All posts by Rachel

About Rachel

Rachel V. Stankowski considered herself, among other things, a writer. Primarily due to the positive stigmas that accompanied the label, but also because it seemed to excuse some of her more major eccentricities, vanity included.

The Importance of Being Earnest… or whoever you are.

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Have you seen the movie The Importance of Being Earnest?  Colin Firth and Rupert Everett are in it.

That’s really all you need to know.

Colin Firth: Mr. Darcy, Mark Darcy, Jamie, King George, Harry… worth the watch all on his own.

Anyway, in the movie, two men (two British men) pretend to be named Ernest because, as the lovely little Cecily says:

“… it has always been a girlish dream of mine to love a man named Ernest.”

Can I ever relate!  Except it was the name Seth that really did it for me. Happily ever after. The end.

(Kidding of course, it was his singing! Car singing… that’s what really won me over!)

Anyway, both Jack and Algy pretend to be named Ernest– Ernest Worthing. Until their fiances get together, find out they’re both engaged to Mr. Ernest Worthing, the men have to come clean, and hilarity (musical hilarity, I might add!) ensues!  Admittedly, I am not done watching the movie (I couldn’t stay on the elliptical that long), but I plan to finish it tonight and I’m pretty sure I get the message:

BE YOURSELF.

And I can get behind that!

You see, my good friend Lee Chim went on a first date with a gentleman suitor this weekend and as she regaled us with the tales of the somewhat dorky awkwardness that the date entailed this morning, I couldn’t help but smile and smile and smile. (Oh, look! I’m smiling again!!) Because that’s who she is– to a T. Lee is a little bit dorky, a little bit awkward, but kind to the absolute center of her core. And she had FUN being herself: dorky, awkward, and kind.  A lot of fun. Enough fun to want to do it again. And so did he! Even though she opened the door for him (chivalry goes both ways, people! especially in the great white north!) and ended the evening with an awkward handshake-hug-pat-on-the-back combo– she was still the vibrant and lovely Lee, just being herself, the “pretty lady” that she is (he totally called her that– swoon!) and that was what I’m certain won him over.

Lee went on her date as Lee, not as Ernest. (See the connection I’m making here?) Pretending to be someone you’re not can be pretty funny in the movies, but seems like an awful lot of work without the possibility of much reward in real life.

I can’t be the only one who finds faking it exhausting, can I? And even more so, frustrating when it’s someone else putting on a front for me!

I love Lee for Lee (she’s seriously amazing you guys, and yes, I’m putting some extra compliments here at the end because I am banking on forgiveness in the morning! but I really do mean it… I cannot tell you how glad I am to have met her!! and to see her have fun on her date!!) and tonight I’ll find out if Cecily and Gwendolyn are willing to love their Ernest Worthings even if they go by Algy and Jack instead (don’t worry– it’s a romantic comedy, all signs point to yes). In my life, I’ve spent a lot of time pretending to be something I’m not. (I’d like to say trying rather than pretending, but I’m also trying to be honest with you here… so I’ll keep it real. Pretending it is.) And not once has it ever paid off.*

I have a sneaky feeling that (if you look for it love actually is all around… couldn’t help it after I started the sentence that way!) Lee would prefer to be loved for being her authentic self, dorkiness and all. That’s why I love her, to be sure! (Dorky is my love language, y’all.) And all the most important people in my life love me in the same way. Warts and all, as they say! (But seriously, I had a lot of warts on my left knee when I was growing up, it was unfortunate.)

 

*Ok, actually, there was that one time… when I pretended to molt at the dinner table for a while and begged for reptilian company to molt with, I did actually get an iguana for Christmas. That paid off pretty handsomely. But that was the only time, I swear.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: unless you’re trying to get your parents to buy you a lizard for Christmas, it’s probably best to just be yourself.

 

PS: Lee Chim is just a super clever nickname– got to protect the innocent and all that! Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is, well, because that’s the point… 😉  I love you, Lee Chim!! <3

A list of things that make me feel smug. Super smug.

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I had such a great start to my day today. It was 7 degrees below zero this morning and the windchill was something ridiculously below that. It was cool though, because I dressed warm with a hat and mittens and all that, but I still wasn’t exactly looking forward to the hike from my car to the building. But, I noticed when I parked that one of the security vehicles stopped in front of me (I pulled through– because it makes me feel smug to not have to reverse when I leave) and rolled down his window.

My initial reaction was “CRAP! Am I outside the lines or something?!” but that nice, nice man offered me a ride to the building instead! Seriously?! I was thrilled! I usually enjoy a nice walk to start my day and again in the evening, but this snot-freezing cold isn’t exactly pleasant. So instead, I climbed in, he cranked the heat, and we listened to Christmas tunes and chatted until he dropped me off right at the door. I was absolutely delighted by this small kindness!

But, I’ve got to admit, I was also feeling kind of smug when I stepped out of that car and walked right up the stairs and in the door, barely feeling the chill. And I thought to my self, “Good grief! The things that make me feel smug are so silly! I should make a list.” And this is that list.

Things That Make Me Feel Smug

  1. Living somewhere colder than you. I know, it’s ridiculous, right? I of course have absolutely no control over the weather and neither do you, and yet, when it’s colder here than it is there– I get smug. The high for today: -2 degrees. Smugness.
  2. Being able to reach that thing on the top shelf. I’m tall and I have got some seriously monkey-style arms. Before I instituted a ban on negative self-talk (for other people mostly, but sometimes they call me on it), I complained about it a lot. And yet, when there’s something up high that needs to be grabbed, I feel super smug when I’m the only one that can do it.
  3. Having a real Christmas tree. Real trees are messy and expensive and can be a major source of bother for allergy sufferers… and yet, having a real one makes me feel totally smug. Please don’t mistake smugness for judgement. This is about me, not you. But that tree, it gets me!
  4. When I hit 10,000 steps in a day. I wear an UP band every day (I’ve told you about that before) and those days when I hit my goal (and the goal everyone is supposed to have or something) I feel totally smug. Boom… step x 10,000! I rule!
  5. Using my passport when I travel domestically. Unnecessary? Oh yes. But it makes me feel so worldly. Like yeah, I have a passport, it’s really NBD. (Except the first time I tried to use my passport at BWI, the TSA guy was like, “Is this your first time using your passport?” I, naturally, beamed at him with a huge YES and started going on about my vacation. To which he responded, “You need to sign it.” Not so smug right then.)
  6. Having an out-of-state driver’s license. I was truly sad the day I had to get my new Wisconsin license because being carded was no longer so exciting. I loved buying a bottle of wine at Festival Foods and having the cashier ask me when I moved here and why. It was a fun little way to start a conversation. And it made me feel super smug– yeah, I did just move here from a big city, whatevs. I’m a Sconi through and through now, though. No more smugness… unless I get carded in California. That still makes me feel smuggy– just a little Sconi from a small town on vacation in SoCal 😉
  7. Buying a whole chicken. I was scared of roasting a whole chicken for a really long time. Until I did it once. It was actually crazy easy and oh so ridiculously delicious. I’ve loved doing it ever since. And I always feel so smug when I buy one. Look at me, buying this whole chicken like Julia Child, and yes, I am going to season and cook it myself. I’m even going to make stock out of the carcass. Go ahead, be impressed.

How about you? What makes you feel smug? I can’t be the only one.

I had a friend in college who always looked smug, my friend Aimee and I (yes, that Aimee) called him Smuggums– appropriate and a palindrome. Making up good nicknames makes me feel smug too… just ask my sister, Shabsky.

My Smile, My Choice

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I’ve been working on this post for kind of a while, but have been struggling at keeping it from turning into an angry rant. You see, I recently pinned a little saying on Pinterest that I think is so important and I have embraced it as something of a blog motto– a blotto.

Promote what you love instead of bashing what you hate.
{The Art of Simple}

Buuuuutttt… I kind of want to talk about something that SUPER bugs me. So what’s a girl to do? Flip it, that’s what!  I did it when I talked about the 23 things a while back. And I’m going to do it again here. Get ready for this masterpiece!

—

When I smile, my whole entire face kind of goes with it and it always has.  When I was in high school, a friend once said, “Can you even see when you smile?”  The answer: not always.  My eyes get tiny when my cheeks go up, I can’t help it.

Smiling Eyes
Eyes… So… Tiny…

On me, not smiling when I’m happy just doesn’t look natural (seriously, I have wedding pictures to prove it).

stankowski_wedd397
Not smiling on my wedding day? Practically impossible.

But smiling when I’m not happy?  Don’t make me go there.

My smile is mine to give away when I please and I firmly believe that I am under no obligation to anyone to provide a smile on command.  If I’m not feeling it, I don’t have to do it.  And when people tell me to “smile” it annoys the pants off of me.

Don’t tell me to do it– give me something worth smiling about!  Then we’ll talk.  Or maybe we won’t, maybe I’ll just beam at you and we’ll call it good.

Either way, I think that the smile command has roots in the good girl, the pretty girl, the happy, compliant, silent girl.  And all of that is probably the reason for my general disdain.

A while ago, one of my coworkers was patted on the head and asked to be good (not literally, of course, but that was definitely the point) because of my “bad” behavior in the past .  I can’t help but think that if I had I been a man and behaved the way I did or had my coworker been a man attending the meeting after me, the message would have been very different… or perhaps not been conveyed at all.  She didn’t need to be told to be good or that I had acted badly. Instead, my actions should have been viewed as a product of an unfortunate situation– one that, if not repeated, would give no reason for anyone else to behave similarly.

Again: change the situation if you want a different outcome, don’t just offer up a meaningless command.

Asking our girls to smile for us is, in my mind, akin to asking my coworker to be a good girl as an adult.  That’s not really ok.  Because why would you ever want someone to be disingenuous?

Little girls need to know that it’s ok to express their feelings, even if not verbally, then at least on their own dang face. If we note a frown, perhaps we should be asking why. From there, perhaps we could work together on a solution, or maybe just offer a little bit of support.* But what good does telling someone to smile do except to suggest that whatever has caused them not to smile is somehow invalid?

So I guess what I’m promoting (because I’m promoting, not bashing, remember?) is this: the right of women everywhere to express their emotions on their face. If they’re happy, smiles are welcome! If they’re not, no one has any right to expect it, let alone ask for it. So who cares if you have “b****y resting face” as the kids are calling it these days– your face is your face, and I’m sure it’s lovely regardless.

And as Roald Dahl says: If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.

Perhaps we need more good thoughts of which to think!

 

*Or you could try a really awesome joke. Here’s one of my favorites, my sister (the blood-related one, Sister Engineer) made this one up all by herself:

What did the robot say when I asked it to clean my room?

I don’t know, what?

No.

Good one, Ab. Pure gold 😉

Or if that doesn’t work– consider a little song, like this one my little brother made up (to the tune of You Are My Sunshine):

You are my dinosaur, my only dinosaur

You make me happy when skies are PURPLE

You’ll never know, dinosaur, how much I love you, dinosaur

So please don’t take my dinosaur away!

They both make me smile, anyway! (Literally smiling right now! And with good reason!)

The Spirits of Christmas (Tree) Past, Present, and Future

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First order of business: I made waffles for dinner tonight. Breakfast for dinner makes me ridiculously happy. Waffles anytime!

But we can talk more about waffles another time.

I realize that I’ve been belaboring my pup’s recent surgery and you’re probably tired of hearing about it… I only bring it up now because I want you to remember that Seth and I are basically confined to the house with her until she is healed up enough to have her stitches out. Too much risk of her moving around and popping something important if we’re not keeping a watchful eye on her. (Thank goodness Seth works from home– it has made this whole ordeal much, much easier than it would have been otherwise! I am grateful every day for his excellent job! And his boss is kind of cool, too…)

So because we were home bound with Curly this weekend my exceptionally generous sister-in-law, Sister Doctor, and her husband (on his birthday, no less!) went and picked out a Christmas tree for us! How awesome is that?!  They delivered a beautiful fresh cut Fraser Fir from Seth’s uncle’s tree farm on Sunday afternoon and Seth and I spent the evening setting it up and decorating as Curly looked on from her kennel.

Setting up that Christmas tree reminded me of so many things about Christmas past and made me think ahead to the many, many Christmas’s Seth, Curly, and I have in our collective future. And it was interesting to think about all of the holiday traditions Seth and I celebrated with our own families growing up and how we’ve merged those things into something completely unique for our own bitty nuclear family.

When I was little, we always had a beautiful gold and silver star with a bright white bulb at its center topping the tree and the first year Seth and I got a Christmas tree together I was certain that I wanted to find our own perfect star. But Seth’s family always topped their tree with an angel, and that’s what he preferred. I remember my mind being absolutely boggled at the thought of having an angel atop the tree– I’ve never liked the look of overly realistic angels. I mean… a star!! Personal preference, I suppose, but I was stuck. Until I found this angel:

Angel Topper

A plain, bright bulb for a head and a simple design. Much like the star I enjoyed growing up, while providing Seth with the angel he always wanted atop his tree. Perfect compromise. Isn’t it lovely???

Same with the lights. Seth’s family always had tiny ones, we always had big round bulbs. What to do, what to do? Compromise once again! We got some mid-size LEDs, just bigger than the minis Seth was used to and the same shape and colors as the bulbs I’ve always loved.

Together with the Christmas tree stand handmade by Seth’s grandpa (it’s a hand-welded sleigh!!), the tree skirt latch hooked by Seth’s mom (lovely little holly berries!), the mounds and mounds of tinsel inspired by my dad (seriously… LOVE tinsel!!), and the multitude of ornaments handpicked by Seth and I on special vacations and gifted to us throughout the years (new house, engagement, wedding, honeymoon in Hawaii (Mele Kalikimaka!), Seth learns to surf, Rachel learns to wakeboard…) we have our very own perfect tree.

Tree Details

I see it as a subtle reminder of our Christmases past, a beautiful symbol of this Christmas present, and a harbinger of Christmases yet to come… each one sparkling, pine-scented, and joy-filled.

Lit Tree

Celebrating my fat heart!

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Have you guys seen the movie Pitch Perfect?!  I’ve seen lots of pins on Pinterest with quotes and “The Cup Song” has come up several times on my Pandora (love it!), but I never actually watched the movie until just this morning.

You see, I’m pretty much confined to within 10 feet or so of my sweet puppy girl’s kennel unless she falls asleep (like really asleep) or she whimpers and whines, so I resigned to spending the morning watching movies on the couch, including several made-for-tv Christmas movies (so much cheesiness! so very good!) and Pitch Perfect.

Pitch Perfect was awesome for a lot of reasons, but I recently got into Rebel Wilson in the show Super Fun Night and I’m extra in love with her now that I’ve seen her as Fat Amy. Seriously, she calls herself Fat Amy so “twig b*****es like you don’t do it behind my back.” And she had so many other gems! But my favorite was at the end of the movie when she says to her friends:

Even though some of you are pretty thin, you all have fat hearts – and that’s what matters.

That line– I LOVE IT!  I rewound and rewound to hear it over and over and over again because it made me laugh so hard!  But it also touched me– right in my big fat heart! I love the way Fat Amy embraced it, she loved her life, she worked her killer bod, and she showed us that “fat” is not a dirty word. (Despite the nearly constant fat shaming we get exposed to in the media.) Just brilliant!

Have I mentioned before that weight is a pretty big issue for me? Oh right, I titled an entire post “Mind. Body. Prison.” and a search for “weight” pulls up 5 separate posts, which is a lot considering that I’ve only actually published a grand total of 64. (But dang, let’s reflect on that number for a minute– 64?!  Awesome! We should totally plan a party for 100!)

So, yeah, I’ve mentioned that weight is a big deal to me. For most of my life I have desired very strongly to lose it, and when I did, I desired to lose more. I’ve recently shifted my focus, though, and am really working toward body acceptance, no matter it’s size, instead. No matter my weight loss goals, my biggest desire was always to be comfortable in my own skin. Is there any reason that can’t happen in my current skin? No.

I am a healthy, happy person and that’s what my friends and family care about. They love me for my fat heart! And so do I, I suppose!

People come in all shapes and sizes, colors and creeds.  You may have bushy hair, big feet, an extraordinarily square jaw (just some examples… ahem…), but it really is what’s inside that counts. That is what your friends and family love you for and it’s the same reason you should love yourself.

And you should love yourself, friend. (You can trust me, I’m a doctor.)

 

PS: I’m really loving some of these normal-sized women that are starting to show up more and more often on tv and in the movies! I will forever support The Mindy Project, Mike & Molly, Super Fun Night, and Parks and Rec for that reason. (I watch too much tv!)

SANTAAAAA!! (or not… but Christmas, anyway)

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I like Thanksgiving– the food is great, seeing family is fun, and there’s always much to be thankful for.  But I’m one of those people who really loves Thanksgiving only because of what it means for the future.  To me, Thanksgiving simply means:

***********************CHRISTMAS IS COMING***********************

And Christmas is my absolute favorite time of year– FAVORITE!

The jingling! The jangling! The sparkling! The magic!!

A lot of people argue about the meaning of Christmas, whether it’s been overly commercialized, and how we spend too much time celebrating it.  I am not one of those people.  I don’t really care about any of that.

Because for me, during the Christmas season, my heart just SWELLS (end-of-the-movie-Grinch-style) and fills to the max, beating extra hard with joy as I see the beauty, the cheer, the peace, the comfort, the charity and generosity*, the grace, the family, the LOVE, and all the other beautiful and good things that the holidays bring.  That they epitomize, really.  And while I can’t comment as an expert on the holidays of the other major religions, I strongly suspect this to be the case surrounding Hanukkah and Kwanzaa as well. (Am I right?  Anyone?)

I absolutely adore putting up the tree, the scent of fresh pine filling my house as I hang up our ornaments, each one representing a beautiful memory.  I love that we get to go to Seth’s uncle’s tree farm to pick the tree out– grown and cared for by family for years.  I love the advent season, the spirit of expectation and of hope, peace, joy, and love as we light another candle each week.  (And I super love that my mother- and father-in-law just gave me a beautiful advent wreath as an early Christmas gift!! It’s gorgeous!!)  I love stringing the Christmas lights up on the house and remembering how year after year my dad and I struggled with new and more creative(ly dangerous) ways to get the lights all the way to the tippy top of our once-upon-a-time-Charlie-Brown-Christmas-tree that traveled with us all the way from Skandia to be planted in front of our house.  And I even love remembering the sound of the vacuum bulbs exploding when they hit the concrete because our latest and greatest plan didn’t quite pan out as expected. POP!

I love the scents (the cinnamon, the vanilla, the pine, the fresh cold snow), I love the sounds (the happy music and tinkling bells), I love the chill in the air (or the frigid snap of snot-freezing cold, as the case may be), and I love the giving and the receiving, the sharing of so much– gifts, food, love, time, whatever it is that we get to share this time of year.

Sometimes the hustle and bustle of reality threatens to overtake all the other good feelings I love to cultivate this time of year, but it’s completely in my power to prevent that and this year has felt nothing but good, despite the hardship.

My sweet puppy had to have a repeat knee surgery and she’s laid up for four full weeks, through Christmas. Nothing but kennel or potty with a leash and a sling. Seth and I are limited in how much we can be away from the house. But my sister-in-law agreed to pick me out a tree, and when I’m in the kitchen baking I know my husband is snuggling my pup and when I’m done it will be my turn. She is loved and she knows it and we’re making it work. Our house may be a bit messier, but it still smells like Christmas… and a little bit of poop. Did you know anesthesia can cause some severe diarrhea in dogs? Because it can. And it did. But don’t worry, mostly it just smells like Christmas now. (Thank goodness for the good people at Lysol, Clorox, and LG!!)

Our travel plans had to change on account of the surgery, but my sister and mom assured me that all that matters is getting to spend time together, not the day, and encouraged me and Seth to save vacation for a longer trip next year. So instead of a week long trip with our pup in tow, I’ll be making a quick jaunt over to celebrate Christmas the weekend before at my Grandma and Grandpa’s house. And even if I couldn’t, I guarantee you that every one of them would understand why. (But good news– I totally can!)

No matter the circumstances, the sights, sounds, smells, and most importantly, feelings of Christmas are everywhere this time of year– and, as I learned from The Muppet Christmas Carol, I should both honor Christmas and try to keep it all the year!

(Watching The Muppet Christmas Carol is my family’s Christmas Eve tradition.  We all packed together on the couch year after year, packing in another significant other or two as time went on, and watched that amazing movie– singing along with Kermit as Bob Cratchit and Miss Piggy as his wife, of course. My in-laws totally humor me by watching it now– that’s love! And that’s Christmas!!)

 

*Interested in learning more about generosity this holiday season? Check out my friend Chris Lema’s brilliant 30-day series on the subject. (Yes, I’m name dropping by qualifying that last sentence with “my friend,” but it’s true and I’m proud to get to say it.  I know him in real life, y’all!)  It’s a thing of beauty from the true master of generosity himself (trust me on this one, I have been the recipient of his generosity in so many ways it’s unbelievable).

 

When snowflakes fall…

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A rough couple of days around these parts.  My sweet puppy girl had surgery on her knee again today (her first knee surgery was back in October) and we’re in for another 4 weeks of recovery.  She’s a very high energy, snow loving puppy… so keeping her calm for four more weeks with snow on the ground is going to be a huge challenge.  And my heart breaks for the pain I know she’s going to have to endure all over again. I just feel so bummed out for her.

Snowy Pup

But while I was out shoveling four fresh inches of snow off our driveway, Frank Sinatra’s I Wish You Love kept running through my head:

I wish you shelter from the storm, a cozy fire to keep you warm,

But, most of all, when snowflakes fall, I wish you love.

My Curly girl is going to be bummed about all the snow and her inability to run, frolic, and burrow in it like she loves to do, but she will have all the love in the world, that’s for sure! Hopefully some snuggling, a sedative or two (this time around, we’re getting smart about this!), and a couple weeks of R&R will have Curly all fixed up.  And I suppose we can take her out for a snowy little snack every once in a while– the world is Curly’s snow cone!

Snowflakes

Honestly Kind

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I’ve been reading a lot lately… actually, let me rephrase that.  I’m reading a lot always and as I’ve mentioned before, sometimes themes just jump out at me.  Over and over and over again.  And when that happens, I have only once choice and that is to talk about it here, because they’ll never leave me alone until I do.

You may be asking yourself right now, is this a symptom of schizophrenia?  And I need to assure you that no, it is not.  I dabble in mental illness, of course, but schizophrenia is simply not my thing.  Therefore, the voices must be real…

The theme as of late has been honesty.  Truth.  Realness, actuality.  And I firmly believe that good people are attracted to truth like a moth to a flame.  And if this blog has taught me anything, it’s that every single time I make the hard choice to share a tough, personal truth, good people come a runnin’.  Every time.

Whether it’s ugly hair or an ongoing battle with depression— good people. Every. Single. Time.

But the more I thought about it, the more I thought about how this desire for truth and honesty isn’t necessarily universal. Because as much as I value honesty, I value kindness even more.  And I don’t think the two things are mutually exclusive. White lies told in the pursuit of kindness are a-o-k in my book (i.e. feel free to lie to spare my feelings, I’ll never hold it against you, and might even like you more for it).

There are definitely some people who pride themselves on their willingness to tell others the cold hard truth– unsolicited honesty to a fault.  But that’s really not the type of truth-telling I’m talking about here.  What I have recently come to find so much more important is not so much telling truths about others, because regardless of what I perceive about someone, I still can’t know everything, but rather, sharing the truth about myself.  As my fortune cookie said last week (I’m telling you– this theme has been everywhere!), “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting their battle too,” and the only battle you can really know for sure is the battle you are fighting yourself.

Fortune Cookie

To me, kindness in the context of honesty means sharing truths about yourself rather than your perception of others. (Think your friend’s husband is a total weirdo? Recognize how much she loves him and be happy that they’re happy! Think your own husband is a total weirdo? Use it for blog material! (kidding… love you, Sethy!) Don’t like your friend’s new hair cut? Maybe try complimenting her gorgeous smile instead! Don’t like your hair cut? Make jokes about it on the internet!) Easier said than done though, right? I struggle every day and every blog post (because it’s so much easier to rant about others than to examine hard truths about my self!), but I definitely feel the best when I  an make those two things work together.

Honesty. Kindness. Boom bam, baby!

Thanksgiving 2013

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Every Thanksgiving, my Aunt Susan writes a letter about the things she’s grateful for and sends it far and wide to family and friends.  It’s amazing every year, but this year it was really something special, and I think it captures both the tragedy and the beauty of a really important moment in the entire history of this family to which I am lucky enough to belong. Such an important moment that I asked if I could share it with all of you, and she agreed.

Thanksgiving 2013

Here’s the setup to my widest, highest, deepest gratitude this year: Dad falls into the Venice canal, nearly drowns, lands helplessly in a hospital where he and my mom cannot understand the language or culture. Despite the dire, frightening adventure the ensued, a crazy up and down, live maybe-die maybe, topsy-turvy mess of decision making, as easy to navigate as the streets and squares of Venice, itself, I find myself at Thanksgiving swimming in a pool of residual nightmare, grace, and gratitude. Gratitude?!? Yes, absolutely, gratitude!

In this morass of emotion, I know I am so fortunate to be working for Howard who didn’t question my assertion that I needed to hop on a plane and be gone for an ambiguous amount of time. And fortunate to be married to and loved by Ed who didn’t question any of my insane requests, like paying my parents’ bills from his own accounts, or my more reasonable needs for him to speak softly and calmly to me across the distance any time of day or night when I panicked about my own limitations. I’m fortunate to have family and friends who understand the power of a random, personal message of encouragement sent just to me in the midst of the crazy story. And fortunate that my mom is wise, capable, open, loving, and determined.

But listen, the truth is I am most fortunate that I got the opportunity to witness something profound.

I have always known that my mom and dad’s love for one another is fierce and just between them, all their own, impenetrable by us kids, unfathomable enough, really, that I gave up thinking about it in the pursuit of my own grown up life, no doubt as it should be… but in this Venice thing, I was given a ringside seat to examine it all. It’s a rare thing to be given the opportunity to stop the manic spin of life to contemplate the very essence of that which makes it worth living. So rare, in fact, that most of use never get the chance – and so I wish to share this picture with you. 

Imagine a scene of a stark white room, gleaming floors, and tubes and machines hooked up to my dad who the doctors say do not have the odds on his side. It’s my mother’s job to bring him home alive or in a box. These are the only two actors in the story, because all the rest of the players are living different lives which will not be so much altered by the outcome. Sure there’s help, and people who wish for the best outcome, but the job really belongs to Mom and Dad. Luckily, these two have one powerful thing that tipped the balance: Love.

What love looked like from my ringside seat, was a zillion small and unrelated things – love is showing up – is insisting to the doctors who cannot understand you that you will be standing by that bedside longer than the hour they wish to grant you. Love is knowing that even if you don’t feel like it, it’s important to look nice, to put on the lipstick and dress with care and add the touch of jewelry, “because John notices things like that and it matter to him.” Love is being prepared to let him go, if that’s his path, but to stand and hold his hand and will him to stay bound to the earth even if he doesn’t feel like it. Love is doing these things even when he doesn’t appear to know that you are there. Love is weighing out if it’s more important to show up with a fever and hide a ferocious cough, or to stay in the hotel and hope like hell you’ll get better soon – and then deciding your presence is the most important thing and that his need is greater than yours; that being there is more consequential than any germs you are bringing with you. Love is acting well beyond your comfort zone on his behalf and insisting, even when you’d like to curl up in a ball and wait for sanity to return to the planet you inhabit. It’s as simple as gelato and as complex as the emotional landscape of a 47 year marriage.

I stood with my parents for hours watching them communicate with their eyes. Even when they finally could use words, the real flow was eye to eye, heart to heart, tear to tear, touch to touch. They know each other. They trust each other. They understand that when one needs, the other will deliver. They know what it is to love and to be loved.

So on this Thanksgiving, for me, it’s quite simply this: I am filled with gratitude for the gift of witnessing my mother pull my dad back from the razor thin edge between life and death with love. The gift of the invitation to think of all the complicated and simple ways that love exists in the world I live in and just how much that matters.

Take a moment. Look around your Thanksgiving table and pay attention to the familiar visible and invisible proof that you are loved. That you belong. That every single action you take matters to someone. Give and accept love like life depends on it. And know that I send you an abundance of mine.

With an overfull heart,

Susan

I cry every single time I re-read these words.  I cannot even describe the way my heart felt this spring– when I heard the news that my grandpa had fallen into a canal, that he was in an Italian hospital, that he was in the ICU in an Italian hospital, that my grandma was alone in Italy while my grandpa lay unconscious in the ICU in an Italian hospital, unable to even breath on his own.  My heart was simply broken.  And my family was in crisis.  But my Aunt Susan, my amazing Aunt Susan, got on a plane, went to Italy, and was there.  She was support, she was a lifeline, she was a witness to something really amazing.

Her message serves to remind me of where I come from– I come from love, a big family bursting at the seams with love, founded on love, and constantly giving of love.  My grandfather’s ordeal is proof positive that love is truly the most powerful thing on this earth– more powerful than disease, more powerful than distance, more powerful than accident or injury.  Love never fails.

And for that, for this family, for this boundless, unending, powerful and beautiful love, I am eternally grateful.

Wishing you and yours a Happy Thanksgiving filled with love.

And maybe a slice or two of pie and some leftover turkey for sandwiches on Friday… because it is Thanksgiving, after all.

Sugar Cubes: Horses, Mindy Lahiri, and Me

Things I Learned on TV, , , , , , , ,

Remember when I ranted and raved about how awesome Mindy Kaling is and I told you to add The Mindy Project to your DVR?  Did you listen?  Are you watching it???  I hope so! Because if not, you’ve missed some seriously funny stuff.

And right now, I’d like… no… LOVE… to talk about this funny little scene right here:

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In this scene, Mindy is hanging out at Danny’s and it’s all very cute, but what I really need to bring your attention to is this:

MINDY IS EATING SUGAR CUBES STRAIGHT OUT OF THE BOX!

(See the little box, just next to Mindy’s left hip… that’s the sugar cubes!  I’d recognize that box anywhere!)

This scene!

This beautiful, validating scene!!

Seriously, who is watching me at my house?!  And how did this get on national television?! And why do I feel so insanely validated right now?!

We’ve discussed binge eating disorder before and it’s very serious and painful and shameful and all of that, of course… but sometimes, when I’m not sitting down in the bottom of that deep dark hole, it’s actually really flipping funny.  Because some of the stuff I have eaten when desperate for a binge (yes… this is why food issues parallel the language of addiction…) have been absolutely insane.  And I’m not going to lie to you right now, sugar cubes have been it for me before.

But last week, there it was on tv– a gorgeous actress, playing an awesome and lovable doctor on tv, eating sugar cubes straight out of the box.  I loved Mindy Kaling before, but this– a whole new level of devotion!

And now that I think about it, these brilliantly funny actresses who are really into food– love them all!  Tiny Fey as Liz Lemon in 30 Rock says one time that she’s headed home for a nooner… which is what she calls having pancakes for lunch.  Amy Poehler as Leslie Knope in Parks and Rec is a waffle fiend (oh snap, love me some waffles) and when Rebel Wilson as Kimmi in Super Fun Night sees that her man friend has ordered her fries to go along with the champagne, her reaction is priceless!  These are the women I can get behind and cheer for, because sometimes food is way more than just food– it can be a nooner, a top three life priority, a mood setter, or even just a little something crispy and sweet to take the edge off a long day.  I’m not advocating food abuse, of course, but I do like when it gets represented on tv in a normal way, which is kind of funny, kind of weird, and definitely multi-dimensional in this crazy thin-obsessed culture of ours where to admit you’d rather have the burger than the salad is not the cool thing to do.

I have sugar cubes in my house because they are necessary for real old fashions (i.e. made with bitters and cherries rather than a mix) and my husband is a big old fashion fan. I’ve always thought that they’d be really useful if a stray horse every showed up in our back yard and I needed to lure it to the deck to secure it (it could happen– there’s a lot of Amish around here).  Horses do love sugar cubes, right?  Why do I feel so sure about this?  I don’t know… but it turns out horses and I aren’t the only ones who need a sugar cube every now and again.  So does Mindy Kaling as Dr. Mindy Lahiri, and suddenly my secret shame doesn’t feel quite so shameful anymore.

That's a horse and buggy right across the street from my house-- never know when you might need a sugar cube!
That’s a horse and buggy right across the street from my house– never know when you might need a sugar cube!