15 Years

Reunion2010-066
Originally uploaded by Worcester Academy Alumni House

I've blogged about my 15th Reunion in terms of my personal goals, but I neglected to mention what a truly wonderful time I had.

Isn't it funny, at reunions, how you first see someone and you think, "Wow, they look so different!" Then five minutes later they're exactly the same as they were in high school? The bond, the love, strips away the surface changes, so you can see what really matters is still the same.

For the record, I went to a prep school with about 60 people in my graduating class, so yes, I was friendly with a majority of the people I graduated with. Makes reunions less angsty, I think.

If anything, even if we've gained weight/lost weight/have a few wrinkles/less pimples/more grays or whatever, the people we were have been honed a little by life, and are even more dimensional and complex people than we were.

I had a blast. I love my friends.

May more people come home for the 20th!

You Can Visit, but You Can't Go Back

Did you know it's Marine Week in Boston? If so, you're one up on me.

I drove into the city last night with Felix to see Big Brother J play Little League baseball, and to give Felix the opportunity to run around with O. The weather was scrumptious, the traffic awful, everything that is familiar about Boston in spring.

What shocked me was coming up out of the parking garage under the Common to see half a dozen military vehicles (four massive Marine helicopters), a trio of event tents, and a motherload of people milling about on the emerald turf of the parade grounds.

Did I mention that my traveling companion is a 2 year old with a vehicle obsession?

We watched J play centerfield (and hit a runner home, even if he was tagged out at first), Felix played with his erstwhile brother-figure, and I got the chance to catch up with a former colleague whose company and conversation I'd always enjoyed.

After the game, we went to look at the helicopters, and Felix discovered that the carousel is back on the Common. There was no avoiding that, so I shelled out the $3. After our ride, on the walk back to the car, we met a French Bulldog puppy, who was enthusiastically pleased to meet us.

So, to sum up: his idol playing Little League, running around with his friend, giant military helicopters, a carousel ride, and a puppy. He won the preschooler lottery.

So why then, did I come home feeling so utterly crappy?

Because, in part, you can't go back. When they decided to let me go last fall, I left with a lot of unresolved hurt and bewilderment, not to mention a healthy dose of resentment. It was all made more complicated by the fact that I genuinely like and respect my former employers. Then there's the fact that I love their kids, and so does Felix. He's missed them so much.

I hated being on the outside. I hated having to be polite to the woman who stole my job, and now looks like she's sucking a lemon whenever I see her. I never knew why she didn't care for me as a caregiver for her grandchildren, and since I'll never have the opportunity to ask her, I try not to dwell on it. She doesn't look happy to be the one in charge, but then, I rarely saw a smile reach her eyes, so I might not recognize it if she did look happy.

My former colleague was chatty, but we don't have as much in common now that I'm not a daily part of the neighborhood, so that was weird.

And of course, I'm still unemployed, which is a large purple elephant following me around.

When I left before, it was my choice, and it was planned for, and everyone got what they needed. I never felt like an outsider when I visited. This time has been different. And not in a good way.

Lost: Dear Friend. If Found, Please Return.

A few months ago, I read a poignant blog post about ended friendships. It begins with a contributor discussing a friend who has, for unknown reasons, walked away from her and what she thought was a friendship. Nothing earth shattering, but nonetheless upsetting. It rings true here in my kitchen.

I've been thinking about her, almost daily, for a few months now, and god knows I've tried to reach out, but I can't find her. The physical distance between us is so large that she might as well be on the moon, for all that I could go find her.

We were friends all through college, and then roommates our senior year, along with another woman. We kept in touch afterward, part of a larger group, but also just the two of us. We've celebrated weddings together, we've grieved the death of mutual friend together. We've sheltered each other, actually as well as metaphorically. Our husbands, both from outside the circle of friends, have gone to fetch the Chinese take-out together.

How then, can she ignore our birth announcement, my emailed pleas for her updated phone number, the Christmas card (with adorable photo of our little boy, now two), the voicemails I left before I gave up and assumed she had a new number? Did I say or do (or not say or do) something? I've wracked my brain, but I come up with nothing again and again. She was not the type to leave things unsaid. She was brave and truthful, and though contact was often few and far between, she was important to me. She still is. There was nothing we couldn't talk about. Even painful, private, fearful things. I am afraid now that I don't know who she is anymore. I am equally afraid that she might feel the same about me. Have I changed? For the worse?

The conventional wisdom is that people come into and go out of our lives for a reason, and I believe that to be true. Perhaps the time came for her to leave me, and I didn't see it. Either way, I wasn't ready, and I miss her. Another conventional wisdom is that if you love someone, let them go. If they return to you, you're meant to have them in your life. So, for now, I'm letting her go, in the hopes that someday she'll come back to me.

Five Things In A Salad

When I was a kid, my Mom's best friend, Kath, lived in the greater Syracuse, NY area. We made several summer pilgrimages to their house, which involved being absorbed into the large clan that lived nearby. There was plenty to see and do; the great-grandparents' house on Casenovia Lake, the grandparents' house on the golf course, the neighborhood where Kath lived . I was older than the other kids, but not a grown-up, which made these visits fun, but somewhat frustrating.

I think Kath and my Mom must have sensed this, because as I approached what we now call the 'tween years, they included me in things that the littler boys weren't a part of.

I can't tell you exactly how old I was, or what year it was, only it was before she got divorced and we stopped seeing much of them (Something I wouldn't really understand until I found myself in and out of friendships that fall apart because things in your life change.), but one summer Kath imparted to me one of the most lasting and practical pieces of wisdom in my life.

"It isn't a salad unless it has five things in it."

To this day, when I make a salad, and god help me I eat one almost every day for lunch, I think of Kath and count my "things." Today's salad, for example: greens, carrots, celery, cucumber, cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, sunflower seeds and balsamic vinaigrette. Eight things! Definitely a salad!

I hope when my son and the friends he'll have are grown, some friend of his will have learned some useful thing from me, some thing I don't necessarily even remember saying. That seems like a good way to be remembered.

Say Goodbye, Say Anything

I've had this movie poster since senior year of college. It hung in our common room that year. (I lived in an apartment style dorm suite. Very nice.) I framed it when I moved into my first apartment, and it's been with me ever since. It actually hung in our powder room here at the house until we demolished it in favor of a pantry.

At that point it got stowed in a storage area, where it's been for some months.

I'm abnormally fond of it, and today, I agreed to let it go. I took it out of the cheap frame with the chipped glass, and rolled it up. And then, I just couldn't do it. It's rolled up, gently secured with a rubber band, and I just can't let it go.

It's a movie poster from a college poster sale.

Let it go.

And yet.

The Call of Vermont

There aren't many places I'd turn down traveling to, given the time and money, but I find myself most drawn back to Vermont. I only lived there for the four years I was at Middlebury, and I've only been back a handful of times since graduation (nearly ten years ago!), but I long for it all the time. The nostalgia is particularly powerful come the changing of the seasons, which are my favorite times of the year.

It's warm here in central Massachusetts today, and the air quality makes me miss the smell of mud and manured pastures. It'll probably snow a few more times before spring really takes hold, but that first stirring means the cool nights and clear days are coming, and I miss the valley between Lake Champlain and the Green Mountains so badly it aches.

I was talking with someone a few weeks ago, and they asked about how I ended up at Middlebury, it came up that my connection with Vermont goes back to the fact that my father grew up in southern Vermont, my Grandma lived there her whole life, and my parents met at UVM. Even my brother headed north to Johnson State for a few years. I'm no Vermonter by any standards, but my father's people were for generations back, and the place draws me. I've studied his family and they homesteaded all over the state; I wonder if there isn't geographical memory in my genes.

I grew up some 20 miles from where I live now, and I lived before this outside of Boston in a commuter city. I spent summers 20 miles from home in a different direction, so Middlebury was the farthest I'd ever lived from where I was born, and it's always strikes me that, my parents' house aside, that was where I felt the most at home. The town where I grew up is fairly foreign to me, especially now, and the majority of my friends from those post-collegiate years outside of Boston, who really made that place home for me, have scattered or gone in different directions, which weakens my connection to that place. I don't know more than a handful of people in Addison County, VT, anymore, either, but that doesn't stop me from playing out elaborate scanarios in my head about moving back there.

When I'm feeling cynical, I attribute this yearning to the fact that my years at Middlebury were the idyllic college years, where my cares were few and trivial for the most part, and there was some much to take pleasure from. I was young and unencumbered, living selfishly and purely for the exploration of the world around me. From my vantage point here and now, dealing with a bad economy, a marriage and a toddler, a mortgage, a job, that seems like an Eden.

The truth is, though, that I loved to wake up in the morning at look at the light over the mountains, whether it fell on brown and green in spring, hazy green in summer, gold and red in autumn, or gray and silver in winter. I loved hoping for a fiery pink sunset over the distant Adirondacks, and even more so being rewarded when we had one. It was easier to bear a hard day with all that beauty washing over you. I wish that I could experience that as the person I am now, with my family beside me.

Where we are will have to do for now. It's our home, and I love it for that, but the geography doesn't call to me the same way. Perhaps someday the right opportunity will come and I'll find myself back there. If it does, and you catch me bitching about mud season or snow drifts the height of the first storey windows, remind me of this post.

Anything Goes, A Review and More Than A Little Nostalgia

I went back in time on Saturday night, while being anchored fully in the surreal and now. Nearly sixteen years ago, in the spring of 1993, I was a chorus member in Worcester Academy's production of Anything Goes. While it was not my best role (that would come the next year, as the vampy, navel-bejeweled Courtesan in The Boys From Syracuse, but it's another story for another time), it was, by far, the best show we did in my four years there. Tap dancing, big numbers, brass in the pit, slapstick, gambling, drinking, mistaken identity, stuffy English guys, bawdy humor, romance; Anything Goes has it all.

Two years later, in the spring of 1995, along with classmate Jack Yu, I was the co-recipient of the inaugural Cole Porter Award in performing arts. Porter, as we all know, graduated from WA in 1909, and went on to be portrayed on film by Kevin Kline in 2004. He also wrote some music and stuff along the way.

So, if you've done your math, you know that this year marks the centennial of Cole Porter's graduation from my alma mater. In his honor, they reprised Anything Goes. They threw a per-performance dinner on campus, which included a tour of their recent installation of Cole Porter memorabilia. How could I not attend? I brought my mom as my date, because she appreciates such things.

For me, it was a unique mix of then and now. I knew the book, I knew the choreography, the blocking, the music, and sometimes, as I was watching the show, I was actually simultaneously seeing/hearing my friends who played those roles sixteen years ago. All the nostalgia aside, here's what I thought.

On the whole, the show was great fun, and a credit to both musical director/pit conductor Donald Irving, as well as director and Worcester area legend Bill Taylor. The pit orchestra, comprised of local professional musicians, including WA's own Al Vaudreuil, was top notch, and supported the cast with style. The costumes were a delightful surprise, with a student design crew, and in most cases based on authentic period patterns.

Nightclub chanteuse and self-proclaimed evangelist (saving "sinners" in a siren's red dress) Reno Sweeny, played by senior Sally Stempler, is a plum role, and Ms. Stempler deserved it. Her vocals were strong and nuanced, as was her presence on stage, and she delivered the choreography with grace. Liquor soaked Yale man, Eli Whitney [Leonard Kaminski], was winningly portrayed, as was financially troubled socialite mama Evangeline Harcourt [Abigail Small]. The show was, however, unarguably stolen by Evan Fonseca's gangster with a reluctant conscience, Moonface Martin. Fonseca hammed it up, visibly enjoying the role, and his comic timing and delivery were fantastic.

The only real trouble with the production was that, like many high school shows, it only ran for three days, and the rest of the '93 cast couldn't get there to see it.

Dreaming

Last night I had the kind of dreams that I don't remember in full, just as fragments, like photographs. These dreams usually leave me feeling disoriented and somehow estranged from my morning routine. As if I'm still in the dream, like sleepwalking.

Last night I saw a ghost. Or a memory. Or an angel. That's all I can remember. I was dreaming about a friend who's been gone for more than two years as if he was still right here in the city. A phone call away from having dinner together. He felt that close.

I think about him at the strangest times. He creeps up on me. When we were in college, I used to drive him and another dear friend home from school pretty regularly. Whenever we got caught behind a slow car (torture on the Vermont back roads we drove), he would intone from the back seat, "It's the Slowest People In The UNIVERSE!" We imagined them as shapeshifters moving from car to car to ensure you never got where you were going on schedule. I used the intonation around my Mom in subsequent years, and eventually explained its genesis back to him. She took to using it, too. Last weekend Mom and I were on our way down I-495 to do some shopping, and we were trapped behind a slow car sandwiched between two lanes of slow cars. She wondered aloud if perhaps, as a divine prank - which I agreed would be right up his alley - he was now moonlighting as the Slowest People In The UNIVERSE in his celestial spare time, just to yank my chain?

I still have his number in my cell phone and his last contact information in my address book. I cannot bring myself to delete them. Is that usual? I nearly called his old number yesterday instead of the contact above his name. Also, in dredging up the photo for the shoe post, I found his face grinning up at me from my college photo albums. It's easy enough to understand what might have triggered my dreaming; a lot of reminders about a death that still feels like such a waste and a loss that blindsided me, and my psyche's need to worry at the grief when I'm safe and sleeping.

Shoes of My Heart

Fibby asked about my favorite all time pair of shoes. Then, she posted about hers, and it got me thinking. Like her, I had a long love affair with a pair of Docs. They were black cherry, distressed, 9 hole boots, and I wore the hell out of them in college and kept wearing them for a while after. I can't actually remember where I bought them or when I finally gave up on them, but they were so there for me.

But the favorite shoe? The one that still makes my heart flutter? The pair of shoes that lit up my face, made me feel sassy and confident and, did I mention, tall? I shed a few tears when I retired them. Alas, they were hopeless dated, never mind that getting pregnant flattened my 10's to 10 1/2's... I gave them to the Salvation Army, hoping that their faded glory might live on as someone's fabulous costume find.

Aldo, circa 1997, Harvard Square: I was spending the days with some girlfriends from college over perhaps Christmas break(?) of junior year. We went in to look for shoes for Becs, I think, but I came out with the most expensive pair of party shoes I'd ever bought. Red damask platform sandals, which gave me a towering 4.5" of extra height, bringing me to just under 6'. Serious shoes, people.

I wore them anytime I could think of an excuse, long before red shoes became a kind of neutral. In order to properly blog about them, I dug out and scanned in a photo from the dark ages of 1997. This is me, wearing my shoes, and pouring myself an industrial sized cocktail while pre-partying before Winter Carnival Ball.

Good. Times. Great. Shoes.

Because It Keeps Catching Me Off Guard

I give you this. This encore is still my mental screensaver, 8 days later. I keep going back there in my head. I'm telling you, I loved this song before I saw this show, but oh. man.



I wish you all could have been there. This video is like looking a photo. There's just a little of the realness gone. Nevertheless, you'll get the idea.

Ten Memorable Meals

Veronique suggested some best of/top ten type posts. I immediately thought of meals, because I'm a foodie and a chef and food is my heroin. Just ask my hips. Plus, food is much more fun than blogging about learning and parenting and important stuff.

Some of these are restaurant meals, some are casual meals with friends and family, all make my heart all squishy with good memories. I present them to you sort of in an order, but nothing hard and fast.

• L'Espalier, Boston, MA, April 2003: before Chef McClelland departed the original location, this was my dream restaurant. White glove service, exquisite cuisine, intimate setting, and Mark took me for my birthday. Perfect!

• Harris' Steakhouse, San Francisco, CA, June 2005: on our honeymoon, we found this place by opening a guidebook and putting a finger down. Best steak and atmosphere of the trip!

• Dinner party with N & Friends, Medford, MA, October 2001: a carpet picnic extraordinaire with many of my best friends all together in my house, and good food made by a great cook (thanks, N!), enjoyed by all.

• Thanksgiving at Uncle Andy and Aunt Steph's house, November 1997 (I think it was '97...): my mother's younger sister came east with her family for the first time in almost 20 years. I got to meet her, and my five cousins for the first time. It was the first time the whole family was together for a holiday meal, and the first time I realized the size and fullness of my family. They are infinitely precious to me.

• The campfire on Pine Hill when I may or may not have tried to light the entire campsite on fire, Harvard, MA, Summer 1995 or 96: This one was great. I was a counselor, working with a small group of older girls, and somehow the pre-lit coals for the dutch ovens ended up rolling down a hillside covered in dry pine needles. Still, all and all, I remember we ate pretty well. Plus, there's the magic of summer camp...

• That post musical meal at Denny's, Worcester, MA, 1993 or '94: The one where Alta first ordered Moons Over My Hammy. Good times.
  

• Valentine's Day, Medford, MA, February 2003: I made Mark a four course dinner starting with home made fettucine and salmon roe, and ending with a chocolate raspberry torte. Tres romantic.

• That great little restaurant, Rome, Italy, March, 1994: We ate at this little local place, and there was wine and so. much. food. We spoiled ourselves, and it was great!

• Dinner in Manhattan with L&T, NYC, February, 2005: Osso buco. Oh. My. Heart. My heart was safe, though, because my husband made us walk a hundred blocks south through he Upper East Side before dinner.

• The I.N.I., Lakeville, MA, Summer, 1998: Spaghetti and terrible sangria with Al, Ali, and Guy. I'm sure the food was awful, but the company was positively intoxicating. Looking back, I was so carefree and lighthearted. We all were. While I wouldn't trade what I have now, I miss that freedom.

I'm sure there are more in the corners of my mind, but for now, there you have it.

Memories of the Casbah

I heard the Clash in the car this morning, and thought of my grandmother.

In 1982, when The Clash released Combat Rock, I didn't know who The Clash was, or what a casbah was, or why we were rockin' one. I had just turned five, and was finishing my last month at preschool.

What I did know was that I should be shaking what I had when the song came on on MTV. Yes MTV, when it used to play music videos.

The funny thing is that we didn't have cable of any kind growing up, so there was no MTV at my house. Our neighborhood was in an odd position for utility service. We were separated from the rest of our town by an airport (no telephone poles from town), so our phone service came from the city adjacent, but the cable company wouldn't do us the same courtesy for many years. The point of all this is that the place where I watched the MTV was my grandmother's house. She would indulge my youthful need to shake it, and allow me to watch Solid Gold (oh, Dionne Warwick!) and a little bit of MTV, and I worshipped her TV!

I have one distinct memory of dancing in her living room to Rock the Casbah while she looked on, astonished and somewhat confused by my odd need to dance to the "noisy music," but indulging and loving, nonetheless. I wonder how she'd feel to know that twenty six years later, I still remember her fondly when I hear the Clash on my iPod?

Wednesday Morning

I was only up once with Felix in the night, and he cooperated when I suggested that he just go back to sleep. Love that.

I woke up on my own, no alarm clock, and not running late, and I got to talk with my husband and kiss him goodbye. With Felix still sleeping, I put a load of laundry in the dryer, finished a row of knitting left abandoned last night, loaded the dishwasher, and set about making breakfast.

It's warm enough over 40 degrees now, so my dogs can play outside for a while, so while they were out, I whipped up a tasty smoothie, and ground some coffee for the French press. While I drank my smoothie I caught up on my morning reading.

It's funny, I suppose, that my morning reading comes from my two email accounts, and my Google reader. Once upon a time it might have been a newspaper, or watching the news, or even listening to the radio. I can distinctly remember having toast at my Grandma's kitchen table while she drank coffee, tidied her kitchen, and listened to what must have been NPR (where else could she have been listening to newsy radio in Vermont?), before switching to a classic country station. Perhaps that's where my until recently latent appreciation for Patsy Cline, Willie Nelson, and Johnny Cash came from?

But I digress.

I read my feeds, check my email, and then, cup of fresh brew at my right, set up a new post for my own blog, which will hopefully entertain someone else during their morning coffee.

I bet my Grandma would've liked that.

Answering the Challenge: A Meme

A gauntlet was thrown, by my pal over at Baptism of Fiber, to complete a high school related meme. I accept the challenge, and will divulge the secret horrors of my high school career (be forewarned, many of my answers will be the same as the original post on BoF, I left those answers in italic):

1. Did you date someone from your school?
I did. Jason and I "went out" for a few months freshman year. It was sweet, and strange, and I'm proud to say I wasn't his last girlfriend! That honor went to someone else.

2. Did you win anything in Seniors' Who's Who?
I don't remember, but I might have been the Teddy Bear... or was that Gil? or maybe we both were?

3. What kind of car did you drive?
1987 Subaru GL Wagon in metallic red. God, I loved that death trap. Her name was Ruby Sue.

4. It's Friday night...where are you?
After rehearsal, I was at Tatnuck Bookseller (RIP) having coffee and Kentucky Derby Pie with [Ari], Jason, and Naomi.

5. Were you a party animal?
Absolutely not.

6. Were you considered a flirt?
I doubt it. I wasn't very sure of myself around the boys....

7. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir?
Chorus and the Academy Singers.

8. Were you a nerd?
Most definitely.

9. Did you get suspended/expelled?
Never

10. Can you sing the fight song?
I've forgotten the rather archaic stanzas, but the melody of the chorus is in my head right now (Oskeewowwow, WA...)

11. Who were your favorite teachers?
Ms. Cotton, Ms. Gould, Mr. Shainheit, Mr. Bloom, and Mr. Duemmel)

12. Where did you sit during lunch?
In the cafeteria, somewhere near the clock

13. What was your school's full name?
Worcester Academy

14. School mascot?
A goat..oh, sorry. a "hilltopper"
I actually think it was a ram. It had swirly horns, didn't it?

15. Homecoming court?
I imagine that is a kind of prom king/queen thing and no, we never did that. Thank god.

16. If you could go back and do it again, would you?
I wouldn't want to do high school over, but if I had to go back, I'd do WA again.

17. What do you remember most about graduation?
I walked with Veronique, and Jason's valedictory speech had something to do with Wile E. Coyote.

18. Where did you go senior skip day?
No skip day.

19. Have you gained some weight since then?
Gained in college, lost after, gained it all back, am now fighting it off again for the eleventy millionth time...

20. Who was your Senior prom date?
Marc. It was funny. And fun.

21. Are you planning on going to your 10 year reunion?
I was one of five who made it.

22. Who was your homeroom teacher?
We didn't have homerooms, but Madame Soave was my advisor.

23. Who will repost?
I expect no one. But if you're reading this, consider yourself tagged.

24. Did you play any sports?
I did not. Though I lettered in swimming for being a very dedicated manager. Heehee, me with a varsity letter!

25. Do you still talk to people from school?
Yep. Ari, Veronique, Will, Pete, Julie, Alta, Naomi. And quite a few more I keep up with more casually.

26. What year did you graduate?
1995

Couldn't Have Graduated Without Him

This post is a little late in coming.

It took me a while to find this photo in the chaos that is our fallingdownhouse.



I'll miss you, Best Dog in Maine.

12.29.07: A List

Two days left to the year, and I've got a lot of things I meant to say, but never did. Somehow the kid got in the way :) I found this list on a blog I stalk, and thought I'd spend a little time answering the questions, in lieu of something more original.

1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? Gift bags, if I have some to recycle from the year before. Brown craft paper is my favorite, with pretty, shiny ribbons and bows a la Martha. Or scraps of paper leftover from previous years, if I happen to have a newborn in the house.

2. Real tree or Artificial? Real. Preferably cut from a tree farm. Though, nest year I may invest in a smaller pre-lit fake tree for my best ornaments. (Yes, I have enough ornaments for two trees...)

3. When do you put up the tree? On OysterFestivus, of course.

4. When do you take the tree down? Just in time for the town curbside tree collection.

5. Do you like egg nog? Yep. Yum. With a drop of bourbon and some fresh ground nutmeg.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Favorite ever? I couldn't say. But one Christmas I got an indoor play tent, a bright orange vinyl monstrosity that I loved with all my heart. I remembered it this fall, and now I can even remember the smell of the plastic.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? Nope.

8. Hardest person to buy for? Daddy. I haven't finished his gift yet, but when I do, it will explain much...

9. Easiest person to buy for? Mom. I think of something every day, the trouble is what to decide on?

10. Mail or email Christmas cards? This year? Not applicable. But I like mailed cards best.

11. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I'm fairly sure that any Christmas gift I might not have loved was still given in the proper spirit, so how could I say it was the worst?

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? The Charlie Brown Christmas special, and the animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas, as narrated by the great Boris Karloff.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I have no hard and fast rules on this one, but, believe it or not, I did start my Christmas knitting in August, and due to Felix, still didn't get it done.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Yes. And I'll never say which ones.

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Mimosas and my Mom's coffee cake on Christmas morning, and pumpkin roll anywhere you serve it.

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? I prefer clear, Mark prefers color (and lots of it!), so next year, my fake tree will have clear, and the main tree will have color, and we will all have a Merry Christmas!

17. Favorite Christmas song? So many. I have hundreds of Christmas tunes in my holiday playlist. I love Silent Night in the original German, and the Barenaked Ladies/Sarah McLachlan version of God Bless You, Merry Gentlemen. Also, It Came Upon A Midnight Clear, but not the chapel melody. And O, Holy Night, in big, grandiose full choral harmony.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? We've been splitting the holiday since Mark and I got together five years ago, but now that we have Felix, I think a little boy should be able to have Christmas morning in his own house.

19. Can you name all of Santa's reindeer? I am a nanny, and a Christmas music junkie. Of course I can. And I don't need to prove it.

20. Angel on the tree top or a star? I have an angel Boyd's Bear.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or christmas morning? With two households to visit, it takes all day Christmas Day, though when Mark and exchange gifts, we usually do it Christmas Eve.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Not enough time to do things the way I'd like to.

23. Favorite ornament theme or color? I love glass and things that sparkle. But our big tree has all these goofy ornaments from the OysterFests that are awesome because they come from our friends and have sstories and memories attached to them.

24. Favorite for Christmas dinner? I actually always loved when my Mom made lasagna for Christmas Eve dinner. And we're not even Italian.

25. What do you want for Christmas this year? We got everything we could have asked for, except maybe a gift certificate to my favorite spa. That would have been dreamy.

26. Who is most likely to respond to this? Not applicable.

27. Who is least likely to respond to this? Again, not applicable.

28. When did you stop believing in Santa? I don't remember how old I was, but I was older than most. I held on, even doubtfully, until I found "Santa's" wrapping tissue under my Mom's living room chair. I was heartbroken, like any smart kid with a big imagination. I really wanted it to be true, even though I knew it was unlikely. I kept "believing" for a long time after that, though, since my brother is six years younger tham I am.

29. How many people do you have to buy for at Christmas? I try to keep it simple. My immediate family, and Mark's, and my godson (whose gift is coming, I swear!), and the family I work for.

Merry!

Ten Years Ago...

I turn 30 in less than 24 hours. I'm mostly fine with this, but it does bring about my nostalgic side...

I remember my 20th birthday quite clearly, which is impressive, given the amount of alcohol (what?! underage?!) I consumed. There was a triple birthday party for myself, and pals Y and B, who were turning 19 and 21 - we were all in a row! I wore a red shirt and danced on a table! I had a pink stuffed lobster on my head and a bouquet of tulips perched in my cleavage. The party was in Frank and Glenn and Company's suite on 6th floor Milliken. There was SoCo... ooops.

It's strange to think that was 10 years ago. Sometimes, it still feels like yesterday. Those friends are mostly still in my life, though, and that is one of the things I treasure most. Of course, we're all quite respectable these days, more than a few married or shacked up, a kid or two running around... and we've buried one of our own, but I think that's what happens when you can tuck a decade of friendship between so many people into your pockets.

This weekend, I'll celebrate with some local friends, a small group of loved friends, and I'm sure I'll get sloppy and nostalgic about the early days of my friendships with them, too. 'Cause that's how I roll. Y'all know. (Thanks Purl for that one....)

"Do They Have Bahs Downthayah?"

Two portly middle aged men in team jackets and hats said to me, after asking if the "Gahdin" was around "heyah." I love this town!

O&I were running to the Post Office on New Chardon Street this morning when we were waylaid by these ... umm... gentlemen(?). I patiently pointed to the rising silhouettes of the Charles River Park Apartments, above the Department of Mental Health building (you know it, the one with all the crazy (haha) stairs and balconies? it might not actually be where the DMH is, but there's a sign nearby...), and said, "Just to the right of those high rises, you can't miss it." The title question followed.

"They certaintly do!" I replied, hauling the stroller into the crosswalk, so as not to miss the walk light and be stranded with two middle-aged dudes looking to get drunk at 10 AM.

Then I played the "How Many Bars Can I Name in that Neighborhood Without Using Google?" game:
Hooters
Penalty Box
Upstairs Lounge
Harp
Paddy O'Rourke's (a stretch, but it's in the Bullfinch Triangle!)
Grand Canal

Subsequent searching got me a link to Grand Canal, which I love, and seldom go to anymore. Legend tells that once Mark, staying on alone after a group Sunday brunch session, got his foot stuck between the foot rail and the bar at Grand Canal, and drunkenly called his friends for help, hoping they'd bring a helicopter... Hmmm.... Back a million years ago, Becs and Ys and I would go dancing at the Upstairs Lounge, which had a small but dedicated goth night. Ahh, the good old days...

Aha! Lake Placid

Sometimes, I'm astounded at my own dumbness (a word? no? I thought not...). You see, a few posts back, I was wondering where I was for 12/31/99 and 12/31/00. I remembered last night in the car, driving home from work. A song came around on fryPod that I got as part of a mixtape (tape!) from my friend Becs. She gave a copy to everyone that was up in Lake Placid that for the New Year that winter.

Both years, I was at my friend Brooke's house in Lake Placid for the turning of the year. That's where I was. And now I'm vaguely horrified that I forgot that. They were both great nights/weekends, and sometimes I miss those friends more than I'm capable of expressing.

New Year's Wine Challenge and the Ghosts of New Years Past

It's a quarter to ten in the morning on New Year's Day, the rain is pattering on the deck, and with the exception of Maurice, I'm alone. It's nice. I should be emptying the dishwasher so I can refill it with the rest of last night's dishes. I should be hand-washing all of the balloon glasses we used. I should be thinking about making breakfast for myself, Mark, and Mark's brother, Jason, since I can hear the boys starting to wake up.

But I'm blogging.

We normally eschew New Year's celebrations, because there's often a sense of trying too hard, and parties somehow fall flat under the expectation of an "amazing New Year's." I was recounting several gems I've had over the years, and it made me laugh. I feel like I got out just in time...

There was the one (12/31/96?) I saw the Bosstones in Worcester with my camp pal Tara. Awesome.

There was the New Year's (12/31/98) that I spent with Al & Friends, traveling around in his station wagon with Ari, Alison, and Matt (not to mention a crazy guy called Andy), and slept under a stranger's dining room table. Ouch. Such a good night, though!

If anyone remembers where I was for 99 or 2000, please remind me. I'm drawing a blank. (No, I can't remember what I was doing when the Millenium turned, whichever way you count it.)

There was the one (12/31/01) when Al and I, and another Andy hit three parties. I hit the cheap champagne too hard. I think I may have kissed Andy at midnight, and then I vomited in a cab on the home, and dropped my wallet on the front steps to my apartment on my way into the house. (A nice man rang the bell and returned it in the morning - Happy New Year, indeed!) Fun night, but a bit soured by the end events...

The first year Mark and I were dating (12/31/02), we got all dressed up, had a cocktail at the Ritz lounge, then had oysters at McCormick & Schmick's, where we rung in the New Year. It was nice.

After that, things have gone downhill...

New Year's Eve '03 we witnessed the death throes of a relationship, after going to another party, waiting for a guest of honor who was two hours late, and then having to leave before he got there so that we could meet up with the couple whose relationship was crumbling before our eyes. Hmmm.

New Year's Eve '04 Mark was in such a bad mood that he didn't speak the whole evening, causing a few of my friends to wonder what medications he was - or wasn't - on...

New Year's Eve '05 we gave up, and veg'd on the couch with Maurice. We were in bed by 11.

Gentle readers, New Year's Eve is back! Last night, Jason brought up a few bottles of wine from his cellar that needed to be opened before they spoiled, and some food, and we had a wine party, just the three of us. We couldn't head out of town because we're spending some of this weekend with my brother and his daughter, so we're sorry we missed all the parties, but last night was just right. All it lacked was a good woman for my brother-in-law.

We started with duck confit (did I mention he's a chef? and a pretty serious wine connoisseur?) and a 1998 Chateau de Montgueret Coteaux du Layon. It was sweet and smooth, almost a dessert wine, but it had enough spine to stand up to the richness of the duck.

Then, we brought back a decade long past and had fondue bourguignonne (with the hot oil and raw meats), accompanied by two bottles, a 1990 Monsanto "Il Poggio" Chianti Classico Reserva, and a 2000 Joseph Phelps Napa Valley Cabernet. I made Sauce Bearnaise with a couple glasses of good wine in me, and didn't break the sauce, so that was cool!

Jason brought four cheeses for the cheese course: a New York Camembert (icky rind, but yummy center), a French Chabichou (mmmm, goaty), a French l'Edel de Clavon (stinky and soft with a nutty finish), and one last cheese which will remain nameless because I don't remember it... The wine, however, was a crisp, clean 2003 Alto Adige Pinot Grigio. A little clarity was necessary at this point in the gluttony. The new year turned at the beginning of the cheese course - thanks for the shout out, Fibby!

To end it, an apple galette with a Campbell's Rutherglen Tokay, and then I had to peel my husband out of his chair and nudge him off to bed. Nice!