Things Like These Shouldn't Happen Anywhere

What happens when the site of so many beloved childhood memories becomes the site of a senseless bloodbath?

Closing my eyes today, I was able to easily transport myself back to a time where I stood in the hallways of Sandy Hook Elementary, idly poking at a loose tooth when I was six years old. At five years old, sitting at a wooden table with my classmates, contorting my stubby fingers to coax a script 'q' from the tip of my pencil. I carefully snipped and scored pieces out of oak tag at ten years of age to create a three dimensional dodecahedron which I still have to this day. In the fourth grade, crowding onto a cold floor with all the other girls for an awkward lecture on the female reproductive system.

I was afforded the opportunity to do all these things while never once feeling any fear for my life. No child should ever have to fear for their safety....well...ever. But most certainly not in a place where they are molding their minds and hearts for the future.

This is the second time in my life I have felt the blow of what it's like to be truly traumatized. The first was the sudden loss of my 21 year old cousin. I woke up today much like I did that day. I received a call from a relative telling me that there had been a tragedy. Upon hearing the news this morning, I fell immediately into the classic stage of grief, denial. I turned on the news and heard someone had been shot in the foot. I said to myself "Oh, ok. Not bad. Of course. These things don't happen in Newtown. School shooting, nah. Probably just some kid brought his dad's gun to school and it went off accidentally." It wasn't real to me until it was reported that a child had died inside the walls of my beloved elementary school. I broke down and have felt hollow ever since. Parts of me felt like they were being physically chipped away as I watched the body count rise on the national news channels.

Even though I was not directly related to anyone in the school, I feel like I have suddenly lost a close family member. Having been a part of the Newtown community for 26 years, that community is an intrinsic part of who I am. Today the community that I have been a part of for more than a quarter of a century has not only lost a generation of young minds, but has also been robbed of a sense of peace that has protected this community.

I hate the idea of people thinking of Newtown as a place where "these things happen". They don't happen here. And since the unthinkable happened and tragedy did strike, I take it as definitive proof that it can definitely happen anywhere.

I know there will be people worldwide that brand Newtown as an unsafe and risky place to send children to school. Where people will be apprehensive about applying for teaching jobs. But I'll know the truth. And the truth is that it's not towns that are the culprits of these types of tragedies; the tragedies are an indication that something is wrong with our society in a larger sense.

How do we keep our peace of mind and our children safe without sacrificing feelings of safety and freedom? What has changed in the years between my struggle with simple subtraction and now? (Although truth be told I still sometimes struggle with subtraction). I think that's the question we should be asking ourselves. What has changed? Security has increased, but violence appears to be increasing in kind. There can definitely be calls for increases in gun control, but there should also be calls into reform for mental health care and helping parents of children who struggle with mental health issues.

 I have no answers now, and still feel empty. All I do know is that I desperately want to be part of the solution. And in a perfect world I would never wake up to hear the words "we never thought this could happen here" ever again.

 Because things like these shouldn't happen anywhere.

'That's A Lil' Blurry'

Gotta love iphone sans flash.

The Mental Staircase

Snuggled up in her quilted floral-print comforter, little eight year old Rainey closes her eyes and starts to drift to sleep. Consciousness starts to retreat back into her mind, like water slowly spiraling down a drain. The minute space between her eyes and eyelids goes dark. And in the moment between sleep and dreaming, her minds-eye rapidly zooms outwards revealing a colorless canvas, infinite in scope.

Snap back to twenty years later, when falling asleep has become one of two things. Either an action of impatiently waiting for blackness to descend while wrestling with the insomina devil, or unexpectedly passing out on the couch in the middle of a rerun of 'The Office' (side note - I watch 'The Office' so often while sleeping on the couch that the softly jangling theme song has become almost like a personal lullaby...). That peaceful, comforting moment between sleep and dreaming has been somehow misplaced over the years, my adult mind incapable, unwilling or too taxed by adult-like stressors to take even a brief rest before escaping into unconsiousness.

I found that moment again in an unexpected place.

Yoga.

Yep, yoga. Okay so maybe yoga is not the most unexpected of places to find a peaceful, comforting moment, but the way it snuck up on me took me by suprise. I have been attending yoga sessions once to twice a week for the past two months, in the hopes that it would help me achieve a level of balance in my life that I felt I was missing.

Yoga is HARD man. The first hour of the sessions I attend involves a group leader instructing the group through a series of yoga poses meant to open up portions of the body and connect with the mind, surrounding world and life forces. My body struggles through most sessions, and I am so far unable to do some of the advanced poses. The day after my body usually aches in places I didn't know could ache. Like my big toe. Really, big toe? Why you gotta do me like that the day before I have to wear heels for a meeting?

Clearly, I know very little about yoga in theory or even yet in practice, but from what I understand it was developed in the long long ago for yogis to prime their bodies for long stretches of intensely deep meditation. And let me tell you, those dudes must've been in shape.

Meditation is the main reason I decided to get involved in yoga. I wanted a place where I could quiet my mind and slow my rapid and increasingly negative thoughts. The second portion of the yoga sessions I attend focuses on the practice of meditation. Our breathing slows and we are encouraged to lie on our mats and just lie in the moment in a still and quiet position.

At first I used that time to just simply enjoy the electric tingles that prickled outward from my muscles. Then I started to focus on the connection between my mind and my body, and how they almost seemed like two seperate entities, sometimes at war with one another. I would alternate between concentrating on my body and breathing patterns, and softly thinking positive thoughts in my head. I allowed that time to be whatever it was that I was experiencing at that time, and I always left the session feeling happy and energized.

But the other day during meditation, something happened. I focused on my breathing and my body, and as I did this, the world fell away. My minds eye relaxed and a fuzzy space opened up like a small pin prick in the far off distance. The space was what I could only term a 'staircase', as it simply existed in my consciousness, inviting me to view it from afar, or there for me to venture closer if I wished. For a few seconds my entire being existed of only my perspective and the staircase, wavering in open air, announcing its presence. Even though nothing actually happened, after the session I felt lighter and more confident. Yesterday was a seriously good day.

I know, I know, I sound like a new agey hippie. But in all seriousness, this mind-space felt eerily like the magical sleep/wake feeling that I used to experience as a young child. Only this time, I caught a glimpse of what it might be like to explore that space out of a dream. Maybe someday I will find my way up that staircase, but for now I feel gratified just to have opened up a part of my consciousness that I wasn't even aware existed.

I can't wait to go back and explore.

Friday Night Cow Tippin' and Bacon

For purposes of this post, I would like to revise "A picture is worth a thousand words." into the phrase "A picturephone is priceless."

Not exaaaaactly the same thing, but if you have an addiction to the picture-messaging function on your phone like I do, you'll get my meaning. A good chunk of my day is spent sending and responding to picture texts from my sister. Like we need to send each other a continual stream of verifiable proof of what occurs in our days. Generally we send pictures of various foodstuffs, or our contorted faces to represent emoticons that don't exist. My favorite picures are the WTF pictures. Example - today, I hopped out of the shower and grabbed my phone to check the weather. What accosted my eyes when I peeked at my phone?


(it's microwavable!...and, added bonus, also a food picture!)

Therefore it was not strange at all when I picture messaged her no less than ten times on Friday night.

What follows are only the pictures that I sent her, with no explanation. I would like to think that standing alone, without description, they tell a story all on their own.















Now I'm sure stories that are made up will be much better than what actually happened....but here be the facts.

While sending my sister a myriad of pictures of my dogs face meant to convey dissaproval of her late night ice cream habit, she spied my shoe in the background of the picture. I then felt the need to send her an actual picture of my shoes. Upon which she cried 'Where are you? A hayfield?'. (Shamefully friends, this picture is actually of our dead lawn.) I corrected her and said, nope this is our neglected backyard.

At this time, Chris and I decided to go on a late night date to Denny's and Walmart. Due to the picture of our lawn, and the late night nature of our date, my sister suggested we maybe go cow tipping afterwards.

At Denny's we discover 'BACONALIA'. Holy crap. America is going to have a massive coronary. Chris decides to get the Maple Bacon sundae. Holy crap. My boyfriend is going to have a massive coronary. He does indeed feign a small heart attack after finishing the sundae, but alas he would not pose for a picture.

On the way out, Chris and I play the obligatory claw game that is truly my favorite reason to go to Denny's. He wins A COW for me on his first try! I get very excited.

I go home and I do a little cowtipping in my hayfield of a backyard. I giggle...and of course send a picture to my sister.

Why Am I Such A Bad Blogger?

Why am I such a bad blogger?

My past few returns to blogging have been oh-so-brief and bookended by long stretches of time. I have a few ideas why...

It's not that I haven't been thinking of my beloved blog, because I certainly do! All the time! I maintain lengthy lists of blog ideas that I add to on a frequent basis stored in my phone, and I even have a handful of almost completed posts saved on blogger.com. If someone were simply observing only my behaviors, and not my actual blog, they would think that I was a productive, active blogger and not what I actually am ---

A bad blogger.

For someone who loves words, who in fact totes around a dog-eared copy of Rogets Thesaurus in her car the term 'bad blogger' rings a little too stale. My blog-posting habits might be more accurately described as 'anxious blogger', 'scared blogger', 'negligent blogger', or even 'trying-really-hard-to-be-ambivalent blogger'. Truly, I have sat in front of my blank computer screen more than once over the past two months, paralyzed with fear that the resulting blog post might not be good enough. Generally this feeling abounds after I've read good chunks of genius authors like Mary Karr or David Foster Wallace....but even in the back of my head I know that they too struggled with uncertainty, anxiety and rejection. I even know that failure comes with the territory of any project that I personally will ever attempt in my life.

So, in reality, there really is no other term than 'bad blogger' to describe my absence. Because, really, I am the only one who is accountable for what gets posted and what does not get posted. Even now, discouraging thoughts are racing through my brain... "Does this post accurately encapsulate what I am thinking? Are people going to read and understand how I feel? Is this just a waste of time? OMG if I can't muster the gumption to maintain a blog then how am I ever going to write short stories or even 'gulp' a novel?!?"

My brain is evil sometimes.

I am not going to declare that my blogging neuroses have been defeated or even that I am going to blog faithfully as I have promised in the past. Because that is a promise that is sure to be broken at some point in time, and the anxious voice in my brain will take that and run with it when the time comes. In anticipating that nebbish bitch of a voice, I will only say the following.

Blogging makes me a better person. Blogging activates my mind in a way that few activities have. My mood, imagination, enthusiasm, and insight are always improved for having sent a blog post out into the electronic ether. I am going to try and post more frequently despite the nagging voice in my head that tells me it's not good enough....that I'm not good enough. Because there's always a reason to not do something. I need to start concentrating on why I can, and why I should.

Because there's a million reasons to succeed.

Live Blog From Traffic Court ***UPDATED**

I survey the room. Amoeba-shaped coffee stains permeate the rug...the stains even seem to be dying of boredom.  Funny because there's no coffee here. There used to be coffee here! Why have I been to this court room so often? Twice for speeding tickets and once for an agonizing six hour day of jury duty in which my noble contribution to society as a civil servant was to read a copy of 2009 Spring Vogue cover to cover eight times.  By the end of that day I fancied myself an expert on upcoming spring fashion. I blame that day for my continued love of coral and lavender nail polishes.....

Anyways, to stave off my boredom, I have decided to post my first live blog as well as my first time blogging from my phone, so please bear with me! Updates to follow.

2:54pm - A break in the boredom!  
Dude next to me just told another lady that he took a Xanax before coming here. Woah guy.....if a 30 something man has to pop a pill before coming to traffic court, there are gonna be bigger problems in store for him in his future.

2:57pm - Now up comes the magistrate and I get to match faces to everyones charges...what I might argue is a very intrusive but interesting part of the court process. Like watching a live and shortened version of Peoples Court or Judge Judy, only the magistrate doesn't seem to be a sassy red headed lady. And, even more dissapointing, he doesn't have a gavel. Boo.

3:00pm - Thinking that it would be really funny if I started to carry a 'get out of jail free' card from Monopoly around with me. My sister somehow wrangled a legit 'get out of jail free' card from some official she knows....but it doesn't have the cool guy with the wings on it. I wonder what would happen if I handed one in the Monopoly-style to the magistrate....or to the next cop that pulls me over.

3:12pm - The magistrate calls me up and dismisses my case (talking on a cell phone, first offense) but only after the lawyer lady scolds me because my hands free headset looks too new. Yeah lady, I totally bought it yesterday for a ticket issued in August. I don't like change, wanna fight about it?

3:15pm - Find my way outside and retrieve my spray can of mace that I had buried in a pile of snow as I was banned from brining it into the courthouse.

Thanks for bearing with me all! Updated thoughts on courtrooming, breaking the law and live phone blogging to follow later tonight.

Righteous Hilarity Brought To You By Annoying Airhorn!

You wouldn't think that having a bedroom window overlook a busy intersection would be beneficial.

Well....you're right. It has zero benefits. And in the two places Chris and I have lived we have had the misfortune of a bedroom situated in the most inconvenient quadrant of living space. As the two of us are basically nocturnal, this has historically been something of a problem. Going to sleep when the 'normal' world greets the day may be acceptable when living in a sun dappled cabin miles away from civilization or when having a job that necessitates a 6am bedtime such as a nursing shift.

Of course instead of joining the ranks of regularly snoozing society, we suffer through the screech of Britney Spears from an open window, a siren call of a bickering couple with the window down, the jarring thump of floor vibrating bass (someone please tell me how the hell that's enjoyable inside the car?), piercing blasts emitted from garbage trucks, the chalkboard scrape of snowplows, etc etc....

Inventing nonsensical games helps ease the insomnia.

Enter Airhorn!



I cannot take credit for this amazing idea. One day, fed up with all of the crazies on the streets of South Norwalk, Chris was prompted with an idea.

Chris: "What if whenever anyone did something that is completely unacceptable, like raping the worlds ears with a jacked up demo of their techno band through open car windows, we just ran up to them with an airhorn and blasted it right in their face!"

Me: (after laughing has subsided) "Yes! Can we do that please?"

Chris: "We should totally have a TV show! Call it 'Annoying Airhorn'. I would watch that show."

So the question is - Who wants to fund the pilot season of 'Annoying Airhorn'? I figure the bulk of the budget will be in legal fees to battle restraining order and breach of peace charges. Small price to pay for righteous hilarity.