The spirit is willing...

I want to blog every night. I really do. And most days I have many, many thoughts (and, oh, in my head, I am so clever. Such thoughts!) I seem to have so many ideas when I am just walking home and thinking. But some nights I pull up that blogger dashboard and just stare at that empty space. Tonight is one of those nights. 

How can I not have something to write about? So many things are happening, not just with me but with the world. If I was at dinner with you, believe me, I would not shut up. Have I got a story for you! I would be saying. You would be hiding the wine thinking, that's enough of that! 

Of course, lately, there have been days when I've had the thoughts, the ideas, but this is not the place. Not yet. I am such a tease, but soon. (maybe.) Maybe you need to take me to dinner.

I listen two, three, four times a day

I miss Philadelphia radio. Look, I'm not going to say it's the best radio in the world. I was one of those people who listened to Howard Stern when he first came to Philadelphia because, oh God, not DeBella. (Those of you from Philadelphia know what I'm talking about; sorry to the rest of you.) But Philadelphia radio has two things I'll really miss: Oldies 98 and KYW.

Oldies 98 is a damn good station. First off, they use the term "oldies" rather loosely, so they pretty much play anything pre-mid-1980s. And because they have a pretty loose format, they play a nice variety. But the bonus is that they play the Philadelphia area hits. Oh, I love the Philadelphia hits! "The Bristol Stomp"! "South Street"! (Where do all the hippies meet?) "On the Way to Cape May" (oh just sing it, "I fell in love with you...") I miss those songs. I just want to sing those songs. Loudly. With no shame. (And let's not forget the secret Philadelphia hits like "Sweet Caroline" -- shout out to the Triangle Tavern!) (Now I miss the Triangle Tavern, which, of course, is not the same without Dusty.)

But Oldies 98, you can be replaced. (I'll have to see if iTunes carries "Wildwood Days.") However, I'll never replace KYW. KYW is an old-school news radio station. It may just be the perfect station. I love its theme (and can you resist singing along?), although they did "update" it a few years ago. I love that you get traffic every 10 minutes on the 2's. I freakin' love Fred Sherman! I love the teletype in the background. (How many times did I fall asleep to that in graduate school? So soothing...) I love the predictable order of the presentation (you'll get your sports at 15 minutes after the hour, financials at 25 or 55 after.) You'll get your beeps telling you the time at the top and bottom of the hour. Seriously, why don't other cities have these stations.

Now I'm off to do the Bristol Stomp.

Something tells you that you have to move away from it

The house has been on the market for a while and we just got our first offer. It's very low, but we're still negotiating. It's weird how you think about money in these situations. If I bought a television, and I noticed that it was on sale $100 cheaper a week later, I would be completely pissed off. "I lost $100!" But when you negotiate those house prices, thousands of dollars get thrown around. No big deal, let's shave $10,000 off the price. Hey, that's a car! A trip to Europe! A damn fine trip to Europe! I guess I can't really think about it -- it'll make me nuts.

It's a nice house. A really nice house. But it's too big for us. I could never make it feel cozy. Comfortable, yes, but not "home-y." We had empty rooms, rooms that were never used. We never had a meal in the dining room. I never took a bath in the big tub. The house is "staged" now, to look like we used all the spaces, but I know we never did. 

I'm beginning to look at this house as a symbol of my life. Big with lots of potential, but a lot of it hasn't been used. Why are you waiting to do with these spaces? I need to decorate these spaces and start moving in.

Happy new year!

It's been a crazy year. I was just thinking about this, because about a year ago, I was in Barcelona. I was working at Novo, and, if you asked me, I was planning to retire with the company. I was living in Pennsylvania. No plans to move. I was with Mr. Higgy-Piggie. All was well. So I thought.

Nothing is the same now, is it? A lot can happen in a year. Did I have any idea that it was all going to change? If someone had told me, if someone had pulled me aside and said, "Heads up. It's gonna get crazy" would I have believed them? I would have been wondering, why would I want that? And, yet, now that I am here, I am happy to be here.

I have a memory of that trip to Barcelona, standing in the sun and feeling absolutely content. Now, looking back, I know where the cracks were. I can see where things changed, where they fell apart. It's been hard, but it's been good for me. I know that this will be a year that I never forget. It's completely changed me. In a good way. (I think, I hope, I'm pretty sure.)

I'm glad for change. I'm glad for most of this change. But another year like this, I might die of exhaustion. 

I can name that tune in 3 notes...

For some reason, my dad feels it's important to be able to recognize songs on the radio. Name and artist. And so, when we were kids, he had this game where he would let us listen to the introduction of a song, and, before the singing started, he would turn it off. "Name and artist?" And we would have to guess and, once we got it right, we could hear the rest of the song. After a while, we would just shout out the names and artists so that he wouldn't shut off the radio.

All three of us have the freakish ability to name songs and artists on demand within seconds. (Well, older songs. We're all old now, so we have a limit of 1950s through the mid-90s.) Andrea and Scott are hipper and may have an expanded range. When I was at Rohn & Haas, the guys would love to try to stump me. Once. They got me exactly once. Freakin' "Radar Love." (I guessed Deep Purple, which was wrong but got the comment "impressive guess!") Slick used to say that's why he dated me: because I knew all the songs on the radio. 

Dad also encouraged the variety in music as well. So, yeah, that was a "Guys and Dolls" reference. Followed by a Salt and Pepa joke. Yes, that mix tape has a Patsy Cline song followed by one by X (and, dammit, it works.)

Last summer, we were out to dinner. "More than Yesterday" starts playing. Dad points at the speakers. Artist? I rolled my eyes, guessed correctly, and went back to my salad. Dad just smiled.

An inappropriate crush

I have a crush on a house. I keep thinking about it; it's so cute and nice to look at. I walk by whenever I get the chance. The thing is, it's just not good for me. It's too small, the kitchen is minimal, there's no room for expansion. I think one of the reasons I like it so much is that it's in a lovely location and is surrounded by bigger, beautiful houses. And I keep looking for excuses to get in it or just be in the neighborhood. I look at its pictures on-line and imagine us together.

There are other houses around that have more room, that have better space. I should like them more, and, sure, there's one or two who kind of get my attention. Maybe one will win my attention. And yet, I am still drawn to this tiny, inappropriate house. That's overpriced. 

Sigh. I have a crush on the Jordan Catalano of houses. 

Promises, promises

Tomorrow, I will be back to the regular schedule. No, really, I mean it. In the meantime, a picture. I am still trying to grasp that this is from just a year ago. So much has happened...

Ashes, ashes

I am no longer wearing any rings. The reason (the reasons), well, that's for another day. But, as of this past Sunday, my hands are naked. 

I used to wear 5 rings. One on each middle finger, one on the ring finger of my right hand, two on the ring finger of my left hand. I got these rings at various times; I've been wearing the two on my ring finger of the left hand the longest. My naked hands remind me of being younger. Of high school and days working in labs. 

I have no tan lines to remind me of the rings. However, the two that were on my left ring finger have left two ring-shaped dents in my finger. Here it is, days later, and the two ghost rings are still there. I wonder how long they will remain.

Thanks for coming, there's the door

My parents are visiting this weekend. I love them, I really do, but... My brother has already warned me: "Be nice." When I am not nice?! Oh, yeah, I could be nicer when they come to visit. Sure, I can point fingers and say that they could be easier when they visit. But I do have a tendency to freak out and overreact. I try to tell myself: relax. But I am not a relax kind of gal.

I think that sometimes it comes down to showing off your life. "Look at what I've done! See? I'm an adult and I've made good choices!" And, they know the weaknesses, not that they're looking for them: it's just easy for them. Not that they're even looking for them -- I'm looking for them to point them out. Of course, their opinion means a lot, so a throw-away comment from them, well, I can't help but take it to heart. 

I will relax. (deep breath.) I will enjoy myself. (close eyes. another deep breath.) It will be a good visit. I will not overreact. Okay, I will try not to overreact. 

I'll let my gal Sarah to take it out: "I've always had these fantasies about being in a normal family in which the parents come to town and their adult daughter spends their entire visit daydreaming of suicide."

Before and after

Today is a day with a before and after moment. You know those moments. They start with things like "I'm sorry, there's been a terrible accident." Or someone already crying when you pick up the phone. That moment when something is forever changed. When there is no going back. I'm not ready to talk about today's moment. But it was there today and I knew it right away.

But I know there was a before and after moment before, the moment which lead to this one. There was a moment when things were the same, and then they changed. And that moment, I can't find. When did it happen? Because everything used to be one way and now it is different. There was a time when it tipped into the new. I was happy with the way things were and now I am not. When did that shift occur? When was that before and after moment?

Will you still need me?

These days I am noticing the lines around my eyes. They're not just there when I laugh or when I make a certain face. The grey hairs, there are a lot and they are also here to stay. My skin, it's different now. My eyes look tired. I realize that I am older than my mom was when I graduated from college. How did this happen? I'm not ready for this. In my mind, I am still in my 20s, well, maybe early 30s. Sometimes I can fool myself when I look in the mirror. Other days, when I really look, I see how old I am.

I think the most upsetting thing to me is that I know it's not going to get better. Today, I am as young as I will be. The birthdays, they will keep coming. The lines will get deeper and multiply. I'm not going to stop laughing, so I guess I'm stuck with them.

I opened one eye...

My first moment of clarity came at my grandfather's funeral. My mom tells the story of how she wasn't sure if we should go to the actual funeral (I was just-9, my sister was almost 7, and my brother was 5), if we were old enough for this sort of thing. But Papa was a big part of our lives and she thought it was important for us to be there. I remember that it was very warm, and my mom was very upset. And then it hit me: I was never going to see him again. Ever. No more visits, no more pipe smell, he was gone. This is what death was. And I couldn't stop crying. 

My mom told me years later that she saw how upset I was and really regretted bringing me to the funeral, but I reassured her that it was a good thing. That it was important I understood what was happening. That something important happens when someone dies. I remember looking at my sister and brother while I was crying and feeling much older than them.

The sun came out today

I miss baseball. Really, I do. I am ready to go back. Yes, baseball, you wore me down. I'm still a bit pissed at you about the strike, but I'm ready to forgive. Today the weather was perfect and just screaming for a game. I want to be in the stands, program in hand, keeping official score. I want to get a sunburn.

I am mad at myself for missing out on The Phils this year. It's not all my fault; you just can't predict those damn Phils. But how could I not see them play once? What an idiot I am! I miss the grumbling Phils fans, eating dinner in South Philly, bad pretzels afterwards. I miss getting lost trying to get around traffic. However, I do not miss getting so lost that I somehow end up in New Jersey. (again.)

This year: baseball. Seriously, I promise. I don't know what team, I don't know when, but, yes, baseball. "We're born again, there's new grass on the field."

My dinner with Steve(n)

This week I went out to dinner with a friend from high school. He was Steve in high school but now goes by Steven, which is off for me, so he gets Steve(n) from me. I'm sure he's thrilled with that. Steve was one of my best friends in high school. We started drifting away from each other in college, then he moved to California. 

Even though we've had a period of 20 years or so that we hadn't been in touch, we're back touch now. And the thing that amazes me is that it's so easy to just hang out with him. It's like that 20-year gap doesn't exist. We have stupid jokes, we can talk for hours, we wear the gossip shoes. It's fantastic. But it's not just Steve. Thanks to the power of Facebook and time on my hands, I've been able to reconnect with a lot of old friends. Sure, some of these reconnections are "hey, how's it going?" "Fine." "Me too." But some of these, we're friends again. We have a relationship again.

My sister has always been great at keeping up the friendships over the years. She sends the Christmas cards, remembers the birthdays, drives 100 miles out of the way to meet for lunch. I'm not as good at these things. I lose touch. I meant to send you that card. Oh, was that last week? Facebook is great for us lazy types. Oh, look, it's Bill's birthday tomorrow. I'll throw a cake at him. And, you know, most of my friends are lazy that way. But I don't mind. Because I just want to hear from them again. 

So, this has rambled quite a bit. Let's sum up: friends are good. Old friends are great. Gossip shoes rule.

So very lazy

For a number of reasons that will come out soon, I am not much for posting. So, I will post one of my favorite quotes about science. It's The Laws of Physics:

"Truth decays into beauty, while beauty becomes merely charm. Charm ends up as strangeness, and even that does last. But up and down are forever."

I'm sure it's fine

I have had some interesting friend requests on Facebook lately. Specifically, aunts and uncles. And it's just a bit, well, weird. Not that my profile has anything embarrassing, but, I don't know, it just throws me off a bit. 

I know you can set up one than one profile, but I'm frankly too lazy. And I'm not even sure what I should hide from them (the snarky quotes from "Pushing Daisies" and "The Woman in White"? my girl crush on Sarah Vowell? my PJ Harvey flair that says "lick my legs"? my love for Vince from ShamWow and that I am an officer in his fan club?) (Well, there you go; apparently my profile is embarrassing. How about that!)

And I can't not accept these requests, right? I can't reject family (can I?) That seems wrong as well. Besides I've already accepted some of them. And, of course, this means it's just a matter of time before Mom's on Facebook. And then the cussing will have to stop. It'll be a sad, sad day for us all.

Thinking about science

I would guess that when non-scientists think about scientists, they think that scientists love to explain the world (which we do) in order to take the wonder out of the world. And I say that it is just the opposite. Every day I am amazed at the beauty and wonder of science.

When I think, really think about everything, it is like unbelievably fantastic. Let's start with the basics: everything we do, all of our thoughts, actions are chemical reactions. Simple shifting of electrons. This phosphate group moves from here to there, and we are happy or sad or asleep. This kind of blows my mind. 

Think about yourself. You started as one cell. One single cell. You brush your teeth, you spit out hundred of cells, and, yet, you started as one. How does one little cell make all of this?! Doesn't that kind of amaze you? The bones, the eyes, that brain, at one point, all one single cell. Let's take it even further: it's all because of that DNA you've got. "I wouldn't want to write a novel with 4 letters -- I think I'll write a human being instead." How does a series of 4 letters do all of this? How is that not magical?

Even evolution, isn't it actually more of a wonder thinking about the idea of 4 billion years to get to this point? That slowly, slowly, we went from ooze that organized itself to this. Now, think further, we carry that DNA from all those generations ago. Oh, is that too much? Just think about your great-grandparents. You have the DNA. You literally have bits of all of them in every single one of your cells. 

I'm sure there are scientists who look at the world through cold, calculating eyes, but I am awed.

A small tribute to Sally

Earlier today, Mom told me that Sally has taken a turn for the worse. I wrote about Sally a little bit ago, although I didn't talk much about her specifically. After talking to Mom today, suddenly I realize that I'm amazed at how she lived her life.

Technically, Sally is my first cousin, twice removed, but I always called her Aunt Sally. She was always a bit more glamourous, classier than my other relatives. Her house just seemed a bit fancier, a bit nicer than the rest of ours. She had gardens and served interesting food. She would go dancing with Mel and regularly dress up. 

As I got older, I realized that she wasn't really that different. Her daughter got pregnant young, too young, and Sally and Mel basically raised their granddaughter. That there were bad choices around her life and with her immediate family. But, you know, it was always okay. I don't remember any judgment, ever, from her. This was the way it was and wasn't that wonderful! Please come to dinner soon. It wasn't denial; it was just complete, unquestioning acceptance. 

I am looking at her life and how she handled everything that came her way, and I am just full of admiration. She and Mel, they would just handle it all. When I would come to Toledo, of course, I had a place to stay. After Nana's funeral, Mel says softly to me, "It's been a rough day; come over to the house and we'll hoist a few." Another memory: I don't even remember the visit (a wedding? a reunion?) but we sat their living room, talking until 2 in the morning, eating oranges.

Even the past few months, when she was obviously getting very sick, no complaining, so fussing. She was grateful for the 57 years that she and Mel had. She just hopes the girls handle everything okay and that someone takes good care of her dog. Oh, she feels fine, just been losing her balance a bit now and again. 

Today Mom told me that Sally slipped into a coma and it probably won't be long. I looked out on this sunny day thinking that even on a beautiful day like today, right on the edge of spring, someone is losing a mother, a grandmother, a great grandmother. And I realized that, although I am really sad about this, I can't imagine someone facing life and death better than Sally faced it all. 

The whoo seats

I freakin' love the Penn Relays (or should I say, the Penn Relay Carnival, which, just the fact that it has that dopey name is another reason to love the Relays). Love 'em. I love the history behind the Relays, I love watching the endless parade of relays, I love the way it's run. It is just about perfect. And, yet, like the idiot I am, I just have not taken advantage of them enough.

So, you have not heard about the Penn Relays? I am shaking my head. As Nana would say, well, you don't know what's good. First of all, it's a track meet (okay, a tiny bit of "field" but, mostly just track), which is the truest and best sport. It's just such a pure sport. No judges, no questions: that person is the fastest. Period. And the best event: the 4 x 400 relay. Long enough for some strategy, short enough that it goes quick. 4 minutes of awesome. I could watch 100 4 x 400 relays and not get sick of it. And, guess what, if you go to the Relays, you might get to do just that.

Now, if you've been to a few track competitions, there's a lot of waiting around, setting up for the next race. The Penn Relays, they don't play that game. It is boom, boom, boom, a race, a race, a race. The kids are lined up, the gun goes off, cheers to the end, begin again. No breaks, no pauses, just the offical (or Bill Cosby; no, seriously, Bill Cosby loves the Relays!) hussling kids off the track when the race is over and getting the next bunch ready.

You can go on Saturday, which is the glory day. Yeah, that's the guy you saw run at the Olympics. No kidding, those are some blazing-fast times. Yeah, I didn't know high school kids could run that fast either. But I've always favored Thursday: the qualifying day. This is when the hard-core track nerds are hanging out. The stands are full of kids from other track teams, cheering each other on. It's not as crowded and the seats aren't assigned, so, if you get there early, you can sit in the whoo seats. The whoo seats? Those are the ones just after the turn in the track before the finish line. Where you can see where the race changes, when the last leg gives that final kick. And everyone around you goes, "whoo!"

One year in grad school, Krista and I took the day off to go to the Penn Relays. It was one of those perfect April days, the sky was bright blue, spring was here. We grabbed lunch at a great truck and walked over to Franklin Field and parked it in the whoo seats. And we just spent the entire day, watching race after race, hanging out, enjoying the weather, the history, the cheering. It was perfection.

My last visit with Nana

The last time I saw Nana was the week of my wedding. At the time, my parents were down in Atlanta, so Nana had to fly out. She was using Dad's frequent flier miles which meant she could fly out on Wednesday or Saturday. I was getting married on a Sunday, so my mom said that Saturday should be fine, but I wanted her out early. I wanted to give her time to relax and visit. This was actually a bit of a fight between Mom and me ("What is she going to do with all that time before we arrive?") but I won.

Nana didn't really like flying, but they always took care of her. When I went to her gate (this was pre-9/11), she had about three flight attendants waiting on her. We spent the next couple of days together, mostly just hanging out, doing those last minute things one needs to do before a wedding. I remember going to the local diner, which she loved because they let her smoke and linger over her coffee. (One of the many things Nana taught me was how to linger over coffee.) I don't remember a lot of the specifics of the visit, but I just remember her being there, enjoying being with us. We had dinner at Andrea's one night, the rehearsal dinner, more errands, but it was just nice. I was so glad that I had asked for the extra time, that she was relaxed and happy. 

She, of course, enjoyed the wedding. Lots of booze, people she knew, dancing, what's not to love. We played "I'm Down to my Last Cigarette" for her. I remember saying good-bye to her the next morning. I remember hugging her and thinking that this might be the last time I saw her. (This wasn't some gut feeling or fantastic prediction. For years before she died, I always reminded myself that this could be the case and was grateful when I did see her again.)

Of course,  I did talk to her plenty of times before she died. But, here's the weird one. For years, when she'd struggle with her lighter, I'd offer to light her cigarettes. And she'd tell me, "When I can't light my own cigarettes, it's time for me to go." I talked to her on the Christmas after our wedding. And towards the end of our conversation, she said, "It's the weirdest thing. My thumb is so numb today, I can't even light my cigarettes." She died the next day.

Nana, I miss you every single day.