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Archive for February, 2020

It’s a cold, snowy day here in Michigan. Schools are closed because the roads are treacherously icy, so I had the luxury of sleeping in, although I do have fifty author projects from 7th graders on Google Docs to grade. There are fifty more projects waiting for me back at school, but that’s for another day. I’m feeling nostalgic right now.

On days like this, I say a prayer for those who work outside. I didn’t always get “snow days” off, but I’ll take them. I remember what it was like to work outside: in the cold, the snow, ice storms, pouring rain, tornado warnings, scorching hot heat waves. I did that for several years in my twenties and early thirties. I loved working with the farm animals, especially the horses, and people who take care of animals don’t get snow days, or heat days, or any other weather days. Animals need to be fed, watered, their stalls cleaned out every day, no exceptions, and I took pride in being “tough enough” to do it, although there were some pretty miserable days. Those days taught me a lot about work ethic and about myself. I had some pretty awesome mentors who were incredibly patient with me.

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Doing winter chores, whether at the farm or the carriage barn, was always an adventure. I remember my bangs freezing in a solid block from the breath vapor rising out of the woolen scarf wound around my face when the temperature was -5°. I was terrified that they would just break off with a snap. That was also the winter I got a giant lump on my forehead from slipping on the icy platform and hitting my head on the frozen metal water pump we were trying to turn on, fingers and toes uncooperative and numb. Eyes and noses would run in a constant stream from the cold. If any of the cows were being milked at the time, we would fight over who got to do it because that meant putting your hands on something warm for a little while, although it sometimes meant getting hit in the head with a frozen manure tail. On those brutal days, it would take more than an hour for the shivering to stop once we got inside, even with several cups of coffee.

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There were the spring and summer mornings when the tornado sirens would begin to go off, angry black clouds swirling around in the sky, the animals getting panicky. I was still terrified of tornadoes then, and I tried, unsuccessfully, to not let it show. Afternoons when it poured rain, the mud/manure mixture squelched up into our boots, through our stockings, weighing down the hems of the skirts and petticoats or the overalls we wore with sludge. The stains would never quite come out. One spring, the cellar of the farmhouse flooded and I sank almost to my knees in the dirt floor. My work laundry was always done separately from everything else and often had to be rinsed out first.

There were god-awful summer days when the actual temperature would be over 100°, our long sleeves and random pieces of hay glued to us, sweat trickling down every crevice, and people would complain that we weren’t offering carriage rides. My face, forearms, and hands would be a deep tan, but the rest of me was a pasty white.

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Spring lambs

All of these things were great adventures, and I could go on and on for days about all of it. Working in those conditions could be rough, but we bonded with each other over it all and made for some fabulous memories. I wouldn’t trade any of those experiences for the world, and it makes me appreciate days like this much more.

I miss it, working outside, but I’ve developed Renaud’s Syndrome and I can’t work in the cold for long anymore. My heart goes out to those who are working outside on days like this: mail carriers, construction workers, first responders, and the ones who work with outdoor animals to make sure they’re as comfortable as they can be in this weather. They all have their own war stories to tell, I’m sure.

Thanks for reading mine.

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I am a restless person, prone to periods of longing for where I want my life to be in several ways. I’ve had a particular goal for a long time, moving to London, making my living as a writer, and though I try to be patient, the reality is that it will be several more years, at least, before I can move Marty and myself to London. Unless I win the Mega Millions, in which case, we’re in London the next day. Like, the very next day. Gone.

I worry, though, that once I achieve my dream, I will continue to be restless, wanting something else. Marty calls me a gypsy, like my father, applied in many ways. I would love to think that London and writing would keep me content forever, but I worry about fending off that feeling even what I get what I desire. Will I ever be happy where I am?

I think about my one of my sister-cousins (see earlier posts for reference) when she was a baby. She screamed all the time. She had to be moving: bounced, in a stroller, dancing around the room, whatever. Movement was the key. UNTIL… she could crawl. Once she could get around by herself, independently, she was a different baby. She wanted to be able to get herself around, that was all. That’s what I hope happens to me, I just get to where I’m supposed to be and I’ll be fine. I hate the idea of struggling my entire life.

My question to my readers is this: Is there something that you strove for for a long time and when you got it, you were finally satisfied or were you still restless? Tell me in the comments. You’re awesome, I want you to know that.

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I’m sitting in Boston Logan Airport, having gotten here in plenty of time for my flight, and so I thought I’d write a little about what I’ve done the past two days. It actually started back in November when I planned my trip. For those that don’t know, my husband and I are genealogy nerds. We’re totally into ancestry.com, dusty old papers, and everything that goes with it. My Great-Aunt Kay sparked my interest in our family genealogy when I was a teenager and I’ve been hooked ever since.

I’ve known about my Salem relatives for a while and we did visit Salem as a family (4 out of the 5 of us) in 2018, but I really wanted to go by myself and spend some time in libraries and in the town looking to see what else I could find out. We don’t have school this week and I had a Delta gift card burning a hole in my pocket, so I booked a tiny room at a hotel in the middle of town and very impatiently waited for the next two-and-a-half months to pass, as evidenced by my frequent Facebook posts.

I won’t give a running commentary about my trip, I know it is much more exciting to me than to others, but there really is a lot of cool stuff in Salem and in the surrounding areas. Such as:

  • Figuring out a good MBTA route. I LOVE putting routes together and when they work, it’s even better. To get to Salem, I took a plane to Boston, the commuter train to a bus depot in Revere, and then a bus into Salem proper. Today, I did the reverse to get back. Everything connected just the way it was supposed to and I’m just waiting on the plane. BTW, Delta is awesome.

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    Catching a train

  • The bus is a great place to get to know real people.
  • I love how the Hawthorne Hotel took my request for a not actively haunted room seriously, even if the room was a little haunted anyway. It was okay. We (the ghost and I) had an understanding. I was, however, on the floor where the haunted room was supposed to be but I never saw anything.
  • The Salem Public Library is so cool, especially the reference staff! Check it out if you are ever in town.Image may contain: night and outdoor
  • I had a psychic, who had no knowledge of me, tell me that I am supposed to write books and to quit screwing around and get to it. Feeling personally attacked, but she’s right. As soon as Menagerie is done.
  • I talked with some super-nice people. A lot of them had accents. Delightful.
  • Like any city, Salem has its delinquents. There are roving bands of foul-mouthed teenage skateboarders that you just need to avoid. No biggie.
  • The PEM Reading Room (aka The Phillips Library) is a fantastic resource.
  • The architecture. I love New England style houses and buildings and because I took the bus and commuter rail, I got to see a lot of them. True, some of the newer stuff there is that ugly, generic, cheap, box store look that we have here, but not in the downtown areas. They either keep the original buildings or build new to match the rest. I love the way that a lot of the old buildings are re-purposed and not just torn down. It looks and feels so much better.
  • If you go to Salem, you simply must try a little restaurant called Bella Verona. It’s very tiny, so they’re probably crowded in the summer, so call for a reservation. The food and service are wonderful Another great place is the Flying Saucer Pizza Company.

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    Bella Verona

  • I got to hear a steady stream of a one-sided conversation in Chinese in my ear for about 15 minutes straight this morning. You guessed it… on the bus.
  • The history! Omg, Salem is a treasure box of history and not just about the with trials. It’s maritime history is extensive, one of my own grandfathers was a sea captain there. Everywhere you go, there are buildings more than two hundred years old. I love it so much.
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    The Judge Corwin House, aka The Witch House

    Isn’t it funny how you connect with some places and not with others? There’s no question here: Salem is in my soul now. I plan to return many times.

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There are little, beautiful, things that make me smile.

Baby belly laughs. Best thing ever. Hands down.

My husband’s hand on my back at night as we go to sleep.

A random text or Snapchat from one of my boys.

Snuggling with one of my boys.

Messaging with my cousins.

An email or message from Sabrina.

Someone being kind.

A hug between friends.

A silly rehearsal moment

Petting friendly kitties.

Petting any animal.

Random sappy things said by students.

Sunburst through the clouds.

Our Christmas tree, still lit on February 12, by choice.

Dimes.

The thought of being on an airplane, going somewhere.

A lovely quote.

Pictures from days gone by.

Good feedback from a director.

Ocean waves.

A warm, soul-squeezing passage in a book.

A most satisfying piece of a plastic bat. (Only some of you will get this.)

Time to write.

Snow with no snowblower noises.

What makes you smile?

 

 

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I’ve been fending off a depression hole for the last several days. Work has a lot to do with it. When a “hole” is sneaking up on me, I’m usually able to distract myself during work by getting into my teaching, but I can’t this time. I have to fight to stay on task during the work day. (That’s a teaching term, “on task”.) I’ve been lucky enough to not fall completely in it, but it’s looming over my shoulder every minute.

End-of-show depression after a really great experience comes into play with this, too. I just finished one of my favorite show experiences ever and I’m in mourning at the moment.

Getting home and being with my family helps. Dinner with my husband helps. My husband is my endless optimist and also a teacher. He understands what I’m going through. Going to rehearsal also helps. I love rehearsing; I love the challenge and being on stage. I love this director, the actors, and producers I’m working with, so that’s my fun, healing, time. Friends help, including Facebook friends. I asked for cute and funny things yesterday after a particularly bad day and boy, did they deliver! Whether they sent images or private messages, it really hit me in the feels. If I mentioned you, thank you so much. Your thoughts and actions mean a lot to me.

Even with all of the good things, my depression is really hard to shake right now. I’m struggling with what to do and what I want out of my life right now. I need to be happy, or at least, content.

I’ll be in Salem, MA in two weeks, a place of several of my ancestors, to do some research and spend some quiet time by myself. (I will also be memorizing lines, so there’s that. Have you read The Glass Menagerie?) I’m looking forward to that. I’m looking forward to a week away from work and spending some quality time with my family. I’m looking forward to opening a new show in four weeks. I’m looking forward to not thinking about bad behavior and data and scores and parents and posting Content/Language Objectives. I need to meditate, clarify. Seriously.  These are goals.

Depression sucks. Be kind.

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