Things I'm Grateful For - Part 8

I originally started this entry while on the plane ride to Florida, back from Massachusetts (my home state). Either the Xanax (necessary for my being able to fly – damn turbulence) was working overtime or the freshness of the trip was making the words rather bitter, so I shelved the entry until I had at least one full day “back to normal” with which to process the last couple of days.

Since moving to Florida in the summer of 2005, I have not been back to Massachusetts during the fall – admittedly my favorite time of year. This was not for any particular reason other than I just hadn’t made it up there. But I think, subliminally, I hadn’t made the journey north during the autumn because New England falls have a unique magic all their own; it captivates and enthralls you – even one such as me, who thought herself pretty immune to foliage – and you find yourself pricing houses and wondering how many cords of wood you’ll need for the upcoming winter.

"Downtown" Buckland, MA

As fate my begging would have it, I wound up working a trade show in Marlborough, MA this past weekend. My bosses bestowed their benevolence on me by allowing me to piggy-back a mini-vacation onto the trade show trip (it helped that it was significantly cheaper for the company for me to fly back on a Tuesday, rather than that Sunday).

Side note: The Boyfriend™ was born and raised in Florida. The furthest north he’s ever traveled, in this country, was to West Virginia (he was in Michigan when he was a baby, but that hardly counts, since he doesn’t really remember it).

Because I was already headed home, I begged and cajoled nagged The Boyfriend™ into coming with me, to see my roots. I figured it would be best to place myself “in context” by way of explaining some of my rather – to a Southern-born mind – eccentric way of being. In need of a vacation outside of Florida, The Boyfriend™ acquiesced and I picked him up from Logan Airport and we made our way to Western Mass.

The Boyfriend™ being intensely touristy. See the look on his face? Intense.

Side Note: There is an entire state west of Boston. Yes, I know it’s hard to believe – even the maps Enterprise Car Rental was handing out stopped exactly at Interstate 91 – but Western Mass exists. Where do you think people go to get liquor on a Sunday?

I pre-warned The Boyfriend™ -- who hates long car rides about as much as I hate flying – that there would be a lot of driving involved in this trip, mostly because my grandmothers now live 45 minutes apart from each other, and they were my priority for the day. Because The Boyfriend™ is delightful and incredibly understanding of my weirdness, he was mostly good-natured about my neurotic, road trip-filled behavior (the man seriously needs to be nominated for sainthood. I am no picnic – even on the best of days). I think it helped that my family was incredibly accepting of him (read: they just went along about their normal behavior, as if The Boyfriend™ had always been there), and he could just ease himself in.

The last time I was home, I was rather melancholic about it; home didn’t feel like home anymore. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to be nomadic for a bit longer, until I either found where home was or I made peace with New England again, so I could return, but other than that didn’t pay my melancholy much mind. Home feels less so when you stay away long enough. It’s the nature of the beast.

I must’ve made peace with New England, when I wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes that happens to me – must be the perpetual distraction by shiny things.

While driving hither and yon, this quote from Rumi was a constant refrain in the back of my mind:

It may be that the satisfaction I need depends on my going away, so that when I’ve gone and come back, I’ll find it at home.

HOME!

Suddenly, I was home. It wasn’t just the place I was from – this was home. A sense of peace overcame me and I was looking at familiar streets through a different set of eyes. I was aware of everything and the beauty of it all – how food tasted better, the water more pure. As poetically trite as this is, my heart literally sang with joy. HOME!

The Boyfriend™, apparently, feels similarly. That, let me assure you, was not something I was prepared for. In fact, I was prepared for everything but his falling in love with Massachusetts. After all, Florida is what he knows; it’s where he was born and raised. He’s always been within a stone’s throw of an ocean – and the Pioneer Valley is certainly not an ocean; and while the Connecticut River is pretty, it’s not nearly as warm as the Gulf of Mexico.

But I should’ve been prepared. I should’ve known that the foliage would be a succubus. I should’ve known that he’d experience the first good night’s sleep he’s had in a dog’s age (New England air has that effect). I should’ve recognized that one of the things that attracted me to The Boyfriend™ in the first place was a similarity in spirit to my beloved New England. Perhaps, it’s why I wanted to take him home for Halloween to begin with – I must’ve known on some level that he’d love it.

I knew I’d be weepy and nostalgic – even though home hadn’t felt like home for quite some time, I still miss the holy hell out of my family – and the Xanax would be doing double-duty to calm my frazzled flying nerves as well as my heartbreak at leaving my family, but I was prepared to suffer that alone. Turns out, I don’t have to. The Boyfriend™ misses home as much as I do.

Update on Life List Goal #69

And it is done...ish. The Boyfriend got to experience -- albeit briefly -- a real New England fall.

Added bonus: I now know how much he loves me (read: he can, good-naturedly, put up with me in neurotic traveling mode).

Down side: I miss home truly, madly, deeply.

Observations from an airport

We're at our layover in Philly, that got extended an extra hour. I love airports! They're great for people watching and observing human nature.

Believe it or not, airports - to my mind anyway - have a whole lotta love in. I'm grooving on the vibe... or maybe it's the xanax.

Hard to tell sometimes..

I have no idea...

If the chicken pot pie will be enough,
Or if the shephards pie is too much;
I undercooked the rice in the pudding,
But a little crunch is good, right?
(I'll claim it's how the French do it)
Salad veggies need cutting,
I still need to pack.
I'm tired.
My feet hurt.
The kitchen gnomes are on strike.
But it's a heck of a lot of fun.

One Last Thing -- and this is kinda of a huge, big deal

I was going to wait until tomorrow to post a sort of book review about Life is a Verb by Patti Digh, which I heard about through one of the blogs that I follow, and finally got this week to check out. This book is sixteen kinds of awesome! While some of it is really rather intuitive, a lot of it is giving me those AHA! moments that are inspiring me and keeping me on this path.

Cuz sometimes it's really hard to stay on the path. All I want to do, most some days, is lay down on the side of the road and take a nap, y'all.

But life isn't just about living your dream; it's about living in such a way that you can make a difference -- no matter how big or small -- in the world. You have to give back. And I don't mean "have to" in the obligatory "I have to go to my parents' for Christmas" kind of way, but in the "You know what? I want other people to feel as great as I do, so I'm gonna pay all this goodness forward" kind of way.

Bottom line: we're darn lucky to be living the kinds of lives that enable us to whine about inconsequential stuff, such as hating our 9 to 5s. There are entire countries being ravaged by HIV/AIDS, and other treatable, preventable diseases. There are oppressed cultures, orphans, war zones, natural disasters, Republicans... the world really is much bigger than we think it is.

I am not in a position where I can afford to donate to all the charities and organizations that really need my money, but I can do a small part in letting you all know about some wonderful efforts made by some magical and talented people.

I'm going to excerpt directly from Gypsy Girl's Guide here, because they say it so much more eloquently that I can:

We are honored to support this month’s collaboration between our gypsy friends and contributors, Christine Mason Miller & Marianne Elliott. As you know, Marianne has taken the challenge to raise $20,000 for HIV/AIDS Projects in South Africa. Here is one way you can be a part of this very important endeavor:
For the entire month of October, Ordinary Sparkling Moments will be available at Christine’s  Etsy shop for $24 instead of $28.  Christine will donate $10 from every book sold to Marianne’s project, which you can read about right here.
To sweeten the deal a little bit more, Christine will also include a FREE set of four notecards as a special Thank You for your help towards reaching the project’s goal.
And if you already own a copy of Ordinary Sparkling Moments, if you have enjoyed this lovely book, please consider purchasing another copy this month as a gift to someone you love.
Also, if you feel inspired, we would appreciate any shout-outs, tweets and anything else you do to help spread the word.

I'll tell you what, too, I cannot wait to get a copy of that book. It'll do my soul a whole lot of good.

Things I'm Grateful For - Part 7

Despite the sheer amount of complaining I do - about my job, The Trolls, perpetual sunlight - I actually have a pretty great life. Sure, there's some bullshit and minor drama that I deal with, but in the grand scheme of things it's really not all that bad (this fact, however, will not stop me from whining about my life -- with a startling regularity).

Every once-in-a-while, I get handed a big heaping dose of perspective that actually shuts me up for a while -- and for that, I am grateful.

Today, I'm on my way into work, listening to NPR, as I usually do, and they featured an interview about this web site, which is dedicated to featuring emerging music from the Middle East. On the surface and taken at a very American face value, that's not such a big deal. Right? Except that in most Islamic countries, being in a hip hop band, for instance, is grounds for death.

Death, y'all. These kids can be killed for being hip hop artists.

Truth be told, it's  not really as simple as being killed for being a hip hop artist. You can also be put to death for being in a metal band or being a female in a band. There's really a laundry list of punishable-by-death musical offenses. You can be put to death for speaking out about social issues, religious issues or promoting a band whose lyrical content speaks of dissent.

Listening raptly to the interviewee, a sense of gratitude came over me -- for the perspective to realize that, as long as The Trolls aren't inciting a riot, they can be in a band that speaks out against their government; that my biggest issue is teaching The Trolls when to pick their battles, figuratively speaking. Which is a damn sight better than their having to pick their battles literally. That I can teach The Trolls to speak up against authority -- to question it and to live the life they want without fear of death or dismemberment. That I can create any kind of art I want, freely and without fear of governmental reprisal.

With a sense of relief that I live here, where freedom of expression is encouraged, my gratitude is overwhelming. Today, I am grateful for perspective.

Artist Space and Pages From My Sketchbook

This is my work desk. When I need more space, I work on the floor, despite owning an easel.

Sunflowers  - rough draft, though I'm kinda diggin' it this way

Turning The Best Friend's album cover into art -- this is the only part of it I like.