gratitude-a-thon day 655: i can see clearly now

Super cutie pie Piper reminded me that just opening your eyes in the morning and being able to see is something to be a barrel full of grateful for. Seeing is one of those things that is so much a part of your life, that unless you have something wonky going on with your vision, you don’t even think about.

My dad was blind in one eye for my whole life, and there was always a concern for his other eye. I did a lot of thinking about his eyes growing up. He was a hot mess when it came to his vision. I blew out a lot of birthday cake candles wishing that his other eye would be ok when in 7th grade he finally had a surgery that would either give him 20/20 in that eye, or render him completely blind. It was a success, due in part to my wishes, I’m sure.

Anyway, just noting that if you feel in a bad way, like you have not a thing to be grateful for, get back to basics, and take a good look at your body. Your senses, your limbs, the intricate system inside you, from your brain to your heart. It’s kind of amazing how most of the time all that stuff just works on its own. Holy gratitude, Batman.

gratitude-a-thon day 654: the sea and the sand

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Nantasket Beach goes on for miles and miles, and honestly, there were miles and miles of people. It was like a beach event.

I have been a beach person since earliest times. Maybe it was all that water in the womb? Is that stuff salty? I am most comfortable, most at home, most happy when I am on sand, breathing in sea air, listening to waves and gulls, slathering on Coppertone (that smell a world of happiness all by itself).

Yesterday I went to Nantasket Beach, because my sister lives nearby and we stayed at her house while she was away and took in the local color. That meant salt water, the sounds of silence in her backyard, and a fab dinner in Hingham at Tasca, with a goodbye breakfast at Toast (this place is DEEEEE-LICIOUS). It was only two days, but it was really fun.

But i digress. Back to the beach.

I am telling you, there were about 2, 340, 107, 375, 295 people there, give or take a few. It was maybe the most crowded beach day I have ever been part of. I sort of still can’t believe it.

Still, there were waves, and plenty of Coppertone. And while it was too crowded and hot for me–a rarity–I still enjoyed being at my Church, the ocean.

gratitude-a-thon day 651: fucking namaste

I struggle with meditation. My mind is like a high speed race car, video on fast forward, that American Pharaoh horse. It never wants to slow down and just take it easy. It’s never easily coaxed into vacation mode. It’s always band on the run, let’s hit the road Jack, like it drinks a pot of coffee on the hour.

But at last, my potty mouth, foul language loving soul may have found the meditation solution perfectly suited to me. Holla!

gratitude-a-thon day 650: life imitating art

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Shall we talk about Bill Cosby? Dr. Shmuckstable, Dr. Fuckedupstable. I mean, is it even possible that the moralizing Jell-o shilling, lovable comedian is really a rapist?

Seriously? Fat Albert is a fat liar?

In his own words, he has admitted that he did indeed give qualludes to women in an effort to have sex with them (despite denying it in public for years). And in their own words, these abused women knew something weird happened, something that made them pass out, and wake up without clothes, feeling like they’d been conked on the head by that iron that Wile E. Coyote was always dropping on the Roadrunner.

The worst part is that many of these women doubted themselves, couldn’t quite pinpoint what happened, but suspected there was something not right about it. These women didn’t come forward because the power of celebrity is too strong. It silences, terrifies, and ultimately allows for bad behavior.

What about Camille, his poor long suffering wife. Has she not said anything because she didn’t know, or because she’s been drugged all these years?

Actors are not the people they pretend to be. They are just people who often make mistakes like the rest of us. And like the rest of us, they have to decide to be truthful, or not. The truth is, while a philanthropist who has done a lot of good,  Bill Cosby doesn’t have the moral character he pretended to have. And that’s a big disappointment. Dr. Huxtable would come forward now and tell the truth. Let’s hope life can imitate art, and Mr. Cosby can now act with as much integrity as the character he played on tv.

gratitude-a-thon day 469: there’s nothing better

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“When you know better, you do better.” Maya Angelou said that. She was the smartest and most eloquent of people.

I’ve always told my kids, “Do your best. You can’t really do better than your best.”

And that about sums it up. We do our best, even when we aren’t doing so well. It’s our best at the time with the information and skills we have. Sometimes I think that’s a catch-all, a little bit of a cop out, but no truer thing was ever said (EVER, EVER IN THE HISTORY OF MAN).

I am doing my best right now. I am giving my all. I am trying with 100% of my wit, but it may still not be good enough. But baby, it is all I got. It’s all any of us have.

gratitude-a-thon day 647: small bites friday

This is a perfect “small bites friday” gratitude: a hotdog eating showdown between legends!  Man, I love a hotdog.

Seriously, having Donald Trump in the presidential race is like Christmas morning every day of the week.

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In my house garlic has a shrine. I think my mom put it in my bottle. Here’s a helpful tip on how not to burn it. 

I love a good obit. Here’s one for you. Right to the point.

Well, this is unjust.

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I can’t even imagine the pain and regret England’s Laura Bassett must be in. It’s not like she did it on purpose. Shit happens, Laura. This could have happened to anyone. Cry it out, then give yourself a break. ❤

Love Inside Amy Schumer. Here’s a list of the best celeb cameos.

Happy 4rth, people! SCOTUS gave us something extra to celebrate this year.

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gratitude-a-thon day 646: shifting sand, the end of a tradition

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This has been a weird start to summer.

Usually when school ends, we head for the choppy waves on Lucy Vincent, for the rocking chairs at The Chilmark Store, and coffee and sandwiches, and pizza, the scallops at The Bite, the sunsets in Menemsha, the salty breezes that require a cozy sweatshirts at night, for the laid back feeling of sea air. We are programmed for cold rolls at the Farmer’s Market, oohing and ahhhing at Noche, Midnight Farm, Pandora’s Box and Bananas. We can’t wait for breakfast at the Art Cliff, or our first visit to a Bunch of Grapes for books. Wildflowers, and special summer cocktails, knocking buoys, and fog horns, long walks, sandy floors, and scrabble championships, brass rings, Kadema, ice cream at the Galley, fishing on the jetty, so many friends, Eileen Blake’s Pies and Otherwise, fireworks and tick checks. IMG_2799

This has been July for twenty years, my kid’s whole lives. (and nine years before they were even a thought). This is the year where what has always been, is not. There has been a break in tradition. School ended and we are not where we are supposed to be. My body doesn’t know what to make of it. Why aren’t I out of breath, from jamming the car with food, and suitcases, beach chairs and candles, and little white lights? Why am I still in Brookline? Where is the ferry? It’s those damn kids. They had to go and grow up. THE NERVE. What, did I think? That they’d follow in Peter Pan’s footsteps? But we had a tradition. A family tradition. It meant something. I’m quite certain it meant something to all of us.The first two weeks of July were sacred beach time on our favorite island. It was a deal. And I believed it to be set in stone.

But even stones can crumble.

I remember, like it was two days ago, when we’d have to drive the kids around in the car to get one or both of them to sleep, and now, their schedules don’t allow us to go see Martha. What will Island Mini Golf do without us?

It’s not just that we arent’t there at that place I love, that feels part of my DNA. It’s that I am forced to come to terms with the loss of a time when my kids were dependent, part of us. Stop the world for just a moment, because time has shifted the sands.

Not that our vacations were always perfect, or without arguments, bad weather, and unmet expectations, but that that time is now as over as Ben and Jen’s marriage. Poof. Once so much a part of who we are, now just evidence of who we were. I wasn’t ready. I thought I might be, but I see now, I wasn’t. Are you ever ready for such a seismic shift? Can you really prepare? I see now, I would never be ready, given the choice.

It’s not about saying goodbye to a place, it’s saying goodbye to a time. It’s waving off childhood. It’s a little like giving birth all over again, but without the good drugs, and people making you dinner. IMG_4868

A new life will begin. New traditions. As soon as I catch up to myself, I’m sure I’ll see how to build a new tradition. I will visit that Island again, and the versions of my kids eating breakfast overlooking the cliffs of Aquinnah, and grabbing for the brass ring, and kayaking, and building castles will be there. They will be there, those littler versions of Jake and Ally prancing around that island like they owned it. I will see them, in all the familiar places. Until then, I will have to remember that this is what I raised them to do. To grow up.