Saying Goodbye to a Long Lost Friend
When I went to Pitt, I volunteered and worked for Sexual Assault Services. I started out presenting programs to freshman, fraternities, sororities, and athletic teams on campus. Whenever we did these presentations, we did them with a partner. Although the coordinator really liked having male peer educators, it was tough to find good ones. One day, I was paired up with a guy named Jay. I was nervous. I had never met him before and I wasn't sure what to expect.
I never should have given it a second thought.
Jay was an amazingly warm and friendly guy. And he could turn it on in front of a group of people like no one else I knew. We instantly clicked. We stayed paired with each other for almost all the programs we were asked to do; and each time we did a program together, we nailed it. It wasn't long at all before we were hanging out after presentations and becoming really good friends.
Jay was not your typical guy. We would spend hours talking on the phone about all kinds of things. If I close my eyes and think about him, I can hear his laugh. He had the BEST laugh and the biggest smile you've ever seen. Almost as soon as I met him, I began thinking "Who can I fix him up with???" He was one of those guys.
After a couple weeks of getting to know each other, we were having a great conversation on the phone the one night. We would always fall into this funny conversation pattern of talking about the relationships that didn't work out. As I was telling him about a classic jerk in my past life, he responded, "Oh my GOSH! Did we date the same guy? I swear we must have!"
After spending weeks trying to figure out which one of my girl friends I could fix him up with, the truth was out. That wasn't going to be happening.
"Honey, in case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm gay. Jay is gay," he said as he erupted in laughter. It was one of the funniest moments of my life. I'll never forget that phone call.
We did a lot of hanging out in the months and years to come. He and his friends were the subject of one of my projects for a communications class about "coming out" to the world and what that means interpersonally in relationships. Jay was always so completely open with me about everything. He soon became good friends with Mr. BBM as well. I actually spent my 21st birthday with Mr. BBM, Jay and some of his friends. I had an absolute blast.
Jay lived in Brooklyn and over the years we kept in touch via email and sometimes through a phone call. He used to call me "Oshkosh" because he said he just knew I was going to marry Mr. BBM and have a bunch of babies. I called him after I had Big I and he laughed and told me he was going to buy the kid some overalls. We talked about getting together, but then life got in the way and we lost touch again for a while. It seemed that every time we would email back and forth or talk though, our friendship was always right back on track from where we left off in college.
Because I'm going to BlogHer in NYC this summer, Mr. BBM suggested I get in touch with Jay again. The mere thought of this had me so psyched. On the way home from the beach, I tried to look him up on Facebook but I couldn't find him there. I did a general google search and my stomach dropped. There was a blog name that included his name and "in memoriam."
I literally shook my head, trying to shake the existance of this site and what it meant away, and thought that there are lots of people with the same names in this world. This can't possibly be my Jay. And then the pictures loaded. . . and the tears came pouring down. I felt like I couldn't breathe at first. I had to catch my breath and then I said to Mr. BBM, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. He's gone."
I did some more research and found out on one of his friend's blogs that he had committed suicide in November of 2007. It happened so long ago, but for me, it's like it just happened yesterday. I left a comment on the blog and his sister emailed me this morning. She'd like to talk and hear some stories about Jay from college. I gave her my phone number and I hope she calls.
I also hope that somewhere out there, Jay knows what a wonderful person I thought he was and how horrible it is to know he's no longer just an email or phone call away.
Rest in peace, Jay. I'll never forget you.
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ER Vacation Curse Be Gone
It was inevitable. Someone in the family would probably have to go to the ER. I mean, it is a BBM vacation after all. A couple years ago it was me after having a stomach battle with some not-so-good scallops. (Hint: the scallops won.) Then it was Lil Cwho cracked her face on a hotel room nightstand and needed to be glued shut at 1 a.m. in the ER while singing the "Kung Fu Fighting" song. A year or two ago, Mr. BBM was attacked by a rabid spider and required antibiotics (Ok, I lie. It wasn't rabid.) Last night, Big I got her turn.
After complaining all day about a nasty bug bite on her finger, I was horrified to see that her hand looked like a giant Mickey Mouse glove, and it was growing. She was complaining that she was in pain and the swelling continued to increase throughout the day. It was off to the ER for the BBM family again. Thankfully, a nice big dose of some steroid and benadryl knocked it down by this morning. It doesn't look like we'll need to fill the prescription for the antibiotic.
Oh, and if you suspect your daughter has been bitten by a spider, do NOT, under any circumstances, google "spider bite and swelling." I kept thinking I was going to get a tearful call from Mr. BBM that would include the words amputation or death. Thankfully, this was not the case and it appears that the ER curse has made its way through my entire family now. So, ER vacation curse be GONE already!
We have had near perfect weather this week, with each day being in the 90's. The ocean has been pristine. You can stand in the water up to your chin and see your toes on the bottom. Big I has learned how to boogie board. Lil C learned she can not at all trust her pop-pop to take her out safely on the raft. I won't go into the details, but I will say that Lil C would be more than happy to tell you about how many particles of sand and pebbles she had to blow out of her nose post Pop-Pop wave and raft time. She went back in with Mom-Mom about five minutes later though. Tough kid.
I've read three books while here and am starting my fourth. We went to a wonderful arts festival where Mr. BBM bought me a beautiful copper fountain for my patio about the size of Big I. I've been wanting one for about seven years now. I can't wait to plug it in and hear the water. Hopefully taking a little piece of the beach and flowing water home with us will help me stay in that vacation mind-set. It has been a week of fun and a week of relaxation.
Yesterday, my grandmother would have turned 93. It was a day where we talked about good memories of her. We teared up, of course, but it's getting a little easier. This very much needed vacation, has helped with that. It's helped all of us.
In just a few days, we'll head back home. Here's hoping that this wonderful vacation is just the jump start our summer needed.
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What Do Crabs Eat?
Yesterday was an awesome day. We spent the morning at the NC Aquarium and spent the afternoon on the beach building castles with Lil C. For dinner, we stayed in and made lobster tails, steamed shrimp, grilled chicken, potato salad and corn on the cob. I washed it down with a Corona Light and lime. The day ended even better than it had started. After over 20 years of coming to the Outer Banks, I finally did the research and followed through so we could make a fire pit on the beach. We had a blast. There is nothing like sitting under the stars, with the surf at your toes, as you roast marshmallows with your family.
In NC, there are tons of little crabs that come out at night. If they creep you out, it's better to go to the beach without a light source. When you see how many of them are, it can be a bit unnerving. Last night, while sitting around the fire pit, a rather large one moved nearby. Mr. BBM started his scientific questioning as per usual and began asking me and my Dad if we knew what crabs ate. They seem to dig little things out of the sand and eat them.
It was then that Mr. BBM rolled up a little piece of marshmallow and threw it in the direction of the crab. It hesitated for just a minute and then quickly moved towards the little balled up cloud of yumminess. Soon, you could hear the little crab claws clicking as he went to town on the marshmallow. When he was finished with the first little balled up marshmallow, he found a second one that Mr. BBM had thrown out.
It turns out Mr. BBM answered his own question last night. Apparently, crabs eat marshmallows.
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Renewing the Soul One Writing Idea at a Time
Before I left for vacation, my Nikko Blue hydrangeas, the ones that are supposed to be the most awesome blue color in the world, were pink. It sort of summed up several months for me: expecting and hoping for one thing and getting something else entirely. I dumped a bunch of "make it blue" natural powder stuff on them, and not unlike the fairies in Sleeping Beauty, waved my little shovel around and willed those flowers to turn blue.
The day I left, they were still pink.
I have a feeling now, that at some point, they will turn blue. . . a garden analogy for my attitude and how the beach lifts me up.
There is something about sinking ones toes into the sand and and floating rhythmically on the waves that soothes my soul. I spend my days with tangled salt water hair and sand in every crevice imaginable and love every minute of it. The beach is capable of healing me, plain and simple. Ask any one of my family members who have been around me for the last couple of days.
At home, I get worked up over country club emails and let things bother me. Here? I noticed a cranky email, replied to it smartly and without stress, and I let it go.
Part of the attitude change is due to my Lil C, who is a beach girl through and through. Yesterday, while floating over the waves with her and Big I on an ocean whose surface was like glass, she said, "I am not getting out, not ever. I just love this" and then burst into a fit of infectious giggles. Of course, last night on the way home from dinner, she said "Floating on that raft was like a baby ride. It was too easy" and then she launched into a fresh round of hiccup-inducing giggles.
On the way down here, we spent a night in Chincoteague, VA. I had never been there before but I will definitely go back. A quaint little town where you can walk to "Bill's" or "Dan's" restaurants from the hotel, it jump started the vacation mode very easily. While walking to dinner, we walked past a little bed & breakfast that had a sign on the fence. Apparently, a writer (whose name escapes me now), had stayed there and written a book back in the 40's.
"That's what I should do," I told Mr. BBM. "I should stay at a little beach town somewhere and write a book."
When I was fresh out of college and working at the Creative Nonfictionliterary journal as an assistant editor, I interviewed a writer we had published named Donald Morrill. He had written a memoir piece and when I asked him what advice he could offer to just-emerging-from-college writers, he said that his advice was to not try to write any memoir until you're at least in your late 30's or 40's. "Until then," he said, "you think you have plenty to say but you really don't. Young writers who try to write memoir lack perspective." I've read two memoirs while at the beach: Eat, Pray, Love and Mennonite in a Little Black Dressand I am hungry to read more writers like these two. They were inspiring. If publishable stories can be crafted about family recipes and funny family happenings, I have a wealth of material to write about. My family is quite "write-able." And although I'd like to stick to my story that I'm still only 29, the fact is, this "29-year old" is a bit of a liar. (You know, in case you haven't figured that out quite yet.)
So, I spent much of the drive discussing with Mr. BBM, subjects of potential books and possible chapter titles. And I think I'm going to try to write more than just this blog. I think I'm going to make some type of writing commitment, even if it means getting up earlier than usual or staying up later than usual so that I can have some peace and quiet to write.
I mean, all of you who read this blog would buy my book right? I could probably sell as least 10 copies or something, and that would be pretty cool.
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Random Ramblings Including Having Babies with 50 Cent
Filed under: Board of Directors, Mental Strain for Mama
My life was sort of threatened today by a friend who said I better not ever go on a long non-writing stretch again because she is "addicted" to my writing.
I so love her. She should definitely visit my archives. . .often, as should the rest of you. Back then I was funny, witty and I actually wrote about karate every once in a while. Ah, the good old days.
I wish I was addicted to my own writing these days, but I think I've been sapped by lack of creativity due to a thankless data entry volunteer job and sheer exhaustion resulting from that. Being on the board of directors is highly overrated and extremely thankless. A neighbor and friend once told me that being on a board of any kind can open up avenues to paying board jobs. I would like to know where those are and would also like to say, "Hey, I'm your gal. Look no further."
Since I don't have any one thing in particular to say today, but because I'm feeling my life might be threatened if I don't put fingers to keyboard and write something, anything. . . I thought I would provide a rambling account of various things that you can do with them what you will:
First: do not ever opt to go for the heavier weights when doing that inner-thigh squeezer machine thing after not doing that machine for like eight months. Just don't do it. I went from walking like a primate from sore abs to walking like someone trying to keep a nickle between her thighs. In case you're wondering, neither are attractive ways for a young (or even an old) lady to walk. Just don't do it. Always opt for the easier weight. Always. Use this bit of advice as your work-out bible. It is practically the word of God, or at least BBM, which is practically the same thing (or not at all).
Second: I'd like to just put it out there that if I get to be the ripe old age of 75 plus and I start doing my hair like George Washington used to, and/or complaining about random things that no one in particular has any control over, and/or begin demanding liver and onions at restaurants, I'd like to put it out there that I would enjoy being put out of my misery at this point. I've given my husband carte blanche to put me out of my misery if I start acting all old and crazy and I'm now giving my blog readers the opportunity as well. Of course, you should probably discuss this with my husband first, in case he'd like first dibs. But seriously, if I'm a grumpy old gal, do me a favor. (I guess I should start working on my attitude because I'm kind of a grumpy younger-ish girl right now.)
Third: I am going to BlogHer in August and I know not a soul who is going. While many of you might think that I am a social butterfly, I might end up going all the way to New York in order to sit in my hotel room and order room service out of sheer anxiety and discomfort at not knowing a soul. It's my first time; be gentle with me, and please let's be friends beforehand, k? Email me! No seriously, email me! I am a good friend and known for buying drinks for new friends. I'm a good girl to know.
Finally: a confession. I am addicted to Jack Johnson and 50 Cent. I realize how odd and weird a juxtaposition this is, and I'm not sure what to make of it. All I know is that one minute, I am craving hearing about bubbly toes and the next minute, I am bopping around to the tune of "Have a baby by me, baby, be a millionaire." I'm thinking it's the millionaire part is what I'm liking so much, but the catchy beat can not be denied. Is there anyone who can help me out with the whole 50 Cent "be a millionaire" thing, or do I seriously need to go have a baby with 50 Cent?
Yep, I think I'll leave you on that note.
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