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A couple weeks ago – maybe last week? – I was lucky enough to go on a yoga retreat. … Well, it *was* yoga, and yoga *was* practiced, but also, it wasn’t yoga. It was a life retreat.
Considering that my life has been in a free fall for going on two years, I might say that while it was a privilege to go, I also *needed* it. Despite having at least three legitimate panic attacks prior to leaving and while driving to the retreat. Sometimes panic sneaks in through the tiniest of kinks in one’s armor, and a person finds herself at a turnpike rest area completely convinced she will be murdered in broad daylight.
Like I mentioned, I kind of *needed* the retreat.
When John & I made the decision to come back to Chester County, there were a million reasons. But at the top of my list was my yoga studio. I understand that this idea – of a place I pay to go to practice something I could easily practice anywhere on my own – might not fully make sense to everyone. But John had several concerns before our big move nearly two years ago – and sadly/ironically/hilariously he was right about all of them. I’d said that we could be happy anywhere (this based on the fact that I’d moved every few years my entire life and was still alive and well … failing to remember that the moves had been difficult, painful, dark, hard, sometimes terrible and rarely -if ever – happy). I think, in retrospect, I didn’t fully understand how to stay put. How to just live and be happy in one place. I had itchiness for change under my fingernails, tickling my brain, and because I’d never known anything different, I thought moving was what had to happen.
I was wrong. This was not the first time, it certainly won’t be the last time. But hopefully I will continue to learn and grow and get uncomfortable and grow some more. Only time will tell.
Anyway. What dawned on me the longer we lived in central PA was that I’d willingly walked away from a life that John and I had painstakingly built. For no real reason. Just because we thought we needed a change. Everything came into focus the longer we were up there, the unhappiness growing like a plague. I missed my studio, I missed my doctors, I missed the city, I missed Birds’ fans and the Schuylkill Expressway. I missed Amtrak trains to NYC. I began to understand that I missed home. And I’d never really known where that was before (see above re: moving every few years). But I knew in my bones that it wasn’t Bellefonte.
I don’t remember the exact moment when we knew we were moving. But it happened fast. And so many other things – really hard, grown up, life-is-effing-hard things – were happening simultaneously that my memories are foggy. But all of a sudden we were buying a new house and we’d sold the one we’d just built and we were packing and loading and preparing for the hardest move of our lives.
It was brutal.
Right before our current house was due to be finished it flooded. Our timeline got kicked back several weeks. I spiraled, not really sure how to keep on keeping on. When we finally signed papers, we drove directly from the closing to see “Deadpool & Wolverine” because I’d bought tickets the day they went on sale and we hadn’t anticipated the delay. It was a comedy of errors. When we began our move-in the next day, my body seemingly collapsed, giving out after months of running on adrenaline and cortisol.
The dates of the retreat hadn’t seemed that close when I’d signed up (something I’d vowed to do having missed several retreats the studio had done while I was gone). But then all of a sudden it was upon me, and John had to be in Pittsburgh for work so we’d hired a sitter to stay with Eli for the first time in his little life. And I hit the road minus all my meds (which came back to haunt me – WOOF!)
Anyway.
All of that to say that the retreat was scary for me initially. I didn’t really know anyone going and as I drove I wondered if I’d made a huge mistake. I worried about Eli being alone with a stranger and if he’d behave. I knew that I forgave him anything but that’s because he’s mine. I worried about John getting out to the Burgh on time. I definitely got a migraine that I still can’t fully kick.
But also. The retreat was a gift. It was beauty and open souls and nature and sharing and yoga and hikes. And it confirmed to me that my yoga studio – one of the three things John had been most concerned about leaving – was as important and special as he’d believed it to be. I just hadn’t realized. That when I’d gone to my first class back on April 2, 2018, that I’d also found a home. A place full of like-minded humans who fill up my soul each and every class. Each and every day.
I learned these past two years and even more concretely these past few months being home again, what a gift and privilege and frankly, a luxury community is. I spent four days connecting with incredible people and confronting truths within myself. It was gorgeous and sacred.
It confirmed to me – if I hadn’t known before – that I’d come home. That I was back in my community.
That this place – these people – were my home.
Xoxo, g
01sept22
It always feels like a relief when September arrives. Even though it’s still blazingly hot and humid. Even though nothing has changed much from August (if you aren’t a parent, which I am not). But it’s the hint of change, the promise of cooler days. The dream.
Yesterday J+I drove up to Mortgage #2 (an affectionate nickname) to receive a refrigerator for the garage. Every part of that sentence is bougie and I know it. I’m pretty bougie (daily yoga at the studio and chai teas and online shopping habits and designer blankets etc etc). But having a second house and now a fourth refrigerator? I’m externally (& internally) rolling my eyes. My biggest frustration today has been trying to scale my photography so this damn blog will upload the files … and yes, I hear myself.
Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about change. Partially because it’s kind of inevitable as the seasons begin to shift. But also because I have been working on this blog and whew – I have changed a lot since I wrote some of my early stuff. I just updated my ‘Curiosity About Me’ page because when I read it, I didn’t even recognize it as myself. Which made my brain begin to whir and spin, contemplating how we all change and evolve (or not!) over time and it isn’t just our hair or our waistline. It’s our values and our day-to-day existence. I changed out the picture of John and I because we look completely different. But I also changed all but one ‘fun fact’ on my list, because I’m not the same person who started this blog in 2011. And I never will be again.
***
Fun fact — all the cells in our body change over every seven years. So every seven years, we are – theoretically but also biologically – completely different people. It’s crazy and wild that we stay in relationships and friendships and jobs and lifestyles for so long – as though longevity and loyalty trump all. Shouldn’t we always be evolving and adjusting our lives to reflect who we are in a given moment? I think so. I mean, I still adore my husband but he’s changed remarkably since we met all those years ago. We’ve just changed and evolved together – as a partnership. We haven’t stayed the same, and neither has our relationship. Which is both the best parts of us and sometimes, some of the worst parts.
I always vow to never become as close-minded or grumpy about new-ness as older generations are and have been toward my generation and the ones that have followed. But perhaps it’s inevitable that there will come a point when I look around and don’t recognize or understand the society ebbing and flowing around me. (Let’s hope not, but I can’t guarantee anything).
About a month ago, one of my closest friends (dare I say best? … I dare) approached me about an idea she’s been working on developing. I’ve shied away from working with her in the past because I don’t want our relationship to become about work and nothing else. I don’t know why but I was skittish that it could irrevocably (& negatively) change our friendship. But then I started thinking about all the people in my life who I love ridiculously and who I met through work. It’s a lot of people. Stretched out over a lot of years. So why wouldn’t I give this fledgling idea a chance – because it’s a really, really good one.
Anyway. That brings me to today – tapping away at this blog and trying to refresh it as best I can in anticipation of what Danielle is cooking up. We’ll see what happens. But I plan on enjoying the ride.
xox, g
Day 10
Lucy woke us up this morning at 4.51a.
The irony was that twice before we went to sleep we semi-joked about getting up at 5a to pack and head home. Clearly, Lucy not only listened but thought it was a terrific idea. After three nights of troubled sleep, issues with the heaters and the drinking water and two days of stress stress stress, we decided to call it.
We pulled out in the darkness, creeping slowly down the icy driveway and turning onto the main throughway. The sky was still blue-black and the moon hung low in the sky. We were tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. It had been a long … long weekend.
I often write that time is a funny thing. I think about it a lot. Perceptions and viewpoints and the slippery nature of it. Tonight it feels as though the past two days are decades away. We merged onto the turnpike from the northeast extension and I felt the tension drop from my shoulders. We felt lighter, our conversation bubbled, we laughed.
John slid the truck beside the curb across from our driveway and we fell out, setting to the task of unpacking. Lucy stretched her legs and nosed the grass. Four hours and a lifetime in that drive. Four hours and the slow unwinding of anger and frustration, miscommunication and disappointment.
Four hours and the sun cresting the horizon, the terrain changing from snow covered to green and brown. Four hours and we came back to ourselves after somehow crossing over into a twilight reality of people who look like us but don’t feel like us.
It was a long weekend. And now, we are home.
Day 9
I miss Instagram because some days don’t need words. They need pictures.
Pennsylvania roads. Snow. Reminding me of joy, of gratitude. When joy and gratitude seem to elude me.
Xox, g
and the hits just kept on coming
We did not camp this past weekend.
We had every intention of camping. We had our entire truck packed within an inch of its life filled to the brim with camping equipment and coolers and food and bedding and … everything.
And it all stayed safely packed for over 48 hours while we spent an enormous amount of time driving in a tropical storm and hanging out in a hotel room.
That’s life, right? That’s just how it goes sometimes.
For us and camping, it happens more often than not and John, in utter frustration, vowed to never commit to tent camping in Mansfield ever again. (I don’t think that will be the case … I think we will tent camp again. But probably not for a long, long time).
Friday was a test in patience that we both, at various moments, failed. Why drive four hours (theoretically — in good weather with no accidents or traffic) to a campsite you know you aren’t going to use? Because … family.
Why spend five times as much money to book a hotel (with a broken hot tub and swarming with children for some unknown reason)? Because … family.
So on Friday, as we spent the entire day driving and back-tracking and changing directions and being exhausted physically and mentally with the unending rain, we both intermittently lost our patience.
Luckily, not our senses of humor. At some points during the ride I laughed so hard I couldn’t breath. I wiped tears of mirth from the corners of my eyes. But at 8.45p, after arriving and unpacking only to have to repack everything and move rooms due to a broken bathroom door — I definitely wasn’t laughing. I was just so … achingly … tired.
We push through. That’s what we do as humans. We assign an end goal — we will get to HERE by THIS TIME and we will accomplish THIS along the way. It’s all arbitrary and then, it isn’t because social norms and standards of society dictate that we do the things to get to the places to satiate … the thing.
Anyway. I said to check back and I couldn’t leave any possible reader hanging in the balance, not knowing how our doomed camping trip turned out. It didn’t. And that’s just how life happens sometimes.
xox, g
downpour
Hubs and I have planned (and cancelled) many a camping trip. So this weekend, we decided, come hell or high water, we would camp.
It has come to hell and more specifically, high water. But we are loaded up and ready to go. My body is afraid. Very afraid. But I hope that in the end, it is a fun experience that we tell stories and laugh about for years to come.
We shall see. Check back on Monday for an update.
xox, g
for our love and loyalty
I stood in a field on Saturday, in the pouring rain, on a much colder September 2nd than is usual, and it was bliss.
I own an absurd amount of clothing for weather — and if you know me at all, I’m not an outdoorsy type.
But I am the oldest daughter of a Penn State alum, an alum myself, the sister of an alum, the first child of a still married couple who met in State College in the early days of 1973.
I don’t know what life is without Penn State football.
Until about seven years ago, our seats were EFU, row 64, seats 25, 27, 29 and 31. To be precise, when I was very little, it was just section EF, before they built out the suites and the upper deck of restrooms and concession stands. As an awkward child I remember the questionable bathrooms at the top of the stadium, rickety and insecure.
I have grown up attending PSU games. Tom Bill was a quarterback who played for the Pop Warner group (ahem, the Flemington Falcons) my brother and I belonged to in middle school (me, as a gangly adolescent with a triangle hair cut, braces and bright red and white wire-rimmed glasses). In 1994 we watched the best offense I’ve ever seen on the field at Penn State, led by Kerry Collins and Ki-Jana Carter. I tell anyone foolish enough to listen about my deep and unwavering love for Kerry Collins, and the magic of Freddie Scott’s one-handed catch against Iowa. I had student tickets in college for one season — long enough to know that Penn State for students is a completely different event than it had been for me my entire life. I drove to Florida in a rented van with people I no longer have any contact with to watch the 2006 Orange Bowl go into triple overtime. During the first game I took my husband to, we sat at night, in freezing and unrelenting rain, completely inappropriately dressed, until the bitter end. Lou had raised me that way.
Seven years ago my dad decided to make moves. He started counting his accumulated points with the Nittany Lion Club. He made a deal to buy my uncle’s tickets (so they were in his name). And when our greatest PSU football tragedy occurred in 2011, we moved our seats down over forty rows and closer to mid-field. Lou Simone was not turning his back on his alma mater. We did it over a few seasons, because of the rules of ticket ownership, and my dad determinedly made sure there were butts in our seats every game. He got himself a reserved parking spot (something that came in mighty handily when I could barely walk in 2014).
My husband — not a PSU alum — has been indoctrinated. My brother moved to Texas, only getting home for one game a season. But not John and I. We go as often as we can. We stand in cold, in rain, in snow, in 30mph winds.
This season began with a rout of Akron, and spending the day with John’s fraternity brothers drinking beer (or wine for me!) as the parking lots emptied. On Friday, after my brother’s arrival Thursday night, we will all head up again for PSU v. Pitt. We have made the crazy decision to get the tailgate catered (pulled pork and chicken sides and macaroni and cheese … oh my!). And no matter what happens, whether it rains, is cold, has gale force winds — we will all wear blue and white. We will sing the Alma Mater. I will cry (I always do). And we will enjoy our 2017 family PSU game.
a few days of magic
We checked the weather pretty consistently leading up to our trip to Iceland. The forecast was gloomily unwavering ~ 53 degree high with 70% chance of rain every day we were there. I wasn’t too concerned. I don’t like hot weather and rain doesn’t especially bother me (it more so bothers my naturally curly hair, but ce la vie when in Iceland, yes?).
So it was a super surprise that our last few days were filled with sunshine. The golden glow of the sun makes Iceland even more magical than it is in the grayness.
We arrived at six a.m. last Friday morning, and after getting our rental car (a cute little VW Polo with heated seats!) we made our way down route 41 from Keflavik to Reykjavik. It felt oddly surreal. To begin, our flight had been somewhat painful ~ neither of us had ever done a transatlantic discount flight, and let me tell you, Wow Airlines is discount. So we were tired. There had been several delays for various, increasingly absurd reasons, and then no pillows, no water or snacks … and a fellow passenger who insisted on keeping her window open, allowing bright sunlight to stream into the cabin the whole flight.
The thing about Iceland is that it reveals itself slowly. The mist and Scottish rain were in full force as we searched for our car in the parking lot. The country felt vast, as though emptiness stretched out in every direction. When we were finally ensconced in the car and we’d duly read the driving instructions (road signs for four-wheel drive only roads, how to navigate blind corners, flooded roadways, being mindful of the strong wind, etc) we set off, finding out that our GPS didn’t work, and doing it the old-fashioned way (y’know, with road signs and paper maps). The country-side was fascinating~ volcanic rock covered in vibrant green moss interspersed with clusters of bright purple flowers. Puffs of sulfuric smoke billowing from the ground ~ a different cloudy white than the mist.
We made it safely to Reykjavik, sprawling along the shores of the ocean. It didn’t feel like a city, but a country town filled with quaint buildings and shops. Our apartment was close to a main thoroughfare and after checking in at the office, we headed down for breakfast at a cafe recommended by a friend. It was surprisingly good ~ avocado on rye toast topped with arugula and bright, sunny side up eggs. After eating, I felt a little more like a human so we wandered into stores and explored the area, waiting to hear that the apartment was ready for our occupancy. Reykjavik is amazing ~ clean and filled with well dressed people, flowers blooming in overflowing pots on every lamppost, cobblestone streets, musicians on the corners and street art lining the narrow roadways. Our first day was filled with tiny discoveries of the country ~ clues as to the Icelandic culture and people. We did an early dinner at a small restaurant called “Old Iceland” (it was the best meal we had our whole trip, and we had some great meals). Cured salmon, plump sea scallops, and our first taste of Icelandic Fish Soup. We ventured up to the church at Reykjavik’s center after dinner. Following that, I was dead on my feet and looking forward (very much!) to sleep.
On Saturday, we did the Golden Circle. Iceland has a road that traverses the whole island called the Ring Road, and the Golden Circle is a small piece of that route. It includes Thingvellir National Park (the rift between tectonic plates), Geyser and Gulfoss. We spent the whole day on the Golden Circle. Everything was more beautiful than the last thing, and when you finally walk across the windswept moor and see the Gulfoss waterfall at the pinnacle of the trip ~ it takes the breath right out of your lungs. We walked right up to the side, rain coats zipped up and hoods on. It felt like true, pure, unadulterated magic.
For John’s birthday on Sunday, we booked time at the Blue Lagoon and the LAVA restaurant there. We arrived in the mist and rain of the morning ~ by far the coldest and rainiest day we were there. After navigating the gauntlet of the changing rooms, I met John on the other side, and the lagoon spread out before us, fading into dark cliffs and mist. We waded in, water warm as a perfect bath, and slowly floated out, stopping to get glasses of champagne at the lagoon bar. It was amazing, how blue the water was in the dark grayness and rain of the day. The juxtaposition of the water’s warmth and the rain’s slick coolness remains indescribably perfect. The water was opaque, so you couldn’t see your hands even an inch beneath the surface, and no matter how much time passed and how many more people arrived and drifted in, it never felt crowded or loud. It just felt blissfully peaceful. People covering their faces and arms with silica masks, floating into caves and underneath the man-made waterfall. We found perches in shallow water and just sat, talked and drank champagne. The epitome of decadence. Lunch was yummy, too. We did fish soup again (it is exquisite) and I had lamb, since Iceland is very proud of its lamb. It was tender and perfectly seasoned, served with buttery baby potatos and perfectly cooked vegetables. The restaurant did a special dessert for John’s birthday which was both beautiful and delicious.
We’d left Monday open, because we didn’t want to overbook ourselves (MS has taught us that). So when we finally pulled ourselves out of bed, we decided to drive south, toward waterfalls and black sand beaches. On a small quest to see the Iceland we’d come to know from “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” The Iceland we saw was better. Full of blinking sunlight and intermittent rain. Craggy cliffs drifting into the clouds, waterfalls dotting the mountainside. Volcanic rock softened by moss. It was the perfect last day, which ended with a walk behind a waterfall and sandwiches from a food truck. As we wound our way back into Reykjavik at nine p.m. the city had begun its celebration of the big Euro Cup win over England. Fireworks set off in the midnight sun, car horns intermittently beeping. The kindest and safest sports celebration I have ever witnessed in my life.
Tuesday morning was full of sunshine, not a cloud in the sky. The blueness was vibrant. We made our way back to Keflavik and enjoyed our last fish soup at the airport with Sauvignon Blanc and cured salmon over sliced hard-boiled eggs and arugula. It was the perfect end to a perfect trip.
Iceland gets into your consciousness, filling it with optimism, with peace and gentleness. I felt changed as we flew home across Greenland the wide Atlantic Ocean. I hope, as life reverts to the routine, I remember to hold the stillness, and peacefulness of Iceland in my heart and mind always. And I very much hope that our next visit isn’t too far in the future.
family
Last June, nearly my whole immediate family gathered in Belford Northumberland to remember my Granny, who had left us at the ripe old age of 93 the autumn before. The American contingent of the family, and my youngest cousin (who had recently relocated to Japan) were unable to be there for her funeral, so we planned something different.
Cancer fucked it up. Cancer seriously sucks.
So my brother, husband and I went over, and represented our little family. And in the heady rush of being surrounded by a lot of people who look a lot like us, we all committed to seeing each other more often than every six or seven years. Trips were planned and itinerary discussed.
But we are of a generation of big words and smaller follow through, so while the dream sounded amazing, it also sounded far away and slightly unlikely. And then… all of a sudden … it wasn’t. And on Wednesday night, my youngest cousin (who sometimes feels like what I would guess having a sister feels like) arrived in Philadelphia with her husband all the way from Tokyo. And Thursday morning dawned and my brother and his French lady-love flew into Baltimore. And today, as I sit on the local train all the way home to Thorndale, my aunt and cousin arrive from Scotland. And for a few brief days, we will be a big family, all together, looking shockingly alike, from many different cultures.
I never knew that not all families are like our family. The amount of emails bouncing from the U.K, Italy, Australia, the U.S. and very occasionally Japan would make your head spin. But that’s what makes it sort of cool. No matter how much distance exists, no matter how many wounds have been inflicted (mostly. some are never forgotten as I am patently aware) ~ we are each other’s family. And we not only love each other, but we like each other. No matter how much time lapses between visits, and hairstyles change and people get married and divorced, it feels like no time has passed at all.
I feel overwhelmingly full of love right now. And so happy to have my brother at home for a little, and my cousins here (for the first time ever!!) and my Mama to be surrounded by two of her sisters (the good ones, wink wink). I cannot wait to get off the train, and spend days just being part of this big, breathing thing called family.
old and new
Tonight the man and I, along with our trusty sidekick Lucy Lou, are heading over to watch the Ambler Symphony play at Hope Lodge. We have tried to go every year (it hasn’t always worked out … honeymoon, Mini Cooper purchase, blah blah blah) but we are ‘traditions’ kind of people, and this is a good one.
Sadly, it will also probably be our last Ambler Symphony at Hope Lodge. It will be a long drive from our new abode on a Wednesday night. But it’s been fun re-visiting all the things we love to do in this area, and really appreciating them, before moving on to new traditions and routines.
I’m excited to see what our new home and community bring into our lives. But we have thus far been informed and influenced by our current traditions, and this is one of my favorites. I dutifully got an abundant charcuterie board from the restaurant, and even though we will be drinking fizzy water this year instead of a beautiful summer wine (I think we took Charles and Charles rose the last time we went and it was lovely!) I know we will have a great time.
This crazy journey of life is –in the words of The Beatles — a long and winding road. And even though this section is reaching its conclusion, I have loved the steps we’ve walked together in our home, in our little town. I will always remember this place with so much love and fondness.
D5 Creation