a secular plea to love one another

I woke up this morning, as i do on most mornings, writing this blog post in my head. I know that you are probably thinking, "But you hardly ever write blog posts, Amy." And yes, I must acknowledge that this is true. I told my dad not too long ago that I will be much better at my career as an artist when someone invents a microchip that can be implanted in my brain and transcribe my thoughts onto the page. Until then, I will just continue to TRY to be more committed to this writing passion of mine, which realistically will mean the occasional blog post that I hope you will enjoy.

I knew that I needed to write today for several reasons, not the least of which is to honor of my friend, Bradi Nicoll Ross, who is celebrating her 40th birthday today. As you may recall if you have previously read my blog, Bradi was my inspiration for starting this blog and, really, she continues to inspire me on a regular basis--though do not let my lack of posts tell you otherwise!

I also wanted to dedicate some time and thinking to the two tragedies that have taken place this week in Oregon and Connecticut, both involving young male shooters with semi-automatic weapons who collectively stole the lives of about 30 innocent children and adults.

Full disclosure: my primary sources of news are public radio and social media, primarily from a variety of news and media sources on Facebook. I first heard about the Clackamas, Oregon mall shooting on Tuesday, incidentally, while driving home from a mall about 20 miles from Clackamas. As the details slowly emerged, three people were confirmed dead, including the shooter. Thankfully, I did not know anyone involved in Tuesday's tragedy. Nonetheless, a dark cloud definitely hung over Portland. At least over my Portland. Though I really did not hear too many people talking about it

Just three days later, I learned about the Connecticut shooting via the New York Times posting on Facebook. I could not believe it. I immediately noticed how many more people were talking about the CT shooting than I had experienced talking about the OR shooting, especially on Facebook, myself included. Of course there were almost ten times as many lives taken in CT, but my theory on why it was receiving more attention is simply that the CT shooting was at an elementary school. Of course ANY death of this sort is a devastation one too many. But somehow, when children are killed, we seem to stop in our tracks. Ironically, one could argue that the two shooters themselves were children, at just 20 and 22 years old.

All over the Internet people are sharing their views about the why behind these horrible, horrible killing sprees. The reality is that the truth behind the why may never be known, as in both cases it most likely died with the killer himself. Not surprisingly, the biggest issue to surface in the midst of this grief and horror, is gun control, an issue that already hugely divides our society.

Those of you who know me well either already know or can likely surmise my thoughts on gun control. And if you cannot, I will summarize briefly: semi-automatic weapons that have been created for use by the military have no place being in the hands of civilians. Period. And please do not try to convince me otherwise.

I held a gun for the first time in my 40 years last summer on a remote ridge in Alaska. Not a semi-automatic gun, but a single barrel pistol (carried with us for the sole purpose of protecting ourselves from bears). It was not loaded; the clip was in Ben's pocket. It was a surreal experience and if I never hold another gun again in my life, that will make me happy. But, I digress.

In an effort to protect their rights to own and bear arms, gun lobbyists argue that guns do not kill people, and rather PEOPLE kill people. Despite my belief about semi-automatic weapons shared above, I agree with this argument, though certainly not for the same reason. Yes folks, PEOPLE do kill people (using guns and knives and automobiles and household items and their bare hands), but gun control is just one piece of a very complex puzzle. A much bigger piece of the puzzle is mental health.

Consider this:

NY Times columnist David Brooks writes "Looking at guns, looking at video games — that’s starting from the wrong perspective. People who commit spree killings are usually suffering from severe mental disorders. The response, and the way to prevent future episodes, has to start with psychiatry..."


And yet it is arguably easier to procure a firearm than it is to access mental health services, particularly for those most in need (a topic deserving of its own dedicated blog post).

I certainly do not have all of the answers. But if there is one thing that I do know it is that people are fragile, which is why how we treat one another is so important.

So perhaps you are not ready to join the lobby for more dollars for mental health research or better access to mental health services, but there is something that we ALL can do. Be gentle with each other, people. Spread love, not hate. Be kind, not cruel. Teach your children well. Think about the impact of your words and actions on the lives of others. It may not be what stops a fragile person from snapping and committing an extreme act of violence, but at the very least you can be at peace knowing that you are part of the light, not the darkness.

blessings + love, my friends.

one state, two state, red state, blue state

most of you know that i hail from Massachusetts. you know, Taxachusetts, Beantown, Massholes, the Mayflower, witch hunts, the Boston Tea Party, home to four US Presidents (John Adams, John Quincy Adams, Calvin Coolidge, John F. Kennedy), land of the first free public school in the nation, paahk the caah in Hahvahd Yaahd. yep, that's where i am from. and, you may also know that Massachusetts has been a blue state long before the concept of 'red states' and 'blue states' ever came into being (a concept that i recently learned was coined on the Today show in the 2000 election).

the way i remember it, politics and finances were two things that we did not really talk about that much when i was growing up. when i came home from school one day wanting to know how much money my dad made--a question being discussed on the playground during recess, i imagine--i was told that was not something that i needed to know; what i needed to know is that we lived a quality life and had all of the things we needed, not the least of which were a roof over our heads, food on the table and transportation, and some other things that we were lucky to have: a house on Cape Cod and a boat, for example. But at some point--probably for a school project--I came to learn about my parents' political leanings. In the interest of not outing my parents here on the interwebs, let's just say that i most definitely get my bleeding heart from my mom. and that is why what happened yesterday practically brings tears to my eyes. who am i kidding? it DID bring tears to my eyes.

now i should perhaps preface this story with the fact that though MA is a blue state, the town where my parents live is probably more of a reddish shade of purple, which may help set the context for this little tale.

in his retirement, my 72 year old father has developed a knack for volunteerism. (how awesome is THAT?!) and, his most recent gig is driving seniors in the community--to the market, to doctor's appointments, etc. the other day he picked up a woman not too much older than himself to take her to her doctor's appointment. she made her way out to the vehicle, slowly. when she got in, she reeked of smoke and apparently had emphysema on top of it. nice combo, eh? pretty much right off the bat he got the feeling that she would prove to be a piece of work. and, she did not disappoint. she launched into a tirade about President Obama. she said something along the lines of this: "that President Obama...do you know that he thinks it is okay for a man to marry a man and a woman to marry a woman? it is just outrageous. this country...blah blah blah...family values...blah blah blah...get him out of office...blah blah blah." admittedly, 'progressive' is not necessarily a word that i would use to describe my dad. but in that moment, he said to this woman: "well you know, here in Massachusetts that has been the law for years (since 2004, actually). and, in fact, my wife and i know gay couples who have married here and we think it is great. I have absolutely no problem with that. really, it's a non-issue." apparently the woman looked at him like he was insane. and, in her mind, he is. but when i heard this story, i was and am SO proud! i am willing to bet that my dad's words did not change the opinion of this crotchety woman but that does not really matter. what matters, at least to me, is that my dad disrupted her ignorance, even if only for a moment.

Dad: we may not always see eye to eye politically, but thank you for instilling in me the value of speaking up, especially for those who may not have the opportunity, the power or the privilege to do so. Even at 40 years old, you continue to teach me how to be a better person and i feel grateful and blessed for that every day! (and, i hope that i got the details of the story right!)

steel is real!

one year ago, on what was a sunny Friday afternoon, April 22, i geared up for a ride with my friend Karen Hilts. our plan was a relatively short 15ish mile ride from her house, about five or six miles away from my house, followed by a couple of beers with friends. you see, when the sun comes out in Portland, it's a pretty big deal. especially in April. especially on a Friday! outfitted in a sea of spandex--bright green tank and black cycling capris, yes, the kind with the ever-sexy padding--i packed my backpack with a polypro and a jacket, because it was still April after all and it would be chilly in a few hours, my brand new bike lights, which i had just picked up on my way home from work, and a water bottle, maybe two. i told Karen that i would be at her house around 5:15, so, i was going to be about 10 minutes late (story of my life!) but she knew i was coming, so, i did not stop to text her. at 4:55 PM carried my bike out my front door and set off to enjoy the kickoff to the weekend. unfortunately, things did not really go as planned.

i am relatively new to cycling in that i have only 'gotten into it' in the last three years or so. in fact, it was the decision to do a sprint triathlon that forced me to buy a bike. that said, i love riding! and, i love riding with my girlfriends. bitches and bikes. in general, i am a cautious rider, particularly in my neighborhood because it is full of uncontrolled intersections (which are, in my opinion, the dumbest thing i have ever seen in an urban environment!). and this day was no different.

i made the left turn off of McKenna (my street) onto Syracuse and was loving the warm sunshine. as i approached the intersection at Monteith, barely one block from my house, i slowed down, despite the fact that i did not have a stop sign and knowing that the north/south traffic on Monteith did. what happened in the next ten seconds is a bit of a blur, memory that i will probably never fully recover, according to one of many doctors i would see. i looked right and saw a car coming up Monteith; i knew that the car had a stop sign. i looked left, clear. i was slowly entering the intersection when i looked right again. "holy sh*t, that car is not gonna stop!"

the next thing i knew i was on the ground, no longer clipped into my bike. in fact, i had no idea where my bike was and i was not entirely sure how i came to be face down and intimate with the pavement--and it sure looks different that close up! but there i was. as i came to and started to lift my head i saw blood, though i had no idea where it was coming from. i saw a pair of feet near my face and heard someone telling me not to move, asking if i was okay and telling me that help was coming. then i heard sirens. and more voices--by then a small crowd had gathered. then there were EMTs and firemen and police.

despite passing the 'what's your name? where do you live? what's your social security number? what year is it? who is the President?' test, i was told that i would be going to the hospital. granted, i thought that the President question was a trick question but i also thought that knowing that i only lived a block away had to count for something. "really, you can just take me to my house," i said. i think it may have been my failure to accurately answer the last two questions that sealed my fate and gave me what i hope to be my first and last ride in the back of an ambulance: 'do you know what day it is?' and 'where were you going?' unfortunately, my answers to those two questions were the same: "i have no idea."

i remember joking with EMTs, saying, "well, clearly i was going out for a bike ride." but despite my best efforts to just get them to take me home, they decided, in their words, that i was acting in a manner that warranted being taken to the hospital. apparently a mild concussion is worth some attention. who knew?! familiar surroundings look entirely different laying on a gurney in the back of a speeding ambulance, trying to look out the tiny windows, wondering where you are. there were two EMTs, one of whom was a trainee. "we're just going to put this IV in now so that...," the more senior one tried to say. I cut him off. "uh, yeah..." i said, "i don't think i need that. really. i'm fine. and, i don't like needles. so..." i lost that argument.

the next thing i knew, i heard the muffled sound of my cell phone ringing. i looked to the EMT in training and said, "can you please answer that for me?" both EMTs laughed. he did not answer my phone, so i asked him if i could fish it out of my backpack. at that exact moment, i said, "i know where i was going! i was going to ride over to my friend Karen's house to go for a bike ride. that must have been her calling because i'm not there." i still did not know what day it was but despite that i remember feeling like i had just single-handedly solved the greatest mystery of all time! armed with my new discovery, i asked the EMTs if i could call my friend to let her know i was okay. they agreed and no sooner than the words had come from my mouth, Karen said, "i knew it. i'll meet you at Legacy."

turns out, at about that same time that i was trying to sweet talk the firemen and EMTs (looking like a million bucks, i am sure), Karen was wondering where i was. in fact, she almost instantly had a feeling that i had been hit by a car. she was right. i am constantly moved by this when i think back to that day, both the powerful bond of friendship and human psychic ability. call it what you want, or dismiss it as mere coincidence, but there is no doubt in MY mind that something intangible happened in that moment that is just another one of life's moments that sustains my belief in higher power. i won't get too spiritual but this was faith in action.

the rest of the story is long and boring and involves pain, x-rays, rehab, weight gain, anger, frustration and doctors. lots of doctors. suffice it to say that despite still being in treatment for back issues and having occasional aches and pains in the areas that were deeply bruised--my right cheekbone, the insides of my legs, just below my knees, and my chest--and having a little anxiety every time i get on my bike, i really am fine. in fact, i am blessed. and i am thankful every day!

my perspective as both a cyclist and as a driver has changed quite drastically, which i am still not sure is a good or a bad thing, but, it is.

i am convinced that my steel framed Gary Fisher took the brunt of the impact on my behalf: STEEL IS REAL, BABY! and i still need to write them that thank you letter that i have composed in my head a million times.

cyclists: PLEASE wear helmets! and don't just make your kiddos wear them and think that you don't need to. you do! my situation would have been much worse if i had not been wearing one. in fact, the front of my head would have probably been cracked open. lovely image, isn't it?! and, be cautious. it's the age old adage: it's the other people on the road that you need to worry about!

drivers: PLEASE PAY ATTENTION! i was hit one block from a k-8 school...it could have easily have been a child that this woman hit instead of me. and child may not have fared as well. in fact, it is very likely that a child would have been critically injured or even killed. (being 5'10" sitting on top of a bike has it's advantages.)

and, IF you ever do hit a cyclist, please do not tell the police that you were going 5-10 miles per hour when you were actually going 25-30. it's simple: most cars idle at 5 miles per hour. blowing a stop sign and hitting someone with enough force to knock them out of their clipless pedals clearly indicates that there was some speed involved! and finally, law enforcement officials: PLEASE cite drivers, staying at the scene and admitting fault and a lack of witnesses is really not reason enough to fail to issue a citation! it matters.

be safe, my friends. live a life you love and love the life you live. it's all we have!

special thanks to Gary Fisher/Trek--you build a badass bike--and to my dear friend Karen Hilts for staying with me and my pain-medicated self for three hours in the hospital and getting me home safely that night. xo.

the C word

commitment. there, i said it. and really, it was not all that hard. talking the talk is easy, it is walking the talk that is infinitely more challenging. at least when it comes to this word. well, at least for me.

i have dated enough textbook commitment-phoebes to feel quite confident in saying that my inability to walk the commitment talk has nothing to do with relationships. (yes, this from the mouth of a never been married 40-year old whose longest relationship to date was a three and a half year emotional roller coaster of on-again/off-again power struggles that was enough to turn the pope into an atheist.) but i digress. truly, my problem with commitment is not about relationships. really. it isn't. but therein lies the problem. what is it about? this month--the first of my 40s--has been the first chapter in my journey to answer that question.

so here is what i do know about myself when it comes to commitment. generally speaking, if i make a commitment to my friends, family, coworkers, or in some cases a complete stranger, i will do what i say i am going to do. the only time that this may not hold true is when it comes to social events where my presence, or lack thereof, will have little to no impact. if it is your wedding, i will be there. if it is a Halloween party with 100 people and i am still without a costume three hours prior, you will probably get a text that says something like "i have no costume and think that i am going to sit this one out. have a great time!" the former clearly being much more important than the latter. yes? similarly, if i sign up for a class, schedule a hair or nail appointment or doctor's visit, i will show up. so, when commitment has a direct impact on people i love, honor, and respect, i can walk the commitment talk with ease.

i think my issue with commitment may entirely be when it is commitment to myself, which i think is probably why i am constantly participating in cleanses and challenges, generally though not exclusively related to my health--just to prove to myself that i can do commitment. case in point: today is the last day of the 21-day yoga challenge that i decided to do somewhat on a whim earlier this month. if one defines success by percentages, i clearly failed; i did not even achieve 50%. that is a big fat F. so, i failed at my commitment to myself. but i am somehow completely okay with that--far more okay than i would be if i failed in my commitment to someone else. so, i am left bit confused. don't get me wrong, i have spent a good deal of my life living in confusion, but this is different. because this is, as near as i can tell, acceptance. not acceptance of defeat or failure but acceptance of the fact that i made a commitment to myself and did not achieve my goal. and, as a result of my lack of follow through, no lives were harmed or hurt and, as near as i can tell, the planet did not stop spinning. i simply did not make time to practice yoga once a day for 21 consecutive days.

so, there it is. chapter one: accepting my inability to walk the commitment talk when it comes to myself. alas, the quest will continue. i look forward to uncovering what chapter two holds!

PS - did i mention that i signed up for a 21-day meditation challenge that starts next week?

Anais Nin was right!

every year my birthday celebration starts at midnight on New Year's Eve and continues into the first day of the year. officially, i was born at 5:55 AM (please correct me if i am wrong here, mom) on January 1, 1972. so, yes, this year i celebrated my 40th and it was definitely one of the best. ever.

despite the fact that my birthday is always connected to this major holiday, i, like many, find New Year's Eve to be somewhat of an anticlimactic holiday. people often make a big deal about what they are going to do and where they will be when the clock strikes midnight, but at the end of the day, it is really just another day in the calendar of life. there are a couple of bonuses for me, however. one is that i am almost never alone on my birthday. then there is the fact that i never have to work. another is that after all of the auld lang syne, hugs, kisses and "happy new year!" proclamations, what follows is often a second round of celebrating, with the "happy new year!" replaced with "happy birthday, Amy!" so, really, how can i complain?! i get to be with my friends ringing in both a new calendar year and another year-long chapter in the book of my life. not a bad thing at all.

most years, my plans for NYE/my birthday involve music. this surely comes as no surprise to those who know me well. despite the fact that i abandoned all hopes of being the next Janis Joplin (or, more likely in those days, one of the Abba girls) and quit playing my Sears Roebuck guitar when i learned that i actually had to practice. and, given that my singing career (and really my ability to carry a tune) was thwarted with the realization that being in chorus was not really 'cool'--this, incidentally, was completely confusing to me because at the Fay School, where i attended 6th grade, it was completely acceptable and even 'cool' to be part of chorus, and yet at the public school i transferred to in 7th grade, it was hard enough to just be the new girl, let alone join any extracurricular activities where the kids had all been BFFs since kindergarten (this is not to say that i ever had a chance at being 'cool' in my new school, but i certainly did not want to do anything to make a bad situation worse!). but, i digress. the point was that music is not only central to my life, but it is often a focal point of my birthday. this year was no different.

but i want to talk about music for a minute. for about the first 12 or 13 years of my life, i spent nearly every weekend from May until September anxiously awaiting my father's arrival home from work on Friday night so that we could head to our Cape Cod house. it was about a 1.5 hour trip and the two best parts were stopping at McDonald's for dinner and getting to pick out which tapes we would listen on the trip. the choices were somewhat slim but included John Denver, Abba (several album choices), The Big Chill movie soundtrack, and Linda Ronstadt (though I think my dad was the only one to ever choose her!). so yes, I was singing along to Dancing Queen as a kiddo, long before it made its modern day revival amongst drunk bridesmaids at the wedding of their sorority sister.

as i have aged, music has continued to be central to my life in even more rich and meaningful ways, from the grateful dead to music festivals to some unheard of singer/songwriter at an open mic at the local watering hole. i love it all. truth be told, music is at the root of several of my most meaningful friendships.

“Music melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.” ~ Anais Nin

this quote might just be the perfect expression of the impact that music has had and continues to have in my life. it is not just about music melting the individual parts of our own bodies together, rather the melting together of individuals --many becoming ONE! and that is one reason why my 40th birthday trip was so perfect: it was about music but, more importantly, it was about the friendships that have blossomed out of a shared love for music -- the melting together of separate individuals into ONE.

a couple of months ago i was talking about my plans for NYE/my birthday with some friends. i let them know that i was planning on taking a road trip to california to visit friends and to go see furthur on NYE in san francisco. for those who are not aware, furthur is a band that includes grateful dead veterans bob weir and phil lesh, as well as several other talented and wonderful musicians. one of these friends made a somewhat condescending remark about my plans, suggesting that the days of the grateful dead were 'over' and it was time to move on. being my sensitive self, i felt a little bit hurt. but when i came across these words by Anais Nin while thumbing through a book during this little road trip, it all clicked. i realized that this person was missing the point. he was focusing on the band instead of the music -- the destination instead of the journey, the separateness instead of the togetherness.

as i kick off a new year--and a new decade--i am appreciating the sweetness of music and giving thanks for all of the opportunities it provides me to melt together as one, with both long-time friends and total strangers.

to quote grateful dead lyricist Robert Hunter ~ let there be songs, to fill the air! please give it a listen!

here's to a year ahead full of laughter, peace, love, abundance, friendship + MUSIC!

new traditions for a new decade

most of you know that i am rapidly approaching the big 4-0. to be quite honest, i am not really all that freaked out about it, though i have moments of thinking that i should be. if anything, i see it as a symbolic milestone, one that i am choosing to honor and celebrate, in part, with the creation of this blog.

to be frank, i must give credit to a relatively new Portland friend of mine, Bradi Nicoll Ross. simply put, Bradi is AMAZING. she is a mom, a wife, a sister, a daughter, and a friend. she is a writer, a teacher, an artist, a photographer, a chef, a farmer, and a bibliophile. and, Bradi is a storyteller. Bradi also maintains not one but TWO blogs. her blogs make me laugh out loud and sometimes they make me cry; they always make me happy. and despite being a full year older than her, i am quite sure that i want to be Bradi when i grow up. and, SHE, my friends, is the inspiration behind this blog, that i am calling applesauce.

another inspiring woman behind this blog is my mom, Alice, for two reasons: first, my mom refuses to get on Facebook, despite the fact that most of her peers are on it. and yet she insists on being kept informed about EVERYTHING happening in my life before i publish it on Facebook. so, with this blog it is my hope that my mom can subscribe to it and keep up with my oh-so-exciting life without having to join the other 800+ million people on the planet using Facebook. Also, i give my mom credit for the name of this blog: applesauce. as far back as i can remember, my mom made homemade applesauce, primarily for my father, Fred. one of my favorite memories of this process was seeing the foley food mill attached to the edge of the largest mixing bowl in the house, a black and red heavy plastic bowl used for everything from forming homemade meatballs to catching popcorn from the air popper. mom's applesauce was, at least to a child's palate, tart, and yet sweet. it was gently spiced with cinnamon, and always made with love, as i hope that my blog will be.

my mom and dad were visiting Ben and me over Thanksgiving. in addition to pumpkin bread and apple crisp, she also whipped up a batch of applesauce. somehow, for reasons which i will neither in this moment speculate on nor disclose, Ben decided that i was a lot like the applesauce. conveniently the letters A and S are part of both applesauce and Amy Smith, so, you see where this is going, right? thus a new nickname for me was born and in our house, or at least to Ben, i am now known as applesauce.

and so with 40 just five days away, i am inspired to share with you a part of myself and i'll call it my applesauce. i hope that you will enjoy it!