Today, i jaywalked.

I have been uncharacteristically quiet since hearing about the shooting of Michael Brown, an unarmed 18-year-old black man who was shot dead on Saturday, August 9, after being stopped for jaywalking in Ferguson, Missouri. 

Yes folks, jaywalking.  

Initially I chose to be silent because I wanted to learn more of the facts. I had only heard the tail end of the news story on the radio. As I learned more about the facts, my silence was the result of my outrage. Not the shock type of “Oh my gosh, I cannot believe that this has happened!” outrage, but the indignant “Are you f*cking kidding me? Again?” kind of outrage. 

And so, for the past ten days I have been stewing silently and trying to sort out what I feel and what I want to say. 

Mind you, of course, that I can choose to be silent. That is part of my privilege. And, if you are white, like me, it is a choice that you may also make—it is part of your privilege. 

Admittedly, ten days of being silent have not provided me with all of the facts. I do not have them, you do not have them. The media does not have them. The Ferguson police department does not have them.  No one has them. And we never will. What we do have, however, are a series of facts that we should be pondering, sharing, and discussing. Facts about Ferguson and facts about America. Here are just a few:

FACT: Ferguson is a majority-black city with a disproportionately white power structure (police and city government). This is not a statistic unique to Ferguson.

FACT: Michael Brown was an unarmed 18-year-old black man, a recent graduate of Normandy High School in St. Louis who was scheduled to start classes at Vatterott College, a Missouri trade college, on Monday, August 11.

FACT: Michael Brown was shot six times from the the front, with two of the bullets having struck him in the head.

FACT: Only 52% of black males graduate from high school and, of those, 65% enroll in a two- or four-year college. Michael Brown was one of them. (Source: Department of Education)

FACT: One in three black men can expect to go to prison in their lifetime. (Source: Bureau of Justice Statistics)

FACT: African Americans are twice as likely to be arrested and almost four times as likely to experience the use of force during encounters with the police. (Source: Department of Justice)

I am not a politician or an activist or a thought leader or an educator or a journalist or a celebrity. I do not pretend to know more than anyone else. I offer these facts because these are the facts that get neglected. These are the facts that get shoved aside. These are the facts that too many Americans do not want to talk about. 

But this is America. We are America. I am an American just as Michael Brown was an American. America is the country that I love and that I am blessed to call home. Yet how can I be a truly proud American in the face of these facts? 

What I KNOW is that if I had been jaywalking with a pack of cigarillos in my hand in Ferguson, Missouri, I would not likely have been stopped by a white police officer and I certainly would not have been shot dead. 

In fact, I jaywalked today in downtown Portland, Oregon. Intentionally. And in doing so, I paused midway across the street to remember Michael Brown and to remind myself that I have the privilege of making such choices without fear. Every. Single. Day. That is not something to take lightly. And, I do not, because Michael Brown did not have the privilege of making choices without fear.

And so it is a responsibility--MY responsibility--to not sit in silence while my sisters and brothers do not have that same privilege to make choices without losing their lives. To not sit in silence because I can, because I am white. To not sit in silence because I fear the judgement of my family and my friends who do not understand or do not care to understand or think that I am on a soapbox about the institutionalized and systemic racism and abuse of power that is rampant in our country. It is my responsibility to acknowledge and share my outrage.

Because until the day when the color of human's skin is of no more significance than the color of her eyes, the dream of lasting peace, world citizenship and the rule of international morality will remain but a fleeting illusion, to be pursued but never attained (to paraphrase the late Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie, full excerpt noted below).

And because, for me, music is how I often make sense of the world and find peace, i offer this, as well as this excerpt from Emperor Haile Selassie's speech to the United Nations in New York on October 4, 1963:

On the question of racial discrimination, the Addis Ababa Conference taught, to those who will learn, this further lesson: That until the philosophy which holds one race superior and another inferior is finally and permanently discredited and abandoned: That until there are no longer first-class and second class citizens of any nation; That until the color of a man's skin is of no more significance than the color of his eyes; That until the basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all without regard to race; That until that day, the dream of lasting peace and world citizenship and the rule of international morality will remain but a fleeting illusion, to be pursued but never attained; And until the ignoble and unhappy regimes that hold our brothers in Angola, in Mozambique and in South Africa in subhuman bondage have been toppled and destroyed; Until bigotry and prejudice and malicious and inhuman self-interest have been replaced by understanding and tolerance and good-will; Until all Africans stand and speak as free beings, equal in the eyes of all men, as they are in the eyes of Heaven; Until that day, the African continent will not know peace. We Africans will fight, if necessary, and we know that we shall win, as we are confident in the victory of good over evil.

Because there will be no peace without equal rights and justice, my friends. Ever.

In love + light + solidarity,

amy.

all i really need to know i learned from my mom

Today is the birthday of one of the greatest women i know. For seven decades, this planet has been better because she has been on it. Admittedly, i have not known her for all seven of those decades, but i have known her for four of them--and am into my fifth--and that pretty much qualifies me as an expert. Regardless, since this is my blog, i get to make the rules!

This special woman is my mom.

Almost every year I get to celebrate my dad's birthday (March 14) with him and my mom in Florida, but i rarely spend my mom's birthday with her. But this year being one of those milestone birthdays, i decided that i needed to celebrate with her.  So, i plotted and schemed with my dad and surprised my mom with a visit. I should note that my mom does not like surprises. At all! But, sometimes you have to break the rules. In fact, i may have learned that lesson from my mom.

As i was preparing for my trip east, i started thinking about a few of the many things that i have learned from my mom over the years. So, i am dedicating this blog post to my mom in thanks for all of the life lessons that she has taught me over the years.

If you have not been blessed to meet my mom let me tell you a few things about her that make her the incredibly beautiful person she is. First of all, my mom is quite possibly the nicest person on the planet. Truly. She is thoughtful, kind, caring, giving, and generous. She never has a mean word to say about anyone -- something that i strive towards every day, though i am certainly not there yet; i keep trying! She has many wonderful friends and she would go to the ends of the earth for any of them, just as she would for her four sisters, my dad, my siblings and me. She is deeply spiritual, insightful and wise and yet she is extremely humble. She has a backyard filled with bird feeders and bird houses and she has a mission to ensure that the birds get the food, and not the squirrels! She keeps dog biscuits in her car and by the front door for the neighbors' dogs. She is an avid golfer and loves getting out there with her ladies, especially the back-nine swingers! She owns a chainsaw (and knows how to use it). And, she makes the world's greatest cookies!

But the point of my blog post today is to share a few of the lessons that i have learned from my mom. So here are just a few, one for each decade that i have known her:

If you do not have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. This one came from Thumper (the rabbit in the movie Bambi) but also from my mom. My mom really modeled this for my siblings and me. I don't think that she has a mean-spirited bone in her body and she always is able to see the good in people. I, on the other hand, am still trying to perfect this one but it is something i aspire to every day.

Don't make someone a priority who only considers you an option. In other words, don't be too available to someone who only has you in their life on their terms. Again, this is not the way that my mom actually said this one, but that was the lesson: respect yourself or no one else will. I have had moments of forgetting this one throughout my life, but it somehow always seems to come back to me (in my mom's voice!). Frankly, I have weeded several people out of my life based on this one and i have absolutely no regrets about that.

Be grateful for what you have. My mom taught this one well, not in a "there are starving children in Africa" kind of way, though there may have been a bit of that, she is a Catholic after all! It was more of a "you have everything you need and more and you are very, very blessed" message that unfortunately some people never learn. This lesson was furthered by the fact that my mom valued people and relationships far more than status or money or things, as is evident to me whenever i spend time with my mom and her friends, especially at her birthday party last night.

Do what you believe is right, and then it does not matter what anyone else thinks. I love this one. It guides just about every decision that i make. In fact, my mom sent me a card with this sentiment on it and i look at it on a regular basis to remind myself of it. It is not about being right, it is about living with conviction and passion and following your heart and not worrying if others do not understand or agree. Part of the reason that i love this one so much is that my mom has always given me the space to live my life in my own way. Always. Even when she has probably not wanted to shake me and ask "What the heck are you thinking?!"

But possibly the greatest lesson i have learned from my mom is actually a gift that she (and my dad) have given to my siblings and me through their unwavering support in the best of times and the most  challenging of times: do what makes you happy! In a world where so many of us have expectations of our family and friends, the only expectation and demand that my mom and dad have put on my sister, my brother and me is to be happy. And thankfully, i am. And for that, mom, i am forever grateful!

Halloween blues

Halloween is one of my least favorite holidays. It ranks up there with Valentine's Day but for entirely different reasons. Or, perhaps not? Given my fondness for sugary treats, it is completely counterintuitative that i dislike both of these holidays. But, what can i say? I am like a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a vest. (Bonus points if you get that reference!)

I am not exactly sure when my dislike of Halloween came to be, though i am sure that i must have enjoyed it as a kid. I mean, what kid doesn't like Halloween? Being rewarded with a pillow case full of candy for playing dress up. Not a bad deal. (Note: we were not allowed to use pillow cases for trick or treating, we actually had these big plastic pumpkins; i remember something about pillow cases being too greedy, or something like that.) But at some point over the years, i started to dislike Halloween.

I can pretty much sum it up in two words: costume envy! I can never come up with a good costume. Then, i go to a party and see so many great costumes and i feel completely inadequate. So, every year i vow that i am going to start planning next year's costume at the end of the summer, which will guarantee that i will have a kick ass costume. Alas, the never happens. Ever.

Admittedly, I have been able to throw together some decent costumes. As a kid, i remember going as a devil. I wore a red leotard, red face paint, carried a pitchfork made out of a broom handle, and had a long red tail. Talk about DIY! A few years ago i went as a mermaid, which turned out to be somewhere between sexy and creepy on the costume continuum. I rocked a cave woman costume more than once -- not much to that one but a piece of brown furry fabric, which was probably intended for some over-achieving mom to make a cute little bear costume for a toddler. Though i personally think that the animal bones in my hair were what really made that one!

And, speaking of toddlers, what the heck is up with people who take their infant trick or treating? I mean, i understand dressing them up for a photo shoot for family and friends, one that will likely come back to haunt the poor child when s/he starts dating ("And here she is dressed up as a pumpkin...isn't that just the cutest ever?"). And i thought that i lacked costume creativity! But when grown adults come to my door with a child who cannot walk or talk, i practically bite my tongue off when what i really want to say is "Seriously? You are either the worst parent ever, feeding your infant child this garbage at such an early age OR you are too cheap to buy candy and stay at home and hand it out to the neighborhood kids OR you are using your child to collect free candy from your neighbors when you could just go buy some at the market and spare us all, your own child included! So really, either way, you're kinda lame." But of course i don't say that. Actually, to be honest, i do not really think that either. Well, maybe just a little bit.

But, i also do not hand out gratuitous costume compliments -- nope, you've gotta earn it, folks. Rest assured, if you're costume is that awesome, i will definitely let you know. I mean, i can appreciate the fact that you have put thought and energy into your costume, even as my ego takes yet another hit and i berate myself for my own lack of creativity once again this year. Halloween may not be such a good holiday for the self-critical.

I am pretty sure that Halloween is also responsible for my early onset claustrophobia. Remember those costumes in the 70s -- the ones with crappy masks and other extremely flammable materials? Breathing through those things was practically impossible, requiring constant removal of the damn thing. And those masks were usually in the trash by the end of the night They were clearly intended to only be worn once, judging by how easily they ripped and the string meant to hold them in place lost its elasticity within the first 20 minutes of being taken out of the package (which was definitely well before Halloween). In any event, i cannot do masks that cover my entire face, nor can i be in confined spaces without freaking out. Is Halloween to blame? Who really knows, but for the purposes of today, i will  say that it is.

In addition to my own Halloween anxieties, one of the worst things about Halloween is the unpredictable weather. The only thing that is guaranteed on the last day of October is that it will be dark by about 4:30 PM! It might be cold, warm, raining, or snowing, but it will be dark. On one hand, carrying flashlights is fun. On the other hand, having to wear a puffy down jacket over your costume is a complete buzz kill. "Well, I can't really tell what your costume is..." Uhm, yeah, well that's what happens when it is 30 degrees out, lady; my mom makes me wear a jacket.

Since I bought my house three years ago, i have spent Halloween night at home, handing out candy to the cowboys, the princesses, the ghosts, the zombies, the lions, the superheroes, and even to the teenagers who are clearly not dressed up as anything. Given that my dog, lila, goes bananas every time someone comes to the door, i am pretty sure that i deserve a gold star for my efforts. Seriously, grabbing the bowl of candy, wrangling the dog, and getting the front door open before the kiddos knock a second time is worthy of an Olympic medal. (Yes, they have to knock because for some reason so many houses in Portland do not have doorbells, including mine.) I think this year i am going to make a little game out of this: i will time myself with each group that comes to the door and see what my fastest time is and reward myself with the leftover candy. The Halloween dash, it's the new decathlon.

Lest you think that I only have negative things to say about Halloween, i do have some positive memories. I think my favorite is probably the Halloween i spent in West Africa when i was a student at the University of Ghana in 1993. A small contingent of American students decided that it would be fun to have a Halloween party with our Ghanaian friends, who do not celebrate this holiday. Someone hosted a party in their dorm room. I had a long black dress that i wore on a regular basis the entire year that i was in Ghana, so, naturally, i went as a witch. Yeah, i also had an imaginary friend that was an elephant named, wait for it...elephant. Creativity may not be my strong suit. But that may be worthy of its own dedicated blog post.

So, there you have it. My first Halloween blog. Thanks to my dear old friend, Cheryl, for the inspiration.

Enjoy your Halloween, my friends! And, please remember that if you hand out raisins, dental floss,  stickers, or pencils, you have no grounds to complain if your pumpkins get smashed.

Dianah does not like baseball and, apparently, neither should you!

At 41 years old, i have probably never loved professional sports more in my life than i do now.

I used to be one of those people who somehow considered myself better than because i did not really care for sports. I was someone like the Powell's Books employee who wrote a staff book review of "The Art of Fielding" by Chad Harbach with this: "Baseball? No thanks! But have no fear -- it's not really a book about baseball." As if baseball is some evil that no one should ever write about or care to read about. Ever. 

For those of you not familiar, Powell's Books is a family-owned, independent bookstore in Portland, OR. It is a pretty incredible bookstore, it takes up an entire City block and is a wonderful place to spend hours and hours on a rainy Portland day (we have a lot of those between November and July). The fact that it has continued to stay relevant and even to flourish in the digital age makes it even more impressive. Portlanders love and take great ownership of it and it is a place that many of us frequent and show off to our out-of-town guests like it is part of our cultural history, which arguably it is. Some of us probably think that having Powell's in our great city somehow makes us better than other cities -- or at least smarter. The Powell's employee who wrote the review quoted above may be one of those people, too.

But, i digress. This is not a story about Powell's or Portland. In fact, it is not really a story about sports or baseball either. It is a story about judgment. So let's get back to that.

Being from New England, i come from a place that has representation in every major league sport: baseball, basketball, football, hockey, and soccer. And New Englanders LOVE their sports teams. Perhaps you have heard the term "Red Sox Nation". There are actually fans all over the U.S. and the world who love the Red Sox, not just people who hail from New England. (In fact, the times that I have seen the Red Sox play all the way across the country in Seattle, there are more Red Sox fans in attendance than Mariners fans.) And, if you don't know about the Curse of the Bambino, the Red Sox did not win a World Series for 86 years! And yet people still loved them and continue to love them. So, it is not just about winning.

Personally, I was not really a baseball fan growing up. My dad's company had season tickets to the Boston Celtics (basketball for those non-sports fans). So, I was fortunate to go to Celtics games in the 80s and see what is one of the top 10 winningest teams in NBA history. Larry Bird, Danny Ainge, Robert Parish, Kevin McHale, Dennis Johnson. Boston legends. And I remember more than one occasion shivering in the cold behind the Boston Garden waiting for the players to exit with hopes of getting an autograph. (Thanks Dad, those experiences are part of my childhood memory that I will always cherish and never forget.) 

As a soccer player and later a swimmer -- and perhaps even more so as a young woman -- i never developed a strong desire to follow professional sports. Maybe because my sports were not in the mainstream or maybe because i did not understand the games or maybe just because i thought that they were boring. Whatever the reason, i thought that following professional sports was a waste of time and something enjoyed only by jocks. (And i most certainly did not want to be categorized as a jock.) And i will admit that i carried that judgement around with me for a number of years.

Fortunately, in time, i learned how short sighted my thinking was. I met people from all walks of life who love sports -- intellectuals, hippies, nerds, jocks (of course), women, men, loud people, quiet people, the 99%, the 1%, and even hipsters. What i realized is that passion for sports was not usually only about a singular love of the sport itself, but also often about a sense of identity -- of where you were from or childhood experiences and the like. I started to see how the love of sports united people of all backgrounds, in the same way that music like the Grateful Dead did for me in my life. I was really struck by this and quickly started to appreciate professional sports in a different way. A way that has continued to grow for me over the years.

I have learned to understand the rules of the games (well, mostly). I have learned to enjoy the down time of watching a game on TV or attending in person. I have made new friends over a love of a common sports team and gathered with old friends to watch a game. I have attended and hosted Super Bowl parties with people who don't even care about sports. But most of all, i stopped judging sports -- and the people who enjoy them -- as being a waste of time and somehow less than.

So look, Dianah (that is her name, the Powell's employee I quoted above), some people actually like baseball and would not mind if a book actually contained a story about baseball, despite your clear disdain for America's national pastime. I know that it is probably hard to wrap your brain around the fact that someone who shops at Powell's -- someone who is potentially as smart or smarter than even you, Dianah -- could actually also like sports, but guess what sister, it's a fact, there are smart people who like to read who also like baseball (and other sports). I know that i do -- and i am smart and have varied interests and live in Portland, just like you. So please, do us all a favor and leave your judgement out of your next review because it actually makes you sound like an elitist d*****bag! 

GO SOX!

Uncle Bill, a tribute: 1934 - 2013

Sundays are my favorite day of the week, but not this Sunday, July 14. Early this morning I learned that my Uncle Bill had died on Saturday in a tragic car accident in New Jersey.

This is one of those times where words feel woefully inadequate. This is one of those times where the best hope for finding solace is in the comfort of happy memories.

Fortunately, when it comes to my Uncle Bill, there are many of those and I want to share just a few of my own.

To give you a sense of the type of guy my Uncle Bill was, consider this: I was living in California in 1996 and was out listening to music with some friends. I started talking to this woman, Ami. In addition to sharing a name, we realized pretty quickly that we were both East Coasters and both recent college graduates. Despite our East Coast connection, Ami was pretty certain that I would never have heard of her small college in Pennsylvania. It was called Lafayette. But of course I knew Lafayette College! "My Uncle Bill is the lacrosse coach and diving coach there," I told her. "Coach Lawson is your Uncle?!" she said. She told me she did not know him personally but, well, "Everyone knows Coach Lawson!" From that moment forward, Ami and I were bonded and she is one of my dearest friends today. And, though it did not surprise me, I will never forget Ami sharing about my Uncle's reputation on campus and feeling so proud to be related to him.

Having grown up in Massachusetts, we would travel to Pennsylvania to visit my Aunt Peggy, Uncle Bill and cousins, Christine and Glenn. I loved going to Pennsylvania because it always meant that we would get to swim at the Lafayette College pool, which was such a cool thing to a young kid, especially when your Uncle has the key to the swimming pool and can take you there at any time. I somehow imagine that in our modern age that this would somehow be frowned upon as some sort of liability, but it was the 70s and frankly it is one of my most favorite childhood memories.

Uncle Bill did have some rules at the pool, one of which I will never forget! If you climbed up the ladder of the three-meter diving board, the only way down was to jump into the diving well! No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Climb up, jump (or dive) down. I remember the terrifying occasion where I learned about that rule as my cousin Glenn started climbing up the stairs after I decided that maybe I did not really want to jump. I learned an important lesson that day too: don't look down, just jump! And trust me, three meters may not seem high, but to a little kid with an orange bubble strapped around her waist, it felt like being on a mountain top! But I did it and my Uncle Bill cheered me on. And eventually the high dive became one of the things I loved about visits to the Lafayette pool.

I must admit, I credit my Uncle Bill in part for my love of the water and my becoming a competitive swimmer. One summer my cousin Margaret and I had the chance to stay with my Aunt Peggy and Uncle Bill and work as assistants at the swim camp at Lafayette. It was the early 80s and we had a great time helping out with the swim lessons and listening to Corey Hart's "Sunglasses at Night" on 45 in the den over and over again. I think that after that summer I became much more serious about swimming and it eventually became my only sport--having nothing to do with Corey Hart and much more to do with my Uncle's influence.

Another thing I loved about my Uncle was that he smoked a pipe. I don't know why, but I loved the aroma of the tobacco! Crazy as that may seem, the tobacco had this sweet smell and though I cannot name it, it is a smell that I have never forgotten and one that will always remind me of my Uncle Bill. I remember him sitting in the den after dinner in his chair with his pipe. I did not know it at the time, but I think that one of the things I loved about it was the ritual of it. I admit that I have walked into a local tobacco shop in downtown Portland before just to find that smell.

Uncle Bill was easy to love. He was hilarious. He always had a joke or a funny story to tell. I believe that the ability to make people laugh is one of the greatest gifts one can give. And with Uncle Bill present, laughter was always guaranteed.

But he was also engaging--it was not just about small talk or chit chat. He really cared about you. He would always ask questions about your life; he really listened and he was always genuinely enthusiastic to hear about whatever was happening with you. He had a knack for making you feel like whatever you were saying was important--and to him it was. That is a skill that many of us do not possess, but Uncle Bill did.

Uncle Bill was one of the most positive people that I have even known. He radiated a love for life along with a peaceful contentment that many of us can barely imagine, let alone live. And it is nearly impossible for me to remember a time when he did not have a smile on his face. And, he was extremely humble. In a lovely dedication posted yesterday on Lafayette College Athletics' web site, it read that "he was one of the most well-respected lacrosse coaches in the nation." Again, not a surprise but certainly not something that you would catch him bragging about, regardless of the fact that it was very true.

I am sure that his positivity is part of what made him such an excellent coach for so many years. Uncle Bill had a 37-year career of coaching at Lafayette and continued to serve as a coach in a volunteer capacity. He was the 1991 Patriot League Coach of the Year and is the winningest men's lacrosse coach in Lafayette's history. He was named the Patriot League Diving Coach of the Year in 1999-2000, and he was inducted into the Pennsylvania Lacrosse Hall of Fame in 2002. In 2001, Uncle Bill was one of a select few who coached at the U.S. National Team tryouts for the 2002 International Lacrosse Federation World Championships. In 2000, he was selected as the recipient of the United States Intercollegiate Lacrosse Association's "Howdy Myers Man of the Year Award"--an annual award presented to the person who has "contributed to the game of lacrosse in a capacity over and above the normal efforts and has shown unselfish and undying devotion."

Unselfish indeed. I cannot think of a better way to remember my Uncle and his contributions as a husband, father, grandfather, uncle, coach, mentor, colleague, and friend. He spent his life doing what he loved, surrounded by people who he loved, in a place that he loved. He was an angel on earth who we were lucky to have the opportunity to know. He will be dearly missed and so fondly remembered.

Thank you for sharing your life with so many of us and for lighting up the world with your smiles, you laughter, and your spirit.

Rest peacefully, Uncle Bill. You are loved.

a clique down memory lane

Jocks. Cheerleaders. Band geeks. Stoners. Nerds. Thespians. Preppies.

Whatever the moniker, as near as I can tell, nearly every high school in America has some iteration of these cliques. I used to think that cliques were something that got left behind when we exited high school, along with brown paper bag covered school books and standardized tests. With age and experience, I have become keenly aware that in reality cliques exist even in adulthood. By definition, the common denominator of cliques is exclusion. And I don't know about you, but whether you are 15 or 65, feeling excluded does not feel good, regardless of whether it is intentional or unintentional. But, I try to find a thread of humor in life whenever possible, so I decided to take a little trip down memory lane. If you are so inclined, please join me.

When I was in high school - many, many moons ago - I never really found that I identified with a particular clique. I had friends across multiple cliques but I did not really 'run' within one exclusively.

My softball and soccer careers were both over by the time I hit high school. I was a competitive swimmer, but since my high school did not have a team, I swam year-round on a club team outside of school about 10 months a year and was not able to participate in any sports at my school. And I never dated a football player, so I could not even make it into this one by association.

My swim practice and meet schedule, my inability to do a split, and the fact that I never wore make-up are just three in a long list of disqualifications to ever achieving cheerleader status.

Despite my recurring dream of being a guitar-wielding folk rock songstress, my maroon-colored guitar from the glossy pages of the coveted Sears & Roebuck catalog was a passing fad with a life span barely much longer than a mayfly. Apparently, you need to practice between and beyond weekly lessons to actually learn chords, according to my guitar teacher, who in my memory looks disturbingly like a 70's porn star. And, after singing in the chorus in sixth grade in a grey flannel skirt and a white blouse, I pretty much stuck to singing in the shower. No band for me.

The stoners in my high school were an interesting bunch. Rocker t-shirts, mullets, lots of dark colors, lots of denim, and smoking. Honestly, I never set foot in the 'smoking area' located off of G corridor, which was supposed to be an area for students (who were over 18 or who had written permission from their parents...seriously?!) to smoke cigarettes. I question whether tobacco was the only substance being smoked out there. I did, however, always say "It's okay" when entering the girls' bathroom, especially in the lower corridors of the school, to make it clear that a teacher was not entering, which would require these young ladies to waste a precious butt by promptly flushing it down the toilet to avoid getting in trouble. Frankly, I was so scared to death of getting beat up on those rare occasions when I did forget to speak the code, I rarely ever forgot! Intimidated underclassman? Yes. Stoner? No.

And really, let's not sugar coat this one: I was not smart enough to be a nerd. Plain and simple. (Don't worry. I say this without the slightest hint of low self esteem!)

I vaguely recall some "Free To Be You and Me" production during elementary school, but really my acting career started and ended when I played a donkey in a local production of Pinocchio. Sadly, that is a true story that I am apparently not too proud to admit. A donkey, people! A freakin' donkey! Sweet Jesus! (Now, if you want to talk about low self esteem...)

Truth be told, the majority of my clothes in my high school years were from LL Bean, the Gap, and J. Crew, so that fact alone could arguably qualify me as a 'preppy', for lack of better association with any of the aforementioned cliques. And it IS true, there was a well-worn copy of Lisa Birnbach's "The Official Preppy Handbook" in our house (i hear it is out of print but if you have never flipped through this book, you will probably never truly understand the culture of the Northeast United States). And, I spent my first 18 months as a college student at one of Birnbach's 'top ten drinking schools', crowned as such for boasting high number of "students who have the unique ability to mix drinks in their stomachs". Looking back, I suppose it is possible that preppy may have been my most closely associated clique.

But, my nickname isn't Muffy, we didn't summer on Nantucket or belong to a country club, I never had a boyfriend named Chip or Topher, I do not ski, play tennis or golf, I did not receive a BMW for high school graduation, and I have never seen my father in a seersucker suit. So, I cannot really be sure!

what i learned on my spring vacation

having recently returned from my annual spring pilgrimage to Florida, coupled with the fact that i have not actually posted a blog entry since December, i decided it was time. (let's not discuss the three other entries that i have started but not finished...) and, there are a couple of things that you may or may not know that might help contextualize this post.

first, i love spending time with my parents. despite the fact that i have lived on the opposite coast for 19 years, every opportunity i have to spend with my parents reminds me how incredibly blessed i am in so many aspects of life.

second, i visit my parents at least twice a year in typically warm, sunny environments. in March, i travel to Florida, where they now spend the winter months, wisely escaping the New England weather (which this year has been nothing short of miserable). in August, i visit them at their home in Sandwich, MA on beautiful Cape Cod. having spent many summers on the Cape as a kiddo, the fact that my mom and dad have retired there is very special to me.

finally, full disclosure: some of the things included on this list are things that i already knew before going to Florida, but i think they are worthy of repeating and/or reminding myself. AND, the list that follows is in no particular order, with the exception of #1.

1. the more time i spend with my parents as an adult, the more i see the lessons that they have taught and modeled for me throughout my life. my parents are kind, generous, smart, humble, loving, fun -- the list could go on and on. they have deep rooted values and beliefs and yet they do not judge how others choose to live; they live simply and let others simply live. they have wonderful, solid friendships, which they cherish and seem to keep them young because these friendships are full of love, respect and lots of laughter! they are grateful for the life they are blessed to live: they are not wrapped up in material possessions and know that value is not found in the size of your house or the kind of car that you drive. they take really good care of each other without question or complaint. and, probably most importantly, they LOVE: each other, their children, their grandchild and their grand-dog, their family and their friends. and this love, i can tell from personal experience, has no conditions.

2. i will probably not stay in Oregon for the rest of my life. those who know me well, know that i have a west coat soul. i have spent 19 years between California and Oregon and it is hard to imagine living anywhere else. BUT, i need the sun; i crave it. and, on top of my sun worshiping, i have a condition called Raynaud's, which is a fancy name for "my fingers get really f@#$k*&^ cold, turn white, and lose sensation". The Mayo Clinic explains that with Raynaud's disease, "smaller arteries that supply blood to your skin narrow, limiting blood circulation to affected areas." Bottom line: having this condition and cold weather is not really a winning formula! (Note: this condition happens even in the shower and after swimming, but it is at its worst in the cold.) Considering that the condition continues to worsen as I age, I am pretty sure that I am going to need to live somewhere that sees more days in the 70s and 80s than Oregon does! There are absolutely no plans on the horizon for a move of any sort right now, but someday...

3. i will probably never get over my body issues. ever. i exercise, i eat fairly well, i drink more water than an elephant. and, i will never have the body i had when i was 21. or 25. or even 38. well, i suppose i could have that twentysomething body with the help of liposuction, but, that's not really my thing. and so i struggle, like so many women, and men too. but i try to keep it all in perspective and accept and, better yet, be grateful that i am healthy and happy and blessed. but i am not a big fan of mirrors!

4. Keith Richards is a fantastic musician and a terrible writer! i picked up his autobiography in the airport before leaving Portland, thinking the 540+ pages would be a nice, leisurely read while sitting by the pool. WRONG. it is painful! i stopped reading after 120 pages. why he did not use a biographer is beyond me, but he really should have. (or maybe he tried to but no one could work with him, which seems entirely possible!) his story is interesting, but his ability to tell it has been annihilated by his recreational abuse to his body!

5. JFK is one of my most favorite airports in the US. i never really thought about having a favorite airport before, but this trip i hit JFK en route both to and from Florida and i realized how much i love it. it is like a microcosm of the planet wrapped up in a handsome guy in a Yankees cap: the people, the culture, the diversity. it is so alive! so many people coming from and going to places all over the globe. my first experience at JFK was when i went to Ghana in 1993. and again when i left the east coast with my backpack and a box to move to San Francisco. those were both pretty life changing adventures to be sure, so perhaps that is why it holds a special place in my heart. i have been there several other times as well, both passing through and as my final destination. sure, there are more scenic airports (Anchorage or Denver), airports with better shopping (Atlanta or Minneapolis), better eating (San Francisco or Boston), easier access (Portland or Oakland), and airports with more activities (Vegas, baby!), but i think that JFK is the best.

6. i cannot tell you who sings the song "Call Me Maybe" but I know most of the words thanks to the viral videos of the US Olympic Swim Team and US troops in Afghanistan (which I recently learned was a spoof of another viral video that I did not see by the Miami Dolphins' cheerleaders). god bless the internet!

7. I have really mellowed out significantly over the last 10 years! Don't get me wrong, i am still stubborn, moody, sensitive and occasionally bossy with a knack for planning, but i learn to let go a little bit more each day. I credit yoga, meditation, self help books, good friends, and American television!

8. I would write a lot more blog posts if i did not care about spelling, grammar and the art of storytelling! Fortunately, spell check can help me with the spelling issue, but certainly not with the arsenal of stories -- both partially on paper and partially in my head -- that i WANT to blog about. and, when i share my thoughts with you (per #4 above) i want them to flow and, hopefully, be somewhat entertaining and/or thought-provoking. i'll keep working on trying to post more than four times a year, but per #7, i won't hold my breath!

thanks for reading!