Winter, you're a...BAD!

When my stepsons were young, like three and four years old, they were fighting with each other one day, over something silly, I'm sure. Since their sibling bickering was not something new, we only half paid attention, mostly just to catch any signs of the fighting escalating into something more physical. And though this particular fight never got to that level, we could hear that Tyler, the younger of the two, was starting to get very frustrated with his brother Teddy. So much so that he was literally at a loss for words, wanting to call his brother a nasty name but tongue tied and annoyed. Finally, he got out the only thing he could come up with, yelling "Teddy....you're a....BAD!" It was so innocent, yet so perfectly expressed just how he was feeling, and we all understood exactly what he meant. From that day on, when someone or something has gotten me so beyond frustrated that I can't adequately articulate my exasperation, that is the expression of choice. 

So then, it is with complete aggravation that I say this - Winter, you are a BAD! And trust me, that is definitely the nicest thing I can say about you right now.  Because frankly, I fucking hate you, Winter. Yesterday, after the flight that was going to take me and my twins to sunny Florida was cancelled, thus ruining 5 days of vacation plans, I was irate, and so very sad. At first I blamed Mother Nature. But you know what, she brings me Spring, Summer, and my very favorite Fall. So I'm not going focus so much on that mythical bitch (hmmmm, guess I am still a little pissed off at her, too). Instead, I will try and keep my focus on just Winter, and why she is such a bullshit season. There are many reasons, but here's my main points:

• The cold. Cold air hurts. It HURTS! When I step outside, my skin shouldn't tighten in painful fear, but that's exactly what happens. The sting of the wind against my face feels like I'm being slapped over and over and over. I can't see, because my eyes tear from the bitter temperature and wind, so it's a struggle to keep them open at all. And when I breathe in the cold air, it feels like my chest is being stretched by a thousand little needles trying to expand my lungs from within. None of this can be healthy, and it's definitely painful.
• The driving. Winter driving just sucks. This is actually a 3-part problem. 
1. There's the obvious - slipping and sliding in the dangerous conditions. Last year I witness a 100-car pileup on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Did you hear what I said? ONE HUNDRED CARS! And I saw it as it was happening. To say it freaked me the fuck out is an understatement. On a related note, the impact that this season has on my commute is just plain annoying. I have a long commute, that in the best of conditions, without traffic, has me spending 50 minutes driving one way to my office. In traffic, that becomes an hour or more. In the winter, the often trying conditions plus the extra people on the road (because vacation volume is lower and kids are in school), that commute can be as much as three hours. Yes, one way. My record is 4 hours. There wasn't enough wine in my house to make me feel better after that one. 
2. The extended drive time leads to an increased exposure to all that road salt and sand, and what they do to the exterior of my car makes me cringe. I bought a blue car, but for the majority of the winter, I drive a white one. My car is 4 years old, but the paint looks more like it belongs on one that is twice as old. I guess I should consider myself lucky that it's garage kept so the damage isn't any worse, but still.
3. Holy God, the potholes. I swear by the end of last winter there were a few that could have swallowed my SUV whole. Often I was left with the difficult task of having to choose hitting a pothole or hitting an oncoming car. Note to self, invest in a tire dealership before next winter.
   

• The hibernation. I consider myself a fairly social person, and though I enjoy alone time, I'm energized by seeing friends and family. I especially like being able to be out and about and run into people, because they're out and about as well. Even just walking down my driveway to get my mail can lead to some unplanned social time. But in the winter, no one wants to be outside, so no one leaves the comfort of their homes for more than just the amount of time they need to. Even outside exercise time is more limited. And that neighbor run in while getting my mail? It's pretty hard to do when I stop my car at the end of my driveway, leap out and fling the box open in one fell swoop, and jump back in the car as quickly as possible. People I might see almost every day from April through October I'll be lucky I see once after Daylight Savings time ends. Which reminds me....
• The dark. Monday through Friday during the winter months it is quite possible that I will not see the sunlight except for the glimpse I get through my office window. I often leave the house before sunrise, and don't make my way home until well after sunset. And it's not that my days are that long (well, kind of), but more that Daylight Standard time means shorter hours of sunshine. In addition to the cold, this contributes to the aforementioned hibernation problem. There's studies after studies to show what lack of natural light does to effect mood, vitamin intake, and crime rates. Bottom line, dark is bad, light is good. Me need sunshine.
• The ugly. The pure white snow does have it's finer qualities, but it never lasts long, quickly gunked up with dirt and road debris, or trampled with footprints and such. And when there's no snow on the ground, the ground is either muddy or hard, the trees are bare, and things that should be green - a bright and cheery color - are instead brown. Brown is the color of poo. 'Nuff said.
• The unpredictability. It's a complete crap shoot when you make plans whether or not the weather will or will not effect you. Vacation, work, school - doesn't matter. Winter's a heartless, selfish bitch, and when she wants to blow, she's blowing. As I mentioned earlier, the inspiration for today's rant is the vacation that I'm supposed to be on RIGHT NOW, but am not. The whole reason for booking the trip many months ago was because I knew that by late February I'd be so depressed and tired of Winter that I'd need a break. Ironically enough, the weather I was trying to get away from ended up screwing me into staying with it. Control freak that I am, a full season that lacks a measure of reliability in my life really, really pisses me off.
• The clothes. Layers and layers and layers of clothing, as well as the related accessories, leads to a season of feeling like Ralphie's little brother, that tick about to pop. 
  
  It takes longer to get dressed, longer to get undressed, it's harder to drive, and pulls more money out of my pocket to make sure I've got all the extra clothes that I and my children will need. Plus all that added bulk makes me look and feel, shall we say, thicker. Mamma needs no help in this department, thank you very much.
• The Fucking Cold. Think I covered this already, but I hate this part the most, so it bears repeating.

Winter, you are a BAD, no question, and no one will ever change my mind. But...I really don't enjoy wallowing in negativity. (I know that may be hard to believe, but it's true!) Since I do believe in a striking balance when possible, there are a few things about winter that I deem to be good. Well, they're at least ok, and they definitely give me some focus when I'm to the point of wanting to bash my head against a wall, a wall that's probably covered in ice. Here you go, a few "pro's" to help balance the Winter perspective:

View from my kitchen window to the backyard. The shed never looked better.

• Freshly falling snow, or snow that is fallen and untouched, is quite lovely. On the branches of the trees, on an unpaved, unwalked-in path. Really, it's beautiful and bright, and can be almost poetic.
• Snowmen are adorable, always.
• Sledding is fun. (Except that time when I broke my collarbone doing it. Oops, drifted back to Negativeland. Let me amend). Sledding can be fun when proper safety precautions are in place.
• A knit hat can be a nice and stylish accessory, while simultaneously making up for a bad hair day.
• The extra clothes do help cover all post-holiday excessive eating damage, and give some wiggle room while you work to undo those sins before spring.
• There's a certain comfort and calmness that comes from being wrapped up in a cozy sweater, sitting by a fire, and sipping a hot tea. Technically these could be done at any point in the year, but doing it in the winter feels the most right. 
  

So maybe then, Winter isn't a total "Bad." Maybe it's more of a "not good?" Let me ponder that as I peer out my window. Oh look, the neighbors dog just went running through the pristene snowfall on my front yard, stopping for just long enough to take a dump. That'll be a nice treat for me to clean up after the thaw. Yep, no question, this season sucks ass. 25 days until spring. But who's counting?

Blogfully yours, 
Julie

Hey Cupid, maybe take the weekend off.

2/14
I want to write a post about why Valentine's Day sucks. Why it's a stupid Hallmark holiday. Why there shouldn't be just one day dedicated to acknowledging your love for someone. Blah, blah, blah. But what could I write that hasn't been said a million times over by both the happily coupled, the miserable single, and everyone in between? Normally, at least for most of my adult life, this holiday has meant very little to me for all of the reasons above. That, and the simple fact that I've always been too lazy and cheap to want to do a whole thing about this day. Of course, if someone were to make a fuss over me, I'm sure I wouldn't say no. I'm female, after all. And who doesn't like chocolate? And flowers? Give me Reese's Peanut butter cups and stargazer lilies and pretty much anyone could have their filthy way with me.

So if I've generally not really cared about this stupid-ass holiday, why is it just bugging the shit out of me this year? Because I'm single? I've been single on Valentine's Day before, and yes it does sting just a bit more when I am, but that's not quite it. Is it because I'm newly single? Nope. Though it wasn't widely known, I was already post-marriage at this point last year. Ya know the stupid reason why??? Because it's Saturday. And it's not like I'm having a terrible night. I'm sitting on my couch, two of my four boys here with me, both deeply engrossed in some NBA all-stars thingy, while I'm cozy in my sweats, happily sipping (guzzling) my wine. Not a terrible night at all. But, Jesus, to be single on a Saturday Valentines Day just kinda blows. When my marriage was ending I hated any and all happy couples, but I'm over that now. Pretty much. Ok, I will be soon. Having a holiday shine a giant magnifying glass on those happy couples just makes me feel unlovable, undatable, and unchosen and frankly that feeling is just annoying the shit out of me today. Tomorrow I'll wake up, have my tea, workout, and feel better. But as for tonight...F U Cupid. Please hide your diapered ass away from me or I'm going to take that arrow of yours and shove it somewhere unpleasant. 

Hmmm. that was a bit rough. I'm not a love hater, I'm really not. In fact I am sure that if we all followed our hearts and stop listening to our heads, this world would be a far better place. And because I do believe that love is the best emotion in the world, and in the spirit of the "holiday," I'll close with just a few quick thoughts on the subject. 

• Everyone you know has something about them that is lovable about them. It's there, find it. You'll be happier for recognizing this and it may just get you through some otherwise unpleasant interactions. 
• Don't ever miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them. Ever. It can't be said enough because no one ever gets tired of hearing it. If you're in love with them, this is even more important. You might feel vulnerable for having done so, but that's an honest emotion. And at some point, you'll always regret not saying it. 
• The good book was right. Love IS patient, and love IS kind. Anything less is not love. Don't settle for less.

Words to live by...or not, what do I know. I'm the one sitting at home with 2 11-year-olds on Valentine's Day, drinking wine from a plastic "Pennsbury Falcons Football" cup. 
Blogfully yours, 
Julie

The Music Within

I think I’d be hard pressed to find someone for whom music doesn’t have the power to move them. By this point in my life you’d think I wouldn’t be so amazed at how much a song can instantly bring me back in time. or express something that  I haven’t been able to articulate myself, or elicit emotions long forgotten – good, bad, and  everything in between. It’s so, so much more than just pure entertainment. Obviously, there are some pieces of music that affect me more than others, but as I’m sitting here now, flying home from a business trip and a bit hung over from last night’s dinner celebration, trying to clear too many emails in my work inbox, I was just stopped cold when a piece on my CLASSICAL playlist made me go from the mindset of a 44 year business woman to that of the innocent 5 year old who’s still inside. 

It’s  Guitar Concerto in D Major, 2^nd Movement by Vivaldi. (Don’t I sound super intellectual when I tell you that I’m not only listening to classical music, but that I know the name of the movement? And that I correctly used the term “movement” when not referring to something my bowel might do? Sorry, back to my point....) 

From the first note I can feel my blood pressure drop and a warm sense of comfort and calm come over me. It happens wherever, whenever, however I hear it. Every, single, time. I also instantly get an image in my head of a beautiful flower, from stem to petals. dripping its dew seemingly in time with the guitar plucks of the piece. Am I that creative, that connected to classical works to have created this metaphor of imagery all on my own? Oh, please, have we met? No, no, I’m just not that deep and philosophical. I’m not sure if I should be ashamed or proud to admit this, but that is the scene created by Sesame Street back in the early 70’s, and it is indelibly etched in my mind. As I was growing up, I rarely had a chance to hear this, and didn’t exactly seek out classical as my go to music. Joan Jett, Def Leopard, Bon Jovi, Salt ‘n’ Pepa…much more my speed during my formative years. But on the rare occasions I did hear it, I was instantly back to that little girl, entranced and calmed by the music and flower. Recently, joyfully, I found the clip online, here.  

I had forgotten about the fact that the flower was revealed to be growing in the cracks of a city building, but it makes perfect sense to me now as to why the whole thing made such an impression. The calming music and the pretty flower subtly and strongly thriving against the backdrop of the crazy fast-paced city life.  It was such a beautiful and simple way of saying to young Julie “look, kid, life isn’t always pretty, but if you look hard enough, you can always find something that will make you smile. See this flower? It’s a fucking miracle that this thing surviving in a city clouded in a constant haze of 1970’s smog. So stop your worrying about whatever life throws your way and grow from it!” Now maybe that's now how I interpreted it back then, but whatever they did, it worked. 40+ years later, whenever I need a little calm in my day, this is the piece of music I seek out first.  

Kudos, Sesame Street. Not only have you given me the gift of peace and perspective, you managed to do it without the use of my beloved Cookie Monster. Bravo.

As I’m finishing up this post, my CLASSICAL playlist has ended, and my iPod has moved on to the next playlist - COLLEGE. The first song that’s just come on is the Fraternity Song by 2 Live Crew. Just as Vivaldi brought me back to my innocence, in my head I’m now back in my apartment at William Paterson College, smiling at the memory of dancing and singing along with my roommates and friends, probably a little (read, a lot) drunk. "Fuck, the Pi Lam! Fuck, fuck the Pi Lams!" A classic in it's own right. Sort of. Definitely not the same kind of lovely sentiment that Sesame Street and Vivaldi evoked in me, but what can I say, I’m a complex woman with eclectic taste who appreciates the peaceful sound of classical guitar just as much as the use of the word "fuck" in her music. And really, who doesn't?

Blogfully yours,

Julie

If Loving Football Is Wrong, I Don't Want To Be Right

 

It’s Super Bowl Sunday!!!

I just love this day. The culmination of another great football season, the smack talk, the non-stop TV and radio coverage, and of course the corresponding parties. I even love the non-football specific but Superbowl related stuff, especially the ads. (I’d like to think that’s the marketer in me, but who doesn’t love the commercials?) As usual, my Cincinnati Bengals didn’t make it in this year. Though we’ve had a good streak in getting to the playoffs, we can’t seem to get a win. But it’s been a few weeks and I’m over it now. My #2 team, the NY Giants, who have generally been more reliable, have had a few disappointing seasons in a row as well, so won’t be seeing them today either. But it doesn’t matter. It’s the SUPER BOWL! 

This year, though, it’s going to be a little different experience, unfortunately. As I type this right now, I’m on my way to L.A. for work meeting. Yes, they’ll be a viewing party at the hotel for us, so I’ll go and watch the game with my work colleagues, but I’m sure I won’t have quite the same level of fun. I’ll be the most sad not to watch it with my boys, both of whom have gotten even more into the sport this year and who I’ve really enjoyed spending game time with if for no other reason just to watch their reactions throughout the games.  I’m going to try not to focus on missing them, and instead on the the game itself, which should be a good. One of the two teams that I loathe the most is playing – the New England Patriots. UGH I hate them. It’s tough to say if I hate them or the Dallas Cowboys more, but regardless, it is not a team I enjoy seeing get this glory. The only time I’m likely to opt out of viewing a Super Bowl would be if it were a New England v Dallas match up. Luckily, that’s not happening today, and I’ll instead to rooting for the Seahawks, a team that much like my Bengals don’t have a lot of local fans and had struggled for years before becoming worthy of being a Super Bowl contender, let alone who, by the end of tonight, could be winning this game two years in row. Go Hawks! May you rip those cocky, lying, cheating, smarmy Patriots apart. I’ll enjoy every second of it. 

As I sit her in anticipation of the game, and frankly, with a few hours to kill as I fly 30,000 feet of the continental US, I’m reflecting on what it is that makes me love this sport so much. I've tried many times to figure this out, to pinpoint one thing. It's not like I know the players well, other than some of the big names. I'm far from a master of the nuances of the game, and I’m really bad at the history and statistics of it all. Also, it’s not like I've ever been particularly athletic myself. It's only been in the past 7 or 8 years that I've even made regular exercise part of my life. There are a few other sports, though, that I do enjoy and to a degree, can get into. Baseball and hockey, in particular, I tend to peripherally follow, especially if there’s a big rivalry or season impacting game. But football has always been a sport that I've just loved, LOVED to watch, and something about the sport that just makes me happy. Sundays in the fall are sacred, and I’m so very content to just sit in front of the TV and flip channels between the games. The advent of the RedZone channel on cable is, in my humble opinion, the best thing to happen to football fans since the addition of the extra games added to the regular season. Ok, they happened around the same time, but still, RedZone rules. This sport is fun, it’s unpredictable, it’s dangerous, it’s competitive, and for me, it’s nostalgic. So if I have to pinpoint one reason why I love it so much, I think it’s this sentimentality that drives it. It’s roots are deep, and they grow with every season. In fact, as I reflect back now, there are memories and even specific moments that are so intrinsically tied to this sport for me, that it would be impossible not to recognize how much relevance football has in my life, and probably always will. 

As a child…
One of my favorite childhood memories is spending lazy Sunday afternoons in the fall watching football with my father. Well, back then, I don't know if it's fair to say I was watching the game very intently, but the time spent bonding with my Dad left an indelible mark somewhere in my brain.  We'd be in the family room - in all its brown shag rug and wood paneled wall glory - just watching whatever game was on. He’d usually make popcorn, served in the same scratched up wooden bowl week after week. If there was a chill in the air, then there was a fire burning in the fireplace. I can still see my dad crunching newspaper into tights wads and prepping the wood stack just so, a Duraflame log in the center to get it going. Sunday dinner was often timed around halftime of the 4PM game, and if mom made Cincinnati chili, it was an even more perfect afternoon. Back then, the 4pm game on CBS was it for the day, so whether it ended on time or not, 60 Minutes always followed. I still feel the need to watch that show after the game, and frankly, the newer addition of a Sunday night game to the season has messed with that desire a bit. But I suppose that’s why God invented remote controls. 

As a teen…
Though my father may have stared my football love, it was only the beginning. In high school nothing beat going to a home game. I can still remember the anticipation of it all as I walked down the long path to get to the stadium behind my school. The smell of lukewarm hot chocolate and hot dogs wrapped in foil from the snack stand greeting me on my journey. Finding my friends among the crowd in the stand, far from the parents section. Handfuls of green and yellow confetti ready to be tossed. The smell of the crisp fall air. In my junior year, I was the school mascot – the Golden Eagle. It was a job I coveted since I was a freshman, maybe even before, not just so I had an excuse to be goofy and get the crowd worked up in a a frenzy of school spirit (though that was fun too), but more because I wanted so badly to be part of the football day experience, to go to the away games that my parents wouldn’t drive me to, and to feel like I had my own special stake in the game. I knew I wasn’t cheerleading material – not in body or in coordination – but I so envied them and the role they played. That year I got my chance. Was I the best mascot? Not by a long shot. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy and embrace the opportunity, but the fact was….I just wanted to watch the darn game, and I had misjudged how little game viewing I could do while trying to be the entertainment. And thus, my mascot career was short lived, but my love of the game – even stronger than ever.

As a young adult…
In my family, football and baseball had always been embraced, but early in my independent adult life I realized not everyone felt the same way. "ACT FEMININE!" Yep, those words were actually said to me. Yelled at me, actually. It was mid-football season, a Bengals vs. Steelers game, and my friend and I on opposing sides of the game had once again gotten together to spend the afternoon watching the match-up. It was a mutual friend, and my roommate at the time, who was not at all into the game or the sport, and apparently just couldn’t take any longer hearing our smack talk and seeing us geared up in our jesery’s, hats, and whatever other swag we’d adorned that day. I don’t remember if the FUCK YOU was just in my head or if it actually did come out of my mouth, but not coincidentally, it was shortly after this that I chose to leave our apartment and move across the country. Unfortunately, though, it opened my eyes to a whole new world. A world that didn’t love this game. Honest to God, I remember being confused by this realization, and I considered that maybe I needed to keep my spirit in check, at least around those I knew we’re not appreciative of the sport. But then, I thought, “Nah, fuck that. I love my sport too much.” Can I get a WHO DEY????

As a grown-up….
Eight years ago, when my twins were too young to stay up for the whole game, we left a friend’s annual Super Bowl party at halftime to put the boys to bed. As I was tucking them in, giving them their nightly kisses and love, I felt like my grandmother, who has been put in hospice just hours before, was there with me, watching me put them to bed. It was an eerie yet peaceful feeling that frankly I’d never felt before or since, and I knew what it meant. A phone call a few minutes later confirmed that she had passed away. It was the only time I didn’t watch the end of the Super Bowl. A football fan herself, she probably wouldn’t have wanted that to have been the case, but I just couldn’t. While her passing could have put a permanent negative tone on this day for me, it hasn’t. If anything, it pleasantly reminds me of her, how wonderful she was, and how much enjoyed watching a game herself, rooting for her “Cincinnat-a” Bengals. Something about her passing on that day, during the crescendo of a sport season she enjoyed, now seems like it was fitting to coincide with her beautiful soul ending its journey, at least here on earth.  So maybe she was pretty clever choosing Super Bowl Sunday after all.
 
Personally, I hope to go the day after the game, hopefully dying from an overload of dips and pizza and generally too hard of partying for a 90-something year old who is celebrating a Bengals win of the big one. Maybe it’ll even be a Giants v Bengals Bowl! OH MY GOD can you imagine???? Super Bowl XC. It could totally happen. Yes it could. Yes it could, yes it could, yes it could. Ah, shut up and go watch the game, will ya? 

And GO SEAHAWKS!

Blogfully Yours,
Julie