The caged animal feeling left the building yesterday, when the temperature rose to 45 degrees, and I walked around Jamaica Pond (ok, there were multiple lake areas, deep enough to drown in, but I’ll take it). What with daylight savings time kicking in, and the sun shining it’s happy face up there in the sky, normally so stifled by snowflakes, yesterday was the sort of day I wanted to throw a parade down Newbury Street, I felt so freaking happy.
But my gratitude doesn’t go to yesterday, and it’s temperate weather, it goes to the winter of 2015, for starving me of outdoor time, hammering away at my optimism like one of Santa’s elves, almost forcing me to break up with this part of the country. Because without this atrocious, miserable, snowmageddon of a season, I would not be walking on sunshine now that the frigid temps and blizzard-every-sunday seem to be history.
This is the money shot, this is the bag of gold, to be so hungry, that a meal makes you feel like a shiny new penny. This is the opposite of awful, the part where things shift, and the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t a plow, but the sun. This is what makes us happy: to have been sad. This is the part that makes us understand why suffering of any kind isn’t so bad, because it helps us to balance all that is good, and feel it in a way that having dessert eight times a day wouldn’t allow us to feel it. That sun was so good yesterday, I tell you. It was everything. And it was because this winter, this historical, almost record-breaking winter, almost broke us, that yesterday felt like all your best days rolled into one. Throw me the sunscreen, we’re back in business.
Yesterday was International Women’s Day. Ally had just returned from an all day visit to UN Women at the United Nations with her Global Leadership class. UN Women is the UN organization dedicated to gender equality and the empowerment of women. It’s a global champion for women and girls, established to accelerate progress on meeting their needs worldwide. We got a full hour re-cap of her visit, and let me tell you it rocked her in her Frye boots. In just the last month, she’s gone from wanting to be a physical therapist, to joining the Peace Corps, and working in the field of human rights. This girl is astonished by the fact that in some cultures women have no voice (she would, by the way, last about five seconds in a culture like that), that they have babies as early as 10 years old, that they still die in childbirth, that they don’t have the opportunity for basic education.
She and I went shopping yesterday, and that’s sometimes when we have our best conversations. Listening to this ball of fire talk about what she had just learned wasn’t just exciting, it was damn powerful. And I was feeling grateful for the inspiring teacher who has captured her imagination. You’re so lucky if you get one teacher who teaches you something that reaches you in your deepest gut, and for her, this man is the one. I have already written one letter to the amazing Mr. Kahrl to thank him for his incredible teaching, but I am going to have to write another. This guy is doing it right.
Ally told me she believes in feminism, but that she thinks the word is wrong, she thinks it really should be called gender equality. And I agree with her. She told me that feminism isn’t just about the empowerment of women by women, but the empowerment of all people, by all people.
We have come a distance as women, but we have a distance more to go before there is equality for everybody in the world, especially those women who have no power, no say in matters, no choice even, in the care of their bodies. If Ally has anything to do with this issue, you can be damn sure the dial will move.
It wasn’t this warm yesterday, but it FELT this warm.
BREAKING NEWS: I went out with a friend yesterday, and guess what? I DID NOT WEAR THE SLEEPING BAG COAT. I wore a jacket. And guess what else? I WASN’T COLD. Not even AT ALL. There isn’t enough gratitude in the world, people. NOT. ENOUGH. GRATITUDE.
Sometimes you ignore the stuff right under your nose.
My brother-in-law and 12 year old nephew are visiting, because they’re going to a video game convention (I can’t think of anything I’d less like to go to), and they came in a day early, because they got slammed with snow in Arlington, VA (slammed in Arlington VA, by the way, is six inches, which around here, is called Spring). So, yesterday, I was able to do something fun with them, and the something fun was go to the MIT Museum. Now, it’s not like I have never known about the MIT Museum. My husband and kids have been multiple times. Peter has brought guests there before, but each time, I somehow couldn’t go.
And guess what? The MIT Museum is super cool. If you’ve never been (like me), get in the car now. There were student exhibits, as well as exhibits on science and photography, one on robots. There was a kinetic sculptures exhibit, and one on holograms. WHO DOESN’T LOVE A HOLOGRAM EXHIBIT? I am such a sucker for a hologram. HOW DO THEY DO THAT? There was even a bubble installment, which I kind of wanted to steal for my living room because of its soothing, meditative qualities. I sat and watched it for about 10 minutes, and calmed myself into practically falling asleep.
This was the bubble installment. Soap bubble are entrapped and blown upward between two pieces of glass, and they just sort of do their thing, creating a honeycomb sort of shape and getting all kinds of rainbow-y.
The museum is on the smallish side, which I like a lot. Somehow, being able to see a whole museum in one visit makes me feel good. When I go to a large museum, I always feel bad about not seeing everything. It’s stupid, I know, and when the kids were little, I instituted the “one hour” rule, which was that we’d see what we could for one hour, knowing their attention spans wouldn’t and couldn’t take in much more. Turns out, I’ve kept up with that rule though, because the truth is, my attention span can’t take much more than an hour, either, but still, I tend to feel kind of guilty about what I’ve missed.
A fish robot.A fabulous picture of the divine Lady Gaga in a photo next to her photo, which appears in the Polaroid exhibit.
Afterward, we went to Flour Bakery, which I continue to wish would come to Brookline (and set up in my kitchen). We had absolutely delish sandwiches, and sat in the window and watched the MIT world go by. My sandwich was chicken with mashed avocado and jicama. May I just say, that I do not think I have ever had jicama before, and I am extremely depressed about all the years I have missed eating this crunchy, sweet vegetable.
This is one of my favorite lunch places.
It was a really fun couple of hours. My brother-in-law is great. He owns an ad agency, so we always have a lot to talk about. And my nephew is growing up so darn fast, this trip he’s actually taller than I am (of course, I’m probably shrinking). He’s really smart, and although he’s only in sixth grade, we introduced the idea of him going to M.I.T. (personally, I think he should start that damn college essay now, but I doubt he’ll listen to his old aunt).
Here is how my vacation buzz died, just five days from its birth.
My vacation buzz is the stone just to the left.
Tuesday, I was teaching a class on tagline writing. I co-teach at Lesley University, which bought The Art Institute of Boston, and when there are enough students interested in our elective, called Concept to Copy. My partner Steph and I have been doing it for many years, and I really love the kids. It’s fun to connect with students that age, who you don’t have to worry about because they aren’t your own (although I tend to worry about them anyway). This semester Steph is teaching a design class with another teacher, and so only needed me to pop in for two classes. I was prepared, and excited, and left plenty of time to get over to Cambridge, since I had no idea if I would get a parking space, given the snow situation. I went out to my car, which my husband had pulled in the previous night, to accommodate his car, and apparently did a lazy job of. I couldn’t get into the driver’s seat because it was jammed against our hedge. (Thanks, Peter.) I was annoyed, but I wrapped my sleeping bag coat around me and climbed into the passenger’s side and across the middle of the car, hitting my head on the roof. No problem, disaster averted. I began to pull out, but the angle of the car hit the hedge, and apparently my back tire did a nose dive off of a small ice cliff. I tried to drive forward, but no go. I tried to reverse, but all I heard was spinning tires. I got out, in pair of nice boots, the first time I hadn’t been in my North Face lace ups, Yak Traks in place, in months, looking like I was doing the watusi, as I tried to make it to the porch without falling on my face. I searched for the salt, but apparently Peter had used it all and not replaced it. (Thanks again, Peter.) I began digging at the tires, trying to clear some of the evil white stuff that had been building up for a month. I got back into the car, coat dragging behind me, bumped my head again, and once again tried to move, but there was no progress to be had. Again, I got out, did the slip and slide siezure dance, and made my way into the house for my box of Kosher salt. Again, I shoveled, even trying to cut the bushes with my floral clippers (what was I thinking, it was like cutting a can with a nail file). I climbed back into the car, and yes, bumped my head a third time, and did not move the car an inch (THANK YOU SO FUCKING MUCH, PETER). This went on for a full 30 minutes, in an out of the passenger’s side of the car, dig, sweat, swear, slip, repeat. I finally gave in and decided to Uber it, when Steph called and said she could pick me up. By then I was dripping in perspriration, preparing my divorce documents, googling the signs of concussion, and making plans to move to the Caribbean.
Sure, it’s pretty, if it’s not in your driveway, or on the road, or your roof.
There are people living right now, on the beach, WITHOUT ANY THOUGHTS OF SNOW.
The class was great fun. I Ubered home with a hilarious guy, and all we did was bitch about the winter, and laugh. Here’s the thing, life has its own innate ups and downs, shoveling inordinate amounts of snow, worrying about parking, and whether you can even make it down a street without hitting another car, your commute, your roof, your pipes, your sanity, doesn’t have to be part of the equation. This winter, in Boston (and many other places, too), it’s what has taken priority, and that is just stupid. Winter is incredibly inconvenient. It’s like a job now. You know, before your real job. And it’s what killed my totally awesome vacation high dead. And why I will be down on my knees kissing Day Light Savings Time as it sashays into town this Saturday night. Wait for it, wait for it, GRATITUDE.
Yup, I read it in South Beach. There was something about the warmth and idea of getting myself organized that was incredibly un-winterish.
So, I gave in to the buzz about the book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing, and actually read it while I was on vacation (I am fun like that). I am on a constant search for the ultimate answer to the question, “How can I be more organized?” So, I would pretty much read a book my dog wrote if I thought it would simplify my life and make my house look like Mary Poppins was at the helm.
I’ve gotten much better. I have. But organization does not swim around my gene pool. Just the opposite. Open any drawer in my parent’s house and you could find any number of things. An old license, a scribbled address on the back of an envelope, a key. We had a lovely house, and my mom always did a nice job of keeping it in order, but just under the surface were those drawers.
Marie Kondo, a disciple of tidying since she was five.
Anyway, the KonMari method is interesting. Very interesting. Marie Kondo, who says she has been studying “tidying” since she was five (which is terribly frightening, if you ask me), basically claims that we have too much stuff. She says every house has enough storage space, but the people in it have many more things than they need. She says that nothing in your house should be there unless it brings you joy. And while that may sound a little kookoo, it’s also a smart way of approaching this issue, if you have hoarder tendencies, like me. This idea really made me consider what I live with and what I could and should live without.
The other piece of new information I took away from Miss Kondo is a way of organizing, that I’d never heard before, and I am going to try. She says we have too many places where one category live in our homes, and we should really only have one place for that category. So, when you are organizing, she urges you to take all of a category, say cleaning supplies, and put them all together, sift through them for what is a repeat (this woman is not a Costco girl, she does not like duplicates), and then store them all in one place, not multiple places. Now, this made some sense to me. And I am looking at my space differently because of it (I have 200 places where I store bathroom/costmetics/medicine/soap/etc. and I see how it would really help me know what I had, if it were all in one place).
I’m not sure I could ever get pared down to this, but a girl can dream.
Anyway, it’s a little extreme, and I’m sure I could never totally KonMari my life, but I have to admit that this book, unlike so many others on my shelf (which are not bringing me joy) about organizing, made a lot of sense to me. Here’s to slimming down the stuff, and living with joy (although really, I’m not so sure that cleaning supplies will ever get me all that excited).
Four days. That’s all it took. Four days. In fact, the minute we landed and the heat began to permeate the deep down frigid chill in my body, my winter scowl began to melt into an upturned mouth, my mood to a happy face emoticon.
For Valentine’s Day, Peter arranged a mini vacay to South Beach. You’d think the guy had given me the content of Tiffany’s, Barney’s, and Sak’s. With what we spent on ice dam(n) removal, a warm weather vacation was not in our future, but thanks to our American Express points, we got a mood enhancing four days of sun and sea. And can I tell you it was the RX for a Boston winter that is breaking hearty New Englanders everywhere. In fact, I think Massachusetts should stop spending money on plowing and just send everybody in the state somewhere warm until our 100 inches of snow melts. It would be a much better use of money.
Sea.
Sun.
We stayed in a funky little boutique hotel, called The Catalina Hotel & Beach Club, conveniently located smack in the heart of South Beach. We rented a car, but never used it until we left for the airport, and a last minute trip to the completely fabulous Perez Art Museum. We took a big long walk everyday on the Miami Beach Boardwalk, which overlooks the ocean and winds its way past some of the best Deco hotels on South Beach (think the movie Birdcage). We ate breakfast at the News Cafe (I wouldn’t recommend for food, just for people watching, although oddly, the NYT likes it), and The Front Porch (a very good way to start the day). We lounged around the pool, and (surrounded by Bamboo), lounged around the beach, surrounded by thonged booties in every color, shape, and size. The Miami woman, and South Beach visitor has a healthy body image, I will say that for them. I looked positively Amish in my one piece. We ate at The Delano, one of my favorite hotels (gorgeous, but while Peter’s meal was excellent, mine was inedible), and had dinner at the astoundingly beautiful and romantic, Casa Tua, where Peter’s meal was on my top 10 list for things I want to have in my mouth when I die (Tagliatelle with mix mushroom, summer truffle and parmesan cheese fonduta. OH. MY. CULINARY. GOD).
Casa Tua. One of the best restaurants I’ve ever eaten at.
The whole place was perfectly perfect.
Ah, I’m a sucker for a lantern.
Lastly, we went to the contemporary Perez Art Museum, which is a must if you’re anywhere near Miami. The hanging gardens are stunning. And the metal swings were not only comfortable, but really relaxing. I was in love before we ever went inside. The exhibit space is well laid out, and while we didn’t have quite enough time to see everything in the depth we would have liked to, we both particularly enjoyed Antoni Tapies work. I could have stared at the Cementerio – jardín vertical (Cemetery – Vertical Garden),1992 by Maria Fernanda Cardosa ALL DAY. We ate at Verde, the outdoor museum cafe. The food was as good as the view.
Swinging at the Perez.
I loved this.
Outside the Perez.
The hanging gardens.
I also took a little vacation from social media. Yes, I posted a couple of pics, because I couldn’t resist sharing my elation, but I didn’t blog, didn’t twitter, didn’t spend any time on Facebook, or Instagram. And guess what, it was awesome (although, I missed this blog, but I wanted a do a techno-shut down to see how it would be, and it was GOOD).
Of course I didn’t want to leave, but it was a perfect four days. No plane delays, extra leg room seats, and freaking sun, sea, and sand. Yesterday’s snow didn’t even phase me. Not even a little. FUCKING GRATITUDE.
*the gratitude-a-thon 