from homeless shelters into new housing furniture and household goods. Clients of HGRM could "shop" for items that would make a new space their home...and I feel certain that the history and essence of a happy family that surrounds our stuff will fuel the memories of the new owners...and we find great comfort, happiness and purpose in that as we let go.<br />
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I'm looking around the dining room, where I've plunked down to write this post...and I see tulips in a vase I bought in Paris...my favorite vase...the only on I need. In my china cabinet, I see the Limoges dessert set that was my mother's and her mother's before her...I use it almost every day now...I have owned it for 26 years...but have only now started using it...living with it...some cute champagne flutes from Sayda...I use these to celebrate Champagne Thursday... a crystal bowl from my maid of honor...I use it as a side dish for dinner...every day! Many of the items I have around me, have been in my possession for a long time...but now, I use them...I live with them...they have new life as we embark on a new chapter of our lives...I guess what I am saying is...these are the things I need, and to some extent...they connect my history to my day to day life...spelling out more history I guess.<br />
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Now, just so you don't promote me to sainthood yet...with a few exceptions, most of the stuff that surrounds us now will not be moving to our next home! I'll keep the Limoges...and a few of the other fine things accumulated over the years...those things yearning to be unpacked to be used in our future lives...but after thirty two years, my husband and I are different creatures...we are older, wiser, snootier empty nesters...we do not need a serviceable couch ...I'd like something that says something about who we are NOW...I don't want the kitschy lamp set that we could just barely afford from JC Penney's 20 years ago...I want something that sets the stage for the next act...that details and reflects us...the new us...ok...what I am about to share is corny...but it seems appropriate...I guess this rental apartment on Beacon Hill is our chrysalis...and in a few months, we will transition into our new place surrounded by the things we want and need to live each day...but that highlight who we are, where we came from and most importantly...who we hope to be as we find new purpose and adventure in this stage of our lives!<br />
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Cheers!<br />
<br />Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-50835070089487801592014-09-11T11:21:00.002-04:002014-09-11T11:27:43.050-04:00<div style="border-bottom: solid #4F81BD 1.0pt; border: none; margin-left: .65in; margin-right: .65in; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid #4F81BD .5pt; mso-border-bottom-themecolor: accent1; mso-border-bottom-themecolor: accent1; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 4.0pt 0in;">
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<h2>
My Mine </h2>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">As I was going through things that
had been long since packed away, I came across this poem, on mimeographed
paper, in a simple wooden frame. I think it is in Dad's </span><span style="line-height: 15.3333330154419px;">handwriting</span><span style="line-height: 115%;">, but my mom composed it...I cannot be sure.
It used to sit on the bookshelf in my room at 20 Kenneth Terrace in Stoneham,
Massachusetts…My parents gave it to me on the night before I went into first grade, when I turned over the last little
square of my favorite white blanket with the satin edging and satin dots
embroidered throughout its fleecy soft cloth....a trade or rite of passage perhaps...</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></i><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I cannot tell you the last time I
laid eyes on this poem or the tattered rag, but when I did find this poem among
the many bits and pieces from my youth, I smiled, cried and felt my mother’s
hug…</span></i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My Mine”<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">This tattered rag, all faded white,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Use to be my child’s delight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">She held it close around her head,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Thumb in mouth when she went to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">She called this bit of comfort “Mine”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">When it was near, all was fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">But let the darn thing go astray,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">We’d hunt and search for it all day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">The first we knew of her love divine,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Was her first word, and that was “Mine!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">She’d reach for it and held it near;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Next to Mama’s arms, ‘twas the thing most dear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">She kept that mine for six long years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">It saw her through all kinds of fears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">And year, by year, it wore away,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">‘Til at last ‘twas just this rag of gray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Now she’s a big girl, at least most of the time,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">She’s given up much, most of all her dear “Mine”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">But sometimes when she’s sleeping, I still hear her
cry<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">And find her hand searching, a tear in her eye.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">And when she gets married, I’ll give her that day,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">A gift she’ll remember, all wrapped bright and gay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">And hope she’ll remember with babes of her own, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">That a “Mine” is such comfort, if it’s a “Mine” of
your own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-11478071730369369212013-04-16T12:54:00.000-04:002013-04-16T12:54:30.012-04:00I am from Boston<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am from Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tragedy yesterday hurts my heart…but I am from Boston and that means a lot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am from Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I live in Groton, but I am from Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have noticed that many Massachusetts folks like me, when we travel and are asked where we are from…we say, “From Boston.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the conversation continues, then there is clarification…a little town northwest of Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in my heart, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am from Boston…not Massachusetts...not New England, Boston!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are on the brink of downsizing and guess where we hope to move…I am from Boston!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I grew up in a small town, 12 miles from the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As early as 13 years old, my friends and I would get on the “T” at Oak Grove Station and head to the NE Aquarium or Quincy Hall Market Place…after all, I was from Boston…I love this accessible little city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite place…Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love that it is a renaissance city…a city with a continental flair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is walkable…it oozes pride, history and a hometown feel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boston isn’t pretentious or uppity…Boston is just very sure of who were are and where we’ve come from…we got good roots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Boston Marathon…Project Bread Walk For Hunger…AIDS Walk…March of Dimes Walk for Babies…Boston Avon Walk For Breast Cancer…Boston Walk for Brain Cancer…MSPCA Angell Walk For Animals…Jimmy Fund Marathon Walk…<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A couple of months ago, I was vacationing in Key West, enjoying some fried chicken at Sarabeth’s Restaurant. Out on the patio where seating was at a premium, enjoying the warm Florida wind, we people watched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shortly after we sat down, a couple of Russian ex-pats seated rather close to us started talking about where they would next like to visit in the US.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman stated she wanted to go to Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her companion tried to talk her into NYC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help myself, I leaned over and said “I am from Boston…you should visit…it is such a lovely city.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When asked when I would recommend they visit, without hesitation I said April or October…April because of Patriots’ Day, the marathon, the swan boats, the Red Sox…October because it is Autumn and the city has a special energy after the dog days of summer…” The woman smiled and nodded and I realized all our meals were getting cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I raised my glass of rose’ and asked them to join us in a toast to Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am from Boston, I thought, and I smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Freedom Trail…Bunker Hill…Paul Revere’s house…Old North Church…Faneuil Hall…the Custom’s House…Beacon Hill…Granary Burying Ground…Old South Meeting House…<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Helvetica','sans-serif'; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">“</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are more thoroughly an enlightened people, with respect to our political interests, than perhaps any other under heaven. Every man among us reads, and is so easy in his circumstances as to have leisure for conversations of improvement and for acquiring</span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Helvetica','sans-serif'; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> information</span></b><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: 'Helvetica','sans-serif'; font-size: 10.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">”</span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Benjamin Franklin, Boston’s own, spells out a real truth about our city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are a city of history, education, politics, philanthropy, and, we have our warts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nowhere else I have admired and been inspired by the noble efforts, as outlined, than in Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boston is one of those places where we own our history…sometimes we are embarrassed by our history and politics, but we never deny it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More importantly, we learn from it and we teach others the lessons we’ve learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tip O”Neill, Boston’s elder statesman and former Speaker of the House, once said, “All politics is local.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is so true in Boston. It is local…it is personal…because Bostonians, and by our regional default, other New Englanders…we care a lot about who we are and where we come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are a world class city…with a unique small town feel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m from Boston.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Boston Red Sox… Boston Celtics… Boston Bruins… New England Patriots… Boston Garden...Fenway Park…NE Sports Hall of Fame…The Head of the Charles…<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am a Boston sports fan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a hom-ah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have jerseys, caps and sweat shirts for each team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love to go to games.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cheer and boo and yell at the ref.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sing the National Anthem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love Boston’s pride…I cried when the curse was lifted…I was pumped when #17 went to the rafters at the Garden. I love Opening Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The number 4 is my favorite number thanks to Bobby Orr.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boston fans are the greatest fans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are knowledgeable, passionate and driven to love/hate relationships with our teams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some followers can be real jerks though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few years back, I was sitting in some awesome seats along the third base line at Fenway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was raining, but the ballpark was filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few seats to my right, were some Tampa Bay Fans…enjoying the game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the end of the eighth approached, and Sweet Caroline wasn’t so sweet, it was clear the Sox were gonna lose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could feel it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Rays fans were enjoying their team’s skill and nearby boo-birds and drunks decided to take the impending loss out on our visitors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple of loud mouthed broads started cursing at the Rays’ fans and their companions were posturing and threatening a beatin’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I leaned over and said to the visitors, “This is Friendly Fenway…America’s most beloved ballpark…ignore them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are not Boston. Boston is better than that! ”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something cool happened next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other Red Sox fans started to chime in and tell the drunks to shut up…to get out of the park…and lo and behold, the peer pressure worked…that and security popped in on the scene and the offenders were escorted to applause and nah, nah, nah, nah, hey, hey, hey good bye!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the game ended, people reached out to congratulate the visiting fans…and we walked out humbled and peaceable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am from Boston.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">NE Aquarium…MFA…Boston Children’s Museum…Boston’s Museum of Science…Public Gardens…Boston Common…Symphony Hall…The Esplanade…<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';">Boston is a cradle of life, passion, education, innovation, history and liberty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her citizens live well, play hard and have passion for things that are good, important and meaningful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are stoic and cool…but once the ice is broken you have a friend for life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one lives and laughs with more zeal than those of us from Boston.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my favorite symbols of the city are McCloskey’s <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make Way For Ducklings. As a baby gift, I give that book to welcome the newborns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love the statue…and I love the story of our little ducks in Boston…</span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Mrs. Mallard leads the ducklings ashore and straight to the road in hopes of crossing to reach the Public Garden, but she has trouble crossing as the cars will not yield to her. Michael, the policeman who fed peanuts to the Mallards, stops traffic for the family to cross. Michael calls police headquarters and instructs them to send a police car to stop traffic along the route for the ducks. The ducks cross Storrow Drive, proceeding down Mount Vernon Street to Charles, where they waddle on toward the Garden. The people on the streets admire the family of ducks. When the family must cross Beacon to enter the Public Gardens, there are four policemen standing in the intersection stopping traffic to <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">make way for the ducklings</b>. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Mallard meets up with his troop at the Public Garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Mallards decide to stay in the Garden and live <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happy_ending" title="Happy ending"><span style="color: windowtext;">happily ever after</span></a>. I thought of that story yesterday as our first responders and those amazing volunteers rushed to help the wounded and frightened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do what must be done. We are brave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are giving…Boston is a city of purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m from Boston…and I love that dirty water…Boston you’re my home.</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-10227521000640551382013-03-07T16:00:00.000-05:002013-03-07T16:00:51.288-05:00Power of Prayer = JoyFor a few years now, I have had a crisis of religion. My Church has been experiencing growing pains...not wanting to move into the modern era as quickly as I would hope...not accepting responsibility for the institutional frailties of being a human construct while endeavoring to be omniscient…The Church hasn’t felt like MY Church for a while…but I still have hope. That being said, rest assured, I do not have a crisis in faith. <o:p></o:p><br />
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I believe in a higher power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe I am a creation and a part of creation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also believe that I am invested in that creation…I am to care, engage and act to the best of my abilities for the good of creation.<o:p></o:p><br />
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A long time ago, my mother taught me to pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She assured me God, Mary, Jesus and all the angels and Saints listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She taught me that my prayers matter and that I shouldn’t feel disillusioned if my will and God’s will didn’t quite mesh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed to trust that the answers I seek and the answers I need might be different…and that is okay.<o:p></o:p><br />
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She also taught me that I am never alone…that God is with me, but if I felt too small or unworthy of His attention, He blessed me with a Guardian Angel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought this was great and I named my Guardian Angel, Fred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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I haven’t told many people about Fred; mostly because he is my angel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, also because people who talk to angels can be viewed as a bit…um…weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, if you think me weird, that is on you. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fred helps me with that “serving creation objective”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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As a mother, I taught my daughters to pray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pray in the moment at lot of times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, whenever we hear the sirens of emergency vehicles, we pray for the safety of all concerned…that the rescuers find strength and courage and the victims find hope and peace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we see something beautiful in nature…we thank our Maker for the gift of that beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when we find ourselves weak or at fault, we pray for humility, the grace to ask for forgiveness and the gift of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>patience.<o:p></o:p><br />
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I pray every day for people who have touched my life in some way, shape or form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray for strangers when I hear news of a challenge that faces them. I pray that God’s will be done and that all who are touched by this can find comfort, even if the answer isn’t what we expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also pray for the strength to keep praying.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Lately, I have been busy praying…some people know I am praying for them but many do not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe in the power of prayer and acts of faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed for us all that tragic day in Newtown, CT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray for my friend’s daughter who is battling cancer…and I pray for him…that he continue to have faith and strength during this battle. I pray for my friend and her family who are struggling with addiction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray for my children, that they find joy in each day and that each decision they make brings them happiness. I pray they find companions worthy of their goodness and love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed for a neighbor who went overseas to do God’s work…that she discovers she is the answer to some young girls’ prayers. I pray for a mother who is struggling with depression and the estrangement with daughter and grandchild. I pray for our President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray for world peace. I pray for a long distant friend who had to make a very difficult decision about letting a beloved pet go to another home… I have a long list of prayers…I trust that God will answer these prayers for the good of His creation.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Over the weekend, a young man from Medford got lost skiing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heard the story on the news and I said a silent prayer…God be with this boy…give him strength to return to his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bless those who are searching for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><br />
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I also asked Fred to go and be with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed that my Guardian Angel keep him safe and stave off his fears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe in angels…and I hoped mine would take my prayers to this boy and his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I send Fred on rescue missions all the time…<o:p></o:p><br />
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When I woke up on Tuesday, I tuned into the TV morning news and saw the distraught aunt of the missing boy, talking about her nephew…I prayed again…and a short time later…prayers were answered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I offered a prayer of thanksgiving…and I felt buoyed…I guess it was Fred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately realized my prayer had been answered and I felt joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am glad God and I saw eye to eye on this one.<o:p></o:p><br />
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You may think I am off my nut, but this ritual…this practice of prayer…it makes me feel connected to you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe my prayers made a difference for this kid…his name is Nicholas Joy…I like to think that this is more than coincidence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joy…it is my prayer for you.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-65152119573347293812013-01-10T15:41:00.000-05:002013-01-10T15:41:03.361-05:00Creatures of Habit<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are well into the New Year and slowly, I am getting my s#!+ together again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the holidays, our nest filled up and as of today, one kid has departed, one remains and my daughter’s new boyfriend has roosted here for a while before they make the trek back to Baltimore for her final semester at college…yippee!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But, since December 16<sup>th</sup>, my life has been such a whirlwind; I just don’t feel quite right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must admit with great guilt and anticipation…I want my empty nest back…just so I can get back to my routines.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot tell you how many times I have been late for stuff…or worse completely blanked about an appointment or two…because my routines have been rerouted for other people’s priorities, schedules and needs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Someone once told me it takes 10 days to break a habit and 21 days to form a new one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So knowing this, perhaps you can understand my personal crazy at having my kids at home for the extended holiday vacation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Between holiday traditions, winter cravings and individual dietary desires, my diet has been assaulted but despite the barrage of processed foods, I have been pretty faithful to my healthy eating habits…as much as the holiday calendar has allowed, I have stuck to my workouts…but all other routines, habits and strategies seemed to have been usurped by ghosts of Christmas past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once a momma, always a momma…something happens to our (adult) children when they return to the nest…they yearn to be cared for and as Momma Bird, initially it is a great pleasure to comply…but after a few days and several mounds of stinky laundry parked before the dryer…something creeps in…For months out of the year, my children can feed and clothe themselves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They do laundry, wash dishes, make beds and put stuff away…but coming home to the place they have known for 13 years and parents they’ve known a lifetime…somehow they forget all this stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One child reverts to 12 years old and clamors for every family tradition to be crammed into every available moment she is here…hence her desire to have Mommy do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other strives for quality time with everyone…she’ll do any chore you ask…as long as she has company doing it… and of course<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you have to ask her to do something…Heck!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had children so I wouldn’t have to do chores!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am a bit exhausted with all this juggling of needs, desires and probably the most difficult, expectations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere, somehow, my family has created the “Hallmark” expectation…every moment together filled with joy and happiness…birds chirping, cookies baking…and most times, we miss the mark…I am just happy we are together, healthy and comfortable in our own skin…but this artifice of home, sweet, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>perfect <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>home, is very stressful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There have been days when, because my routines are interrupted or something else, like a hot flash or I am human…I get a wee bit grouchy…due to holiday scheduling, I missed a number of workouts and paid more than one price for having done so…I am back to three times a week …thank goodness….oops, digressed with too many phrases! Ok… But there were some moments when I thought my eyes would get stuck in the back of my head from rolling them so much…it is a defense mechanism so I won’t overreact to the dumbest things…be honest, you know what I mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many times can one go to the cupboard for a coffee cup to find it empty, turn around and see every mug, tea cup, travel mug and yes even lidded paper cups perched precariously in and around the sink…awaiting Mommy to deal with them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me tell you…three!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that, I started hiding clean mugs and let the rest of them contemplate just how much they wanted hot beverages!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one situation that really piqued my ire was, once the family realized that I stopped maid service when I turned 50, they pitched in to “clean” the kitchen but, they would <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>leave serving spoons, baking dishes and various other sundries of common culinary usage on the kitchen table…because they didn’t know where that stuff belonged… as a mature, reasonable woman, I dealt with this the best way I knew how… I opened the bar cabinet, poured myself a little vodka and politely turned to them asking if they considered opening any one of the doors, drawers or containers about the kitchen and see what was contained therein…um, hello…those serving spoons we have been using for nearly 30 years and I have always kept in the silver ware drawer…yup, those…can go back there…the baking dish, which is a part of a “nesting” set…yup…it goes in the same drawer as the rest of them…the coffee mugs…go in the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gall-dern cabinet over the coffee maker at the coffee bar…you know the one I custom designed 8 years ago when we redid the kitchen…and from whence you took that cup!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grrrr…I am ok.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the midst of the homecoming and holidays, we did hit a bit of a turning point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was putting the finishing touches on a little book I have been working on for a while now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And there were times when I would ask for help or attempt to squirrel away time to attend to it and you’d think I’d run away…I did stake my claim to this as it is important to me…more important than watching NCIS re-runs….and once the family noted its importance to me, and the invitation to be a part of the process…we had some fun with final taste testing, photo shoots and the communal clapping when Mom sent off the draft to the printers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It became clearer to me that sometimes, routines are situational…my adult children function quite capably in their adult lives…so much so that my husband and I beam with pride when they share their exploits and successes and buck up their confidence up when they hit an occasional snag…but coming “home”…it is all about returning to that routine which gives you comfort, strength and that “aaah” feeling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So as January 2013 progresses and the nest becomes emptier, for a time…I will get back into my swing of things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Exercising regularly…dedicating time each day to writing and recipe development…moisturizing...you know, the little “me” things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I will tackle my projects and those pesky chores…but down-sized chores….I can get back to laundry DAY as opposed to days…stuff like that…and I will lapse into my waiting routine…waiting for the kids to come visit again… however, after this nearly month long invasion, I will remind my girls of our favorite Ben Franklin quote…”Guests, like fish, start to stink after three days.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had this understanding with my dad and never wore out a welcome by always prefacing my visit request by quoting old Ben… this lowered expectations and often left us wanting more…never wishing we had left sooner! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Please don’t get me wrong…I love my daughters fiercely…and am so blessed to have them in our lives…it is just time for us to enjoy new phases in our lives…making new routines which can be challenging for us all but despite the challenges, are necessary. Rest assured the one constant is our love…this will never change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks for reading…feel free to share your routines and empty nest stories…I’d love to know I am not alone in this crazy phase!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-66527277434344260732012-12-04T13:51:00.000-05:002012-12-04T13:51:16.531-05:00Christmas in the Empty NestThere is something different about Christmas this year. My daughters are busy...away in their own lives. Most of my nieces and nephews are adults, so the focus on Christmas is more "couple" centered. My husband and I are decorating our home the way we want to...although Emily did say she hopes that when she returns at semester's end that our house will look like Santa vomited Christmas all over the place...her imagery, not mine! I think I will choose a more "elegant" design!<br />
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Yeah, we are taking it slower this year, enjoying Advent...paying attention to traditions near and dear, old and new. We have watched a few Christmas specials, like <em>A Charlie Brown Christmas</em>...<em>Its a Wonderful Life </em>and a PBS special featuring the best of the Andy Williams Christmas shows...no door bell ringing, cookie stealing bear though! During the commercial breaks, we reminisce about how we shared those moments with our families in the past. This new found nostalgia, sans the over the top gift giving, children-centric, mile a minute all consuming, holiday blitz, feels right! <br />
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We are visiting local merchants for our holiday shopping needs. Our Christmas cards support UNICEF, Dana Farber Cancer Institute and Habitat for Humanity. We will continue to make donations to area charities, honoring our friends and co-workers...really who needs another Yankee Candle or gift box of summer sausage...which btw, I have NEVER given to anyone...but you know what I mean. For us, this gift of giving rings true to the real meaning of Christmas.<br />
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We'll head to the West Groton Nursery for the 13th time since moving to Groton and pick out our tree and wreath. We'll enjoy a steaming cup of cider and I will select my poinsettias with hopes of keeping them alive until I can set them out on the deck next summer only to be ravaged by some insect invader...I didn't toss last year's into the compost pile until Memorial Day! My 2013 goal: Father's Day!<br />
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New this year, we are going to head over to Nashoba Valley Ski for their Festival of Lights...just us..romantic like..Christmas carols softly providing a soundtrack to our little rendez-vous. We love driving around neighborhoods looking at lights and we will think about the incredible displays from our childhoods...the all blue house on the Fellsway in Medford...the wreaths and garland in Stoneham Square...the cheesy tinsel trees at Redstone. We will oooh and ah and then come home to our simple white candles in the windows and our crazy, ice blue, warm and cool white lights on our Umbrella Pine...who knew "white" lights could look so different!<br />
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I am busy planning our Annual Christmas Open House...I love it when friends and family pop in for a nosh, quaff and a hug! I love the Open House concept...come for a while, long or short...just give me a hug before your leave! There will be mulled wine, hot cider and lots to eat...there will be gingerbread cookies for the kids to decorate and there the annual Holiday Trivia contest, the questions are always the same, but people get stumped every year... and music...lots and lots of music! <br />
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In years past, we made an annual Barbo Best of Christmas mix CD of our favorite holiday songs...but after 8 years, we have maxed those out, so this year our holiday favor is a lovely bar of chocolate from Theo Chocolates...a fair trade partner with cacao farmers in the Democratic Republic of Congo...an impoverished, war torn country, but the chocolate producers are not a focus of the military...cocoa nibs are not profitable for their war effort so they leave these farmers alone...the more cocoa the US buys, the more stable the farms become and the economy grows, education becomes a priority and with our prayers, peace may prevail! This company also partners with Jane Goodall's efforts to save the great apes and another initiative to provide bicycles to under developed regions in Africa,to promote access to education, jobs and health care! I am pleased to support this company because these efforts demonstrates what being Christian means to me. It also makes my inner Santa happy!<br />
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Last night as we hit the mall for a few gifts, Bill looked at me and asked, sheepishly, "Why do the kids have to come home so early this year? I want to enjoy the simplicity of Christmas with you?" I was flattered and not taken aback...I know what he means. We will have a happy time with our kids...but for the first time in almost 30 years, we have this time for ourselves...just us fifty somethings...and it is quite nice. It won't be too long before the next generation will be taking over Christmas...their plans, their homes, making new traditions...so before we become guests at the holidays, we are relishing having this time...our time.<br />
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Fear not, the kids will return to the nest about 5 days before Christmas...and welcomed with open arms and hearts! Our families (his/mine) will meet at our respective family gatherings...gifts will be exchanged....awkward family photos taken, intentionally...a new family tradition...and we will muddle through some how...but in these weeks before Christmas and New Year's, we are rediscovering the season...redefining what it means to us....and making plans on how we can keep it in our hearts all year long.<br />
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Whatever your faith tradition, may you find what you seek in this season of Peace, Love and Joy...and from our home to your...Merry Christmas and the Happiest of New Years!<br />
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Cheers!<br />
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Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-60591720380295849992012-11-14T15:01:00.001-05:002012-11-14T15:01:39.607-05:00Come on America! Be Thankful!The 2012 Election season is over (thank goodness!!!). Thanksgiving is just over a week away. Scandal is rocking the CIA. And the other top story? Black Friday is moving to 8pm Thanksgiving evening...no wonder the rest of the world shakes their collective heads at us.<br />
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I get it that the economy needs a boost. I know there are people who are thankful to have seasonal jobs. But really, can't we truly celebrate Thanksgiving.... just one day...24 hours? <br />
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Our society is so rushed to buy, buy, buy for the holidays..so much so that Christmas decorations are stocked at the same time Halloween stuff comes out. We barely acknowledge Veterans' Day anymore. Will it long before we just skip Thanksgiving?<br />
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Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love the idea of coming together with family and friends and celebrating each other and considering all the blessings we share. I love the opportunity to just BE with my loved ones. I love the traditions...the recipes...and the history of this holiday. <br />
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We were taught about the Pilgrims and Native Americans celebrating the first Thanksgiving in 1621 as a way to thank God and each other for getting through the first years of a difficult settlement in the New World. A three day celebration of prayer, feasting and getting to know your neighbor was a the heart of the event.<br />
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In November,1623, the Pilgrims celebrated their second Thanksgiving after surviving a terrible drought and saving enough provisions for the winter to come. It was at this time, Governor Bradford established an annual day of Prayer and Thanksgiving upon which future Thanksgiving customs would hail. The Pilgrims being an austere bunch focused mainly on prayer and not so much feasting...weather forecasting was not reliable, so food stores were conserved.<br />
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From 1789 until 1827, days of Thanksgiving were often proclaimed by Presidents...George Washington being the first, who called upon the new nation to spend a day reflecting, praying and healing from the wounds of the American Revolution and the subsequent squabbles among the states still trying to figure this democratic-republican experiment out. Each state or region celebrated these days of Thanksgiving according to local customs and traditions.<br />
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In 1827, a magazine writer and author of <u>Mary Had A Little Lamb, </u>Sarah Josepha Hale, campaigned for a national day of Thanksgiving upon which, the nation would come together as one to honor the growth and accomplishments of this grand experiment called the United States of America. She would petition the federal government for another 36 years before her dream would be actualized. In 1863, President Abraham Lincoln took Sarah Hale's petition to heart and declared that the final Thursday on November would be a national day of Thanksgiving upon which, he requested that all Americans ask God to “commend to his tender care all those who have become widows, orphans, mourners or sufferers in the lamentable civil strife” and to “heal the wounds of the nation.” And for 112 years, Thanksgiving was celebrated as a day of reflection and prayer. Over the course of the next 100 years, parades and feasts and family traditions would evolve, and the mood of the holiday would lighten.<br />
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In 1939, President Franklin Roosevelt asked Congress to move Thanksgiving up a week in order to boost holiday retails sales following the Great Depression (This concept of boosting sales was called Franksgiving...and not in a nice way!). The idea was not supported and in 1941, FDR signed a bill establishing the fourth Thursday of November as Thanksgiving Day. It was at this time that Thanksgiving morphed from a day of prayer to the more familiar notion of family, food, football and fun. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade which started in 1924, is linked to the commercialization of the day, moving away from a day of prayer and giving thanks to spending, spending, spending!<br />
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Somewhere in the early twentieth century, the Pilgrims and Native Americans returned to being the icons of the day...lending an historic bent to the holiday, but somewhere in time, and perhaps at the end of the Macy's parade, Santa Claus became linked to Thanksgiving and instead of being celebrated for its own merits and sake, Thanksgiving has become the official start of the Christmas/Happy Holiday season.<br />
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And now, the official season of spending, and thanks to our "Blue Laws"outside of Massachusetts anyway, is beginning at 8pm on Thursday, Thanksgiving Night. How sad.<br />
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On the news, I actually heard someone from Target promoting the earlier opening for Black Friday as a way for people to get out and exercise...to work off their turkey dinners....by hitting those sales earlier...wow at long last, an end to obesity in America...Woo Hoo!<br />
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I am having a hard time with this. One of the reasons I love Thanksgiving so much is that is celebrates the blessings we as a nation, as Americans, as families have and can share. It doesn't matter what religion you subscribe to... it doesn't require life long citizenship... Thanksgiving doesn't require a lifestyle...the day just asks us to stop, reflect, be prayerful or thoughtful and thankful for all that has been bestowed on us as a nation and her citizens and guests. Thanksgiving is 24 hours...ONE day to be truly grateful and count our blessings and to pray for those who are struggling or have sacrificed to make our lives better. 24 hours...but if you let it, it will shrink to 20 hours and then what? Halloween has a season as does Christmas...and poor Thanksgiving...the one day for everyone...is being mushed out...Take back Thanksgiving America! Be grateful...not greedy...spend time with your family and friends instead of spending $$...<br />
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There is a Shaker hymn called "Simple Gifts" and it says, <br />
<em>"Tis the gift to be simple,'tis the gift to be free,<br />'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,<br />And when we find ourselves in the place just right,<br />'Twill be in the valley of love and delight."</em><br />
This is my inner soundtrack for the holiday...As for our home, we shall honor Thanksgiving all day...and I assure you, we keep it in our hearts always.<br />
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Happy Thanksgiving.Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-18054891103703534802012-10-10T12:58:00.001-04:002012-10-10T12:58:12.939-04:00Is It Just Me or What?While chugging away on the treadmill during my workout yesterday, I caught <strong>The View</strong> and Whoopee Goldberg's segment called <em>"Is It Just Me?" </em>wherein audience members shared cultural, societal and familial observations and Whoopee observed quite humorously back at 'em.<br />
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Well, it got me thinking <em>Is it just me...or what? </em>For example, I recently attended a Red Sox-Orioles' game in beautiful Camden Yards in Baltimore. It was a lovely, crisp, autumn evening, with a full Harvest Moon shining down on the diamond. We were absorbed by the game...would the Sox seek revenge against the Birds who spoiled our season last year, or would we be spoilers for the Evil Empire (aka NY Yankees)? <em>It was a good game, but the Sox lost and it did help Baltimore make the playoffs!</em><br />
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It being Parents' Weekend at our daughter's university, and this being a school sponsored event, we were surrounded by college students and their folks. Spirits were high and happy. But...as the game rolled on, and we die-hard Red Sox Fans cheered for our feckless team, I noticed a strange and somewhat dismaying phenomenon...the majority of young people were not watching the game...they were TEXTING. Here we were in a beautiful stadium (which is celebrating 25 years...just a youngster compared to the 100 year old Grand Old Dame known as Fenway...) immersed in America's Favorite Pastime and these whippersnappers were texting. Much to my chagrin and annoyance, I discovered they were texting people in our own section of the park. How, you may ask, did I come to this realization? Well, the first give away were the two girls seated in front of us who after sending a text would stand up, turn around and look for a reaction from the person/s whom they just texted...next they would...I know this may or may not make sense, LOUDLY mouth something like..."DID YOU GET IT?"...or "WAIT...I'LL TEXT YOU BACK!" or no joking..."LOL!".<br />
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This continued for a few innings and my cranky, old self was not amused so I leaned over to my daughter and in a not too disguised stage whisper asked, "Is it just me or is it totally dense to text people and then stand up to see how they react? Why wouldn't you just GO and talk to them instead?" I am pleased but not proud to report I saw blushing from the row in front of us and the text offenders departed to another section of the stands.<br />
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This is not the end of the electronic abuse during the game. Seated again, a several rows down from us, another group of students were waving and blowing kisses and the like to friends in the University seating...and this didn't bother me at all...but things quickly changed when a young man sporting "our" university T-shirt, returning from the concession area, appeared to have come into to the wrong section...a couple of students started making fun of him...and filming him on their smart phones...complete with commentary..."Oh So and So is looking for his friends...wait, he has no friends...hahaha...". If he were aware of the taunting, he made a great effort to not be affected...but it was just mean. I was disgusted and so was my daughter...she is involved with student leadership and university orientations and she made note of the offenders and was determined shed light on the unbecoming behavior. <br />
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What irked me was no one in the immediate area called them out on it...Is it just me, or are we letting our young people get away with crap like this too often? Really...I was seated about 5 rows up from these kids and heard and saw the whole thing...and it bothered me...where was the peer and PARENTAL pressure around them to stop such behavior? <br />
The young man did find his friends and made his way back to his seat...but I was hurt for him. Is it just me?<br />
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Well...on a lighter note...how about these observations....or is it just me?<br />
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When did the response to "Thank You" become "No, Thank YOU."? I still say you are welcome!<br />
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When did hugging replace a handshake as an introductory gesture? I am a huggy person...but only if I have known your name for more than a minute....geesh...cop a feel while you are at it! When I extend my hand in welcome, it is not an invitation to grab hold and haul me in for a bone crushing bear hug!<br />
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Is it just me, or are today's helicopter parents...who hover over their kids every second of the day...just kidding themselves? Just because your kid is on a leash or in your general proximity doesn't mean they are safe, well behaved or attended! I was at a grocery store where I witnessed a couple of moms chatting in the produce aisle. Each of their toddlers were strapped into a plastic car shaped carrier on the front of the shopping cart, facing each other and quietly sharing boogers. I gently walked up and offered the moms tissues for the kids...and quickly put my produce back and exited the area. <br />
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When did it become okay to blow off a social commitment with a friend because something "better" has come along? Maybe it is just me, but if you make a "date" with someone you should follow through with that commitment. Sadly for me, on more than one occasion, I have had friends cancel on me...like on the day of an event, dinner, outing and tell me it was because something better came along...with these types, I have learned not to make the arrangements any more; the ball is in their court. Honestly, is it just me, or if your need to beg off, don't you just say, I am sorry, I can't make it? To say something else has come up that we'd prefer to do is really rude. <br />
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I know that the US is struggling with a weight problem...but is it just me or do more people need to look in the mirror before they go out? I am surprised each and every day with what I call the Sausage Casing Incongruity...people...yes, both genders...stuff themselves into clothing that squeezes, bulges, cinches and spills their corpulence and well makes them look like...sausages...believe me...buy clothes that drape your physique...use fit, not a size number as your guide...we will all feel and look better if you do.<br />
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Is it just me, or do people need to smile more? I just like to smile...smiling is my favorite...<em>thank you Buddy the Elf.</em><br />
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I know sometimes I sound like an old fuss budget...but that is just me.<br />
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Have a nice weekend.<br />
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Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-41631016771606743082012-09-11T16:04:00.001-04:002012-09-11T16:04:53.896-04:00Back to Writing and Finding the Right WordsCall it vacation or a massive case of writer's block, but it has been a good long while since I put fingertips to keyboard...there was that old adage my mother taught me ..."if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.", bouncing about my conscience too.<br />
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I struggled with words this summer. I found opening up Facebook to check in with "friends" to be painful at times. The vehemence and invective with which people who claimed to be friends assaulted each other and strangers, was frustrating, infuriating and vexing...how many times did I type a pithy response to someone's snarky POV, only to delete it...not wanting to stoop to the snark.<br />
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Political ads and talking heads are vomiting nastiness and fear and hate and ignorance...both sides...bad words.<br />
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"Friends" took to posting polls and what do you think posits on their pages in an effort to have a civil discussion about current events and politics only to have tempers flare and civility lost. There has been more than one posting of a cartoon saying "<em>I desperately need a 'hide political posts' button on Facebook so I can still like my friends after the election year is over." (someecards.com) </em> Everyone "likes" the cartoon image, but the mean speak continues.<br />
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Having espoused for most of my adult life that it is better to DO right than to Be right...(easier said than done; it does take practice)...I opted not to add any fuel to any of the fires. I kept my words to myself...until today.<br />
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Today is the eleventh anniversary of one of the worst days of my life...a life changing day...a faith testing day...and certainly a day that tested my above stated philosophy. Today is 9/11.<br />
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I woke up knowing exactly what anniversary this is...I felt sad. I was also pretty disappointed in this election year in that what has made the USA stronger since that awful day in 2001, seems to be easily forgotten in favor of the worst politicking I have ever experienced. That September 11th showed were are better than this.<br />
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I felt so lackluster on this beautiful morning that I almost crawled back into bed with the thought of canceling my workout. But, thanks to my trusty terrier who needed to go out, I got up and got on with my day. <br />
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As I drove over to Westford where my trainer is, I noticed every American flag displayed along the way and at first unknowingly, I bowed my head slightly, prayerfully, as I passed...my eyes lingering on the stars and stripes longer than usual..I soon became aware of my actions and let them go, unfettered. I was proud to drive down Main Street, lined with American flags. Tears welled up and a lump grew in my throat.<br />
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When I reached my destination in Westford, I got out of my car and I looked up at the hauntingly beautiful, blue sky...an exact copy of that other September 11th, years ago. I paused and I remembered.<br />
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As I entered for my workout, it popped into my head that my trainer...a nice young guy of 22 years, had served in the military. As luck would have it, I was the only person scheduled for the 9:30 am time slot so I had a one on one training session with Raphael. I asked him (knowing full well what the answer was) if he served in the military...he said he had and is serving with the National Guard now. I thanked him for his service and told him that today was not an easy day for me. He nodded , looking down, and then proceeded to tell me about his time in Afghanistan. We talked through my strength training session...well, mostly he talked and I listened and sweated...sometimes I cried through my presses and pulldowns. He told me of a wonderful friend of his, an 8 year veteran of the military, who after only seven days in "the sandbox" was murdered by one of the Afghan soldiers whom he was sent there to train... teaching him to take on the security of his own country...to give that murderer and his countrymen the control they claim they want...but they want to kill the soldiers more. I listened to what he was saying as his eyes filled up and the words caught in his throat...I knew he was saying more... felt his frustration because he is so proud of his service and the honor of his country's cause...but where is the support?...not the lip service...not the words... where are those actions which should speak, no, shout louder than words?<br />
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I listened as this nice young man recalled back to when he was eleven years old, and having seared in his mind the image of his school mate...the young niece of John Ogonowski, one of the pilots of AA Flight 11, which hit the Towers that spectacular September day. Raphael recalls seeing his friend, on a local newspaper's front page picture, frozen in flight, running down the road from her family farm...what she was running to or from, we cannot be sure but it captured for all time what so many of us experienced...conveying the fear and grief of a child and the fear and grief of a nation. For him, that picture spoke all his words about September 11th.<br />
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We talked a very little bit about politics...mostly about our shared confusion and disappointment about the war in Afghanistan...he called it a forgotten war...and shadows of Viet Nam moved in my memory. We talked about praying for every service man and woman's safe return...sooner rather than later. We talked about honor and service and sacrifice and we talked about his future. He is so excited to be working towards his Bachelor's degree. <br />
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After my strength training session, I was headed over toward the cardio machines to finish up my workout...Raphael was greeting the next group of women he would help; he kind of sidestepped toward me and thanked me for the talk...it was a good talk.<br />
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It was a good talk...it helped me find my words. <br />
Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-27953564404338676602012-06-14T19:09:00.001-04:002012-06-14T19:09:34.086-04:00Isn't that Special?I am a fan of the <u>Sunday Morning Show</u> on CBS. I grab my cup of coffee, the Boston Globe Magazine and watch the program with Bill...and I often learn something new. Sometimes we have lively discussions about the segments...and I love the closing piece about wildlife in America...ah.<br />
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A while back, Simon Baker, the actor who stars in <u>The Mentalist, </u>was being interviewed about living and working in the USA...he hails from Australia...and he shared why he loved being here. He alluded that deep down, he loves the way Americans share enthusiasm and willingness to offer support, acknowledgment, kudos...whatever you want to call it...for example, here in the US if you score well on an exam, get a new job,create something worthwhile,many a folk will say, "Good for you!", and mean it, sincerely. In his homeland, down under, if the same said successes occurred, you are more likely to get, "Of course you did...now don't let it swell your head."<br />
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America is the land of hope...the land of opportunity...this ability to look on the bright side is, in my humble opinion, what makes us American. When presented with a challenge, we rarely say it cannot be done...we band together and find a solution...we help friends and neighbors, strangers here and abroad. It is what we do. It makes us special. <br />
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My husband and I are well travelled and we have noted that abroad, American optimism is often looked upon as arrogance, self-serving and even weak. If I had a dollar for every time I heard..."so sorry, it cannot be done..." while living in France or visiting many a European nation...I'd own a house on Lake Como. And the funny thing is when we Americans, would say...yes it can...see, if we do this together, or you do that, I'll do this, and so on and so on...we would get one of three looks...a head, shaking "no"and a face emblazoned with a smug, all knowing smile, implying "silly Americans"...a blank stare, with raised eyebrows...implying "foolish Americans"...or the scowl below one arched eyebrow and hands waving back and forth emphatically implying, "Go away, you stupid Americans!"<br />
The trick is to keep at it...work the problem...get the job done...and surprise!!, when the solution is found, the problem solved, the work done...we are all one big happy world wide family...and we say, "Good job!".<br />
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I love this Can Do attitude in America. It is special!<br />
<img height="200" src="http://blog.usw.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/rosie_the_riveter.jpg" width="154" /><br />
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So recently, there has been a lot of hub-bub about a Wellesley High School commencement speech. The teacher, giving the speech, talked about a lot of things...and he said to the graduates..."You are not special." Guess what...all heck broke loose! Of course they are special...and of course he thinks they are...but I understood his message to be that in most cases, everyone is special to someone...that is a commonality...and if it is common, can it be all that "special'?<br />
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More importantly, I think he was saying, it doesn't matter if your parents or teachers think you are special...of course they should...but it is more important that you make your life matter...that you and you alone discover what is special about you, your life, the promise of your future...and no matter what you do, where you go, who you encounter...make the most of it for yourself...not to please anyone...not to impress anyone...not to "win"...but to live a life that you consider well lived...and if you please, impress or irk someone...it is a bonus.<br />
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Back to Simon Baker's observation...Americans are good at seeing the good stuff...we just need to be more careful not to expect a reward for doing what is good and right. It is our spirit, nature and desire to make the world a better place that makes America special.<br />
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To all the recent graduates...best wishes for a life filled with opportunity and challenges. Do not be prideful; let your parents/families/friends be proud of you. Keep your expectations real...be prepared to work hard...nothing "handed" to you will mean more than the first paycheck you earn.<br />
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Go out and be special...for yourself...in so doing, I am sure people will note not that you are special, but the qualities that make you good, kind, respectful, honest, loving, trustworthy...and much more...but it will be in the doing that we see your unique nature...not in the telling.<br />
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God Bless the Class of 2012 and God Bless the USA.Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-14729557710106623992012-06-04T16:10:00.000-04:002012-06-05T14:12:28.503-04:00Treats and PrizesRecently, there has been a LOT of talk about government involvement in our day to day choices. The topic du jour on talk radio and a few TV shows stems from NYC Mayor Bloomberg's proposal to ban sugary fountain beverages larger than 16 ounces....no more Big Gulps...Slurpees are demoted to just a slurp...have it your way at Burger King...nope...too much added sugar for the Big Apple.<br />
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Believe me, I get it. I was at the movies Saturday night and saw way too many "Tweens" with ginormous Icees in one hand, poised to wash down the refillable bucket of salty, butter flavored oil soaked popcorn in the other. There was many a brain freeze during that feature, for sure...Not the choice I ever made for my children nor myself, but these kids and or their parents chose to pay a premium for that junk. Here's hoping that such purchases are a special treat and not a habit. But, when the theater disapproves of you bringing in your own snacks, and fails to stock the advertised, healthy snack pack...yes there is such a thing...air popped popcorn chips, fruit and granola bars, fruit chews made from fruit juice and bottled water...what can one do? Well, for my part, I don't eat at the movies. I am there to watch a movie, not mindlessly snack...but I digress.<br />
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For those of you who grew up back before microwaves became common, do you remember ever drinking "tonic"at supper? Soda, tonic, pop...whatever you called it...it was a special treat reserved for birthday parties and holidays...milk and water...that is what growing bodies drank at meal time...with a glass of juice thrown in at breakfast for good measure. Tea and iced tea were acceptable in my home, once I entered my teens and hot tea was what you drank when you didn't feel well or needed to warm up. <br />
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When my children were small, they were accustomed to the notion of treats and prizes. Treats were "goodies" that appeared in Christmas stockings and Easter baskets...a bag of chips, a bottle of Very Fine Grape juice for Carrie, Apple juice for Em...maybe some marshmallow Peeps...prizes were little gifts, usually books, puzzles or games, that rewarded good report cards, vaccination day at the doctor's office, or recognition of meeting a challenge...but these were rare and special! To this day, I will send a care package off to Em at college with love and loads of practical things, but there is also one treat and one prize...something special.<br />
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Back to the olden days...remember when dessert was also reserved for special times...going out to eat, birthdays or celebrations?...We only got doughnuts on Easter morning, or when my grandparents came for a visit...cake was for birthdays...ice cream was a weekend treat from time to time, but during the week, you ate your supper and if you were still hungry, you could have some fruit. There was no such thing as "if you eat your peas, you can have dessert"...you just ate your peas.<br />
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Snacks were not commonplace either. One ate three squares a day and had a little something to tide you over after school...cookies and milk, apples and peanut butter, carrot and celery sticks, or maybe half a sandwich...especially when school lunch was served at 10:30 or 11:am, and dinner was at 6pm! But we didn't have junk food...it was too expensive and it really served no nutritional purpose...then something happened in the late 60's and early 70's...the Radar-range...or as we now now it, the microwave...the invention that would modernize the kitchen, free time for the working mother...and introduce a whole generation to processed foods.<br />
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Want a snack? Toss in a bag of Orville's popping corn and voila, hot buttery popcorn...loaded with salt, trans fats and Lord knows what else in the line of preservatives, additives and chemicals. HOw many times did you eat a whole bag of microwave popcorn by yourself, when the bag was meant to serve four or five people? We now know that most microwave popcorn, is pretty bad for you...unless you make up your own in a brown paper bag...(you can find the recipe at my other blog, The Cook's Concern). Before we knew it, kids were eating pizza rolls, bagel bites, mac 'n' cheese, leftovers and so on for a snack...and sitting in front of the TV...being fed images of sugar cereals, soda, fruit flavored candy...super sized this...happy meal that....and gladly, Americans surrendered to the convenience...the novelty...the salt, fat and sugar that triggers the feel good centers in the brain, and we became addicts to junk.<br />
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Instead of farmers' markets, supermarkets...mega-markets...warehouse stores...became our food sources...fresh produce and dairy were relegated to the opposite sides of stores, with a vast mine field of overly processed food haunting and taunting children with cartoon characters and bright colors in between...It is no secret we "eat" first with our eyes...so these marketing techniques were designed to draw in the Sesame Street generation as our economy's earliest consumers...and TV had told working parents that choosy moms choose XYZ, and Kraft Mac and Cheese is the cheesiest...ya...so? <br />
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Do you think people would have been so enamored with "Happy Meals" and foot long subs, if we called them <em>FAT food</em> instead of fast food? <br />
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Anyway, my point I guess, is, we are having this national argument about too much government in our lives...legislating us from the bedroom to the kitchen...in our cars and yards...but where is the discussion about the usurpation of our lives by a food industry whose primary interest is to create food addicts...and not feed the nation, truly feed...offer sustenance, nutrition...from one of the world's greatest resources of food? Did you know that McDonald's sells different types of burgers around the world? I mean, in Europe, they sell a smaller, higher quality beef patty, lower in fat and salt, and feed Americans a burger that is 20% larger, poorer quality beef and very high in sodium? Why?...because we have been programmed to accept low quality in exchange for cheap and fast. We have been trained to equate fat, salt and sweet with flavor...but in reality, it ruins our taste buds and we don't know what good tastes like. We need to get our priorities straight. We need to accept responsibility for our choices...and if business or our government seeks to limit our choices...we need to do something about that too. <br />
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It is appalling to me that one out of four children in the US will go hungry again tonight. It is astounding that nearly 30 years after the Reagan administration declared ketchup a vegetable, that the government still maintains that premise. Blink and the food pyrmamid becomes inverted, blink again and we have a pie chart (ironic in a stupid kinda way) and now we have a plate with the USDA recommendations for balanced nutrition...but too many, meaningless changes have bred apathy toward the guidelines.<br />
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It infuriates me that there are food deserts in our country and that companies like Whole Foods, Wegmans', Trader Joe's...all pretty good retail, food outlets, refuse to establish markets in depressed areas, because they know the demographic can't afford their products and therefore weaken their bottom line.. heaven forbid, you shift the profits to shape a smarter and healthier consumer! It peeves me that local government allows that mentality to succeed...just imagine living in Washington D.C., southwest neighborhood and having to do your grocery shopping at a gas station because you cannot afford to go to the Giant or Target in the Northwest section of town Adams Morgan or Georgetown, where these markets are located...I am not making this up...in our nation's capitol...this exists...there are families who will have beef jerky for their protein source tonight.<br />
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I appreciate Mayor Bloomberg's concern, but I think his solution is silly. Limiting the size of sugar laden beverages to 16 ounces still feeds the sugar habit...who or what will stop someone from buying three or four cups of the 16 ounce size? We need to teach people about health and nutrition...and if that means taxing the 42 ounce Big Gulp to pay for the educational programs...fine. Oh, and how about taxing the profits of the companies producing junk food, to help offset the costs of childhood obesity, diabetes, tooth decay and depression...diseases influenced by these types of foods. Let's serve our nation's children REAL food in school...support farm to table programs. Bring back "home economics" and health classes...build partnerships between markets with smart business models and schools...build a better, wiser, healthier consumer...or if that is too much trouble then leave people alone to make thier own choices, good or bad.<br />
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And finally, my fellow Americans...take responsibility for your family's health and nutrition. Frito-Lay is not twisting your arm to by yet another bag of Doritos. May I suggest the following?...Learn to <u><strong>feed</strong></u> your family....grow a garden...or support a community garden. Support stores and restaurants that use local and seasonal products. Understand portion control. Visit a farm and taste what food should taste like...reclaim your kitchen...toss the microwave...plan a menu, make a shopping list...learn to live and not just subsist...return to the notion that somethings are treats and prizes, saved for special occasions.<br />
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There is a lesson I learned from my Religious Education, Jesus taught us that if you give a man a fish, he eats for a day...if you teach him to fish, he eats for a lifetime (the Alice Anne Corollary... and then he can help feed those who are still learning...) Makes sense to me.<br />
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<br />Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-59387025317980449022012-04-21T10:27:00.000-04:002012-04-21T10:27:38.110-04:00Woman of a Certain Age<div style="margin: 10pt 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I woke up this morning…5:55 am to be exact to Rod Stewart wishing I be ‘Forever Young’…as I swung my arm over to bang the snooze alarm; I realized I was in the throes/throws of a blistering hot flash… I was throwing off sheets, blankets, the dog…yet, I had to smile and wish myself a happy birthday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last year, I was fifty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year I am in my fifties…a fine distinction, true, but as a woman of a certain “age” it is an important distinction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As a woman of a certain age, I am now on my first daily dose prescription drug…ugh…got that early birthday present a couple of weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a cool winter, my hot flashes have returned, just in time for mood swings out on the golf course and this time around, not only do I have my own personal summer, I have my own personal, nighttime sauna…or flop-sweat as the case may be…beautiful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is it that my flashes are so hot, rivulets of personal dew pour down every valley, channel or crevice and ear wax melts into pools in my ear, but I cannot burn away a few extra pounds?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a puzzlement!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Something else has happened since being 50 has become being in my 50’s…I have a confidence I have never known before this time…I am not so concerned with how much “time” I have left, but more, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>what am I going to do with all this time…creativity has begun to bloom for this woman of this certain age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although my eyesight may be a bit blurry, my insight seems to be clearer than ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have always been observant, but now<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>am keenly so…intuition has risen to a new high and with that, the spontaneity I used to fear, is not so much a bother…I am getting better at ebbing and flowing…. I still have work to do in that area of personal growth, but I am getting better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am going gray and kind of loving it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Natural highlights, which my history and genes have given me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When folks see my gray, some say something…nice, good, others not so good, but most look quizzically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My goal is to make gray look great…to be the trendsetter!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to be that woman who looks like she is trying too hard to be who she isn’t or wasn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to look like a woman who has lived.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I realize that I will never be a size eight again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have healthy, curves…about 20 pounds more ample than I should be, and to lose that weight is an achievable and admirable goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My doctor tells me I am healthy…could be a bit more active and I want to be, but all the same, I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman of a certain age…apologies to Helen Reddy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, I am not invincible, but don’t get up all in my business...I am who I am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The reality is, I have stopped worrying <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>so</u></b> much about what other people think because, I don’t really know what they are thinking…for years I supposed I knew what people thought, I surmised, I speculated, I sweated the small stuff and I have come to realize that it wasn’t at all about what others thought of me, but what I was thinking of myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, that will continue to be the most likely scenario and I have decided to think better of myself…the gift of a certain age…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am still on a quest for a purpose driven life, but in this past year of reflection, I have learned that part of the “purpose” is me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can be about, do and dream for me…that is what it means to be a woman of a certain age…I have earned it and I deserve it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am enhanced by my past but, I am not defined by it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a work in progress, again…for me that is what it means to be a woman of a certain age.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Happy birthday to me.</span></div>Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-89316646429906917962012-04-04T15:34:00.000-04:002012-04-04T15:34:19.316-04:00Choice Words<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I have a favorite curse word…</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Scheiße. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the ten years since I began using it, I have not heard another person, outside of Germany, use it. I learned a remarkably versatile swear in French, but I mostly reserve that one for inner dialog!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I utter my favorite under my breath usually during sporting events, like when Tom Brady might throw an interception, or when JD Drew would come to the plate during a particularly clutch point in the game, swing at a pitch that EVERYone in the park knew was going to be high and outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because my favorite cuss is in a foreign language, I don’t feel so nasty when I use it, but I use it sparingly, for my own satisfaction, never to assail someone else’s sensibilities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I strongly believe there are a time, a place and a choice for such words. </span><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I may let an expletive fly when I drop an egg on the counter, bark my shin on a table, or when the cat knocks the picture frames of the bookshelf…again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it is the very rare occasion when people hear me swear. This is so, by design and desire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was reared in a world where nice people choose their words and consider the consequences of those words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can count on two fingers the times I heard my parents utter a cuss other than “dammit” and that never in conjunction with the Lord’s name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When frustrated or faced with some sort of horse hockey, Mom would say “Bilge water!”. I use that term, as do my children, to this day, as a preferred expletive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, once, my mother sliced her hand with a knife and she swore so loud and clear, it moved me to drive her quickly to the hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The time my dad cursed was when he discovered that a suitcase, containing his entire summer’s military pay, tumbled off the top of the station wagon somewhere along the New Jersey turnpike, lost forever. When they cursed, it meant something. My mother died of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma at the age of 51.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If there were ever a time when folks would accept and understand a few choice words, it was then…but she never swore and she was a pillar of dignity to her last breath.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Growing up at a time when swearing was a sign of ignorance, coarseness or perhaps rebellion, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had heard about George Carlin’s comedy routine “The Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television” (aka Filthy Words).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew a few and had even tested social norms by using some in my tom-boy days and in tom-boy ways. I got spanked or my mouth washed out with soap when I got caught, too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I was old enough to listen to the sketch via my cousin's recording of it, I was a bit shocked. I was mortified that I may have sounded like that to others. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I resolved to do my best to never use those words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided I was smarter and more creative than stooping to that baseness, that vulgarity. Carlin did me and, I think, most of America a favor by poking fun at the government’s regulation on obscenity. For me, I learned that those words have impact and meaning and should be treasured, locked away until utilized at an appropriate time, if at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much like the Supreme Court’s opinion on obscenity, I know it when I see it, hear it or am subjected to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere, somehow, prime time and cable TV took away the security from being assailed and thus, in my humble opinion began the decline of American society. It seems that there are only three maybe, four words left that cannot be uttered over the airwaves. With each obscenity and profane word foisted on us whether we like it or not, we grow numb to their impact and akin to violence in visual media; we are rarely shocked. This abdication of our sense of right and wrong, our insouciance about social bounds or lack thereof stains our moral fiber and sense of decency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With each thoughtless foul mouthed utterance, we become less than what we should be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I have grown older, had children of my own, and served in a profession that seeks to inform and improve the mind, I often found myself challenging young people to stop swearing and THINK…explore their vocabulary and stop people in their tracks with an amazing array of words that clearly, meaningfully and perhaps most importantly, respectfully convey one’s position, thoughts and feelings.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I recall a time, just a few years ago, when I popped in up at Groton-Dunstable High School and grabbed a quick hug from two of my daughter’s friends as they left the building for the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I moved to enter the building, I heard the young man say to his girlfriend, “Hurry up B----!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly turned on my heel, eyebrow arched painfully high, and asked him, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?!”, and then turning to the young lady demanded that she never let him speak to her that way again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is a beautiful, intelligent, woman who should never be thought of that way, never mind being verbally assaulted especially by someone who claimed to love her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They both apologized to me and him to her and I returned to my task at hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In all likelihood, they had a few choice words for me once I was out of earshot, but in the four years since then, they have never cursed in my presence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope each time they get a hug from me, they recall that lesson, what I hope they recognize as a gift of civility.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My eldest daughter rarely swears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has taken her grandmother’s philosophy about language to heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, when she does swear, she means it and people know she means it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My youngest, however has a more casual relationship with colorful language!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am forever bringing to attention that she seems to be using a particular four letter word starting with “s”, as a place holder, much like we used ‘um’ and ‘ like’ back in the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And today, the f-bomb is so prevalent in common vernacular, it has little or no impact on the younger generations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to admit when I hear it used in mixed company, I blush and squirm in my discomfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There is a popular TV show entitled <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Inside the Actor’s Studio</b>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The host, James Lipton utilizes a survey devised by French TV personality Bernard Pivot and based on Proust’s questionnaire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Celebrities are asked a series of ten questions, one of which is, “What is your favorite curse word?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am usually, pleasantly surprised when most of the folks asked, pause, thinking long and hard, I hope with a modicum of embarrassment, before blurting it out…and it is almost always bleeped by the censors…but I can read lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other thing I‘ve noticed is about half the people offer a rationalization of when and why they use their particular favorite and the other just let the word hang, speaking for itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In almost all cases, the audience roars with laughter and approval.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to admit, there are times when a well-chosen epithet, uttered with impeccable timing and oft improbable circumstance made me guffaw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my favorites comes from a cute, little, romantic-comedy called “Return to Me”, starring David Duchovny, Minnie Driver and Bonnie Hunt, who also wrote and directed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one scene, the character portrayed by co-star Jim Belushi, in a stage whisper, calls a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>person as a “rat bastard”…and we don’t think much of it until…enter comedic timing and improbable circumstance… a his little “son” blurts out the same sardonic phrase, catching his screen parents and us off guard and we laugh. The scene and the language were not gratuitous…the discourse gave us a snapshot of a somewhat “normal” family and as the scene resolves with parents reacting, overreacting and left shaking their heads, we see that language matters and we do the best we can to shape our families to be better.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Free speech is often a common thread in discussions these days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This week via NPR, I learned of a high school senior who was expelled for tweeting a sentenced laced with profanity. The incident is still being investigated, but the gist of the matter seems to beg the question, when is it appropriate or not for such language? I’ve been privy to folks engaged in the topic, who shared favorite curses, colorful epithets, vulgarities, indecent turns of phrase… and I choose not to engage in the conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, I am not impressed with the arguments in favor of gutter language as a matter of social discourse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, I feel like I am darned if I do and darned if I don’t speak my mind, so thus far, I err on the side of caution and held my tongue.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For some reason, I am able to be more forgiving of cussing on the page…I suppose it is because I am intelligent enough to see it coming and can edit it in my mind’s eye and ear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, if the f-word shows up on the page, I read it as “f-word” or “f-bomb”, not the four letters spelled out…that is just my thing and it suits me fine. I can choose to stop reading if I don’t like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am aware that profanity on the page usually requires thought as to how it will help establish a scene, mood or move the story along. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My frustration and angst arise when people are compelled to spew profanity and obscenity to titillate or self-gratify<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. “Oh, oh, look!” cried Mary, stabbing the air frantically with her crooked finger, “There is a child out on the ledge of that high-rise!”....and then her boob fell out of her blouse.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Admit it, you’ve all read or seen some variation on the theme…for me it detracts from creativity, although my husband might argue he lives for that stuff…<sigh>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When people choose to curse and exploit a situation or because as adults, it is the thing to do, I feel a transgression against civility and an assault against language itself is occurring. From over-paid athletes to political leaders oblivious to open mikes, the disregard for one’s place as a role model and public person is so commonplace that it almost feels wrong to be offended when these high profile types do swear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I feel disrespected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this conundrum is not limited to the public sector.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once, when I was with dear friends, and someone I consider family used what to me is the most despicable and deleterious four letter vulgarity every conceived, and before “tuh” of the last letter left his lips, my hand shot up and slapped the echo of that word from existence and left a bright red mark upon his cheek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately apologized for slapping him, but told him that the sting of my hand would go away soon enough, but the memory of him using that word was graffiti-ed in my mind and forever changed how I thought of him.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As the course of recent cuss word dissertations has continued, it’s made me think about Carlin’s <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Filthy Words</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b>One night, as I tossed and turned, perturbed by the day’s earlier confab, I came to a stark realization.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most, not all, but most of the curse words are some sort of derogatory statement directed at or about women…whether as an action, a label or vulgar description of female anatomy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wonder I am uncomfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess this is another good reason to not shut up and bear it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can a foul mouthed, cavalier orator know that I am offended and degraded by the power of words if I do not hold that person accountable for the choice of words expelled into a decent world?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to be prepared that that person may not care how words can hurt…or that they hurt me…but it is certain that if I do not speak my piece and peace, nothing will change.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Being a teacher of history and politics, I find the first amendment a marvel and a privilege granted the citizens of the US.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Freedom of speech is one of those tenets upon which we build a creative, free society. We have the right to pray, protest and be provocative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We demonstrate, promote and promulgate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can stand up in a crowded theater and drop and F-bomb…but do not yell fire…you will find yourself violating other’s rights to be safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, can’t one argue that when you use foul-mouthed bloviating to focus on self-interest, you are doing the first amendment and your fellow movie-goers a disservice?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using a profanity for the heck of it, or to shock people or worse, hurt people is protected speech, is your right, but is it correct…is it really the <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>best way one should communicate?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find it sad and ironic that “society” is more upset when people pray in public, but if you start cussin’…meh, folks aren’t that bothered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Back to the recent discourse on filthy words, a couple of people indicated that the f-word was their favorite word…it’s so multi-faceted…could be used in so many interesting ways…so say they.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find it overused, insipid and trite. More often than not, when I hear that type of language, I tune out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You may think I am a prude…go right ahead, that’s your opinion…your judgment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have my opinion, my judgments too…this is the consequence of our choice words.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite word is annihilation, but it doesn’t really work as an alternate expletive, so I’ll often turn to another of my mother’s favorite words, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">phantasmagoric.</i> How’s that for an “ph-bomb”? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine using that in place of one of the seven words you cannot say on TV…. It may get people’s attention and start some thinking about what you have to convey. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 14.4pt; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
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</div>Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-28762171040852797192012-03-06T16:12:00.000-05:002012-03-06T16:12:23.150-05:00When In The Course of Human Events...I voted in the Presidential primary today. It is my right to do so. More importantly, it is my responsibility to do so.<br />
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Never in all my years have I found it so difficult to get out to vote. I am sick, sick, sick over the vitriol and histrionics that resonate in politics today. Statesmanship has been replaced by gamesmanship. Personal opinions have usurped facts and a malevolent spread of spitefulness has eroded the virtue and value of perspective and point of view. <br />
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I used to love friendly political debate and discussion...even with a level of heat...you know, passion. I found that by having lively discourse, I learned and evolved as a political being. That is the great gift of growing older...you never stop learning and teaching...well until recently.<br />
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I don't know if we can find the source of the hatred and insidiousness of our political rhetoric in the ashes of 9/11, but it seems to me that is when we became a nation divided...us versus them, rich versus poor, left versus right...but in the decade plus since that awful day, I have felt like our representatives and to a great extent, the people around me are more interested in being right rather than doing right.<br />
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I don't talk about politics outside of my immediate family any more...not since I attend a PBS based forum on race/ethnicity and history, back in 2008, at which I was characterized as a racist by a young woman who didn't know anything about me except for the fact that I did not vote for Barrack Obama...she did not care to understand my decision...didn't care to know who I did vote for and why...she just knew that because I did not make the same decision as she, I must be racist. What hurt more than an eager, first time voter making a rash assumption was that in that room among my friends and neighbors, no one disputed her assertion...when I attempted to engage in a civil discussion, she declared I had nothing to say she wanted to hear; as a teacher, a little part of me broke...as a parent...another part was disappointed that a child would be so disrespectful in what was supposed to be a community forum...and as a historian...I began to fear that revisionist and politically correct lenses were skewing politics and civility in such a way that one was either right or wrong.<br />
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Somewhere and somehow in the past decade, politics, which is rife with problems became a theater of absolutes. Long gone are bipartisan actions...compromise is dead. And the old adage, "Let's agree to disagree", has fallen off the face of the planet. I am right...you are wrong...that's the sentiment of the times.<br />
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George Washington must be rolling in his grave. In his farewell address, announcing that he would not seek a third term as president, Washington asserted that "the alternate domination of one party over another and coinciding efforts to exact revenge upon their opponents have led to horrible atrocities", and "is itself a frightful despotism". Washington was telling us, while understanding the fact that it is natural for people to organize and operate within groups like political parties, that every seated government sees opposing political parties as an enemy and has sought to repress them because of their tendency to seek more power and take revenge on political opponents....so for 231 years, with the advent and evolution of each political party, we have seen the just call to public service morph into absolute power corrupting absolutely. <br />
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Instead of a country of, by and for the people, we are a country of, by and for Super PACS, entitlements and too many people screaming, 'what's in it for me?"<br />
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Tip O'Neill once wrote, "All politics is local." I think he meant that to freely and thoughtfully govern, public servants should look from whence they came for the needs, necessity and direction of those asking to be governed. Today it appears Alexander Hamilton's vision of the elected elite knowing what is best for the people is coming to light again...and this sentiment knows no party, but is the efflucence of many career politicians.<br />
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What else strikes me as painful during these times is the broad brush of "labels" that people use to characterize political opinion...if that jackass Rush Limbaugh makes a horrific and hurtful statement on his radio show, he speaks for all conservatives...he doesn't. There is plenty of idiocy and asinine behavior all around and how you align yourself politically need not be a damnation of one's own personal character. <br />
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I have been a student of politics and history most of my life...it is a passion. And, as a reflection and result of how I was taught, I have found a spot on the political spectrum...and much like an octopus on roller skates, I find myself with feet all over the place when it comes to different issues...but mostly, I find myself in a new place on the spectrum as my family's needs and circumstances and my own person changes.<br />
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When it comes down to it, my political views started with a faith based lesson...if you give a man a fish, he eats for a day...if you teach him to fish, he eats for a lifetime...the goal is to see that no one is hungry.<br />
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So, I voted today...and as so many people point out...if you don't vote, don't complain...so I guess I have a license to whine for a while... <br />
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To people who are firm in their beliefs, convictions, causes...exercise your right to vote...each vote does count. Be grateful to live in a country that grants this exercise of freedom. Heed President Washington and don't condemn a person because we have become ensconced in this web of political labels...nothing is absolute. Don't hate so much that you cannot hear what other people are saying...don't become so inflexible that growth stops...sometimes we have to walk before we can run...sometimes the common good needs to be addressed before personal liberty can be exercised...be patient, be productive... do the right thing...and do not measure a person until you have walked a mile in her shoes.<br />
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And...let's demand that politicians stop their sandbox squalling and stand up, lead and serve.Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-78041581844271047642011-12-21T12:50:00.000-05:002011-12-21T12:50:23.276-05:00Tis the Season to be ThoughtfulI was having a discussion with my youngest the other day and she said she was having a hard time finding Christmas Spirit. We talked and attributed some of this to the fact she is just finished with finals and she's got a bugger of a cold and ear infection...that's enough right there to knock the wind out of any holiday's sails...but there is something more...we both got a bit animated about what Christmas Spirit means...for her it is all the traditions that we've passed along and at the heart of Christmas for her, is family coming together, happily, to celebrate Christ's birth and the hopes and values of our faith. <br />
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For years now, everyone has been complaining about the lack of Christ in Christmas...Santa is the great commerical icon for the holiday...he's meant to be the secular equalizer...you can "believe" in Santa and Rudolph and Frosty without having a stake in any religion...even one of my favorite classics, Charles Dicken's <strong><u>A Christma Carol</u></strong>, first published in 1843, takes a rather secular view of this holy season. So the struggle to find the true spirit of Christmas is an old one.<br />
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I guess it is up to each individual and family to keep Christmas in our own way...but we need to be mindful, thoughtful and patient with one another. If celebrating Christmas is not your "thing", that is your choice, but if you so choose, please do not be put out by the traditions and celebration of others.<br />
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I am thrilled that this is a holiday season...Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanza ...there is even "Festivus for the Rest of Us"...thank to Frank Costanza...it is wonderful to see the signs and symbols of all these celebrations. It is wonderful to share and learn other faith and family traditions. I see this as an opportunity to grow as community but sadly, more often than not, we hear story after story about public holiday displays and events marred by court orders, protests and complaints because there must be a separation of Church and State...God, prayer, thanksgiving, tradition and so on have no place being mixed up in schools, Town Hall or even on public commons...what??<br />
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Have we become so insensitive or overly sensitive, that we cannot find common ground? Can't we share faith, hope and love without having to foster an agenda?<br />
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So I believe in Jesus Christ...I believe one should treat others as one would like others to treat oneself. <em> </em>I believe and follow the Ten Commandments...and I seek forgiveness when I do wrong. Each day I hope to leave the world a better place than when the day started. These are some of the foundation of my faith tradition...how I choose to live my life...and if you are interested, I'd be happy to share my views and values with you...but I would never impose them upon you...the lights in my windows are there to remind me of my faith, my family, our traditions and to share our joy with our neighbors...we do not intend to offend...and yet, we cannot control how others feel...you have to own that one.<br />
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In <strong><u>A Christmas Carol</u></strong>, Scrooge awakens to find he has not missed Christmas and in his personal epiphany, he promises to keep Christmas in his heart and try to keep it all the year. I try to live this way too...so perhaps that is why one of my character flaws pops up from time to time during the holidays... I get so impatient with people trying to cram kindness, charity and even religion into the 30 or so days between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. Christmas is a holy day of celebration. It is filled with beautiful rites and rituals and a beautiful story of miracles and hope, which continues through the Epiphany in January.<br />
For me, the story doesn't end...we need not close up the book (in this case the Bible) and tuck it back on the shelf until next Thanksgiving...no, the message of Christmas lives all year long...the ornaments and parties...they are kind of the exclamation point for the message...but the meaning is found in each person we meet in the days after...and the gifts we give ourselves are the relationships we form and share in those following days.<br />
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So back to finding Christmas Spirit...we're listening to holiday music...except for WHAM's <em>Last Christmas</em>...ugh...I've baked all the favorite cookies...we have friends stopping by for our annual Christmas Eve Open House...and <strong><u>we </u></strong>are bringing the Spirit...we are not looking for it...it is in us!<br />
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We came up with a list to help us be more thoughtful, avoid hurting feelings and honoring the meaning of all the holidays celebrated at this time of year...maybe our list will offer some holiday cheer to you!<br />
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<div></div><div></div><div></div><ul><li>Keep your expectations real...we do not live in a Hallmark Holiday Special.</li>
<li>Remember you can only control your own feelings and actions</li>
<li>Be thoughtful and kind. If someone wishes you Happy Holidays and not a Merry Christmas...accept the goodwill and do not seek injury where none is intended.</li>
<li>Remember to say please and thank you...sometimes we are in such a rush, we forget to be polite!</li>
<li>If you get an invitation to a party or gathering, let your host/s know if you will or won't be coming...a quick heads up either way is kind and if you are not attending...prevents worry, overbuying and waste for the host.</li>
<li>Do not think that if someone makes a charitable donation in your honor, they "cheaped" you out of a present...remember it is the thought that counts and the giver thought enough about you to include you in their goodwill.</li>
<li>Write good old fashioned thank you notes...it is a wonderful tradition and again, demonstrates that it is the thought that counts!</li>
<li>Christmas and I think it is fair to say the other holiday observances are NOT a competition. We give gifts because we care and think about you...gifts are not a measure of worth...gifts are an expression of well wishes!</li>
<li>Take time to pray or meditate. It is a fact that the holidays are crazy...a fact we can only minimally control...prayer centers you again and refocuses your spiritual energy to deal with the crazy that is out of your control!</li>
<li>Do not judge a person until you've walked a mile in his or her shoes...especially during the holidays!</li>
<li>Remember that love is patient and kind...</li>
<li>And if you cannot say anything nice, do not say anything at all.</li>
</ul>Merry Christmas...Happy Holidays and Cheers to Peace and Happiness in 2012!Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-30927516312774974442011-11-26T11:09:00.000-05:002011-11-26T11:09:24.972-05:00Take Back Thanksgiving!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For most of my adult life, Thanksgiving has been my favorite holiday…my husband’s too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no question about why our family gathers this day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We come together to count our blessings, do something to help those less fortunate and to enjoy the warm, sometimes kitschy<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>annual traditions which the more they change the more they stay the same!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For example, sometime during our early Groton years, we started hosting a pre-Thanksgiving High School Football Game breakfast….complete with the requisite Monkey Bread from my youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the years, the venue for the games changed; Groton-Dunstable broke away from Ayer High and created its own successful football program…then the impetus of the gathering changed as kids returning home from college used our Turkey Bowl breakfast as a chance to reconnect after a year away from former high school chums…and as was evident this year, the faces are the same…somewhat…older, thinner, facial hair, make-up…but those smiles, they will never change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Go to the game, not this year, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>let’s linger around the table a bit longer, savoring the stories, smiles and holding hands as we know the time to give the hug that must last a year draws near.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With the exception of a few Thanksgivings Interrupted over our 28 years as a family, most years Thanksgiving dinner is just about the four of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just after Halloween, I start trolling for Turkey Day dinner requests…roasted carrots and stuffing for Emily, squash soup, string beans and no sausage in the stuffing for Carrie…Bill wants homemade cranberry sauce and extra of everything for sandwiches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me it is the hugs…I’d be happy<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with PB&J as long as I get my extra-long hugs…and smiles…I am all about the Happy in Happy Thanksgiving.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I truly enjoy cooking for Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some years I challenge myself to make the meal for less the $50.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the meal is over the top…but every year, I buy a bag of groceries to donate to our local food pantry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I plan for weeks and I cook for days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know it is a successful workout when I feel that burn in my calves and dull ache in my lower back after standing by the stove, sink and food prep areas for hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am trained to clean as I go, but at a certain point, the used pots and pans and of course the dishes catch up and it is then, that I, for the only time in the year, turn my kitchen over to my personal clean-up crew. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grab a nap during the second half of whatever the second football game is on the TV.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dessert isn’t a big deal for us…there are some cookies, Clementines , a pie and leftover Monkey Bread…we save room for our 9:30 pm sandwiches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometime around 7pm, we put in the first of our holiday tradition movies…<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ELF</b>…to be followed by <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">HOME ALONE</b>…I don’t know how or why these movies became our Thanksgiving “It’s Now OK to Start <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>Thinking </u></i>About Christmas” selections, but they are and we laugh just as hard each and every year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Intermission brings out the sandwich fixin’s complete with squishy bread and many a “food baby” is conceived!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Friday means Mom is exhausted and free range foraging in the fridge is the rule of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pie for breakfast?...be my guest…Turkey Club sandwiches…Brilliant!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I read, blog or catch up with family far away…the rest of the family does their own thing…Bill and Emily break out the Christmas lights for the windows and tackle adjusting lights on a few trees out in the yard…Carrie heads out to the movies and a meal with her childhood best friend and travel buddy, Meghan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No Black Friday mania here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have a personal grudge against celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have a problem with people pulling a plan together for Christmas…that is actually a sane approach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I already have a few Christmas presents and stocking stuffers tucked away here and there…you’ve got to take advantage of coupons and availability when possible…but the business about radio stations playing Christmas music (much of it crappy and depressing) starting in early November…wrong, wrong, wrong…my heart sank when I saw the Hershey’s Holiday Kisses “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” commercial during the October 30<sup>th</sup> football game…wrong.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanksgiving is a great holiday…a NATIONAL holiday…it doesn’t rely on religion, commercialism or specified social convention, well except for the turkey thing…but if you want ham, duck or tofu…no one really cares about that…no matter who you are, you can and should stop to give thanks, count your blessings and share your blessings with those whom you love or who are less fortunate. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We know about the “first” Thanksgiving and the Pilgrims…or the Jamestown settlers…and Native Americans…it is where our turkey legend/ tradition finds its origins…but more importantly, it focuses on people thanking people, being grateful for the bounty of hard work, cooperation and understanding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later in our history, President Lincoln inspired by Sarah Hale’s campaign to focus on American unity during the Civil War, established a recurring, national day of Thanksgiving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Americans were asked to pray for an end to the war and reconciliation between the states and even families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a time to come together as Americans, humbly and thoughtfully.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In 1941, the 4<sup>th</sup> Thursday of November was established as Thanksgiving Day by federal legislation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>President Franklin Roosevelt had originally wanted to set the date two weeks earlier, but coming out of a depression and in the midst of war, Congress saw the need to establish Thanksgiving later in November to…and here is what I call<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“the historical rub”…promote economic stimulus…prior to Christmas…the more things change, the more they stay the same…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nowadays, it seems that Thanksgiving is about football and preparing for… insert ominous music cue here…Black Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those of us blessed to live in the Northeast still have images of Plimoth Plantation (yes that is the correct spelling) and Sturbridge Village and Thanksgiving of yesteryear…our iconic white spired churches celebrate actual Thanksgiving prayer services…you know giving thanks to God, our communities and each other…in Massachusetts we still have Blue Laws prohibiting most businesses and stores from opening on Thanksgiving…honoring the true meaning of the day and allowing <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>everyone</u></b> to gather without reference to religion or ethnicity, and recognizing the “American-ness” of the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But something…some new cultural insipidness…is threatening to minimize Thanksgiving as a national day of celebration…apparently buying a new <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>42” HD TV for $150, on a prescribed sales day, is more important than celebrating family and counting blessings…that standing on line for hours, maybe even days so you can buy one and get one free is more valuable than passing on family traditions or helping those who are in need…that spending money (and in many cases money you don’t have) is better for America than spending time with family and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And don’t get me started about the trampling, crushing, punching, swiping from carts and new this year, pepper spraying…that now mark this infamous shop-a-looza.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t think so!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If everyone else would acknowledge that I am queen of the world…or at least benevolent dictator, I would declare Black Friday illegal and make the Friday after Thanksgiving, Family Friday, a day of rest and fun focused on family, friends with perhaps a dash of community service, the law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As of today, there are 29 shopping days until Christmas…plenty in my book…and if you think about the old world traditions observing Advent, a time of prayer, reflection and making yourself ready for celebrating Christ…not Santa, who can be a wonderful role model and hero…you can celebrate 12 days of Christmas…and not be exhausted, disappointed and letdown when the commercialism of Christmas leaves you feeling flat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Take back Thanksgiving…give time to those who matter, who need you and count those blessings. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christmas is a magical season and it is a religious season…for those of us with a faith tradition, to quote a trite but true saying, “Jesus is the reason for the season.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s wait…observe quietly Advent and perhaps folks won’t be sick of Christmas by Christmas Eve and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>be glad when it is over…but I am rushing that seasonal blog….Happy Thanksgiving everyone!</span></div>Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-55078099938248345802011-09-26T12:31:00.002-04:002011-09-26T13:51:19.699-04:00Cinéma...Vérité ?One of my favorite SNL skits comes from the minds of Amy Poelher and Seth Myers...they observe insane, inane stuff from current events and then posit..."Really?". I have lifted this schticky behavior for my own amusement as I observe the world, but this weekend, it took on a darker, more serious note. Really...well you be the judge.<br />
<br />
Bill and I opted to go to the movies rather than watch the Red Sox choke once again on Saturday. Ironically, we went to see <u>Moneyball</u>, a movie about baseball, starring Brad Pitt. Normally, I am not a BP fan, but I love America's favorite pastime, (except when the Sox are in a nose dive in the standings) and Bill, who doesn't care what we see at the movies, really wanted to see this.<br />
<br />
We went to the theater to catch a late afternoon show, with plans to go out to dinner afterward...yippee...date night! We bought our tickets and entered Cinema 9, to a room half filled with lots of middle aged couples...great..no talky teens with smart phones glowing in the dark.<br />
<br />
After turning off our cell phones, we watched the coming attractions, making mental notes of things that look interesting...Hugh Jackman...always "interesting", wink, wink...Ben Stiller and Eddie Murphy...that could be really good...no, really. Movie about cancer...not so much...<u>The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo</u>...for real I am going to see that!<br />
<br />
I don't know about you, but when the lights come down and the coming attractions are on the screen, my movie going experience has begun. I don't talk or whisper...I hold my husband's hand, give it a squeeze if I see something of note for later conversation and enjoy his company and whatever world to which I am about to be transported.<br />
<br />
If I had some movie sound effects, this is where you would hear the screeching sound of a record being scratched as the needle mercilessly rips across its tracks...enter two 30-something ladies and a large brown paper bag...really? Seating themselves in the two seats right behind us....really? The theater is half full...you pick those seats...really? Let me add an important side note here...I hate it when people walk behind me. I shiver as if someone walked over my grave...you should see me at restaurants when waitstaff come up behind me...I practically jump out of my skin and well, the seats behind us...really?<br />
<br />
I also believe I suffer from Misophonia...the visceral dislike of certain sounds. Just ask my family what happens when they chew with their mouths open or God forbid, gulp. It makes me ill...really. There are some days when it gets so bad I have to leave the room for fear of snapping at someone. So imagine my joy when 2 ladies and a brown paper bag break out smaller bags and open said brown shopping bag, filled with popcorn...and they started doling it out...talking all the while, really! Not whispering...not quietly, but a full on conversation about popcorn and what does a dragon tattoo got to do with that movie? Really!!??<br />
<br />
Being the subtle sort, I gave the noisemakers a long glance over my shoulder...making note that the woman seated one seat over from me too was making a glance askance. For a brief all knowing moment, our eyes locked and we telepathically observed., "REALLY???".<br />
<br />
<u>Moneyball</u> is a movie about baseball. Actually, it is about baseball management. There is no overture or swelling soundtrack. No car chases or crashes...just lots of dialogue. There is baseball history and trivia contained therein as well. And one popcorn CARR-unching, lipsmacking lady knew EVERYTHING about baseball. or so she thought..."Hatteberg...I didn't know he played for the Red Sox!"... <em>really...</em> and had to share it with the other bag wrinkling, popcorn snarfer, who only wanted to know which one is David Justice...because as everyone in earshot now knew he beat up Halle Berry when they were married....really.<br />
<br />
So over the course of the first twenty minutes, I would tense up at the annoying sounds and think...I could bop these two...really. Should I say something? Should we move? Move? Really? I don't think so.<br />
<br />
I realized I was becoming my own nuisance when my dear husband, squeezed my hand, hard...really hard. I then promised myself to offer it up. <br />
<br />
Things went along okay for a while and the story drew me in...until I came rushing back to reality when one of the brown baggers grabbed the back of my seat and the collar of my shirt as she hoisted herself up out of her chair and in the worst stage whisper ever, proclaimed she was going to the bathroom and then to get some drinks....really!?....I mean really?!<br />
<br />
After what seemed too soon, she returned with two of the largest ice filled mega-gulps the concession stand provides. And the noise began anew. REEEally.<br />
<br />
In short order, the beverage portion of the purchase was consumed. I know because that gawd-awful sound a straw makes when there is nothing liquid left in a cup cascaded over my ears...so loudly that I actually missed some dialogue...really! And the shaking of the cup to assure oneself no liquid was available was akin to a rattle snake...which if there was one I would have begged it to bite someone to end the misery! It could be too that the blood pounding headache that was forming in the back of my brain was ebbing through my eardrums further exacerbating my misophonia. I was on the edge..until...<br />
<br />
God bless my husband...he started to laugh silently...you know, shoulders bouncing up and down, heading wagging from left to right and he pinching his nose so he wouldn't snort. I looked over at him, in disbelief...you think this is funny? Really? <br />
<br />
It was then I knew not only does my husband have a wicked sense of humor, but so does God and his timing is perfect...the woman seated one seat over whips her head over her shoulder and says, "Could you make some more noise? I can still hear the movie!" And get this, she finished by saying... "Really!!"...really!<br />
<br />
I had to put my head between my knees to stifle the guffaw.<br />
<br />
With one last shake of their ice, 2 ladies and a brown bag were quieted. Really.<br />
<br />
We enjoyed the movie. We are probably going to catch it on pay-per-view...to see what we missed.<br />
<br />
So, if you know someone like our popcorn nemesises, tell them of those of us who suffer from Misophonia and bring to light that if they like to talk through movies and munch popcorn like they are eating rocks, it would be a great kindness to please find a seat away from others, or better yet...stay home and rent a movie...really.Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-599075413227679322011-09-11T20:55:00.000-04:002011-09-11T20:55:24.112-04:00We Remember, We Celebrate, We Believe<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><u><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We remember…we celebrate…we believe.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: center 3.25in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The words in this post’s title are from a Catholic hymn written by Marty Haugen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some reason, probably because “Never Forget” is plastered on pictures, newspapers and social networking sites, this song has been the score to my life during the week leading up to today’s poignant anniversary. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to being the soundtrack, it has also been my prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have thought a lot about that day and each time I see or hear the questions “do you remember what you were doing”…or “what image do you recall?”…this song quietly enters my thoughts and I remember…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is the tenth anniversary of September 11<sup>th</sup>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, like millions of Americans, remember exactly what I was doing that beautiful morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband and I had attended a before school meeting with our youngest daughter’s fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Kilroy, together, building a partnership and strategies for a successful year to come.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we drove home from the local coffee shop we stopped in, after the appointment, we talked about how pleased we were and glad Emily was going to have such a wonderful influence in her life. When we turned the corner onto our street, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>we waved to our neighbor Sharon who was sitting in her ginormous Yukon truck at the end of the road…we assumed she had just put her youngest on the bus for school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the look on her face that made me question if everything was all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pointed her out to Bill and was in the process of asking him to stop so we could check, but he told me had taken enough time off from his work day and needed to get to the office…so he raced on up the hill to our home and with a quick peck good-bye, dropped me at the doorstep.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I went in the kitchen and put the tea kettle on and thought about calling Sharon, asking her to stop in for tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I popped into the den to put the TV to keep me company while I tidied the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the image appeared, I could hear something vastly strange about Matt Lauer’s voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was unable to process the image of smoke billowing out of the tower…and as his voice explained about the plane crash, I saw the second plane fly so deliberately into the second tower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I screamed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Within seconds, the world turned upside down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew why Sharon looked the way she did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran to the phone to call her…to seek comfort as well as to offer comfort…no answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran to the door but turned around and stared at the TV hoping this was all a terrible joke. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called Bill, knowing he was in the car and left a voice mail that something awful was happening and to call me as soon as possible.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was frozen, standing before the TV in the den.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kettle whistled and I tore myself away from the images to turn it off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was afraid that if I stopped viewing something more horrid might happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was willing all that was sacred to stop the madness…to prove to me that what I was witnessing wasn’t real.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For some reason, when Katie Couric spoke, I began to shake and I changed the channel to ABC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charlie Gibson…he would help me make sense of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the words <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">terrorist attack, Al Qaeda, Bin Laden</i> breached the September calm, I felt sick…so sick that I had to run to the bathroom to throw up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I began shaking and crying and praying…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I called the elementary school as soon as I could catch my breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked the secretary if they all knew what was going on and if so what was going to happen with the children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first reaction was to get in the car and go get them but as I talked to Patty <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>R, I realized that until any of us knew what was what, the safest and most “normal” place for the kids to be was in their classrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I sent an email, (because by now the phone lines were jammed), <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to a friend at the high school offering to come and help with my other daughter’s situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew that they would be more aware of the circumstances and have questions, fears and concerns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a quick reply that I would be called if needed (and God, did I want to be needed!!) but that the superintendent had encouraged all district personnel to proceed through the day as normally as possible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Parents showing up could make things worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After school activities had been cancelled and in the hours that lay before me, I was trying to process what I would say to my girls.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My sick vigil in front of the TV continued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prayed violently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paced and cried and struggled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dog Molly paced with me, looking up at me, knowing something was wrong but being a dog, could only match my strides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I finally sat down, she crawled on my lap and licked away the tears on my face…this only made me cry harder!!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the reports about the Pentagon broke, I was frozen once again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought of all the people my family knew through our Coast Guard and Air Force connections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I called my dad, a retired Coast Guard Captain and not knowing what to say, I cried for a while, told him I loved him and I hung up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When the towers fell, I threw up again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After a while, I muted the TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t listen to the reporters on site cramming down panic in order to report what they were seeing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The images were saying enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the silence in the house was scary…mostly because I could now hear my own ragged breathing…the sobbing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned on the radio thinking I would hear my favorite classical music station, but there was only more reporting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put in a CD of classical guitar music and turned to put the tea kettle back on…but as I stretched my hand out to grab the teapot, I couldn’t stop it from shaking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turning the music off, I slowly walked back into the den to once again take up the vigil and listen to the details over and over again.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>I remember being out on the deck, looking up at the brilliant blue sky asking why when I heard through the slider door about the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was certain that I could take no more of this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bill got to the office and with his colleagues watched the unfolding horror.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He called me and I begged him to come home, but he said that he needed to stay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time I was crushed…I thought he would want to be with me, to take care of me…it was not until weeks later that I (finally unselfishly) realized that he was in no emotional shape to drive and that being at work was his “normal”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Over the years, we have been told by journalists, analysts, talking heads and historians that 9/11 was the day the world changed forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would know our modern history as, before 9/11 and after 9/11.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That day, I changed forever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel it deep in my bones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a long time, I felt defeat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that despite the fact that the US was the most powerful and influential nation on earth and that as Americans we came together so uniquely unified to face this most heart aching tragedy, we let the world down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How else could one explain such an attack?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Days or maybe it was weeks after 9/11, rumors, based on a book, soon to be released in Europe, started in France that the attacks on the US were not a terrorist plot, but a shrewd, cold-hearted plan exacted against our financial and government institutions by our own government.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had read about this in the papers and again I was sickened…how could anyone believe this?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In October 2001, I was shocked to find out some colleagues from France, who were in Massachusetts for a business meeting, were buying this BS and actually had the gall to broach the subject over dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we had not been in a restaurant, I would have slapped both of them across their faces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bill and I told both men that if they valued any part of our friendship, they would never speak of that conspiracy again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day, they never have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shortly after the bombings in London in 2005, one of these gentlemen apologized to me for his 9/11 remarks and that has been then end of that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So this change in me…it has made me more tolerant and less tolerant…depending on my circumstance…I admit that when I am at the airport, I look for anything out of the ordinary…suspicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immediately following the attacks, I “profiled”…and I pray that my prejudice would be unfounded, as it always has been, and I prayed for forgiveness for thinking the way I did... but I keep a watchful eye…for that which is suspicious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I cannot stand it when someone is sorted out because of appearance or custom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I lived in Paris, the French government was crafting laws that would make it illegal for a woman of faith to wear a burqa or veil covering all or part of her face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “French” felt this form of covering was oppressive to a woman’s rights and of course, it was not at all French in custom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being a First Amendment loving American in Paris, I often found myself asking my new French friends how they could support a law that did not allow someone to express their faith willingly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the time my friends believed that Muslim women are forced to wear a niqab veil and that they are afraid of the men in their lives…to which I suggested wouldn’t it be better to first identify those who are choosing to wear the niqab freely and support them while going after the men who are abusive…and somehow it would come back to the notion that that wouldn’t work because men have the right to manage their households…but if the burqa is illegal then the state wins…huh???<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a country that has so many churches, faith is not very French anymore.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This change has made me love my country even more…and question the choices our leaders are making.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turn time and again to the words and examples of Washington, Jefferson, and Adams…to the ideals of Henry, Madison and Franklin…and to the inspiration of Lincoln and ask myself when and where did politics and governing become blurred?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are these truths still self-evident? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The struggles we face today arise not from being affiliated with a party…they arise from a need to be right all the time...to win at all cost…and put one’s own interest ahead of the common good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My goal is to teach my children and others I love that what makes us great, what makes us strong are liberty and justice for all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you exercise your rights, your opinion or your work to the end that someone else is not treated justly, then you have crushed liberty…for all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Liberty is freedom from arbitrary controls or restrictions and with these freedoms, come responsibility and accountability…to oneself, one’s neighbors and fellow citizens…without judgment…save that for God and the Supreme Court.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This change in me has made me calmer…I am still a worry wart…but I do not rush to judgment as quickly as before 9/11…I have become pretty good at seeing the BIG picture and I never forget all that with which I am blessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think about the Hanson family who died that terrible day…a beautiful little family, from my town…so full of life and potential…gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought of them each day I served as a volunteer in a school, on a committee or for a youth organization…I worked to make this place a place they would have been happy to thrive in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This change in me has made me a less silly person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still have a strange, dark sense of humor and I laugh at goofy things; but I do not suffer fools well and I cannot stomach prejudice in the guise of a joke or rumor that one needs to check with Snopes regarding its veracity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not have time to waste on people tearing others down because it makes them feel superior…as my friend Shua quoted from the Quran at an interfaith service today, I heard her say that superiority is not about where you come from, or how strong you are…rather superiority is God’s way of recognizing your character and your actions and how you support those who need you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I thought the change in me had made me nostalgic…always looking back to simpler days…to the days before…what, I don’t know…to before Oklahoma City…or Waco…or Munich…Dallas…or Pearl Harbor?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Today I heard two things that just may have changed me again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, I heard Christianne Amanpour say that the 9/11 10<sup>th</sup> anniversary was not about closure, it was about moving on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never thought about not finding closure…or in my mind justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now I think, I will focus on moving on and that change as it will come in who knows what way, shape or form, is one force that will get me going…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The other thing I heard was the story of BC graduate Wells Crowther, a red bandanna wearing finance guy at the World Trade Center and how on that day he saved the lives of a dozen people and died trying to save many others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was recounted to me that he called out into the black, smoke up on the 78<sup>th</sup> floor, “If you can stand, stand now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you can help others, do so.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I can stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can help others and I will do so.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">God Bless America and you my dear friends.</span></div>Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-72426601434979941342011-08-18T13:43:00.000-04:002011-08-18T13:43:01.921-04:00Two Tales of a TownI am a small town girl. In the 60's and 70's, I grew up in a bedroom community 12 miles north of Boston. Over the course of my adult life,we moved to a couple of more affordable towns early in my marriage and then moved to my favorite "hometown" about 12 years ago. I moved here because this town represented all that "hometown" means. There was a strong and evolving school system, a family friendly library, small businesses like the apple orchard on Old Ayer Road, that drew us in from miles away, from our previous towns...and there are the people who smile, ask you if you are new to town...recommend a dentist, introduce you to the police chief and the school principals...even if you aren't a "townie", you were welcomed to become one...in time!<br />
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Late in 2009, I was blessed (and cursed) to move to Paris, France. My husband and I thought we'd be there for three years, but due to happy circumstances, we were recalled back to the US. My time in Paris was très intéressant. <em> </em>I was a small town girl living in one of the most exciting cities in the world...well shut my mouth, butter my buns and call 'em biscuits...I did okay. I had a good six months of homesickness, but in that time, I found a voice...a written one....but a strong one...and I found an untapped strength and confidence that I never knew existed. I also found my opinion...but I think this is more a fact of age than locality. With all this newness, I started to push Paris' and my own boundaries. Not having the benefit of small town connectedness, I struck out to form new relationships and connections. I had more than a nodding acquaintance with the waiters in the Cafe Sorbonne, located beneath our apartment. Each morning, when I would pass by on my morning walk with Reilly, my faithful canine companion, the young, bald waiter, Alex, would come out and give Reilly a robust scratch about her ears...and sometimes a piece of croissant...and he'd wish us a "bon journee". And when all three of us would pop into the cafe for an afternoon pick-me-up, our mustachioed waiter friend would shake our hands firmly and with friendly conviction. Reilly would get her own special water bowl and a treat while Bill and I enjoyed an espresso or a glass of Rose'. We experienced many such connections throughout the city...along the quais of the river Seine, in the Jardins du Luxembourg and all along the Blvds St. Michel and St Germain. From my dear friends at the Salon de Audebert to the wine merchant and my florist on rue des ecoles...I had made some French connections...and happily some wonderful friends (miss you Juan, Nadine, Gabrielle, Roland, Tim, Chou, Janine, Peter, Phillipe, Patty, Roger and Christine!)<br />
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When we got word that our time in Paris was to be cut short, I was both happy and sad. I knew I was going to miss the "potential" of Paris. I would miss the culture and the access to so much that is "haute" and chic and ooh, la, la. But I was going home...to my stuff...to my comfort zone...to my little town and that fact made me supremely happy.<br />
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I returned to Groton, one year to the day of finding our apartment in Paris. This coincidence still strikes me as funny...why, I dunno, but it does. We came back just before the holidays. I returned to Groton a new and improved woman...with an empty nest and a husband whose job was keeping him busy and on the road...but I was home. Although I was often alone, I wouldn't be lonely and with the holidays and other homecomings, I was too busy to notice how life in a small town had changed in a year.<br />
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Within a few days of being home and folks realizing we were home, I was getting calls from people to see if I would pick up where I left off in my non-profit and volunteer "jobs"...or if would I join this cause or that...it was flattering and nice to be needed, but what Paris taught me was that after 25 years of volunteering in an alphabet soup of organizations, it was time to focus on me for a while. I met friends for coffee or lunch for the sake of seeing each other, not to have a meeting with the goal of setting up more meetings.<br />
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I have maintained some of the cultural and behavioral habits I adopted in Paris. I like to shop for groceries more frequently, with a particular menu in mind, rather than stock up for a month...like the days when time was short and Mom's Taxi service was at full throttle. I have had time to explore places in the area, from gift shops to museums....something I never would have done on my own before Paris. My favorite custom I employ is the Parisian/French habit of <strong><u>always</u></strong> saying hello upon entering a business/establishment and making eye contact, then saying thank you and good bye upon leaving said place...it is the most civilized thing I do and it makes me very happy to do so...I encourage all Americans to do this...at home and abroad!<br />
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But something changed in the year abroad...I know I did...but my hometown changed too. It seems harder to find the friendly face in the grocery store or walking along any number of paths in town. I have noticed too, that this place that once welcomed newcomers, new ideas and new energy seems to be closed down to that which is "new". This town used to be a place where people came together to build a future...and, to quote the school district motto..."together a promise to excel"...now seems to be a place where NIMBY (not in my back yard) is a rising sentiment. We have come to a place in time where perceptions are not lining up with realities. People say they want a vibrant and busy downtown, but then complain that traffic and parking will make life miserable. People claim they want family friendly venues and activities...but families with children and dogs shouldn't be allowed to play or have access to parks and trails because some people don't like dealing with such things while jogging, riding bikes and wearing spandex. We've had people complain because they moved into a newer residential development built down the road from a successful working farm and they want the farmers/town/board of health to do something about the smell...really? You moved to an agricultural community...with farms that have been here for hundreds of years. <br />
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We have seen local businesses struggle as well. Our town is a bit confused about business. On one hand, the citizens and leadership want to maintain the quintessential small town feel of days of yore, by limiting the types of businesses welcomed here...with the exception of Dunkin' Donuts and CVS, you won't find any chain stores, fast food joints or big box stores...and on the other hand, when local businesses do set up here, it is too inconvenient for locals to visit them (parking issues, the stores are specialty shops, etc), especially when a trip up to Nashua provides everything you need in a half mile radius of the mall.<br />
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Recently, Groton tragically lost an historic landmark and central business to fire. It was this incident which showed me that perhaps this is not the Groton I moved to twelve years ago. With the exception of a few people, there was little outpouring of support for the owner and the residents of the Inn who were displaced by the conflagration. The night of the fire, Karen Tuomi, a truly awesome lady and in my opinion a town hero, organized shelter for the residents of the Inn's apartments and folks set up sustenance for the stalwart fire fighters. Within hours of the fire's being extinguished, a local organization called an emergency meeting about preserving the historic inn, but to this day, I have yet to hear of an emergency meeting to address the needs of the families involved or the wounds to our town as a whole; we lost a local treasure, filled with memories and filled with potential. Granted there were plenty of Facebook comments...but where was our neighborly response...a real, physical, human response...the community supper...the prayer service...the collection of goods to replace stuff lost in the fire? We didn't gather as a community to talk about how we could help...make a difference...and "deal" as a town. Within a week, a couple of people with gumption organized funds for the families with local banks...but as a whole, Groton just gawked at the ruins and then...much to my dismay...speculated about the cause of the fire. Once that can of worms opened, unwanted and unnecessary opinions about the fire and the future of the Inn were shared. Through the veil of e-mail on our local list serve...writing critical words is easier than sharing them face to face...some vociferous people expressed their desires for the site...often accompanied by cruel and crude criticism about a family that had been in business in town for over thirty years. Admittedly, there were people on our local Google list serve who were dreaming about a better Groton...about honoring an historic site and the legacy of all the Inn's owners...but there were many more who out and out disparaged folks who are facing the hardest time of their lives only to make themselves seem bigger by knocking people when they are down. <br />
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I was disappointed in my hometown when I read those posts and the articles in the papers. I was shocked that some of my neighbors would go there, down a very disturbing and distrustful path...and the surprisingly few retorts to all this negativity...I plead guilty to not responding, until now and in this somewhat sheltered forum...because the invective of those few, sharp tongued is so unrelenting...my opinion and observations in that forum would have no meaning and frankly I don't want to be the next target of their venom.<br />
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I think there is still time to right the course that we took as a town during this incident...and then there is the amazingly hope filled and happy story of Riley. <br />
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Last week, a family posted on the list serve, an urgent request for help in locating their lost Sheltie dog, Riley. Immediately, a small group of the kindhearted in Groton offered suggestions, assistance and prayers. People organized searches for the skittish pup and posters and fliers popped up all over town. Shortly, news of Riley sightings were reported and search parties were narrowing down the rescue and recovery areas. As I drove around the back streets of town, I kept my windows rolled down and I would whistle or call out "RIIII-LEEEE"...always with a hope and prayer in my heart that I might see the wayward tail wagger. <br />
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Today, good news was posted on the Groton List and Riley was found...through cooperative efforts of neighbors and strangers...and there was nary a nasty word about leash laws and dog parks and woulda, coulda, shoulda-s...just a very happy ending. This is the stuff that makes me proud to be a part of my hometown...and in my heart and in my humble opinion...you know the one that age and Parisian life emboldened, this is the way we should focus our energies...building up, bringing together...being there for our neighbors, in good times and in bad...this is and should be the stuff of our town's stories....our history.<br />
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Merci....bon journee!Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-82232238818005174302011-08-08T11:29:00.001-04:002011-08-08T11:34:05.031-04:00Re-inventing ReadingI just bought a stack of books...more serious reading for the upcoming shorter days and longer nights ahead. I used to be a voracious reader, averaging at least a couple of books a week. Now I am lucky if I finish a couple of books a month. One of the reasons is that the books I read tend to be longer...like Doris Kearns Goodwin's <strong>Team of Rivals. </strong>It is 757 pages reading text and has another 159 pages of notes and the index. Another reason, in the summer, I can sit by the pool and bang off a couple hundred pages without feeling guilty that I am not doing something else...but now that Autumn is approaching, my instincts are to get back into routines and my reading routine includes a paperback in my purse or the car for when I am standing in a long line somewhere, sitting in a waiting room, or getting my hair done. I try to read at bedtime, but...zzzz...I fall asleep so fast that I haven't had time to process the paragraph or two I managed to skim and I wind up re-reading the same pages the next time I squirrel a few minutes away with my book.<br />
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I love, love, love public libraries. But, with my children grown, my weekly excuse to hurry up and read my books, moved out of the house. I just am not reading fast enough to justify the extension request and late fees...sorry to say. I have resolved though to visit the library once a week, to get myself out and about...not hang around the house so much...give myself permission to put off that load of laundry until tomorrow...let's hope that this little personal indulgence is stronger than domestic diva guilt.<br />
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Technology doesn't help. I spend too much time on the computer, surfing the web, chatting with friends on Facebook, updating my Linked-In account and of course writing posts for my blogs. I do read a lot on the net...news stories, food and recipe sites, reviews, other people's blogs...but it doesn't feel quite the same...kind of like reading newspapers and magazines isn't really reading...instead it is information gathering. Splitting hairs but that's how I feel.<br />
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In recent months, many of my friends (who are turning the corner into another decade) have been thinking about reading...and their future method and mode of reading...queries about e-readers...Nook, Kindle, iPad and other tablets/notebooks or electronic thing-a-ma-bobs. I have to admit, I am curious about this too. We forced our eldest daughter, a world traveller to own a Kindle, by giving her one for Christmas...she would pack about 20 pounds of books for her trips abroad and this left little room for essentials like travel sized toothpaste and underwear. She was most reluctant, but after a time, saw the luxury of clouds of books. She still loves the feel of pages, so when she's home, she reads and re-reads many a tome.<br />
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Back to my peer group...I have read their fb conversations about which e-reader to get..."Is this one back-lit?" "Can you down load magazines on that one?" But in almost every case, the deciding factor is..."Can I increase the font size so I can see the words? " Yup, who needs drugstore reading glasses when you can increase the size of the words!! Who wants to be spotted with the obvious LARGE PRINT edition of anything? And yes, aside from the fact that if I get a tablet, playbook, notebook that fits in my bag so I can blog on the go...I am vainly intrigued about not having to wear my dopey .75 readers...not even a full 1.00... point 75! Ugh.<br />
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The rest of the world seems to like the idea of plucking great literary works from the ether and storing them there. Our local library has an account for people who want to download books. I dunno. I was brought up to value books; their heft, the feel of the page, that book smell. My home is filled with packed bookshelves. All the nightstands in my house have books on them...even in the guest rooms. A home library is a precious thing...a measure of wealth...of knowledge, time and yes money. I love loaning books to friends...but if I switch to an e-reader, that joy will be diminished.<br />
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Even some restaurants are changing the menus we read...iPads are showing up with pictures of the day's choices and patrons touch a pad and boom...their filet mignon, medium rare is on its way. I am too old fashioned. Pouring over a menu, better yet, looking at a hand-written chalk board of choices...there is a familiarity, a sensory connection to the people offering you a meal....the "oeuvre"/masterwork of their hands. Talking to wait staff is one of my favorite things to do when dining out...discussing the specials, asking about staff favorites and recommendations...it is all a part of the ambiance. If computers are going to supplant service this way, I am not so sure this is an improvement and it certainly won't be my idea of dining out.<br />
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So...if video killed the radio star, will e-readers kill book stores, libraries, newspapers...all the tactile haunts of reading? Am I contributing to the death of actual print if I succumb to the 21st century call of the wild? Will I read more? Will I enjoy reading as much? Will I get this app or that and find myself watching news, talk shows or movies on my tablet/playbook/e-geegaw instead of reading? <br />
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Irony of ironies...after I finish this blog, which I hope lots of my friends are reading read, I am scheduled to work for two hours writing my cook BOOK. <br />
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Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3913125065421451097.post-11538009057919136532011-08-01T10:17:00.000-04:002011-08-01T10:17:20.747-04:00Back to School...Traditions Retained and Revised.It is August 1st and I am itching to get into back to school mode. My favorite commercial of the season (which I have yet to see this season) is the one with the dad coasting through the aisles at Staples to the tune of "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year"...the gloom-filled kids pacing along, swaying in time to the music... cracks me up every time! But the hitch this year is that my "student" child is soon to be 21 and back to school shopping with Mommy is not high on her priority list. Needless to say, shopping with and for a college junior who'll be heading off to New Zealand second semester isn't the same as a high school junior for whom the color of three ring binders is crucial to trendsetting!<br />
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We have a list...most of which is set for a Costco run...bulk toilet paper (there are four girls sharing the dorm suite), printer paper and ink cartridges, hot cocoa mix, instant oatmeal and etc...we may go clothes shopping for a few things for the cute girl on campus, but alas, she is old enough and certainly independent enough to buy her own wardrobe supplements. At this age, buying clothing is more to keep things up to date and fresh rather than address the summer growth spurts of years gone by. And what 21 year old woman want to go shopping for intimates with her mom? Awkward!<br />
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At this stage of the game, back to school time is more about reassessing, revisiting and resolving. I find that after twenty years back to school shopping mode, I am all about reorganizing and preparing for new routines. This time of year is more like "New Year's" than January 1. It certainly is more practical to set goals, assess your surroundings and make adjustments for transitioning from lazy hazy days of summer to the school days, schools days, dear old golden rule days. Even with my nest emptying once again, I find that employing my back to school mentality helps me engage with my community and gets me out of the house! No more sleeping in until 8am....<br />
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In the coming days, those of us still at home will look through our desks for working pens and pencils in need of sharpening. We'll double check the staples box and see if we need more...it has been a few years since we bought staples. There will be a sticky note check, postage stamp count and of course the drawers and files will be organized, refreshing our brains as to what's what and where.<br />
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One tradition that still stays the same is the closet and dresser purge. Everything comes off hangers, out of drawers and boxes. Shelves are emptied and large bins and bags are strategically placed around the room. If it fits and is in good condition, it returns to its storage place (or packed for the trip to school). If it has been outgrown or doesn't suit the wearer anymore, into the give-away bin and if I cannot get the stain out or the fabric around the hole is so threadbare that a repair is impractical...into the trash...although I pull off all the buttons to donate to Goodwill. Based on what remains, I go out and restock undergarments, socks, basics like long and short sleeve t-shirts, a couple of pairs of jeans, a sweater or sweatshirt or two (we keep the house cool in the fall and winter). Sneakers are the big must have for each of us! <br />
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We usually do a major revamp of Bill's work clothes and shoes...for a guy who works in an office, he can be a bit hard on stuff! Back when the girls were young, we developed the philosophy that for everything new coming into the closet/drawers/shelves, something would have to go out...preferably to be handed down to someone who needs it. I am pleased to report that this philosophy has stuck for both my adult children and they are thoughtful about their purchases and generous to those who are without.<br />
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It is kind of funny...my husband rarely takes part in the clothing clean out and invariably he'll ask, "Where's my blue Patriots sweatshirt <em>(or something along that line)?</em> You know the AFC championship one from 2001?" I'll point him to the new 2011 Bruins Stanley Cup hoodie and he's happy...the disposed of, paint stained, out of shape faded talisman of yesteryear's glory forgotten for a while.<br />
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The turn of the calendar from July to August spurs me to "nest"...to clean, clear and organize. My kitchen and bathroom cabinets are a key targets. I check expiration dates on everything...tossing old spices and questionable coffee beans. I crush old medications and put them in a clear plastic bag and set them in a safe place until the next hazardous waste or medicine collection day. This preamble to my fall cleaning which usually happens over a long weekend in October...helps me recognize and hone my needs versus wants...and using the coupons from the past few weeks, I rebuild our stores for the fall and early winter. I guess much like the rodentia in our yard, I am getting a little squirrely!<br />
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Later today, I'll be out on my deck drinking in the summer sun, with my notepad for lists and calendar handy to update appointments both professional and collegial. I'll make note of sales and create the "care package list" for Em's return to University. She has no say in what goes in there...it is all about me still being Mom...wink, wink...and when she gets back to school, she'll find among the prizes and treats, a few new pens, some Raisinettes, a new DVD or two, new socks, practical, white undies...perfect for running and rock climbing and a hand written note wishing her the happiest first day of school ever !Alice Annehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789344301404799984noreply@blogger.com0