Photographic Friday: Tool Academy

A few months back, when we were looking to buy the house (actually about 2 weeks pre-closing) I was on a mission. I wanted a tool box. Why? Well, because I didn't have one and also because I'm not too much of a girly-girl to swing a hammer. I do have tools. Granted, they have flower decals on them, but Aaron certainly doesn't steal them, and I do use them. (Mostly I use them as a threat to Aaron. Example: J: "Aaron, can you hang this picture for me?" A: "Sure, gimme a minute." Wouldn't you know, the minute I get into my tool box and rummage around for the hammer Aaron drops whatever he's doing and meets my demands. What's up with that?)

So we looked everywhere for a tool box for me. Everywhere; Home Depot, Lowe's, Ace Hardware, Wal-Mart and even Target. I couldn't find one that wasn't huge or hideous. Discouraged, I felt destined to keep my tools in a large Tupperware. Then one day I came home from work to find this tool box on my dresser. It was perfect- a little tattered, but the perfect size and it even looked like a tool box.

Now, this conversation happened several months ago so it's not fresh in my mind, but it went something like this:

J: "This is Perfect! Oh my God, I love it. Where did you find it?"

A: "In my parents basement."

J: "Well, is it okay that I have it? This is exactly what I was looking for. Are you sure they won't miss it?"

A: "No. It used to be mine."

J: "Oh, how cute. This was yours when you were little?"

A: "No, I made it."

J: "What do you mean you made it?"

A: "In metal shop. I made it."

J: "I can really have it? You made it?"

A: "Yep." (proudly) "It's for you."

16 days and counting. 16 days. Unbelievable.

Top Ten Tuesday

It has been a while folks. I'm sure you understand why I'm not posting regularly as of late-- BUT, in case you forgot, I'm getting married in 18 days. Count 'em, one eight; nine plus nine. Whoa!

Although we've been crazy-planning-fools, we still managed to get in some quality time together, and with family. So, drum roll please: Here are ten random photos of things we've done in the past few weeks to keep ourselves sane:

Bing waiting for us to come home after kayaking at camp. What a handsome obedient boy!

Non-psychedelic mushrooms on the island (a detour on our kayaking trip to explore nature.)

A quick trip to Portland to spend time with the family and celebrate my father and brother's birthdays!!!

Dressing up like adults and going to a restaurant with family (LOVE the Norman Rockwell photo in the back- LOL)

Spying on turtles

"Pilly-lads" (as I used to call them when I was little) while kayaking around our lake on an unseasonably warm September morning.

Reading the morning paper at camp (with coffee and a dog on your lap) = the best life ever...

Snuggling up with a puppy and sweatpants on a fall evening at camp- listening to the loons.

No explanation necessary, I'm sure.

Ponchos at the Tanglewood "gift shop" $30. Tickets to see Sheryl Crow, Yo-Yo Ma and James Taylor $50. Not feeling the frigid temperatures of a cold rainy night because you're buzzed... priceless....

September 11, 2009

Every year in honor of September 11, I have posted something meaningful about the day that changed America, or about where I was when it happened. This year, I am going to post something a little funny about the events that took place for me after September 11. **There is nothing funny about September 11th, the tradegy or the loss. But something that happened to me around that time, I think, deserves a chuckle.

I am sorry if what I post is offensive to anyone... actually wait, no I'm not- free speech (thank you, America)

So when September 11th took place, I was living in Orono, Maine. The day it happened I was actually in school (Husson University) and it was a Tuesday. That day I shared the same terror/horror/sorrow every other American, foreign and domestic, experienced. For weeks afterward I was so scared and so depressed; I would stay up for hours glued to the T.V.

The day after the tragedy I was laying on the couch watching TV when there was a knock at my door. I opened it up to find two Jehovah's Witness' standing before me. Feeling extremely vulnerable and missing "God" anyway, I let them in. They talked to me about Christ and how I needed to welcome Him back into my heart.

I'm Catholic. Well, sorta, still. A little bit. Or at least I want to be. I just haven't figured out my relationship with the Almighty, yet. Anyway, I digress. So, I let these people in. We talked, I felt a little better just being around their faith. I knew it wasn't for me, but it felt nice to see people so strong in their beliefs at a time when I felt so weak.

Then they started showing up everyday and calling me by my first name. I was too busy for this. I didn't have time for them everyday. I didn't want to partake. I was just feeling vulnerable on September 12. I was healing. I didn't need 5 books of faith and the Watchtower Magazine left between my doors everyday.

For weeks, they would come back and witness to me. I grew really tired of it. I told them on several occasions that I wasn't interested but I appreciated their care and concern and.... recruitment.

Finally one day, right around the time Anthrax was making news shortly after September 11th, the hand of Christ again knocked at my door.

Having enough, I opened the door. The two familiar faces were staring at me.

JW: Good Morning, Jessi
J: Hi. (abruptly)
JW: May we come in this morning?
J: (remembering the rules of every Sci-Fi book I've ever read: they can't come in unless you invite them in, right?) No, this is not a good time. I have to get going. (I was in my glasses and pajamas but contemplated leaving for the car in my current state of attire just to prove a point.)
JW: Well, when would be a good time?
J: Um, honestly, never.
JW: Jessi, we should really talk about that decision.
J: (Suddenly, I knew the answer) How do you feel about homosexuality?
JW: We believe marriage is between a man and a woman. Homosexuality is not the choice Christ intended.
J: (Laughing on the inside because, not only do I fully support same-sex marriage and relationships, I also vehemently deny the fact that homosexuality is a "choice." ) Well, then I have to tell you, I'm a lesbian.

They never returned.

Maybe next week I'll tell you about the Army recruiter that pestered me for weeks until, sadly, I had to inform him that I was an amputee.

Wednesday, Oui? You've Got a Friend.

My Mother and My Pepe. What a picture for me.

My second year participating in a "Molloy Tradition" occurred last weekend. We went to the Berkshires in Massachusetts to enjoy the Tanglewood Music Festival. I say "enjoy" but this year, given chilly weather and hard rain, it was a bit more difficult to "enjoy".

I'll get to the details of Tanglewood (and the trip itself) in another post but, today, I want to write about a James Taylor song. What I am about to say is something I had never verbalized before last weekend when I said something to Aaron, but I'm going to write it here. You may not understand or fully grasp what I'm about to write and that's okay. You don't have to. I get it, and that's why I want to write it.

Many years ago, probably 13 years ago or more, the James Taylor song, You've Got a Friend came on the radio. I was in the car going somewhere with my Dad and he said, off-handed to me, "Oh, this was your Mother's graduation song." We all had one; mine was 1999 by Prince. My Mother graduated high school June 16, 1971. Exactly 10 years later, to the day, I was born.

The next time the song came on the radio, knowing it was her graduation song, I really listened to the words. Most of you know the song; it's pretty simple, but to me, it was much more. I remember listening and imagining my Mom graduating high school, not knowing where her life would bring her, or that I would arrive exactly ten years later. I imagined her healthy, young and full of hope about the life ahead of her.

Every time I heard the song after that I would feel sad and nostalgic.

My Mom was a regular smoker for about 30 or so years, give or take -- give, I think. Because of this I worried about her-- a lot. Part of me even hated her a little bit. I felt with each drag from her "cancer-stick" she was robbing me of time with her- taking away from me my right to have a mother, my children's right to know their Meme. I was even a little jealous of my nephew because he had spent time with Meme. Would my kids ever know Meme Goose, or would they remember her from my stories? I really worried about her health.

She knew, I think, deep down inside that I worried. I even recall a moment at Christmas, which must have been about 10 years ago now, she gave me a professional photograph of her. If you know my Mom you know that she is by NO MEANS vain. She is not the type to get professional photos taken of her. The minute I opened the beautiful picture of my mother I just looked from her- to the photograph - back to her. I was confused. Why would she give me this? Granted, I loved it, but this was unlike my Mother. She must have known what I was thinking because she lightened the mood and I remember her saying "Don't worry, I'm not dying. I won a contest and that was the prize." Relief swept over me.

Whenever You've Got a Friend would come on the radio I would either have to change it, or face it and well up with tears. I would wonder if, in 15 years, when my mother was "gone" what would the song mean to me then? Would I think about her as she was, in the moment I was hearing the song, or would I remember her as I imagined; graduating high school, so full of hope, healthy and with her whole life ahead of her? It was impossible for me to not be emotional when I would hear the song.

More than a year ago I was up at camp. I swung by my Mom's house to pick something up, or visit-- I don't remember. I was there for a while and after a few hours I noticed my mother hadn't lit up. It sounds strange that I would notice this, but it was something I was always hyper-aware of. It was something that had been conditioned in me since I was small; when Mom lights up- go away. It was my natural reaction. I hate(d) smoking. That day, I thought for a moment, retracing the few hours that had passed, running over in my mind if I had seen her smoke since I had arrived. I knew Dan had quit, but I didn't think my Mom would have. Honestly, I thought they would kill her.

J: "Mom, you haven't smoked a cigarette in a few hours?"
M: "Oh, yeah, I quit a few weeks ago."

Just like that. That is typical "Mom." She'll do something and not tell anyone. I guess I'm a lot like that too. We never talked about it, really, after that point in time. She didn't tell anyone else and neither did I. Maybe I told my sister, or maybe she noticed. I don't remember.

There are no words to describe what it was like for me to hear those words. I couldn't believe it. I know it sounds dramatic but, honestly, there wasn't a birthday candle or a shooting star that ever escaped my wish; "please let my Mom have the strength to stop smoking." Every single time- that's exactly what I would wish.

At Tanglewood this year the theme was "James Taylor and Friends." Last weekend we saw James Taylor with friends: Yo-Yo Ma and Sheryl Crow. The weather was horrible, and everyone was cold and uncomfortable. All night I sat there- just waiting for it. I can't even remember the last time I heard the song. I knew it had to be coming. I was so scared everyone was going to throw in the towel and leave before I heard it. I wouldn't have blamed them; we were soaked to the bone, everything was wet, and it was so cold we could see our breath.

Then it happened. I heard the first few strings on his guitar. James Taylor was singing my Mother's song- live in concert. I waited to see what feelings would rush over me. Would I envision my Mother accepting her diploma with eyes full of hope? Would I be sad and nostalgic? Would I feel nothing at all? Oddly, instead, this time I thought of the past year of memories I have built with my mother. A year that, I feel, I grew closer to her and more appreciative of our relationship. For the first time, hearing her song, I was hopeful about my Mother's future.

Not a soul in the crowd of thousands, except for Aaron, knew what was going on for me at that moment it time. I don't even know as I write this, with tears flowing down my cheeks, if I am even coming close to translating the feelings I had Friday night. But as I sat there, soaked to the bone and shivering, I was so thankful for the rain because it masked the tears of relief and hope streaming down my cheeks.

I am taking back my Mother's song. From this point forward it will no longer torture me, but encourage me.

Top Ten Tuesday: Stress!

The top ten things I have been stressing about lately:

10. Summer being gone: I do love fall but that means my full-time maid has gone back to work- just kidding........... kinda..........
9. Worrying that I haven't expressed, and properly communicated, the amount of gratitude and appreciation I feel regarding the many things my friends and family have done to make my wedding and related celebrations so amazing.
8. My messy house (I haven't dusted in weeks.)
7. The pile of discharge summaries I need to do at work-- but keep putting off.
6. Filling out the last few pieces of paperwork I need to complete before I can be licensed: LCMHC, MLADC- which is a very very good thing!
5. Sending out the invites: I am too much of a perfectionist. I should have had someone do this for me, but that would involve delegating-- which we all know I am incapable of.
4. Feelings: This stress has brought out some feeling for me that I normally don't encounter. Luckily, I have an amazing support system- starting with Aaron!
3. My Pepe: everything about him.
2. Should I be booking the honeymoon now, for next July? Do I wait? Grrrrr.....
1. How I am going to squeeze myself into the dress of my dreams and feel somewhat presentable- LOL ;0)