Today I did something very bold and mental carb-ish.
I canceled my Netflix subscription.
Wait, you're not impressed? Okay, let me explain.
When I finally moved off campus last summer I had to cut costs and one of the first things to go was cable. I like TV and goodness knows I'll watch it if it's there-it was free on campus but I couldn't justify $60-$100 a month for Comcast or Direct TV for the few hours I might squeeze in each week in between work, grad school and the small slice of a personal life I try to maintain. My concession was my Netflix subscription. I have a Wii so I can stream movies and old TV shows through it-and it was enough. (Well, mostly enough-I still miss my guilty pleasure of NCIS, but in the scheme of things, it was ok.)
Then we had this long, cold, snowy winter and I...ahem...becameabitofanaddict.
What? Oh, you didn't quite understand me. Let me try again.
Ibecameabitofanaddict.
Ok, fine.
I said- I. became. a. bit. of. an. addict. (You should know my head is hung,slightly, in shame and I am not making any eye contact as I type this.)
It's true-it was awful! I watched so much junk. I OD'd on Glee, Veronica Mars, Monty Python's Flying Circus, Battlestar Gallactica, Ken Burns' Civil War and Baseball and a lot of PBS' Masterpiece Theater. (Downton Abbey and Sherlock were actually quite excellent. You should check them out. Really good acting and good storylines...c'mon just try it. What-are you scared of little PBS? Everyone is doing it...oh wait, sorry about that-I'm only a couple of days into recovery.)
It started to become very apparent that TV had taken over my life, or at the very least, had become a huge obstacle to getting a lot of other important things done. Too much telly meant I didn't get enough exercise, I stopped being as creative, and I became more insular than I had before.
So I made the commitment to watch less and honestly, it was great. I tried Zumba for the first time, I started running again, and I spent more time with the people I love. In the end I discovered that with so many distractions in my life, perhaps Netflix is one I don't need-even a little bit. This feels like a bold choice, in part because I live in the sticks-I don't get cell phone service at my little farmhouse. I have internet but it isn't fast enough to allow me to watch movies or TV online. My DVD player died last year and I never replaced it. If it weren't for my beloved Mac I'd barely be living in the 21st century out here. Okay, that's a bit of a pretentious exaggeration. (My sister Jessica is saying out loud "A bit? I find it moderately ludicrous that you would whine about your Mac.")
And you might want to counter with the fact that I have a Wii, but the funny part is that my house is so old and small, I can't play most of my games without wreaking a bit of havoc.
Anyway, my point is-not a lot of ultra modern technology left here...but I'm finding it liberating. It was a cozy cocoon that served it's purpose for the long cold winter, and I just don't need it anymore.
Especially since this year I am actually learning to fly.
My very first skydive.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
You can't always get what you want...
Today I am reminded, once again, why attitude matters.
My dad used to share this little gem with me and my sisters. It's by Charles Swindoll.
My younger self often scoffed at it. Charles Swindoll is an evangelical minister which is already at odds with my personal philosophies and he is a white male so I tend to think it's easy to give attitude so much credit when you don't have a lot of barriers put in your way by society.
But my older self, the one who is not as much of a rebel as she used to be, who is sometimes too tired to pull out her soapbox-she has learned to appreciate the sentiment behind his words. "We cannot change the inevitable." It's just another way of saying "It is what it is" and I say that ALL the time.
Today I should be running the 20th Annual Covered Bridges Half Marathon but for the past five days I've been sick- fever, sore throat and complete and utter exhaustion.
It would have been a tough one as I didn't train well-but I could have finished it. It's a hard race to get into and this is the second year in a row I have had to bail at the last minute. So it is through gritted teeth and with a bit of sarcasm that I say, it is what it is.
But deep down I am pissed off. I'm not as flexible as I would like to be. Not this kind of flexible. The kind that allows to me to roll with the punches a little bit easier. I loathe not accomplishing that which I set my intention to do. In the past this has made me stubborn and way too loyal to only one outcome. Years ago I probably would have tried running anyway and then been sick for another three weeks.
Between the lack of jump-able weather (I have yet to make my A jump!), being sick and now not being able to run, I'm struggling to be nimble.
So to counter my rigid tendencies I'm working very hard at reminding myself how much attititude matters-it is my mental yoga. If I keep practicing, the pose is easier to maintain for longer periods of time.
Still, instead of Swindoll, I am much more likely to break out in song ala Sheryl Crow's beach-y, pop tune: "It's not having what you want, it's wanting what you got."
Or better yet: The Stones. Because if you try sometimes you just might find, you get what you need.
Time to happy-up and focus on what's next.
My dad used to share this little gem with me and my sisters. It's by Charles Swindoll.
My younger self often scoffed at it. Charles Swindoll is an evangelical minister which is already at odds with my personal philosophies and he is a white male so I tend to think it's easy to give attitude so much credit when you don't have a lot of barriers put in your way by society.
But my older self, the one who is not as much of a rebel as she used to be, who is sometimes too tired to pull out her soapbox-she has learned to appreciate the sentiment behind his words. "We cannot change the inevitable." It's just another way of saying "It is what it is" and I say that ALL the time.
Today I should be running the 20th Annual Covered Bridges Half Marathon but for the past five days I've been sick- fever, sore throat and complete and utter exhaustion.
It would have been a tough one as I didn't train well-but I could have finished it. It's a hard race to get into and this is the second year in a row I have had to bail at the last minute. So it is through gritted teeth and with a bit of sarcasm that I say, it is what it is.
But deep down I am pissed off. I'm not as flexible as I would like to be. Not this kind of flexible. The kind that allows to me to roll with the punches a little bit easier. I loathe not accomplishing that which I set my intention to do. In the past this has made me stubborn and way too loyal to only one outcome. Years ago I probably would have tried running anyway and then been sick for another three weeks.
Between the lack of jump-able weather (I have yet to make my A jump!), being sick and now not being able to run, I'm struggling to be nimble.
So to counter my rigid tendencies I'm working very hard at reminding myself how much attititude matters-it is my mental yoga. If I keep practicing, the pose is easier to maintain for longer periods of time.
Still, instead of Swindoll, I am much more likely to break out in song ala Sheryl Crow's beach-y, pop tune: "It's not having what you want, it's wanting what you got."
Or better yet: The Stones. Because if you try sometimes you just might find, you get what you need.
Time to happy-up and focus on what's next.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
Memorial Day
Sgt. Bryon E. Lane, USMC 1974-2001
I love the life I have now, but I will always remember your friendship.
I love the life I have now, but I will always remember your friendship.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
C.R.a.P.
Sunday. My last day of camp. Today is the day I will finally get to jump out of an airplane.
What...you can't see it? No problem. Here's a close-up.
Rrrraaawr.
Okay, you got me. It wasn't a real bear.
After this super-exciting wildlife excursion, I make my way to Orange and the DZ. I decide I will stop in and buy a Skydiver's Information Manual (SIM), say hi to everyone and then head back home. The first thing I notice when I walk through the door is that there are two AFF students with their name on the manifest board. I ask Cathy what the story is about the weather and she suggests I stick around until at least 2pm. So, I throw my name up on the board, buy my manual and sit under the shade at one of the picnic tables. A couple of guys are waiting for their tandem jumps and they pace nervously while launching testosterone-laden verbal barbs at one another to prove to themselves that they aren't actually nervous.
A guy wanders over to me and introduces himself as one of my jumpmasters. Dick is older, handsome, really grounded and, as I quickly realize, clearly doesn't get my sense of humor. It's okay, not everyone does but I have to shift gears into being a dutiful student. I pass muster when I can answer every question he throws at me (why couldn't I do that for the exam??) and can walk through every step of the exit and freefall plan. The plane is about to take a load of people up and I'm told that the next flight is flight 4 is next and I am on flight 5.
See, I knew it! I am definitely jumping today! We head over to pick out gear. The jumpsuit is my least favorite part, but I put it on anyway. Then the water emergency kit, the altimeter, the parachute (very important) and then helmet and goggles.
I am now about 15 minutes away from getting on the plane. I see a guy I went to high school with and walk over to say hi (turns out he's a tandem instructor. who knew?). In the middle of small talk with Sean I hear the announcement...clouds have moved back in and they are shutting down flights. I look at Dick and shake my head. We decide to stay in gear for a little bit to see what happens. I sit down on a bench, the weight of the parachute pulling me backwards a bit. After 30 minutes, Dick walks out and looks at the sky. I can tell by his expression that it's time to throw in the towel. I stand up, shuffle back the AFF corner of the hangar and slowly put my gear away. I know that the Universe is rolling around on the floor, clutching her sides from the pain of laughter.
I walk through the office to remove my name from the manifest board. Cathy watches me pick up the eraser. She tilts her head, frowns and says "Aww, honey. Don't worry, it'll happen."
I know that it will. Just not right now.
And it's okay, because my dad taught me how to hitch the RV to the truck. There are only so many giant leaps you can take in one day.
Wait.
What's that?
Do I hear maniacal laughter ringing from the skies above?
Sigh.
It's gray, cloudy and, if you can believe it, it's also hazy when I wake up Sunday morning. I've awoken extra early because my father is coming down to get the RV and take it back to VT. He told me he would be here around 9am, which in his world means 8:30am so I know I need to be ready by 8am, just in case. Surprisingly, this time he is true to his word and right at 9am, he pulls up in the enormous truck, built Ford tough, that will haul this rig. Serendipitously, I am putting the last bag in my car. As I close the door, I wave him over.
What happens next is a small turning point in my relationship with my dad.
He very calmly walks me through the entire process of breaking down and packing up the RV for transport. He doesn't just tell me, he makes me do it. Everything from tying the furniture down, emptying the gray (water) and black (sewer) tanks, sliding the extended rooms in, storing hoses and wheel blocks, and raising the support posts. He even shows me how to hitch it to the truck.
Let me say that again. My dad actually shows me how to attach the RV hitch to the truck. And then he says "In case you ever need to haul this thing, now you'll know how to do it."
I have this flash of fear that he must be dying, because the only world I can imagine where he would actually let me hitch AND haul the RV with the truck is one where he isn't here to do it himself.
Don't get me wrong. My dad is father to three girls. Growing up, we were not short changed in the chore dept. just because we were daughters instead of sons. We hauled wood, helped him build things, fix things and take things apart. Hell, my sisters and I used to argue over who got to ride to dump with him. That being said, my dad is stubborn and sometimes he's a my-way-or-the-highway-control-freakish kind of guy. When you add two young, healthy, 6 ft.+ tall sons-in-law to the mix? Well, lets just say when I am at my parents house, I do a lot more housework then yard work these days. In fact, this past winter, my dad underwent surgery on his shoulder. Given the incredibly voluminous snowfall we received this year, I came home as often as I could to help with snow removal. He begrudgingly 'let' me run the snow blower but most of the time he actually stood on the front or back deck and "oversaw" my work. One day I was so frustrated with his supervision that I looked up, pointed at him, and then pointed at the house. He got the message and went inside... and proceeded to watch me from the bay window in the kitchen.
So this "if you ever needed to haul the RV" statement? It's kind of a big deal. When the fear that he must be dying passes, I am actually moved (no pun intended) by it. There is love, respect, and confidence in his statement (If I were his son, I might say that it made me feel like a man. As his daughter, saying that it made me feel like a woman doesn't create the same sentimental effect). But even more than that, there is now an equality between us.
He gets in the truck and says, through the open window, "I love you, kid. Be careful today". He slowly pulls away with the RV creaking and groaning. Just before he disappears from my view, he sticks his left hand out the window to wave goodbye. I just stand there for a few minutes reveling in the fact that I may now officially be a grown-up.
I'm not in any rush to get the DZ as I am pretty sure it will be a no-go for jumping. Again. The campground I'm staying at is way up in the Erving State Forest so the road down is long, winding and absolutely beautiful.
About half way down the road I catch sight of something in one of the trees so I pull over and grab my camera.
No joke, it was a bear.
No joke, it was a bear.
What...you can't see it? No problem. Here's a close-up.
Rrrraaawr.
Okay, you got me. It wasn't a real bear.
After this super-exciting wildlife excursion, I make my way to Orange and the DZ. I decide I will stop in and buy a Skydiver's Information Manual (SIM), say hi to everyone and then head back home. The first thing I notice when I walk through the door is that there are two AFF students with their name on the manifest board. I ask Cathy what the story is about the weather and she suggests I stick around until at least 2pm. So, I throw my name up on the board, buy my manual and sit under the shade at one of the picnic tables. A couple of guys are waiting for their tandem jumps and they pace nervously while launching testosterone-laden verbal barbs at one another to prove to themselves that they aren't actually nervous.
A guy wanders over to me and introduces himself as one of my jumpmasters. Dick is older, handsome, really grounded and, as I quickly realize, clearly doesn't get my sense of humor. It's okay, not everyone does but I have to shift gears into being a dutiful student. I pass muster when I can answer every question he throws at me (why couldn't I do that for the exam??) and can walk through every step of the exit and freefall plan. The plane is about to take a load of people up and I'm told that the next flight is flight 4 is next and I am on flight 5.
See, I knew it! I am definitely jumping today! We head over to pick out gear. The jumpsuit is my least favorite part, but I put it on anyway. Then the water emergency kit, the altimeter, the parachute (very important) and then helmet and goggles.
I am now about 15 minutes away from getting on the plane. I see a guy I went to high school with and walk over to say hi (turns out he's a tandem instructor. who knew?). In the middle of small talk with Sean I hear the announcement...clouds have moved back in and they are shutting down flights. I look at Dick and shake my head. We decide to stay in gear for a little bit to see what happens. I sit down on a bench, the weight of the parachute pulling me backwards a bit. After 30 minutes, Dick walks out and looks at the sky. I can tell by his expression that it's time to throw in the towel. I stand up, shuffle back the AFF corner of the hangar and slowly put my gear away. I know that the Universe is rolling around on the floor, clutching her sides from the pain of laughter.
I walk through the office to remove my name from the manifest board. Cathy watches me pick up the eraser. She tilts her head, frowns and says "Aww, honey. Don't worry, it'll happen."
I know that it will. Just not right now.
And it's okay, because my dad taught me how to hitch the RV to the truck. There are only so many giant leaps you can take in one day.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Norm!
Friday's weather thwarts me completely. Jessica and I have a fabulous time together-laughing until the beer comes out of our noses. It's so rare, now that my sisters have children, that we are ever on our own. I adore my nieces and nephew-wouldn't trade them for anything in the world-but those 36 hours with Jess were serious 'mental carbs'.
We woke up on Saturday to (insert hysterical laughter from the Universe here) MORE gray skies. But it was inconceivable! to us that I wouldn't be jumping at least once that day so we decided to make our way to the DZ anyway. Jessica consumes about 6 of my Decaf French Vanilla Keurig K-Cups trying to ward off a caffeine withdrawal headache. To no avail (I know, shocking, eh?)-so we make the first order of business programming our GPS for the nearest Dunkin Donuts.
When we arrive at the DZ, the parking lot is 1/3 full-the regulars have come for the weekend. As they crane their necks to look up, it is obvious that their withdrawal from blue skies runs far deeper than Jessica's little coffee 'problem'.
People are hanging out at the picnic tables, by the plane, on the orange and blue couches inside and in the office/manifest area. Quite a few people are packing chutes and a few are stumbling over from the camping area, in varying stages of sleepy-ness. I put my name up on the dry erase board with the letter A next to it. That tells them I am here, want to make a jump and it's my category A skydive. I go to find Andreas to see if he has any hopeful news about the weather. I turn my back for a few moments to chat with Andreas and when I turn around Jessica is deep in conversation with someone so I wander out the tables and chairs next to the hangar and turn my face up to the little sliver of sun peeking through the clouds.
When Jessica joins me, she is wearing a bit of a smile-one I haven't seen her in for a very long time. Apparently she ran into one of her skydiving friends, someone she hadn't seen for several years. Throughout the day, I notice that as people chat with us, she refers to me as the newbie, here to do her first jump-but she also refers to herself as a skydiver, one with well over 600 jumps.
This is significant because she hasn't jumped since the birth of her daughter in 2008. I don't need to have a child to know how much being a mother changes you, your priorities, your willingness to take risks with your life. I'm quite sure my sister isn't the first mother to make sacrifices in her personal life in order to manage her family life. I know she can't imagine putting Nella in the position of growing up without a mother just so that she can pursue what she thinks of as her adrenaline junkie past-times. She owns that decision 100% but I also know deep down, she misses the freedom of skydiving and that part of her identity.
It fills me with a profound sense of joy to see her reclaim some of that. It really doesn't matter if she decides to skydive again or not-it just matters to me that she remembers how important it is to hold on to yourself - and - to find your community.
You know...the place where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came...even if you don't get to jump out an airplane that day.
We woke up on Saturday to (insert hysterical laughter from the Universe here) MORE gray skies. But it was inconceivable! to us that I wouldn't be jumping at least once that day so we decided to make our way to the DZ anyway. Jessica consumes about 6 of my Decaf French Vanilla Keurig K-Cups trying to ward off a caffeine withdrawal headache. To no avail (I know, shocking, eh?)-so we make the first order of business programming our GPS for the nearest Dunkin Donuts.
People are hanging out at the picnic tables, by the plane, on the orange and blue couches inside and in the office/manifest area. Quite a few people are packing chutes and a few are stumbling over from the camping area, in varying stages of sleepy-ness. I put my name up on the dry erase board with the letter A next to it. That tells them I am here, want to make a jump and it's my category A skydive. I go to find Andreas to see if he has any hopeful news about the weather. I turn my back for a few moments to chat with Andreas and when I turn around Jessica is deep in conversation with someone so I wander out the tables and chairs next to the hangar and turn my face up to the little sliver of sun peeking through the clouds.
When Jessica joins me, she is wearing a bit of a smile-one I haven't seen her in for a very long time. Apparently she ran into one of her skydiving friends, someone she hadn't seen for several years. Throughout the day, I notice that as people chat with us, she refers to me as the newbie, here to do her first jump-but she also refers to herself as a skydiver, one with well over 600 jumps.
This is significant because she hasn't jumped since the birth of her daughter in 2008. I don't need to have a child to know how much being a mother changes you, your priorities, your willingness to take risks with your life. I'm quite sure my sister isn't the first mother to make sacrifices in her personal life in order to manage her family life. I know she can't imagine putting Nella in the position of growing up without a mother just so that she can pursue what she thinks of as her adrenaline junkie past-times. She owns that decision 100% but I also know deep down, she misses the freedom of skydiving and that part of her identity.
It fills me with a profound sense of joy to see her reclaim some of that. It really doesn't matter if she decides to skydive again or not-it just matters to me that she remembers how important it is to hold on to yourself - and - to find your community.
You know...the place where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came...even if you don't get to jump out an airplane that day.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Talking about death while wandering the aisles of Trader Joe's.
While waiting for my older sister to arrive, and too annoyed to sit in the RV stewing about the lack of jump-able weather I made a pilgrimage to the Trader Joe's in Hadley, MA. I love this place more than I can express. (Hawaiian themed decorations, low prices, kitschy ads, and healthy food? I am so there.)
While I am meandering up and down the six or seven aisles that comprise this boutique-y grocery store, Jessica calls me to find out what the plan is. I tell her she should meet me at the campground and she immediately understands that this means all jumping is likely out of the question for today. She expresses her disappointment for me and we move on to discuss how we will fill the time.
After enticing her with the glorious meals I have planned by using the amazing foods in TJs, I tell her that if anything changes with the weather I will let her know and she can meet me at the DZ (drop zone). The reality that skydiving has the potential to be a dangerous sport prompts me to ask her if I have given her a copy of my "Last Wishes". It's not exactly a will but more of a "If possible, I'd like this...". She doesn't think I have so I tell her that the most important thing is that I don't want to be buried-I want to be cremated. This surprises her - I guess she thought I was a box-in-the-ground kind of girl, but she recovers and she follows up by asking the exact right question: where do you want your ashes spread? (FYI-anywhere in the Green Mountains and if possible-the Aran Islands in Ireland).
All of sudden I realize that other customers are looking at me - discussing death in the middle of the store is actually a little weird.
But knowing what I want done with my body, my belongings, my assets, my own little legacy to those I love-this isn't weird at all. I'm only 37 - the possibility of dying now isn't a constant thought. But having lived though the untimely and unexpected death of a loved one, I know that if it -whatever 'it' is- really matters to me then I need to communicate and take care of it now.
So even though I suggest to my sister that we move on to lighter subjects so that I stop scaring the other patrons just trying to bask in the wondrous glow of Trader Joe's, I make a mental note to send her the full wish list.
Just in case.
While I am meandering up and down the six or seven aisles that comprise this boutique-y grocery store, Jessica calls me to find out what the plan is. I tell her she should meet me at the campground and she immediately understands that this means all jumping is likely out of the question for today. She expresses her disappointment for me and we move on to discuss how we will fill the time.
After enticing her with the glorious meals I have planned by using the amazing foods in TJs, I tell her that if anything changes with the weather I will let her know and she can meet me at the DZ (drop zone). The reality that skydiving has the potential to be a dangerous sport prompts me to ask her if I have given her a copy of my "Last Wishes". It's not exactly a will but more of a "If possible, I'd like this...". She doesn't think I have so I tell her that the most important thing is that I don't want to be buried-I want to be cremated. This surprises her - I guess she thought I was a box-in-the-ground kind of girl, but she recovers and she follows up by asking the exact right question: where do you want your ashes spread? (FYI-anywhere in the Green Mountains and if possible-the Aran Islands in Ireland).
All of sudden I realize that other customers are looking at me - discussing death in the middle of the store is actually a little weird.
But knowing what I want done with my body, my belongings, my assets, my own little legacy to those I love-this isn't weird at all. I'm only 37 - the possibility of dying now isn't a constant thought. But having lived though the untimely and unexpected death of a loved one, I know that if it -whatever 'it' is- really matters to me then I need to communicate and take care of it now.
So even though I suggest to my sister that we move on to lighter subjects so that I stop scaring the other patrons just trying to bask in the wondrous glow of Trader Joe's, I make a mental note to send her the full wish list.
Just in case.
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