tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71794951834759322592024-03-05T08:13:51.619-05:00onward full tilt...Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.comBlogger150125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-15555905857825102522013-08-12T16:53:00.000-04:002013-08-12T16:53:24.459-04:00on just the three of usSo much more to say but, for now, as I type with one hand and hold a two week old in the other, this will do. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-16862074421004217462013-06-20T08:06:00.000-04:002013-06-20T10:51:27.746-04:00on nesting<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the Spring of 1949, just before her first baby (there would be eight more) arrived, my grandmother began nesting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She went to the grocer down the street and
asked if there were any unused crates she could take. There was, and she left with an orange one. A
short walk later and she was asking the sales clerk at the home store if there
were any leftover wallpaper scraps. There was, and she left with a small sheet
of the colorful stuff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once home, she
papered the crate with her wallpaper find and then filled it with diapers and
cloths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was finished. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Saturday, as my grandmother told this story, I was sitting
in my aunt’s house in my hometown surrounded by dozens of gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She made the joke, “It’s amazing any of our
babies ever survived without all of this!” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We live in a one bedroom apartment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like my grandmother and grandfather (or Mum
and <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2011/04/on-april-6th.html?m=1" target="_blank">Pa</a> as they would be named once the first of the 18 grandchildren arrived),
we don’t have much room. Unlike my Mum
and Pa, we do have stuff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots and lots
of stuff. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Onesies and burp cloths, sound
machines to white out police sirens, and contraptions created specifically to
clean bottles. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am grateful for all of
it, but know it’s not needed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Mum
told a few more stories and as she did I imagined those first few years before
my Pa’s law practice took off, when they were just out of school, struggling,
trying to create the life they knew they could have. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-nQ5-zT7db9esJnQvMirfTrNda8gJcBHylIq2mE_Nqj_9vxaeFEIyhxxKM0V_TlKz5bv0sdn3aAvkHHad8xM0BwQ8CeynA0y6kEwPB4oCUukHLJVKoUyozPPIS50sC3Sqs_sxOh7j10/s1600/baby+shower+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH-nQ5-zT7db9esJnQvMirfTrNda8gJcBHylIq2mE_Nqj_9vxaeFEIyhxxKM0V_TlKz5bv0sdn3aAvkHHad8xM0BwQ8CeynA0y6kEwPB4oCUukHLJVKoUyozPPIS50sC3Sqs_sxOh7j10/s320/baby+shower+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lovely stuff </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">They ended up with that life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With an amazing love and friendship that spanned decades. With a thanksgiving table so overflowing that
it would often spark my Pa to call out, “Look at all these beautiful people! The fruit of my
loins!” Which would, undoubtedly, produce both groans and laughs around the table.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mike won’t practice law, and I won’t sell summer houses on
the north fork like my grandmother did, so I know that our lives won’t look
exactly the same (and there are no intentions for 9 children).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s a nice reminder that what we start with
is not indicative of what we end with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
long as we have each other, and this little person who will be joining us soon,
all the rest is a bonus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An orange crate
from the grocery store, some scrap wallpaper, and a proud mom-to-be bustling
around a small apartment in Queens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
seems like enough.</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">33 weeks this past weekend <br />
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<o:p></o:p><br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-22645151482704531162013-04-18T07:30:00.000-04:002013-04-18T07:30:01.873-04:00on good news, and dodging the oddsLast Thursday, after two weeks of waiting, we heard from the <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2013/04/on-traffic-and-kosciuszko.html">geneticist with results</a>. I was sitting on a boat in Florida, visiting my mom and step-dad, when I heard the good news. After I hung up, after I knew that as far as any test could show there wasn't any genetic problem, I was thankful for those little club feet. Those perfect, little, turned-in-on-themselves feet.<br />
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For a few days I suffered from some version of survivor guilt. I didn't know what to say here after the nerves had passed and I knew that I had dodged some sort of odds bullet. That in one day the geneticist may have made several other calls, with different words, different outcomes, different lives changed.<br />
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It would have been alright. We would have been ok. I know that. But I also know that our lives were just made easier by not having to hear something different from that call.<br />
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I haven't written here this winter because I thought it would be a jinx. I worried about getting my hopes up only for something awful to happen. I didn't mean to let that negativity slip in, but I couldn't shake the feeling that our happiness could be taken away. When Mike's Dad got sick we postponed our engagement to focus on family. He passed away a year later and we postponed again because it was all just so sad. Finally, when things were calm, we moved forward. Only to have the tragedy of tragedies strike <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2012/08/on-august-14th-again.html">just a week before the wedding</a>. You can understand my hesitation. <br />
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I don't believe that the world works this way. I don't believe that there is some hand of fate that builds you up just enough to knock you down, but I couldn't be sure. And so I wrote quietly. In the notes app on the phone. In scribbled margins of work notebooks. But I didn't write any of it here. <br />
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But maybe I should. Maybe now that I remember that good news and bad news comes and goes and we still move forward, maybe I'll remember what it felt like to share it here. <br />
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Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-32180635304152339502013-04-07T12:24:00.000-04:002013-04-07T15:56:08.218-04:00on traffic and the KosciuszkoOn the BQE heading from Brooklyn to Queens, just as the road rises over the Kosciuszko bridge, there's a perfect span to the west of the Manhattan skyline. Beneath the highway is Newtown Creek, to the north an acres wide cemetery (the kind my brother and I used to joke about, "aren't their heads bumping?"), then the East River, then Manhattan. Without fail, no matter what time of day it is, there will be traffic on this stretch. On nights when my Dad would drive me home from his place in Brooklyn Heights, I loved this traffic. It meant I got him for another 20 minutes. It meant another 20 minutes in the car for me to ramble on about every piece of information that entered my stream of consciousness. For me to share the things I only shared in those quiet minutes when no one else was around. <br />
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Last Thursday, Mike and I went to my doctor for a 21 week scan. It was meant to be the last sonogram of the pregnancy. I didn't want unneeded scans and I made the appointment for Mike's spring recess so he could be with me, so he could see that little being kicking around one last time before seeing it in person in August. The sonogram tech made her measurements, chatted, and then left the room to show the doctor the pictures she gathered. Last time this happened, the doctor came in, shook my hand, and told me that all was well and he'd see me next time. Instead, last week, the doctor came in as he was putting his hands into a pair of gloves. He sat down and said he'd like to do the sonogram himself. I grabbed Mike and squeezed-doctors don't perform sonograms unless something is wrong.<br />
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Soon after we learned that our baby to be has bilateral club foot. Both of its feet are turned inward, nearly upside down on themselves. This time, as we watched on the screen and knew what we were looking for, it was clear. Little knees, little legs, and then two too-small feet stuck awkwardly at right angles to the ankles. Minutes later, in the doctor's office as we talked about the scan, I let a few tears fall. I imagined the casts and braces (in my mind, some polio-era contraption), of my baby never walking normally and of being in pain. All of which is dramatic and unrealistic-but the brain does strange things when confronted with such a surprise. <br />
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We met with a geneticist that afternoon and learned that 90% of club foot cases are isolated. Meaning, the only issue is the feet, which will be fixable and treatable (it seems braces have come a long way since the 1930's) and in most cases cured by the time the child starts to walk. But with that lingering 10%, that stubborn remainder, the feet are a sign of a greater genetic issue. A chromosomal defect. One in particular that could lead to a "question of viability outside the womb", and so we are now in the midst of a 10-14 day wait on the results of last Friday's amio*.<br />
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That first night, as I tried to think only positive thoughts, as Mike cheered me by looking up every professional athlete who was born with club feet (there are a lot), as we told ourselves that 90% is a huge number and we don't have anything to worry about, I wanted my Dad. It was a Thursday and I knew he was at his weekly gig. But, more than knowing he was just out of the house, he felt very far away in Mexico, and I let myself cry for the first time since hearing the news. In that moment, I wanted to feel like the kid, to be told what will be will be, but it will be alright either way. To be in the passenger seat on the BQE,
stuck in traffic on the Kosciuszko. For the quiet moments in the car
between my ramble and his words.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>*A
few days later our doctor sent us for a fetal echocardiogram to rule
out any congenital heart abnormalities. The scan showed another "soft
marker" for genetic issues, an echogenic focus on the heart, so the
amnio should tell us more about that as well. Waiting. Waiting. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://web.stagram.com/location/1745150/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrKcuR2nv2ZMqgItTxJCvgsdEYTmGFOfKQlK5LQWJEQPIwa7LyJc2W_j43f7ejWIQhzwHvqYQqyBLFhlIngP2PrKwD8rIDPN8c8W2-dK-KC1PvJ-7SKEomQZRqtRhOD2YAqEZ5csnPBI/s1600/0dae228e007811e28e8322000a1d012b_7.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(<a href="http://web.stagram.com/location/1745150/">not my photo</a>)<br />
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Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-35492675150428885312013-02-08T07:10:00.000-05:002013-03-11T15:33:09.649-04:00on expectingWhen a woman tells me she
is "expecting", I can't help but think, "expecting what?". It just
sounds a little vague, like we think we're expecting a baby, but who
knows, maybe we're expecting an elephant. And then I can't help but
imagine her in a hospital room cradling a baby elephant, in a
"we weren't expecting this!" type of ba-dum-dum cymbal crash gag. I see
it in my head and I laugh every time. But, since the other person is not
seeing the funny reel of images in my head, they only know that they
told me they were expecting and I started laughing.<br />
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Sometimes I wonder
how I have any friends at all. <br />
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So now that I'm "expecting", I find myself talking to the little being in there and saying, "I expect you are a baby and
not that worm alien who jumps out of the guys stomach with a little mini
hat and cane to perform Hello Ma Baby on top of the diner counter in Spaceballs. But, since I"m not really sure, it would be great if you could just give me a sign either way..."<br />
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I'm mainly kidding, but not totally. It's a pretty strange thing to know you're growing a human but not be able to grasp that since, you know, it's not every day you grow a human. Kind of sci-fi I tell you. But pretty awesome too. <br />
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<i>Not
picking up the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XU1MAokrrUk">Spaceballs reference</a>?: </i><br />
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-51797329714708448552013-01-24T13:51:00.000-05:002013-01-24T14:47:36.434-05:00on passing the test, and a new shoreOn December 1st, just as the space behind the curtain started to fill with light, I quietly put my feet on the floor and made my out of the room. I had spent the night before restless, rolling over to look at the clock every hour or so, awake with nerves. Even though I had tried to tell myself that it would be negative, that it wasn't happening now, I had a feeling I couldn't shake. A feeling that something was already happening. <br />
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I took the test, and waited. I put my head in my hands and did my own, personal form of praying. Please, I thought, please let it be now. I hesitated for another minute and then looked over to the test next to the sink. No little lines to decipher on this model, the word said what I'd been waiting for. Pregnant. I made a sound. A whispered yelp and then looked at the word again, not trusting the first sighting. Pregnant. The letters were still there. I jumped up and looked in the mirror, half expecting to see someone different. A few tears fell and I wiped my face and ran into the bedroom to wake Mike. I climbed on top of him and told him the news. He opened his eyes and asked me to say it again. And I did. He pulled me down on top of him in a tight hug and we stayed in bed for the next hour, amazed and happy and overwhelmed. <br />
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And in those minutes everything felt different. At the time it was just a mass of rapidly dividing cells holding everything it would one day be, but still, it was there. It was real. A tiny bundle of genetic promise. I put my hand on my belly and whispered, please grow baby, please stay with us. And so it has. Eight weeks after that morning and now it has hands and arms and legs which waved and kicked at us yesterday as we watched on the screen at the doctor's office. <br />
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It's still early. Just over twelve weeks. But the riskiest part is nearly over, and so I am back to share. After I found out the happy news, I didn't know what to say here. I've always been a fairly good secret keeper, but the blank page asked for me to write about what was happening to us, and without sharing this huge new part of our life, I had nothing else to say. There are unpublished drafts about Christmas traditions and a show with my brother, the new year and about sitting next to Patient Zero on the subway as he sneezed and coughed his symptoms all over me, but none made their way to this page. It felt strange to write when the only thing I wanted to say could not yet be said. <br />
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I started writing here as a way of moving past the heartbreak that was losing Mike's mom so soon after losing his dad, but now the words on the side of this page feel fitting for this too. Onward full-tilt we go. To make good on a new shore. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://forums.thefashionspot.com/f81/saul-leiter-photographer-56205.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrGKik1m-DbjNk9vvIU4OmS8VCnGKaMOm5UPHkCGhJ9cqVtStbaZj7h6axAm37_ZL-7jMVUQgid7JH3ovogVxKSJhE7nNGvfdMekYdBHzbHEWrgWTcB4hlmkWJsA9lTEb0Zzxu-YWjaDU/s1600/127578601913698780_CdExBsWZ_b.jpg" width="260" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saul Leiter-Mother And Baby In Mirror </td></tr>
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-68273793018763996472012-11-28T07:03:00.000-05:002012-11-28T12:15:41.730-05:00on a thankful day<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thursday morning I rushed around the apartment, rushed to a cab, rushed to 59th and Lex, only to wait for twenty-<span style="font-size: small;">five</span> minutes for the Jitney out to the North Fork. I rush<span style="font-size: small;">ed</span>, to wait. There's something poignant in there I think. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Just under two hours later the bus pulled over to the side of Main Street in Cutchogue. In front of Scoops Ice Cream<span style="font-size: small;"> and</span> a few doors down from the diner and the church turned library. I stepped off the bus, wished the driver a Happy Thanksgiving, and walked the half mile to my Mum's. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was perfectly quiet and clear and cool and I found myself smiling as I walked. If I had been a char<span style="font-size: small;">acter in a movie <span style="font-size: small;">t</span></span>here'd have been good music, something to make sure the audience knew that this meant I was happy. That something deep inside felt calm and at eas<span style="font-size: small;">e. <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I walked in the back door to hugs and the familiar high pitched, but welcom<span style="font-size: small;">ing, s<span style="font-size: small;">qu<span style="font-size: small;">eal of my mom. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and my Mum. A <span style="font-size: small;">cacophony</span> of family.<span style="font-size: small;"> And it was good. <span style="font-size: small;">And I was thankful. </span></span></span></span></span> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqV4wY7fgRv2fOxSeZgqOWum1kmTCkklaaIkbjCFlHz2WnHv5zpDrYJAKp8SwMuSWVGHrUJ2iC4CpVjWJVrUCwboxxyFcd-wmqE5xpzYFvmBALQt4CadClNnrBXxjQFhu7zDQzVj-vWEQ/s1600/to+mums.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqV4wY7fgRv2fOxSeZgqOWum1kmTCkklaaIkbjCFlHz2WnHv5zpDrYJAKp8SwMuSWVGHrUJ2iC4CpVjWJVrUCwboxxyFcd-wmqE5xpzYFvmBALQt4CadClNnrBXxjQFhu7zDQzVj-vWEQ/s1600/to+mums.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-8587446890044588382012-11-21T13:00:00.000-05:002012-11-21T14:48:19.890-05:00on Life List item #1<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">Last week, procrastinating at the computer, Mike started
listening to various versions of the Notre Dame Fight Song on YouTube (hey, everyone has
a vice). After a few minutes he found a video of a three year old girl singing the song. The look on his face said what I knew he was
thinking, “one day we co<span style="font-size: small;">uld have one of these and teach them this</span>.” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">It’s more real now. It has been for me for a while. But for Mike it’s always been this vague,
distant thing. Someday we’ll have kids.
Someday he’ll be a Dad. But now that the attempt is <span style="font-size: small;">in the present</span> I’m noticing a
change in him. (I'm sorry, I know, I hate these phrases too: “attempt”, “trying”. They come with such baggage. With such uneasy
entry into a very personal aspect of someone’s life. At a party and the topic
of babies comes up. The couple in the room link arms, shares a knowing glance,
and says, “oh, well, we’re trying.”
Well, thanks for that. Because now I’m picturing you guys “trying” and
it’s not exactly the image I need as I’m “trying” to eat as many cured meat/cheese/cracker
concoctions as I can. <i>How’s that for a parenthetical
aside? Whew</i>.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">So yes, the trying. Oh, the trying. The counting of days. The x’s and o’s on a calendar, the calendar purchased just for this purpose.
For the purpose of tracking the things you need to track when this is the thing
you want. I think of Mike’s two students who recently had babies. As difficult as it must be for them, evolution prefers it. Our bodies
haven’t caught up to our new world. The world where you wait to get married, </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: small;">c</span>ombine
finances</span></span>, wait some more, take that little
pill at the same time every night because, god forbid, we’re just not ready.<span style="font-size: small;"> Wait</span> for an even number year to try because that’s lucky (ok,
maybe that’s just me). But then the even number year turns out to be unlucky
and you are thr<span style="font-size: small;">own </span>into the system of x’s and o’s, of counting and tracking
and hoping and waiting. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">And all the while you are desperate to tell someone,
just anyone, but you don’t know who wants to hear it. So, instead, you find
yourself talking to your brother at 11pm on a Saturday night about trying and
not trying too hard and ridiculously hilarious stories that make you feel less
alone and weird and then thankful for having the most amazing friend in the guy
that was born to your parents four years ahead of you. Even if the conversation
does make you realize that there really are no more lines left to cross in the
sibling relationship.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbT8krQC_i9ZIXqML1wk52ABAshuyH8GAVuzHY4ZAb5s89K4JQOvQThWoMxuEXtGdBzT8s-92Ezq796OZDbeb0-mTAFL9D1XxZr7lRgmcHXbPBi38lCp9RM4vJVhYD2lZ-AKlx_XwR1g/s1600/IMG_2252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbT8krQC_i9ZIXqML1wk52ABAshuyH8GAVuzHY4ZAb5s89K4JQOvQThWoMxuEXtGdBzT8s-92Ezq796OZDbeb0-mTAFL9D1XxZr7lRgmcHXbPBi38lCp9RM4vJVhYD2lZ-AKlx_XwR1g/s1600/IMG_2252.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">painted wall at the Ace Hotel, home of Camp Mighty</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small; line-height: 115%;">But then there was <a href="http://campmighty.com/">Camp</a>. On the first night we played <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2012/11/on-mighty-list.html">Life List</a>
Bingo, a way of meeting the people around us by matching them up with squares on the game. One of the squares was “Get Knocked Up.” Suddenly the very personal became very public
and it didn’t matter. I announced to my table that they could use me for that
square and then, as the night went on, people came to find me, the girl whose
number one Life List entry was to be a mom. It felt funny ("hey guys, over here, I found Get Knocked Up!"), and true, and no longer something that I had to be
embarrassed by. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I promise not t<span style="font-size: small;">o <span style="font-size: small;">speak of this when we're at a party together<span style="font-size: small;"> and you're trying to focus on eating the appetizers. Promise. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMz_vSbo-DKiRW7Yj3Igb3_DSw9vAQ3HU2yMkQowJ1uKaBoRCMwMh3qKIiom3YP-LTwXS1eNFz8jQD0vUl99w7Q70x_9UdLhH4QHa2e8dFjPGAVYuZ2ydaSaho17r0MEOp1r5LJ5fStNk/s1600/IMG_2253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMz_vSbo-DKiRW7Yj3Igb3_DSw9vAQ3HU2yMkQowJ1uKaBoRCMwMh3qKIiom3YP-LTwXS1eNFz8jQD0vUl99w7Q70x_9UdLhH4QHa2e8dFjPGAVYuZ2ydaSaho17r0MEOp1r5LJ5fStNk/s1600/IMG_2253.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">view from breakfast at the Ace Hotel</td></tr>
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Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-86477244627154600372012-11-20T17:30:00.000-05:002012-11-20T22:29:50.525-05:00on a bit of mighty<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Saturday night, sitting at the diner with a small group of driven, smart, passionate women, I found myself making the case for why the zombie apocalypse was more than plausible, and why the $239 <a href="http://www.brookstone.com/Portable-Power-Supply_10589697_2?bkiid=World_Landing_Page_Travel_Power_Adapters___Chargers|CategoryWidget|656793p&catId=L2_PowerAdapters|L1_Travel">backup power supply from Brookstone*</a> was on my Christmas list because of it. I had only met these women two nights earlier<span style="font-size: small;"> but some<span style="font-size: small;">how<span style="font-size: small;"> felt comfortable enough to show them my nervous-</span></span></span>rocking tick <span style="font-size: small;">as </span>I tried to convey, "this is real guys<span style="font-size: small;">, i</span>t could happen." It may have been the margarita talking, or maybe the two hours of The Walking Dead I had caught up on <span style="font-size: small;">be<span style="font-size: small;">fore</span></span> going to Palm Springs<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>but, either way, I felt pretty strongly that they needed to understand the consequences of inaction. The group was quiet for a second and then <a href="http://www.glutenfreetravelette.com/">Adina</a> spoke up<span style="font-size: small;">: h</span>er mom lived upstate with plenty of land to grow things and the position of the house was "defensible".<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Yes, I thought, this is good. We have a plan. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I have more to say about Camp Mighty. More impo<span style="font-size: small;">r<span style="font-size: small;">tant things<span style="font-size: small;"> than rambling thoughts of zombie tv shows turned real life. Like </span></span></span>how it lifted me out of the din of the past few months and snapped me awake. How it surrounded me with a feeling so far from the middle<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>school<span style="font-size: small;">-</span>cafeteria fear I thoug<span style="font-size: small;">ht I'd be struck with**</span>. How the weekend served as a reminder that there is so much more to be and do and these people are the ones who are making it happen. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But, for now, I am left knowing that if all goes to hell, I have a group of ladies who will have my back. In a defensible position in upstate New York. And that's something.</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*ok, so I don't actually have a Christmas list, but if I did this would be on it. Most likely because of the Hurricane and the thought of being without power for all those days. But it would come in handy if the world crumbled due to zombie invasion as well. </span></i><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">**The fear was definitely present for the first hour of Thursday night as I forced myself to leave the safety of the hotel room and enter the bar.</span> </i>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-18431823258608559762012-11-12T07:20:00.000-05:002012-11-12T07:20:00.641-05:00on Sandy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We packed up the car with warm clothes and diapers and canned food and flashlights and headed out to the Rockaways last Saturday. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a beautiful day. Clear and breezy and if you ignored the blocks upon blocks of downed trees and dark intersections, you could almost pretend that it was a perfect fall day. As we turned onto Cross Bay Boulevard the car slowed and we creeped along for the remaining miles. The roads were crowded with families collecting food and water and others who were standing among the contents of their battered and gutted homes. The water logged and rotted remnants of everything that was once inside them. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We sat in traffic while these people moved around us. For a sick instant, as I played with the camera in my hands, it reminded me one of those drive-through safaris at Great Adventure. Where you make your way slowly through the amusement park as the zebras and giraffes come up to your car. You snap a photo, squeal in delight that the live animal came so close to you, and then move along. I took the three below before feeling that it wasn't right. We had our car. We had our apartment. We hadn't lost power. We weren't hungry. Taking the camera out to snap these people at their lowest, when I wasn't a photojournalist but rather just a glorified tourist, didn't feel right. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">As we crossed the bridge back onto solid ground I watched the water disappear in the side mirror. It was blue and sparkling and inviting. As it faded out of view I could almost pretend that it wasn't the same monster that came ashore just a few days earlier. Almost pretend that this would never happen again, that we had seen the worst. </span></span></div>
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-84771197128029005432012-11-10T11:30:00.000-05:002012-11-10T14:52:05.944-05:00on car talkMy Dad has been listening to Tom and Ray Magliozzi and their <a href="http://www.cartalk.com/">Car Talk radio show on NPR</a> for as long as I can remember. When I lived at home I'd wake up on Saturday mornings to their Boston r's and a's rolling out of the speakers in my Dad's office. In recent years my visits to Cherry Valley have been highlighted by Saturday morning trips to the dump and listening along to them. <i>(What, you don't think a visit to the town dump can be a highlight?)</i><br />
<br />
But Tom and Ray have hung up their mics. As of a few weeks ago they are no longer recording new shows. Instead, NPR is airing shows and calls collected from the past two decades. The news stings, and it feels like the end of an era. <br />
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It always amazes me that the things that feel like home can be carried along with us. That home doesn't have to be just one place. This morning I went to the computer to log on to internet radio, a strange but necessary thing in an apartment with no radio signal and, pre-recorded or not, I listened to the guys. My Dad arrived in Mexico a few days ago, finishing his annual migration south of the border (like geese, but in a Volvo). He's 2,544 miles away, but with Tom and Ray's voices as the backdrop to a Saturday morning, he feels close. And it feels like home. <br />
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-16820614049741046262012-11-08T06:30:00.000-05:002012-11-12T11:21:45.431-05:00on a Mighty list<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">I leave for Palm Springs and <a href="http://campmighty.com/about/">Camp Mighty</a> in a week. At some point last week, when the wind sounded like it would take our windows out with each rattle, when the images of Staten Island and Jersey and the Rockaways came pouring through the tv screen with heartbreaking frequency, I thought of cancelling. I didn't think it was important enough, or maybe just that I wasn't important enough, and I was very close to calling United and asking about a flight refund. </span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">A short time later a post came up on my Camp Mighty team page on facebook. A woman in New York wrote that she was feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of <a href="http://campmighty.com/project/">fundraising for Camp</a> in the aftermath of Sandy and was feeling overwhelmed in general. I responded with my own comment on nerves but ended with encouragement for us both. A few days later she sent me an email. She thanked me for my comment and wrote that after seeing my name she realized that I was the author behind the <a href="http://apracticalwedding.com/2011/09/a-year-of-grief/">APW Wedding Graduate Post</a> that had inspired her to reach out to me over a year earlier. She said that she had drafted the email and then never sent it as her own wedding arrived and she became distracted, but that here I was now. And that we were going to meet in person. At Camp Mighty. As I read her words, the big scary leap suddenly felt smaller, more manageable. </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">One of the benefits of Camp is taking the time to learn what it is we want to do, be, create, while we can. So before heading out, we write a Life List and then use the weekend, and the inspiration found their, to figure out how to get some of them finished. T</span><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">he simple act of writing this list has meant so much. I found it pretty inspiring, and I love the idea of putting this out to the world in the hopes that some of them will be completed. I will be adding some more, but for now: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be someone's mom (and a good one, or try real hard to be)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Perform in a production of “Into the Woods”</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> T<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">ake Mike to a game at Notre Dame</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Form a band, sing in front of a crowd</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Grow flowers, lots of them</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Go back to school for something that I love, not need</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Have an OpEd published in the Times</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be published: anywhere, any format </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Write a novel…even if no one ever reads it</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Write more, tell people blog exists</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Have a shared vacation home/rental with my brother and his family</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Learn how to mix fancy cocktails</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Give up the city, own a home somewhere with space</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Have a front porch with a swing</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Build a treehouse for my (future) kids </span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Help draft a bill and lobby it in Washington</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Be an extra on Law and Order before SVU goes off the air (preferably the person in the first scene who finds the body)</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">18.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Practice guitar so I don’t need to rely on someone else to sing</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">19.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Take more photos</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">20.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Turn photos into cards, sell them on etsy (even if I only break even)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">21.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be that person who hosts great parties</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">22.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Have a dog</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">23.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pay off credit card</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">24.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Summit Kilimanjaro with Mike</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">25.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Take a volunteer trip to somewhere that needs me</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">26.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Send more real/hand written notes and letters</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">27.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Take care of my clothes (if it says dry clean, dry clean)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">28.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Spend more time outside </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">29.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Camp more</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">30.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Join a CSA</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">31.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Speak on a panel for Women in Development</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">32.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Do more, do better, with what I know (10 years in fundraising development)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">33.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be a board member of a non-profit I respect</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">34.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Volunteer to help a startup non-profit get off the ground</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">35.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><s><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Quit Diet Coke</span></s></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">36.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Make a significant change—local or greater</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">37.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Take a road trip across the U.S.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">38.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Start a savings account for my future kids as soon as they’re born</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">39.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Climb Mt. Katahdin and the last leg of the Appalachian Trail</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">40.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Re-learn how to use a sewing machine</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">41.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Re-learn how to do a fuete</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">42.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Re-l<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">earn tough math before my future kids are old enough to need help with it</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">43.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Learn self defense, or maybe just some basic survival skills (I blame the trend in zombie apocolypse tv)</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">44.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Learn how to play the harmonica</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">45.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Learn to speak another language </span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">46.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Learn how to grill/bbq</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">47.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Learn how to cook without needing recipes as backup</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">48. <span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Have headshot taken for blog sites/LinkedIn </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">49.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Make a budget, stick to it</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">50.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><s><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Have assets or, at the very least, a savings account</span></s></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">51.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> See a show at Red Rocks</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">52.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fix body: feet, back, more swimming, pilates</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">53.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Feel confident in the kitchen</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">54.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Work one day a week from home </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">55.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Participate in a swimming race/event</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">56.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be an audience member at SNL</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">57.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Wear a bikini in public (and look good in it)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">58.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Win a superbowl ring (not sure how, but VP of Football Operations with the NE Patriots sounds good)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">59.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Take Mom to Paris </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">60.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Ask</span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Dad to teach me everything he knows about growing things </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">61.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Record my Mum’s voice telling her stories/poems/songs </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">62.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Teach someone something I know well</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">63.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Call up the restaurant where friends are celebrating a birthday/anniversary and buy their dessert/wine</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">64.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> Figure out logististics of performing a show with my Dad and my brother (tentative <span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">name: Tom and The Driscoll Kids)</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">65. Get called up on stage to sing harmony line for Come Pick Me Up with Ryan Adams or Falling Slowing with Glen Hansard (hey, a girl can dream)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;">66. Travel: Switzerland/Austria (the Alps)</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">67.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: Alaskan coast/British Columbia</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">68.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: a rainforest</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">69.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: the American west (rocky mountains, red rocks, canyons)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">70.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: Africa</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">71.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: Italy (Rome, Venice, Tuscany, Amalfi Coast)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">72.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: France</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">73.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: Greece and Turkey</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">74.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: Galapagos</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">75.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: New Zealand</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">76.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: Thailand</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-fareast-font-family: Georgia;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">77.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Travel: Watch the sunrise from the top of Haleakala in Hawaii</span></span></span></div>
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Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-65197671419093458062012-11-07T07:10:00.000-05:002012-11-12T11:23:03.240-05:00on goodnight sweet girlOur first long distance call that night before I left Albany. The roommates had moved out a few days earlier, as had most of the town's population of recent graduates, and I was left to pack and clean and wait for my Dad to come with the uHaul to take me to Boston. Mike had moved back to his parent's house and it was our first time talking on the phone as two people who were no longer living around the block from each other. The first time talking as two people who were unsure of what would come next, of whether or not we were going to be together by the time the uHaul was unpacked in the new city. <br />
<br />
I was nervous. I think I said as much. Mike was more confident, not surprising even then. He told me that he loved me (something I had only heard for the first time just a week before) and that he would visit soon, that we would figure it out. <br />
<br />
We talked about the last few days, about my move, about the new place in Boston that I would be sharing with one of my best friends from high school. The conversation lulled and I knew it was time to get off the phone. <br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
There's a scene in the movie Beautiful Girls where Andera (Uma Thurman) and Tommy (Matt Dillon) are talking and he asks her about her relationship. Mike loves that movie, loves that scene, loves the line Uma says at the end of it. As the conversation ended on the phone that first night apart, he said it to me for the first time. And he's said it every night since for over a decade now, each night before I fall asleep I hear those four little words. Maybe it's not original, but I no longer think of them as something that comes from that great movie, they're just ours. "Good night sweet girl." And I reply with, "Good night handsome." No matter if we're angry, or tired, or sick, or in the <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2011/05/on-needing-adventure.html">mountains of the High Sierras</a>, the words are said. And they force us back together. </div>
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<div class="soda" id="qt0205703">
<div class="sodatext">
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000369/">Tommy</a></b>: Can I ask you a question? <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000235/">Andera</a></b>: Go ahead. <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000369/">Tommy</a></b>: How long have you been going out with your boyfriend? <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000235/">Andera</a></b>: Eight months. <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000369/">Tommy</a></b>: And it's good? <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000235/">Andera</a></b>: It's very good. <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000369/">Tommy</a></b>: He makes you happy? <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000235/">Andera</a></b>: Yeah. I look for that in a man you know. The ones that make me miserable don't seem to last. <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000369/">Tommy</a></b>: Right. <br />
<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000235/">Andera</a></b>: You know there are fours words I need to hear before I go to sleep. Four little words. "Good night sweet girl." That's all it takes. I'm easy, I know, but a guy who can muster up those four words is a guy I want to stay with.</div>
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Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-34585151548626466972012-11-06T07:00:00.000-05:002012-11-06T11:04:59.801-05:00on a rambling post of one night...<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last night<i><b>*</b></i>. Drinks out with the Gotham girls. I ordered a Gin, lime, soda and sour. It tasted like lemonade, like something you'd drink quickly after a long, hot walk. And so I drank it quickly even though the subway ride wasn't long or hot. And then I had two more. Add a shot of whiskey, a shot of something suitable "for four cute girls" from the bartender, and I turned into the version of myself who sang along loudly and boldly with the band. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This morning I was neither loud nor bold. My head was heavy and my stomach, which only held alcohol and half of a side of french fries, was angry. I don't do this anymore. At a wedding last month I had two glasses of wine over six hours and called that a party. So if that was a party then, in my world, last night was Mardi Gras. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was not alone. The other three were in the same state as we eased our way out of the comfort of the bar and onto the street. We said goodbye as Kate and Chantal walked in one direction and Rosa and I made our way in the other. Rosa's hand was in mine, her small frame teetering between upright and falling over, and she wouldn't let go. I clasped her tighter and hailed a cab, gave the directions to her place and then, once she was out, to mine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The cab driver asked how my night was and I told him that I had probably drank a
little too much but that it was great. That I met these women a year ago
in a writing class and we had become friends, stayed in touch, and that
my nights out with them were some of the easiest and most fun. He told me that he wasn't really a cab driver, that he was trying to be a personal trainer but that no one wanted to be trained by an
Indian man. I said he was wrong and over-enthusiastically told him that
I'd be happy to be trained by an Indian man. He gave me his card and I wished him luck as we pulled onto my street and I paid the
fare.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Opening the door to the apartment felt strange. The lights were on and Mike sat at the table with the laptop open doing work. That room, in that minute, felt like a different world. Like these two things could not have happened in the same night. Mike, writing a lesson plan and putting in his attendance records at home and me, dancing along Baxter Street after several hours in a dark bar. It reminded me that on any given moment there are these planes of being just gliding over each other. All these thousands and millions of moments and people in one night. I was most definitely looking into it too much. Drinking and dancing and singing along will do that to you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I dropped my bag on the floor too loudly, whispered an apology to the neighbors below us for the noise, kissed Mike hello and goodnight, and went to bed. </span><br />
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*technically "last night" was several weeks ago. I just haven't posted since I wrote this. </div>
Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-6340190119199145002012-10-20T10:00:00.000-04:002012-10-22T14:31:37.759-04:00on her voice in mineA visit to Cherry Valley, the part of the year home of my Dad and Stepmom, playing music each night from set lists that were older than me, from a time when my Mom and Dad sang and played together. Yellowed sheets of legal paper filed away in manila folders. Notes for her voice, and now my voice, more than thirty years apart. <br />
<br />
My parents don't know each other anymore, but they do in those songs. These two people, so distant now, sang, played, made me. Singing the same words gives that past some presence. Reminds me that it wasn't always like this. That somewhere in the song lists and sets lists were two people who thought they had it. They didn't. But maybe for a short time they were close to it. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Not sure how my Dad will feel about my posting <a href="https://www.box.com/s/ot2b7f19btt40m7r57uv">this song </a>since it was recorded without his knowledge (from my cell phone under the table). He hadn't played it in years, and it's not his favorite song to play, so I'll give him that disclaimer. </i></div>
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<embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="400" src="https://www.box.com/embed/9vbskfvp8o48jl7.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="466" wmode="opaque"></embed><br /></div>
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Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-10254019244393026012012-10-19T08:30:00.000-04:002012-10-21T22:01:28.621-04:00on the new routine5:45. I opened my eyes just long enough to see the numbers on the clock and his shape shuffling around the almost darkness. I closed them and listened to his moves, knowing what was next without seeing him. I rolled over and made a noise as he came to my side, kissed my forehead, told me to go back to sleep and that he was sorry he woke me. I made another sound, the syllables meant "good morning", and slid deeper into the bed, under the covers, finding that spot that a minute earlier meant sleep. <br />
<br />
Our routine is changed now. Before, his waking up meant my waking up. His alarm was my alarm. It meant he went to work and I grabbed the backpack and went to the pool for a pre-work swim. But it's been nearly two months since I've smelled like chlorine on my way to the office, or read an entire book, or watched the NBC lineup on Thursday night. Two months since he started teaching and our <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2012/08/on-happy-shift-in-our-world.html">world shifted</a> in this huge, great way. Now he's up well after midnight writing lessons and I am either on the couch fielding questions about how well it's working, or not working, or waiting in bed for him to join me, unable to sleep until he's beside me. And so in the mornings I'm exhausted, he should be too, but this is the thing he's worked towards for three years, he doesn't have time to be exhausted. But I am. I sleep in for another hour when I should be on my 20th breaststroke. <br />
<br />
I know it needs to shift again, that I need to adjust to our new way of life. As small as they may seem, the little movements of routine, once altered, are hard to reinstate. But I miss the pool. I ache and hurt and need it again. That thing that months ago felt so foreign and scary has become the thing that's started to bring me back to my old self. With it I had been feeling better, stronger, more sure of my feet and knees and back than I had in two years.<br />
<br />
So on Monday I will force the old routine into the new one. <br />
<br />
Writing it here means I have to.<br />
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-43194019711005174692012-09-13T06:41:00.008-04:002012-09-13T06:41:00.863-04:00on summer, in photos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-46624477704297498442012-09-11T14:37:00.022-04:002012-09-11T23:42:45.529-04:00on September 11thI left the tv off this morning but even without the bombardment of images and video I felt it. The weight of what this day will always mean. Outside was worse. It was a perfect morning, clear and cool without a cloud in the sky. Yes, the same sky, I thought. <br />
<br />
Underground I felt the panic that sometimes finds its way <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2011/05/on-chapter-endings.html">into my commuting daydreams</a>. But we pulled into 23rd street safe and sound and I walked up and out of the station to face the new skyline of downtown. It's no longer empty, it's rising, and even though it will never be the same, there's a comfort in something filling that space on the horizon between the east and west sides of 6th as I walk to work. <br />
<br />
This blog was started out of a need to write during a period of loss and mourning but I am reminded today of all that we still have, of all we haven't lost, and the incredibly cruel truth that so many cannot say the same.<br />
<br />
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-82021439603411014042012-09-05T11:04:00.006-04:002012-10-17T23:12:46.005-04:00on choosing to be MightyA few weeks ago, as the cursor hovered above the registration link for <a href="http://campmighty.com/about/">Camp Mighty</a>, I struggled with the thought of taking something this big just for myself. I had <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2011/05/on-needing-adventure.html">done it before</a>, but for some reason this felt different. That time before, eleven days in the High Sierras, felt worth the travel, cost, time away. This time felt selfish, like a splurge with no real backing to justify it. Even though this was the weekend I had been hearing about and lusting over for the
past year and a half, even though I knew that it would be inspiring to be among all those amazing women, I still hesitated. <br />
<br />
For a long time I have felt the burden of being the only one of us with health care or benefits or a salary. For years I've struggled with knowing that I couldn't leave my job even if I wanted to, that every financial decision was based on what I brought in, that the big raise I received just as Mike's final year of school and student loan were running out in 2011 meant that I covered the difference in his new, lower paying temp job. So I never really felt that raise because it was immediately put towards something else. But it was ok, when Mike decided to go back to school I knew we were in this together, that what was mine was his. And that it had been that way since the beginning. <br />
<br />
Just a few months out of college and six months into dating, I admitted to Mike that I was in debt-I was so irrationally scared of facing it or the collectors and wanted to just let them disappear. I was young and should never have been given a cell phone or credit card but I was and those companies had me where they wanted me. Mike wouldn't have it and sat with me as I called each and worked out a payment arrangement. At the time I was unemployed and living off the little I had saved from college graduation and my very generous roommate and best friend in Boston. Mike took what he had and paid them off*. Six months into dating and he was already sure that we were in this together, that what was his was mine. <br />
<br />
But now the scales have balanced. Our finances have always been combined but now there is a feeling that we each have, where before it had always been one more than the other. And so the investment in a weekend away to learn and create and do some good is happening: <a href="http://campmighty.com/about/">Camp Mighty</a>, here I come. <br />
<br />
<br />
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*It should be noted that even though Mike told me around this time that "I was the woman he was going to marry", I was a bit more skeptical (hey, child of divorce, our skepticism runs deep.) And so I took his offer of paying off my debt but paid him back over time, just with the luxury of no interest rates or scary collectors. <br />
<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-32188599705961069842012-08-14T09:34:00.001-04:002018-08-14T09:35:02.985-04:00on August 14th, again<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2011/08/on-august-14th.html"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Dear Bernadette</span></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">, </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last night meteors fell across the sky, all those
stars crashing through space at the same time, a hundred every hour. When I was younger my Dad would
wait until dark and then drive us over to the bluffs at Makamaw beach to watch
the August showers. I'd squint and focus on one point in the distance until he
would say no, not like that, open your eyes to the whole sky, relax them and
you'll see. And then they were everywhere. In front and over, in my periphery
to the left and the right. I couldn't keep up with counting. Last night as I
lay in bed next to Mike I imagined what was happening above our too-bright-to-see-stars city
and thought of you.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"></span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We went through photo albums before bed. Picked out our favorites and talked about
you. Just before we fell asleep Mike asked me what time and I said I thought it
happened around noon. At noon today he will be wrapping up his introduction
to the Principal of his new school, doing the job you told him he should pursue
over a decade ago. I know you will be there with him. You're never far. And
when I stop trying to remember so hard, when I just relax and open my eyes, you
are everywhere.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Onward full tilt we go, </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Caitlin</span><br />
<br />
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Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-84749650259622116022012-08-12T23:27:00.000-04:002012-08-12T23:27:59.758-04:00on a happy shift in our worldThe apartment was hot on Wednesday night. The fans in each corner of the livingroom only succeeded in moving stale air around and the curtains didn't budge from their place in front of the open windows. The day before I had broken out in hives, a new allergy I've developed from sun exposure, and I sat on the couch itching my skin and cursing the small bedroom air conditioner for not being strong enough to cool the whole place. But I pretended to be calm, pretended to not be bothered, because Mike was at the computer attempting to stave off the meltdown of all meltdowns. <br />
<br />
Earlier that day he had received a call from an Assistant Principal at a High School in Brooklyn asking him to come in for an interview the next day. With less than 24 hours to prepare, he was googling teacher portfolios and interview tips as I was sifting through his lesson plans from his student teaching days to find something compelling and brilliant so there would be no doubt that he should be hired. We were not excited, we were anxious. This was the first phone call in nearly 100 applications. The first shot and it felt like it was happening too fast, like there should be more time to make him into the applicant they wanted.<br />
<br />
The next morning Mike drove out to Canarsie and was interviewed by a group of students, then faculty, then the Assistant Principal, and two hours later he called to let me know that it had gone well. I could hear it in his voice, in his retelling of his interview answers and their comments, I could hear that he had it. Or at least had a strong chance. Twenty minutes later he called again to say that while driving home a call had come in from the Assistant Principal asking him to come back to meet with the Principal on Tuesday. I was ecstatic, told him that was great news, that he had made it to the second round. He cut me off, "They want me to come in to meet the Principal on Tuesday because I was just offered the job. I got the job. I'm a teacher." And with that I shouted and the tears came. My closest friend at work burst into my office and hugged me, yelled her congratulations into the phone so Mike could hear her, and after we said goodbye I ran around the 11th floor for a victory lap, stopping only for hugs from managers who knew what this meant for us. Two years of full time school, then a year of a temporary staff position (making a salary so low it matched his first out of college job a decade earlier), and then all those resumes before the call from Brooklyn that changed everything. <br />
<br />
August is hard. We lost Mike's mom, Mike's dad, and both of my grandfathers in this month. But we were married in August and now we have this news to help the balance of joy and grief. I have found myself unable to hold back tears these past few days. While cleaning the house this morning I stopped and let a cry out into the broom handle. It feels like a release valve has been opened, like three years of worry and wondering and waiting has built to this and I am finally allowed to let go.<br />
<br />
It was worth it, Mike is a teacher. I have never been so proud.<br />
<br />
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-30643415285692936382012-06-28T07:13:00.004-04:002012-06-28T07:13:00.418-04:00on the non-believer<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I was
not raised in religion. Faith, tradition, sure. But religion, as a practice, no.
It made things confusing at times but at an early age I knew what I
believed and didn't believe. But when you grow up in a town (or let's face it, a
world) where nearly everyone belongs to something, not belonging can
prove difficult. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I
grew up on Scudder Place. A walk down to the end of the block, a left
onto Vail, and a right onto Church led you to Main Street. At the
southern corners of Church and Main stood a large brick Catholic Church
and a tall white Protestant Church. These things were important, you
could tell, there were two of them. A majority of my town could be
found at either one on Sunday mornings. Instead, on
Sunday mornings I was having long, lazy breakfasts or canoeing through
the marsh at Crab Meadow or walking the paths at Twin Ponds. There was a
sort of religion there in the quiet and comfort of the migrating
warblers and my Dad's whistle, but not the kind of religion my friends
were learning. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">One
summer afternoon, just a few weeks before we entered middle school, I took my friend Liz to the
beach. We swam and played and laughed and towards the end of the day
she told me about the Virgin Mary. I can't remember how she came up,
Liz had just finished her CCD course and so perhaps she was on her mind, but I told Liz that it was an important story but that she
probably wasn't a virgin. I wasn't trying to be blasphemous, I didn't
know enough to recognize how important this was to my friend, it was just that
I was newly sex educated and there were
things I didn't think I could believe. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Liz
looked shocked and plunged beneath the water to get away from me and my words. She popped up for air about ten feet away and found her
way to our blanket on the sand where she stayed, silent, until
it was time to go home. I didn't understand why my opinion had hurt
her so much. I didn't understand why not believing made me different,
bad, but it did. Liz didn't speak to me for a few months after that.
Her mom took up the cause and a few years later
when my parents separated Liz was no longer allowed to sleep at my
house. Maybe if we were one of the families who gathered outside on
Church and Main on Sunday mornings, maybe if we had just tried
to show that we were sorry we weren't like them, things would have been
different. But we weren't sorry, so they weren't different. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Liz
wasn't the only one who didn't understand. My Grandma, my Dad's mom,
used to send me small, delicate crucifix necklaces on birthdays and
Christmases. My Mum, my mom's mom, used to clip the Catachism class
schedule out of her church's weekly circular and leave them out for me
to find. And now Mike, the man I've decided to spend my life with,
looks pained when I tell him that I don't want my children raised in a
specific religion. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It's
our biggest argument to date, and one that hasn't been solved. Whether
he admits it or not, Mike must feel that he has the power in this
argument. His view is backed by 2000 years and millions of like-minded
believers. Mine is all my own, shared by others I'm sure, but mostly a
created adaptation of several pieces of several religions. It doesn't
have a name, a beautiful structure attached to it, a day of the week set
aside to worship it, and so I'm sure he
thinks my argument doesn't carry the same weight. </span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">But not believing can be as powerful a conviction as believing. I haven't lost yet. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDGZvCYRtm7I4M_ia6munF1qD29VrBRqiPvpxlSiHxd-w2z2snil7DXYbqKWlaq_1E0URglLEPkpIowY1hVDukuNWWs-bwpcJNtzltvPYxo4rc7hu05cEjDUnL9AEcotiUyUw5M07vF4/s1600/photo(21).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDGZvCYRtm7I4M_ia6munF1qD29VrBRqiPvpxlSiHxd-w2z2snil7DXYbqKWlaq_1E0URglLEPkpIowY1hVDukuNWWs-bwpcJNtzltvPYxo4rc7hu05cEjDUnL9AEcotiUyUw5M07vF4/s400/photo(21).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from the car, over the Triboro</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-50042517311540087682012-06-07T07:19:00.000-04:002012-06-07T10:53:11.238-04:00on the power of two<span style="font-size: small;">The summer after my sophomore year of high school was the summer of me and my mom. The year before had been rough and the years after would prove tricky, but that summer, those few months, we were settled, relaxed, and had started to understand the new world that was life after the end of the nuclear family. It wasn’t perfect, that new world. I grew up a bit too quickly, knew too much about the inner workings of my parents' marriage and divorce, but she was mine. It was during this time that I started to joke that I had become the proud parent of a 46 year-old divorcee: every Sunday I moved from one place to the other and we parented each other, grew up together, she was mine. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It was a year of firsts. The first time my mom did the grocery shopping she called me from the payphone outside King Kullen to tell me how proud she was. The dinner that night may have been a pint of Cherry Garcia and some spaghetti with a jar of sauce*, but she had done it. In the years before the divorce my Dad had been the grocery shopper, the most nights of the week dinner maker, and always the highway driver. I remember the first time she drove the two of us out to my grandmother’s on the North Fork. The merge onto the LIE from Deer Park Avenue was something she never had to do in that old life of her and my Dad, me and my brother. In this new life the responsibility was hers, I was too young to drive, and instead of staying home and accepting that she was scared, we did it. She picked me up from lifeguarding class on a cloudless Friday afternoon, windows down, Indigo Girls blasting, and we merged. I loosened the seatbelt and turned all the way around to get a better view. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Slow down, not yet, slow, slow, ok go go go merge merge merge!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She slammed her foot on the gas and it felt metaphorical even in that minute, even then with no presence of afterthought to help it along. I knew as we sped through the cars with the volume up and our voices blending with the wind from the open sun roof that we were going to be ok. I knew we had passed some test, some sort of challenge for how we were going to move through this new world. And we would do it together. We didn’t always play nice or fair, there would be plenty of angry hang ups and emails and words we wished to take back along the way, but she was, will always be, mine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<pre style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"...chase all the ghosts from your head,
I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed,
smarter than the tricks played on your heart.
We'll look at them together then we'll take them apart,
adding up the total of a love that's true,
multiply life by <a href="http://youtu.be/hj0yVN8pFNw" target="_blank">the power of two</a>..."</span></pre>
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*disclaimer: The Ben & Jerry's for dinner years were short lived. </div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-20045844089680162042012-05-25T14:35:00.000-04:002012-06-06T15:04:47.690-04:00on being back<div style="font-family: inherit;">
I was just struck with a total sense of panic. Not for anything real or serious, but rather because I realized that May was ending and I was about to let an entire month go by without writing one word here. Blogger tells me that my last post was on April 13th. As I write that sentence I feel like I'm in a confessional, even though I've never been to confession, saying, "Bless me
father for I have sinned. It has been six weeks since my last post." Irish Catholic guilt is with me even without being raised Catholic. Now that's something. </div>
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I panicked because I loved writing here. I don't want to let this go. But as the space between posts grew I started to feel that it was a silly endeavor to start with and I was not cut out for keeping up with it. And once that tiny nagging thought crept into my head I let go of writing and have not been back to this page since. </div>
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But here I am. Back again. I am not sure what will come next but I thought enough time had passed without any words. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo from <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/141089400796638456/">here</a>. </td></tr>
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And a very happy unofficial start to summer to you. My <a href="http://onwardfulltilt.blogspot.com/2011/05/on-happy-weekend.html">annual welcome summer party </a>begins momentarily with an afternoon with a friend and a weekend at my grandmother's. It's good to be back. </div>
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7179495183475932259.post-11583665273855145062012-04-13T07:06:00.000-04:002012-04-13T11:35:31.292-04:00on the voiceLast month my brother called to tell me that he was coming down to audition for the next season of The Voice. He asked if I would join him and after a day of thinking I couldn't because I would only make a fool of myself, I decided the experience of it outweighed any doubts. I thought of how we could talk about it years from now, about that
time he came down to New York and we stood outside in the cold for hours just to sing in front of a
TV producer, and changed my mind. <br />
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And so the Saturday night before the audition he got off the bus from Boston and made his way out to our place. We walked to pizza and then practiced, him coaching me on my <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RL_pTvglU6Y">chosen song</a>, each of us anxious and tired but too excited to go to sleep. The next morning the cab dropped us off at the back of the Javits Center, far behind thousands of others. We huddled in the cold and willed the sun to move faster up the back of the building in front of us as the Hudson kept things bitter behind us. By nine we were ushered inside to the perfectly choreographed registration and then waited in our seats as would-be divas tried to out belt each other in the corners of the huge room. It was around that time that we realized we would be auditioning in groups of ten, by row, and that we would get to audition together. <br />
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I didn't take the process very seriously for myself but I wanted this for my brother. I thought he had the audition nailed before we even went in the doors and was already thinking of what we'd do for the rest of the day after we learned of his inevitable callback. But the producer behind the desk didn't look up for my brother, or me, or the seven other auditioners until the 16 year-old Bieber look-alike started to sing. He sounded sweet, but certainly was no Voice (just watch, he wins the whole thing next year), but within seconds of opening his mouth her head snapped to attention and we knew he had it. And then it was over. After the ten of us finished she announced that he and another young woman would be called back and then we were thanked and told to have a great day.<br />
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That was it. All those days of preparing and hours on line just to have it end in a two second sentence. The speed of it was too much. Shouldn't there be an appeals process? Another producer to try out for since this one obviously had a "type" in mind? But there wasn't. We found our way out of the basement audition rooms and only after we were through the revolving doors and onto the street did it hit my brother. He had wanted this. And it was over. Even if it was just a TV show, something we'd joke about at some point down the road, in that minute it was more than that. I put my arm around him and we stood with our backs to the sun as we watched the pool of hopefuls behind the Center's glass windows below us. <br />
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So in honor of my brother, of his voice (which doesn't need the approval of some twenty-something producer on an early Sunday morning), here he is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8WjJxPxjEI">singing at our wedding</a>. His taking the mic was a surprise for everyone in the room and his voice is my favorite sound of that day, of any day. <br />
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<br />Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17346281939460299527noreply@blogger.com1