Enough.

To the men I encountered on my way to and from work today:

I assume you think you are complimenting me when you share your opinions about my hair, clothes, legs, etc.; I assure you that you are only succeeding in making me angry. Twice today, men not only referred to me as “delicious” as I walked by, but they followed me for a few steps. How is that supposed to make me feel anything other than objectified, unsafe, and more than a little creeped out?  Gentlemen, I PROMISE you that the approach you seem to be so fond of will NEVER result in my saying, “and that’s how I met your father.” 

If you heard a man speaking this way toward your wife, girlfriend, sister, mother, niece, or daughter, you would want to take action, right? This is my action, my response to your disrespecting me and all the women in your life with your catcalls, leering,muttering and following. It’s not even WHAT you are saying at this point, it is HOW. The power is in the tone you use when you speak to me—at me—as I walk by.  When you use that tone to say I look "delicious," I am no longer a woman; I am a thing.

You know what would be better (and by better I mean, more respectful)? If you acknowledged me as a person, and not as an object, by smiling or nodding in my direction, then I would reply in kind.  If you feel compelled to speak to me, then try wishing me a good morning, good afternoon, or good evening.  Again, I will respond in kind. I don’t find it amusing, charming, or endearing when you say and do the things you said and did today. You like my haircut? I don’t care. You think I have nice legs? Keep it to yourself. You think I should smile? You don’t know me, you don’t know what kind of day I’m having, but you should know that your encouragement is not going to turn my frown upside down.


Let’s review:

1.     You don’t know me.

2.     Your behavior is not going to create a situation in which you get to know me.

3.     Next time you are tempted to engage me, think of the women in your life  

4.     Stop it.

5.     These are the most words you are ever going to receive in response to your behavior toward me.

Forgetting Myself

I'm at a party or in a bar, and the question comes up. 

"What do you do?"

"I'm a deputy director at a business improvement district." 

Right, what does that mean?

I'm part of a team that works to make downtown a better, more livable place. I talk about how the organization helps support local business owners. I talk about the Downtown Ambassadors, the visitor center, special events and advocacy. I talk about how I like making a difference in my community. 

One of my friends will say, "AND?"

Oh, right. I'm in graduate school. I'm working toward an MFA in Creative Writing at Fairfield University. I'm writing a book. 

Why do I forget to mention that part? It's not that I don't think it's important. It is important. It might be the most important thing I've ever done for myself. But sometimes I forget I'm doing it. It's a lot of work, but it doesn't feel like work. I'm doing something I love and pursuing a dream. One that seems more attainable than, say, dancing with Gene Kelly. 

Maybe I don't mention it because it is kind of private. As private as writing a memoir can be. I'm shy about it. Yes, me.

Maybe I think people won't care, or won't get it. I have to get over it. 

It's what I do and who I am. I'm a writer.

Midway

By Thanksgiving weekend, my last packet for this semester will be in the mail. Another thirty plus pages of original work and three critical essays on the books I'm reading are all due by November 20th. This means I am (almost) halfway to completing my MFA. Holy. Crap. I am actually doing this. It still amazes me. A year ago I was getting ready to leave for my very first residency. I was a wreck. I didn't know if I could really do this or how I would manage. Balance my full-time job and the MFA and all my community work (yeah, I took on two board positions AFTER I started the program. I know.)? How?

Guess what. I'm doing it. Not brilliantly, but I'm not half-assing it either. I'm learning how to manage my time, how to focus when I need to and how to say no to things. That's the tricky part. Saying no means sometimes feeling like I'm letting people down. But saying yes to too many things means my work (and my health, mental and physical) suffer.

If anything has "suffered" it's been my social life. My friends are not only understanding about the "New Haven Maven" becoming "Daisy the Disappeared", they are supportive and encouraging and loving. Even when I don't show up to Trivia for weeks at a time. Even when I ask if we can meet for coffee on a weekday afternoon instead of dinner and drinks on Saturday night. They want me to succeed, they believe in me. I love them for it.

So, two semesters down and two to go. A third semester project and my thesis are down the road a piece. And somewhere in there are holidays with my family, residencies on Enders Island, work events in the Have, board meetings and...my fortieth birthday. Yikes! And, hooray!

Senses of Loss

There is not a day he is not in my thoughts. Nat King Cole singing Mona Lisa on my music player, someone whistling to a friend on the street, a change in the air stirring up a man's cologne as he brushes by me. He's there, reminding me. I'm fine. And then I'm not.

It is the muscle memory of that last week. My arms remember the weight of his body as I steadied him on his side while my mother and brother changed the sheets on the hospital bed we set up in the back bedroom. I smell the peppermint lotion I rubbed into his legs and feet every day to soothe him and myself, the coolness of his skin under my hands. I hear what they call the death rattle shaking his insides on the last morning of his life. I knew what it meant. We were losing. We lost.

And today, almost eight years later, I am reminded again. My mood shifts and there's a change in me I cannot shake. A sadness I pretend not to understand, that I try to ignore until I realize there's no fighting it. It's not work or school or other obligations getting me down. I know what it is. I remember. And I grieve. Still.

D Essentials: Family Matters

I've got family on the brain. Makes sense since my school work is focused on learning and writing about my family. Between thinking about (and doing) the writing, reading, my full time job and other obligations (Mason's Road, two different community boards and two City committees), it's no wonder I've been a bit sleepless. You know what helps? Lists.

Instead of counting sheep, I make alphabetical lists (authors, actors, books) to quiet my mind. The last time I did this, I started with actors. Astaire, Bridges, Cooper, Day-Lewis...you get the idea. That got me thinking about acting families (or dynasties, depending on how you look at it). Then I started thinking about signature films for each family member. I know, how can this possibly help me sleep? It does. So here's a list of great film families and my favorite movie(s) from each member.

Note: There is nothing even remotely scientific or sanctioned by any Academy or Institute here. These are based on my personal (and occasionally cheesy) taste. Feel free to disagree with me.

Fonda
Henry Fonda
Yours, Mine and Ours. He's got ten kids, Lucille Ball is his love interest and she has eight kids. Comedy ensues!

On Golden Pond. "You're my knight in shining armor. Don't you forget it." Tears. Every time.
 
Jane Fonda:
Nine to Five. "Judy Bernly, please hold. Judy Bernly, please hold. This is Judy Bernly."

Peter Fonda:
Easy Rider. Badass. And he wrote it.

Bridget Fonda:
Singles. "Somewhere around 25, bizarre becomes immature." Oh, the 90s.

Bridges
Lloyd Bridges:  
Cousins. "You've got only one life to live. You can either make it chickenshit or chicken salad."

Airplane. "Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit amphetamines"

Beau Bridges:  
The Fabulous Baker Boys. Down on his luck, playing piano and sparring with his brother.

Jeff Bridges:
The Contender. The Dude plays the President.

The Last Unicorn. Watched it every time it was on TV. Come on, she's the LAST one!


Leigh/Curtis
Tony Curtis:
Some Like it Hot. Still can't decide if I like him better in lady drag or Cary Grant drag.

Janet Leigh:  
Bye, Bye Birdie. Because watching her dance with Dick Van Dyke is infinitely less scary than watching her get stabbed to death by Tony Perkins.

Jamie Lee Curtis:  
Amazing Grace & Chuck. I know you've never heard of it. It's an 80s movie about a kid who gives up baseball in order to stop the threat of nuclear was. Yes, really.
 
Garland/Minelli
Judy Garland:  
The Wizard of Oz. Was there ever any doubt on this one?

Vincente Minnelli:  
An American in Paris. Kelly, Caron, Gershwin, Paris. Perfect.

Liza Minnelli:  
Arthur. When she steals the tie from Bergdorf's and goes off on Chester the store detective? Brilliant.

I know I've got more of these in me. Favorite ensemble pieces, dynamic duos, bad movies I can't stop watching...suggestions are welcome. Making lists plus thinking about movies equals enough brain unscrambling to allow me to get back to the big project feeling somewhat relaxed.

Now...back to work! I've got a packet to finish!

Wedding Belles

Kate & Nicole Gorton

My Fairfield MFA roomie got married last Saturday. Kate is hilarious, super-smart, gorgeous, up for anything and so generous. She is, as AJ once said, the American Hermione Granger.

Her wife, Nicole, is equally fantastic.

Kate's siblings and Nicole's brother joked in their toasts about the brides' constant public displays of affection, the pet names and the giggling they do, but they also agreed these two people are meant to be together.

Kate and I werqing the dancefloor.
photo by Kate Taylor

Watching Kate and Nicole take this step, surrounded by people who love and support them, gave me hope and renewed my faith in a lot of things.  I cried through the ceremony, the toasts, the first dance. I'm a soft touch anyway, but this was one of those times where my main line was busted. Good thing I brought my hankie. Once I dried my eyes, raised my glass and ate a wedding cupcake, I joined the bridal party, family members and friends on the dance floor and rocked out all night long.

One of the catering staff said it was the happiest wedding she had ever seen. No doubt.

Married!

Love is love. And seeing it in action is so awesome.

MFA Residency II: Summer Writing Boogaloo

I just got home from my MFA program's summer residency on Enders Island in Mystic, Connecticut. My days were spent learning about the craft of writing in morning workshops, attending seminars on everything from the poems of Zbigniew Herbert to what to do after I receive my degree (the short answer: keep writing) and sitting in the chapel after dinner, listening to my professors read from their work. And, yeah, there was some downtime. Bonfires and s'mores, swimming and wiffle ball, fellowship under the stars and a talent show.  You know what they say about all work and no play...

Brian Hoover swings for the gazebo

Some notes from my Isle of Write:

Kate, me and the dread pirate Cisco aboard the Argia

The right roommate makes all the difference. Kate, thanks for bringing the fan, the fun and the fierceness. You are my Jiminy Cricket.

Don't be afraid to ask for you want or need. Whether it's a meal, a mentor or a chance to do something new, don't hesitate. Or, as Kate said to me: "just f'ing take it!"




No matter how much bug spray you use, mosquitoes will get you.

No sign of Chuck Johnson this time around. He's probably going to the Galway residency.

Let your word nerd flag fly. Instead of playing f*%k, kill or marry, think about which literary character you don't want to wake up next to, which fictional party you want to attend and which movie villain you want to kill you...well, not want to kill you.

Gregor from Kafka's Metamorphosis, Holly Golightly's party in Breakfast at Tiffany's, Leon from The Professional. What? Who would you pick?

Sit in the tent for "fellowship" long enough and you'll find out which literary character is the most desirable mate. Mine? Atticus Finch, To Kill a Mockingbird.

You can learn a lot about a person by asking about literary crushes.

Honor the traditions of those who came before you. Kate and I co-wrote a parody song in honor of the graduating cohort and performed it with A.J. and Erin at the talent show. Writing Queen (yes, as in Dancing Queen by ABBA) was whistled or hummed for the rest of the residency. That is, when people weren't whistling or humming Phil's and Linsey's awesome Mason's Road, the Fairfield University MFA program's version of John Denver's Country Road. Pat O'Connor, we tip our hats to you.

The only way to get more comfortable with public speaking is to do it every chance you get. Not only did I read some of my work in front of my classmates, I had the honor of introducing three of my fellow students at a reading. Brian, Sam B. and Erin, I meant every word I said.

It's back to the day job in the morning, but as I drift off tonight, I'll be thinking of my classmates and the words Phil borrowed from John Denver to make the song his own, our own.

Mason's Road, take me home to the place I belong. Enders Island, Mystic Mama. Take me home, Mason's Road.

I am not my hair

I'm in my own world when I walk to work. Headphones in, listening to some dance track that causes me to do what I still call the "Hudson County Strut," even though I haven't lived in New Jersey in twenty years. I can't help it, especially if it's nice out and I'm wearing heels. On one of these days, I smiled good morning at an older gentleman as we passed each other. He smiled back and said, "Gorgeous." Felt nice.

On the next block, I walked by some fresh-faced, peaches and cream blond straight out of a shampoo commercial, her hair bouncing and behaving in the sunlight. My moment of gorgeous slipped away.  

"Right, that's what beauty is."

I know what you're going to say. That's not what beauty is anymore. Eye of the beholder and all that. But it still stops me when I see a woman with long, flowy perfect hair, no matter the color. And it's not a "poor ugly me" thing. I think I'm cute. It's being reminded no matter what I do, I'm never going to be Olivia Newton John, the ideal beauty to my six year-old self.

Olivia as Bad Sandy

My friends and I used to take turns performing the role of Sandy in our marathon sessions of singing and dancing to the Grease soundtrack. Good Sandy, blond hair swinging as she does the hand jive with Danny in the high school gym.  Bad Sandy, working that mass of blond curls as she struts around in those red Candie's and leather jacket. I wanted to be Sandy, a pretty girl with the long blond hair that all the boys wanted to be around. I wasn't.

Ia and me with our long hai

My mother had long wavy hair; "good hair." I used to sit behind her on the couch and brush it with a pink handled bristle brush from Avon. I loved parting it down the middle and seeing all the white hair that was coming in underneath the dark waves.  My sister was a master with hair. She had Fawcett waves, could do any kind of braid or twist. Her friends would come over on Saturdays and she would do their hair before they all went out. Me? I never got the hang of it. I learned to braid my hair, but I suspect my braids were always crooked. I had bangs in the 80s. You know what I'm talking about, the kind of bangs that look like a claw on the front of your head. Of course, all of this was achieved through the burning magic of relaxer. Every few weeks, that plastic of tub of lye and whatever other chemicals were in there was purchased, cracked open and applied to my shoulder length hair in sections. I knew it was working when my scalp started to burn. Then the chemical was rinsed out, my hair  set in giant, purple rollers and I sat under the dryer for hours.

Thirteen years old with a long bob, a blob

The result was straight, soft, silky hair and a scalp covered in itchy scabs. It stayed "nice" until I washed my hair again, then it went to shit.

I cut my hair short before I graduated high school and never went back. In the intervening years, I have had many lengths of short hair, I even had bangs again in the mid 90s, but the back of my neck has not felt a ponytail or braid against it in two decades. Sometimes I dream about brushing my long, dark hair or putting it up in a French twist, but I don't really miss it. OK, I don't miss the hassle. I won't ever have long hair like Sandy or that woman on the street and, most days, I'm OK with it.

short and sassy, like my momma.

I've grown to love my haircut. It suits me. People say I "have the face for it," whatever that means. And they comment on how easy it must be to manage. I go to the barber when my hair starts to feel heavy or when the gray (it's coming!) starts to show more than I would like it to; about every three weeks. Danny sets the clippers at 1.5 and does my entire head. Takes about 20 minutes, costs less than 20 dollars and puts the strut back in my walk.

The next time I see that blond Breck girl walking down the street, I'll remind myself that we're both gorgeous, but I got to sleep in while she was blow drying her hair.

Spring Cleaning Mix

I've been letting the piles in my apartment get a little out of control lately. I come home from work at night and just toss stuff around. The chair in the bedroom is covered in the outfits I wear to work, the recycling is piling up (hey, at least I'm recycling) and my "sleeping companion" is made of books, notepads and magazines. Everything is out of order, not so much dirty, just really disheveled. Every night I get home and end up on the couch or at my desk.

"No one is coming over, who cares what the place looks like?" 

Oh. right. I LIVE here  It shouldn't look like hell, especially now that I'm spending more time here than anywhere else. The clutter makes me crazy and it distracts me from the work I need to be doing. I needed to suck it up and get it done before I wrote or read another word.

All I wanted to do when I got home last night was take a big nap before I  dinner and the MFA portion of my evening, but I knew if I did that, a twenty minute power nap would turn into an hour and a half dream session and  I'd wake up too groggy to read or write (or that's what I would tell myself). The place needed a speed cleaning before I did anything. I didn't even switch my boots for slippers. What I did do was grab my ipod and set it to the dance mix. Here are the choicest cuts from last night's Grooves over Grime session.

Big Time Sensuality, Bjork

"I can sense it / something important /is about to happen / it's coming up"

Oh Bjork, I didn't even know what this song was about until a few years ago. I just like the beat and the fact that it reminds me of dancing with Douglas at BAR. Oh, the 90s.

Mama Said Knock You Out, LL Cool J

"I'm gonna take this itty bitty world by storm / And I'm just gettin warm"

Badass: the man, the song and how the song makes me feel. That is all. 

Mo Money Mo Problems, Mase/Puff Daddy/Notorious BIG 

"Ten years from now we'll still be on top / Yo, I thought I told you that we won't stop"

Any song with a Diana Ross sample is OK by me! Yes, I know all the words to Biggie's verse.

My Lovin (Never Gonna Get It), En Vogue

"What makes you think you can just walk back into her life/ Without a good fight?"

Memories of dancing and drinking with my best girls at UofH. CBs forever. 

Back to Life, Soul to Soul
"No more room for trouble and fuss / Need a change, a positive change / Look it's me writing on the wall"

One of those tracks that puts me in the zone on the dancefloor. Also works while scrubbing kitchen counters. 

  

An hour later, my place was in order and my mind was clear of clutter. I still had time to shower, eat dinner, and catch up on Glee before I settled in to study! Aw yeah! Works every time. 

Issue of Diminishing Return

I received the 2011 Vanity Fair Hollywood issue. Based on what I've seen in this magazine, I'm surprised Vanity Fair bothers to call it "The one and only Hollywood issue." I have purchased every Hollywood Issue since 1995. I've saved them all and still enjoy looking at them. I refer to this collection as "the archives." I'm sorry, but this is no Hollywood issue.

The Cover

From left: Jennifer Jason Leigh, Uma Thurman, Nicole Kidman, Patricia Arquette, Linda Fiorentino, Gwyneth Paltrow,
Sarah Jessica Parker, Julianne Moore, Angela Bassett, Sandra Bullock. Photo by Annie Leibovitz.

 

 

 

  

 

The cover of the first Vanity Fair Hollywood Issue (1995) featured a group of up-and-coming actresses  photographed against a white backdrop and referred to as the Class of 2000. Yes, Gwyneth is the only one fully dressed here, and that caused a stir, but VF hit the mark on calling these ladies actors on the rise. All of them have since been nominated and/or won the Golden Globe, Oscar, Emmy, Tony, Screen Actor's Guild and Independent Spirit Award. 

Vanity Fair continued to put rising stars (some rising higher than others) on the cover of the Hollywood issue until 2000, when it was time for a Master Class.

from left: Nicole Kidman, Catherine Deneuve, Gwyneth Paltrow, Meryl Streep,
Cate Blanchett, Vanessa Redgrave, Kate Winslet, Chloe Sevigny, Sophia Loren, Penelope Cruz. Photo by Annie Leibovitz.

It's a gorgeous cover and all but one of the four women who didn't have an Oscar at the time the photo was taken now have one. Chloe Sevigny, the pressure's on now.

This year's cover? It's fine.

A promising group of Young Hollywood stars looking glamorous in an old Hollywood way? Yep. The four most famous of the group under the masthead to get you looking and hopefully buying? Yes. A little skin showing in fold out panel two? Sure. Robert Duvall behind the bar? Wait. What? Why is Robert Duvall behind the bar? The "behind the scenes of the photo shoot" page reveals nothing. 

The Portfolio

Scarlett Johannson & Javier Bardem recreating a scene from Rear Window. Photo by Norman Jean Roy

Early Hollywood Issues feature portraits of everyone from George Burns to Johnny Depp, group shots of writers, directors, producers and a closing reunion shot, a tip of the hat to a classic film (To Kill a Mockingbird, American Graffiti, Fast Times at Ridgemont High). The 1995 spread includes Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in full drag makeup reliving the Some Like it Hot days. Oh, speaking of hot:

Daniel Day-Lewis. Photo by Annie Leibovitz.

Yeah. I went there.


Follow up issues were a mixed bag, but there were still some standouts. The 2006 salute to film noir, entitled Killers Kill and Dead Men Die, and the 2008 tribute to Hitchcock with recreations of scenes from Psycho, North by Northwest and Rear Window.(see photo above) gave the photographers and actors a bit more room to play. In 2010, the scope was smaller and the focus was on collaborators, directors and actors. Penelope Cruz and Pedro Almodovar, Lee Daniels with Mo'Nique and Gabourey Sidibe. They were trying something new. This year, I feel like VF didn't try. The 2011 portfolio is much smaller. How small? The 1995 issue had thirty portraits. The 2011 issue has twelve. Twelve. You're telling me Vanity Fair couldn't find enough actors and filmmakers to fill an issue? If you're only going to focus on nominees, fine, but how about ALL of the nominees. The acting categories alone give you twenty people to photograph. Throw in the directors, producers and screenwriters and you easily clear thirty. Something to consider for the 2012 Hollywood Issue. 

Oh, and the picture of Christian Bale? Obviously from a red carpet event. Don't you have some of the best photographers in the world on the payroll? You couldn't get Christian Bale in a room with Annie Leibovitz or Bruce Weber? OK.  

Trying Times

Not the best week. I'd call it a trying one. I've been trying to

find my balance

do my best

be braver

not feel isolated

stay focused

not take it personally

remember to eat

remember everything

get enough rest

not lose my mind

improve myself

improve my work

sleep

Yeah. I'm frustrated and a little blue. It happens. It won't last. A cup of tea, a slice of my friend Heather's awesome lemon curd pound cake and a new episode of Law and Order: UK are making things a bit better right now. Tomorrow, this girl gets back on her feet.

Facing the Page

I started a new piece this week as part of my first packet for school. It came out of a writing prompt in one of my seminars, and it's been floating around in my head since I got back from the residency, so I decided to go with it. I spent three days on it, one for each page I ended up with before sending it to E for some initial feedback. She reminded me that I was doing that thing again. I was glossing over a lot of things, leaving out details that end up being questions in the reader's mind in order to get the scene over with quickly. I'll spend the next few days fleshing it out and turn these three pages into at least five. I've got to really go back to that moment and get it all down. I'm afraid. This isn't a funny story about my mother or sweet memory about my father. This one is mostly me and it's not pretty. But I can do it. I have to do it. I will do it.

A Change in Me

"1/9/10. A new year, a new decade, a fresh start. A chance to believe in myself, believe in what other people see in me. I don't think I've ever been stronger, and yet there is that little bit in the back of my mind that doubts. It may never go away, especially not late at night when it is just me and my thoughts. I imagine it would be worse if not for the medicine. I still can't believe I waited so long to begin that process. I was afraid of the change it would bring. Who am I if not that weak, scared girl I've been for so long? Who am I to try something that might actually work, might make it easier to get through the tough days and the easy days? I was afraid to be even remotely happy. But I am getting there. I am learning."

"1/24/10. Change is good when you know what the change is going to be. I still don't know what my big change is going to be, but I sense it coming."

The change I sensed a year ago? It came. It's here. I'm writing this piece from my dorm room at the MFA residency I started seven days ago. Me. In an MFA program. For writing.

I didn't even know I wanted this until E sent me a link to the program on facebook. She gave me the information, answered my questions, arranged for a campus visit. She nudged me as only very few people can nudge me.

I knew I wanted this before I arrived at Enders Island. I submitted my application and transcripts the night before I visited the program in July. Spending a day on the island meeting people and sitting in on classes only made me want it more. I gave myself a month to get recommendations and a portfolio together.

I was scared. The last thing I wanted (or thought I wanted) this badly didn't happen. And it took a long time to get over it. If I failed at this...I didn't want to think about it. But I got it.

The first couple of days were overwhelming. There are all these people. All these writers. I felt like a phony. At least I had my big sis and E. After some seminars and workshops I began to feel better. I've made some friends. I've started to participate. I've read some of my work in front of faculty and students. Here's the most important thing I've learned so far: I'm a writer. I'm part of a community of writers. I'm not alone.

The residency ends on Thursday, but this is my beginning. I'm ready to do the work.

Away I Go

I was in Philly this weekend helping the Aaron move into his new house (it’s lovely and he and the little dog are very happy, thanks for asking). When we weren’t doing the semi-heavy lifting, cleaning, discussing furniture placement, laughing at ourselves and each other, eating or napping to catch a second wave of energy, I was reading Amy Bloom’s novel, Away. I picked it up in preparation for a book signing Bloom was doing in town. I haven’t read her work in a while, so I wanted a refresher before I went to the event. I came across a passage that I haven’t been able to shake for days:

"Sometimes it's the case that when you hear the thing you have most wanted to hear, you cannot take it in. Hope is everyone's mirage and everyone who comes upon that green and grassy spot, the swaying date palms and the bubbling blue pool, is temporarily taken in, even people who have been there before and even when, upon closer inspection, the oasis is nothing but a reef of sand; even with grains of sand blowing lightly across our faces, we find ourselves standing on soft grass of a tenacious, unreasonable green."

Wow, right? I know. I’ve read it over and over again. There’s a part of me that doesn’t get it at all and a part of me that goes “yes,” every time. It’s been a long time since something I read had that sort of effect on me. And now I am trying to figure out why. I know, I should just go with my gut and not try to figure out why, but that’s what I do sometimes, think too hard and too long about something because I need to figure something out instead of just running with the feeling. But this many days later, this many hours of mulling it over, I think I know. I read that passage in the afternoon, I experienced it later that night. And that might be what I’ve been really thinking about for days.

Aaron and I were having dinner in his new house on Sunday night. We were sitting in a couple of armchairs in the dining room (we ran out of steam before we could get the dining table together), finishing our drinks and talking. The discussion turned (as it so often does) to relationships. Here’s what my dear friend told me:

“You don’t have any role models for the life you’re leading. You’ve had to carve this life out on your own and figure it out for yourself. And you’ve accomplished a lot.”

Seems obvious doesn’t it? It wasn’t. Not to me. I’ve spent all of this time feeling like a misfit because my two strongest (literally) role models, my mother and sister were/are working married ladies with children. Yes, I’m a lady (I mean a woman…fine, I’m a broad) and I work, but the other two parts…not so much. My mom and sister are from another generation and a whole other culture. By the time she was my age, my mother had gotten married, had two children, moved to another country and had another baby. My sister took a modified approach to my mother’s plan as she so often does: marriage, two children and a house (instead of leaving the country). I spent much of my life breaking away from that lifestyle, setting the apron strings on fire when I left for college, moving away without ever considering going “home.” I’m not saying that any of us Abreu ladies chose the wrong path, just different ones (and sometimes the paths chose us). Now that I’m not some brooding kid who didn’t want to be like them, I’ve begun to realize that I want to be like them in some ways (my sister’s endless positive attitude in the face of anything, my mother’s ability to cut to the chase regardless of who gets sliced by her words), I’m already like them in others (fiercely loyal, tender hearted, eager to please) and may never be like them in others (mom: widow with 3 kids; sister: married with 2 kids; me: late 30s, childless and single) It’s all OK. It’s the way it’s supposed to be.

I’ve had to figure a lot of it out on my own and I’ve done alright for myself, right? Right. Sometimes you just need to hear it, even if you can’t take it in right away.

Enough is Enough

I went to Cafe Nine last night to hear Marc Douglas Berardo play. There's something in his songs that always goes right through me. I have yet to attend a show of his without tearing up at a new song. This time it was a song about Havana. Yep, he went there. And there I was, with a lump in my throat and my dad in my heart. My dad, who offered me unconditional love and appreciated me in spite of my quirks, flaws and fuck-ups. This brings me, in a roundabout way, to the point of this post.

I had a chance to catch up with an old friend between sets. We drank beers, chatted and just hung out. It was pretty great. Eventually, the talk turned to my lack of luck in love as of late (heaven forbid I have a conversation with a straight man in a relationship and not ask what's up with the rest of his gender). He said something that struck me enough to post it here (after not posting for how long? Exactly). Apparently, my problem is one of semantics. Instead of saying (and understanding and believing) that something didn't work out with someone because it wasn't the right fit, I automatically say (and believe) that it's because I wasn't "enough". Pretty enough, smart enough, sexy enough, tall enough, enough enough, on and on. This, my friend pointed out, is dumb because "enough" is totally subjective. And, by the way, I am more than enough and I should probably come to terms with that soon. I may, in fact, be the shit. So, we made a deal. I promised (maybe I solemnly swore, I was on my fourth beer at this point) to stop using the word "enough" when talking about all things related to myself in the realm of romance. If I find myself in a situation that's not working, I'll try to say (and understand and believe) that it's bad timing or a bad fit, and not mark it as a personal failure because I think someone else thinks am not "enough." We high-fived on it and ordered another round. Another step in Love's recovery. And that's enough for now.

A to Z: another exercise

Give it a try, but you have to do it right. Copy this whole thing, go to your profile/notes/new note, click and paste.

Then comes the hard part. Replace my answers with your own. Then tag as many of your friends as you'd like…

A
- Available: More than I should be
- Age: A rocking 36
-Annoyance: You know when you reach in the kitchen cabinet to grab a pan and everything clangs together? Yeah, that's an annoyance.
- Animal: PS #2 Dolphin, Memorial Tiger, Hartford Hawk...I've been them all.

B
- Beer: Lately, it's Harp or Stella
- Birthday: June 19
- Best Friend: Ia, Cat, Aaron
- Body Part on opposite sex: Eyes and thighs
- Best feeling in the world: spooning after the fact and falling asleep that way
- Best weather: right before a summer storm, when the wind picks up but it's still warm...sexy!
- Been in Love: Thought so repeatedly, but really only twice.
- Been on stage?: I have played Susan B. Anthony, one of Santa's elves, one of the babies from Free to Be, You and Me, and Deniece Williams lip-synching to Let's Hear it for the Boy from the movie Footloose. Yeah, this girl's got RANGE!
- Believe in Magic: Absolutely, all kinds
- Believe in Santa: My mother ruined Santa for me. She would have me pick out the present, wrap it and then stick it under the tree...no element of surprise whatsoever.

C
- Candy: Cadbury Dairy Milk, preferable from England
- Color: Red
- Chocolate or Vanilla: Vanilla with a swirl of fudge
- Chinese or Mexican Food: Mexican
- Cake or pie: Cake a la mode (that means of the fashion)
- Continent to visit: Europe
- Cheese: Pleasant Cow from the Wooster Square Farmers' Market

D
Day or Night: You know the night-time is the right time
Dancing in the rain: Yes, and in my head it is ALWAYS with Gene Kelly

E
- Eyes: Two of them, dark brown
- Everyone's got: a hungry heart.
- Ever failed a class?: Almost. Chemistry. What was I thinking?

F
- First thoughts waking up: What am I going to wear?
- Food: Used to be my enemy...we're on better terms now.

G
- Greatest Fear: Already realized.
- Goals: To be published, to help send Flash to college.
- Gum: Sweetmint
- Get along with your parents? After a decade of living in the Bell Jar, I can say that I do.
H
- Hair Color: Pepper with a dash of salt. (as opposed to A Salt with a Deadly Pepa)
- Height: 5 foot 2
- Happy: Lately, yes! Thanks for asking.
-Holiday: Christmas Eve
- How do you want to die: Happy

I
- Ice Cream: Chocolate Chocolate Chip or Rocky Road
- Instrument: My body

J
- Jewelry: Tiffany's (I know how that sounds, but two of my favorite pieces are from there and they were given to me by two of my favorite)
- Job: Downtown Deputy

K
- Kids: The best kind, nieces and nephews!
- Kickboxing or karate: Couldn't we just have a dance off?
- Keep a journal? Ummmm, have you not been reading my notes on here?

L
- Love: “I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.” -AH
- Letter: Write them when I can, love to receive them

M
Milk flavor: Chocolate
Movies: Old and in Black and White, usually featuring a beautiful young woman who falls for someone WAY too old for her.
Motion sickness? No
McD’s or BK: McDonald's fries are legalized crack.

N
- Number: 19

O
- One wish: One more day

P
- Pepsi or Coke: Coke
- Perfect Pizza: Mashed potato, bacon and garlic from BAR
- Piercing: 1 in the right ear, 3 in the left ear, 1 in the belly button


Q
- Quail: Sucky VP. Oh wait, that's not how you spell it, is it? HA.
- Quiet?: I wish

R
- Reason to cry: Release
- Reality T.V.: Too much, sadly.
- Radio Station: 105.9 for the 80s at 8, then it's all itunes.
- Roll your tongue in a circle: Indeed.
- Ring size: 6.25. What? You think most women don't know their ring size?

S
- Song: Lately it's As Cool As I Am by Dar Williams and Nostradamus Said by Al Raebuck.
- Shoe size: 9 aka GIANT
- Salad Dressing: Oil, lemon juice, salt and pepper
- Sushi: Miya's or Miso
- Skinny dipped?: No...I should get right on that, in July.
- In the shower?: Soap, face wash, washcloth, razor, shampoo, body scrub. I have too much stuff in there.
- Strawberries or blueberries? Yes, please.

T
- Tattoos?: Nope.
- Thunderstorms: Best when shared with someone while lying in bed.

U
- Unpredictable: I can be.

V
- Vacation spot(s): Let's call this places I don't get to enough: Block Island, Dublin, London
- Weakness: Bad boys (such a cliche. I blame Johnny Depp)
- Which one of your friends acts the most like you? I have friends who have very similar senses of humor, but I wouldn't say any of us act alike.
- Worst feeling: The dizziness when I get out of a too hot shower and I have to sit on the bathroom floor. I always think, "great, this is how someone is going to find me?"
- Wanted to be a model?: We had a modeling team at my high school. I never tried out. Too bad because I think I have a great walk.
- Worst Weather?: Anything with a wind chill in single digits. My people are island people, we don't fancy the cold.

X
- X-Rays: Not recently. Just a sonogram. On my leg.

Y
-Year it is now: 2009
-Yellow: Living room

Z
- Zoo animal?: I haven't been to the zoo since the 1980s.
- Zydeco?: Buckwheat?

ACT. Now.

Why arts, culture and tourism are important to me:

I live here. I’m lucky enough to live in a city (and a state) that allows me the luxury of seeing amazing art (from the masters to modern architecture), dining in some of the finest restaurants around and enjoying exciting festivals and arts events all year round, all within walking distance of my apartment.

I work here. As Deputy Director of the Town Green Special Services District, I know first hand the importance of the arts, culture and tourism to the community. Every day, our staff works with countless merchants, restaurateurs, hotels, attractions and arts agencies to get the word out about our fabulous city. These organizations employ thousands of residents, entertain thousands of visitors and keep our local economy strong. Arts, culture and tourism makes a city a more appealing place to live, work and play and enhances the quality of life in ways that are sometimes intangible.

My closest friends in the world are artists. They are painters, print makers, photographers, sound designers, ceramicists, musicians and writers. Some of them are fortunate enough to make their living making art and some of them have day jobs that allow them the time to make art. They are all talented, passionate and unstoppable in their pursuit of creation. They inspire me every day.

I’m an artist. The arts are my outlet, my sanity, my safe place. I’ve been writing poems, essays and (now) blogging since I was fourteen years old.

Join the cause, save the arts, feed your soul, do some good. ACT.

Visit the ACT for Economy facebook page or sign the petition at Tourism Works for Connecticut

Wintry Mix

In the spirit of list making, I give you a mix of songs that can perk me up, make me smile and heal me. It's also a bit of a personal history. I am including my favorite lyric from each one, because as much as it's about the melody, the writer in me loves a good lyric.

Growing up:

Guantanamera/Celia Cruz "Y antes de morir, you quiero cantar mis versos del alma."
This one always reminds me of my dad and all the people I grew up around. They sang it at parties. The first time I heard it after my dad passed away, I cried and cried. Now I can listen to it and think of happier times.

ABC/Jackson Five "Naw! Get up Girl! Show me what you can do!"
A call to action that always gets me moving. The first thing I saw on the giant color TV my dad got for us was the Jackson 5 cartoon. AWESOME.

Boys of Summer/Don Henley "Out on the road today, I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadilllac, a little voice inside my head said don't look back, you can never look back."
It always takes me back to walking to school with Arlene after our Algebra 1 class at the high school. I don't think either of us knew what a Deadhead sticker was at the time.

Never Tear Us Apart/INXS "I told you...that we could fly. Cuz we all have wings, but some of us don't know why."
Junior Prom, 1989. My first little black dress. Jessica McLintock, off the shoulder with a rose where I should have had some cleavage. It was classic...for 1989.

Falling in and out of love:

Barely Breathing/Duncan Sheik "I don't know who I'm kidding, imagining you care"
Beautiful and bittersweet .

Jersey Girl/Tom Waits (or Springsteen) "Cuz down the shore, everything's alright. You and your baby on a Saturday night. Nothing matters in this whole wide world, when you're in a Jersey girl." Right on.

Love Will Never Do Without You/Janet Jackson "If you believe in love, SING!"
Great sentiment, great song, great video. Herb Ritts, you are missed.

Cinnamon Girl/Neil Young "You see your baby loves to dance."
He's right, I do.


Losing him:

Walk On/U2 "And I know it aches, how your heart it breaks, you can only take so much." I listened to this song over and over the summer my dad got sick. It helped. A lot.

Seal/Love's Divine "Love can help me know my name." I was listening to this song one afternoon while cleaning the kitchen and...I just lost it. All the hurt inside me just poured out in chest heaving sobs. I looked like hell afterwards, but I felt so much better.


Anthems that get me through these days:

As Cool as I Am by Dar Williams "I will not be afraid of women" Every word of this song strikes a chord, but that's the best line.

I'm Free/Soup Dragons "Don't be afraid of your freedom!" We must have listened to this one a million times in college. Reminds me of hanging out with my best friends, laughing and dancing. An excellent reminder on the days I feel low.

Freedom '90/George Michael "All we have to see is that I don't belong to you and you don't belong to me." In the last year, I have found it to be even more relevant.

Mama Said Knock You Out/LL Cool J "I'm gonna take this itty bitty world by storm, and I'm just getting warm!" A power track, makes me feel ready to take on the world.

Right Here, Right Now/Jesus Jones "There is no other place I'd wanna be. Right here, right now, watching the world wake up from history." Hell yes.

I could go on and on, but I'm sleepy now. Feel free to chime in with your faves. Consider this an endless mix tape and play on.

Midnight Rambler

1. My earliest memory: Gene Kelly dancing in the fountain at the end of An American in Paris.
2. I wrote a fan letter to Gene Kelly when I was seventeen. A year later, I received an autographed photo. I have it framed in my office.
3. There is no simple answer to the question, “What’s your favorite movie?”
4. Movies I watch whenever they are on TV: To Kill a Mockingbird, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, Auntie Mame, The Philadelphia Story. Notice anything?
5. I love a good “wink,” in a movie. For example: In His Girl Friday, Cary Grant says, “Listen, the last man that said that to me was Archie Leach just a week before he cut his throat.” Cary Grant’s real name was Archie Leach. I think that’s fantastic.
6. The older I get, the more I dislike chick-flicks, especially ones that have been released in the last five years. I want to shake my fist at the screen and shout, “We are not all desperate for a husband! Some of us just want to have sex regularly with someone who is not a total jerk!” I’ve pretty much stopped going to those types of movies.
7. I have never walked out of a movie. Not even to go to the bathroom. Once I’m in, that’s it. I’ve made the commitment and am sticking with it.
8. Based on numbers 6 and 7, I have become more selective about which movies I see in the theater.
9. I own ten little black dresses. I can’t stop buying them. I like to fancy myself the Cuban Audrey Hepburn. I am delusional.
10. I try to be a lady, but I'm more of a broad. I love to swear (the F word is so versatile). I love a project where I can do some heavy lifting (although my back is not a fan of that). My best friend's parents call me Mighty Mouse...small but strong.
11. I like to think I'm good at bringing catch phrases into my friends' lexicon. Perhaps you have heard (or spoken) some of my work? There’s sweet cracker sandwich, that's SO Audrey, and batshit bananas. My most recent creation? Random Act of Hotness. I may also be responsible for bringing back "douche." Yeah. Sorry about that.
12. I used to eat ice cream for breakfast while watching Saturday morning cartoons.
13. My mom and I would watch Tarzan movies on Sundays after she got home from church. She thought Cheetah was a riot.
14. Sometimes when I am falling asleep, I hear the voices of deceased loved ones. I find it comforting and scary at the same time.
15. Years ago, my best friend’s family cat died. I was upset for her and when she told me it was OK, because he was 19, I said, “Rose Kennedy is 104 and she is still alive.” Rose Kennedy died a few days later. I have since “killed” Bruno Kirby, Estelle Getty and was an accomplice in the death of Luther Vandross. Ever since, whenever someone says, “Is so and so dead?” I know it’s only a matter of time.
16. I celebrated my twenty-first birthday in Dublin, Ireland. I sat outside the Norseman Pub and had a pint with my best friend. Best. Birthday. Ever.
17. I was a late bloomer and didn't have a boyfriend until I was twenty-one years old. In retrospect, I'm glad for the experience, but I should have waited a bit longer.
18. I fell in love at first sight when I was 22. It was across a crowded room. It didn’t last, but man, it was something. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
19. I still think of him.
20. I like to refer to that time before a summer storm, when it’s warm but blustery and the sky is getting dark, as “sexy weather.” Because it is.
21. It took me thirty-four years to realize that if I am reading a book and it’s not interesting to me, I don’t have to finish it. You have no idea how freeing that is for someone who studied literature.
22. Based on the kind of food I grew up eating (rice, beans, fried meat, fried plantains), my mother’s style of cooking (lard played a large role in most meals), and my father’s penchant for bringing a candy bar home for me every night, I’m truly amazed I didn’t grow up to weigh a thousand pounds.
23. When I feel like I’m losing control of my life (personally or professionally) the secret switch inside of me flips and I stop eating, sometimes for long stretches of time. The last time it got really bad was when my relationship ended. Yes, it's a disorder of the eating variety, and yes, I keep an eye on it.
24. If I could go back and change one day, it would be my first day of high school. It was epically bad, but not for the typical reasons.
25. I keep a list of encouraging things people have said or written to me over the years. It’s called Self-Esteem Check. It helps.
    
    
    
    

Poem for the Moment

I've made some notes in my book, finished Bird by Bird and started Thinking About Memoir. Now what? A poem.

The Words

There they are
on the page
And now
I'm writing
The words, the words, the words
sometimes they don't show up
sometimes I can't keep up
it is surprising
their presence
is a comfort
and a terror
all at once
No one may ever see them
There it is
the comfort
and the terror
all at once

Daisy C. Abreu, 9/16/07
revised 1/25/09