Oh. My. Stars. The 50 days of summer have officially come to an end. it's time now to return to the classroom to reclaim my place as teacher and get down to the business of shaping young minds. Today, on Day 50 of this project, I can say that I have accomplished the rather difficult task of seeing something through to the end! This is easier said than done, as my track record shows that I am more likely to start than finish. But today, let it be known that I completed a blog.
Now, here's the true test. Here's where we determine whether this success of mine was just a fluke or whether it was a real, live change of heart. In completing the blog, I have created a multitude of other projects that remain unfinished. It's been great having so many days to try so many things, but a day does not leave you with the time to complete them. I have a few more illustrations to go before I have myself a children's book. I have a few more rows before I've officially crocheted a scarf. And I have a few more branches on my family tree to discover before my research can be considered complete. I have further to run, more spaces to organize, and I assure you that I am not yet fluent in Spanish. So as great as its been to start all these projects, the shorter days of winter will be devoted to proving to myself that I'm capable of finishing them as well. Even when nobody's watching. To those who watched and encouraged all summer long, know that it made a difference. Know that you were my encouragement to see this project through. And, if I could, I would make you all 1,000 paper cranes in gratitude. I hope that even in your darkest days of winter, you will be able to find a hint of summer.
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So I've mentioned how I feel a little bit different now that I'm coming to the end of this vast project. Over the course of this thing, I had expected to gain little more than a blog. However, it seems that I've gained far more. Now that the 50 days are nearly over, I feel taller. More substantial. Like I take up more space in a room. Which is ironic, because I think the running is actually making me shrink. But anyway, I now feel more confident in my everyday life.
I'm not a fan of new things. Never have been. I like the old and familiar, thank you very much. So much so that I'll come up with a thousand excuses to avoid the new. For example, I'd love to make homemade pickles but I don't know how to make pickles and, even if I did, the recipe would be too hard and I wouldn't have the ingredients and I wouldn't know where to find canning jars and I have to use a sharp knife and surely you know that I'm not coordinated enough to handle sharp knives. But for the last 49 days, I haven't listened to my own limitless skepticism and I've started to notice that I can actually, like, do stuff. I mean, we'll work on quality control later. (It turns out I can make a pickle, but that doesn't mean that you'll want to eat it.) But the point is that I tried. All by my lonesome, I found a recipe, found ingredients, found canning jars, AND I will have you know that there were exactly zero mishaps with a knife throughout the entire endeavor. Take that, self-doubt. So suddenly "new" doesn't feel quite so scary. And when there's nothing to be scared of, it turns out you stand just a little bit taller. So here's another change that I noticed since the start of this project, and I noticed it today, especially. In the past, I might have considered staying on the couch and watching a "Long Island Medium" marathon a pretty fulfilling day. But by consciously seeking out blog-worthy activities for 50 straight days, I feel like I'm changing my tune a little. I think I might be living just a little bit more.
Today, for example, I did not sit on Facebook for hours. I did not lie listlessly about the house. I didn't even sleep in. (Well, that one's a lie, but I definitely could have slept more and chose not to.) And I used all that time that I saved for, ya know, living. Like going to the gym- regardless of the fact that I just went yesterday- and running a mile at a speed that I usually reserve for life-threatening situations. Like going to the beach house of one of my very favorite friends for a long overdue catch-up. Like lounging with said friend beneath a gorgeous red umbrella on a picture-perfect beachfront patio on a picture-perfect day. Like rocking out to some old-school bluegrass on the car ride home. Like picking up books from the library by my husband's favorite author, so I can surprise him when he gets home and hopefully make someone else's day as sweet as mine. The only thing that could have made this day more fulfilling is if I had welcomed in the two feral cats that came to my back door for a little food and a little love, but my husband was pretty clear that I wasn't allowed to write a blog post about taking in a litter of feral cats. I already asked. Anyway, that was a whole lot of great packed into a single day. It seems that I've learned to squeeze every ounce of potential out of a day and I like to think that I'll have the energy to continue to do this even after the 50 days are over. It's unlikely that I will be able to take Thursdays off this school year so that I can lounge at a friend's beach house. That kind of behavior is generally frowned upon. But that doesn't mean that I can't live fully in other ways. And so I will. As this whole project comes to an end, I am realizing that the sum of all that I have accomplished has totaled to more than just a half-made scarf and some homemade pickles. Not that I was intending this. I was perfectly happy with the scarf and pickles. But I'm starting to feel like I unintentionally embarked on some kind of self-improvement program that I wasn't even aware I needed.
I noticed one of these changes today when I dragged myself out of the apartment for an overdue one mile run on the treadmill. The first few times that I'd done this, I was shocked and appalled by how inaccurate the treadmill's readings were. Surely, no one could run that slow. Well, apparently, I can. Because I discovered today that the treadmill is perfectly accurate, it's just that I can run on a significantly higher speed than I originally gave myself credit for. And contrary to my former belief, I can do it without falling off. Today, instead of thinking about how much my knee hurt and how much time I had left, I started coaching myself through the run. I sang Mulan''s "I'll Make a Man Out of You" (in my head, people, in my head...) and I put on a pretty serious game face that I didn't know I had. I even started turning the speed up as opposed to down. As a result, I got myself a pretty low mile time, and suddenly I thought I was a beast. I actually strutted home. And I don't strut. This was my first strutting experience. I felt like punching something or tackling something. If I could do it without hurting anyone, of course. I was so pumped up that I even told myself that I would go back tomorrow and try to beat my time again, because I knew I could easily do better. When I returned to my apartment, I looked in my bedroom mirror trying to figure out who this confident, competitive girl was and how long she was planning on staying. It was then that three words escaped from my mouth that I never expected: "That was awesome." Today, I intended to go forth into the world and be useful. Honestly. My alarm clock was set to a relatively early hour so I could spend the day preparing my classroom. However, shortly after my husband left, the power washers arrived. They parked a generator directly outside my window and spent the day cleaning the exterior of the apartment building. Walking out my front door then would have been very similar to exiting the vehicle in the middle of a car wash. So, I had to trade my schoolwork for the utterly exhausting task of exploring a new literary genre. From my couch. Tiny violin. Now, I'm no stranger to poetry. In fact, if I may be frank, there once was a time when I was quite the poet myself. At the age of seven, I wrote a poem called "Summer" that rivals Shakespeare. It went like this: Summer Summer's not a bummer. Summer is an absolute funner. I hope it's never donner. I know. This girl was obviously a genius. Unfortunately for the literary world, I put down my pen around 2nd grade and my forays into poetry have been rather limited ever since. Now, I'm not saying I wrote you a poem today. Don't get all excited. I can't even begin to compete with my 7-year-old self anyway. But I did give the genre a little love by familiarizing myself with the different poets. And I've decided that I love how Maya Angelou's poems sound like music and how I can hear her voice when I read them. I love the way Rumi's ancient poems read like a modern-day fortune cookie or inspirational poster. And, lastly, I love the bouncy cadence of an Emily Dickinson poem. Perhaps their works will one day influence me to pick up the pen once more. I hope the world is ready.
I made homemade pickles from fresh, garden-grown cucumbers today! Yup, Just call me Martha Stewart. Or don't. Cause that's kind of weird.
So I didn't grow the cucumbers myself. That would require a miracle. But when my dad sent me home with two picture-perfect cucumbers from his garden, I knew I would have to make something amazing. I looked up how to make pickles and was quite pleased that there seemed to be very little cooking ability required. So I went to three different stores on a rather uninteresting ingredient scavenger hunt and finally came home ready to make pickle history. Despite the fact that I had the actual measurements for each of the ingredients in the directions, I found myself guesstimating on each. I think this started when I read that these measurements were for making two pints of pickles and I realized that I have no idea what 2 pints is. Rather than take the time to find out, I threw all caution to the wind and poured dill seed and red pepper flakes to suit my own fancy. Now, here's the best part about making pickles. Since it's best to let them sit in the brine for a while before trying them, you don't receive immediate feedback about your product. This leaves you a small window of time in which you can feel moderately successful about what you've created. I mean, right now, I've got something that looks very much like a jar of pickles. It may turn out to be an inedible mess, but for the next three days, as far as anyone can tell, I can make a mean pickle. Maybe to the parents out there, this every day of your life and doesn't sound remotely appealing. But to me, I could not think of a better way to spend a day. Case in point: I spent my 29th birthday home alone watching Frozen and it was probably my favorite birthday yet.
I started off my little Disney marathon watching "Mulan", which had always been one of my favorites, but I felt like this time around I enjoyed it on an embarrassingly deep level. Either Walt Disney was a genius in his ability to appeal to adults or I am highly emotional right now. I mean, I ugly cried through the first 45 minutes of the movie. That has never happened before. I turned the thing off feeling like Mulan and I were totally on the same level, despite the fact that the last person that you'd expect this cheery pacifist to relate to is a 7th Century Chinese warrior. From there, I moved on to "Brave" to keep the "strong female" theme going. This was the very last Disney princess movie that I had not yet seen so it was kind of a big deal. And, of course, once again, I found myself bawling like a baby. The last movie on the list was "Lady and the Tramp". But, thankfully, this one didn't turn me into a big ball of emotions. Finally. It did, however, leave me extremely wistful and romantic. Suddenly, I wanted to settle down in an overtly Victorian home in the year 1905, where I could knit by the fire and dip old-fashioned doughnuts into a cup of coffee. It wasn't until my husband came home and I made an attempt at normal human conversation that I realized how lost I was in this little dream. I mean, my head is always in the clouds, but this was far worse than usual. But the thing is, as foggy as it was up there, I kinda didn't want to come back down. Seeing as we had quite a lovely day on our hands, I decided it would be a marvelous time to take the family out into the harbor aboard our private yacht.
Okay, okay. Fine. That's a blatant lie. Let this be a lesson to you that you shouldn't trust everything that you read on the internet. Well, I mean, it was a lovely day. And it was a marvelous time to take the family out into the harbor aboard our private yacht, it's just that we didn't exactly have one. Luckily, there is a series of ferry boats that leave from a local pier and we heard that their tours are really pretty great. Well, apparently everyone else heard that too because when we arrived, we saw a line down the dock that could have been the line for Space Mountain at Disney World. But we put on a brave face and claimed a spot in line while my dad drove all over this great state to find a parking spot. He parked somewhere near Rhode Island, I believe, and returned not long before we reached the front of the line. We boarded a boat that had the skull and crossbones flying, which should have been disconcerting. But something told me I would be fine. I mean, if they had been asking people to walk the plank, I imagine the line wouldn't have been quite so long. What they ended up doing instead was give us a rather innocent 45-minute tour of a series of off-shore islands. These islands held some unbelievable homes and I was surprised to learn every one of them were summer homes. I failed to understand how their residents had been smart enough to become bajillionaires, but that not one of them could recognize a good thing when they see it. Not one had thought to themselves, "Hey, I have my own island. I think I'll stay here." Surely, I will never be a part of the elite community that owns a mansion on their own private island. But, I learned that there is also a community of friendly folks on the water around those islands. The members of this community wave to the passing boats as they go about their business playing, relaxing, and socializing out on the water. By anchoring their boats or tying up to their neighbors', they can claim a piece of the water and have a little island of their own. And I like to think that for that one day, we did, too. iPhone or no iPhone, there is nothing like a good old-fashioned letter. I mean, yeah, it's enjoyable receiving a text message from someone that you care about. And, yes, getting an email from a friend is nice. But compare that to the feeling that you get when find a real, live letter waiting for you in your mailbox. Not even close, right? When I was little, I found that around my birthday there was usually one or two envelopes in the mailbox with my name on them, so to this day, getting a letter makes me feel like it's my birthday.
So today, I am setting forth to instill that warm, fuzzy feeling in others. My favorite way of writing letters is to operate like a snail mail Pinterest by using it as an opportunity to share with them things I've found that I think they might like. The difference is that instead of sharing these items through the wonders of the World Wide Web, I find articles and pictures in newspapers and magazines (you know, like, the paper kind), cut them out, and insert them into an envelope. You gotta be a little more patient about it, but in the end it has the same effect. Basically, it lets them know that, while going about your daily life, you saw something that made you think of them. So I spent the afternoon plowing through the gobs of magazines that have been set aside for a summer day, and I am now ready to spread some joy around the world, at a pace that is significantly less than lightning speed. My husband and I have been dreaming of sugar cookies for months now. To this purpose, our refrigerator contains a growing collection of egg cartons with varying expiration dates that we have brought home with the intention of baking cookies. Well, tonight, our dreams finally came to fruition. When my husband arrived home from work. we put the final episode of "The Bachelorette" on the laptop despite the fact that we didn't watch the rest of the season. (Because everyone knows that the only way to watch "The Bachelorette" is to watch the first and last episodes for instant gratification.) And we watched the drama unfold from the kitchen as we threw ingredients haphazardly into the KitchenAid mixer.
My husband ran the machine while I called out orders. It was a flawless system. When the batter was finished we ensured that we hadn't missed any key ingredients by taste-testing about half of it. Then the remainder of the batter was placed in the oven to carry out its destiny of becoming sugar cookies. They came out a little thin and, according to the internet, this means that the batter wasn't properly chilled. Fair enough. We basically boiled the butter before stirring it in. But it didn't deter us from ending the night with an unspoken sugar-cookie-eating contest, the winner of which is yet to be determined. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
August 2014
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