My plan for tonight was to do laundry and finish up my thank-you cards.
Somehow I ended up eating belated-birthday cake with my family and playing Apple to Apples. Then I did Pilates, broke a sweat, and swam in my perfectly chilly pool while I watched night fall. After that I took an unnecessarily hot and lengthy shower. Now I think I'll read Harry Potter until bedtime.
Some people would call it a lost evening.
I feel no remorse.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Girl Rules
Tonight I was discussing with a friend all of the safety rules that women play by. Rules that they first heard of roughly when they were old enough to walk, and have had drilled into their heads since then. Rules that men could not dream up or begin to understand, yet are a universal part of a woman's life.
When you're at a party, get your own drink and never let it out of your sight. Don't put it down. Stand there with your hand over the top of it. If you forget and walk away from it, even turn your back on it for 5 seconds, get a new drink - yourself. If the restrooms are in a secluded area, take a friend with you. Do not leave alone.
When dating, for the first few dates drive yourself there - if you need to get away you can. Never be where there aren't people. Always have your phone on you. Drink very little, if any, alcohol. At the first red flag, the first harsh word or rough gesture, bolt. Impolitely, shamelessly, bolt.
Just getting from a building to your car is an adventure. If it's a crowded place in broad daylight, you should be ok. But if you kow you'll be walking through a fairly empty, dark parking lot, garage, or street, there are tons of things to remember. First, park under a light, driver's side facing the door you'll be coming out of. On the way to the car, periodically look over your shoulder. If someone is walking parallel with you on the other side of the lot/garage/street, find light and people. Carry your keys so that the car key is between your knuckles. Talk on your cell phone, or pretend to do so. Never listen to music through headphones. Carry your bag off one shoulder only. Head up, shoulders back, alert and confident posture. This all of course, is if you are alone. I've stood up to leave a group of friends and asked which guy wants to walk me to my car. I've walked with a girlfriend to her car, to have her drive me over to my car.
Then there are the basic rules. Guys tell me how they go for late night runs through their neighboorhoods. Not smart for a girl to do alone. When I'm riding my bike by myself, even in the middle of the day, I stick to the main roads. No public parks or beaches late by yourself, and even with other girls you have to be extra careful. Leave the car unlocked, face the beach access, and always have a little bit of you paying extra careful attention. When I applied to jobs, I made sure I would never be closing up the store on my own. If that was a requirement, I did not apply.
The presence of another guy is magic. At the Outer Banks I went on a walk with Melanie and Ange, and we got called to/yelled at by three or four different carloads of guys. Later in the week we went on a longer walk with more traffic, only we had one of Mel's cousins with us. One guy to three girls meant absolutely no harassment.
It's easy to forget how careful we have to be, because it is so constant and instinctive. But it is limiting. I hate not being able to leave a school football game on my own. I hate that I can never travel without a man or at least three other girls. I know that there will probably be nights if I'm living on my own when I call a friend over or visit a neighboor because I'll be scared to be alone. And no matter how strong, capable or feminist you are, if you are a smart woman, you will always be asking people to walk you to your car.
When you're at a party, get your own drink and never let it out of your sight. Don't put it down. Stand there with your hand over the top of it. If you forget and walk away from it, even turn your back on it for 5 seconds, get a new drink - yourself. If the restrooms are in a secluded area, take a friend with you. Do not leave alone.
When dating, for the first few dates drive yourself there - if you need to get away you can. Never be where there aren't people. Always have your phone on you. Drink very little, if any, alcohol. At the first red flag, the first harsh word or rough gesture, bolt. Impolitely, shamelessly, bolt.
Just getting from a building to your car is an adventure. If it's a crowded place in broad daylight, you should be ok. But if you kow you'll be walking through a fairly empty, dark parking lot, garage, or street, there are tons of things to remember. First, park under a light, driver's side facing the door you'll be coming out of. On the way to the car, periodically look over your shoulder. If someone is walking parallel with you on the other side of the lot/garage/street, find light and people. Carry your keys so that the car key is between your knuckles. Talk on your cell phone, or pretend to do so. Never listen to music through headphones. Carry your bag off one shoulder only. Head up, shoulders back, alert and confident posture. This all of course, is if you are alone. I've stood up to leave a group of friends and asked which guy wants to walk me to my car. I've walked with a girlfriend to her car, to have her drive me over to my car.
Then there are the basic rules. Guys tell me how they go for late night runs through their neighboorhoods. Not smart for a girl to do alone. When I'm riding my bike by myself, even in the middle of the day, I stick to the main roads. No public parks or beaches late by yourself, and even with other girls you have to be extra careful. Leave the car unlocked, face the beach access, and always have a little bit of you paying extra careful attention. When I applied to jobs, I made sure I would never be closing up the store on my own. If that was a requirement, I did not apply.
The presence of another guy is magic. At the Outer Banks I went on a walk with Melanie and Ange, and we got called to/yelled at by three or four different carloads of guys. Later in the week we went on a longer walk with more traffic, only we had one of Mel's cousins with us. One guy to three girls meant absolutely no harassment.
It's easy to forget how careful we have to be, because it is so constant and instinctive. But it is limiting. I hate not being able to leave a school football game on my own. I hate that I can never travel without a man or at least three other girls. I know that there will probably be nights if I'm living on my own when I call a friend over or visit a neighboor because I'll be scared to be alone. And no matter how strong, capable or feminist you are, if you are a smart woman, you will always be asking people to walk you to your car.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Bike Ride
She pulls the car into her driveway, tires squealing on the slick, dark pavement. She rushes upstairs, changes into shorts and a t-shirt, leaving her work clothes on the floor. She knows she has other things to do, laundry, e-mails, phone calls, it's dinner time. She knows and she doesn't care. Her hair is tied back, her helmet is strapped under her chin. Thick, cold drops fall out of the sky and onto her shoulders and she steers the bike out of the garage and closes the door behind her.
She begins to pedal. Finally, watching the yards tick by under her front wheel, she feels like she is moving. Like she is accomplishing something, like she is active. She follows the white road line with her eyes and her wheels. It's smooth and straight and linear, and she feels all of the scattered thoughts in her brain move into their places again. She picks up speed and the bike whirs under her. For the first time all day, she feels like she's taking up some space; cars give her plenty of the road. The loud, sqealing brakes are glorious after nine hours of inside voices. Instead of the ghost that moves silently through the shelves and collects its pay at the end of the week, she's roaring down the street, owning the street.
Time relinquishes its evil hold on her. As her skin beins to glow red, and her lungs begin to burn, and her head begins to ache, her body is returned to her as well. She can feel the gears in her hands, and the rain from the sky and the slop from the road. Every muscle in her legs, abdomen, back, and arms is taught - she can feel each one doing its part. Her legs run themselves off, and as she breaks over the last hill she slows into a coast. For the first time all day, she can breathe. Great, deep breathes that break like sobs out of her. Oxygen hits her starved brain. She picks up her head and finally looks up at the world, instead of down at the bottom of it. Varying shades of grey have been replaced by color. The trees were millions of greens, soaking up the wet like she was. Flowers burst out of lawns, house paint glittered. Even the dark road was not simply black.
And the day was behind her. One painfully long and dull day, slow and silent, could be checked off her calender. It lay back somewhere on the road like an empty, cast-off sock. After so many rented-out hours she had had one that belonged to only her. She had made noise, taken up space, returned to herself. For a few moments she glides down the quiet, damp streets. For a few moments, she forgets tomorrow.
She begins to pedal. Finally, watching the yards tick by under her front wheel, she feels like she is moving. Like she is accomplishing something, like she is active. She follows the white road line with her eyes and her wheels. It's smooth and straight and linear, and she feels all of the scattered thoughts in her brain move into their places again. She picks up speed and the bike whirs under her. For the first time all day, she feels like she's taking up some space; cars give her plenty of the road. The loud, sqealing brakes are glorious after nine hours of inside voices. Instead of the ghost that moves silently through the shelves and collects its pay at the end of the week, she's roaring down the street, owning the street.
Time relinquishes its evil hold on her. As her skin beins to glow red, and her lungs begin to burn, and her head begins to ache, her body is returned to her as well. She can feel the gears in her hands, and the rain from the sky and the slop from the road. Every muscle in her legs, abdomen, back, and arms is taught - she can feel each one doing its part. Her legs run themselves off, and as she breaks over the last hill she slows into a coast. For the first time all day, she can breathe. Great, deep breathes that break like sobs out of her. Oxygen hits her starved brain. She picks up her head and finally looks up at the world, instead of down at the bottom of it. Varying shades of grey have been replaced by color. The trees were millions of greens, soaking up the wet like she was. Flowers burst out of lawns, house paint glittered. Even the dark road was not simply black.
And the day was behind her. One painfully long and dull day, slow and silent, could be checked off her calender. It lay back somewhere on the road like an empty, cast-off sock. After so many rented-out hours she had had one that belonged to only her. She had made noise, taken up space, returned to herself. For a few moments she glides down the quiet, damp streets. For a few moments, she forgets tomorrow.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Sad Day
Today is a sad day. They come along every once in awhile, less often for me than some. Not hole up in a dark room and cry kind of sad. Just a quiet, achey kind of sad. I've done lots of the sad things already. I stayed in my PJ's until 11:00 and drank more coffee than I should have. I snapped at my family. I reorganized all of my clothes, ready to pack. I looked through old pictures of happy times. I made brownies just to eat the raw dough. I've stared silently into space. Now I'm writing.
Well, it's not even 1:00 and I'm just about out of sad things to do. I'm at the beach, the sun is shining, the waves are big. I don't really feel like being sad anymore. I don't think I can pull off happy, but I can probably manage OK.
There's a song I used to listen to, a few years ago. It went like this.
"When I wake in the morning, I want to blow into pieces. I want more than just OK."
For a long time I though that if I wasn't exuberantly happy, life was being wasted. If I weren't bursting with joy all of the time, I needed to fix something. The end of my senior year was just plain fun. All of my friends were around, it never rained. I was inbetween AP classes and summer jobs so obligations were minimal. I went to prom and senior banquet and Graduation. Graduation parties and days at the beach and nice lunches on a whim. Late night movies, impromptu ice cream runs, shopping. Trips to the Adirondacks and Outer Banks. Every day was glorious; bright and entertaining and happy.
Right now, sitting in the lull between two happies, I am beginning to realize that OK is just that - it's OK. I know both ends of the spectrum. The halfway point between bursting with contentment and fighting grief is alright. The little, quiet things are good. Sitting on the patio early in the morning, a big cup of coffee and the sun drying my hair is good. The fast-paced, morning drive into the bright, busy city is good. Coming home and sitting down to dinner is good. Watching a movie at home with my family is good. Fires out back are good.
Slow is good. Quiet is good. Before I know it, life will be fast and loud again, probably faster and louder than I bargained for. Maybe this summer exists for a reason. Slow down, get my feet under me, then gear up again. Maybe this is the kind of change I need spend some time getting ready for.
Well, it's not even 1:00 and I'm just about out of sad things to do. I'm at the beach, the sun is shining, the waves are big. I don't really feel like being sad anymore. I don't think I can pull off happy, but I can probably manage OK.
There's a song I used to listen to, a few years ago. It went like this.
"When I wake in the morning, I want to blow into pieces. I want more than just OK."
For a long time I though that if I wasn't exuberantly happy, life was being wasted. If I weren't bursting with joy all of the time, I needed to fix something. The end of my senior year was just plain fun. All of my friends were around, it never rained. I was inbetween AP classes and summer jobs so obligations were minimal. I went to prom and senior banquet and Graduation. Graduation parties and days at the beach and nice lunches on a whim. Late night movies, impromptu ice cream runs, shopping. Trips to the Adirondacks and Outer Banks. Every day was glorious; bright and entertaining and happy.
Right now, sitting in the lull between two happies, I am beginning to realize that OK is just that - it's OK. I know both ends of the spectrum. The halfway point between bursting with contentment and fighting grief is alright. The little, quiet things are good. Sitting on the patio early in the morning, a big cup of coffee and the sun drying my hair is good. The fast-paced, morning drive into the bright, busy city is good. Coming home and sitting down to dinner is good. Watching a movie at home with my family is good. Fires out back are good.
Slow is good. Quiet is good. Before I know it, life will be fast and loud again, probably faster and louder than I bargained for. Maybe this summer exists for a reason. Slow down, get my feet under me, then gear up again. Maybe this is the kind of change I need spend some time getting ready for.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Caught in Suspension
The summer following your senior year of high school is a strange one. Slowly attachments to your old life break apart, and slowly you begin to root yourself in your new life. Instead of having one massive net of a life, everything intertwined and complimenting each other, life breaks into separated chunks, floating loosely like the pulp in your orange juice.
One chunk is your old friends, who have already begun to float away. Some are gone for weeks at a time on vacations and missions trips. Some are already beginning to leave for real. And the friends that stick around are only half in Rochester – the rest of themselves are making plans for Phase Two, just like you are.
The other chunk is the present. The 8-5, painful job you hold to acquire some money for next year. I spend hours filing and shelving, while time plays tricks on me and refuses to move along naturally. After a few hours of alphabetizing and looking at the clock every five minutes, life becomes the word that you say so many times it looses all meaning.
The last chunk is The Fall. Time spent filling out paperwork, scheduling, and financing. Talking to people you don’t know yet, but will know soon. Buying bedding and pop-up dirty clothes hampers and shower caddies. Scheduling classes, buying books, preparing for a major. Trying to root down something with no definite shape in your mind, trying to crack the code of the future.
It’s not what I expected, and I don’t like it. I thought I would be working all day like all of my friends, and in the evenings we would all get together to make fires and watch movies and shop for dorm supplies together. Then The Change would happen overnight; say goodbye one night and wake up to your new life, ready and waiting for you.
The suspension is hard to deal with. Sometimes it’s ok. Sometimes you can remember “the good old days” and celebrate in them. Sometimes you can look ahead into the future that you know will be good and happy. But that’s the best you can do. I feel like I don’t belong to anything anymore. I’ve always lived in the present, I’ve always soaked up everything the now has to offer me. But all of a sudden there is nothing. Floating unanchored between two lives. It’s quiet and stagnant and lonely, and I was made for noise and moving and friends.
For the first time in my life, summer can’t be over soon enough, and I want school to start. So I can land. So I can belong.
One chunk is your old friends, who have already begun to float away. Some are gone for weeks at a time on vacations and missions trips. Some are already beginning to leave for real. And the friends that stick around are only half in Rochester – the rest of themselves are making plans for Phase Two, just like you are.
The other chunk is the present. The 8-5, painful job you hold to acquire some money for next year. I spend hours filing and shelving, while time plays tricks on me and refuses to move along naturally. After a few hours of alphabetizing and looking at the clock every five minutes, life becomes the word that you say so many times it looses all meaning.
The last chunk is The Fall. Time spent filling out paperwork, scheduling, and financing. Talking to people you don’t know yet, but will know soon. Buying bedding and pop-up dirty clothes hampers and shower caddies. Scheduling classes, buying books, preparing for a major. Trying to root down something with no definite shape in your mind, trying to crack the code of the future.
It’s not what I expected, and I don’t like it. I thought I would be working all day like all of my friends, and in the evenings we would all get together to make fires and watch movies and shop for dorm supplies together. Then The Change would happen overnight; say goodbye one night and wake up to your new life, ready and waiting for you.
The suspension is hard to deal with. Sometimes it’s ok. Sometimes you can remember “the good old days” and celebrate in them. Sometimes you can look ahead into the future that you know will be good and happy. But that’s the best you can do. I feel like I don’t belong to anything anymore. I’ve always lived in the present, I’ve always soaked up everything the now has to offer me. But all of a sudden there is nothing. Floating unanchored between two lives. It’s quiet and stagnant and lonely, and I was made for noise and moving and friends.
For the first time in my life, summer can’t be over soon enough, and I want school to start. So I can land. So I can belong.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I'm not dead!
This may have been the longest I've ever gone without blogging. I don't like it. This week I've been working from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm, and then helping with VBS from 6:00 until 9:00. Factor in driving, meals, and sleep, and I have had zero free time. So I took the afternoon off. I have e-mails to send and packing to do and a going-away present to finish, and a blog to post. Maybe a nap to take.
I did not post last week because I was on vacation # 1. I know, I lucked out this year. Mel invited Ange and I on her annual family reunion/vacation. It was so different from the family vacations I'm used to; there were 30 people. I was living in The Big House with 20 of them, and everyone else was in the little beach house down the road. The cousins varied in age from 6 to mid-twenties, and they were ALL boys. It was a big, loud, chaotic, competitve and hilarious group of people. I got used to hiding any food that I wanted, always putting down the toilet seat, getting creamed in mini golf. One cousin held up one of my bobby pins and asked what it was.
I honestly expected it to be awkward. Me, a complete stranger, crashing a family event. But the second night Ange and I were up two hours after Mel had gone to bed, talking and laughing with everybody. The next morning, uncles were teasing me because I couldn't reach the coffee mug shelf. Soon I was having my morning coffee with the aunts, cousins were tipping me out of chairs, and I was having in depth conversations about the differences in urination habits between the sexes. I learned to dish it and take it like a pro (below the belt is not a term this family is aware of) and laughing over family stories and old jokes.
Although they didn't quite feel like family, and the beach house didn't exactly feel like home, it was close. I was happy eating, showering, and sleeping there. I could relax and be myself there. I felt like I did belong there, even like it belonged to me a little bit. A big part of that is how gracious and good that family was. But I was also surprised to transition so easily into such a different environment than the one I'm used to.
Good thing, since I move in a month and a half. To live with 4,000 people, the vast majority of them boys. Now I know that it will be just plain fun.
I did not post last week because I was on vacation # 1. I know, I lucked out this year. Mel invited Ange and I on her annual family reunion/vacation. It was so different from the family vacations I'm used to; there were 30 people. I was living in The Big House with 20 of them, and everyone else was in the little beach house down the road. The cousins varied in age from 6 to mid-twenties, and they were ALL boys. It was a big, loud, chaotic, competitve and hilarious group of people. I got used to hiding any food that I wanted, always putting down the toilet seat, getting creamed in mini golf. One cousin held up one of my bobby pins and asked what it was.
I honestly expected it to be awkward. Me, a complete stranger, crashing a family event. But the second night Ange and I were up two hours after Mel had gone to bed, talking and laughing with everybody. The next morning, uncles were teasing me because I couldn't reach the coffee mug shelf. Soon I was having my morning coffee with the aunts, cousins were tipping me out of chairs, and I was having in depth conversations about the differences in urination habits between the sexes. I learned to dish it and take it like a pro (below the belt is not a term this family is aware of) and laughing over family stories and old jokes.
Although they didn't quite feel like family, and the beach house didn't exactly feel like home, it was close. I was happy eating, showering, and sleeping there. I could relax and be myself there. I felt like I did belong there, even like it belonged to me a little bit. A big part of that is how gracious and good that family was. But I was also surprised to transition so easily into such a different environment than the one I'm used to.
Good thing, since I move in a month and a half. To live with 4,000 people, the vast majority of them boys. Now I know that it will be just plain fun.
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