Beginnings.
I was always moving, growing up. Always. It was a natural state of being that I did not start to view with suspicion until my senior year of college when I was so tired of everyone I knew.
Endings suck--saying goodbye to Marita or Robin or Misdy or Lillian or whomever. Endings involve mix tapes of meaningful music and promises of letter writing--some of my friends were better at that than others and we remained friends a long time. Others fell away after a few letters. They couldn't keep up with my pace back then. But we weren't there yet--we were still at the endings. Saying goodbye, knowing that the next day I'd pack up the last bits and get in the station wagon with my family and head out somewhere else I'd never been to before.
I was the oldest, and as such, I suppose I caught the brunt of it all, but it didn't matter to me until the ending in Columbia, Missouri. Even the ending before that, in St. Louis, wasn't much of a big deal. But I was in 7th grade, going into 8th, and it was hard to say goodbye. The next ending, in Dallas, was hard, too, but necessary for me. Saying goodbye to Georgia was only hard because it was the first boyfriend--my best friend (not the boyfriend) was also moving, and I would have been stuck there without her, and that would have been worse.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
I had a lot of mix tapes of meaningful music.
I had a metal tin, one of those that come filled with popcorn at Christmastime, filled with letters from friends I'd said goodbye to. Carol, Marita, Robin. I put in other minor characters--a Benedictine monk who wrote to me off and on through my early high school career, my overseas penpals writing from Eastern bloc countries that suddenly, in the course of my writing, weren't Eastern bloc anymore.
I had yearbooks sent to me after I moved, no one signed them but I had them anyway. Like Simon and Garfunkel (who lived on those mix tapes), I had a photograph/preserve your memories/they're all that's left you.
It was always so deliciously melancholy and tragic to say goodbye.
But it was excruciating to say hello.
Endings were so much easier than beginnings. Each ending, so far at least, was followed by a beginning. I left St. Bernadette's and walked into Columbia Catholic. I left there, and walked into Griffin Middle School. I left two high schools. One in the middle of the year--but I had to step into a new place less than a week later. New uniform or dress code, classes didn't match, GPAs were fudged, in my favor in the end.
Each time I had a plan. Well, each time after 5th grade. I couldn't articulate the plan at the time, but I can now. I latched onto the first person who said, "do you want to sit with me at lunch?" and from that vantage point, like Edna St. Vincent Millay picking her house out as the lights come on, I picked out which table I should be sharing. I always aimed high, and except for Georgia, I hit my mark. Only that first time did I cut the ladder out from under me, leaving Becky alone and crying as I climbed up to the popular girls' table. Appropriately, it was one I never felt comfortable at--cutting that ladder was key to my membership.
But in Dallas and Houston, I didn't cut out the people I'd used at the beginning. Kerry and I stayed friends. Amy and I are STILL friends on Facebook. In Houston, I dragged the boyfriend up to the table--although I did turn away from Heather, who, let's admit it, had Asperger's Syndrome and didn't seem to even notice. I wasn't cruel. I just stopped sitting with her at lunch and she took out a book. Like always.
On the first day, however, hoping that my uniform would blend in, hoping that my hair was right, that I wasn't too tall or had the wrong kind of backpack, knowing I needed safe harbor from which to aim my social catapult, it was always the worst moment.
My kids now have first days of school, in the same place, with the same people, the same teachers, even, attending a Montessori school. They glide into place reasonably well, while I always and forever stand in the commons area or outside the classroom or in the parking lot or playground marking which one must be mine before I act.
Beginnings are a disaster for me. I have tripped over myself or over someone else every single year since Fiona started second grade. I introduced myself to the woman who would hopefully be her teacher (and was, and is now Daisy's) as "Bridgett. Fiona will be in your class. Or else we'll leave the school." Not the most finesse.
In third grade I smack talked about our lunch rules and threw a fit, a true fit, about the parking rules. The next two years each had social faux pas that were mostly, but not entirely, my fault. And this year? Not my fault at all. But it is my problem. In the end all will be well.
Because beautiful or tragic, poignant or relieving, endings are easy.
Beginnings are the hard part of life.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Monday, August 27, 2012
The well's dry
There's a drought this summer in most of the central US. If you weren't aware. Living in St. Louis, at the confluence of these two giant rivers, we aren't rationing our drinking water, but the lawns are pretty dead and there's a fire ban in this whole area at state parks and so forth. The highway caught on fire about a month ago. I've never experienced that up here. Oklahoma. California. Not here.
It's not all that's dry. I just haven't had words lately, and I haven't had much to think about either that isn't that constant running list in my head. Mostly kids' activities and housework and errands, an infinite loop of boredom. Listening to the same stuff on the radio, not watching any movies or TV worth mentioning, church hasn't drawn me out of myself in a long time--but frankly, we've been out of town many weekends this summer so it doesn't surprise me.
Today I saw a quote, who knows how I got there, the wonder of the internet, by the founder or inspiration, of the Outward Bound movement. The quote was, "We are crew, not passengers."
I first thought about scouting and the ideals I'm trying to instill--I was thinking about outdoors, frankly. Then I thought about our school, about how that sort of fits us, too--and frankly it fits many places, at least in the idea.
And then I thought about church. The traditional terms for the part of the church are not words we use very often in average secular life: vestibule, sacristy, nave, apse, and so forth. Nave, especially, which comes from the same root as naval--it means or implies a ship. It is where the congregation gathers for mass (in modern churches, where we sit). I thought about these two things together, the idea that we are a ship...and that we are a crew, not passengers.
We need to work.
So at the end of the month, I'm going back to my monastery for the first time since 2008. I thought it had only been about 2 years--but in reality, it's been 2 years that they've essentially closed the doors to visitors in order to accomplish a huge rehab project. Before that, I didn't go in 2009 because I had a baby. So it's been a long time.
Taking the train to KC. Renting a car. Driving up to the wind farm monastery where things do not change, even when they change. Going to the chapel to try to find myself again. To remember that being on a crew means doing work and this work means being still.
It's not all that's dry. I just haven't had words lately, and I haven't had much to think about either that isn't that constant running list in my head. Mostly kids' activities and housework and errands, an infinite loop of boredom. Listening to the same stuff on the radio, not watching any movies or TV worth mentioning, church hasn't drawn me out of myself in a long time--but frankly, we've been out of town many weekends this summer so it doesn't surprise me.
Today I saw a quote, who knows how I got there, the wonder of the internet, by the founder or inspiration, of the Outward Bound movement. The quote was, "We are crew, not passengers."
I first thought about scouting and the ideals I'm trying to instill--I was thinking about outdoors, frankly. Then I thought about our school, about how that sort of fits us, too--and frankly it fits many places, at least in the idea.
And then I thought about church. The traditional terms for the part of the church are not words we use very often in average secular life: vestibule, sacristy, nave, apse, and so forth. Nave, especially, which comes from the same root as naval--it means or implies a ship. It is where the congregation gathers for mass (in modern churches, where we sit). I thought about these two things together, the idea that we are a ship...and that we are a crew, not passengers.
We need to work.
So at the end of the month, I'm going back to my monastery for the first time since 2008. I thought it had only been about 2 years--but in reality, it's been 2 years that they've essentially closed the doors to visitors in order to accomplish a huge rehab project. Before that, I didn't go in 2009 because I had a baby. So it's been a long time.
Taking the train to KC. Renting a car. Driving up to the wind farm monastery where things do not change, even when they change. Going to the chapel to try to find myself again. To remember that being on a crew means doing work and this work means being still.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
School Starts Tomorrow Once More
Once More.
Once more, my girls went to bed all nervous for the first day of school.
Once more, I am staying up too late enjoying the jazz on the NPR affiliate and no one climbing on me or whining.
Once more, summer was 2 weeks too long. It could be only 2 weeks long and still be 2 weeks too long. Or 10 months long and it would still be just 2 weeks too long. Everyone else went back to school either last week or the week before. So boring.
Once more, we had a busy summer. The Smokies, the Upper Peninsula, visiting my in-laws and my sister.
Once more, I didn't get nearly enough done this summer.
Once more, I have high hopes for autumn, which has its calendar-observed beginning, in my house at least, tomorrow. My list is long. My energy is high.
Once more, the garden is disappointing. One way or another. I am a bad gardener. I try, but somewhere around the first of August, I'm just done with that project. It's not done, though. Tough.
Once more, I've managed to start the school year with controversy. Hence my silence lately. I've been ranging from seething to furious to hopeless to accepting to impatient for a week. More on that when it's solved. The crazy part? Not my fault.
Once more, I realize how blessed I am to have the privilege of getting ticked off at school administrators. I have choices. I also have vows of stability, but I still have choices.
Once more, my September and October weekends are booked solid. Fun, but it will grind us down. So much for that list?
Once more, Girl Scouts is underway. And there is excitement for the older girls' troop and the possibilities for the Baden-Powell scouts at the younger levels.
Once more, I'm planning a vacation for spring.
Once more, I'm the oldest sibling. All over my life all the time.
Once more, I am reminded that my emergency is not your emergency. And as a friend at the girl scout meeting said to day, it takes education to bring those into the same loop of the venn diagrams of emergency.
Once more, old kitty Hickory has put on a little weight after losing it when we were out of town. Hickory likes Beef Gravy Feast. A lot.
Once more, it's good to be back at my parish.
Once more, my anniversary has passed without Jake and I fulfilling each ritual established over the years. This one involves a sphere--we have a sphere for each year of our marriage, starting with a pearl. There's a marble, a rose petal bead, many, many pretty polished stones. A redwood box. A soapstone incense burner. A puzzle sphere from Chinatown. We haven't found one for 16 yet. I'm staring at this perfectly round sphere from a beach in San Diego he brought home from a business trip--but is it already assigned to 14? I need to assemble them all and see. As if this belongs on my big important list.
Once more, my latent asperger tendencies to count, arrange, talk to death, and arrange are apparent. Tomorrow I take a big bike ride pulling Billy in the trailer while the girls are at school. That should clear the junk out of my head for a few hours at least.
Once more, I'm the last person awake. Even the cats are sleeping. Time to catch up on Words With Friends and sleep. Once more.
Once more, my girls went to bed all nervous for the first day of school.
Once more, I am staying up too late enjoying the jazz on the NPR affiliate and no one climbing on me or whining.
Once more, summer was 2 weeks too long. It could be only 2 weeks long and still be 2 weeks too long. Or 10 months long and it would still be just 2 weeks too long. Everyone else went back to school either last week or the week before. So boring.
Once more, we had a busy summer. The Smokies, the Upper Peninsula, visiting my in-laws and my sister.
Once more, I didn't get nearly enough done this summer.
Once more, I have high hopes for autumn, which has its calendar-observed beginning, in my house at least, tomorrow. My list is long. My energy is high.
Once more, the garden is disappointing. One way or another. I am a bad gardener. I try, but somewhere around the first of August, I'm just done with that project. It's not done, though. Tough.
Once more, I've managed to start the school year with controversy. Hence my silence lately. I've been ranging from seething to furious to hopeless to accepting to impatient for a week. More on that when it's solved. The crazy part? Not my fault.
Once more, I realize how blessed I am to have the privilege of getting ticked off at school administrators. I have choices. I also have vows of stability, but I still have choices.
Once more, my September and October weekends are booked solid. Fun, but it will grind us down. So much for that list?
Once more, Girl Scouts is underway. And there is excitement for the older girls' troop and the possibilities for the Baden-Powell scouts at the younger levels.
Once more, I'm planning a vacation for spring.
Once more, I'm the oldest sibling. All over my life all the time.
Once more, I am reminded that my emergency is not your emergency. And as a friend at the girl scout meeting said to day, it takes education to bring those into the same loop of the venn diagrams of emergency.
Once more, old kitty Hickory has put on a little weight after losing it when we were out of town. Hickory likes Beef Gravy Feast. A lot.
Once more, it's good to be back at my parish.
Once more, my anniversary has passed without Jake and I fulfilling each ritual established over the years. This one involves a sphere--we have a sphere for each year of our marriage, starting with a pearl. There's a marble, a rose petal bead, many, many pretty polished stones. A redwood box. A soapstone incense burner. A puzzle sphere from Chinatown. We haven't found one for 16 yet. I'm staring at this perfectly round sphere from a beach in San Diego he brought home from a business trip--but is it already assigned to 14? I need to assemble them all and see. As if this belongs on my big important list.
Once more, my latent asperger tendencies to count, arrange, talk to death, and arrange are apparent. Tomorrow I take a big bike ride pulling Billy in the trailer while the girls are at school. That should clear the junk out of my head for a few hours at least.
Once more, I'm the last person awake. Even the cats are sleeping. Time to catch up on Words With Friends and sleep. Once more.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Friday, August 17, 2012
Upper Peninsula Rocks and Ships
Lake Superior's 12-mile beach was empty, perhaps a dozen other people there the whole time we visited. The cleanest beach I've ever been to--I mean, I've been to pristine beaches and dirty beaches, Pacific, Gulf Coast, Atlantic, but there's always some sort of debris even if there's no human-produced trash. There's a dead fish or seaweed or something. But here, there were rocks. And sand. And that was it. Rocks and sand. No shells, no sign that anything actually lived in the water or on the beach. It was like a fake beach, like something Disney would create. And then obviously abandon because no one was there. But these rocks were, and we made little rock stacks and rock scenes and enjoyed being in the water, even if just to our knees. Cold. Wonderful. Loved it.
Shipwrecks. Right there on the beach. A hundred years ago and they're right there:
Upper Peninsula: On the Boat
We took a boat trip to see the Pictured Rocks from the lake--the only way, really, that you can see the cliffs. They are sandstone, but stained by minerals in the water that runs down their sides.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Bird Update Upper Peninsula
We just got back from a lovely camping trip in the upper peninsula of Michigan, near Munising, on Lake Superior. More later. But first, my bird sightings, meaning, the one that add to my life list:
Evening grosbeak--this morning in a flock as we left
Sandhill crane--poking around in a pair near the lake
Northern Goshawk--this is a family sighting--Jake saw it and identified it at a nature center in Wisconsin, but I can't count it for my list
Cormorant--in a tree on a cliff above Superior
Blackburnian warbler--on a trail in a birch tree
Pine warbler--at our campsite
Northern Parula--at our campsite
Northern Harrier--in the sky from below on the way home this morning
Northern flicker--at our campsite
We also saw a bald eagle (but we have those here--the folks on the beach from the Carolinas were awed, however), several gulls and and ducks and ravens and sparrows and birds I know, and a shorebird I didn't see enough of to identify.
All in all, a pretty successful trip bird-wise! (And otherwise--it was a very nice break). More later!
Evening grosbeak--this morning in a flock as we left
Sandhill crane--poking around in a pair near the lake
Northern Goshawk--this is a family sighting--Jake saw it and identified it at a nature center in Wisconsin, but I can't count it for my list
Cormorant--in a tree on a cliff above Superior
Blackburnian warbler--on a trail in a birch tree
Pine warbler--at our campsite
Northern Parula--at our campsite
Northern Harrier--in the sky from below on the way home this morning
Northern flicker--at our campsite
We also saw a bald eagle (but we have those here--the folks on the beach from the Carolinas were awed, however), several gulls and and ducks and ravens and sparrows and birds I know, and a shorebird I didn't see enough of to identify.
All in all, a pretty successful trip bird-wise! (And otherwise--it was a very nice break). More later!
Friday, August 10, 2012
Monday, August 06, 2012
3 things I'm proud of this morning
Three things happened yesterday that I was just a spectator for, but which made me very happy to see.
1. NASA put that thing on the ground on Mars. I kind of couldn't believe it. We watched the live feed from the mission control late last night. Jake showed me the video "Seven Minutes of Terror" describing all of the things that have to happen to make Curiosity not crash into an expensive pile of martian rubble. It seemed just about impossible. I've been to the space and rocket museum in Alabama and I've seen the stuff they've landed on the moon. Bubble gum and baling wire. And yet, it worked. It worked! Watching the relief and happiness on the faces of all those amazingly smart geeks sitting in that windowless room in California as they cheered and ate peanuts and hugged each other betrayed the fact that they, the experts, weren't so sure it was going to happen either.
2. On the Olympics, I watched the men's gymnastics individual competitions last night, specifically the pommel horse. A gymnast from Great Britain, Max Whitlock, did an excellent routine and placed himself high in the rankings. Then a Hungarian Krisztian Berki did an amazing routine. It was stunning. Last up was another British athlete, Louis Smith, knowing he had to beat Berki's score (16.066) and that it was better than he'd ever scored at this level. And? It was also amazing. Fluid and beautiful and amazing.
Louis had won a bronze in Beijing and was Britain's big hope for a gold in gymnastics this time around. He did an awesome routine.
And he tied Krisztian's score. Max had the bronze, and Louis got the silver because his routine was rated slightly more difficult, and therefore the execution was slightly less perfect in comparison to the ideal. Immediately upon realizing this, you can see the disappointment pass over his face. He had gold..and then he didn't. Except he never had gold. He was the last competitor and he almost made it. Then he pulls himself together. Completely. Wraps himself and Max in the Union Jack and waves at the crowd. He's won a silver medal.
I was impressed because of the way the silver medalist handled herself in the women's all-around just a few nights before, bursting into tears. And it's hard to control yourself in situations like that, when you hope something is going to happen, you do your very best, and then it doesn't work out. I would probably burst into tears too. Maybe. I can't say, I've never been so close to something so powerful. Maybe that's why I was so impressed with Louis Smith. He didn't let the disappointment steal the moment away from him. Maybe it's because he's a guy, or because it's his second olympics and not his only olympics, or maybe because he's British or whatever--but I was impressed, with all three of them, but especially with him.
3. My brother, yesterday, did his first triathalon. A year ago, he wrote on Facebook, he was stopped in traffic by what he thought was a "stupid bike race". Then he spent the year losing 100 pounds. He didn't come in first, and he didn't come in last, but he finished it. And I am duly impressed. Inspired, too--now that he's a TRIATHLETE, I am now the least fit sibling of the 4 of us. My youngest sister is a bike polo aficionado. My middle sister is a burlesque dancer under the stage name of Viv Vacious. And now Ian has done his first (mind you, first, not only) triathalon. I need some focus...but it isn't about me just yet. Ian did good. Amazing good. 100 pounds is amazing.
All three are amazing. What we are capable of.
1. NASA put that thing on the ground on Mars. I kind of couldn't believe it. We watched the live feed from the mission control late last night. Jake showed me the video "Seven Minutes of Terror" describing all of the things that have to happen to make Curiosity not crash into an expensive pile of martian rubble. It seemed just about impossible. I've been to the space and rocket museum in Alabama and I've seen the stuff they've landed on the moon. Bubble gum and baling wire. And yet, it worked. It worked! Watching the relief and happiness on the faces of all those amazingly smart geeks sitting in that windowless room in California as they cheered and ate peanuts and hugged each other betrayed the fact that they, the experts, weren't so sure it was going to happen either.
2. On the Olympics, I watched the men's gymnastics individual competitions last night, specifically the pommel horse. A gymnast from Great Britain, Max Whitlock, did an excellent routine and placed himself high in the rankings. Then a Hungarian Krisztian Berki did an amazing routine. It was stunning. Last up was another British athlete, Louis Smith, knowing he had to beat Berki's score (16.066) and that it was better than he'd ever scored at this level. And? It was also amazing. Fluid and beautiful and amazing.
Louis had won a bronze in Beijing and was Britain's big hope for a gold in gymnastics this time around. He did an awesome routine.
And he tied Krisztian's score. Max had the bronze, and Louis got the silver because his routine was rated slightly more difficult, and therefore the execution was slightly less perfect in comparison to the ideal. Immediately upon realizing this, you can see the disappointment pass over his face. He had gold..and then he didn't. Except he never had gold. He was the last competitor and he almost made it. Then he pulls himself together. Completely. Wraps himself and Max in the Union Jack and waves at the crowd. He's won a silver medal.
I was impressed because of the way the silver medalist handled herself in the women's all-around just a few nights before, bursting into tears. And it's hard to control yourself in situations like that, when you hope something is going to happen, you do your very best, and then it doesn't work out. I would probably burst into tears too. Maybe. I can't say, I've never been so close to something so powerful. Maybe that's why I was so impressed with Louis Smith. He didn't let the disappointment steal the moment away from him. Maybe it's because he's a guy, or because it's his second olympics and not his only olympics, or maybe because he's British or whatever--but I was impressed, with all three of them, but especially with him.
3. My brother, yesterday, did his first triathalon. A year ago, he wrote on Facebook, he was stopped in traffic by what he thought was a "stupid bike race". Then he spent the year losing 100 pounds. He didn't come in first, and he didn't come in last, but he finished it. And I am duly impressed. Inspired, too--now that he's a TRIATHLETE, I am now the least fit sibling of the 4 of us. My youngest sister is a bike polo aficionado. My middle sister is a burlesque dancer under the stage name of Viv Vacious. And now Ian has done his first (mind you, first, not only) triathalon. I need some focus...but it isn't about me just yet. Ian did good. Amazing good. 100 pounds is amazing.
All three are amazing. What we are capable of.
Saturday, August 04, 2012
Today's Quote About the Olympics
"Did you get up in time to see Serena Williams play?" Jake asks Mal. Mal shakes his head.
"You know," Jake continues, "I don't usually follow tennis, but I could watch Serena Williams do the dishes."
"You know," Jake continues, "I don't usually follow tennis, but I could watch Serena Williams do the dishes."
My Initial Thoughts on the Olympics
Totally stolen from Mali but seriously, I think many are thinking about the games.
*Hearing that the national sport of Bhutan is archery, and then watching an American kick the pants off the girl from Bhutan. I find myself rooting for Japanese, Danish, and Russians and the girl from Egypt who lost in the 1/32 round because they seem happy. Especially the Japanese.
*Watching the archers shoot actually improved my aim. I've been soaking up archery.
*Those gymnasts. Their one shot. Never again. Their bodies wear out and change and that's it. The divers: some on their 5th Olympics. You are what you are, but it seems so unfair the way we've made gymnastics.
*The oldest archer is older than I am and she's not the oldest Olympian.
*Some sports seem to require that you are part of a team to belong--and I don't mean volleyball, where it is obvious. They have individual gymnastics, but only if you were part of a team. Other sports don't seem to care if you fielded a team or not, you can still give it a try.
*I wonder about those who don't make it, just as Mali wonders. Is it ever enough to just get close? Then that Russian gymnast who got the silver and burst into--sad--tears.
*The South African double amputee running in the 400. How there were actually questions about whether his prosthetics gave him too much advantage. Wondering how officials set lines on technology--the javelin, for instance, stopped being improved upon when officials realized that if they kept improving, eventually a spectator would be speared. The swimsuits with less friction than human skin. Prosthetics--should he be in the olympics? I think he should.
*An Azerbaijani boxer bribing judges. Badminton players throwing games for better seeding in the next round. Maybe we should be more concerned about those things than prosthetics.
*NBC shows medal ceremonies and if there are two Americans, say, the gold and bronze, they don't even show the other third of the platform where the Lithuanian or Russian or Nigerian is standing. If we don't medal, they don't waste their audience's time at all. The thing I like about the Olympics is seeing other countries send their best athletes and compete against behemoths like China and the US. It makes my heart sing to watch a Ukrainian win. Maybe I'm in the minority but the whole point is supposed to be being amazed by what we (humanity) can do. Not what we (Americans only) can do.
*The women archers from South Korea and Japan were geek girl city. The ones from Mexico had flawless makeup and big earrings on. The Americans looked like they were going to go home and shoot a deer and field dress it with their pocket knives. And their (archery) uniforms win for me. Warm up pants. The Mexican men in knee-length shorts. Schlumpy bucket hats to keep out the rain and sun. No bikini tops here. Love them.
*I watched one beach volleyball round where all the women were in warm up suits of some sort. I was pleased, until Jake informed me that it was special just for now because of the weather. Back to the bikinis they went. Why is this an Olympic sport, again? We have volleyball already. We should have roller skating or kickball or bring baseball back or something.
*I love synchronized diving. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that.
*I read somewhere that post-Olympics, gold medal winners are pretty enthusiastic about how things went (obviously). And bronze medal winners tend to be the second-happiest as a group. I guess that idea of "losing gold" instead of "winning silver" is true. A bronze medal winner is more likely to be glad to just be on the podium and not 4th place. I wonder how athletes who make it to the final 8 in their competition (like swimming or running, with many heats and elimination rounds), feel about coming in 7th or 8th. In the world. Does it work out in their heads? I saw an Italian springboard diver who was on her 3rd or 4th olympics, no medals. Is it thrilling enough to go that some, knowing there's no way they will win, are happy just being there? Looking at the grin on the face of the Egyptian female archer waving at the crowd as the big blond Russian beat her, I think it probably is enough for many.
*Then I think about the regional track meet I went to in 9th grade, in which I qualified for the 800, based upon points throughout the season I suppose. I ran every meet, and usually came in 2nd or 3rd. I guess that adds up. I was always thrilled to come in 2nd or 3rd. At the regionals I came in 6th (out of 10) and at first I was crushed until I saw my time--the best I'd ever run. And then I was so happy. I had beaten myself. But that's a sport where it is measurable. Diving, gymnastics, trampoline--so many things are more nuanced. Is it harder to reconcile a 12th place finish for them?
*My kids are staying up far too late.
*My house is nicely clean, as long as the laptop or TV is in the room in question.
*The commentary gets old. Some is good, but a constant stream of betting what the score will be gets old. And interviewing US competitors instead of showing other athletes compete in the same event? Gah.
*It's the first Olympics I've paid attention to in a long time (1996), mostly because the wonders of technology have allowed me this time to watch the "also ran" sports from start to finish. I started archery at the beginning. Fencing, too. My kids love diving and gymnastics, but archery and fencing are my two sports (besides biking, which is dreary to watch). I know the language and spend late nights tidying up and soaking up the lack of color commentary on the live feeds (and yesterday's live feeds which of course aren't live but are still raw, not edited for the most tearjerking moments).
*And just like when the pope died and all that footage from Rome on late at night for the funeral and post events, how it made me want to go to Rome after all? I now want to go to London. England was far down my list of priorities. But it's gaining.
But first: Upper Peninsula. More on that later.
*Hearing that the national sport of Bhutan is archery, and then watching an American kick the pants off the girl from Bhutan. I find myself rooting for Japanese, Danish, and Russians and the girl from Egypt who lost in the 1/32 round because they seem happy. Especially the Japanese.
*Watching the archers shoot actually improved my aim. I've been soaking up archery.
*Those gymnasts. Their one shot. Never again. Their bodies wear out and change and that's it. The divers: some on their 5th Olympics. You are what you are, but it seems so unfair the way we've made gymnastics.
*The oldest archer is older than I am and she's not the oldest Olympian.
*Some sports seem to require that you are part of a team to belong--and I don't mean volleyball, where it is obvious. They have individual gymnastics, but only if you were part of a team. Other sports don't seem to care if you fielded a team or not, you can still give it a try.
*I wonder about those who don't make it, just as Mali wonders. Is it ever enough to just get close? Then that Russian gymnast who got the silver and burst into--sad--tears.
*The South African double amputee running in the 400. How there were actually questions about whether his prosthetics gave him too much advantage. Wondering how officials set lines on technology--the javelin, for instance, stopped being improved upon when officials realized that if they kept improving, eventually a spectator would be speared. The swimsuits with less friction than human skin. Prosthetics--should he be in the olympics? I think he should.
*An Azerbaijani boxer bribing judges. Badminton players throwing games for better seeding in the next round. Maybe we should be more concerned about those things than prosthetics.
*NBC shows medal ceremonies and if there are two Americans, say, the gold and bronze, they don't even show the other third of the platform where the Lithuanian or Russian or Nigerian is standing. If we don't medal, they don't waste their audience's time at all. The thing I like about the Olympics is seeing other countries send their best athletes and compete against behemoths like China and the US. It makes my heart sing to watch a Ukrainian win. Maybe I'm in the minority but the whole point is supposed to be being amazed by what we (humanity) can do. Not what we (Americans only) can do.
*The women archers from South Korea and Japan were geek girl city. The ones from Mexico had flawless makeup and big earrings on. The Americans looked like they were going to go home and shoot a deer and field dress it with their pocket knives. And their (archery) uniforms win for me. Warm up pants. The Mexican men in knee-length shorts. Schlumpy bucket hats to keep out the rain and sun. No bikini tops here. Love them.
*I watched one beach volleyball round where all the women were in warm up suits of some sort. I was pleased, until Jake informed me that it was special just for now because of the weather. Back to the bikinis they went. Why is this an Olympic sport, again? We have volleyball already. We should have roller skating or kickball or bring baseball back or something.
*I love synchronized diving. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that.
*I read somewhere that post-Olympics, gold medal winners are pretty enthusiastic about how things went (obviously). And bronze medal winners tend to be the second-happiest as a group. I guess that idea of "losing gold" instead of "winning silver" is true. A bronze medal winner is more likely to be glad to just be on the podium and not 4th place. I wonder how athletes who make it to the final 8 in their competition (like swimming or running, with many heats and elimination rounds), feel about coming in 7th or 8th. In the world. Does it work out in their heads? I saw an Italian springboard diver who was on her 3rd or 4th olympics, no medals. Is it thrilling enough to go that some, knowing there's no way they will win, are happy just being there? Looking at the grin on the face of the Egyptian female archer waving at the crowd as the big blond Russian beat her, I think it probably is enough for many.
*Then I think about the regional track meet I went to in 9th grade, in which I qualified for the 800, based upon points throughout the season I suppose. I ran every meet, and usually came in 2nd or 3rd. I guess that adds up. I was always thrilled to come in 2nd or 3rd. At the regionals I came in 6th (out of 10) and at first I was crushed until I saw my time--the best I'd ever run. And then I was so happy. I had beaten myself. But that's a sport where it is measurable. Diving, gymnastics, trampoline--so many things are more nuanced. Is it harder to reconcile a 12th place finish for them?
*My kids are staying up far too late.
*My house is nicely clean, as long as the laptop or TV is in the room in question.
*The commentary gets old. Some is good, but a constant stream of betting what the score will be gets old. And interviewing US competitors instead of showing other athletes compete in the same event? Gah.
*It's the first Olympics I've paid attention to in a long time (1996), mostly because the wonders of technology have allowed me this time to watch the "also ran" sports from start to finish. I started archery at the beginning. Fencing, too. My kids love diving and gymnastics, but archery and fencing are my two sports (besides biking, which is dreary to watch). I know the language and spend late nights tidying up and soaking up the lack of color commentary on the live feeds (and yesterday's live feeds which of course aren't live but are still raw, not edited for the most tearjerking moments).
*And just like when the pope died and all that footage from Rome on late at night for the funeral and post events, how it made me want to go to Rome after all? I now want to go to London. England was far down my list of priorities. But it's gaining.
But first: Upper Peninsula. More on that later.
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
"It looks like we mean it"
This is my theme for 2012. "It looks like we mean it."
This started when I painted the dining room. After 12 years of deep brick red, I covered it with a pale sky blue. I painted the ceiling so that it is one color now instead of two (long story). I cleaned the woodwork. I hung pictures. I got a rug and covered up the cruddy floor for now because it was clear that I had not enough free time to sand it right. I found a mid-century 9 drawer dresser and put it in front of the fireplace (also not enough time or expertise, in this case, to fix that problem right now). I turned to Jake and said, "It finally looks like we mean it."
This continued as my theme throughout the spring. I planted a garden and didn't do it halfway. I built a rock patio for the pool. I hung picture throughout the house. I started losing some weight. We separated the girls' rooms and did it in a really cool way. I hung blinds in the guest room that improved its south-facing temperature regulation immensely.
It looks like we mean it. Like we, and especially I, am finally engaged after so many years of floating halfway involved with life. I am terribly busy most of the time, and I like to do so many things that it is hard to focus on one thing long enough to complete it to perfection. But now that I mean it? More of those things are getting completed.
There are still places that are half-done and half-assed, frankly, but they're on my list. Because I mean it now, and I want folks to know.
This started when I painted the dining room. After 12 years of deep brick red, I covered it with a pale sky blue. I painted the ceiling so that it is one color now instead of two (long story). I cleaned the woodwork. I hung pictures. I got a rug and covered up the cruddy floor for now because it was clear that I had not enough free time to sand it right. I found a mid-century 9 drawer dresser and put it in front of the fireplace (also not enough time or expertise, in this case, to fix that problem right now). I turned to Jake and said, "It finally looks like we mean it."
This continued as my theme throughout the spring. I planted a garden and didn't do it halfway. I built a rock patio for the pool. I hung picture throughout the house. I started losing some weight. We separated the girls' rooms and did it in a really cool way. I hung blinds in the guest room that improved its south-facing temperature regulation immensely.
It looks like we mean it. Like we, and especially I, am finally engaged after so many years of floating halfway involved with life. I am terribly busy most of the time, and I like to do so many things that it is hard to focus on one thing long enough to complete it to perfection. But now that I mean it? More of those things are getting completed.
There are still places that are half-done and half-assed, frankly, but they're on my list. Because I mean it now, and I want folks to know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
