The Turning Page

Snow days

2011-02-25T10:56:00.003-05:00

Snow days as a grown up aren't quite what they used to be, are they? You still have to go to work. You're required to navigate your way through snowy terrain in a less than perfectly equipped Honda Civic (though all the while priding yourself in your stellar abilities to work "with" the snow/ice/slush). Now it's your job to clear the sidewalks in front of you house, sadly without the thought of dinner being hot on the table when you get inside to push you on, you'll have to make that too if you want it. No, it's not all pajamas and daytime TV , sledding and hot cocoa. It's a cold world out there.

But still, I'd be lying to if I called these snow filled-days in Upstate, NY a downer. Even in the depths of winter when the mutual vitamin D deficient population yearns for spring and sunshine, they are magical. From my office window, it's as if I am living in a snow globe paradise, so heavily is the snow falling and swirling.

Tonight, I'll engage in a lovely, snowflakes on eye lashes walk with my husband wearing my biggest and baddest "winter in the Northeast" ensemble; knee length down jacket, leather fur-lined bomber hat, wool gloves, scarf, and snow boots (don't be fooled, it's a hot look). Tomorrow, I'll carry my dancing shoes in hand (really, who would try to walk in strappy heels through a blizzard!) and then dance the night away at a Mad Men themed gala (you better believe I'm dressing up and wearing a bouffant!) On Sunday, I'll petition heavily for a outdoor cross country skiing romp through the near by park. And then? Then I'll make myself a grown up hot cocoa (dark chocolate, milk, and a shot of... something!) and a dinner fit for royalty (aka me and my tolerant-of-cooking whims, husband).

Who needs a snow day :)

Personal History

2011-02-08T21:21:00.004-05:00

It's easy when you're busy living life to forget, to forget you've been building a history. I am pretty terrible when it comes to always looking for something more, something better, for diminishing the experience of my now by calling it not good enough. Not good enough for what, and for who? I have this inner voice in me, always calling out to impress, forgetting that it's not the accomplishment on paper or in remembered legend, but the way the moments that made up that accomplishment or legend made you feel and that you allowed that feeling to flood your heart uninhibited.

I have been brought back lately to a not so distant past called college by two events in quick succession, the first being an email from a dear friend reminding me of a treasured trip to Tybee Island G.A., and the second the need to open my old computer filled with pictures, assignments, and music from my college years. These two events have left me feeling both glad to have had those times in my life, and sad because I can never have them again.

It's a hard lesson to learn when you're looking back and remembering both the joys and fears present at one time in your life, and regretting that you allowed so many fears, and held back so much for the sake of responsibility or for fear of screwing up royally. In reality, I have been so far from screwing up royally, it's laughable.

I have always played it safe, always. I am not a risk taker and it has stopped me from really going after many things in life. Fortunately for me, I was on a "Trina, you can do anything!" self-motivating kick when I met GC and I had the balls to not only tell him I liked him, but to fall in love with him as myself, and no one else. Despite his utter lack of patience in almost every other realm of life, with me, his patience is epic. He tolerates all my fears, and even tells me I'm not crazy, and always that I am good enough, good enough for anything and everything. And when I'm at my lowest and most vulnerable, he is at his most tender, recognizing that a hug held a few seconds longer, or a kiss on the forehead, or the simple act of a hand on my lower back does wonders to make me feel loved and to push me through my current struggle.

So, one point for going after important things.

But it's a constant battle for me to recognize the good, even when I feel I am trying my hardest. It is one step forward two steps back with my fears. Case in point, a recent "situation" involved me panicking for no less than a month about the possibility of being pregnant. To make it clear, I am not trying to have a baby at the moment. Not by a long shot. In fact, the thought of it, at least until about a week ago, struck fear in my heart so deep I turned into a blubbering mess on my honeymoon at the shear thought!

Somewhere along the way, the thought of an unplanned pregnancy entered my mind as one of the most terrible things I could inflict upon myself. I think it has something to do with shame, shame for having let so many people down who had such plans for my life (that did not include a baby out of wedlock or at a young age) and shame for myself that I could possibly let such a thing happen. So to say I play it on the safe side is an underestimation of epic proportions when it comes to birth control for me.

When a case of strep throat hit not 5 days before my tropical honeymoon in Jamaica, the thought of antibiotics and an OC not mixing so well immediately dominated my brain waves. Suffice to say, not the best way to enter into a honeymoon. But who wants to be a debbie downer on their honeymoon? Not me. So take my OC I did, and that was about it.

If thinking could cause spontaneous pregnancy, I would be bearing triplets at the moment, so constantly were the fears running through my mind that I might be pregnant. And it stayed like that until just a few days ago when despite my certainty of pregnancy, nature told me it wasn't the case this time. And you know what? Though I was most definitely relieved, I was also a little disappointed.

That got me thinking, "Why the hell am I always freaking out about shit that isn't necessarily a bad thing?" Why would becoming pregnant now be so horrible. I am married and happy in a loving, committed relationship. I could provide for a baby financially and emotionally, being mature enough at this point in my life to feel confident I wouldn't be anymore risk to a child than your average loving parent with a good head on her shoulders. So what's the big deal? It would be ok, and in time, once I wrapped my head around it, it would be great.

And that got me thinking some more, "Why wouldn't that same principle apply to the other areas of my life where my fears blind me?" Maybe it can. Maybe I admit I am a worst case scenario thinker, allow myself to panic for a few minutes, and then put that aside and act on the positive, the "What the hell, what's the worst that can happen?" mentality.

Maybe I can. I can choose what my life is and what it's to become. I can choose to focus on the happy and positive, to be present in the present and not always looking down the road for every possible speed bump.

I think I'll give that a try, because really, who wants to look back and regret feeling afraid? This year, I'll pray for courage to face myself and accept all my Trina-isms. For better or worse. If I'm lucky, I might just find I've got all I really need already, and it's all about attitude and a willingness to change for the better, not because I'm not good enough to begin with, but because to change is to grow and know thyself better. Who can argue with that.

A Fresh Look

2010-09-16T12:43:00.005-04:00

"Your soul is two tigers. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The one that grows, is the one you feed"

A fresh new look for the Turning Page to go hand-in-hand with my fresh new outlook on life. It all starts with baby steps, and one by one, I'm heading in a new direction, a direction laced with positive thinking and a "can do" attitude. No more failing to believe in myself or being too afraid of falling on my face to try. You can waste a life that way.

I don't want to look back on these years of youth and vigor, having no daring stories to share or experiences to draw from. I want to live, fully. My soul longs for freedom from my own self doubt. So I'm changing my tune, because sometimes, when you face just one act you truly fear, even if handled without quite the grace you imagined, you realize you have the courage to face so much more, that you are stronger than you think, that all you lack is the decision to act.

It's time to act. It's time to feed the tiger.

Like a kid at Christmas!

2010-09-09T19:43:00.002-04:00

It's here! My mini-laptop is here! Words cannot express how happy I am to have my own little machine dedicated nearly exclusively to the writing of blog post, trolling of Facebook, and other completely non-work related internet based activities. Oh! The joy!

Long have I craved freedom from desktop cords and carefree trips to coffee shops and libraries, parks and airports with a laptop in hand. I know this isn't new technology for most of you folks out there, but for me it is heaven in a 10.1" screen. Here, take a look at my new best friend (sorry husband. if it's any consolation, I'll still turn to you for kisses :))

Let the blogging/mindless searching/trailer watching BEGIN!

Fall sigh

2010-08-27T13:44:00.004-04:00

And by *sigh* I mean,

"Fall, I am in love with you; with the romantic chill you throw so delicately into fading sunlit afternoons; with your amber-hued palette; with tweed and leather; with your wild, thrilling excitement of back to school. Fall, I covet your 2010 J. Crew womens' clothing collection, and your plum colored eye shadow. The taste of your cinnamon tea is a happy departure from the lightness of Spring's soft green. Fall, so happy am I to don your olive green skirt, and to rediscover the feel of cashmere against my skin. My tailored coat collection politely requested this morning, that I thank you for the breezes and pink cheeks that have brought them back to relevance. And Fall, one more thing. This year, let last the brilliance of your burnt umber and titian, your russet and bronze colored leaves set ablaze with sunshine illuminated skin, just a few weeks longer."

Your's truly with affection,
Trina

Off the Market

2010-08-26T17:32:00.003-04:00

It's official folks, I'm a married woman. And just last night, I was reminded yet again of why GC is so totally awesome. He completely, 100% supports me. He doesn't just support the things I do, the decisions I make, or the dreams I have for the future, but he supports me, Trina. He supports my scared-to-risks mentality and my sometimes-prone-to-wallow tendency. He supports my good moods and my bad, my smiles and my tears, my heart when it's wounded and my body when it's tired. He supports everything about me, not because of anything I could do or accomplish, (though he seems to think me capable of nearly anything I set my mind to) but because he loves me. Plain and simple. I think, I might be the luckiest girl on the planet.

We're down to days!

2010-07-02T10:57:00.006-04:00

43 days in fact! With each passing day, I am one step closer to MRS. Very weird. I have really loved the whole wedding process, probably due to the fact that it plays up my strengths, planning, crafting, planning, writing neatly, planning, more crafting...

Apart from all the planning, I have also been prepping myself emotionally for marriage (seemed like a good thing to do), and for what it means to be commit yourself to one person, forever and ever. At first I was scared. But I learned to trust. Now, as the day approaches and the reasons to be stressed increase exponentially, I am frequently shocked by the (strangely pleasant) voices in my head.

Instead of the brainwaves veering down "crazy road" which usually ends with me in an emotional state of self-loathing, they have gently pushed me back on the, "relax you're getting married. It won't matter if the (insert wedding detail) doesn't get completed, or if you have a zit, of if you don't reach that super critical 5 lb. weight loss goal. You're marrying GC, you love him, and life at the moment, really couldn't be better" straight and narrow. It's a startlingly refreshing state of mind.

The details will work themselves out. The people we love will be there, and for any family drama, I've got my sisters and bridesmaids to pass out the cocktails and tell everyone to relax already. If that doesn't work, they are also accomplished (but very sexy) bouncers and will kick those asses to the curb!

For the next several weeks, it will be nothing but parties (like this lovely shower thrown by my future sister-in-law)...

Mini-craft projects with my mom and friends...

Dress fittings... (no peeking until the big day!)

Makeup and hair fun (see entertaining in-progress picture below)...

And other really fun, wedding related activities :)

Happy 4th of July to you all!

Happiness?

2010-07-02T09:55:00.003-04:00

What is being happy? Is it a series of moments strung together that you look fondly on in years to come? Is it pursuing a dream? Is it loving a mate, a friend, a family? Is it looking toward the future with as much optimism as you can muster? Is it a combination of all these things?

Recently, in a cyber stalker sort of way, I caught up on the life story of a former client from work through thorough reading of his blog (hey, if it's out there, I suppose it's not stalking right? I mean I don't think of you guys, the two loyal readers of my measly little blog as stalkers).

About two years ago, this person burst on the scene at my office with a rush of enthusiasm. He formed ties with our staff, invited us into his life and his house. We were for a time, showered with copious amounts of compliments for our work, and family-centered philosophy. We built him websites, (3 of them!) and designed a brand for his very successful business. For all intents and purposes, we thought we had found not only a client, but a friend.

But then, as quickly as he came, he left.

Looking back, it's easier to see the cracks in the seemingly smooth veneer of friendship. A master with words, the honey of his tongue disguised the underlying message. So long as we were the ones being given "advice" on how to live our lives, make our art, raise families, etc. so too were we the happy recipients of friendship and kindness. The moment however, we offered any feedback in return, as "friendship" so often allows, the walls went up and the friend withdrew.

I am not trying to paint this person as a bad guy, in fact, to this day I still like him quite a bit and am inspired by his go-getter approach to life. He was unkind, so far as I know, only once, and I believe it was a combination of clashing personalities, and an inability to hear criticism of his own life.

Since he left, I have been intrigued by the progression of his life. He ended a marriage, met a woman (who ended a marriage of her own), and has since married this woman. She strikes me, from the limited amount I know of her, as a kind, quiet sort of person. I have never seen these two together and so really have no real idea of their compatibility except to say they seem vastly different in terms of outward approach, she quiet, he a whirlwind of words and excitement.

Regardless of their compatibility, my whole point here is this... first, all three websites have been redesigned. The momentum with which the "MOVING ON" occurred left the whole office feeling a little bit rejected. And now he has moved on to a new project, his life with a new wife. Weren't we friends? Isn't this the type of life shift you share with friends?

Being so close to the wedded state myself, I have no problem with him loving his new wife and reveling in their newly-wed life. I do truly hope they have both found a mate that loves and fulfills them on a profound level.

I am challenged to articulate the root feeling here... maybe there is no better description except to say his "happiness" seems in some way, hurtful. Is he really happy? Or is he playing at it? Looking for it? Shaking up his own world to make him feel as if he's found it? Is this woman really his partner, or one quiet enough to accept an ever-plentiful flow of "advice"? Perhaps it's what she needs to move beyond her quiet, contemplative shell and go after what she wants in life. Perhaps he is quieted by her serene nature and thus both benefit from the union.

From the outside looking in, it would seem that they are both thriving. I really hope they are. For me, I prefer the softer shifts in life. I am not great at writing people off. It feels wrong, and rarely necessary. I guess the definition of happiness adapts to fit the person.

Right now, happiness and I are one. I'll leave the happiness of others, each to themselves.

A Matter of Trust

2010-05-06T14:43:00.006-04:00

"Mawidge. Mawidge is what bwings us toogeva, tooday," (a quote from one of my favorite movies, The Princess Bride).

Ain't that the truth. Marriage has for all time, been one of the primary forms of unity among humans. Marriage has brought together empires, warring nations, feuding families, friends, lovers, persons unknown, and sometimes, cousins (eew). Marriage is heated topic in popular discourse these days. The semantics of the term and its "meaning" have created a huge debate over what is ultimately an expression of love, regardless of which side of the coin you fall. Call it what you want, I think there are few who enter into a lifelong union with malice in their hearts.

That said, marriage and the act of choosing a life partner has also found its way into the intimate corners of my heart and daily thoughts, being just three months away from entering the wedded state myself.

Our families are already beginning to merge, even before the vows are spoken. GC's older sister welcomed her first child earlier this year and I am now referred to as "Aunt Trina". SO weird. Our parents make efforts to know each other and to include our future spouses in family plans. Together, GC and I have bought a house and have begun to set up shop.

Despite this natural progression toward unity, engagement, for me, brought with it some challenging moments. There were cliche struggles; setting up house and combining life belongings and habits; selecting wedding details; finding the sweet spot of standing up for oneself in a fight and learning when to just shut up (this one will, I imagine, be a perpetual balancing act). The biggest challenge however has been one grounded in trust.

Since becoming engaged, I have often been asked whether or not I am "sure". This question has on numerous occasions driven me to some obsessive "Am I sure??" moments. GC has patiently stood by my side as I have wrangled with this, always reminding me that there is no perfect relationship, no perfect union, only the choice to look at someone you love and choose happiness, despite the hard parts along the way.

My struggle is a one of trust. Do I love GC? Absolutely. I have known that for a long time. Marriage however, is about so much more than loving someone, it's about trusting them to love you in return. I have no trouble loving GC. In fact, I am thrilled to my toes to make him happy, to show him everyday in word and gesture that he can trust me, that his heart will always be safe in my hands because I could never do anything to knowingly harm him. I know he trusts me, he's told me so, and that makes me happier than I can express.

My issue is allowing GC to love me in the same way and to trust that when I give him my heart, he'll hold it with the utmost care. Despite my efforts to be strong and brave and perfectly composed, my heart is my weakness. I know deep down that it is not strong, that if I really give it to someone, they have the power to crush me. For me, marriage, and the giving of oneself to another cannot be complete without that willingness to give him who I'll call my husband, my whole heart, even the scared/timid/easily breakable part, and trusting that even though he could break it, that he could crush me, he won't, because he loves me as much as I love him.

So am I sure? Yes. To give up what I have with GC, because I am scared of having my heart broken would be a mistake of epic proportions. When GC and I stand facing each other, I will be able to say to him, "Here it is, my heart. It's a little messy, and sometimes confused, but it is ardent in its love for you, and it's going to try to the best of its ability to let you love it and let you in to of all its tenderest places. Why? Because even though it's scared, it trusts you, and it loves you. Take good care of it now, from here on out, it belongs to you."

The "One Person" Dilemma

2010-05-04T12:57:00.006-04:00

The reality of being "only one person" has been acutely present in my day-to-day experience of late. I find it lurking along the edges of everything I want to do, all the places I want to be, in all the causes I hope to support. Being only one person often times feels incredibly limiting.

How are we to embark on this world with enthusiasm when there are so many places to bestow our enthusiastic energy? Take me for instance. I want to own my own business making "things" that other people will want to own (I have yet to decide what kind of things I want to make, but it's a minor detail at this point). I've dreamed of opening my own day care where 3 or 4 toddlers can have an awesome time dancing in my living room, taking naps in the tree house beds I'd create for them, and going on field trips to the bakery, farmers market, ceramic studio. Blogs yet to be born are calling for me to place hands to keyboard and document all the wonderful things in this world that are worth celebrating. I want to open a soup kitchen and teach people how to care for themselves. I want to start a post-high school year of service program where teens can learn to appreciate their gifts by serving others in less fortunate circumstances.

How can one commit to a single mission when there are so MANY worthy causes to support? And on top of this, on top of allll of this, how do you stay sane!? How do you allow yourself the time to take a break, enjoy the moment, "just be" when your seemingly minimal efforts leave you feeling so under-utilized?! The back and forth leaves me exhausted!

Just the other night, GC and I watched The Cove. For those of you that haven't seen it, the film exposes the murder of tens of thousands of dolphins in Taiji, Japan every year. The dolphins are killed in ruthless, in-humane ways. Harvested for their meat and for the money they could earn as performers at Sea Worlds across the globe, these animals are truly the victims of human greed and folly under the guise of "tradition".

It was an impactful film to say the least, so powerful were the images and message. That said, I couldn't help but think, "Get in line dolphins. There are too many other causes I found out about before I learned of your horrible plight." I don't have time to add "dolphin saving" and "teach Japanese fishermen not to do a$$hole things" to my list of "How to Save the World"

In my life as it stands, I am big fan of small changes for big impact. As they say, Rome wasn't built in a day. You can't change the American culture of government subsidized low-income obesity all on your own, but you can join a program like Big Brother Big Sisters and take a little girl with you to the grocery store, show her healthy options and then take her home for the afternoon to teach her how to prepare it. I can't heal the environment of 200 years and counting of human abuse, but I can choose to reuse containers and walk or ride a bike whenever possible.

Still though, most days it doesn't feel like enough. There is so much more I could be doing, so many others out there in dire straights. Some have asked for their condition, others were taught to accept it, and some are innocent, but all could be given a break. So how do I pick? Of the one person that I am, whom do I choose to get a piece of what I have to offer while keeping myself sane and mostly happy?

I suppose the short answer is to take the advice of the Allman Brothers and "Keep on Keeping on." For the long term, I'll have to get back to you. Something tells me the wisdom of years might be the only route to enlightenment on this one...

Happy Thoughts

2010-04-22T13:54:00.004-04:00

Last night was frustrating. This morning was frustrating. This afternoon, I'll be posting happy thoughts and favorite things in an effort to break the pattern.

1. Egg sandwiches on a Sunday morning.
2. The first flowers at our new house!

3. Laughing baby's like this one.
4. Peter Pan songs.
5. Sun-warmed cars on cold, windy days.
6. Painting.
7. Joyful tears.
8. Soft breezes mixed with a little Billie Holiday and outdoor rocking chairs.
9. Being in love and feeling your heart nearly burst from it.
10. The Sound of Music. Yes, the Disney Musical.
11. My new favorite blog.
12. Ingenuity applied to basic lift tasks.
13. GC
14. Days filled with appreciative moments, like when I think on my family.
15. Forced laughter that creates genuine, gut busting roars.
16. Blogging.

Home again.

2010-04-08T11:23:00.005-04:00

For the last several months, GC and I, (but mostly GC) have found ourselves traveling. A lot. From one business trip to the next, I watch as he packs up his suitcase. He coordinates the colors for each conference, "This time, I think I'll make it a black theme," heads to the ticket counter and toward a flight that will take him to Las Vegas, San Diego, St. Louis.

Luckily, I was able to accompany him to San Diego and tag-teamed it with a quick jaunt up to LA to visit my sister (it was a lovely 3-day siesta from the craziness of life back home) but mostly, I wait.

A year ago, if asked whether or not I found this bothersome, the independent girl in me would have laughed it off, "He's only going away for 6 days, I think I'll survive. I'll probably even enjoy it." But now, the reality of his being gone is less freeing than I anticipated.

For GC, the trips are non-stop business. Day long seminars, followed by plant tours, followed by fancy dinners with potential vendors. The distraction of why he's traveling in the first place keeps him from noticing the minutes and hours that pass while he's away. I however, with nothing but the normalcy of life to keep me busy, find it hard not to long for him in the evenings, after work, when the house is quiet.

To keep away the stillness, I clean, I catch up on laundry, on filing, on new home set-up. All things considered, it's an incredibly productive time for me. Despite my hustle and bustle however, his absence is ever-present. My co-workers, (all of whom have young, active families), yearn for this time alone. They cherish the calmness of an empty house and the anticipation of all the tasks they'll accomplish without the demands of kids, spouses, etc. I suppose I too, may someday find myself in that place, longing for alone time, but at present, I just wish he were home.

In the days he's away, I sleep on his side of the bed to surround myself in his smell. I wear his sweatpants and often lift his cologne bottles to my nose while brushing my teeth in the morning. Of course, I know he's only going to be away from me for a few days. Compared to the spouses that watch their husbands or wives go off to war, or the long distance relationships born of relocation or other means, I have very little to complain about.

In a strange way, I kind of enjoy the longing, probably because it only lasts a few day. When he comes home, like he will tonight, I look forward to it as if it were Christmas day. At the airport, when he comes around the corner from the terminal, I just want to run up and kiss him all over. This behavior is not wholly comfortable for GC (he, being ever-so-slightly on the conservative side and that falling rather heavily in the PDA category), so I try to restrain myself at least a little. Regardless of restraint however, there's no denying I'm overjoyed to see him.

Tonight, he'll be home again. I know it's a little childish, but the first thing I'll do, like I always do, is throw my arms open and wrap them around him, all the while my soul saying a prayer of thanks that he's home, safe with me.

Love, I love you.

2010-04-06T13:13:00.004-04:00

If my last post wasn't plain enough, it's clear I have been having some minor "issues" of late. Mostly revolving around the ever-present, self-deprecating voice in my head, these issues have challenged my ability to find balance in my life; at work, at home, in my relationships and everywhere in between.

In my-post college world, I began a healing process. I've mentioned it before, so I won't go into it, except to say I was on the mend from many self-inflicted wounds. With a newly developing inward peace, I embarked on a fresh chapter in my life, one where I learned to take new risks and improved my body and mind physically and philosophically. The "you're not good enough" mantra I'd heard for so long, became faint to my heart, as if coming from some far off place that I'd long since departed.

During that time, I met and ultimately fell in love with GC. For a short while, our life and love was simple and fun, without many cares. I imagine many new loves are like this, but having only been through the process once, I can only speak from my experience.

Unfortunately, life wasn't meant to go on for us in this way. GC's "honeymoon" with Caesar was coming to an end and all the challenges their relationship presented reared, dark and ugly in front of us. But with hope in both our hearts at the time, we clasped hands and entered the fray. Not being ones to give in easily, GC and I attempted to maintain the ridiculous forward motion of our life, despite Caesar's deteriorating behavior and treatment of us.

We got engaged. We began planning our wedding. I worked full time and began a new business relationship with a local artist making custom handbags and garments. I had my own little from Big Brothers Big Sisters thrice find herself in a mental health home for dangerous behavior. GC struggled with the trying managerial task of firing an ineffective employee, while trying to manage the day-in, day-out stress of a 12 hour day, 5 days a week family business. We bought a house. I moved out of my apartment. GC moved out of his apartment. We have attempted to set up a new home, together with all the challenges that new co-habitation brings. In the midst of the moves, we celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year.

And through all of this, I never allowed myself to process. It wasn't avoidance, but simply a case of looking at my feet and finding myself unable to jump off the treadmill. So with the pressure that all my life stresses were creating, I fell back into old (bad) habits. Creeping in slowing, filling in the crevices of self-doubt that questioned why I was unable to handle all this, it was "just life" after all, the voice returned. With it, it brought the fear of failing, of not being good enough, of not filling my roles perfectly.

It came out in the new house, with my insistence that it must be set up NOW! In the more frequent fights between GC and I. In my immense after-the-fact guilt. In my feeling wholly responsible for all that was not done and was left to do and the subsequent beating myself up for the failing.

To pieces I began to fall, until suddenly, as if they sensed the impending landslide, several sets of hands reached out and grabbed me. They were hands I new well, and hands I was slowly beginning to recognize. They were the hands of my mom, of my dad. Of my sister. And lastly, of GC.

They all know me well (and often better than I give them credit for). For this reason, they put the pieces down. They didn't tell how to put them back together or that I even needed to. In fact, they told me to leave them on the ground. In their own way, they each gave me to same message. "I love you, you go ahead and fall apart for a little while. I'll still be here when you find your way again."

As GC put it, when I'm standing at the end, no one is going to be there to grade my paper, and even if the are, I'm well on my way to a B+. It won't matter if I wasn't the perfect future daughter-in-law or if Martha didn't nod her head in domestic approval. If my enjoyment of life is lessened by the control I seek to impart on it, perhaps the control (or at least the crazy control) needs to go.

These people love me. Very much it would seem. They see these broken parts of me and somehow, still want me around. I suppose then, that I should take a feather out of their hat and jump on the love band wagon. Learning to take all parts of yourself, good and bad, throw them in the pot and still drink the soup is a life lesson I'll learn again and again. It may always be something of a painful lesson for me, but hey, a little pain isn't always a bad thing. It makes all the good a little sweeter.

Oh the places you'll go.

2010-03-16T09:01:00.009-04:00

Life is a constant push and pull of expectations; your expectations, the expectations of others on your behalf, and somewhere in the middle, the reality of what is. A recent trip to Boston to visit some dear college friends has gotten me thinking about where I was, and where I'll end up, about what I have, and what seems to be missing.

Four years ago, I stood on the precipice of college graduation. At that juncture, I was also taking stock of what I had accomplished over the previous four years. I had gleaned an incredible group of friends, friends that will stick with me I think, until we are all (hopefully) old and wrinkled. Through many classes, mentors and late nights in the studio, I earned a degree with honors in studio art and an awareness of how essential art and the making of it is to my being. And, through some tough times emotionally, I also began to understand that perfection as a life goal (in all its forms) is not only unachievable, but extremely damaging to ones sense of self worth.

For all that I learned however, college was also a time of loneliness and longing for someone to love me, Trina. To think I was beautiful, to laugh with me, to hold me. It seems a trivial thing looking back on it. That I would waste so much thought and effort on one thing, that I was not able to see the wealth of people around me that already met those needs, what a shame. At the time, I didn't have faith that I would find someone, and at times, I thought I didn't deserve to.

Wouldn't you know it though, not two years after I graduated (and after I managed to sort out my head a little), I met GC. Now, it's like my good friend (who also recently became engaged to a great guy) said, "I wish I could go back and tell my 20 year old self to relax!" Enjoy what you have right now! Soak up the friendships, the laughter, the scent of the studio. Appreciate what you are, a single college student with great friends building a strong foundation for life.

Relaxing it seems however, is one of those things I think I will always struggle to keep in check. Some might note, that just having to keep relaxation "in check" rings trouble. Now, with the GC firmly and lovingly by my side (in spite of minor meltdowns along the way), I have found a new burden to hold against myself, meeting the expectations of myself, and those I imagine others have for me.

Unfortunately, the lesson I was taught in college about perfection didn't sink all the way in. I seek to take on all aspects of my life without faintness of heart in one. I must be the quintessential homemaker, managing all the details of my new domestic life. I must be the super handy home repairer, not afraid of a drill, a dryer installation, or the hanging of pendant lights in the kitchen. I must be a wedding planner who never falters and who has all the details ironed out and executed perfectly on time. I must be lover and "at home" girl, hostess, cleaner, organizer, new home set'er upper. And in no area, can I accept less than a stellar performance. Or, at least this is what I tell myself.

And that's just the thing, no one but Trina is putting this pressure on herself. In fact, most are saying, "Slow down, enjoy this part, relax, stop being so hard on yourself." But what they don't hear is the kid inside me trying to prove that, "I can do it! Watch me show you I can do it! You'll be so proud."

So now I am faced with a decision. I can either let the urge to prove myself perfect ruin what I have right now, or I can just do the best I can. No, not even the best I can, good enough for now. Of course, the correct answer is the latter, but you try telling that to the voices in my heart. It's about letting go. It's hard. Really hard. It means giving up control. But right now, the fear of losing this time, this moment, the feel of our new house, my new life, our new life, is greater.

Maybe this means the lesson wasn't quiet so lost on me as I originally thought. Maybe recognizing early on, repeated unhealthy behaviors and keeping them "in check" is a really good place to start. Something tells me only time will tell.

New (adorable) Neighbors

2010-03-10T14:46:00.009-05:00

So as I mentioned, GC and I bought a house! Considering all the other hugely emotional happenings in our life at the time, I can't believe we actually made it through what turned out to be an incredibly dramatic and frustrating home-buying experience (it legitimately took us 45 minutes to tell our friends the whole story from beginning to end, challenging sellers to say the least!) But make it through we did, and now we have our lovely home to live in and love for years to come.

With our new home, came a lovely little in-town neighborhood, close enough to walk to all our favorite haunts, but far enough away to allow for wide streets and low traffic. The folks we now call our neighbors, so far, have proven themselves friendly and welcoming. Just the other night, as I was cooking dinner and GC was heading upstairs to put away the laundry, some surprise visitor's tapped on our front door. The wife and two daughters from the family across the street stood on our porch, each laden with a different gift. One daughter (probably 5 or so) held brownies, the other (maybe 3 years old) held a handmade card wrapped in cellophane, and the mom a big bouquet of early Spring flowers.

I'm sure the shocked, appreciative faces of GC and I were thanks enough, but to remove all doubt at how nice it was for them to have gone through all that trouble, we thanked them effusively. After a few minutes of chatting, our neighbors headed home and I rushed back to the stove to the fish I had been cooking, fearing it burnt to a crisp. Fortunately, I caught it just in time and GC and I sat down to a nice meal. While eating, I opened the card made by the girls and proceeded to let out a giant belly laugh.

The front of the card read, "We hope you like home, Welcome!" A very sweet note. On the back however, the card read, "P.S. We have a lucky peny for you." Penny spelled with one "n". Upon looking, there was in fact a penny in the cellophane wrapper. No explanation as to why we might need a lucky penny, but just in case.

It made my night. I like home already :)

Finding Normal Again

2010-03-09T09:19:00.003-05:00

The last 18 months have been hard, on so many levels. I disappeared, yes. It was all I could do not to breakdown let alone find a way to put into words feelings I wasn't even sure how to articulate to myself. For a reader's digest catch up on the last several months, I am still happily engaged (phew!) and my fiance and I bought a house! It rocks! I'm a homeowner! Those rays of sunshine however, were greatly dimmed by a really tough life lesson. Under very unfortunate circumstances, we lost something I doubt we'll ever be able to find again.

After much counseling and many tears, frustration, rejection, and blatant anger and hate directed toward my fiance and I, the GC's son, Caesar chose to emancipate himself from us. We haven't seen or heard from him almost three months. He is 17. It was a huge blow to GC and I (and I imagine Caesar though I doubt he'll ever admit it). Only now, three months later, have we started to bounce back a little.

I think about Caesar pretty much everyday. I hope he's happy and safe, and that he's found whatever it was GC and I couldn't provide. I think of him when we go to the gym (he used to go with us on a regular basis), at the coffee shop where I know he and his girlfriend like to hang out, whenever I pass his school or the building where he and GC used to live, when I see kids playing football at the park... there are reminders everywhere. I'd rather not go into the nitty gritty details, it's a long long story. But with the onset of Spring and the coming out of shells, both physical and emotional, I thought it was time for a blogging re-birth. I have missed it so.

So here I am. Healing. Stacking claim to the happiness and joy that I usually find in life, ready to notice the sun on my face again and smile at its warmth.

Instantly 20 years older.

2009-07-06T12:53:00.003-04:00

I know in my last post I promised to share the details of the much anticipated engagement story (I need to stop doing that. Promising future posts is hard to keep up with!). But in the past week, life has happened in such a way that I cannot pretend everything is rosy and wonderful when in reality, something happened so out of my realm of expertise, I hardly know how to move forward.

To those of you who might be panicking that the engagement is off, relax. That is not the case whatsoever. The GC and I are great. In fact, the events of the last week have, if anything, brought us closer. This is an event surrounding teenagers. Dumb ones.

As I have mentioned in the past, GC has an adopted son (whom I refer to as Caesar). He recently turned 17 and as you might expect, thinks he not only knows everything, but is a full-fledged, you can't tell me what to do, the world revolves around me, "adult".

Well, without going into specifics, Caesar blew it, big time. And as a result, in the past week my role as a supporting, mediating fiance to GC and friend to Caesar, has shifted into a very parental role, and not the happy kind of parental role, but the kind you hope and pray you never have to fill.

I sat across the table from a 15 and 17 year old and expressed such deep levels of disappointment, I surprised even myself. No longer could I be the compromising, negotiating and pacifying person I usually strive to be. Instead I had to be cold and uncompromising. Things I never thought I would say, as a parent, and much less as a 25 year old, passed my lips without regret. A breech of trust occurred to such an extent, that the GC and I are now forced to fill Caesar's time, his privilege to stay home alone lost. His time will be accounted for, and he will be required to treat GC and I with the respect we have always deserved, but have never been given. The free ride is over, and Caesar has earned every bit of it. This is his last chance.

I know many of you reading this blog don't know me personally, but for those of you who do, I hope my actions and relationships with each of you thus far have shown that I would never resort to such extreme measures without just cause. It may sound severe, but trust me, I have fought not to take this path. I come from the camps of "He's only 17 and you can't expect him to behave as an adult." and "Don't be too hard on him, he comes from a rough past where those that should have loved him didn't."

The last 18 months however, have demonstrated a slow downward progression of Caesar's behavior and regard for the feelings of those around him, especially those that care for him most. GC especially has borne the brunt of this ill will. I wished and rationalized Caesar's behavior away. I at times, even blamed GC for how things were transpiring, not wanting to believe Caesar could be so callous and overtly disrespectful. The last 7 days have shown however, just how little respect he does have for GC, and in addition, the recklessness of his behavior, with immature "solutions" at best to its potential consequences.

Both before and after this event occurred, I cried. First out of heartbreak for the potential consequences of Caesar's decisions and actions, and then for myself, because what the hell do I know about any of this! I'm 25, I have no kids of my own, let alone the privilege of having raised those kids from birth. I've been on the scene a brief 18 months, and now I am having to impress upon them the seriousness of their very adult decisions. In the last week, I feel as though I have aged considerably, I am a 25 year old dealing with middle aged problems. But because GC and I are the adults, we now have to behave that way. It's the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

It may sound crazy, but I take pride in the fact that GC and I are strong enough to do this, particularly when the people who should have been having this talk with their son, namely Caesar's real parents, couldn't be bothered. It's what responsible parents do, even when ignoring the issue is easier. They care about their kids enough to not always be nice and accommodating each of their child's whims. They draw the line in the sand of expected behavior and do their best to enforce it. That's what we're doing. Honestly, despite the pain it has caused each of us in different ways, our relationship is stronger for it.

Casear might completely disregard all the things GC and I have ever said to him, that's his choice. But I will go to bed at night knowing I did everything I knew to do to teach him how to be an adult, how to be truly responsible for his actions and their consequences, and how to be a man in the face of those consequences.

Despite what Caesar might think, I am not an evil dictator on a power trip over two teenagers. When the proverbial s%&t hit the fan, I made it clear I did not think he or his friend were bad people. In fact, I told them reason I cried was for what they could be throwing away. I cried because I do care for both of them very much and that I think they are good, smart people. That was the reason their recent escapades were so heartbreaking. That fact however, does not mean I have to support the poor decisions they are knowingly making. I can and will do everything in my power to prevent their behavior from continuing, so they might as well get used to it. The party is over.

There's no place to begin but here.

2009-06-24T17:27:00.005-04:00

I'm getting married! Yup, that's right, married. The GC asked, and through bottom-of-my-heart tears, I said yes. :)

I'll get to how it all went down in my next post (I've got to give it to the guy, "he done good!"), but I think, given how hopeless I thought my love life to be 18 months ago, it's only right to touch on just how quickly the tides of life can shift.

18 months ago, I hadn't even met GC. I had no idea that 4 blocks from my apartment lived a man that in a little over a year, would ask me to be his wife. Instead, I was "just looking" on match.com, and had been for a couple of months. As I think anyone out of college in their mid-twenties will tell you, it's hard to meet people out in the real world. So, I turned to an online watering hole to find true love. Ultimately, match.com is the place where GC and I would cross paths.

18 months ago also marked a shift in my thought process. The only thing I can say about my mental state at the time, is that though I sometimes felt alone, somewhere along the way I began to recognize that even without a man to hold me, life was pretty good. Instead of moping, I began to focus my attention on finding meaning in life and love, and sought comfort in places besides a romantic relationship.

I became less obsessed with finding the guy, and more aware of "becoming the girl", meaning I focused on finding happiness on my own terms, on discovering what made me confident and secure in who I was. Was I someone a guy would want to date? Probably not if I thought he could fix all my problems. So I became happy, for no one but myself. It was a choice. I'd be lying if I said I was happy every day. There were certainly times when life really stunk it up, but for the most part, my days were good, my relationships solid, and my mental state positive.

Each day I tried to do things that brought joy into my life. I spent time with my little from Big Brothers Big Sisters. I exercised. I started writing this blog. I spent time with my roommate. I hung out with my dad. I worked hard on a small business. All these things brought me to a better place, a place where, sure, I may not have met the man of my dreams yet, but you know what, it's ok. I'm still Trina, and life is still good.

It was in this time that I met GC (for those of you who don't know, that means, my "gentleman caller". And you know what, I got lucky. I got lucky because he was the type of guy who wouldn't rush me into things I wasn't ready for, he didn't laugh at me when I told him he was the first guy to ever really kiss me, he didn't judge me for making a ninny of myself on numerous occasions, and most importantly, he handled (and continues to handle) my extremely sensitive and often naive heart with the gentlest of hands.

I've shared some of our early dating stories here in the past, and there are many more that I have left out either intentionally (to protect the innocent, of course) or neglected to write about in my several month long hiatus, but I can tell you now, it's the tip of the iceberg. To explain how it all happened is hard other than to say it seems as though the GC was always there, waiting for me to find him. The path each of us had to follow to get to one another meandered through vastly different peaks and valleys, but for some reason, we got lucky in the crossing.

Since that time, I struggle to remember how I felt before I met GC. I know many of you will say, "these feelings will fade, your love will change, it won't be as heightened, but of a more sedate and lasting rhythm." Perhaps you're right, but it doesn't seem heightened to me now, it seems steady, and true. I'm not one prone to the extreme highs and lows of emotion. I feel very deeply, but those feelings are come to gradually and with what some might call, over-zealous contemplation. I know things will change, and life will present us with challenges we cannot yet imagine, but I hope the traits that have defined our relationship to date will continue to bolster our spirits as we face the more harsh realities of life.

All I can say, is that I am so happy to have found the GC, and very glad to have met him when I did. I was ready to be the kind of person he needed, confident and secure in who I was, apart from his love. His love makes everything a little brighter, but if he had known me two years ago, there's a good chance he would have run for the hills because there's no love that can shine bright enough to compensate for a black hole of insecurity! Now, I'm happy to say our paths will follow a course of the same making, our making and I've got a feeling it's going to be a great ride. :)

I'm back.

2009-06-11T15:39:00.004-04:00

A blog is a lot like a friend. It helps you reflect when you're struggling to find clarity, it's always there when you need to vent, and sometimes, when you haven't talked in a while, the longer you put it off, the harder it becomes to call. And then you wait longer because you don't know where to begin, or what excuse to make for not staying in touch. It's a terrible feeling. But what's worse, is that like any good friend, it won't matter how long it's been, you can call anytime, and just pick up where you left off.

That's where I've been with this blog, not knowing where or how to begin. There have been many, MANY times in the last several months that I've wanted to write. I've started numerous drafts, but for some reason, they have never felt good enough. After being away for so long, the first post back should be magical and somehow effectively recap the last 6 months in concise and witty prose.

It's gotten to the point however, that pride aside, I just want to be writing again! So here I am. No recaps in this post, just a starting point. There will be lots of posts head to flesh out the last 6 (great) months of life and all the exciting things to come. But for now, this is it. I'm back :)

It's all coming back, it's all coming back to me now...

2008-09-09T22:33:00.007-04:00

Thanks Celine... you don't know how perfectly those words matched the sentiment I felt this past Friday upon taking in my first high school footfall game in, oh, about 7 years.

Caesar, GC's son plays for the local varsity football team as a running back. Unfortunately he injured his ankle in pre-season and can't play at the moment, but that doesn't mean GC and I can't go out and support. And support we did.

I don't quite know how to explain all the emotions that rushed back as I took in the game from my bleacher seats, the students and teachers, the high school drama, oh, and the bodies running into each other on the 50 yard line. It was as if I had transported myself back in time to 1999 and was seeing the field through my 16 year old eyes and feeling all the emotions that came with being hormone-ridden, 20 pounds heavier, and not quiet as confident as I would have liked.

Contrary to what the above might elude, despite my inner confidence issues, high school was not a terrible experience for me. In fact, I had a good group of friends, was active in a lot of different sports and clubs, and though I never felt "popular" I imagine from the outside looking in, it appeared as though I had a pretty easy road through the trials and tribulations of high school, even if I never achieved the coveted role of the high school elite.

My friends and I had a lot of fun over our four years. We shared classes and experiences, I threw some great dinner parties, and we had a lot of boy/girl group hangout sessions (strangely reminiscent at times of a middle school dance, boys on one side of the room, girls on the other). Long story short, we formed a tight group. Many of those friends and I still keep in touch, if not with the intensity of high school, at least in a friendly catch up with one another when we happen to be in the same city sort of way.

But even with the relatively easy go of it I had compared to some high school students, I still suffered the same internal battles; wondering if I would ever be cool, if I was pretty enough, or good enough for the boy of my dreams, if I would get into college; and I was equally impacted by the external world of high school; the who's dating who, the drama of young relationships, and the urgency of living. Even then I recognized a football game served as the quintessential melting pot for all of these internal and external dynamics and perceptions. But since the days when I was a part of it, I guess I never really thought about how profoundly it had impacted me.

I was onto the next step, and apart from a lingering crush, I kind of left high school in the dust. I moved onto bigger and better things and in the course of my four years at college I changed immensely, as most people do. What I realized upon returning to high school this past weekend however, was that none of those feelings were ever really dealt with, only moved past.

So when the flood of feelings surrounded me again, the wondering if I fit in, the awareness that this was a place to be and be seen and the fear that what people were seeing in me wasn't good enough, it was all very fresh and very real. The only difference this time, was that I had gained the confidence I lacked in high school and somewhere along the way, realized that I was doing ok, and in fact, that I had a lot of great things going for me. As the game went on, a shift occurred and I began to see this game anew, this time, with my adult eyes. I could still recognize the dynamics happening all around me, and I could sense the importance of these events to the students now experiencing them. These happenings were defining moments in their lives. Their characters were being built and their social awareness formed. But in retrospect, I know now that some of those students will always be high schoolers, their maturity never evolving beyond the "who's dating who" and the the childish drama. Others however, will move on, just as I did, and recognize years later, that though the football games and the boy you had a killer crush on seemed like the end all be all, in actuality, those things were just a small parts of a much larger picture. The picture of who you are as defined by the decisions and sacrifices of self you make or don't make.

Some of the wounds you suffer in high school might never heal fully, but you'll learn from them, and hopefully, when you do one day go back and visit high school again, you'll be enough changed to realize you were always on the right track, even if it didn't feel like it at the time. And you know what, I think my track is moving along just fine.

Summer lovin'

2008-08-19T12:08:00.013-04:00

This summer has been awesome. And by awesome, I mean so chock full of the GC, traveling, friends, and new, exciting, life-altering plans, I don't quite know where to begin. I know I know... my last post was beyond melancholy. But I have since come back to earth and now realize there are a ton of things I can write about! Case and point, all the fun stuff I have done lately.

For a brief recap, here are the things that are more than worth mentioning from this summer.

The GC and I were given the awesome opportunity to attend a Dave Matthews concert as
VIP concert goers thanks to our friends the Tramps and their friends at The Sagamore.

For a little background, my concert experiences thus far have been from the comfort of a blanket spread across a green expanse until the crowd inevitably tramples the blanket, quickly followed by everyone standing up and getting pretty drunk and/or high. For those of you who don't attend concerts regularly, this means I am almost always sporting lawn seats for concerts. Plain and simple, they're cheaper. So when two VIP tickets were laid in my lap, free o' charge, I was like a kid in a candy store (oh who am I kidding, I was like Trina, my 24 year old self in a candy store). We were directed away from the crowds to our exclusive VIP parking lot with a private on-property entrance, we were wined and dined at the Live Nation Hospitality tent, and then we were escorted to our BOX SEATS where we watched one of the best concerts I have ever seen. Dave played the old stuff I love and new stuff that had me leaving with the idea to buy some new Dave Matthews CD's. Suffice to say to say, it is an experience I won't soon forget.

Shortly thereafter, I also attended my first-ever "fundraiser" with attendees of the "we have more money than we know what to do with" sort. The GC's family business provides food to the school the event was benefiting and thus we were provided tickets. I got to dress up, drink Gin and Tonics, rub elbows with a few Americans who are feeling the great effect of the Bush tax cuts. Pair all that with some awesome food, and really, what could be better?

Now, after some serious elbow rubbing , I also made it to my family camp in Massachusetts not once, not twice, but THREE times this summer. Once with only the GC and I (ooo la la), again with the fam, and for the third time, with my co-workers as a company retreat. To say that it is one of my favorite places to be is an understatement. Just ask anyone who makes the mistake of asking me about it... I could blabber on FOR-EV-ER, in the best way possible of course :)

S0 combine all that with a few visits to the Saratoga Racetrack...

a Yankees vs. Red Sox Game...

a Mets vs. Astros game...

... not to mention the nights out with friends, seeing BOTH my sisters, having my mom visit, and some great dinners out, I don't have many complaints. It has truly been a summer to remember. Stay tuned for updates on the "new, exciting, life-altering plans" Trinabags is moving on up!

Tricky, very tricky

2008-08-06T14:44:00.004-04:00

So after another month of silence, I have finally decided what I want to write about; all the things I can't write about. It seems to be the trend lately that bloggers across the country have fallen victim to, the blessing and the curse that are our readers. For the record, I love when people read my blog, and I love it even more when they post comments. What I have been struggling with lately however, is all the many many things I wish I could post on this blog, and all the reasons I can't share a damn bit of it.

There are a bunch of reasons really. About the boy for example. Even though I want to share every great detail about GC and our relationship together, he is a very private person. He doesn't read my blog because he wants it to be my space (I also think this is because he is just a little bit scared of what I'll write about him- like I would ever cast him in anything but the softest and warmest of lights :)), but for that reason, there is no real fear of how he'll respond to my posts. I almost feel however, as if it would be a betrayal to him to let the world in on all the sweet things he says to me or the ways he lets me know he cares.

So does that mean I share none of it? It has always been my nature to share all the details of my happiness, to let every person I know partake in every ounce of my joy. I have never been very good at hiding my feelings. They tend to lie right smack on the center of my very white sleeve for all the world to see. So when GC and I have a tough moment of misunderstanding and he comes back with something awesome that makes me care about him even more, I want to tell the whole world how great he is and how he makes me feel like the cats meow and I'm so glad I swallowed my pride and met him through internet dating. But to him, I think that stuff is considered "private". And then I think to myself, well, he's a big part of my life now. If I can't write about my main squeeze, what can I write about?

And then there are issues of jobs and money and new business ventures. There have been a great many things brewing in this department lately but it wouldn't be fair to my employers, who are also my friends, for me to dish about all that here. And as far as the business ventures go, I am feeling the need to stay mum because every time I blab all my big ideas, something happens to shoot my confidence or change my plans.

So what now? Do I write about things outside my own life? Do I limit the scope of this blog to reactions about politics, the environment, and other non-personal topics like the Beijing Olympic Games being held in a city of smog and movie sets designed to impress the world? Sure, I like to write about that stuff sometimes. After all, I don't live in a bubble. But all the time? Well that sucks.

One of my favorite parts of the blogging community is its ability to unify us through shared experiences. I don't mean people who have gone on vacation together or who have actually met one another, but shared experiences as found in our plight as human beings. We are all more the same I think than we want to admit because admitting it would mean we couldn't carry on in some of the ridiculous ways we do by isolating one another, casting a blind eye to suffering, willfully taking from another human being, using war and the taking of human life as a "solution" to problems.

I love reading about mothers who adore their children but freely admit to not having all the answers. I love discovering the victory of a stand-up-for-yourself moment with another blogger who just experienced it. I love reading how a break-up can tear you apart- not for the suffering, but for the understanding that, as REM put it so eloquently in the late 80's, "everybody hurts, sometimes" I love being a part of that, of knowing that my words and experiences might be having a similar impact on someone a thousand miles away. So what do I do when I feel as if the biggest parts of my life are no-go sections, access denied moments, do not pass go, do not collect $200 experiences? I am not quite sure to be perfectly honest. Some might say, "Well, just stop writing the damn blog. Problem solved". But I know for me, that is not the answer. I love this space too much to give it up so easily. But certainly, if anyone can offer a few pearls of wisdom in this department, I would be forever grateful.

So until next time, when I can find some part of my life that is blog-able, auf wiedersehen.

Holy Crap I'm Growing Up

2008-07-08T18:58:00.004-04:00

I have been thinking about the future lately. A lot. I've thought about how sometimes it seems I am getting way behind, missing things, letting myself get sucked into the everyday monotony without moving forward.

I've thought about my professional life, the job I'm at and the job I want and if those two things are the same.

I've thought about my emotional life, and how the love I have now and love I hope for in the next phase of my life is going to be different.

I've thought about the town I live and if it's a place I can see myself for a while.

I've thought about school and whether or not now is the right time to go back.

I've thought about what it's really going to take to get Trinabags off the ground.

I've thought about how much I miss my friends and family sometimes, and how I wish everyday that I could hug my mom, shoot the shit with my friends, or ask advice from my older sister, face to face.

I'm in my 20's man, 24 to be exact. And in the next 5 years a whole lot of things are going to change. Some changes might be expected, and some might be totally out of left field. But they're going to change.

In the process of thinking about all these things, I decided to take a quick look at where I've been in the hopes of seeing more clearly where I should go. Where better to look than the history books of my college career. I dusted off my resume, re-read some creative writing shorts (which I thought were much better then than I do now) and went over some simple assignments I had received from an incredible professor.

One of those assignments was a 5 year and 10 year list of life goals, found below, unedited.

Five Year Goals:
• Graduate with honors from the University of Mary Washington
• Buy a car
• Find a job (preferably one I like, but I am willing to work a crap job for a little while until I figure things out)
• Decide whether or not I want to go to graduate school and apply accordingly
• Be able to pay all my own bills
• Move out of my parents house
• Go to Ireland
• Save some money, if possible, start investing in some kind of 401K
• Continue making artwork, no matter what, even if it is made of the cheapest materials imaginable
• Have work in a non-academic exhibition

Ten Year Goals:
• Own a small business/ gallery
• Own a home
• Have received my graduate degree if that is the course I choose
• Have a developed and mature portfolio
• Have exhibitions/residencies/grant opportunities
• Be married or on that track (family is very important to me)
• Have some money invested for retirement etc.
• Have a feeling of success, regardless of income
• Travel to several foreign countries and see a large amount of the USA
• Write a book
• Maintain my work ethic and determination
• Enjoy where I am at

And here again, with a little editing:

Five Year Goals:
• Graduate with honors from the University of Mary Washington- CHECK!
• Buy a car- CHECK!
• Find a job (preferably one I like, but I am willing to work a crap job for a little while until I figure things out)- CHECK!
• Decide whether or not I want to go to graduate school and apply accordingly- CHECK!
• Be able to pay all my own bills- CHECK!
• Move out of my parents house- CHECK!
• Go to Ireland- SORT OF CHECK- WENT TO ROME INSTEAD
• Save some money, if possible, start investing in some kind of 401K- CHECK!
• Continue making artwork, no matter what, even if it is made of the cheapest materials imaginable- CHECK!
• Have work in a non-academic exhibition- CHECK!

Ten Year Goals:
• Own a small business/ gallery- CHECK! (THE BUSINESS PART)
• Own a home- NOT JUST YET
• Have received my graduate degree if that is the course I choose- NOT THE COURSE FOR NOW
• Have a developed and mature portfolio- GETTING THERE
• Have exhibitions/residencies/grant opportunities- CHECK!
• Be married or on that track (family is very important to me)- I REFUSE TO COMMENT FOR THOSE WITH CURIOUS MINDS, IT'S MUCH TOO SOON TO PONDER
• Have some money invested for retirement etc.- CHECK!
• Have a feeling of success, regardless of income- KINDA
• Travel to several foreign countries and see a large amount of the USA- ON THE WAY!
• Write a book- YOU NEED FREE TIME FOR THAT, IT CURRENTLY DOESN'T EXIST
• Maintain my work ethic and determination- CHECK!
• Enjoy where I am at- MOST OF THE TIME

I have to say, it was an awesome thing to find. Not only has it been just 3 years since I wrote that list, but I am almost completely done with the first list and starting on the second. There is nothing like a little self-written affirmation that despite what might seem like a lack of progress, you're always moving forward.

I guess the lesson here is that so long as you're ever-seeking to better yourself, to grow, to find new ways of dealing with old problems, life will happen as it should, or better put, as it is meant to happen. Not all things that have happened to me since I graduated college have been great. In fact, a lot of things have sucked, hardcore. But they got me here, to where I am right now in this very moment.

Some things on this list will never get crossed off. I'll add new things as my needs and dreams change, and I'll bet there will probably be a few I'll happily remove for the very same reason. Every day it seems something else reminds me of the lovely evolution that is life, the combined moments and lessons along the way that somehow make for a life. I guess the responsibility left to me is to notice each day, each phase, each lesson, and to forgive myself the inevitable screw ups I manage to find myself in. After all, they might be just the piece of the puzzle necessary to check off another goal.

Trying to be a grown up

2008-06-25T12:15:00.003-04:00

There have been a lot of times in the last 5 months where I have learned something entirely new about myself, some things good, some things not so good, but all stemming from the reality of my relationship with GC an it being my first relationship. Not my first "real" relationship or my first "grown up" relationship, (though it is both real and grown up), but my very first, nothing before it, no experience to draw from, not even a lame middle school relationship, relationship.

To say that I have been flying by the seat of my pants is an exception of massive proportions. I have no freakin' idea what I am doing most of the time. I have trusted fully in my gut, and 98% of the time, things between GC and I have evolved naturally and in a very positive direction. We have a blast when we're together, even if we're just watching TV or playing a game. He makes me laugh, and I like to think I make him laugh. And we care about each other, he doesn't mind just holding me for a while, and I love how he melts into a pool of released muscle tension and stress when I rub his head. He thinks about me when we're apart, remembering an off-hand comment I made about not being able to use hand sanitizing gels because it makes the eczema on my hands burn and going out of his way to find a natural, non-alcohol sanitizing spray. If that's not thoughtful I don't know what is. And I sure as heck think about him (it distracting, let me tell you).

So the other night when my feelings got hurt, I was unsure of how to respond. I became silent and walked away. He knew immediately that I was unhappy about something and followed me, realizing he'd hurt my feelings I think, and began apologizing. Though I accepted his apology and we talked about it a little, how I am more sensitive than I sometimes let on, yadda yadda, I never felt the issue was fully addressed. Things went back to normal, we went out that night and had a really good time, we hung out at his parents the next day, and I have enjoyed being with him, not feeling mad or really even all that hurt anymore, I got over the "ouch", so to speak.

But being the obsessive that I am, I have dwelt on why I had the reaction I did since Saturday, wondering how to fix it. I made a vow to myself when I got into this that I wasn't going to let a lack of communication be the cause of relationship downfall, especially since this has started off so well. I thought we could talk about it over a walk last night, but when he got tied up with his son Julius Ceasar (not his real name, obviously, but the name of his favorite book), I decided to write an email.

It wasn't an attack email, or an "I'm mad at you because you hurt me" email. It was just a "this is how I am feeling" email. I didn't ask for a long response, I even said that I didn't expect one, i just wanted him to know why it hurt so in the future, he's aware of my tender spots, the spots that when bruised have a pretty big impact.

I have never wanted to be the girl that is overly emotional, because honestly, I don't think I am. I have emotions of course, but as a rule they tend to be even keel and not easily excitable. I'm not dramatic and don't want to be that stereotypical girlfriend that is constantly wanting to discuss my "feelings". That said however, I also don't want to be the kind of person that buries hurt because it is not always easy to talk about. I'd rather just get it on the table and deal with it than have it fester and build into a resentment that is much harder to heal. So I wrote an email. An email might be lame, it might be a copout, and it might be contrary to all dating advice, but it's what I did. And I feel better for having done it.

I haven't heard back from him yet, and to say I'm not a little anxious about it would be a lie. I am anxious because this is the first time I have ever done this, told someone I cared about in this way how I am feeling. But I guess it is better than the alternative, continued dwelling. Cause man, dwelling is exhausting. And I would rather just get back to where we left off last night, even after all this happened, right at great. I always want it to be at great, even if "great" doesn't always mean easy. So I guess an email is a step in the right direction.

A message to my parents.... (who rock btw)

2008-06-20T11:35:00.005-04:00

For all those times you think you really screwed up as a parent, (though I still consider those up for debate) I want you to know, I learned just as much as when your parenting was spot on. This is how I know:

Parenting Screw Up #1- Losing a Child in Woolworth's
Lesson Learned- it's a dual lesson really, the first lesson? hiding in cupboards in a crowded store is probably not the best place to play the hide and seek game only you know about, lesson two? It's important to love people to the point you fear losing them.

Parenting Screw Up #2- Fighting in Front of the Kids
Lesson Learned- People fight, it's part of life, it's how you deal with it that matters.

Parenting Screw Up #3- The big "D" word, Divorce
Lessons Learned- On the big issues, it's important to see eye to eye, on the little issues compromise is essential, and for everything else, communicate. Don't allow resentments to grow; if you feel hurt tell them , if you feel unappreciated, talk about it, if you need something more from the relationship, lay it all on the table. Forgive. Leave the past in the past. Don't be afraid to ask the hard questions early on, and make sure you're each other's number one supporter.

Parenting Screw Up #4- Working and Child Rearing
Lesson Learned- Ok, this is in no way a screw up, sometimes it's just necessary. But since you sometimes feel bad about it; working hard is an important part of life. Striving to improve yourself so you can be better for yourself and those around you keeps you ever evolving and never stagnant. Sometimes you don't want to go to work, but you have to anyway.

Parenting Screw Up #5- Bad Day Syndrome
Lesson Learned- Everyone has bad days. Waking up the next day and apologizing if necessary is ok too.

Ok, so hopefully my parents are not really annoyed that I shared some of what they might deem as parenting blunders, but I really don't see it that way. They know I'm not perfect and still love me. That's a two way street. I consider myself lucky every day for the two (incredibly different) parents that I have. Sure, they may not have always had all the answers, and they may have wanted to kill my sisters and I at times, but a day hasn't gone by where they didn't let us know we were loved. They loved us enough to set limits, to say yes and no, to show us all the amazing opportunities this world holds. They each loved us enough to be apart from us because no matter what, "the girls stay together", enough to make us do chores and earn our allowance, enough to sometimes take a step back and let us make our own decisions even if it meant we failed, they loved us enough to put aside their own differences for our happiness. Simply put they did a great job and I couldn't have chosen two better people to guide me through the first 24 years of my life, even if they are just a bunch of screw ups :)

Reality Check 101

2008-06-19T19:04:00.002-04:00

Work was non-stop yesterday, from the moment I walked in the door to the moment I left 50 minutes late. One call after another came flooding in, quote request after quote request turned into an additional 3 pages of "to do" list, contract overhauls filled my lunch hour, client meetings kept me from moving my car so I wouldn't get a ticket (thank God it was raining at the time), vendor dilemmas kept me fielding "Where are my postcards/folders/ads" calls from clients. And that's just the start.

After work was no different. I had plans to make a nice dinner for C-Po, GC, and my friend "Toonces Mama", and was already running an hour behind. I rushed to pick up my sister, shoved a grocery list in her hand, sped to the local Hannaford, went guns blazing through the produce section, searched in vain for coconut milk, finally being forced to succumb to the phone on the end of the "Family Planning" aisle for a little assistance (coconut milk can be found in the Mexican section in case you ever find yourself in a similar rushed predicament) and then raced toward the highway to begin the 25 minute trek home before launching into a vegetable chopping, spice mixing, rice and bean cooking, Caribbean Sweet Potato Gratin preparing frenzy.

Never one to really speed, despite being rushed (I'll just deal with being late... it's a condition far superior to being a smear on the highway) I came up to an intersection at a normal and reasonable speed. The cars were backed up and so instead of stopping next to the Mobil station, I came to a halt next to a funeral home- a very occupied and active funeral home. Streaming out of the doors toward cars parked beyond the parking lot and into the street were red-eyed, black attired folk, family and friends I suppose of some person whose time in this world had come to a close.

As I watched them file out, embracing then separating, and climb slowly into their cars, I understood. Someone was telling me to pause, to see the great blessing I was rushing toward- family, friends, people that I love who are alive and healthy and loving me back. People whose whole lives are before them, however long that ends up being and living in ways that I can only hope to aspire to; days filled with purpose and passion, minds blessed with the desire to be ever improving, souls conscious of the need to love, to pause, to be without fear of falling short in the race toward success.

It was a wonderful reality check. The potatoes might be late, they might not even end up tasting good, but not one of the those people in that room would think a thing less of me. Dinner could wait, it wasn't the point. All that surrounded it, was.

The meal ended up delicious and an hour and a half later than planned, but it was an evening just as it should have been, and I appreciated it from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, in a full-body fashion. I guess that's how joy feels sometimes, full-bodied and peaceful, and brimming with hope.

A great day...

2008-06-16T09:44:00.003-04:00

Father's Day started bright and early yesterday morning. The night before was spent in broken sleep tending to the hiking wounds of GC. Did I mention GC is three hikes away from being a 46er? Oh, no? How could I have let it slip my mind? So yeah, my guy is an Adirondack Hiker extraordinaire, he's hiked almost all 46 of the Adirondack High Peaks. If you're thinking, "Wow, that sounds like an accomplishment," you're right. It's pretty freakin hot too.

Anyway, along with doing three peaks in one day, 19 miles total, he was attacked by swarms of black flies. His arms at the moment, render him a freak with dozens and dozens of enormous black fly welts spreading from elbow to fingertip. For anyone who has ever experienced a black fly bite, you know that one is bad enough, he had so many bites he was feeling physically ill from all the venom in his system. What could I do but help tend his wounds?

So he got a back rub and lots of "I feel really sorry for you" looks. By Sunday morning we determined the best course of action was cold compresses. Starting around 7:00 am I was heading back and forth from the kitchen with ice cubes and washcloths to dull the pain. Sadly, I had to leave around 9:00 to get ready for brunch with my father and sister for Father's Day. As I was getting ready to go, he looked at me with these great big, sad eyes and said in a pathetically dramatic invalid voice, "Your dad and sister couldn't possibly need you more than I do right now," followed very quickly with a grin than spread from ear to ear. He is so easily amused with himself. I rolled my eyes, and smiled at the same time. What a punk.

After tending to the "invalid", I headed North to visit with the man of the hour, my dad, and my little sister C-po. We had a great brunch at a local favorite, where to my delight, the vegetarian omelet was not the size of my entire torso and dripping with an excess of greasy cheese. It was moderately proportioned with only enough cheesy goodness to fill the eggs and veggies out a bit. We chatted and gave gifts and enjoyed each other's company in the beautiful New York in June morning. It was a moment I'll remember, for sure.

Post brunch, we headed to the lake where my sister had to work a bit later. We walked along the shore, and stopped into the touristy shops we usually drive by. I dipped my toes in and felt the cool wonder of a glacier lake on a hot day. Delicious. So inspired by the cool water I called up GC and we made plans to come back later in the day for some beach time.

Not a fan of the large crowded beach on the main drag, I have over the years, found some smaller ones to frequent. After going home to grab a suit and my man, we headed back North to the lake and spent three lovely hours chatting on the warm sand and taking dips in the clear-beyond-belief water that proved muy soothing to GC's arms.

We followed it up with a trip to visit my sister at work where she provided us with cold beer, and grilled cheese and fried clams respectively, not to mention the sides of sweet potato fries. Mmmmm.... And then we went home. We talked about some big topics on the ride, but for some reason we both seem to handle the tougher questions pretty easily, despite not always agreeing. It bodes well for future potential disagreements.

And that was the day. Nothing too crazy or out of the ordinary, but lovely in that I spent it with some of my favorite people. What more could you ask for really than a beautiful day, people to care about, and lake. Yes, a good day, a very good day.

Tell me I'm great.

2008-06-13T10:34:00.004-04:00

Has this ever happened to you? One day your scooting along in your daily existence, going from one busy activity to the next, not noticing the patterns you've slipped into, when POW! you suddenly realize something about yourself that you're not all that thrilled with? This happened to me yesterday.

What did I discover you ask? I noticed that instead of encouraging myself and believing in my abilities, I instead constantly question whether or not I am good enough or capable enough. Then, to cope with my "down on myself" mentality I seek the adamant responses of friends and family to negate the self-deprecating comments I frequently make.

The real kicker is, somewhere, way deep down, I know I have a lot of talents, and given my past record, tend more toward success and happiness than failure and misery. But it's almost as if I can't believe I'm good enough until it comes from the mouths of others. Messed up, I know.

So now I am on a mission. Instead of putting myself down and not believing I can be successful, I am going to go after the things I want, even if I am completely uncertain of the outcome. All those visions in my head of a glorious Trinabags boutique? I am going to believe they can come true, from the displays and store front, to the wall murals and back room workshop. For every time I feel my bags are not up to snuff and I begin noticing each "obvious" flaw, instead of losing confidence in my product, I am going encourage myself to learn more so I can grow in my trade. Simply put, I am pulling an engine that could, "I think I can I think I can".

And I to go along with that, I am going to be true to what I want, not what everyone around me wants, despite their best intentions for my success. I don't want to be another Vera Bradley where every college girl and her mother are carrying my bags, I don't want to be a Coach, or a Burberry, I don't want Saks 5th Ave, or Neiman Marcus. I want one small shop, maybe two, where I am always busy, making bags for people I can see face to face, with an online shop for those face to face people's sisters. I want a shop where I have the freedom to close one day a week if I want to, a shop where I can bring my kids to work with me someday, a shop where I make the decision to give away a good chunk of the profits because I think it's right without answering to anyone else, a shop that is smallish, and all mine.

I have never wanted to be big and famous. It's not me, and it never will be. I prefer a more subtle existence that allows me to keep my priorities straight, and money (beyond what I need to live a comfortable life where I am not constantly worried about making all my monthly payments, with a little spending money for a trip or two abroad each year :)) will never be one of them. The enjoyment of what I do, the ability to spend time, real time, with the people I love, and the chance to take in all that life has to offer, which for me includes sitting on a porch with some lemonade, not feeling like I have to be somewhere else, making deals, pretty much sums it up.

Now with my new perspective, I can make it happen. As the GC says, I'm Trina, I can accomplish anything I set my mind to. Damn Straight :)

Time

2008-06-08T16:11:00.002-04:00

Yesterday morning, as I sat waiting for friends on my front steps, I happened to look across the street to where an enormous maple tree stood heavy with leaves and history. As the wind blew my hair and cooled the hotness of my face from the arrival of summer's first 90+ day, the movement of the tree struck me. It swayed so softly in the warm breeze, that though I was across the street, I felt I could reach out and touch the greenness of its leaves. If I did, the memories of childhood summers spent in the branches of maples would rush back to me. I would sense the smoothness of the bark under my bare feet, the flexing of arm muscles as I pulled myself ever higher. I became lost in the sway. The rustle of leaves became like a song, and slowly pulled me toward sleep even as cars drove past.

The arrival of my friends and our Farmers Market destination woke me from my daydream, but not before the impact had been fully felt. It could not have been more than 5 minutes of uninterrupted daydream, but its healing has lasted even as I write this. It is not often enough that I simply sit and allow a beautiful thing to touch my soul. I am too easily lost in the "have to's" and "need to's". I forget the essential pause. The moment of reflection. The enjoyment of a simple and completely free experience. There were no worries of how I was going to pay this month's rent, or the constant prayer that nothing would happen to my car today. I wasn't worried about a strategic plan to become debt free or whether or not I could afford to by the hypo-allergenic, name-brand lotion this week. I just was. And it was wonderful.

So grandpa?

2008-05-17T10:28:00.003-04:00

Not so bad after all....

Last week, I left off having just imparted to you, the humming of nerves in my chest. GC's grandfather had "things to say" about me.

Yikes.

As a person who enjoys, no- make that, thrives, on others' good opinion of me, the thought of having my main squeeze sequestered in a hallway with his grandfather passing judgment on me after only 3 months of girlfriend-dom, stirred in my gut those ever present fears of not being good enough, of being found out as a fraud who tries really hard, but still comes up short. 90% of the time I realize these fears are re-donk-ulous- it's the other 10% of the time I struggle with- which, all things considered, is probably about an average ratio. It's just one more piece of evidence to support the fact that I am human, despite my deep desire to strive for the unattainable goal of being all things to all people.

But this time, Praaaaise Be!, my fears of disapproval were wholly without merit. The scene went as follows:

A handsome young man walks through a dark, some would even call it dangerous, hallway. Harsh lights cast unnatural shadows of door jams and water fountains on the water-stained concrete floor. Suddenly, as if appearing between blinks of an eye or a flicker of the fluorescent lights, an old man with a face worn from years of life spent in the cooler, stands before the handsome man.

At once, the laughing eyes of the handsome man transform into the the wary danger-sensing look of a cat, pacing before an enemy. The old man begins,

"GC, so that girl at the food show...?"

Responding with a hesitancy trained into him after a lifetime of eggshell dancing, "Yes Grandpa?"

"You don't see a girl like that every day."

GC does his best to respond, embarking on the song and dance of, "We are having a good time so far, getting along really well and all,"

To which Grandpa replies, "Her head isn't filled with nonsense like all the other girls today"

Unsure of what to say at this point, the comments being so entirely out of character for his often stoic and negative-tending grandfather, "Yeah, she's very nice..."

Becoming embarrassed, his grandfather begins walking away, "I, uh, I don't know why I just said that, but she's, she's something else."

end scene.

Ok, so I may have dramatized the scene a just a tad, but the content was legit, promise. Having the grandpa seal of approval, I've gotta say, it feels pretty good.

(Just for the record, I didn't make GC suffer quite as much for withholding information as I originally intended, given the greatness of the information. Some form of payment was still, certainly due, but I let him live with only a minor sentence.)

It's Friday, I'm Here!

2008-05-09T19:17:00.005-04:00

Ok, so I was going to talk about how proud I am of myself for actually posting today, it being Friday and all.

And then I was going to write about how tired I have been lately. Some might blame it on "boyfriend syndrome" a devastating illness where one is forced to forgo sleep to be in the presence of thine heart's desire. But in fact it is due to allergies, and the ridiculous amount of pollen floating in the air making my eyes and head hurt and filling my body with a "I haven't slept in 48 hours" feeling.

But then I get a call from my GC (aka my Gentleman Caller), and what does he say right before I get off the phone with him, "You're not going to believe what my grandfather said about you. He stopped me in the hall today to tell me, but that is a story for a later time. I'll talk to you later." Click.

WTF!!! Way to leave me hanging man! That is so unfair!

So instead of the aforementioned post topics, I have instead decided to discuss the nerve-wracking experience that is "Meeting His Family".

You want the "get it over with all at once" solution to meeting the fam? Date a man in the food biz. Because then they have "food shows" and since it is a family business, not only will you get to hang with mom, dad, grandpa, and Uncle Bill, but you will also get to try and make small talk with the family's "out of favor" duo, Uncle A and Aunt B! (Fortunately, I met GC's parent's prior to this event, so I wasn't a completely new creature for the whole family to pass judgment on.)

I confess, I did feel a little like a caged bird (of vibrantly colored tropical sort, of course) put on display for sizing up in the departments of singing and twittering, the sheen of my feathers, and the rarity of my kind.

Ok, I am being a little dramatic. But when the man you're dating works for a family business, and has talked about you to co-workers and family alike, it can be a little overwhelming when not five minutes after your arrival, people are distressed over the fact that you were not immediately introduced as GC's "girlfriend" by GC's mother, and have thus taken it upon themselves to inform the entire staff (family included) of the mix-up and of your arrival. Yikes. And that was only the first five minutes!

I suppose the silver lining to this small family cloud, is that it's over. First impressions have been made, for good or bad, embarrassment or delight. I suppose now I just have to threaten bodily harm to elicit his grandfather assessment...Or maybe some more creative form of "information withholding punishment". hmmmmm, I wonder.

Strange Travels

2008-05-02T22:42:00.003-04:00

Today I am writing from the comforts of a La Quinta hotel room, somewhere in the middle of Long Island. Tomorrow, I will be driving the remaining 40 miles to West Hampton, the home of my Grandfather, and the future resting place of my Aunt Susie who passed away 27 years ago in a car accident. Why you ask? Because even happy families have skeletons in their closets, a few crazy relatives, and enough drinking problems to do their Irish heritage justice.

Long story short, my grandfather is having Susie moved from her current plot in Georgia, to a new location in the Hamptons. For the re-interment, my mom's side of the family has congregated and now we all lie in wait for tomorrow's bizarre ceremony.

Having driven 5 hours to reach this little hotel, I am pretty pooped at the moment, so I'll have to come back tomorrow or Sunday to let you know how it all went down. Right now, I am just happy to be in the same place as my mom and sisters, despite the strange circumstances. We typically spend most of the time spread across the country in our respective states, so just being near one another is a gift.

Goodnight for now.

I'm Back.

2008-05-01T14:56:00.001-04:00

Phew, long time no see! I have to say, I have been enjoying the time I have been away, as my distraction is 6 feet 3 inches of great. The time away however, has awoken my need to come back, full of new things to share and a refreshed need for contemplation. It seems "The Turning Page" rests my obsessive mind, allowing for more pleasant uses of my brain waves. For instance, pausing on the lovely effect of a kiss on the forehead when the day ends wearily and the next looms, as busy as the last. (yup, wonderful).

I'll spare you the sappy/sassy details of the last few months, except to comment on just how much fun this dating thing is (I have to say- it's a pretty good time) and bullet a few highlights;

-Discussing the antics of Michael Scott from The Office and reciting lines from Flight of the Conchords episodes makes for great "get to know you" banter.

-Holding someone's hand while driving is great.

-Holding someone's hand, period, is great.

-Getting lost is entertaining, especially when you are within 1/2 mile of your destination and relying on "Trina's Terrible Memory" GPS system.

-Not feeling like I have to be anyone but myself is refreshing.

-Red wine is better when the bottle is shared.

-Finding that I am not at all self-conscious of my body, or feel it insufficient in some way when I am around him, is a very surprising realization.

-In the process of learning about my Gentleman Caller, I have learned as much, if not more, about myself. Who'd have thought?

- Doing regular things like grocery shopping and having old-school Nintendo competitions (we're talking Mario and Luigi circa 1993 here) can make for great dates.

-Doing not-so-regular things like having fancy dinners at nice restaurants and playing games of Risk with your Gentleman Caller and his 15 year old adopted son can also make for great dates.

-Having been alone for so long, I know who I am- and that makes it easy to be true to myself.

-Word on the street, I'm pretty good in the kissing department.

-That is enough for now.

Ok, well now that I am back, I am going to try to keep up with this blog again. I love it too much not to. So here's the plan, Friday morning posts every week, and as many more times as I feel inspired to write- but Fridays for sure. In that spirit, see you tomorrow!

A new thing, and I kinda like it.

2008-02-28T10:16:00.003-05:00

Good things are happening, and I am enjoying it. The long time spent wondering, well, it's not so much wondering now as it is finding out. I mentioned in an earlier post that I had met a guy through match.com who sparked my interest. I guess you could say he has my full attention now.

We've been on a bunch of dates and things are going really well so far. Being the straight forward, cards on the table, kind of girl I am, I gave him the "this is a pretty new scenario for me" speech. And his response, well, it couldn't have been much better, "I like you too much to rush anything" Hehe.

It's a lot of fun this dating thing. And now that it is really happening and I am not just imagining what dating must be like through a sad girl's eyes, I wonder what the heck my problem was. Perhaps I have happened upon something better than I was expecting, but so far, the ease with which we can talk to one another, and how comfortable I am when I am around him, make me glad I waited until I felt this way about someone and didn't just settle for some guy I never really liked to begin with, just to say I was dating someone.

I am definitely enjoying this new side of life, and of me. At the same time, I am trying to keep my head at least a little. I know myself well enough to know how I care about people. It's an all or nothing kind of game. The last thing I need is a relationship that moves way faster than I am ready for. But he is in on the secret, and so far he's been pretty great about my slowish pace. I am excited to see how this plays out :)

So many good things

2008-02-18T19:42:00.003-05:00

Sometimes it can be so easy to find all the things wrong, to remember all the times you've been hurt, all the ways you see yourself failing, all the paths before your feet appearing vague and indiscernible. Sometimes the ease of complaining for the sympathy you get in response takes over your thoughts and you tumble head over feet into gray. But other times, you can't help but see joy. The little girl who genuinely thanks you for holding the door open as she guides her toddler brother through receives a prayer for a life filled with happiness and kindness, the woman at the check out, a gesture of sincere appreciation, the man who offers to carry a heavy box, the opportunity to help. And sometimes, your heart seems so full, its joy permeates your being, and negates all those times you felt life had dealt you a raw hand. What an awesome gift, this chance to see life anew with out all the stains you had trained your eyes to see. It's in these times, when all the immense blessings in your life become so apparent.

This life I live is truly a sun-kissed Saturday, and the warmth of love surrounding me restores my soul. The opportunities I have, the people I love, the things I could dream are as tangible a reality as this penny in my pocket.

Some might attribute this little sun burst to what I gave mention of in my previous post. Though having that new diversion is certainly welcome and I am enjoying the possibilities it brings, this feeling of thankfulness has been growing for the past several weeks. Life is good, and so much more worth rejoicing over than complaining about. An essential shift has occurred. My perspective is repaired, refocused, and dusted off. Every so often this resetting reminds me of all that is good , and makes life's trials seem less daunting. There is joy in my heart and my cup runneth over.

A good feeling

2008-02-17T12:08:00.003-05:00

So I had a date last night. (Please, hold your applause until the end of the performance). It was with a guy I met through match.com and who I met for the first time last Monday over a hot beverage (also read as "tea at a coffee joint"- saying you met for tea sounds kinda lame considering how many 73+ year old grandmas meet for tea (and maybe some crumpets), so, "hot beverage" it is).

Really great guy, nice, friendly, easy to talk to, cute, (tall), interesting, you know, all those things you hope dates to be. It seems we have hit it off. I know, SHOCKING! :) Someone kinda likes me, who'da thunk it? And I like him. So far it seems we have a lot in common, which is a good way to start anything if you ask me. I don't feel like I have to put on a show- he's easy to be myself around, and that is great. Anyone who knows me, knows my camelion-like ability to transform into the person other people need me to be- a great skill for getting along in a lot of different social situations, but rather detrimental to my sense of self.

As you all have been with me through a bit of darkness of late, I figured, you deserve a little bit of light. So here it is. I have a crush :) Contrary to my usual "over-think everything" tendencies, I am just going to see where this goes. At the moment, it is tending in a good direction. A good place to start :)

Learning to Juggle

2008-02-12T10:17:00.002-05:00

I have a dilemma. A dilemma of the best sort, but a dilemma none the less. Two major pursuits have come to the forefront of my life in the past year, and both demand an intense amount of time. One, Trinabags, is my handbag business, the other, my need to make art. Of course these things are not mutually exclusive. There is no saying I can't do one while working on the other. But for me, a person who strives to put everything I have into everything I do, it is exhausting! This constant juggling between one and the other is taxing me both physically and emotionally (have been sick more times in the past year than in the past five years put together.)

Recently I fancied I'd found a solution to this problem. I gave myself a schedule. One week I would work solely on Trinabags, the next, sculpture. For a little while it was working like a charm. If something came up during the wrong week, instead of stressing about how I was going to get everything done, I simply said, "Nope, not the right week. It can wait."

But what I am finding, is that the moment I get really excited about one venture or the other, something happens to remind me that I have all these balls flying furiously through the air and one missed step would mean they all come careening back down to earth. For example; Last week was a sculpture week, and it was a great week. I produced more in those seven days and developed more new ideas than I had in months. But as I was scooting happily along rolling plastic bags, I got a great email from my younger sister asking when my new website would be live because all the women at her internship love them and want to buy one. So, I dropped everything and got back to writing copy and cutting fabric so when my site does goes live, (hopefully NEXT WEEK!!!!) I will be ready with new bags and a killer message. Artwork successfully stalled.

Again, not two days later, I get an email from my college where a sculpture of mine will be displayed, reminding artists that all the work is due in Virginia next week. No sweat, I'll just stop cutting this fabric here and start fixing that sculpture I have to send out on Monday. Are you beginning to sense my problem?

So how do I do it? How do I keep doing the things that I love without sacrificing my sanity or every spare moment of my social life? Good grief, God only knows what I'll do when I have a family someday. All things considered however, how very lucky I am to have such dreams with such tangible possibilities of their actually coming to fruition. Who would have thought that Trina, the girl who spent her summers in trees reading books and burning her face with flaming marshmallows would be a crazy bag lady/artist freak. Actually come to think of it, those two childhood examples might in fact, not leave you so very surprised by that outcome. :)

Because a sense of humor is essential

2008-01-29T22:43:00.000-05:00

So, I may have mentioned a time or two about my tendency to worry about my health. This, I am sad to say, extends beyond my own health and also includes the health of other, inanimate objects in my life... for instance my car. This past year has been a rough one in the land of vehicular transportation.

About two and a half years ago now, I bought my very first car (with the generous support of my mom, grandfather and summer job savings account). I opted for the ever reliable 2002 Honda Civic 4 door sedan, dark red, and I love her. She is spunky, and great on gas, and in theory, built to last. Despite this however, the past 12 months have not been kind to my baby. She had both front struts replaced, a new CV axle on the right side, her driver's side mirror knocked off (by a friend's, roommate's boyfriend... there is a story there to be sure) and just recently the replacement of four tires. To say that my meager bank account suffered under the strain of so many car repairs is something of an understatement. So when I got in my car one rainy day not so long ago, and began to smell burning rubber, my mind traveled immediately to the possibility of yet another costly repair. To be exact, "Are you f-ing kidding me?!" (or some other, equally frustrated and pissed off phrase) whizzed into my mind and remained there each time I went to get into or out of my car that day.

Toward the end of the day, I called my father, and stood outside my car with the hood open, and inspected belts, areas for potential leaks, smoke emitting, nothing. Of course, all the while I was on the phone my language was uncharacteristically effusive and more in keeping with truckers and local bar goers during a Yankees/Red Soxs game. I was getting myself worked up and more pissed with each thought of "what the f is wrong now".

My father tried to calm me with words of the fatherly sort, "Relax Trina, there's no sense in getting stressed out until you know there's really a problem to worry about." To which I thought to myself, "Yeah, that is what you said right before I had to shell out $700 to get my struts fixed." I may not be a mechanical genius, but I like to think that I am handy enough to know when there is something wrong, and a strong smell of burning rubber never leads to anything good. Self-diagnosis not withstanding however, I had no choice but to continue running my errands and deal with the rubber smell later when the mechanics were open for business.

I mentioned earlier how I first noticed this smell of burning rubber on a particularly rainy day. Being the practical and prepared girl-scout type girl that I am (excepting of course when fashion and looking "cute" take precedence, ie. on dates, before big meetings, and when I am trying to impress people with my fashion savvy), I wear the appropriate footwear in in-climate weather. The rain called for boots, big ones, of the yellow sort. (I can wade through puddles up to my knees when I sport these bad boys.) I should also mention that it was rain in January- which equates to fricken freezing rain so cold it might as well be snow.

The reason I bring up all these seemingly unrelated points about yellow boots, freezing rain and burning rubber you ask? I'm getting there.

So I went into Target, pissed about my car, but still needing to pick up some new hair ties. I patrolled the aisles in search of ouchless elastics. When I finally found them, they were on the bottom shelf, and so I knelt down to reach them. "Hmmm... it smells like burning rubber down here. That's odd." I stood up. "It doesn't smell like that up here." I walked to the toilet paper aisle, and again bent down to pick up some Charmin. "Huh. Burning rubber..... uhhh....no way.... I am not that dense. " So these big yellow boots, yeah definitely made of rubber. And that freezing rain, definitely requiring heat blasting on high. Is anyone following me here? Yes. I was that much of an idiot. I was stressing and bitching, and stressing some more about what was wrong with my car, when in fact, I was just melting my boots with the heat in blowing out of the floor vents making it seem as though burning rubber was blowing in off some soon-to-overheat car part. Brilliant.

Not one to hide these sort of things in shame (obviously) I called my father who had borne the brunt of my ranting, and laughed my way through the explanation of why I knew there was in fact, nothing wrong with my car. Sometimes, all you can do is laugh.

My cyber-haven explanation

2008-01-28T19:45:00.000-05:00

I know it has been almost a month since my last post. My hesitancy in posting is due in part to the fact that spare moments these days are few and far between, but also because I have felt uncertain about how to pick up where I left off. It's one of those things where the longer you wait, the harder it becomes.

This place, of all places, is one where I don't want to feel pressure. There is too much pressure in my life as it is. Granted most of it is self imposed, but every once in a while, a girl just needs to have a space to vent, when and if she cares to. I don't want to follow strict rules- a post every day, every three days, once a week. I don't want to follow the rules of proper sharing- nothing too detailed because "so and so" might be reading. If I post I post, if not, the world will go on spinning.

These posts are my own, and though I love sharing stories and experiences, and I love hearing what people have to say about my sometimes foolish antics (so please, keep posting comments :)) ultimately, this is my space. A haven where I can, as my younger sister says, "put it all out there" I don't expect everyone to understand why I do it, or to be comfortable with everything I need to share, but this is as much an exercise in keeping me sane, as it is a great way to share common experiences.

So thank you for reading, and check back every once in a while, because you never know, there may actually be a new post. :)

A little elaboration...

2008-01-28T09:09:00.001-05:00

To all my loyal readers out there, my pre- New Year post, I'll admit, was something of a tease. Sorry about that. It hinted at an unraveling of composure, very out of character for me. I have thought long and hard about whether or not to elaborate on this. I have started a couple different posts which go in one direction or the other, and what I have finally decided, is that providing a little more information is only fair.

To start, I should first say, I have come to a point in my life where I have realized I need to stop trying to make everything ok, stop trying to make Trina the constantly happy go-lucky, smile on her face, never misses a beat girl I have tried so heroically to pageant for all the world to see.

Without going into all the tricky and tearful specifics, my Christmas Eve meltdown happened because I keep the keys to my heart too deeply buried and the protective walls surrounding it far too fortified. It happened because I hardly ever allow anyone to see the bruises I hold close to my soul, the unsightly emotions of sadness and loneliness, of self-doubt, uncertainty, and confusion about who I am and what the future holds for me.

I don't share these things, not even with close friends and family. If I do happen to say something regarding areas of my life that are less than perfect, I do so in an intellectual or humorous way. I remain detached from it, because one little drop of emotion would break the flood gates and scare off a lot of people. "That Trina, she's kinda crazy huh?"

I rationalize this by telling myself it is not good to dwell- what can it possibly accomplish but to depress me. And so I have put on my happy face, made the most of what I do have in my life. I am learning however (through nights like the one I just had), that to hide half an emotional life, to smother complicated feelings because they will only make things uncomfortable for myself and those around me is equally dangerous.

Please don't read this as "Trina is miserable and really good at feeling sorry for herself" I am not miserable, far from it. And although I do occasionally feel sorry for myself, I try to work through it and move on. I really am a happy person most of the time. My cheery disposition, it's genuine, I promise. It is my nature to see the best in every situation, and in every person, to strive for continual betterment of myself and the world around me. What I am trying to say I guess, is that there are parts of my life that suck, and I am learning it is not a failure to admit that.

It is no secret that I have had my struggles in the dating arena. Perhaps "struggles" is not the way to phrase it, complete lack of interest by any "y" chromosome would be more accurate. Despite this however, I have tried really really REALLY hard, to be ok with it, because deep down, I know I am a worthwhile person. I have blamed my perpetual singledom on circumstance- the fact that I went to a college where the male female ratio was 3 guys to every 7 girls (not great odds), and in high school, I can honestly admit that I just wasn't ready to date. But in the time since college, I have held this vision of coming into my own. The people around me would magically realize I had arrived. A year has gone by and nothing. Nothing at all.

I have known my entire life that I am not a hook-up kind of girl. Not only does it have absolutely no appeal for me as a form of fun, but I am just incapable of it, even if I wanted to be that person. I feel far too deeply to randomly choose some guy to keep me entertained until I find one worth keeping. My heart is too valuable to be given so freely, and so instead, I have waited. Waited patiently. Waited hopefully. But you can only wait so long before the inevitable darkness creeps in. You begin to wonder if the damage caused by a lack of heartbreak is not more enduring than the alternative. You fear becoming damaged goods not because you have been beat up, but because you haven't, you have just sat on the shelf until your expiration date has come and gone without one person noticing.

So what's next? I suppose my next step is trying to solve this problem. I am not exactly sure how to do that, (advice would certainly be accepted in this matter). I am not asking for sympathy, this is more a chance for me to get things off my chest than anything. I suppose at some point I should allow other people to take care of me. As hard as that may be for me, it would probably help in the long run.

Oh, and PS I promise my next post won't be such a downer, I have a good story cookin' that has a pretty comical ending I think you'll enjoy :)

Recap

2007-12-29T09:41:00.000-05:00

A little post holiday recap-

Holiday parties at a friend's house and my own on the same night- an old-fashioned, beer-drinking good time. Apparently, my beer pong skills are something to be admired. (yes, I actually drink beer despite what the nae-sayers might suggest.... you know who you are).

Some last minute Christmas shopping with C-Po (my sister) at a crazed outlet mall. Though slightly battered in spirit, we managed to escape physically unscathed.

Minor, ok major emotional break down on Christmas Eve/Morning somewhere around 4 AM. Subsequent comforting by sister. More details later. Maybe.

Christmas day festivities including some really great gift exchanges, my first guitar!, hanging out with the Fam at my aunt and uncle's house, and watching a home video circa 1987 where Trina (the toddler line-backer) her new born younger sister, 5 year old older sister and two cousins get looked after by some mildly intoxicated parents while at the family camp in Massachusetts. The older kids on several occasions break into song at the request of the adults. The chosen numbers? Bar songs about Senoritas "shaking it".

And then it was back to work.

On the "Trina- future rockstar" front: I can currently play the following chords, G, D, D7, C, A, E, and E7. Not too bad for having just started. Anyone want to teach me how to strum now?

When you follow death home

2007-12-27T19:00:00.000-05:00

Today, I followed death home. Though I do not profess to be an avid follower of current events, I do my best to stay informed of the happenings outside my tiny sphere of life. As I drove to work this morning, NRP slowly drawing my mind from the groggy realms of sleep I had shortly before enjoyed, I heard it, "Pakistan's former Prime Minister, has been injured in a suicide attack. She is currently undergoing emergency surgery. Doctors have labeled her in serious condition." This woman, from my limited understanding of the political and social crisis in Pakistan, stood for democracy in a bullet-riddled, poverty-stricken country. But just days before their upcoming January 8th elections, she is gunned down and is then the victim of a suicide bomber, armed to the teeth with lead shrapnel and explosives. Unfortunately, I had to go in to work, so I couldn't hear the remainder of the story, but as I got in my car to head home tonight, having just cleared two inches of snow that had caked onto my windshield and wipers, the news hit me square in the chest, taking the breath from my lungs and bringing tears to my eyes. In tandem with the roar of my car engine, the newscaster stated, ".....after the assassination of Benazir Bhutto in today's suicide attack....." So it had happened. She had died. The woman who campaigned among the people despite the obvious danger, who stood up for what she believed in at the risk of losing her life, the woman whose own father was hung for his beliefs, had died on an operating table somewhere in Pakistan with a bullet through her neck and shrapnel piercing her body.

The image of her broken body seared into my thoughts as I drove slowly through the clean white snow gliding past my windshield. I thought of what this meant for Pakistan. Would their elections go on? Would the retaliatory violence that had swept the country in the hours after her death subside or would the current President Pervez Musharraf declare a state of emergency, again returning the country to military rule? So much hangs in the balance, and there is no clear answer. Not even a second in command exists in Benazir Bhutto's party, she was it.

All down I-87, I listened as political consultants discussed the future, the upheaval that could be just around the corner, and the United States' response to the assassination. After all, we were one of the main reasons Bhutto returned to the country in the first place after her 8 years of exile. I listened with my mind on the larger picture, the picture of countries as borders on a map, of governments as collective wholes, as citizens grouped in the thousands and tens of thousands. And then it passed me. On the right, a larger black SUV with the label "Official Military Funeral Vehicle". That car fit one. One life ended, one family with a son or daughter lost to war- humanity's most enduring failure, one soul whose time on this planet was cut short. One. Not a government, not a nation, not a regime. One. One person. It could have been Benazir. Her family had just been given the same news. I am sorry, your wife is dead. She served her country heroically.

I don't know how to stop this suffering. I don't know how to live my life in the best and happiest way I can without forgetting that in another life, in another breath, a soul is expiring because of the hate and greed and ignorance that plagues this world. I don't know how to fix any of it. All I know is that my soul aches for the anguish of war, and it aches for my inability to see a solution. Could the answer be so simple as love? Could a phrase so cliche as, "All You Need is Love" really stop the venom of war from traveling deeper into our hearts? When I ask my my own heart this question, when I pray to my God for sight, it seems so simple. Love as much and as wholly as you possibly can. Combat pain with comfort, and fear with light. Fight sadness with all the joy you can muster. I cannot stop a war by myself. I can however, create a reason to end it.

To NYC and back again

2007-12-20T13:58:00.000-05:00

in 18 hours. Yup 18 Hours. 7 of those hours were spent sleeping and 7 more driving. To say the trip was a whirlwind is something of an understatement. But it was eye opening in more ways than one. So, to set the scene of this adventure, a little background information;

First off, this trip began as me simply picking up my sister from college in NYC. Nothing too crazy. But then I got to thinking, "Wouldn't it be great for Jesyka to see the city in all its Christmas glory?" (Jeskya is my little from BB/BS) So the trip became, pick up Corrie from school, bring Jesyka with me to expose her to something entirely new and totally cool. And then, to add an element of insanity to the mix, the day I am supposed to pick up Jesyka for a sleep over at my apartment so we can leave at the crack of dawn the following morning, Corrie calls me and says she just got tickets to see the New York Pops at Carnegie Hall for the show that night at 8pm. Long story short, a phone call is made to Jesyka's mother to ok the new plan, Jes is picked up, and we haul ass down to NYC to make the show.

Apart from the sudden change in plans, everything went smoothly for the first 5 hours or so. We didn't hit traffic (thank god), no car trouble, Jes behaved on the trip, we found a parking garage (a fricken expensive parking garage, but a safe place for my car none-the-less) and we were out in front of the theater with half an hour to spare. Corrie met us at the door, tickets in hand at 7:45.

Now at this point, it seemed as though Jesyka was thrilled with how things were going. She oooed and ahhhed over the skyscrapers and the buildings lit up for Christmas. The sparkling trees reflected in her eyes the excitement only a little girl in a big city for the first time can feel. People, bundled for snow and dressed for a million Christmas parties rushed past us as we awaited Corrie's arrival in front of Carnegie Hall. And of course, in just moments she would walk through the golden doors of the theater and experience the thrills of a concert she had put on her Christmas best to attend. I had no reason to consider the fact that this might be rather overwhelming for a ten year old who has never been more than 30 miles from her house or her mother. I was even patting myself on the back a little bit for my adaptability and for not getting pulled over on the way down despite speeding almost the entire way. I was doing something great for Jesyka, exposing her to culture she has never known before, broadening her horizons, showing her all the wonderful places she can go. Man, I was a role model!

Well, I was about to get a rude awakening. We took our seats in the red velvet chairs of Carnegie Hall, the brass fixtures gleaming around us. The stage sat ready, awaiting the tuxedo-clad musicians that would soon file out and take their places. The lights dimmed, the hall went silent and the conductor burst onto the stage, his brocade jacket and sparkling velvet pants sending dancing twinkles of light onto the walls of the hall. The musicians tuned and made ready their bows and horns, and then it began. Christmas music filled the air, each note perfectly in tune, each syncopated rhythm perfectly on cue with the conductor's hands. For four songs they continued and after each song, the room erupted into thunderous applause. I looked over from time to time, and Jeskya wasn't clapping. I attributed it to her not knowing the proper response in this sort of situation. So I said she should clap. I got a half-hearted inaudible effort. Oh well.... nothing to stress over.

Another song goes by, and I begin to hear sniffling next to me. Jesyka had a cold, that must be it, her nose was just running..... a little more sniffling, a little louder. I look over to find her with big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, trying hard to cry quietly, and losing the battle. Sudden panic hits me.... she's CRYING! I feel awful at this point. What on earth could be the matter? So I asked the obvious question, "What's wrong Jes?"

"I want (sniffle) my mom (sniffle, heart-breaking lip curling into a distraught, totally out of her element, sad face.)"

Completely new to this child-crying-in-a-public-venue thing I ask, "Are you ok, do you feel sick?"

"No, I want to go home, I miss my mom"

"Sweetie we can't go home right now, we have to bring Corrie home remember. You know what we can do though, as soon as we get out, we'll call your mom and you can talk to her ok?

"Ok."

This seemed to quiet her for the moment, but another song later and the water works were up and running again, this time with a little more potency. But thank god, after the next song ended, INTERMISSION. We got up and headed for the restroom. Of course, the line was already twenty women deep. But we used this time to compose ourselves and regroup... we made a plan to call it a night at the theater and head back to Corrie's apartment, watch a little TV and go to bed. Once back in the lobby, we called Corrie to come and meet us and then put Jes on the phone with her mom. And wouldn't you know it, she said about two words to her. No tears, no, I miss you I want to come home. By now the doors to the theater were closed again, so it wasn't an option to go back in, but Jesyka was now acting fully herself, like nothing had happened. What the Heck?

So instead of being serenaded by the NY Pops, we ended up walking around the city and seeing Manhattan- the Christmas wonderland version and stopping at a bakery for a shared sticky bun. This seemed to cheer Jesyka considerably so I won't count the night as a total loss, just a reminder that despite being a fun person to hang out with on Sunday afternoons, I am not her mother. And no matter what things I try to expose her to, there will be a certain level of comfort found in the familiar. I just hope when she looks back on the trip someday, her first to NYC, she remembers Time Square at Christmas, the size of the Virgin Records store, how people raised a hand and a Taxi Cab pulled right up, the sparkling trees-bright enough to light a room, and the wonder of the big city, not how I traumatized her at Carnegie Hall. I suppose you can't win em' all.

You wanna play hardball?

2007-12-11T09:53:00.000-05:00

I am an easy going person. I rarely make waves, and I am never blatantly rude to anyone, especially those I don't know. And even to those I do know and don't like, I am not rude, to their face or behind their back. It's just how I am. So when confronted by people who have no qualms about being rude to anyone and everyone, I have a hard time understanding their motives. Maybe they are having a bad day? Nope. Having a bad day every day is really hard to do. They are just rotten, unhappy people content to spread their ill will among the masses. But every once in a while, there comes a grand opportunity to give them a taste of their own sour medicine. A "for instance" if you will, a pain in the ass, rude to me from the very first phone conversation, print rep I have been dealing with at work forced to eat her own words.

A little background; I have been working on a media buy for a client that required approval on placement, costs, and final sign off on creative. At the end of last month, I spoke with a rep (the rotten one I mentioned) about having an ad in not one, but four of their publications. Not only did she treat me like I had never spoken with a publication about ad placement before (which I have, on numerous occasions, it is my job after all) but she was a B-I-T-C-H to me every single time I spoke with her. Now I could be wrong but shouldn't people who make their living off commission-driven sales be going out of their way to sign up new advertising clients, especially ones planning multi-month runs of decently sized color ads- ie. the expensive kind? It just seems like common sense right? Apparently not. After about three rude phone calls, I finally got prices, and about a week later, sign off from the client to go with the ad and stated terms. So, I sent the ad, thinking I wouldn't have to deal with that woman again. Wishful thinking.

This morning, I received a call from my favorite rep saying the cost she gave me was inaccurate and the ads will actually be more expensive. WAIT! HOLD THE BOAT! SHE made an error? SHE gave ME the wrong cost, after trying with all her might to make me feel like an idiot? This is too good for words.

Now it was my turn to stand my ground. "Well, we already presented the costs to our client, and having to now return to them with, 'Oops' will make us look like idiots"

To which she replied, shockingly, "There is nothing I can do"

You have got to be kidding me. So I tried compromise,

"Well, could we receive a discount on future runs as compensation for the error?"

Again, shockingly, "There is nothing I can do"

So I tried, cool problem solving, well I suppose we will run color in your publication with the highest circulation, and I will send you a new black and white ad for the other three publications."

This seemed to appease her. But only minutes later, she was calling again, "That is going to be even more expensive." And she was calling me incompetent?

Now, it goes without saying, that she was entirely unapologetic for HER error throughout our entire exchange. And you know what, I got fed up. You wanna see Trina in Bitch mode, watch out, you'll quake in your boots. When you push me beyond the line of my sometimes mind-boggling patience and tolerance, there is hell to pay.

Me: "This is not how you start a new advertising contract, (at which point I took a long pause for her to realize we would not be advertising with her again). This was your mistake, and this has not been a problem for any of the other publications running this ad. Since there is nothing you can do, I suppose we will just run a black and white ad and that will be it." Many of you have never heard my voice. It is cheery and friendly 99% of the time. This time, however I used the cold-as-ice tones I learned well from my mother at times when she was standing her ground or protecting her children. And it is far more effective than any raised voice shouting match. She didn't even get a complete goodbye from me.

And wouldn't you know it, five minutes later, I got a call from our friend the ad rep. Apparently there was something she could do. We got the ad we started out with, no price increases, no black and white crap. Of course she remained very unfriendly as she came back with her tail between her legs, but you know what, I don't even care. I got what I wanted, and she got a lesson in ad sales, "Don't be a bitch."

Cleaning up. Moving on.

2007-12-09T09:02:00.000-05:00

Well, last night's stand up was not exactly what I was hoping for, but it did result in the accomplishment of an incredible feat; my bedroom is clean. And not just clean as in I put all my laundry in the hamper, but dusted, vacuumed, swept, and straightened. The frenetic pace of my life in the past month or so has witnessed the gradual decline of my borderline OCD need to keep my dwelling clean and comfortable (there are only so many hours in a day) and as a result, the dust bunnies had actually begun to breed, and you know what they say about breeding rabbits. It ain't pretty.

Finding order in the chaos has always a therapeutic thing for me. Last night I was both annoyed and hurt. I know I know, I never even met the guy, he was just a picture and a profile. Well, let's just call it the straw that broke the camel's back. But one spotless room and a stubborn "Screw you, and your seriously lame 'I'm not going to be able to make it' exit strategy. I am going out to have coffee anyway!" later, I am feeling a little more my happy-go-lucky self this morning.

So now it is on to the next thing, bringing a bit of Christmas and the outdoors into my grand apartment, and making Christmas ornaments with my Little to hang on our newly purchased indoor Evergreen.

Though I myself may be ever green, and ever thinking I can expect all people to treat me as I would them, it is a sentiment I refuse to give up, despite having felt the singe of that naive expectation on multiple occasions. I will not allow a few wankers, as Amanda so aptly christened them, to spoil my outlook on life. Instead, I'll clean. And make Christmas ornaments the likes of which you've never seen!

One sure fire way to piss me off....

2007-12-08T16:51:00.000-05:00

cancel a date only moments before I am supposed to get in my car and drive down the highway to meet you. At this point I will have changed my plans, had a friend help me out with laundry because there was no way I could have gotten it done in time to have clean clothes, and carefully chosen an outfit, done my makeup, my hair, my jewelry, and my nails, all in preparation to meet you. So sending me an IM saying you're not going to be able to make it, without even offering a reason why, not the best way to make a good impression. It doesn't help that this is not the first time this has happened, but seriously, doesn't anyone out there respect other people's time enough to give them a little more notice than 10 minutes?

Feeling Lucky

2007-11-25T21:02:00.000-05:00

I started this post right after I got back from Los Angeles, and only now do I have the time to finish it, such has been the state of my Trinabags making frenzy. But though slightly delayed, the sentiment is fully the same:)

I am severely jet lagged, I can't really hear out of one ear at the moment because airline travel and colds don't mix, and the rapid change in climate from east coast to west and back again has caused my eczema to rear its ugly head and take my right hand hostage. But to tell you the truth, I couldn't feel better. I just spent 5 days in Los Angeles with people who love me and I love them. These people are more commonly referred to as my family and include my Momma, sisters Haley and Corrie, and Haley's boyfriend Thomas.

The trip itself was a ton of fun; cut to scenes of my family and I on horseback, leisurely trotting along the hillsides and ravines of Griffith Park, the hazy LA sun high in the sky, and the city landscape sprawling out between the hills and valleys before us; cut from scenes of the park to Haley's kitchen and living room, where the scents of a meat eater's and vegetarian's dream thanksgiving meal cooked by a real CIA trained chef, waft between the good vibes of a happy family, completely content to share in the happiness that is being in the same room; cut again, to me being able to hug my mom and laugh with my sisters in real time without delays of telephones and inhuman instant messaging; and cut finally, to our bittersweet and somewhat tearful goodbyes as we all head toward our own 757 coach class flights, sad to be leaving one another, and yet so glad we had this time together.

Though I am not a particularly big fan of the American food-centric, stuff yourself until you feel as though you may burst, Thanksgiving concept, when it brings me to my family, and it makes me as happy as I am to have a family it hurts my heart to leave, I think I can tolerate a little bit of gorging. For how blessed I am, I have few words. Words could hardly do justice to this feeling in my chest, of a heart beating because it knows love, and for that, I could not wish or dream for a more complete life.

Not so different after all

2007-11-14T12:25:00.000-05:00

And this is a post I started a week before Thanksgiving. You think I have been busy or something.....

Men are from Mars, women are from Venus. Yeah, right.

This has long been an irksome phrase for me, mostly because I think it is a load of crap. Sure there are some differences between men and women, but on a core level, we are the same. No one wants to feel unloved and isolated. We all want to be important in some way, to another person, in a company, in a family. The idea that men and women are so far apart emotionally and intellectually that we require separate planets for our existence is frankly, absurd. Don't get me wrong, I know men and women are not carbon copies of each other, we process information differently, we sometimes communicate in ways the other doesn't understand, but where our biggest differences lie, so too lies our greatest asset, the ability to compliment one another.

This idea of separate spheres of life (hehe, get it, planet, sphere, ok, bad joke. moving on.)is particularly prevalent phenomenon in Christian circles. Men and women are constantly divided; men's breakfast, women's luncheon, separate bible study groups, separate retreats, separate sermons. And then people wonder why men and women don't understand one another! I am no relationship expert or anything, but it seems to me if you have spent your entire young adult life being told how different you are and had that message doubly reinforced by constant separation of the sexes, it seems reasonable that you would be a little bit unprepared for something as intimate as romance. So then to explain this seemingly huge rift, "doctors" write books about men and women being from separate planets, further reinforcing the idea that men and women are alien creatures.

Instead of focusing on how different we are, why not focus on how we are the same? Wouldn't that make our differences seem less insurmountable? Men, you have emotions too, go ahead show 'em, cry if you want. I won't call you a sissy. And you over there, the woman trying to make yourself smaller because strong assertive women will never land a man, SPEAK UP! God gave you a brain for more than just filling up your skull cavity. Focusing on differences only separates people. It's high time we start realising people are people are people, and more similar than we may want to admit. So when we don't understand one another, just ask. I think a lot of people would answer.

When geese fly.

2007-11-12T19:50:00.000-05:00

Fall is in the air. It came a little late this year, creeping in with isolated days of frost, squeezed between the last warm rays of Indian Summer. But now leaves lay in thick heaping piles over the gardens in my neighbor's yard, where they will stay, protecting her annuals from jack frost's bite until spring thaw. Gloves are donned on each trip between house and car and my favorite hat now resides a top my head as I head into work each morning, leaving its telltale ridged line across my forehead.

Fall is magical for me, in a way no other season is. The smell of wood fire on the air, the crisp bite of a blustery day on my nose and cheeks leaving kisses of pink in place of summers fading freckles. I listen to Van Morrison singing of an October Moondance, and wait for the day when I will spin in someone's arms to that song.

Things become quieter in autumn, the muffled laughter of children seeps from under doorways and through warmly lit windows instead of in sunshine bursts of sprinkler induced screams. Bundled people softly make their way from here to there, the coldness not yet so harsh to keep them inside. And there are the geese.

I walked out my door Saturday morning to a chorus of Canadian flyers, their wings beating against the clear blue sky. My eyes found them 500 strong at least, and arranged in south-facing arrows. Cluster after pointed cluster pushed past the ridge of my house. I could hardly believe their numbers, and the calling sounds from one goose to the next, echoed off the houses and down my car-lined street. I must have stood there for a full five minutes, shivering in a t-shirt with my laundry bag slung over one shoulder. It was captivating. I watched until only the stragglers were left. As they too finally passed, their calls faded into the distance, and I walked around the corner to the laundry house, once again, marvelling at a beauty no human could create.

The Things I Found

2007-11-11T19:15:00.000-05:00

As my earlier posts demonstrate, there has been a little more action than usual in my romantic arena. Though all of that is very exciting, and I am thrilled not to be wallowing in my singleness, I found something I didn't realize I had, and it has impacted me far more greatly than any first date could have. I discovered I have a cheering section. And it is packed with fans. There are times in life when people rally around you, supporting you, encouraging you, uplifting your heart, this was one of those times. I had so many people cheering me on, shouting "You GO Girl!" I hardly knew what to do with myself, such was the joy and love I felt. Who knew so many cared? Because I don't know what else to say but thank you, and the feeling is mutual, "Thank you, the feeling is mutual." You guys rock my socks off :)

Update

2007-11-11T18:22:00.000-05:00

Because it is in high demand, an update!

SO, we met for coffee. The sky did not fall, I did not make a fool of myself (well, I don't think I did anyway, you'd better ask him for a real account) and the conversation was pretty good. I am not going to lie, I was not blown away with attraction- my knees did not immediately fail to support my upper body, but he was nice, reasonably attractive, and well spoken. Plus, he paid for my tea :).

Overall, I think the night went pretty well. I was a nervous wreck heading into the date. My roommate's younger sister, who has down syndrome, was over for the night so it was a good distraction to hang out with them for a while, discussing the modern marvel that is Hannah Montana. The cool night air on my cheeks as I walked downtown also helped, I was feeling over heated. He was already inside the coffee shop when I got there, and we exchanged a half hug of sorts. That is the odd thing about internet dating. You go into first meetings with more information about the other person than you usually start off with, which can give you a false sense of understanding. Luckily, the half hug seemed the appropriate greeting at the time.

He looked different than I expected. But then again, I was going off a few pictures I saw of him about a month ago, so I had time to turn him into god's gift to women (aka, god's "it's about time so he better be fricken hot" gift to Trina). He was indeed tall, but less superman, more long and lanky. As I said though, reasonably attractive. We got our beverages, and found a table with only mildly uncomfortable conversation along the way. Once we sat down, we found conversation came without too much trouble. The topics were not all that personal. We talked about a range of subjects as they came up, a bit about our families, about our jobs, oddly enough about the sub-prime real estate dilemma (I know, that sounds beyond lame... "so Trina, what did you talk about on your date?!" "Home foreclosure", totally lame). Despite that one questionable topic, however the conversation flowed well.

We stayed about an hour and half, and had things to say to each other just about the whole time, therefore making my fear of running out of topics an unfounded concern. Based on how things went, I will certainly go out with him again if he's interested. Since meeting on Friday, we have spoken briefly via instant messenger. He initiated the conversation, so I am fairly certain I did not appear a marsh creature, and we discussed meeting again, but no plans have been set. I asked him to coffee, so it's his turn to come up with a plan. And that my friends is the update. If anything more exciting happens, I will be sure to inform my loyal readers :)

Now I will leave you with some comical advice I received from my family before this momentous event;

Corrie (younger sister): Hey, even if you don't like him, he's good practice. Just pretend you're talking to me, but you know, with out me being your sister, and without you wanting to make out with me. Ok, don't pretend you're talking to me. Just be yourself.

Haley (older sister): Don't get pregnant.

hahahaha.

A little excitement!

2007-11-08T13:13:00.000-05:00

So I maybe, kinda, sorta have a date tomorrow. I mentioned in an earlier post that I recently reentered the land of online dating and as it happens, I have been talking to this guy from match.com for a couple of weeks now via instant messenger. Based on our conversations, he seems an engaging and interesting person that I have quite a bit in common with. Though we have tried to connect a couple of times on the phone, we haven't been able to accomplish anything more than voice mails on either end. Personally, I am glad for this. I hate talking on the phone. But the absence of a phone conversation does put a little more pressure on the first face to face meeting, which it's looking as though may happen tomorrow. I am nervous about this on a number of levels.

1. What if we exhausted the topics usually covered in first dates via our online conversations? This could lead to some awkward bumbling on both our parts to find appropriate things to talk about.

2. What if I am not what he was expecting, and he is disappointed.

3. What if he is not what I was expecting and I am disappointed.

4. What if he is what I was expecting, and I find that I like him, and then proceed to sound like an idiot because I have never been very good at talking to men I am interested in.

5. What if things go great, we have lots to talk about, and the end of the meeting comes, and then what, handshake? Hug? Kiss? There are no rules for first time meetings of online couples...

6. What if he is a creep and I have to make a fast get-away.

This list could go on and on, but I won't bore you with my insecurities. Long story short, I am both nervous and excited about my maybe date. I am trying very hard to take it one step at a time and not freak out by reminding myself that I have on many occasions, managed my way through socially stressful situations without coming across as a crazy person, and that I myself, am an engaging and intelligent human being capable of carrying on conversations with people I have never met. The fact that he is 6'4" (swoon), cute (more swooning), and interested in me (this never happens), certainly adds a level of anxiety to the mix, but all I can do at this point is meet the guy, and see where is goes.

So tomorrow, if he calls like he said he would, if we meet for coffee as discussed, and I go on my first match.com maybe sorta date, I will try to be myself, and converse like a normal human being. I can't say I will play fairly, however. I intend to wear my hair down. :)

Simple Things

2007-11-04T19:29:00.000-05:00

I am coming to the realization that joy in life is not a complicated venture. It doesn't require elaborate schemes and plans. Sometimes the simplest of activities can be all you need to realize happiness is all around you.

A case and point example:

Today I had a meeting with my Little from Big Brothers, Big Sisters, Jesyka. Usually I have some sort of plan for when we meet, maybe a hike or setting up a fish tank. Just something we can do together that doesn't cost a lot of money that an 10 year old would enjoy. Today however, I did not have an activity planned. I had friends in town for the weekend and didn't really have time to brainstorm. But I figured we would find something to do for a couple of hours. So I picked her up, and we hit the road.

At first we took a walk along the Hudson, taking turns to see how far we could throw sticks into the slowly flowing river. After a little while, we both became bored of that and headed back to the car.

We ended up at my old elementary school. It brought back a flood of memories; the feeling of wind on my face as I flew through the air on swings, straining and reaching my toes as far as they could stretch to touch the branches of the enormous pine trees, dangling from monkey bars, running across the kickball field. My childhood was so tangible I could almost hear the playground screams and feel the sharp contact of a red rubber ball on my LA Lights sneakers. For one whole hour, I forgot that I was an adult and did just what the rush of childhood inhibition beckoned. I ran from one piece of playground equipment to next because running is more fun than walking, when Jes and I played bank with an imaginary drive up window, I used all the different accents and dialects I could come up with, and made noises of buttons beeping, money counting, change drawers closing. We took turns being teller and customer and quit only when it got too dark to continue. For one hour, I was a kid again. And as we walked back to the car, happy and smiling with cold-kissed pink cheeks, Jes turned to me and asked, "Can we play again next week?"

Absolutely.

Catch Up!

2007-11-02T21:55:00.000-04:00

I am alive. I did not vanish into a black hole. I did not move to Siberia. I know I have been woefully remiss in posting of late, but I am going to remedy that right now.

So, where to begin. How about with how busy I have been lately. I recently changed my work schedule from five days a week, to Monday-Thursday, with Fridays off for Trinabag ventures, a second job, or whatever else I can throw in there. You'd think having that extra day off would make my life more relaxing, that I would be able to enjoy three days of "do what I please" freedom. In fact, I am busier now than I was before.

Part of the reason is that Trinabags has had some BIG developments lately and so bag making/designing has gone into high gear. I got a fantastic contact at a high end department store in NYC (which will remain nameless for fear of jinxing it) about a month ago and now I am trying to get my ducks in a row so I can use this fabulous contact to pitch my bags. What this means is a new website, a designer bag line, and production, production, production. As a rookie entrepreneur, I know very little about making a pitch to any store, let alone a department store. But one thing I do know is that I have to look the part. So I have been working really hard on a couple of new high end bags. They look pretty cool, but they take FOREVER to make and have been sucking my time away a la the suction cup "Machine" from The Princess Bride.

The excitement over where Trinabags is headed however, is far outweighing the fatigue of the new workload. I have visions of business success dancing like gumdrops through my head, and the possibility of Trinabags actually going somewhere beyond my sewing table is like drinking a few cups of high-test coffee and keeps me going into the night.

As far as the website goes, I have a new friend who is pretty swell, and she has agreed to accept bags as payment for designing my website. Good deal, right? :) This is not to say I am friends with her because she is a great web designer (which she is), but because she is in fact a kindred spirit who, in a short time has become a good friend. Any one who can travel to the camp of someone they hardly know, in Massachusetts, while suffering from a severe cold, only to stay in a house with no heat beyond the fireplace, is definitely someone worth knowing :) She is doing a great job on the site and I am so excited to see the final product. We are shooting for a live date at the end of the year, so get ready!

In other news, I have also reentered the world of Internet dating. Do not mistake this for paying for Internet dating. I am one of millions who "cleverly" includes contact information in my profile for people to find and respond to. My system is this, include my Instant Messenger screen name, and then "wink" at men whose profiles interest me. If they are smart enough to pass the "how do I get in touch with her" test, they are at least worthy of a conversation. I have talked to a couple of guys so far, and even though it is an odd concept, chatting like it is no big deal that I have never actually seen your face before, I have talked to some cool people. One in particular seems worth getting to know better. He has my phone number now and we have tried to touch base that way a few times, but keep having to leave messages. Hmmmm.... I would almost rather skip the phone step all together. I find talking on the phone very awkward. I have trouble talking to my sisters on the phone let alone some man I have never met before, and then I am supposed to engage in flirtatious conversation like it's no big deal. Eh, not so much. But I'll keep you posted on any new developments in that arena when and if things progress from keyboard to keyboard, to face to face. :)

Just as a quick aside, I am very glad that it feels like 10:30 AM right now, and that I am well rested from a full night's sleep, when in fact it is only 9:30 and I have a whole additional hour to use today. Ah, daylight savings time, it is a beautiful thing. Happy Sunday!

I need some help

2007-10-17T15:26:00.000-04:00

What's worse, regret for the things you've done. Or for the things you haven't?

I can feel mine building, regrets for things I have never done. But while I feel the mounting ache, I have no idea how to remedy the problem. Thoughts?

Separate but equal...

2007-10-11T22:41:00.000-04:00

Despite the need for a, "What's Going on in Trina's life" post...(that will come later, I promise), I am instead going to comment on a phenomenon I struggle to understand. Twice in the last week I have been confronted with it, and I can no longer stand idly by, muttering under my breath but not asking out loud the question so many of us ignore.

Just as a minor disclaimer, this post is in no way meant to offend. It is an honest question, and born out of a desire to understand.

So now that I have put everybody on edge with the title of this post and the above disclaimer which pretty much states that I am going to talk about the giant elephant in the room, I will start with a little bit of background.

I am a white, middle class female, born into a white middle class family in a predominantly white, middle class town. Apart from being female (and my red hair growing up), there is nothing about me that would solicit prejudice or blatant disrespect. And for the most part, the occasions on which I felt looked down upon for being a girl have been few and far between.

Racism, and all its ugly layers, has never been something I have experienced up close. And I hardly understand how it could even be a factor. People are people, with feelings, strengths, weaknesses, ten finger, ten toes- the color of skin or the shape of a nose or an eye are no more telling signs of somebody’s character than whether or not blood flows through their veins. And we have as little control over it. I didn't plan on being born white, just like I didn't sit in my mother's uterus and think, "You know, I think I'd like freckles, and maybe some broad shoulders, and while we're doing the baby building thing here, how about a set of big muscular thighs that are impossible to buy jeans for." I can't help how I came into this world anymore than any other person born of a man and woman (and for the record, that's everyone) So why is it an issue?

Anyway, back to the elephant.... So I was watching a movie the other night, and it was a terrible movie, so terrible in fact that I couldn't tear my eyes away from it, such was the glory of the awkward sentences and forced-emotion (which isn't to say the movie lacked all merit- there were some good morals thrown in there, a few funny moments, personal struggles were overcome). But there was one scene in the middle that stood out to me as problematic. A man and woman were on their first date; she was hurt pretty badly by her first husband, he was the proverbial "knight in shining armor". They were doing the whole getting to know you thing (and for cinematic effect, we were graced with the "in her head" voice over narration- pretty awesome, let me tell you). Amidst talking and looking bashfully at one another, she catches him eyeing her, and says something to the effect of "What are you looking at?" and he responds, "I am looking at a beautiful black woman...." yada yada. I didn't listen to the rest of what he had to say, I was still caught up on the beautiful black woman part. There was nothing wrong with what he said really, he was being complimentary and kind, but it was the additional adjective in the middle.

I don't know how to say this without sounding evil and judgmental, but it bothered me that he put the "black" qualifier into it. Why couldn't she just be a beautiful woman? Never have I heard a man say "I am looking at a beautiful white woman," or "I am looking at a beautiful Asian woman." In the black community it is a celebrated identifier, added as a necessary part of the equation whenever discussions of quality, in any realm, are held. In Jerry Maguire, when Rod Tidwell is given a crappy contract, his wife turns to him and says (I'm paraphrasing here) "you are a strong, surviving, splendid, black man" I know these are both somewhat skewed examples as they are from movies and not reality, but they illustrate my point.

I can see where the need to add the qualifier would come from, as a population oppressed for hundreds of years and made to feel unworthy and devoid of value, to turn the tables and place emphasis on the perceived "short coming" and to turn it instead into a source of pride seems a natural reaction. But at this point, is it making the problem worse? By separating yourself with such a marked identifier, are you continuing to allow the color of your skin to define you as a human being? Yes, your skin is black, but you are also a sister, a brother, a friend, a lover, a husband, wife, writer, artist, doctor, business owner, closet harpsichord player... whatever you are, you are so much more than your epidermis.

But then we come to the idea of celebrating yourself for who you are and where you come from. Who am I to say you shouldn't take pride in your heritage and the color of your skin? You should! You should love your being in its entirety. You should be proud of where you come from and who your family is. You should be proud of yourself for the struggles you have overcome, the accomplishments you have made, and the successes you have had, just as everyone else has the right to. I come from a skin color I am not defined by, so I have no idea what it would be to negotiate those two opposing forces; wanting to break free from the singular definition, but not wanting to lose something so integral to your being. But it is not your whole being, just as my red hair is not my whole being; a part of it certainly, a part I love in fact, but not the whole story.

So I guess I just want to hear what people think. Am I being inappropriate to wonder about this- and to think it is part of the problem? Just to be clear, I don't think this is purely about black/white. That is the example I gave because it was one I was confronted with recently, but it applies to all kinds of prejudice based on ridiculous things like skin color. How can we as human beings break free from this cycle. How can I change to help propel change? Must I stand idly by as the world continues to choose oppressor and oppressed from one generation to the next? In short, how do we fix this?

Shame Shame Shame

2007-10-11T13:32:00.001-04:00

I am woefully behind in my blog posts. Happily, it is because I have been so ridiculously busy these last few weeks, that I have barely had time to breathe let alone post. So basically this is just a placeholder post until I can finish my "real" post... hopefully this weekend. Please don't leave me forever! I will post again soon! But for now... check out some of my new work! Or you can always become a groupie for my new band, "Trina and the Tramps" That works too. :)

A blogger indeed

2007-09-18T16:36:00.000-04:00

Well, I know this may sound lame, but I just thought I would make an official blog entry about reaching over 1000 hits. I know most of these are probably accidents, group searches from the likes of China and Mongolia, and then the random google searches by people looking for something totally different and ending up here. But I hope that at least a few of you ended up here, sharing in my discourse, intentionally. I know my rantings tend toward the sentimental and (for lack of a better word) dorky, but they are as much an exercise in writing as an effort to keep tabs on myself.

The blogging drama that is "Why do people blog" has kept me wondering why I blog. I don't particularly care if people sum it up to a narcissistic regurgitation of my innermost thoughts which all the world must be dying to hear. I don't do it for that reason. I do it because I love to write. Capturing moments of my life in snippets of words and the occasional dose of wisdom continually reminds me that though I am not perfect, I really do try to better myself, and the world I am a part of. I have really enjoyed finding myself in these cyber-posts. If people want to call it a public diary, go for it. I am not offended.

So hear is to my first 1000 hits, and all three of my loyal readers :) Now out into the sunshine of this glorious Adirondack autumn. I see a wool blanket, Jane Eyre, and a city park in my future. And I'll just put a wish out there for a dashing young man, interested in redheaded women who read books in parks on Tuesday afternoons, to meander my way. (cough, cough, preferably with dangerously handsome features, quiet confidence, and a stature taller than my 69 inches, cough)

Happy Tuesday :)

Touch

2007-09-14T12:16:00.000-04:00

For some reason, I have been thinking a lot about touch, and how necessary it is. It is a less tangible need than say the need for food and water, shelter, or warmth, but it is no less essential. When you think about it, we seek out human contact all the time, whether in healthy or unhealthy ways. Some of the better contacts, hugging friends, making love, cradling babies, holding hands, playing with someone's hair, tickling. And then there are the middle of the road contacts, bumping and grinding at a dance club, standing nearer someone on the subway than is really necessary or comfortable for the other person. And finally, scary contacts, forced sex, abuse, sex for money. People are so desperate for human contact, they are willing to degrade others, and be degraded for it.

Most people find healthy ways to fill the need, they turn to family and friends for hugs and comfort, to significant others to be held, to children they care for to hold. It becomes dangerous when people aren't taught how to fill their touch quota, and then turn to sad and scary ways of compensating.

I don't say this to evoke dark or depressing thoughts, but just as a note of something that has been on my mind a lot recently. This is partly because I have been feeling deficient in human contact and rather alone of late. I am not in a relationship, so no one is holding me in a loving embrace, most of my friends are far away, so I am receiving fewer hugs than I would prefer, my dad lives locally, but other than that, my family is far away, so I have no sisters or mom to rub my head and play with my hair, no one to lay with on the couch. It is one of those things that can easily get away from you until something happens to open your eyes to it. You don't always notice why you are feeling alone and solitary, separated from the communal human existence. If someone were to just come up to me right now and hug me, I would probably struggle to hold back tears of loneliness.

The eye opener for me happened the other day while I was watching a few of my favorite babies, Sean and Amanda's two little girls, A and B (not to be confused with model "A" and model "B", but rather as the first initial of their names- who knows though, perhaps Sean and Amanda planned it that way so that when the girls are running around the house like crazy people someday, and the inevitable forgetting of their childrens' names occurs, they can just shout out "Model A! Would you please stop chasing your sister with that glob of mud in your hand!").

Anyway, we were laughing and having a good time, dancing to the radio, building forts, spinning in chairs, you know, all those good things toddlers like to do. At one point I was holding their younger daughter who is about 1.5 years old, and out of nowhere, she put her little mouth up against my cheek in an open mouth, slobber all over your face kiss, and then rested her little head on my shoulder and just stayed there for a few seconds before looking up at me smiling and then crawling back toward the mess of couch pillows and blankets that had at one time been a fort. I think tears may have actually come to my eyes in that moment. I don't know if she sensed it in a way that only small children can, just how much I needed that touch, but I left the house as dusk was settling in, with my soul a little bit restored.

The American Extreme

2007-09-13T08:45:00.000-04:00

There are moments in life, when my ever-present internal dialogue gets a reality check. For the most part, deep down in the soul of Trina, I know myself to be a well adjusted human being. That said however, I am also my own worst critic. I fixate on my flaws and I have trouble letting go of even the smallest of errors. Sometimes it seems my mind is determined to find the worst in me, and then convince myself that how I perceive myself in my head, is also how the rest of the world sees me. Ever so often though, by the grace of God and all that is good in this world, I see with clarity the fact that all things considered, good and bad, I am pretty happy, healthy and grounded human being. One such moment happened the other night while standing in line at the grocery store. Unfortunately, this revelation revolved around one of the saddest aspects of American cultural extremes, obesity and anorexia. Let me rewind a little to included all that transpired leading up to the grocery line.

Since I graduated college, I have tried to make regular exercise a part of my life. In high school I relied on sports teams for this, but during college I got away from any sort of exercise routine as a result of crazy class schedules, multiple on-campus jobs, and an overloaded extracurricular calendar. So in the year and a half since graduation, I have put forth considerable effort to make it to the gym 3-5 times a week. This last month however, was a whirlwind and my gym time shrank to about 1 day a week. Susceptible as I am for beating myself up over this, I had "seen" (otherwise stated as imagined) the fat bulging off my body in new and unwanted places. Determined to get back on the wagon, I put aside all the reasons I didn't have time for the gym on Tuesday night, and hopped on a eliptical for 30 minutes of cardio.

Though the eliptical is a great workout, it is not exactly the height of excitement. In fact, it can be downright boring. So to stave off a lack luster performance due to mind numbing boredom, I often read trashy magazines to entertain myself. Tuesday night was no different, I grabbed an US Weekly and began pedaling away.

The last time I read this magazine, there was a section in the back called "Celebrity Weight Watch". It basically plastered pictures of famous women on the page and said whether they had gained or lost weight. I was rather disgusted at the time, but forgot about it and went on with my workout, figuring it was just a one time thing. Well, it wasn't. I was reading the same publication on Tuesday night, and what did I find but "Celebrity Weight Watch". Not only are they tracking the weight of these women, but they are also placing judgment on them based on their weight gain or loss. It is pretty sick. I made up my mind right there to stop reading that magazine, and those kind of magazines in general. Though they can sometimes be entertaining and have interesting fashion advice, they melt your brain, and destroy the confidence of women across the country.

After I closed the magazine, seething, I finished my workout, and was feeling pretty good. I have written about this before on here, but I love exercise. It makes me feel great on so many levels. Sometimes it is hard to get to the gym, but once I am there, I rarely, if ever regret it.

Anyway, on the way home, I had to stop at the grocery to get some items for a dinner party my roommate and I were having. Granted, the items that filled my basket were pretty crappy, bittersweet chocolate, heavy cream, and other rarely bought items, but they were for a special occasion so I didn't worry about it.

I got up to the check out, ready to pay for my stuff, and couldn't help but notice the plethora of crap magazines, placed in a location designed for standing and waiting. On the cover of every single magazine, a woman was either being accused of anorexia, due to the veins jutting out from under her barely existent skin which clung desperately to her bony frame, or accused her of slovenly behavior which resulted in "weight gain" otherwise known as actually reaching a normal, healthy size.

Then I looked up from the grotesque images of starved starlets accosting my eyes, and noticed the people around me at the check out counter. Every single one, and I do mean every one, was morbidly obese. Not 15 or 20 extra pounds, but 50, 100, 150 pounds overweight. The person behind me, in front of me, in the aisle next to me, the cashier, every single one was heavy to the point of leaning on their carts because their legs couldn't support the weight they were being forced to hold for the length of time it took to buy groceries.

As I bent over to place my basket on top of the stack below the counter, I noticed my own legs, a lifelong source of dissatisfaction for me. I have never been so glad to see their healthy shape, the strong muscles in my calf and thigh, the normal way they attached to my hip and pelvis, without jutting bones, or protruding mounds of fat. I realized how lucky I was to have a healthy body.

I looked next at the carts around me, loaded with with coke, hot dogs, bleached white bread, chips a hoy, fritos, cheese in a can, beer, and I realized how poorly these people were feeding themselves, despite their size. At once I was confronted with malnutrition on both ends of the spectrum; the young women (and men for that matter) who starve themselves to attain an unrealistic physical ideal, and the people who fill their bodies with calories and sugar and fat, but no vitamins and minerals or fiber. And yet these same people feel bad about themselves because they too cannot meet the prescribed physical ideal. And what is worse is that many of them have no idea how to fix their problem and so continue to buy crap.

In that moment I never loved my mom more for her "granola" tendencies. For her insistence on carrot sticks in our lunch, milk at dinner, no soda except for special occasions, and if we had a treat like Dunkin' Donuts (which happened once in a blue moon) we were forced to eat a piece of fruit first. And fast food, well that only happened on the rarest of occasions.

The American cultural landscape has become a wasteland of extremes, extreme wealth or extreme poverty, extreme political ideologies, blantant hate or over the top political correctness, self inflicted starvation or obesity. What has happened to moderation? Why must everything fall so far to one side or the other? When did middle of the road beliefs and lifestyles become synonymous with waffling- "Just choose a side already" accusations? I for one, will happily stay in the middle. I don't want my collarbone to protrude an inch from my neck, nor do I want pockets of fat on my body so large there are names invented for them. I don't want to be a crazy leftist liberal or an ultra conservative righter, I don't want to drip with diamonds, or celebrate my poverty and ignorance. I will happily stay moderate, in lifestyle, in food consumption, in political beliefs, and in the amount I allow my inner voice to beat me up.

I can't help that I'm young, but I choose to be liberal.

2007-09-05T11:56:00.000-04:00

When did looking out for the other guy become a bad thing? When did protecting the earth from longterm, irreparable damage become a leftist political agenda? When did idealism and hope for a better world become cause for contempt and condemnation?

There are not too many things that get me riled. For the most part I am a moderate person, content to keep the peace and agree to disagree on certain issues. But there are a few things that I cannot help but react to. One of those things is being made to feel as though my opinion is less valid because I am young (or because I am a girl, that one pisses me off too). I cannot help that I young. I cannot help that I have limited experience of the world when compared to someone my parents or grandparents age. That does not mean however, that my opinions are not carefully weighed and decided on after first making an effort to see all sides. So I am idealistic, so what? Does that make me stupid or easily duped? Does that make what I have to say less important? No. In fact, the last time I checked, many people my parents age long for their youth, and the optimism that comes with it.

When people look down their noses at me and say, "Just wait, you'll change your mind." it makes me want to scream. Maybe I will maybe I won't! Maybe because you are old and jaded, everything you see, touch and feel is poisoned with cynicism. Maybe you are so caught in your ways and unwilling to see things from a different perspective that anything even remotely different is "wrong".

Don't you remember when you were my age, you couldn't help being 23 either. And you became incensed when your parents would say... "Just wait Johnny, you'll see, you'll change your mind." Didn't you just want to throttle them?! And now here you are, doing the same thing. It is ok to learn from experience, to gain wisdom with your years, to change your mind about things as you experience more of the world, but that doesn't mean you didn't have important things to say when you were young.

It is the young that rattle the cages of age and tradition for tradition's sake. It was the young that marched to stop the Vietnam war and "give peace a chance" It was the young that fought tooth and nail for civil rights and the desegregation of schools. And you're going to tell me that my liberal, save the earth, everyone should have health care, the rich shouldn't be getting special tax breaks, ideas are less valid simply because they come the mouth of someone who isn't 55+? Well pardon my language, but fuck that.

Ok, now that you know where I stand on this particular issue, there is a point to my rant. I got an email from my dad today, you'll see it below, and I could not stop myself from responding. I may have sounded like a crazy lady, but honestly , I couldn't help myself. So for your reading pleasure, I now give you Trina on one of her more potent varieties of "She's real pissed" crack. Enjoy!

The email:

Subject: Father and Daughter Talk

A young woman was about to finish her first year of college. Like
so many others her age, she considered herself to be a very liberal
Democrat, and among other liberal ideals, was very much in favor of higher taxes to support more government programs, in other words, redistribution of wealth.

She was deeply ashamed that her father was a rather staunch
Republican, a feeling she openly expressed. Based on the lectures that she had participated in, and the occasional chat with a professor, she felt
that her father had for years harbored an evil, selfish desire to keep what he thought should be his.

One day she was challenging her father on his opposition to higher
taxes on the rich and the need for more government programs. The
self-professed objectivity proclaimed by her professors had to be the truth and
she indicated so to her father. He responded by asking how she was doing in school.

Taken aback, she answered rather haughtily that she had a 4.0 GPA,
and let him know that it was tough to maintain, insisting that she was taking a very difficult course load and was constantly studying, which left her no time to go out and party like other people she knew. She didn't even have time for a boyfriend, and didn't really have many college friends because she spent all her time studying.

Her father listened then asked, "How is your friend Audrey doing?"

She replied, "Audrey is barely getting by. All she takes are easy
classes, she never studies, and she barely has a 2.0 GPA. She is so popular
on campus; college for her is a blast. She's always invited to all the
parties, and lots of times she doesn't even sh ow up for classes because she's too hung over."

Her father asked her, "Why don't you go to the Dean's office and ask him to deduct a 1.0 off your GPA and give it to your friend Audrey, who only has a 2.0. That way you will both have a 3.0 GPA and certainly
that would be a fair and equal distribution of GPA."

The daughter, visibly shocked by her father's suggestion, angrily fired back, "That's a crazy idea. How would that be fair? I've worked really hard for my grades! I've invested a lot of time, and a lot of hard work. Audrey has done next to nothing toward her degree. She played while I worked my tail off!"

The father slowly smiled, winked and said gently, "Welcome to the Republican Party."

My dad wrote at the top of this forward:

"hmmmmmm I wonder......................"

To which I replied to all:

To the fathers that sent this to their democrat daughters with smirks on their faces and the thought of "a little reality check will do them good" running through their heads:

I knowingly and willingly fall prey to your email with the obvious intent of getting a rise out of me.... and I will reply in kind. :)

Though I know you would love for me to scoot on over to the "other side" what the father forgets to mention, and the daughter forgets to retort, is that unlike working hard for good grades, hard work in the job world does not equate to higher pay. A single mom working three jobs at minimum wage, I would venture to say, works at jobs more physically taxing and often more emotionally degrading than say a doctor, lawyer, stockbroker or CEO, and still makes probably less than a 1/4 of their income. She is still barely able to fill the mouths of her three kids, make rent, and keep the heat on. Her situation is not something easily changed. She probably grew up in a family similar to the one she has herself, with no parents around because they worked long hours out of necessity, there might even have been drug abuse and domestic violence in her immediate environment. She saw her older sister, her best friend and her cousin pregnant by 17, and the idea of college was never mentioned, let alone considered because when you have mouths to feed, a college education, even at a community college, is out of the question. Though poverty at times is a choice made by those who don't want to work, it is more often a vicious cycle of circumstances and environments people grow up in, a lack of education, and a minimum wage that doesn't even come close to a living wage.

I don't think the rich should be taxed more than everyone else, they should be taxed equally. If you make more, you pay more, that is just how the math works. The rich shouldn't be getting special tax breaks to keep their already inflated bank rolls even fatter. That is called greed. There is a limit to the number of cars you should have parked in your driveway and the number of $300 pairs of jeans hanging in your closet. Those are not needs. Maybe a few rides should be taken in those $65,000 cars to the other side of the tracks where more than 1/2 of Americans live, to find out what real needs are. Donating $100 at Christmas cannot be the only "make myself feel better for my excessive lifestyle" donation that is made. It's like like Mr. Smith says in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, "I wouldn't give you two cents for all your fancy rules if behind them they didn't have a bit of plain, ordinary, everyday kindness--and a little looking out for the other fella too." Poverty isn't a sin, doing nothing about it, is.

Tell me I am too serious and too liberal, too left, too hard on the rich, too democrat. But for the record, I would vote for a Republican if he/she were the better candidate. It's just that the republican party on the whole has turned into a something of a greed machine. And that is not to say the democrats are much better. If you ask me, democracy has become less about the people it claims to represent and more about the agendas (pockets) of the people in power, so they can keep their power, get more power, and pass on the power to the few they deem deserving of it (aka, their friends). Oh, and most of these people are not actually people, they go by the names of Corporations and the three or four parent companies that own the whole lot of them. Isn't it great to know that the ones in charge of whether or not Betty gets her cancer medication are the same "people" (insurance companies) that would rather not give it to her because it means they can save a few bucks. I know I am comforted by that. But that is just a young whipper snappers naive and inexperienced opinion. I guess I should leave the real politics to some stodgy old white men who haven't done their own laundry in... oh right, ever. Cheers :)

And that was that!

This is lovely...

2007-08-31T14:49:00.000-04:00

Because of you,
in gardens of blossoming flowers
I ache for the perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face,
I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you,
I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice;
I have forgotten your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume,
I am bound to my vague memory of you.
I live with pain that is like a wound;
if you touch me, you will do me irreparable harm.

Your caresses enfold me,
like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love,
yet I seem to glimpse you in every window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me;
because of you, I again seek out the sights that precipitate desires:
shooting stars, falling objects.

~Pablo Neruda

Friends Heal the Soul

2007-08-30T16:49:00.000-04:00

OK... can I have some chicken soup now?

no really, they do. A friend reached out to me today with a heartache, and in the process of being her shoulder for a few minutes, my own heart was given peace. I have felt restless, and disoriented lately, which may or may not have to do with a crush I may or may not be experiencing. I have been feeling the need for action, but without the ability or acceptable circumstances to act. I have been frightened of repeating a vicious cycle of crush, followed by my realization that I have yet again chosen an unavailable (or unattainable) focus for my attentions, which is then almost immediately followed closely by "serves me right, I'm not good enough" feelings, and then wallowing, lots and lots of wallowing, because even though I know there is little hope of it coming to fruition, I can't turn off a crush. If anyone knows how to do that, please, share your secret!

Anyway, because I was able to give her support and encouragement, I felt the afterglow of a good friend, someone I know cares for me for who I am. And I am feeling better. And I think she is feeling better. See, friends really are good for the soul. :)

Big Sister, Little Sister

2007-08-24T10:11:00.000-04:00

I am a big sister. Biologically, I have a younger sister. Her name is Corrie, and she is beautiful, and charming and I love her more than she could possibly know. But I am also a Big Sister through Big Brothers Big Sisters of Warren County (from here on out referred to as BB/BS). I am the "Big" for a "Little" named Jesyka, a ten year old bursting with energy who has more to deal with than many adults.

We first began our match about a month ago when I sat down with Jesyka, her mom Becky, and our case manager Leanne to determine if we would get along together. I wasn't too worried about it for the long run, but I must confess, I still got a few butterflies in my stomach. I wanted her to like me, and I met her with images of every "cool" babysitter I ever had floating around in my mind. It was only moderately uncomfortable for the duration of our somewhat stunted conversation about Jesyka's likes and dislikes, her allergies and the obligatory reading aloud of the BB/BS match agreement. At the end of our first hour together, a time and date had been arranged for the next meeting we would share, just she and I.

Though I had been a Big in high school, experiencing this as an adult has given me a whole new perspective on what it means to be a Big. Though I didn't view my high school match as a resume builder as many of my peers did, I did from time to time find it a burden I would rather not have had to worry about. I barely had time to hang out with my friends with Club Volleyball taking me out of the state every other weekend, my demanding school calendar filled with AP classes and extracurricular clubs, not to mention college applications, scholarship applications, dances, and all the other things high school seniors have to worry about. Kara was a sweet little girl and I always felt a little guilty about not be able to give her the attention she deserved.

Though I am still a busy person with a lot on my plate, I can more fully appreciate the role I play in Jesyka's life. She is in this program because she needs attention, and good role models, particularly female role models, someone to spend time with her because they want to be a part of her life. For me, I love being able to give back some of what I experienced growing up, having had more good influences than I knew what to do with. So far we have: wandered around the mall (which may not sound particularly exciting, but to a ten year old, let me tell you, she was thrilled) taken a cruise on one of the steamboats on Lake George, and on Sunday, set up a fish tank complete with glow in the dark plants.

I am sure there will be days when I am feeling too tired to hang out, and there will be times when I would rather be with my friends, but on those days, I'll just remind myself of why I am doing this. She needs people who don't let her down, people who show her there are a lot of good things worth working for. And for my part, I can learn what it means to grow up in her world. A world I have never had to live in, a world with poverty and drug abuse, with deadbeat dads and handicapped siblings. My life isn't perfect, and there are things I do without, but it would be a lie to say I don't live a relatively carefree life. I can make rent every month, I have a cell phone and fancy cheese and crackers once in a while. My car is reliable, I have a college education, and both my parents know and love me. If I can put even a few of those blessings back into this world, I will.

Lost and Found

2007-08-23T11:51:00.000-04:00

I happened upon this poem, hidden in the depths of my Flash Drive and thought I would put it up here for a little bit of a critique. Any thoughts?

"The Taste of Salt"

Blue snow left water inching its way
up the back of my leg, soaking faded denim.
Slivers of frost, drifting and swirling, slipped
between the curls of my hair as you
ran eager fingers through it. I lost myself.

Whirling, I danced with you in a winter wind,
until the lines of my body
curved like the snow
bent against the side of this house.
My guileless dreams materialized at your touch.

I didn't know to suffer the crisp bite of your lips,
or the ice-splintered words of your tongue.
The warmth of your eyes steamed in my own.
Your melting rays blurred rose-colored vision
and confused a young and searching heart.

But this morning, I woke chilled,
covered in blankets
unable to replace the heat you stole.
I saw a dry line of salt at the heel of my jeans,
and understood. The salt was you, a stinging substitute
[hidden all the time in dark snowy waters]
for the seducing thought of "could be".

Unshakeable Distraction

2007-08-20T16:42:00.000-04:00

Boys. Almost all cliches apply. And sometimes, when one gets stuck in your head, it is hard to concentrate on anything other than him, even if you don't know him. Sometimes, it is even easier to get caught in the snare of imagined possibilities without actual knowledge of his behavior. You just fill in the blanks with the scenarios you like best, and lucky for him, they cast the "almost male perfection" light of a new crush.

Such has been my state of late. And it is a pain in the ass. I have things to do man, I can't be thinking about you all the time. I don't even know you. Sure you're hot as hell, but for real, give my mind a break. I am not used to this kind of hostile thought take over. And as is my tendency, there is little hope of this ever actually amounting to anything. You have a "girlfriend". Jerk. I have met her. And of course, I liked her. She is long of limb and quick to laugh, and we would probably be friends in another life, so I can't hate her.

So, I need to find a distraction with a shot in hell. Any takers? C'mon, I might even dance for you :)

Arty Farty

2007-08-17T12:41:00.000-04:00

This evening, a piece of mine is up for sale. I donated "Separating" made of woven plastic wrap (see image below because I know pretty much all of you are wondering why anyone would weave plastic wrap, let alone call it art) to the Homeless Youth Coalition annual art auction. Sadly, it is not one of the pieces selected for the live auction, but I am in the brochure, and it will be prominently displayed in the venue where the auction is held, the Charles R. Wood Theater on Glen Street in Glens Falls. These moments are a little like Christmas for me, with lots of excitement and racing thoughts about the possibilities of the evening.

Thoughts of art have been at the forefront of my mind lately. I have started working again in earnest, and now that the flood gates are open, the path before my feet is becoming clearer with each passing day. I am meant to make art, and I think, to teach it. To give back all the inspiration and support I received as a student. My MFA is becoming an achievable goal, something I will succeed at if I am willing to put my all into it.

I am not sure if all graduate programs are the same, but the thought of pursuing one in sculpture is a daunting task, wracked with the fear that I don't have what it takes to get in. And getting in is the hardest part of all. Once in a program with the opportunity to prove my worthiness as a degree candidate, I think I will be fine. I am an extremely hard worker, I take criticism well (at least of my art work, I can't always say the same for personal criticism) and I can charm the pants of people with my go getter attitude and desire to please pretty much everyone. But getting in based on a bunch of pictures and paragraphs and letters of recommendation... not quite so sure. But all I can do is try. I will keep myself hip deep in ideas and creativity, seek out places to show my work, and not feel defeated if I don't get in on my first try. In the coming months I am all art. So be prepared to deal with me curling q-tips, weaving more plastic wrap, and aluminum foil, and masking tape, be prepared for my overly-caffeinated late night art making sessions, but most of all, be prepared for me loving every minute of it.

Wine Wednesdays

2007-08-16T08:57:00.000-04:00

OK. I can be a grandma sometimes. I enjoy quiet nights at home, on winter evenings I can often be found crocheting, and if I have to work in the morning I very rarely go out the night before. I have always had a powerful sense of responsibility that has kept me on the straight and narrow. But I am coming to realize, many of the things I feared would corrupt me, (because lets face it, I would rather be naive than permanently damaged) are not really all that corrupting.

A for instance... three glasses of wine on a Wednesday evening. And just so everyone is clear, three glasses of wine in my light-weight bloodstream are probably the equivalent of 5-6 for everyone else. It wasn't a party, just my roommate, her boyfriend and I hanging out.

And wouldn't you know it, I made it to work this morning. Without even a little bit of a hangover. My world did not fall to pieces, I did not lose the respect of my employers (at least not yet), and I was actually pretty productive over the course of the evening, despite being mildly intoxicated. I washed my car and then worked on my sculpture while watching The Big Chill. Maybe, just maybe, I am learning to lighten up a little and take myself less seriously. After all these years of responsible living, I think I can afford it.

It's been a little crazy in these parts

2007-08-15T09:51:00.000-04:00

So, I have finally managed to respond to Lara's meme. It only took me a month. But things have been a little crazy around here lately. Not only has work been a whirlwind, but the evenings and weekends seem to come and go faster than I can manage them. Luckily for me, they have been filled with friends, family, and fun out-of-state activities. But still, this summer has seemed to slip between my fingers. There is so much more I want to do, people I want to see, and Fall is already knocking on my door. That almost indescribable feeling of crisp air, new school year excitement, the balloon festival, apple pie, the Washington County Fair, changing leaves, the subtle scent of earth preparing for winter, and all the other things imprinted on my heart as the meaning of fall are quietly creeping in. I keep my windows closed now on the way to work in the morning, the chill in the air just a little too brisk for my morning skin still used to the warmth of my bed. The ending of summer comes all too soon, and it is a bitter sweet goodbye. As honeyed as the never-ending days of summer are, with warm, sun-soaked beaches, and outdoor entertainment in the slowly occurring dusk of evening, Fall is my season. I feel connected to the earth, to its sweet smells and rich colors, the way it nurtures life, and responds gradually to change, its constancy and adaptability. When the leaves change, I rejoice in their colors. They are my colors, browns and glowing reds, orange in all shades, deep greens, the azure blue of Fall's night time skies. They are the colors I feel at home in, colors that compliment my pale skin and red hair. In Fall, the tan skin of summer beauties no longer wins lingering stares, instead it is the fair complexions with pink kissed cheeks. Yes, it is bitter sweet. But before I lose myself in thoughts of changing leaves, summer will have a few more glorious days and I will recap a few such days I spent last weekend.

As we do every year, my family visited our camp in Massachusetts for a weekend of relaxation and reflection on times past. For me as a fourth generation camp-goer, I am overwhelmed by the family history our camp contains. Originally a hunting camp owned by my great grandfather in the late 1800's, it has seen the birth of his children, Albert and Clark, their trips overseas to the War, their marriages and the subsequent birth of children, including my father, and then my father's generation of marriage and children. And even now, the oldest of my generation, my cousin Kelly is married and having children of her own, continuing the history. It is a campy place that has seen limited changes over the years. Some basic stuff, like running water and hot showers, electricity, and recently, a tv have been added, but for the most part, the camp has looked the same as it did when my father was learning to swim between the docks and catching fish in the shallows by Toomies.

A game of family trivia was made years ago posing questions about members of the family that died before my father was even born. Each generation has added their own questions along the way, I recently found a question I wrote at some point in middle school about one of our adventures. There are questions about my father and his comical delinquent moments as a child, about my grandfather and his brother making friends with people down the shore, about Annie Gretchen, who one summer as a child had moldy hair because she was in the lake so often it never fully dried. She died in the 50's I think.

It is an incredible place, our camp. I sleep on the big wrap around porch in a bed that used to be my dad's, and before that, his Uncle Clark's. I water ski, or I should say, I try to water ski. You can hang out in the boat, on the dock, up on the porch, take naps, go for walks, take out the canoe or the row boat. There is no pressure, do whatever you please. And in the evening we will all have a few beers, roast some corn for dinner and marshmallows for dessert, and then turn in for fresh air sleeping, watching boat light cross the lake before falling into dreams. Here are some pictures. Though I am sorry to say, they can give you the smells, the laughter and the relaxation, they are at least a good image of what "Camp" is all about.

8 tidbits

2007-08-02T08:56:00.000-04:00

I have been tagged for a meme by the lovely Lara and will proceed to disclose 8 facts about myself. Whether they are interesting, entertaining, normal, or of a kind to place me on someone's freak-list is entirely up to you :) Enjoy!

Rules:

A. Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves.

B. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed.

C. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1. I sometimes play games with myself to get through obnoxious tasks; how quickly can I fold this laundry, how many rooms can I dust well in 15 minutes? That sort of thing. It makes chores a little more bearable.

2. I have a tattoo on my lower back, but refuse to include myself in the stereotype of girls with lower back tattoos. It is more of a reminder than anything, and I designed it myself so it has significance for me.

3. I believe in God at my deepest core, and that John Lennon got it right with "All you need is love."

4. I don't like talking on the phone, at all.

5. I feel alive when I am making artwork, and like a piece of me is missing when I am not.

6. I am hyper aware of the amount of noise I make when I walk. I have always been a big person, the tallest in my grade, one of the strongest girl in gym class, the biggest boobs, you get the picture. Luckily, I am well proportioned so as not to render me giant-esque. However, at a young age, I overheard someone talking about my older sister and I, discussing how we walked,"There's a pair, Haley the Indian and Trina the Elephant" I don't know why it impacted me like it did, but ever since then, I have tried my darndest to walk more lightly of foot and cast off my elephant-trodding childhood tendency.

7. I make my bed every morning and I clean apartment/room before I go on trips. I can't stand coming back to a mess, it is so defeating.

8. I have been to Germany, Wales, England, France, Italy, every state on the east coast at least twice, and Los Angeles, and I think my favorite place to be is still our family camp in Massachusetts. I am overcome by how steeped in family history it is, and that despite how so much has changed over the years, camp has remained the same, sort of locked in time.

9. I still wish I was one of the "cool" kids, despite the fact that I know I am a mostly fun person to be around.

10. I make a mean frittata :)

And now I am supposed to tag 8 people, but I am not sure I know eight bloggers, so I will tag people I love instead. My mom Cate, My dad Garry, my sisters Haley and Corrie, and in no particular order, my college friends, Laura, Molly, Molly, Anna, Kate, Julia, and Elise. I know that is more than eight, but when you love so many people you can't just choose a few. :) I mean really, I could go on forever here.

Ten things I love about me

2007-07-31T13:43:00.001-04:00

I have been tagged by pretty stellar gal, Amanda- and today happens to be her birthday! And since I know she has seen Cinderella recently (just ask her daughter Briar) I will wish her a happy birthday, Gus-style "Hu, hu Huppy Birfday" :)

And now without further ado, 10 reasons why I think I am swell, or something like that.....

I love:

1. my hands. They are smart and strong and have always been the instrument of my greatest strengths; Building things, making art, and discovering subtleties in material and form; Holding children; Setting (as in volleyball); being able to use them successfully with my eyes closed- braiding my hair, unknotting things- I have a secret hope that someday in a hero-like situation, my hands will be the method for hostage escape in a pitch black room or, the cause for courageous freeings of bound persons cast overboard in dark, eel infested waters.

2. my hair. I have touched on this before, but I'll recap; it is my glory, my defining characteristic. I love how it falls in long, loose curls to the middle of my back- no rollers required, and how it captures sunlight in a dark room, and emits a soft glow around my face. I love how no hair is the same color, each a different shade of strawberry blond, shiny copper, or warm red. I love that it is so long, I have to bring it around to the front of my body to finish braiding it. And I love how it went from something I use to hate because it made me different, to something I love because it makes me different.

3. my heart. It is big, and so often overflowing, I swear people around me can soak up its surplus of happiness.

4. my peacemaker impulse.

5. my ability to see details others often miss. The way sunlight enters water, the beautiful shapes in a pool of spilled wine, the changing shadows on the side of a mountain as the wind pushes clouds past.

6. my ability to have faith in people, despite having been burned in the past. The alternative, expecting people to fail you, has never seemed an option for me. I know this will result in being let down and hurt from time to time, but I would rather be hurt once in a while, than live in a perpetual state of expected disappointment.

7. that kids and I just get along. Without pretense.

8. my narrow hips and cute butt. A good combo for wide leg pants.

9. my laugh. I use it often, and put my heart in it.

10. my smiling eyes. They disappear when I laugh really hard, and I can hardly see the people in front of me. They have made the first lines on my face and they are the lines of a person blessed in joy and laughter, and I am ok with that.

and to keep this self-love ball rolling, I'll now tag; my sister Corrie (who is sadly sans blog) because though she feels the need to be constantly improving herself (which is A ok), there are some pretty great things about her already; and a new comment-giver on my blog, susiej, because she left me such a nice one and I'd like to know her better; my mom (also sans blog), because she inspires me; and a random blogger I found with a great blog name, The Good Kind of Dorky, who lives just an hour from where I went to college, and grew up in central NY- the coincidences were too many to miss this opportunity for a new (albeit random) blogging friend. Happy blogging!

Dancing in the Streets

2007-07-31T10:29:00.001-04:00

Sometimes it is easy to wallow. A common wallow-worthy situation for me: no one to do anything with.This is a particularly frustrating affair because I like doing things. Accustomed as I was to being in a college setting, where friends are abundant and there are countless ways to pass the time, (most of which can be turned into a drinking game that I never learned) I have struggled to find people outside of that environment. But something I have striven to improve over this last year, is my willingness to go outside my comfort zone and find new experiences. Thus on Saturday, close to entering a wallowing state, I forced myself out of my apartment, into a day that called for rain, and ended in nothing but sunshine, and joined the world of the living.

Book and journal in hand, I landed myself at a coffee shop overlooking Broadway Ave. bustling with Hats Off Saratoga excitement. I sipped ice coffee and thoroughly enjoyed my own company as I watched Track-goers, shoppers, and families. From my pen, words escaped more effortlessly than they had of late, my observations fell easily onto the page, felt and understood. And when I could no longer resist the draw of the latest Harry Potter, I opened my book and read ravinously of the 17 year old hero.

After a few hours of time well spent, hunger nipped at my heels and pushed my feet homeward, but not before an involuntary smile found my lips at the sight of people dancing in the street to Irish music. Mothers spinning with 7 year old daughters, fathers stacked high with toddlers that adorned their shoulders, young and pierced punk couples moving in ways I doubt the Irish ever planned. I looked around at the gathered crowd and my smile grew. They too were smiling, their lips curving up at the corners in a way that betrayed the joy and amusement bubbling in their hearts. This group of people could not help but be impacted by the merriment in the air, and whether they were aware of it or not, they smiled.

Dilapidation

2007-07-18T11:34:00.000-04:00

I took pictures of this house the other day on my way home from work. I drive past it twice everyday, and slow down each time. That is how beautiful it is, covered in vines with shingles hanging precariously from the roof's edge, paint chipping from every surface, and windows shut to the world. It is a house of poems, of time passing, of beauty and sadness in one. And these pictures hardly do it justice, but I couldn't not take them. This house needed saving, even if only in image and memory, before it was swallowed by time, and covered in growth and change.

My many celebrations

2007-07-13T08:51:00.000-04:00

So these past few weeks have been something of a celebration whirlwind. Hence my lack of posts. To further complicate matters, I am unfortunately limited to quiet moments at work for blogging as I do not have internet at my apartment (yet). However, I have found a few moments along the way to compose this entry which I hope will satiate the blog appetites of even my most curious "Trina Blog" readers (hehe, all three of you :) ) who I am sure were left on tenterhooks, awaiting news of party success or failure. So now, without further ado... let the celebration begin!

Now, where did I leave off? Oh, right. It was party time. The air was primed for a house warming party to top all house warming parties. The ovens (ok, make that one mini-oven, two if you count the toaster "oven") had been firing for days, the food was prepared, the slicing and dicing of fruits, vegetables and various other savory delicacies, finished. All that was left were the manic, last minute preparations of a party about to start. But nearing the end of this frantic time, the time before guests have arrived, when fresh, summer flowers have been placed in vases around the room, and small, white napkins lay in neat stacks next to plates of cheese, and bowls of strawberries, this time may very well be one of my favorites. The work has been done. The preparations made. Everything waits in eager anticipation of animation; waits for the first guests to arrive and place cheese on crackers and ice in tall, clear glasses; waits for the hum of conversation, and the music that will flow out opened windows into quiet night time streets; waits for photo flashes and memorable moments. In this waiting time, my spirit is high, but no longer crazed. A calm takes over the air. I generally fill this time with self preparation, changing from my flour-covered shirt and washing off a day's worth of make up that the hot stove melted from my face. I trade them instead, for a "host with the most" outfit and a fresh application of mascara, blush and perfume. I pull my hair off my face, and in each ear lobe place a bangle or a teardrop jewel. And then I descend, preferably down stairs, and join in the waiting.

For this particular party, my self preparation was cut short, as the first guest arrived; one of my very best friends from college, and my roommate of two years, Laura. Having her there for this momentous event was truly icing on the cake.
And despite her early arrival, I did in fact manage to get the rest of my make up on before any more guests arrived.

The evenings festivities got started with a lovely mellow vibe. My boss and his wife arrived and I lead the way on a 10 cent tour of my new, and almost completely set up digs. The only thing missing was some various wall art and fish in the fish tank. And they were the perfect candidates for first viewings as they had kindly put up wth my comments over the past month about refinishing tables, cutting box frames in half, and running electricity to various places throughout the house, and could therefore appreciate my efforts.

As the night continued, and the crowd shifted from the more sophisticated to ... ummm... perhaps those slightly...ummm... less sophisticated, the party got rockin. We cranked the tunes, and some competitive games of driveway flip-cup commenced. Both my sisters were in attendance (which was awesome) and there were some great bonding moments including a sister flip cup victory over the manly men of 119 Caroline. All in all, it ended up being a night of great fun. The food was mostly consumed, the house, in a reasonable state of party aftermath, needed a good clean up but nothing too drastic, and fortunately for me, I awoke the next morning mostly without a hangover. The morning was spent putting things back in order and enjoying several cups of coffee conversation before packing up and hopping in the car to spend four glorious days in Boston with best friends circa the college years.

Since I have not put up a post in some time, I will save tales and pictures of Boston for a later post. For now, please enjoy the following pictures of "The House Warming Party" :)

It's PARTY TIME!

2007-06-29T15:00:00.000-04:00

Yes, the moment has arrived. Party time is here. The new place is presentable (mostly) and it is being christened tonight with its very first shin-dig. My roommate and I have been frantically preparing, inviting, cleaning, cooking, and sharing general jubilation over the event.

This is the first party I have hosted since college, and the first where beer pong is on the agenda. I know, many of you are wondering how I have made it through 23 years of life without hosting a party with a beerpong table, but if you went to the school I did, where there was no greek life, I was the RA, and it was located in the middle of the bible belt, you might not have either. For the record, I have also never used a keg. Please, contain you laughter and shock. In my own defense, I didn't gain the freshmen 15 as a result of keg drinking, in fact, I lost 15 pounds. Sounds like a good trade off to me!

But anyway, back to this evening's event. I am hoping for a big turn out. And I am pretty sure it is going to be the most eclectic group of people ever. The combo of my friends, my roommates friends, my sisters, my bosses (who are young, hip, and cool and already informed of the fact that they are not to hold me accountable for any of my actions outside of the 9-5) and some other random invites, it should make for an interesting night. And what is even better, when we want everyone to leave, they only have a three block walk to the bars where they can continue the party into the wee hours.

I love throwing parties. The excitement of making good food and compiling itunes playlists to set the tone, just can't be topped. Especially when everyone has a great time. What a thrill to see people laughing and dancing and talking the night away at a party you're hosting. It's great. I can't wait to post pictures of the event. And maybe brag a little about my stellar pad. But now, on with the preparations!

Happy FRIDAY!

Is it wrong to be hurt, or should I just be mad?

2007-06-27T19:19:00.000-04:00

I have the privilege of working in an office of fantastic, creative and big brother-esque graphic designers. These men, their families, and the business they created have made coming back to my hometown after four years away at college a bearable transition. Day in and day out we laugh, crack jokes, poke fun at each of our ridiculous qualities, and do a little work on the side. Because the office has become a bit of a family, we make efforts to appreciate and encourage one another. The guys always say I look nice if I have made obvious efforts to appear business like or fancied-up a bit and make sure to let me know they appreciate the work I do for them. I bring in baked goods to share, and give the credit to the "banana-bread elf" who comes in stealth-like in the wee hours to leave slices of banana bread on the desks of each designer.

Yesterday, I did just this, having made some delicious banana bread with chocolate chips the night before. I cut three healthy slices before work, packaged them up in sandwich bags, and carefully placed one in front of the keyboard of each designer, as well as one in front of the keyboard of our new intern.

I received mumbled and earnest thanks through the full mouth of the first designer to enter the office that day. Then the intern came in and asked about the bread. I explained about the elf, and continued with my work. The other designer said nothing this time, but by the end of the day, the bread was gone. The intern left the bread on his desk, not eating it while I was in the office.

So this morning I am taking out the trash, and what do I find in the trash at the intern station, but an unopened sandwich bag with an untouched slice of banana bread. As lame as it is, I was a little hurt. If you don't like banana bread man, just tell me, I'll give it to someone else. No problem. Don't wait until I leave the office to put it in the garbage, right on top, in plain site where I would see it.

The intern keeps m + m's on his desk and I have a few small handfuls during the day. Of course I asked first and he said that is what they were there for, so I only felt bad about eating the m+m's because they are not something I need to be consuming at the moment as I am trying to get in beach shape. But today, out of spite, I said to myself, though I would have loved to say it to the intern, "I don't want your stupid m+m's you big jerk. If you are too good for my banana bread, I am sure as hell too good for your lousy store-bought m+m's. And so now I will no longer have the m+m's. Not that it is the best form of retaliation, as that just leaves more m+m's for him, but in my mind, he is no longer worthy of office food sharing. No more friendly elves will be stopping at your desk, Mr. Intern.

I may be over-reacting, but the way I see it, I am allowed a few moments of juvenile pettiness in my life and I am claiming one right now. Stupid, banana-bread-hating intern.

On a brighter note :)

2007-06-26T15:15:00.000-04:00

Ok. Upon reflecting on yesterday's rather melancholy post, -which I really struggled over posting at all, and just prayed to god no eligible and attractive potential dates read it, (yikes!) I would like to take this opportunity to clear up one point that I neglected to mention in the post. Despite my dating circumstances, I am in a very happy place in my life right now. And that happiness is on my own terms. Having found that within myself, I think, is a huge gift.

I really know who I am. I can listen to my gut and trust my instincts because I have learned to be independent in a way a lot of girls my age are not. All my decisions are my own, my acceptance of my body and all its qualities is because I came to that peace, not because a man told me I was beautiful (though like any girl, I love a well-timed compliment). So though there are things I greatly look forward to in a romantic relationship and will learn from by dating men I am not meant to be with forever, I have learned a ton by not being with someone.

I will find love. I know this because I know how to love, and I do so with great devotion and loyalty. And the rest of the relationships in my life are strong and healthy, it's not like I am a social outcast or something. My main problem is getting past that first hurtle of getting myself out there, and not being afraid of having my heart broken a little, or of dating men I am later, a little embarrassed to remember. I am cautious. I know. But I am getting to a point where my caution is holding me back from experiences I need and want to have. I think my new found sense of youth and carefree fun will help a lot in this regard. Not to mention the fact that I now drink alcohol. Though I have a great time without it, when it comes to matters of the heart, I am better off with lower inhibitions seeing as my natural course of action is to clam up.

My goal this summer is a fling. Nothing serious, nothing lasting, something to "break the ice" so to speak. I am currently taking applications. If there are any attractive and eligible men reading this (doubtful as that may be) ask me out. I'll say yes, and I will probably laugh at your lame jokes too. So if you are looking for a fun red-headed, too gullible for her own good date, I'm your girl. And despite what you may have read to the contrary, I am mostly normal and well balanced. Plus I promise not to mention any of this ever again. A winning combination if you ask me.

An unspoken fear

2007-06-20T09:35:00.000-04:00

If you don't already, I suggest you check out the blog of Lara, a lovely person living on the other side of the country and one of my first blogger friends. Her stories are not only well written, but also laced with delicate and sometimes coarse strings of honesty and courage. Her most recent post has inspired me to put on "paper" one of the fears I struggle with every day.

I think we are each equipped with a certain amount of pride. Pride can serve a wonderful purpose. It can see us through moments when we want to give up, but couldn't bear the thought of appearing a failure in the eyes of those we respect. Once through the storm however, we can look back and gain wisdom from our perseverance, realizing we had the strength to withstand all along, we just needed a little extra incentive to push through. And then there is the damaging sort of pride. The kind that stops us from asking for help when we need it, prevents us from healing because we never allow ourselves to fully embrace feelings of hurt or shame or anger- instead choosing to push it back into the corners of our hearts, hidden from public view, but always there, lurking in the shadows and poisoning our thoughts.

Which leads me to the title of this post. My pride holds me back from making public a fear that has been present in my heart since I was probably about 16. And as cliche as it may be, it revolves around "boys" and more specifically, the lack thereof. I hate filling that stereo-type, but there it is. I am afraid I will always be alone.

I am 23 and I have never had a boyfriend, in fact, I have never even been asked out. Ever. I find this horribly embarrassing and though I try to brush it off as circumstantial, there is a part of me that can only look to myself as the cause of this deficiency. In high school I could more easily accept my lack of boyfriend because I wasn't alone. There were lots of other girls who didn't have one. I also recognized that most of these relationships were destined to be short-lived. Though there were times when I felt it acutely and cried chest heaving sobs on the drive home from New Year celebrations, aching for the loneliness, I held onto the hope that college would bring better times, and better chances for finding at least one guy to ask me out.

Generally a happy and optimistic person by nature, I stuck out my chin and kept happy, reminding myself daily of the quality of my being, there was no integral flaw preventing guys from having an interest in me. I was just in a small school, in a small town, and I didn't fit the high school fantasy of a perky girl in a tiny body, content to flatter the arm of her boyfriend in the hall between classes. So I focused on other things. I played year round volleyball in a traveling league, found great success in all of my classes, and had a ball at dances- despite having to ask every guy I went with. I spent time with my friends, went to basketball games and football games, joined clubs, had dinner parties and Christmas parties. I filled my time with friends and laughs and things I enjoyed. Looking back, high school was a good experience for me, even without a boyfriend or a first kiss. And there was college to look forward to.

When the time for college did come, I chose one that captured my heart. In Virginia, it sprawled long and narrow across a mile of campus. Brick buildings with tall, white columns and surrounded by winding brick pathways, the epitome of southern architecture, dotted the map of Mary Washington College. First established as the sister school for the University of Virginia, a men's university founded by none other than Thomas Jefferson, Mary Washington was a women's college until the 70's when it went co-ed... sort of. During my years at Mary Washington, the ratio hovered around 70/30. I suppose I didn't consider the male female ratio when choosing a school, there were other things more important to my decision; how I felt on the campus, the art department, the professors, the cost, the education. It didn't occur to me to that my lack of concern would cause me to experience another four years of boyfriend-less, kiss-less single-dom.

Again however, I surrounded myself with people and activities I enjoyed, the end result being an incredible college experience. My classes and professors inspired me, my friends made me laugh, laugh, laugh, and though I wasn't a big partier, I had a ton of fun. I ignored the feelings of loneliness that tried to creep in and pushed away the ache in my heart, keeping myself so busy that I didn't have time to think about it. But there came a time just before my senior year, when no amount of time-occupying activities or cheery attitudes could cover up my growing feelings of worthlessness or make up for the lack of at least one person thinking I was the cat's meow. The thoughts of "what's wrong with me" and "I don't deserve to be happy" began to take hold. When you are alone long enough, you begin to believe it's what you deserve, that no one will ever be interested in you. Why would someone want to date me? I am not special or all that exciting. I am "damaged goods". These kind of thoughts, once allowed, can spiral out of control and lead down a long and painful road of self abuse. And the pot boiled over that summer before my final year of college.

I maintained my wits enough to know, (even if it came from somewhere within me that was almost out of reach), I could be happy and I could define my worth by more than a man's affection. I come from a family where we don't sweep things under the rug. If we have a problem, we lay it out on the table and stare at it until its dealt with and move on. So I took action and I began seeing a counselor at my college. It hurt quite a bit, and I won't say there weren't times when I wanted to go back to the dull ache, it was more bearable than the heart wrenching alternative. But I stuck it out. I made a decision to love myself enough to take this on, even if it hurt. And in the process, I learned how to ask for help, and how to lean on friends for support and encouragement. I didn't have to go through this alone. I put the shoe on the other foot and realized I would want to help if one of my friends was in a similar situation, so I should let them help me. And they did.

On the whole, the investment paid off. I can look at life's ups and downs with more clarity and perspective and though there are times when I still feel blue and lonely, gone are the days of my worth hinging on my date-ability. But now a year out of college, my situation has not really changed. Despite the fact that I am genuinely happy, there are no men to speak of. Granted, I moved back to my hometown where the bar scene offers up a buffet of toothless Larry's and wife-beater-donning young stallions- not exactly choice options- but you'd think I would have found at least one date-able guy. My family says I am too picky. In my mind however, picky requires turning people down. If no one comes a knockin' I don't even have the opportunity to turn them down. It's a predicament. I am hoping my new location will provide some male companions of the non-male hooker type. I could definitely go for some lovin. The eternal optimist in me understands I will find someone someday, but I sure as hell hope it's sooner rather than later. For now I suppose I will look to the eternal wisdom of The Supremes "You can't hurry love, no you just have to wait. You gotta trust in good time, no matter how long it takes."

What weekends are made for, and freckled skin is not.

2007-06-19T12:04:00.000-04:00

Beach lounging, sun bathing, lake swimming, lap racing, and sunscreen, sunscreen, sunscreen. What a Saturday it was. I was invited by my roommate and her sister to make our first voyage to the beach this weekend, can you believe I almost said no?! Yeah, I almost stayed home in my kitchen to...wait for it...... paint a table. Who would even consider that but me. Beach/table painting, beach/table painting??? Is that really a debate? In the end, my diligent, "just get it finished" mind was over ruled by the "It's SUMMER and a BEAUTIFUL day" mind and we drove 45 minutes to Bolton Landing where Lake George and all its Adirondack glory awaited us.

Lake George takes my breath away. I have lived 15 minutes from it my entire life and it continues to impress me with its stunning beauty. Surrounded on all sides by the rolling peaks of the Adirondack mountains, it is filled with cool, clear water and reaches depths of over 200 feet. Not to mention the fact that it is 32 miles long and narrow enough that on a quiet night, you could yell a conversation over the peaceful waters from one shore to the other.

Saturday found the lake in top form, with azure skies reflecting on calm waters. The beach lay out before us, graciously uncluttered with tourist and their coolers. A soft breeze kissed our skin but left the sand in its rightful spot, below our feet. We set up chairs, and I began the lifelong torment of "greasing up".

I will forever consider sunscreen one of the great injustices of the world. I feel it most acutly when beaching with bronzed beauties the likes of my swimsuit model-esque friends. While they are oiling with coconut scents, I am slathering on half a bottle of the highest SPF I can get my hands on and smelling like a toddler. I will apply much more than the recommended "shot glass" full of sunscreen, (that recommendation must apply to midgets because there is no way that amount would cover the square footage I bring to the table) and will reapply diligently every hour and a half and after swimming, and after beach volleyball, and after drying off, and then probably a couple more times just for the heck of it. What kills me though (both in literal and figurative terms) is that I still get a sunburn and I am still at a higher risk for skin cancer. To add salt to the wound, higher SPFs cost more! What the hell is that? All those people who roast themselves with oil and SPF 4, 6, 8, 15, can do it for $1.50 less than those of us trying to protect ourselves with 45 and ups. There is no justice. And to boot, I go from being burnt, directly back to my pasty white, do not stop at tan, do not collect $200 dollars-self. I worry about burns in March and in July, I require a dermatologist to inspect my every freckle, and I don't even get to experience the slimming and healthy vibrance effects of a tan. For real, what gives?

But my bitterness about suncreen and fair skin aside, I had a great time at the beach. Just hanging out, and having extremely competitive swimming competitions (I swear it was neck and neck the whole way), and lounging on the beach while commenting on the inevitable hilarities of fellow beach-goers, is a splendid way to spend a saturday afternoon. The company was grand, and we stayed long enough to enjoy it, but not so long that I would have wished for a book to read. When I got home, I took a nap in my cool un-airconditioned room (thank you old victorian houses that stay cool in the summer) went to see a movie with some friends and then out for drinks, my first time out since moving to the new apartment. All in all, it was a day living a life of luxury and ease, and I hope for many more repeats as the summer shuffles along.

You're as old as my dad!

2007-06-11T15:04:00.000-04:00

Biker men, big ones, full of testosterone, among other things, and lady bikers, (some who may also have been full of testosterone by the looks of them) swarmed to the Village of Lake George this past weekend. There was a Harley on every corner, leather on every ass (in some cases leather-wrapped ponytails), and a perfect amount of classless hoodlumism (I know I know... hoodlumism is probably not a word, but what ev).

With all this fantastic chaos, it was practically a requirement to go to the biggest biker bar and dance dance dance. So we did. And I was the DD. Don't mistake this for me not having a good time. I have as good a time sober as drunk, the experience is just a little different, and I feel better the morning after sans alcoholic beverages. But the great thing about a busy bar with out-of-towners is that you can be a little crazy, a little less inhibited, and have a whole lotta fun.

Packed with people, my little Honda, GiGi as I call her, chugged up the northway toward a rucus that could be heard across the lake I am sure. First to Christie's, where you can hear each other talk (most of the time) a group of us met up with some friends. We hung around with the younger crowd, people my age out doing the same thing, relishing in people watching, scratch that, BIKER watching, big difference, and enjoyed the acoustic stylings of a one man band who did covers the likes of Margaritaville and commented on the new Poison album that is strictly covers of very un-Poison-like songs. Wierd.

After an hour or so, the girls and I were itching to dance, and thus convinced the guys to head over to Duffy's, a bar with a decidedly older crowd, this cute red-headed cocktail waitress who happens to be my younger sister, and... a dance floor. Clutch. It was hopping. Not only did we make it in without a cover, but the band rocked. I ordered a water, and headed toward the dance floor.

There are not too many things I am vain about. In fact I tend to be pretty hard on myself about most things. But one thing I at first learned to embrace and then to glory in, is my hair. It falls in long, loose curls to the middle of my back and is the color of captured sunlight and new-penny copper. It is my best and favorite feature, and the ultimate dancing weapon. I flip it and run my hands through it while singing the words to every song, let it fall in my face and imagine I am a red-headed Jennifer Lopez whose moves and energy attract eyes around the room. I am not a great dancer, (though I always have fun, and to me that is all that matters) but with my hair down and the music moving my body, I become lost in a world of sensuality I rarely visit. Such was the case on Saturday night as I rocked out to classic rock covers with my friends and about 300 leather-clad bikers.

Apparently, on this particular evening, my sultry moves did attract some attention. Having gone to find my sister and my poison of choice, water on the rocks with a splash of lemon, a man approached my friends and asked if I had a boyfriend because he thought he saw me dancing with someone. Being the great friends they are, they gladly informed him that I in fact, did not have a boyfriend, the person he saw was just a friend and dating someone else in the group. The man left and I returned shortly thereafter to hear the story. Later in the evening, when I was once again away from the dance floor, he approached my friends and this time, asked my name. And again they informed him.

So as I come back to the dance floor, I hear my name in an unfamiliar voice and look to see who it could be, perhaps a young handsome man, with a biker bad-boy edge and a bod to boot. And then my eyes fall on him. A man, probably close to 55, with a graying beard, something of a potbelly, and bandana wrapped around what I am sure was a very bald head. He points to beckon me over. I cannot help myself and laugh aloud, shaking my head no in a "are you kidding?" fashion, and proceed to walk toward my friends. Luckily the sound of my laughter was drowned out by the music that at this time is just the radio. He follows me over and asks me to dance. I try to say no nicely... but he is persistent, "why not"..... and then, before I can control myself, the words are tumbling from between my lips as if in slow motion.... "beeecauuse you aaare asss ollllld as myyy daaaad." Ahhh! I had done it. In one fell swoop, I had probably just broken this man's machismo in a way only a cute 23 year old woman stating the obvious can.

"Ahhh, you're breaking my heart!" he said. "Do I really look that old?" What can I say to this?! There is no graceful exit, no option but to rub salt in the wound I had already created.

"I am 23. You could be my father." I replied while continuing to sip my water through a slightly chewed straw.

"Do I look that bad? You won't dance with me then? he pleaded

"l'll think about it."

"That's good enough for me" and he walks away yelling promises to find me when the band starts again. I breath a sigh of relief... he's gone. I turn back to find my friends, who are at this point getting a pretty good kick out of the situation. Some friends...

As the band starts setting up again, I see him coming from the corner of my eye and faster than I can plan an escape he is upon me, once again asking me to dance. What the hell, I'll never see him again, heck I'll never see anyone in this bar again. So I consent and before I know it, I am slow dancing to Free Bird. It was a hilarious. He ended up being very nice man, and to my surprise, saying he could be my dad actually turned out to be a conversation starter. I heard about his kids (that are older than I am), we talked about my red hair and Irish heritage, and slow danced high school style, turning in circles for the duration of the song. We got some pretty funny looks, probably because I was laughing the whole time (it is my response to pretty much every mildly uncomfortable situation) and I definitely did not look like a biker. Not to mention the fact that I was probably 30 years his junior. But it really was fun and something I am almost proud of myself for having done given the fact that I had not an ounce of alcohol in me. And at the end of the song he gave me a bearded kiss on the side of the cheek and thanked me for the dance. Initial reaction aside, it was an amusing adventure for me. He was a perfect gentleman and I got a kiss on the cheek with no funny business. What more could a girl ask for? :)

Hands Free?

2007-06-08T08:34:00.000-04:00

I recently purchased a hands free earpiece for my cell phone. A neat little gadget I've found, that plugs right into my phone and shoots concentrated sound directly at my eardrum. I until now I have been notorious for driving while talking on the phone, and quickly throwing said phone on my lap mid-sentence because I spotted the fuzz lurking in the shadows. With my new earpiece, I am offically hands free.

What I don't think the hands-free manufacturers realize however, it that being hands-free only means I gesture more vehmently with my "free" hands while driving. 90% of the time, you really only need one hand to drive, especially if you are on the highway as I often am with my commute. My roommate doesn't even need that, she uses her knees to drive. But without needing one hand on the phone and one on the steering wheel, my arm is given free reign to flail about the car as if detached from my body. I personally think this only increases the chance for an accident. People are probably very distracted by the crazy redhead who is talking to........ herself and waving her arms emphatically while driving. I mean, I would find that distracting.

But regardless, I am following the letter of the law and using a hands-free phone to talk while I drive. As a self-proclaimed, TERRIBLE correspondent, I have a tendency of letting weeks, ok, months go by without calling my friends. This is not because I don't want to talk with them or because I am too busy to call, but simply because I just never get around to it. My new apartment is about 20 miles from where I work and the commute to work about 25-30 minutes. I am making the grand gesture and using this time as "talk to my friends" time. So far it has been great, I know that Laura and I will be driving to Boston together for our reunion and that Anna has recently repaired her bike and will be using it (not getting hit by a car as she fears) to explore the streets of Boston. And it's great because it's time I can't be doing anything else, except driving, so I have a lot of incentive to call. Now I have absolutely no excuse for not calling:)

The Rhythm of Rain

2007-06-04T12:53:00.000-04:00

Waking

Light and gentle, it taps out quiet rhythms
on the pavement and grass beneath my window,
speaking in whispered tones, beckoning, reminding,
saying softly and slowly; ebb and flow. My breaths, rise
and fall, even and deep.

Driving

A quiet ride to work, wipers on intermitten
drifting back and forth across the windshield.
Louis Armstrong plays a lazy trumpet, capturing
middle highs and long lows that float and swirl
with the scent of morning and early summer.

Walking

Cool rain scatters on my skin, matching drops
to freckles. Each stride, slow and steady, not quickening,
but pausing, delighting in drips that surprise my cheeks
with pearls of water- sliding from eyelashes
into the half-moon smile of my eyes.

My mom was right...

2007-05-31T15:25:00.000-04:00

It's funny how often mothers are right. Not about everything, but the things that matter. My mom always told my sisters and I we would appreciate each other someday. In the aftermath of a childhood brawl (because girls in my family fight with fists and feet, and there ain't nothin' dainty about it) she would chime in, "Just wait, one day you'll actually like each other. Friends come and go, but you'll always have your sisters."

Of course, I didn't believe her. How could I? Haley (my older sister) had just left an enormous red welt on my back perfectly matching the size and shape of her opened hand. I probably deserved it for being annoying as only a middle child can be. In retaliation, I abused Corrie- the smallest and the youngest. Not necessarily fair in the strictest sense of the word, but in the land of siblings, totally acceptable. I would pay for it later- with three sisters, there is always a man out. Somehow Haley and Corrie's ages equaled out to mine... still not quite sure how that figures, but I am mostly over it. And thus when the next scuffle took place, it was two against one. Not great odds.

All this talk of fighting is not to say we loathed each other. In fact I think we had pretty good relationships for the most part, it was just normal growing up stuff. We stuck together and stood up for each other. We could play peacefully together, and build forts without too much trouble. It hasn't been until recently however, that I have counted my sisters as friends.

Corrie and I hang out now. She comes to my new pad in this new city of mine, and we just chill. A couple nights ago we walked the streets of downtown, me pointing out all the parts of the city that thrilled me, Corrie hoping the Coldstone Ice cream shop was still open. Sharing such a simple event with her reminded me of how fortunate I am to have her, my little sister whose occasional attitude is only a front to protect the most tender of hearts. She's funny and charming, beautiful but WAY to hard on herself. And she's my little sister. Always has been, always will be. I hope wonderful things for her, and know she will find a happiness uniquely her own. Heck, even if she wasn't my sister I'd still be friends with her. The same goes for my older sister Haley. I wish she lived closer, as Los Angeles is not exactly a day trip from upstate New York. But the times we have together, limited as they may be, are great. Haley the blazer of trails, the person who never had a thought her mouth couldn't use, and a woman with the courage to say after earning her masters in journalism (and winning THE award from THE school for journalism) "I think I would rather be a doctor." That takes serious guts. I am in pertpetual awe of her.

How did I get so lucky to have these incredible people in my life. I certainly have done nothing to deserve it. I suppose all I can do is be grateful for it. And from my deepest core, I am. My heart aches for love of these people, their joy is my joy, and their pain my own. For anyone who would hurt them, I say, watch yourself. Karma has a funny way of working, and it might just come in the form of death stares from a tall redhead with one heck of a right hook (just ask Corrie.. hehe).

So if you have sisters, or brothers for that matter, I hope you share not only parents, but friendship. And if you don't, just remember, there are no other people on the planet who can understand what it is like growing up in your family quite like your siblings.

Happiness feels better.

2007-05-30T12:33:00.000-04:00

There are inevitable ups and downs in life. Most can't be predicted, some can. But everyday is a new chance to choose your happiness. I know, how cliche... choosing your own happiness. Hey, they are cliches for a reason right?

Yesterday I made it back to gym after about 3 weeks of spotty attendance due to an 800+ mile move and the subsequent unpacking of boxes, cleaning out of crap, and arranging of rooms. I love going to the gym. I feel strong when I am there, empowered when I leave, and borderline slammin' the rest of the time because I know I am emitting that healthy "I exercise regularly" glow.

Getting back there left me feeling totally pumped. On drives home from the gym, I have a tendency of basking in an exercise-enduced endorphine rush. Life seems grand on those drives. The trees reflect stunningly vibrant greens and sparkling flecks of sunlight dance like pixies from one emerald leaf to the next, the air is sweet and soft on my skin as it whirls in through open car windows, the music on the radio is just the song I want to hear, and instead of cursing under my breath at the 16 year old boy who races by me in a pimped out honda only to cut me off and slam on his brakes when the light we (all the experienced drivers on the road) knew was going to turn red, does in fact turn red, I put up a prayer, "keep him safe, and bless his life today". And who says miracles don't happen?

Last night's drive was extra appreciable. The stars aligned in just the right way, at just the right time to reveal a universal truth to me. It feels better being happy. I suddenly realized how much time I waste feeling sorry for myself. Maybe by focusing on how this hurt me or that hurt me, I turned myself into a victim. And who wants to be a victim? Being a victim means I have no control over my own fate, no ability to overcome struggles and shortcoming, living in a perpetual state of "poor me" Instead of wallowing over the few hurdles I have faced in life, why not celebrate the jump over them, and all the times life has smiled on me? Why not spend that time appreciating all the great things I have experienced?

So I did. I spent the rest of the night embracing my great mood. I invited my sister over, joked with my dad, indulged in a Coldstone icecream, walked around my new (I can hardly believe I live here because it is so cool) neighborhood, read a few pages of a good book, showered- because going to bed with a fresh soapy smell is one of my favorite things, and slept like the dead.

A pretty good day, I'd say.

Observations

2007-05-24T08:57:00.000-04:00

I have often wondered about the things human beings are inclined to observe. We observe the obvious, those things affecting our physical state, the weather, the temperature, rough, itchy fabric vs. smooth cotton sheets, the softness of a summer breeze as it kisses our skin or the sharp, clinching bite of winter air as it first enters our lungs. These things are tangible. We can reach out and touch them. They effect our nerve endings and make firings in our brains that tell our bodies to sweat or conserve energy, pull away from the danger of a flame. But what of those things that are less concrete. The tension in a room after a fight, the feeling that someone is watching you, the sense of joy at seeing a family reunited in an airport. These are equally pervasive.

What causes some to see art in the details of everyday life, and others to be keenly aware of peoples minute excentricites that give away fear or sadness in even the most guarded of people? How are these things differentiated in the brain- an organ that is composed of the same parts and synapses in almost every human being, but causes each to tend toward one kind of observation over another? These are just some things I have been thinking about. Here is an observation of mine.

In one state.

2007-05-23T11:59:00.000-04:00

Great things have been accomplished by man; the pyramids, penicillin, moon walking (Neil and Michael), and today that list is one longer, Trina has officially consolidated her worldly possessions into one apartment, in one state. I think we should mark this day as one for the history books. After all, pigs can now fly, hell froze over, and the moon turned blue; I am officially sleeping in my new apartment. I'd say that is noteworthy.

I was a little concerned that this day would never come. Particularly when we discovered on Sunday -after four solid days of travel, moving and towing an enormous trailer behind a big ass (but ridiculously comfortable) SUV, that my box spring would not fit around the corner and up the stairs to my bedroom. People who graciously offered to help me move in, saw me at my exhausted, almost-ready-to-crack, worst. When I swear aloud out of frustration, watch out. But with only one small hole in the wall, we got it up there. We just had to purchase an alligator-esque DeWitt hand saw, buzz down the middle of my box spring, brace it on both side and body check the frame to make it crack in half. After that, it turned around that corner and went up those stairs like a dream, a terrible, terrible, but funny when you look back on it, dream.

Now as I lay in my "grown up" bed, and spread my whole body over every possible inch, I soak in the wonderfulness that is a high thread count and bless the Gods that created hand saws. Oh and my dad, definitely my dad, who risked life and limb to cut my bed in half, and brought the drill to put it back together. Bless you, bless you both.

I am.... my first encounter with memes

2007-05-22T13:13:00.000-04:00

I have been tagged by Amanda, the crazy cool momma of two with inspiring insight into her days of womanhood, motherhood, and hanging in the 'hood of the Adirondacks. The basic premise, sentences starting with I am....

I am a loud belly laugher.

I am sometimes soothed by familiar smells from my childhood even when they are carcinogenic, ie. Virginia Slim cigarette smoke.

I am often overcome with a deep-inside aching love for my friends and family.

I am a believer in people.

I am generous to a fault.

I am patient.

I am not a risk taker.

I am mesmerized by nature and its simultaneous complexity and simplicity.

I am blessed in love.

I am scared of swimming in water where I can't see my feet.

I am trying to overcome the above by swimming in water where I can't see my feet anyway.

I am 23.

I am lonely for companionship, but enjoying life none-the-less.

I am a moderator.

I am thrilled with the fact that I can bear children.

I am an artist.

I am running out of things to say I am... therefore,

I am finished.

I am tagging Lara.

The Truest Sign of Friendship

2007-05-15T09:51:00.000-04:00

After I graduated from college a year ago (holy crap) I moved back to the town where I had grown up, a great little city with an abundance of beautiful houses and parks, big old trees along wide streets that make canopies of shimmering green in the spring sunshine, minutes from the queen lake of the adirondacks, lake george, 15 minutes from the horse racing glory of Saratoga and in my mind, right back where I started.

Most of my friends had cut and run. Despite the charm of the city, there are very few jobs unless you want to work in a paper plant or Boston Scientific. Coming home felt a little like a failure... all this work and all the success I had in college going toward.....??? But I consoled myself with the thought that it was not permanent. I had a good job with great people. I could figure some stuff out and relax a little before jumping into the next chapter.

Having few friends in the area however, proved to be a little tricky. Luckily, one friend of mine from high school got a job as an elementary school teacher at a local school and has been my saving grace as far as friends goes. You see, she got set up on a blind date with the cousin of her boss, and though their first few dates will go down in the history books as "worst blind dates imaginable", it is a testament to both their characters that they stuck around for what is turning out to be a great relationship.

How this affects me; the new dude in the picture turned out to be a fun guy with fun friends and we have had some good times over the past few months. But being something of a guarded person, I don't tend to let people in all too easily. Despite my very friendly demeanor, you have to work to gain my trust, -isn't it funny how just a few times of really getting burned in your youth because you trusted people can have a ripple effect that follows you for the rest of your life? Life lesson- don't shit on people. You're sending out some seriously bad karma that will absolutely bite you in the ass. That being said, once you've gained my trust, you're stuck with me, for better or worse.

So this new dude, was a good guy, I knew that much. And he was good to my friend which worked in his favor, but it wasn't until this past Monday after a softball game and dinner outing with the group that I felt truly embraced as one of "the gang".

And what was this defining moment you ask.... I got hardcore, buttcheecks against the glass of my driver's side car window mooned by new dude. Now you all know the secret to my heart, ass cheeks. hehe.

23 here I come!

2007-05-14T12:58:00.000-04:00

Saturday marked the turning of my 23rd year. Yikes. I don't know about anyone else, but odd number years just sound older, 23 sounds older than 24, 35 sounds older than 36. It's strange. But I have decided, I am in fact, not old, or even close to it.

Old, Cool, Hot, these adjectives are entirely based on perspective. An example if you will; picture me, the now 23 year old, in my 8 year old youth, frolicking in the back yard, climbing trees, riding bikes, playing dress up and then continuing to climb trees while in "dress up" attire (otherwise known as 1970's era lingerie my mother purchased at a resale shop because it made for excellent beauty queen costumes). We had a babysitter named Christy, and she was everything I wanted to be. She was in, (sigh) high school. And she was so cool and grown up. She had a boyfriend, and played on the tennis team, which meant she must have been the most amazing tennis player to have ever graced the court. She was 16 and she drove this little beater of a car. My sisters and I crunched ourselves into the back when we drove to the grocery store to get summer treats and I can vividly remember one such trip where we had to hide from one of her ex-boyfriends (oh the drama!). When I reached 16, I realized with something akin to disappointment, that I was no where near as cool as Christy had been at 16. When I turned 21, a similar situation. I was not grown up, or sophisticated, and I definitely was not as "together" as I thought I would be at 16 or 21. Now at the ripe old age of 23, I can see it's all about perspective. Christy was the epitome of cool because she represented a teenager, someone that had experienced grown up things, but wasn't a parent or a teacher. I looked at her life through the rose colored glass of my young years and limited experience.

The same thing goes for "old". To someone in their 50's reading this, I am young and carefree, without their world of potential middle age worries, paying for college, taking care of kids, colonoscopes, mammograms. But for me, this is as old as I have ever been and I am feeling it acutely. The loss of my childhood, the rush of emotions that come mostly from fluctuating hormones, school dances, taking classes, final exams, term projects, all these things that have defined my 23 years are fresh in my mind. My perspective of age is derived from my experience, because what other measuring pole do any of us really have?

I probably seem to the children I have watched through years of babysitting, to be very grown up and together. Hehe, oh if they only knew. But I hope as I get older, and gain little pebbles of wisdom, I maintain the veil of rose colored glass that is youth, looking forward to every part of life as a child would view it, with high hopes and undaunted enthusiasm for what's to come. To have that, AND the ability to enjoy all that is this moment, to soak in life until my fingers get all pruny. With that I would be happy. With that, I would feel I did all I could to make my years on this earth count. Right now I am 23, with a lot to learn, and a lot to experience. But I have high hopes for what's next. I think 23 is going to be a pretty great year for me, I can feel it. Like a good book I can't put down, I am looking forward to turning every page.

Because My Mom is Beautiful...

2007-05-11T11:04:00.000-04:00

My mother is a remarkable human being. She loves her children with an intensity I am not sure I will ever fully comprehend until I have children of my own. She is our cheerleader and supporter, our counselor and friend, and when necessary the iron fist (though now that her three children are all 20+, not so much).

When I think back to my childhood, I can't remember my mother getting sick. Of course she must have gotten sick at least a couple of times along the way. With three children serving as carrier monkeys, there is no way she could have avoided all our cooties, but what is interesting is that I can't ever remember her being ill, ever. It's weird.

As I enter adulthood, I have begun to see more and more the humanity of my mother. Through the eyes of a child, she was a super-hero, with no task too big (or too small), nothing out of her reach, she could do it all. When she was my age, she had a toddler and one cooking in the oven. I can only imagine the immense pressure she must have felt, not only was she going through the same "finding yourself" crap that I am currently experiencing, but she was raising children as well and balancing a full time job, a marriage, crazy parents, the recent death of a sibling, good GOD! How did she do it? With grace, humility, perseverance, unabated optimism, and a love that runs incredibly deep. I am brought close to tears at the thought of how fortunate I am to have her as a mother.

We were talking the other night, sharing our exercising/weight struggles with each other. She was sharing about the trainer she recently hired, and telling me how much weight she had lost. I was telling her how I was a victim of three digit syndrome, that despite what I know to be muscle weight because my clothes are looser than they were, I am still pissed to have gained three pounds. (I know, whoop dee, three stinkin' pounds, I freely admit that it is entirely psychological) The conversation was mostly positive, but then my mom said something that really got to me. It kind of made me mad. She was talking about where she started, prior to trainers and early-morning cardio sessions, and she called herself a "cow". It was said in a joking fashion, and she softened it by inserting it into the following sentence, "I have only lost ____lbs. but my trainer said it was all definitely fat because I wasn't really in need of a trainer to begin with. I felt like such a cow before." I didn't voice my reaction, but I got mad at her. How dare she call my mom a cow, the woman who for my entire life I have thought to be the most beautiful woman I know. How dare she! No one messes with my momma, not even my momma.

It suddenly occurred to me how hurtful we are to ourselves. I felt the sting of her words because I love my mom and I know her beauty runs so much deeper than the skin covering her bones. We get so used to calling ourselves names, to picking apart our appearance, finding flaws, imperfections, things that could be better, worked on, improved.... we forget that these thoughts and words are hurtful. My mom would never call another woman a cow. I would never tell my friend or a woman on the street, "You know, your thighs are really disproportionate to the rest of your body, you might want to work on that." What makes it ok to say these things about ourselves? Why do we not see our bodies as magnificent? Yes, keep it healthy, take care of it, exercise it, feed it, and then love it. Love it like you love a friend, with forgiveness and support, encouragement and caring words. My body is the only one I have. And it is never going to change. I am never going to be able to trade in my thighs for a different pair, but no one on this earth has a pair that would fit me better. They are mine, they are strong, and from now on, I am going to treat them with the respect they deserve.

So this is for my mother, who is, in a word, incredible. I love you because you inspire me with your wisdom. I love you because you make lame puns that I think are hilarious. I love you because you LIVE your life, accepting its ups and downs with a grace I will forever strive to attain. I love you because you have shown me what love looks like, that it is not perfect or neat or easy, but essential, and all that there really is. I love you because even though I was born five weeks early and blue as the sky, your body made me strong enough to pull through. I love you because even though you may become irrational at times, you come around in the end. I love you because you taught me how to be my own person by supporting all my goofy endeavors. I love you because you are my mom, not because you weigh what you did at 18. I understand now what you meant when you said, "Stop beating up my kid." I know what you felt when I knocked myself down, you felt pain, just like I did, when you knocked yourself down. So from here on out, I will, I'll stop beating up your kid, as long as you stop beating up my mom.

an ode to britney

2007-05-09T16:33:00.000-04:00

She may not have used the best judgement when she shaved her head, married K-Fed, or when she chose that silver, skin tight cat suit for her music video, but let me just say, with the whole, "not a girl, not yet a woman" thing, she sort of hit the nail on the head.

Granted, the song is lame, but the sentiment is definitely understood. I think it happens all the time, people getting stuck in between life paths and phases. No one really wants to admit it, because who wants to admit not knowing where they are in life, but I for one, freely and proudly admit it. Trina: Not a girl, not yet a woman.

I am sure almost everyone who knows me would say otherwise. I tend to give off a very "I've got it all under control" attitude, but deep down, I've got one foot stuck in girlhood and the other somewhere on the outskirts of womanland. I do adult things, I pay bills, and have a 9-5er. I cook all my own food, I do all my own laundry, I have a retirement fund and "People" to manage it. And not that I wish an unfortunate anonymous death upon myself, (and I know this is kind of morbid and probably the result of too many crime tv shows) but if CSI investigators found me in some remote location, I would be classified as an adult female, 5'9" 162 lbs. ADULT. On paper, I certainly fit the bill.

I have always had an overly keen sense of responsibilty, at times causing me to miss out on some positive risk taking, but I can't seem to think of myself as a "woman". The term comes equipped with so much weight, like I should have to accomplish great things in order to deserve it. The term "Woman" holds a lot of power. This isn't a feminist statement or a petition to change the langauge so it is more gender neutral, just a fact. The term "Man" when applied to an individual male holds a lot of power too. To be a "Man" in my mind anyway, you have to build things, cook outdoors, make fire, play rugged sports, be a sex machine.... hehe, you thought I was serious there for a minute and all the "male social stereo-type" hairs on your head stood on end. Don't worry, to be a "Man" means so much more than an ability to wield an ax or a throw a football as some might have you believe. To deserve the term, I think a guy needs to be able to take responsiblity for his actions, own his strengths, and his weakness, treat all individuals with respect, be able to compromise, go after the things he wants in life, stand up for himself and those that can't stand up for themselves, be willing to admit there are things that scare him, but have the courage to stand up to those fears. And I think pretty much all those same things apply to the term "Woman". No pressure or anything.

But despite what might seem like unrealistic expectations, I don't think it is wrong to expect things of people, or of myself. It's like grading... a lot of teachers these days will give you an "A" for fulfilling the requirements of an assignment. But in reality, you deserve a "C" : average work, you fulfilled the requirements, no more, no less. An "A" means you went well above and beyond, you busted your ass, you made an effort and accomplished excellence. Maybe the expecations I have for myself are too high, and I will only deem myself a "woman" when I have faced all my fears and boldly gone where no Trina has gone before.

Maybe it will be more like my counselor said a while back, (yes I see a counselor from time to time, I highly recommend it, it helps you get some perspective and learn to help yourself... geez I sound like a self help book) "Becoming a woman is less of a sudden realization and more of a gradual progression. You'll find yourself talking to someone who may be older than you, but you'll decide, 'yeah, I'm an adult, I am on equal footing with you.' and then you'll be talking to someone else and feel like a kid again. This process will keep on repeating until the times you feel like an adult start to outnumber the times your feel like a kid. And one day, you'll look up, and suddenly there you'll be, an adult."

Or perhaps it will be a combination of the two, because I can't imagine I will stop having high expectations of myself, I will probably edge my way into adulthood through the my "go-getter" experiences and the lessons I learn from my successes and failures along the way, floating back and forth from kidville to womanland, until I find safe harbor somewhere in adulthood.

As for right now though, still not a girl, and still not quite a woman. Oh well, I'll keep you posted if there are any new developments.

Politics as fun as a Dane Cook Show

2007-05-07T10:28:00.000-04:00

All right, I am not sure who else out there tunes into C-SPAN, I mean, I do on a pretty regular basis, but I am not sure that is the norm, at least for someone my age. Well let me just say, there is some pretty good entertainment on the channel of politics in action.

Yesterday, while flipping through stations dedicated to the very important and world changing issues of infomercials, QVC, reality TV and movies starring the incredibly talented actor, Dwayne Douglas Johnson, ie. former WWF wrestler, "The Rock", I happened upon a recording of the British House of Commons. I have stumbled upon this in the past, and let me say, I kind of always hope it's on. It's a guilty pleasure, akin to episodes of The Office and romance novels. Indeed, there are some striking similarities between the three.

Though no one is sporting a white powered wig (a sad loss), you won't find politics more entertaining than this, well excepting perhaps the incredible vocal stylings of our "Man in Charge". Picture this, a room packed with the voice of the common man, (the elected representatives of each district within the UK), the Prime Minister Tony Blair and his posse, the head honcho for Tony's opposing party and HIS posse, seated directly across from Tony, and a large centrally located table with a couple of micro phones placed on either side. The room is set up in a fashion similar to the arena where small animals such as roosters, or dogs have illegal fights in the basements of seemingly legit butcher's shops. And trust me, the battles that ensue in this "public forum" have a similar bite. But for the sake of decency, there is an appointed Speaker to maintain order, currently that task falls to Michael Martin I believe. (I am pretty sure he has a much larger role than merely officiating one of the largest branches of the British government, but for the sake of my story, he is pretty much wearing the black and white stripes.)

Once the session begins, anyone who wants to ask a question, make a point, take a jab at the Prime Minister, hear themselves talk, take one for the team, throw in a few statistics, give their respective party a leg up, or shoot the shit, as it were, aggressively stands in unison, some almost jumping out of their seats, others, ACTUALLY jumping out of their seats, hoping the speaker will see them first and allow them to voice any of the aforementioned alternatives. Once a person is identified (though I imagine the Speaker probably just guesses, because I mean really, who would actually be able to pick the first to stand, and what of the people with knee problems, who can't burst from their chairs as easily as their sprightly and nimble counterparts?) the rest sit, many like sulking school boys who hang their heads and look forlorn.

Whoever "stood up first" (yeah, right), will continue standing and proceed with their comment amidst what can only be referred to as loud grumbling. Sometimes the grumbling grows to yells and at times I believe, cat calls. If a question is posed, the Prime Minister will bound from his chair to the podium, binder in hand, full of what I can only assume is page upon page of potential answers for potential questions brought to the House that day... it's a pretty big binder, and then, usually having to yell over the laughs, chuckles, and cat calls of the representatives, (while leaning on an elaborate avocado colored chest serving as a podium), answers the question and trys not to laugh with the rest of the crowd. After the question is answered, he bounds back to his chair and everyone else immediately jumps from their seats repeating the process of "first to stand" and hoping for the Speaker to "PICK ME!!!! PICK ME!!!!".

And this is what they do, almost the entire time the House is in session. It is Hilarious, not only because of the method, but also because while people are insulting each other (or the Prime Minister for that matter), they are throwing around terms like "Right Honorable Gentleman"... and ""The Good Sir/Madam" ...for example, "The Right Hornorable Gentleman is son to a horses ass and a can't even bother to show up for meetings held to discuss the very issue he is complaining about." Ok that might have been a slight exaggeration, but you get the point.

So to make a long story short, for those of you who think politics are dry and pointless, I encourage you to watch C-SPAN more often. If you happen to catch the House of Commons, you are in for a great show. I personally think the US Senete and House of Representatives could take a few cues from their hilarious methods. And don't get me wrong, I am not belittling the British system of government at all. In fact, I think it's pretty fricken cool that members of the House of Commons are having a great time while they speak for the people. Laughing and grumbling WHILE getting stuff done. Sounds like a plan to me

There's nothing like a party

2007-05-05T10:22:00.000-04:00

"and the Nori Award goes to.... Trampoline Design!" (enter whooping, hollering and general jubilation). Such was the scene EIGHT times last night at the Ad club Nori Awards in Albany. Suffice to say, the night was a total success, and not just because we won 8 of the 14 submissions we entered (ok I might be bragging a little here), but because I saw how clearly the joy of success felt by one member of Trampoline was felt by every other member at that table.

And then it hit me as I sat there, flanked on one side by my date, (otherwise known as my dad), and Boss Couple #1 Paula and Derek, the couple who since I met them about 7 years ago, have helped restore my faith in marriage with the notion that even after 10+ years and two children, two people can continue to genuinely enjoy one another's company, and that when she comes up in conversations, a man can talk about the beauty of his wife as if he is laying eyes on her for the first time; and on the other side, Boss Couple #2, Sean and Amanda, the uber cool, hilarious, and devoted to one another duo, whose wisdom and appreciation of all the small moments that make up life and family seems to come not from the mouths of two new parents, but instead from the seasoned voices of a 75 year old couple scootin' along with all their years of experience to draw from; and beyond them, the "On the same level as me, under Boss Couple #1 and Boss Couple #2" Couple, Pete and Jen. I don't know Jen very well yet, but since she can hang out with Pete all the time, she must possess some pretty fine qualities, and Pete, the kind of person with the sense of humor everyone wishes they had, a person who when you buy them some granola because you remembered they said they liked it, will come to you truly appreciative of the gesture, and then a while after they have eaten all the "chunks" ask you if you have yet to come up with a method for re-clumping the straggling pieces of oat because he can't finish it if it is un-clumped. Pete is also profoundly accomplished at talking "shit", fluffing his ego feathers when certain LAME members of the community get up in his grill, and taking with dignity the taunts of the Y chromosome member of Boss Couple #2 (Sean).

So after pondering all these people around me, I realized, we were something of a family; a group of people who shared in each other's happiness and success, struggles and sadness. I wonder if at the beginning, when Sean and Derek were first thinking of starting a business together, they realized this is what it would become. They have seen each other through the birth of two children, a home lost to fire, death of a beloved grandparent, a health scare with a parent, illness, milestone birthdays, and that is not to mention all that goes into running a small business with money matters, problem clients, new hires, dealing with Pete, landing big jobs, winning eight Noris in ONE night, being up for a best in show award. I bet a steak dinner with a side of vegetables that it's more than either of them bargained for.

Sitting there I felt called to let up a prayer of thanks, thanks that these people were in my life, that at a time when circumstances have left me sometimes feeling adrift, without a place to belong or a community to depend on, I was a part of this group, this family. Without my realizing it, the three men I worked with day in and day out, had become like big brothers to me, teasing me when appropriate... insert "Trina's gullible moment" here, supporting me and all my crazy endeavours, appreciating my efforts at the office, and each on separate occasions at the awards ceremony last night, making a point to tell me I looked great. What girl doesn't like that?

Success was measured in more than one way last night. What began as a ceremony celebrating Trampoline's incredible talent and hard work, became a moment in time when its people and what they created was suddenly paramount to any award they could have won.

The Hunt for Independence

2007-05-04T09:00:00.000-04:00

So I am gearing up for a pretty big change in the next couple of weeks; moving into my first post-college apartment in a new city. Granted this new city is only about 20 miles away from where I currently live, and I did live in an apartment (albeit on campus) for three years, so I am not totally new to the world of independent living, but I am still feeling the crunch of a big life change.

I am absolutely a creature of habit. I fall easily into comfortable patterns and tend to stick with them until life forces change upon me. Since graduating, my patterns have tended more toward those of a middle-aged male plumber, ie. my father, who has graciously allowed me to stay with him for the past year while I figure out some kind of life plan, instead of the more appropriate patterns of an upbeat 22 year old woman. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad. He is a great guy, and I feel we have become a lot closer in recent months. But until this past year, I hadn't lived with him full time, for an extended period of time, since my parents divorced in 1997. With few friends in the area, and a small work environment where the people are fantastic, but everyone in the office is married with small children or busy with a girlfriend/house renovations/small business, it has been tough finding people my age to hang out with. So I have become something of an old woman. I go to work, hit the gym, get home to make myself some sort of vegetarian concoction with whatever I can find in the cabinets, work on some sewing or the crocheted blanket I have been trying to finish for the past two years, maybe read a book, and then go to bed, usually around 10:30. Not exactly the thrilling life I hoped for.

I began looking for an apartment, and a roommate. My first attempt at finding a friend to live with, not so successful. The one person in the area I could think of, a great friend of mine from high school, and probably the most perfect 1st grade teacher you will ever find, was not quite ready for the break from home. And that was fine, but I was itching for a place of my own where I could set up camp, have people over for dinner, throw the occassional party, and all those other things I couldn't do in my father's tiny two bedroom apartment where the median age of the complex probably didn't dip below 65. So I searched for places I could afford on my own. I wasn't particularly interested in living alone. I feared the solitude that would accompany coming home to an empty apartment every night. My father may have been "watching" a Yankee's game through his eyelids every night, but at least he was there, and would rouse to say hello when I came in, and occassionaly enjoy or at least pretend to enjoy my vegetable delights.

Sadly, or perhaps serendipitously, the only places I could find in my budget were either the size of a postage stamp with a living room just wide enough for me to stretch out my arms and touch my fingers to either wall, or dumps where I would fear taking showers barefooted. Feeling resigned to wait patiently for my friend to get sick enough of her parents to move out, I kept on crashing at my dad's. Really, it hasn't been terrible. Though perhaps not quite bursting with excitement, I didn't have to pay rent, (which allowed me to visit my sister and the rest of my family in Rome for a week) it was a short commute to work, and I got the bigger bedroom so I could set up my Trinabags sewing station. But then out of the blue, I get a call. One of my sister's best friends is looking for a bigger place, would I like to room with her? Abso-fricken-lutely.

We started hunting. She suggested Saratoga, a hip young town with a great art scene, funky bars and restaurants, and the track. At first I was hesitant about the commute, having never had one before, but then we looked at some places, walked around the super downtown, and my feelings shifted from hestitancy to how fast can we make this happen.

The first few places were nothing to write home about, but then on our way home after a few unsuccessful viewings, I saw a "For Rent" sign in front of a big old Victorian located just a five minute walk from dowtown. We called the number, and the landlord said, "It's open, take a look if you want." The place felt right from the moment we walked in. Two floors, a living room, a dining/kitchen area, two bedrooms, plenty of storage, and all the charm you would expect from a house dating back to around 1890. Not wanting to rush into anything, we both took the night to think about, though in retrospect, I don't think either of us really needed it. Then next day, we said we'd take it, and signed on the dotted line. Now I am in the process of retreiving my stuff from the three different states where is has been housed for the past year, North Carolina, Virginia, and New York. Once I have it all, I'll be moving in, and throwing a huge fricken house warming party. :) Handsome, single, young men are welcome.

Knock em' dead

2007-05-03T11:04:00.000-04:00

Oh the pressure of a first post. Of course, my obsessive, perfectionist, super-perky cheerleader of an inner voice is yelling, "Make it a DOOSEY! Knock Em' DEAD!" while my other, the overly rational, slightly cynical, sometimes jaded voice is saying with a certain amount of disdain, "Trina, get a grip".

They are my angel and devil, each sitting happily on their designated shoulder, proffering taunts and cheers, eye rolls, and accolades. You'll get to know each of them pretty well as the posts accumulate I imagine.

I started this blog to keep a record of the ups and downs and the daily oddities. These are the necessary reflections of a twenty something searcher, just trying to figure it all out. It will at times be entertaining (I hope), and at times, probably just dripping with lameness as I ponder all life throws at me. So here it goes, my first post...