gratitude-a-thon day 105: finding the lost

Yesterday I had one of those funny things happen that gives you a big surprise dose of gratitude. It’s so great that you don’t even have to focus on finding the gratitude, it just presents itself in your lap like a super pretty gift box with a big freaking bow on it.

Last Christmas Peter gave me a pair of earrings from Tiffany. So sweet, right? I love him for doing it. I am a jewelry whore, so he tries to indulge, but I hated the earrings. I tried to like them. I put them under my hair, I put them outside my hair, I looked at them with squinty eyes, but I still hated them. They were not at all my style. Ugh! I hated to spit in the face of his efforts, but I had to tell him that they just kind of weren’t me and I was going to take them back.

So, I took them back and bought one of those sweet Diamonds by the Yard bracelets that’s a Tiffany classic. I wore it three times before realizing it had gone missing. I realized it after going to brunch with a friend. I called her to search her car. Like a bloodhound, I hunted my house, my clothes, the street where the restaurant was. I called the scene of the bracelet’s last wearing, but they hadn’t found it. I had a very deep shag rug in my room at the time. I raked that thing with my fingers dozens of times. But nothing, except once I found a safety pin. I would have given myself a spanking, but I couldn’t reach my big butt. I was so angry. So annoyed with myself.

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I took back a pair of dog ugly earrings from Peter and bought this delicate little beauty, which I promptly lost.

Anyway, life went on, and sometime I would have delusions of finding the bracelet somewhere when I was cleaning, like it would magically appear. I have had this happen twice with jewelry. I once had a Janine Payer necklace that I was madly in love with because it said (in teeny tiny writing) “See the world as yourself. Have faith in the way things are. Love the world as yourself; then you can care for all things.” Plus it was just really pretty. I thought I had lost it coming back from a massage. I had concocted a story that it fell out of my bag, where I shoved it because I realized I was late for a meeting and hadn’t put it on, but instead jammed it half heartedly into a pocket of my handbag in order to speed things up. Well, when I couldn’t find it, I called Stephanie, the massage person, I went back to the street and hunted on the ground (with all sorts of people looking at me like I was mentally ill). I turned my bag inside out. And after a few weeks, I gave up. A year later, when I went to get out my beach bag that had sunscreen and stuff in it, there it was. I had instantly remembered taking Ally and a friend to the beach and taking it off and putting it in this little net sunscreen bag. But prior to that, I had made up this whole other story (which I admit, is really weird, and maybe the people watching me hunt for it on the ground, where it had never fallen to begin with, were right in their assessment of my mental health).

The other time I had this happen, which was really quite astounding, was with a tiny gold pair of earrings that had a little diamond in them and which I had fallen hopelessly in love with. I splurged on them and paid way to much for them because of their designer name. The very first time I wore them, I lost one. I had been shopping for a friend’s birthday gift and had literally gone to six stores. So, I went back to every single one of those stores in search of this miniscule gold disc, but are you kidding, even if it was somewhere, I would never have found it. I eradicated my car of all dirt in the search. I went through every area of every area of my house. I came up empty. Despondent, a few weeks later, I sheepishly went back to the store and told my story. They ordered me a new one, meaning that I was spending even more for these stupid earrings than the more I had already spent. A YEAR LATER. A YEAR. I was in the kitchen, looked down and there sparkling on the floor, WHERE I’D LOOKED A MILLION TIMES, AND WHICH HAD BEEN VACUUMED AND WASHED A MILLION TIMES was the earring. I couldn’t even believe it. So much so, that I actually thought it might be the new one. I went upstairs to check, but saw that no, indeed it was the original earring. I now had three. I never figured out how this happened, except that maybe it had been hooked on the broom or a piece of clothing and had traveled to the kitchen on an item, showing up to shock the pants off of me!

Ok, so back to yesterday. I was having a couple of rugs cleaned. I had ordered them to be cleaned on the premises, but I was grocery shopping when the guys came, and my husband was handling it. When I walked onto the porch, the guys were carrying the rugs out. We had a little back and forth about how they were supposed to be cleaned in the house, and then we went through the process and I was irked, because this was not my phone conversation or order, and i decided because the guy was telling me about not being able to get out all the spots, that the long shag rug in my bedroom might be a lost cause, because Riley had puked on it. So, they took it out of the van to assess, and the minute they did, I saw a glint of silver in the sun and in a rush of hope, I retrieved the Tiffany bracelet, from the shag!!!!!!!!!! I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN MORE SUPRISED IF RILEY HAD SAID, “WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE GET MY FOOD, I DON’T HAVE HANDS?” IN WORDS INSTEAD OF BARKS.

Anyway, major GRATITUDE sprung from my lips. Even the two rug guys were thrilled! It was a moment of unexpected, completely out of the blue GLEE. I marvel at how many times that rug was vacuumed and how many times I had literally, on hands and knees, sifted through the shag with my fingers, while all the while that bracelet was hiding, in plain site. I told the guy to be careful with the rug, who knew what else he’d find it, there could be body. I love how if I hadn’t had to re-examine the worth of cleaning that rug, I would not have found the darn bracelet. I love how every moment mattered in this awesome discovery. Obviously, I really need to fasten jewelry to my body better, or stop wearing it. Although the days of finding items I’ve lost do give me a jolt of gratitude that’s pretty magical, so maybe I’ll just carry on as is.

gratitude-a-thon day 104: sunday with my boy

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It started with needing to get a new iphone for Jake. It ended with having spent an unexpected and perfect day with my son.

Yesterday was one of those days that I won’t forget, and worthy of a gratitude-a-thon, but not really spent doing anything that could be described as spectacular. I had a day with my boy. And while we did nothing out of the ordinary, it was exceptionally special.

Ally and Peter left for a soccer game in Maine, so they were going to be out of the picture until 10ish. Jake had shattered the face of his eye phone the day before, which needed emergency attending to, and I had also promised him some new shorts, so a shopping trip was in order. We went to the Chestnut HIll Mall for Apple triage (it wasn’t that easy, unfortunately), followed by a cruise through J. Crew and Vineyard Vines. On the way home, we stopped at Portobello Road for a birthday gift for a friend, the AT&T store, for more phone surgery, and finally La Rotisserie for lunch outside in the sun. Once home, we made the necessary calls to get a new iphone delivered to us, but found instead that we had purchased Apple care at the AT&T store, which meant we could drive back to Apple and get a phone for a tidy sum of $50. (Why exactly Apple and AT&T didn’t know this is still a question I have.) And while I was fairly sure that Apple was not open, the idea of not having a phone for the night, let alone the next day, was an impossibility that coerced Jake into convincing me to  drive my sorry ass back to the mall.

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Jake and Jessie at the BMC gala the night before.

And speaking of driving, Jake did it. Now, he does not have his license, but he is doing the necessary time behind the wheel in order to get it in the next month. Peter has been doing all his driving with him, and it was only the night before, when we went to the Boston Medical Center gala that I experienced Jake in the driver’s seat. Astonished, I had to admit, after witnessing his instincts on Storrow Drive and in the Ted Williams tunnel, that he was actually a good, solid driver. Anyway, he drove the whole day, and it was great not worrying about where my keys were, since they were in his pocket. Of course, I was right, and the mall closed at 6:00, so we got a consolation prize and headed to Pinkberry for dinner. Once home, when Jake should have been finishing his senior paper, we instead chose to watch an action movie. Neither of us wanted the day to end. We both acknowledged what a truly great day it had been, and I could tell he had the same warm and fuzzy feeling inside that I had. It was that simple, and that perfect, all at the same time.

The thing is, that I don’t just love my son in that parental way that we love our children, I LIKE HIM, TOO. He’s smart and charming and funny. And he is practically always a good time to be with. We get each other in a way that is unusual and amazing. We’re quite similar and it allows being with each other to be as easy as breathing. We talked about a bunch of stuff, some important, some just mundane. At one point, I cried about how much I would miss him, and he assured me that he would miss me too. I told him how much I liked him, and he told me how much he liked me, as well, both agreeing how different, and in some ways, more powerful this is than loving someone. He told me he couldn’t believe what amazing parents he’d gotten to have. And I believe him, because despite the early year of being in A.D.D. land with him, this kid has been a privilege and a pleasure to raise.

Anyway, that’s it. That was my day. There were lots of other moments that I will keep close and pull out next year when he is in college. But yesterday was one of those perfect days of grabbing the moment and making it sing. So grateful to know Jake. So fucking grateful to be his mom.

gratitude-a-thon day 103: Sir Ken Robinson & creativity

 

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http://video.ted.com/talk/podcast/2006/None/SirKenRobinson_2006.mp4http://

I am mad for Sir Ken Robinson. He’s not only a brilliant proponent of creativity, he’s also an entertaining speaker. Plus he has a British accent. The guy is very funny. Here he is in a great clip talking about creativity in education, or I should say, a lack thereof,  something I’m fascinated with. This is worthy of the time it will take you to watch it. Cheers to Sir Ken.

gratitude-a-thon day 102: barack’s bangs

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4UNnA-mLuSchttp://

I have been crazy in love with our president since the day he started running his campaign eight years ago. And what’s better than a super cool, smart guy? A super cool, smart, FUNNY guy. I laugh at this picture every time I see it. Check out an excerpt from the Correspondence Dinner. Love you, Barack. With bangs, or without ’em!

gratitude-a-thon day 101: Boston, my home

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I applaud The Charlesmark Hotel for their ballsy banner. Located on the block the second marathon bombing took place, they saw the worst of it.

(I WROTE THIS YESTERDAY.)

So, today I had about 17, 432 things to do. All of them urgent. But instead of doing any of them, which my head kept telling me to do, I did something my heart has been nagging at me to do. I wrote Boston a little note and I brought it down to the makeshift memorial at Copley Square, a few blocks from the marathon bombings.

I have been feeling a need to go there, to familiar Boylston street, the place where  Boston’s history changed a few weeks ago. Much of my history is there, as well. I used to live 30 seconds away, on Newbury Street. In fact, when I lived there, I watched lots of Boston Marathons standing at the  finish line. It’s also  a street where I’d once waitressed, the location of my first job after college at a small design firm, and my first copywriting job at the advertising agency I would meet my husband because of. I had banked, and eaten and shopped and walked Boylston Street a million times. It runs through the heart of the city, like a fancy ribbon. And today, burdened by a laundry list of stuff to do, not to mention laundry, and waking up to the kind of New England weather that we New Englanders live for,  I decided to ditch my “shoulds” and put my sneakers on and go and pay it a visit.

Walking through Boston is fun. When I lived downtown, I never had a car. In fact, I didn’t even own a car until I was 30, because I walked absolutely everywhere. Brookline, where I live, is right next to Boston, and on foot, it takes just about an hour to hit Boylston Street. This is the sort of thing I used to do a lot when I was younger and had more time on my hands (and feet). I went through the medical area and saw one of my neighbors, a doctor,  like 100 feet large, advertising one of the hospitals. His happy face above the words “human first.” I strolled by Children’s, boasting that it had been named the number one children’s hospital in the country, and I thought about how lucky we are to live five minutes from this mecca of medicine. Holding my poster, I passed the doctor’s building who helped me to have Jake and Ally, my husband’s old lab, and then the Gardener Museum. I cut through the Fenway, and turned up on the far end of Boylston, after witnessing a flock of geese fighting in the muddy river (They were pissed. I don’t know if someone’s husband cheated, but it sounded like that might be it). Boylston was teeming with people. I walked by my old cross street, and thought about how much had changed since this had been my neighborhood for seven years after college.

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This was the scene of the first bomb.
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This is next door to the Forum.
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This is directly across from the library. It’s apt that Marathon Sports is at the finish line, right?
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A sweet message of support at Sugar Heaven.

I reached the block of the first bombing, but didn’t see much evidence, except that of The Forum Restaurant, which was still closed, but had a sign outside reading “Forum Strong, Coming Back Soon”. Next door, at Max Brenner’s restaurant, which was open, there were three Boston Red Sox logos with the word “strong” underneath. Other than that, the block seemed its usual bustling, busy self. I was surprised by its normalcy. And then I crossed over Exeter to the block where the finish line bombing occurred, and I tried to imagine it. There were some workmen fixing some windows that had been blown out. And several different signs in the windows of stores. But mostly, everything was open, including Marathon Sports. The library looked undaunted, a large and monolithic majesty, filled with so much knowledge, you could feel it. The footage and photos I’d seen hundreds of times had taken place live where I was standing. But today it was filled with school kids visiting the scene, and other Bostonians going about their business. I did hear several snippets of conversation that were clearly about the life changing event that took place on that cement, and at least 5 people with t-shirts on that said “Boston Strong.”

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It’s hard to capture the enormity of the memorial. Here is one little corner, behind the flag, is a showing of support from Red Sox Nation.
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There are so many messages, flowers, shirts, posters from other towns and cities, it’s hard to know where to look.

I crossed Boylston to Copley and was surprised not only by the humber of people, but by the number of posters, flowers, momentos and sneakers I saw. I hadn’t imagined the memorial area would be so large and it shocked me. I walked around, dodging tv cameras and people posing for photos. I picked a sweet little tree and put my poster there. Here’s what it said:

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My poster frayed on the walk down, but it was still readable when I left it.

♥Dear Boston,

We’ve been through a lot together over the past 30 years– you and I. And I realized just how much I loved you a few weeks ago, when some people tried to turn you into a tragedy, a place to be feared. You stood up proudly, and said, “FUHGETIT. WE’LL PAAAHK AH CAAAAAHS ON YEH HEAD, YOU TRY ANYTHING LIKE THAT AGAIN.”

Love to all the people of this city. Loving and healing thoughts to all who were injured and affected.

XOXO,

Toni Lansbury

Wickedly Proud♥Bostonian

I stood for a moment, looking around at the hundreds of people taking in the kindness and support that had turned a corner of Copley Square into a reminder of Boston’s latest history. I looked around and  remembered when I used to lay on the grass that was once Copley Square, and eat my lunch or take in the rays, during a work day. I’d grown up here, been here hundreds of times, but this time was distinctly different. And with the shining sun, and the crowds around me, I took a deep breath, and walked over to the T (although full disclosure, not before going to The Tannery). I put my Charlie card in the slot, and climbed onto the train. Brookline was where I lived, but Boston would always be my home.

gratitude-a-thon day 100: Jason Collins Comes Out

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SCORE: Jason Collins. Standing ovation. Let’s do the wave (oh, sorry, that’s baseball). You’re my new favorite basketball player.  It’s impressive that this NBA player just publicly announced that he’s gay, but even more impressive is this seven footer’s courage. In case you’ve been living in a cave for the last few days, Jason is the first openly gay athlete playing on a major American sports team. This is the kind of move that creates change.

I’m not gay, but I support the gay community because as I’ve said many times before, gay people are just like straight people. We all share the same sort of big dreams and hopes, fears and insecurities. When you get right down to it, we’re all just people. JUST. PEOPLE. Trying to have a good life, find love, give back, do our best. I don’t want to kiss a girl, but I don’t care if you do. I’m all for it. And I’m all for equal rights, HUMAN RIGHTS. ‘

An announcement like this helps the lesbian gay, bisexual, and transgender community of teenagers in a big way. And this is a population that needs support. We all know how complicated adolescence is, what with the hormones, acne, emerging personalities, romantic relations, friends, school, social media and mandatory rebellion,  but add a questioning of sexuality, or knowledge that you’re different sexually than all your friends, and you’ve got yourself the kind of isolating experience that causes deep pain and shame. Now these kids have one more person who’s let them know that it’s ok to be exactly who they are. Hey, I think I’m a little in love with Jason!

How has this announcement been received in the macho world that is professional basketball?  All sort of NBA players have been extremely supportive to Jason. And even President Obama called him to say he had his back.

In the Sports Illustrated article, in which Jason makes his announcement, he says,

“I realized I needed to go public when Joe Kennedy, my old roommate at Stanford and now a Massachusetts congressman, told me he had just marched in Boston’s 2012 Gay Pride Parade. I’m seldom jealous of others, but hearing what Joe had done filled me with envy. I was proud of him for participating but angry that as a closeted gay man I couldn’t even cheer my straight friend on as a spectator. If I’d been questioned, I would have concocted half truths. What a shame to have to lie at a celebration of pride. I want to do the right thing and not hide anymore. I want to march for tolerance, acceptance and understanding. I want to take a stand and say, “Me, too.”

And looky here, our city’s marathon tragedy actually helped him make his decision to come out, as he talks about in this excerpt:

“The recent Boston Marathon bombing reinforced the notion that I shouldn’t wait for the circumstances of my coming out to be perfect. Things can change in an instant, so why not live truthfully? When I told Joe a few weeks ago that I was gay, he was grateful that I trusted him. He asked me to join him in 2013. We’ll be marching on June 8.”

So, Jason Collins–you have my 100th day of gratitude. I imagine you feel about a bajillion pounds lighter. You’re a good ball player, but you’re a great man.

gratitude-a-thon day 99: my memory, what’s left of it

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My memory is going. I know everybody says that, but really, I’m telling you that my memory is…..what was that word again…..oh yeah, GOING. ‘

Let us dissect. From everything I’ve read, it’s normal to start forgetting stuff in your 50’s. Perfectly natural.  And while I am not forgetting where I am, or wondering what it is you do with a toothbrush, I am forgetting words. In the middle of a sentence. I just plain forget a word. While I’m talking. It’s like I see a giant white board in my forehead. I fumble, I throw in a some “um’s” and some “uh’s,” until I can retrieve the missing noun, verb or prepositional phrase. Honestly, sometimes I can do it, and sometimes I come up empty handed, using my hands if I’m face to face to try and describe the phrase that’s gone missing like a kid on the side of a milk bottle. Sometimes whoever it is I am talking to (or as the case may be, not talking to) will pitch in and participate in my little game of hide and seek. “Flower, wine, street, belly button, parsnip?” they’ll yell, as if playing charades. One day, my friend Deb was speaking and then she stopped and said, “can anybody finish this sentence?” And that about sums it up these days. If we’re talking, try and keep up, because you might be called upon to finish my thought.

Sometimes the kids talk about something that happened and I stare blankly at them like they are trying to pull one over on me. “When did we go to that restaurant?” I will ask, indignantly. And they will describe the event and get all dramatic about how ridiculous it is that I can’t remember said moment. I will push my little brain to try and recall. “C’mon cerebellum, get with it, cerebral cortex,” but they’re all like, “We’re 54, we’re exhausted. Who cares about the dumb restaurant, anyway.”

My husband has worked on Alzheimer since I have known him. I am always quizzing him on my memory issues. He claims if we get old enough, we’ll all get it. “But what about NOW?” I ask. “You don’t have it,” he says, giving me the “Pfffttttt” sound to let me know how crazy I am. But just because he works for Harvard and has been studying Alzheimer for the past 25 years doesn’t mean he knows, is what I think. Plus he can barely remember his name these days, so he should talk.

I have always been the memory for my sister who has barely been able to remember yesterday for her whole life. So, it’s kind of rough on her too. The two of us will be like the guy in the movie Momento, with tattoos all over us to tell us about our pasts.

A lot of my friends say the same thing, of course. And it is likely, very age appropriate. Still, it is unsettling, to lose some of the moments of your life that were once important. I wonder if maybe I can figure out a way to selectively remember. Like all the dumb people who are against gay marriage, or gun control. Those people, I’d be happy to forget.

gratidue-a-thon day 98: laughter as medicine

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When the chips aren’t just down, but strewn all over the damn place, all I can ever think to do is laugh. I mean, I cry, and I whine too, but at the end of the day, I always find that laughing and making fun of a bad situation is probably going to get me to the finish line in better shape than clearing out my tear ducts.

Apparently, my love for a good guffaw isn’t all in my head, either. There are a bajillion articles on how and why laughing is good for us. For instance, the famed Mayo Clinic reports that laughing has both short and long term effects. Short term benefits include, stimulating organs (no, not THOSE organs), like your heart, lungs and muscles by increasing oxygen intake. Also it increases endorphins released by your brain (think runner’s high, without all the exhausting running).

Cracking up also turns on your stress response. A good harty har har, increases your blood pressure, resulting in a relaxed feeling. And it tames tension, by stimulating circulation  and increasing muscle relaxation, which can reduce those nasty and annoying physical symptoms we know of as stress.

Long term, watching the comedy channel can improve your immune system and actually help with fighting stress and potentially serious illness. A chuckle can ease pain because it causes the body to produce its own natural painkillers. And your funny bone can actually make it easier to deal with situations you’d rather not be in. Not to mention, have you ever met someone who doesn’t love to laugh–it helps you connect with people–and that’s always a positive thing. There are even laughter clubs and laughter yoga. Yup, laughing has become a serious thing.

I was raised in a family that had an exceptionally good sense of humor. And I am always drawn to people who could be professional comedians in their spare time. Maybe it’s some intuitive way that I take care of myself? Anyway, I am grateful for the ability to chortle at even the worst of it. It sure beats the swollen eyes I get when I cry.

gratitude-a-thon day 97: May and June

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In May and June, there appear to be less hours in the day. I know it sounds impossible, but I’m pretty sure it’s true.

It’s about to be May. This is when it happens. Time is about to speed up and go faster than pack of cyclists at the Tour de France. And this year, this sci fi time warp thing is going to go even faster and be even crazier. This year Jake graduates from high school. You see the countdown is on. The time we have left with him under our roof is about to end. And we’re all acutely aware of the fact that next year at this time, he will be in sunny California, approximately 2,000 miles and 6 hours away from us.

This is of course what we want, what we hope our kids will be able to do, what we think about  in the middle of the night when they are nursing and we are bleary eyed and psychotic from nights on end without adequate REM sleep. And yet, the poignancy of the moment is bigger in its reality than when Neil Armstrong put his gosh darn foot down on the moon.

But I digress.

Back to the time thing. Ok, so really, this is what happens when May strikes. Time is actually reduced in some totally and completely other worldly way. First of all, there are the “end of year” events. When the kids were younger, there was a celebratory picnic for everything they did.  EVERYTHING THEY DID. It was like if you walked by the fountain in the cafeteria, there would be a picnic. PICNICS. PICNICS. AND MORE PICNICS. Festive, but endless, tedious and exhausting. And, most importantly, TIME STEALING. Then there are all the spring sports. We barely had a family dinner that did not consist of pizza at 8:00 during May and June for the entirety of my children’s youth. I mean how do you show up at a game, or two games, AND cook a meal. You don’t. And I decided, early on,  showing up at the game was a far better use of my time. And then, there’s the weather. For some reason, the spring, the GORGEOUS, GORGEOUS SPRING, WHICH I LOVE LIKE A BIG HUNK OF CHEESE, speeds up the proceedings, making May and June whiz by like the now defunct Concorde. Add weddings and graduations, a couple significant birthdays, and you’ve got yourself a a few months that feel like a few days.

I know it’s all perception. I know that May and June do not really go faster than the rest of the year, but they feel like they do, and as I get older, I see sometimes that’s all that really matters. This year there will be a lot of graduation parties, and my close friend’s 50th, and athletic celebrations, and I’m working on a large scale party for after the prom, and we will have relatives from out of state come for graduation (which you know, means I will have to clean and cook a lot), and I am trying to figure out how to create a meaningful album to send Jake to college with that reminds him of where he came from, and oh yeah, I’ll be fitting work in there somewhere.

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Here he is on his way to school (dressed up because of lacrosse). I like this photo because somehow it reminds me of him as a little kid. Which he most definitely is not any longer.

Anyway, this May feels like a bit of a magic time, although rather chaotic, and much like a long race that you’ve trained a lifetime for, and that you are finally in the last leg of. This May I will have to prevent myself from sobbing at all the end of year festivities. Jake is not dying, but the end of something is. The end of our time with him in his messy (this is the absolute understatement of the year) room is waning. The beauty of him flying off to sunnier pastures is thrilling and exciting and absolutely unbelievable. And it’s making me hold close all the Mays and Junes we’ve had with him as he’s grown up. I’m grateful to be aware of this window. I’m going to try and slow it down. Take it in. And enjoy the picnic.