This weekend I spent some time working through my closet and dresser. Both are jammed full of items I was sure I didn’t use very often–life has changed a lot in the past few years and I’m a bit of a packrat, especially when it comes to clothing. So I went through both and set aside a stack to Freecycle and a stack to eBay, and was left, at the end of it, feeling very tired and pretty drained.
I think this is because going though all that clothing was a lot like going through pieces-parts of my life. It wasn’t until relatively recently (1996?) that I started to like clothing and figure out what worked for me, so going through clothing is like watching my life move before my eyes. Giving it away is a little bit like giving away pieces-parts.
Here’s what’s in someone else’s hands, or floating on the Interwebs, as we speak:
1. Peach Banana Republic handkerchief-hem dress:
I wore this dress exactly once and bought it something like eight years ago. Originally, I purchased it for a friend of mine’s 60th birthday (we were all asked to wear pink to underscore an inside joke) and ended up going with another outfit instead. I wore this instead to a friend of ours’ 30th birthday. This is the first time Jim and I had ever been to a party together where we both knew the person being celebrated. And this is the very first time I ever saw my girl Anna in something other than spandex or sweats. Obviously, me and Anna’s relationship has changed quite a bit since then, veering more towards the above than anything in spandex. 
2. Red Benetton suit
I’m not sure what possessed me to buy a suit in bright red, but it worked for me. It was definitely a power suit of sorts, even if I did look a little bit like a realtor–or Nancy Reagan, eurgh. If I still fit into this suit (when I bought it I was at my trimmest, a svelte 128 and neurotic), I’d perhaps dress it up with something other than the black tank top I usually wore it with, but back then, it was enough to be busy all the time, working, effectively, two jobs–one for a not-for-profit and the other for a career I wasn’t sure I wanted–and living a crazed social life. Life was fun, outrageous, and more than a little uncertain and inelegant. Life then was a lot like this suit.
3. “Jog and die” T-shirt
So. This is interesting, this one. This is probably the most recent acquisition to go (2006?). First of all, it shrank in the wash.
See? It is teeny tiny on me (I’m on the right). Second, the time I bought the shirt, I must have been feeling very aggressive: On the front of this tee it says, “Jog and die.” At the back hip it says “yes it hurts.” I like the sentiment of this tee, but the reality is, although I’ve been heard swearing profusely on race courses in the past, that was all for show, some kind of sick need to be heard exerting myself. (I bet I was a grunter in the gym, too.) I’m not an uber-aggressive athlete, and on the days that I do feel aggressive, I tend more to seethe quietly on the inside and be internally annoyed at either myself or competitors. I’ve found, for me, that swearing does help, but swearing quietly helps more. It’s what I’ve settled on, and I don’t need to shout about it as much as I used to. So–out it went.
4. Laundry by Shelli Segal LBD
Every girl needs a little black dress. Somehow, I settled on this one for my 25th birthday. It cost me an arm and a leg at the time, but I loved it, and it was by far the most daring–and, at the same time, classically shaped–item of clothing I owned. The thing is 32.5 inches from top of shoulder strap to end of hemline. 
There are no photos of me wearing this thing. Probably for the better.
5. Gap linen dress, ca. 1994
Sweetheart neckline, nice lichen-green color. I purchased this dress in Boston, I think, on my very first real job. (I guess by “real” I mean it was out of state and my mom didn’t get it for me.) I was an intern at the Atlantic Monthly and had free rein to purchase what I wanted to, since I was also working at a $5.75-an-hour job at Brookstone in Copley Center. It was a great summer. I had a terrific time, and came home with items like this and a long-distance boyfriend. It was a little bit big in the bust and a little short in the leg, and I only wore it twice. Also, I was a bit of a chunky monkey back then. Anyway, I think, after years of wearing boyish plaid or struggling to find something that really worked for me, I went a little girly-nuts in the opposite direction. (As I recall, I also came home with a pair of vegan Mary-Janes.) The last time I wore this dress was out on a picnic with friends with Lincoln Park after a trip to the zoo in 2007. The best thing about this dress? There’s enough material in the skirt that you can sit cross-legged and not expose the world to your undies. I will miss this dress when it goes. If it doesn’t go, well…I’ll probably wear it again.
6. Thomas Pink plaid shirt
Another item from the working days. Each of the four years I worked in a high-paying job in the city I went out and purchased two Thomas Pink shirts. I went for the trimmest fit, since I had by then figured out what my body shape was and liked it, and was just getting into colors. I favored narrow button plackets and deep or French cuffs. My first pair of cufflinks was based on a Frank Lloyd Wright design and made from sterling silver. They were like a talisman. The year I left my job, I lost them. Anyway, I was introduced to Pink by an ex-boyfriend, a guy whose parents were Old New York and who Knew About Such Things. I bought this when Pink still made their shirts in Great Britain (they’ve since moved their production to Myanmar, or summat), and so I don’t buy them any more. Anyhow. An era gone. I’m not sad to see this shirt go; I never much liked it, and a good friend of mine once asked if I was going to a hoe-down when I saw him for lunch in it. Sigh.
Tags: Anna, Banana Republic, clothes, eBay, Freecycle, Gap, Jim, Shelli Segal, Thomas Pink
Category Geekdom, Life |
Okay. I have been thinking about this post for a really long time. I’ve been speaking to audiences since I started ARFE, and now, as I’m working with ShelterBox, I speak at least once a week. And in January I gave one of the most important speeches of my life.
At first, this post was going to be very simple: I love public speaking! And then I was going to say a few words on why and all of that. But I let it roll around in my head a little bit more, and percolate (burble, burble) a bit longer, and then, on Tuesday evening, as Jim and I were watching The Biggest Loser, I had a brainfart: this is not just about public speaking, and why I love it. It is about all the things it can do for you, and how good it can make you feel.
I know, that sounds insane. Isn’t public speaking one of the most common phobias, or something like that? I’m going to tell you briefly why it shouldn’t be.
1. You are speaking about something you care about.
Even if you’re terrified of public speaking, the fact that you’re talking about something personally meaningful to you is a huge boost. Take advantage of it. If you aren’t speaking about something you feel invested in, get someone else to do it. Really.
2. You know your audience.
This sometimes has to be accomplished on the fly. If you walk into a room and it’s all stern-looking suits, make sure you speak their language. Likewise if it’s a bunch of college students who’ve just rolled out of bed.
Many speaking engagements are preceded by a meal of sorts, or at least some lag time. Get there early, and use the time wisely: Observe the people at the table; mingle; get to know the people in the room. Ask questions about the group. Engage from the first minute. And, for God’s sake, do your research. Take every advantage you can.
Learn to read body language. Reading people on the fly is immensely useful.
3. You are a role model while you are speaking.
At the very least, you are an expert on your topic. This is an incredibly powerful idea. For 45 minutes, or whatever, you are the end-all, be-all of the reason people are in the room. Use this knowledge!
4. You can only be yourself.
No one is asking you to be anyone else. Be casual. People came to see you. Surely, that’s worth something. Big public-speaking gaffes, like inappropriate jokes, or drinking so much prior to said speech that you’re woozy and slurring, happen because you’re nervous. Little public-speaking gaffes, like too many “ums” or “y’knows” happen because you’re nervous. Don’t be. It’s OK.
–
OK. So now back to the Biggest Loser. They do this thing on the show where, at some point during the season, they make it so that each contestant has an opportunity to become a role model. Last season they did it twice: once they made the contestants go round getting people to participate in a Biggest-Loser-led exercise class on the Washington Mall, and, later in the season, they had the contestants speak on what it’s like to find motivation for losing weight. They had them tell their own stories, in short.
And I think every contestant suddenly felt, after watching everyone applaud and give standing ovation after standing ovation, that they were worthy of something.
How precious is that?
- At a recent ShelterBox event at East Woods School
Tags: anxiety, East Woods school, happy, pep talk, public speaking, public speaking fears, ShelterBox, The Biggest Loser
Category Life, ShelterBox |
It was near fifty degrees out yesterday, so Jim and Sprocket and I went for a stroll at a nature preserve that I’ve been reading a lot about, but haven’t actually visited myself.
The Teatown Lake Reservation is in Ossining, New York. They are the hosts of Eaglefest, an annual event celebrating that most noble of carrion-eaters, and have 15 miles worth of hiking trails. They’ve been in our local news quite a bit, as they’re about to acquire another 72 acres of land as part of an open space initiative.
It was such a beautiful day out, bright sunshine everywhere, and, obviously, mud, as all of the snow that was piled up from the previous weekend melted. There were lots of people out everywhere–the overflow parking lot was full–and although we didn’t get to visit the nature center, we did have a really nice day.
I wore my slick-soled Blundstones, which proved to be a big mistake–the snow, which was wet and heavy, was also packed down in enough places where folks had walked earlier that day. Anyone who’s ever skied in the late afternooon knows what that means: mini-berms everywhere, some iced over, some mushy, some hidden under kicked up snow.
I had my twenty-pound pack on, too, all of which combined to make our 2.5-mile walk quite adventurous, at least insofar as my core, hamstrings, ankles, and knees went. Here are some photos.
I love this bridge, although I wasn’t able to capture the running water and the reflections it made on the rocks just above the brook. Jim crossed this bridge stomping at the crusty snowy bits and kicking them off, all in the guise of making it easier for future visitors to walk and not slip, but he inadvertently let loose his true intent by muttering, under his breath, “DESTRUCTOR JIMMY!” Sigh. Boys are so transparent.
I love these trail markers. They were everywhere. I was very tempted to pull them off and use them as coasters in my own home.
There’s apparently a permanent orienteering course at Teatown. Very cool. This marker says that if you turn 96 degrees from looking at the sign and walk 23 paces, you’ll find the next marker. Orienteering. The sport that proves that the universe makes sense, after all.
Why does everyone say “mossy green”? Personally, I prefer this color, which I am calling licheny green. Okay, so they’re two different colors. Still, this one is preferable to me.
Some deer had been before us. I did not take pictures of the deer poo. This was good enough evidence.
Spotted this way-cool underbelly of tree. Looks like a massive star anise. Good for a garnish on a massive cocktail.
Overlook Trail is very very short but very steep and slippery and sometimes treacherous. At some point I slid down on my rear. Stupid pack!
I liked this little wishbone in the snow. 
Sprocket was completely insane on the ride up there. Now he is lying flat on his side, moaning. He must be pretty pooped, too.
I hope this is not the last of our snow days yet, although it’s supposed to rain later this week, and I must confess that standing outside in nothing but shirt-sleeves was really nice this morning.
In May we will have been here a year. It hardly feels that way…!
Tags: happy, Jim, Ossining, Sprocket, Teatown Lake
Category art, Life, the weather, The Weekend, Training and General Outdoors Stuff |
…hilarity ensues.
I didn’t get to see this in person. Perhaps it’s just as well. A fellow SCBWI member posted the Q&A from her daughter’s Girl Scout troop’s interaction with Evanston Mayor Elizabeth Tisdahl. If I WERE there, I may have peed my pants laughing.
Christine Wolf’s Blog.
Tags: Christine Wolf, Elizabeth Tisdahl, girl scouts
Category Life |
What happens when a gifted artist says, “Hey! Wanna look at my vacation pictures?”
Tags: Carnet de Voyage, Craig Thompson, drawing, travel
Category art, Book reviews |
Almost exactly a week ago I began a long trip to Florida via Philadelphia. I met my friend Bill in Philly so we could catch a plane to Florida and ShelterBox USA’s winter workshop meeting. It was terrific to catch up with Bill and spend some quality time with him, and to see other friends I hadn’t seen in a long time, and meet some people I’ve been communicating with on the telephone or by e-mail.
Really, really cool stuff. Of course, today the work begins–I’m back to scheduling stuff and just waiting, waiting, to go on deployment while I steal a few moments here and there to devote to my other clients.
“Other clients”–ha! as if ShelterBox is a client! Still, I find the work they’ve set upon me interesting and a natural extension of the work I’d be doing anyway. However, now that I know I have some folks depending on some productive results, there’s an added extension of pressure. At the moment, I’m itching to deploy. It seems all of my friends are going! Agh. Nothing to do but move forward and wait for the call.
In the meantime, here’s some of what I saw in Florida.
Erica picked me up from the Winter Workshop. We got locked out of her car–it was still running!–and E’s brother Nick tried to make it right. Three older folks (we were in Florida, after all) stopped by to help, and two hours later, the locksmith showed up.
This bird seemed to think it was such a good sight that it stuck around to watch how we did.
We had lunch and then we went back to Erica’s place, where we walked Russell, Erica’s dog, and I met all of Erica’s various pets and friends:
There is no photo of either bunny, the cat, or the fish cos, respectively, I am a bad photographer; the cat and I had a raging fight and I have started to referring to it as North Korea, a la Erica’s boyfriend Kevin; and I did not want to scare the fishies with the flash on my camera.
Anyway, E and K went off to Tampa to celebrate Valentine’s Day and I proceeded to spend the rest of the night editing, watching the Olympics, and fighting with the cat.
I went to volunteer at the ShelterBox USA offices the next day. Good fun. Busy. Crazy.
The following day E and I went to the Ringling museum to check out the Norman Rockwell exhibit. It was way, way cool.
Cool, right?
And then I go to meet Lindy for lunch! Lindy! Lindy! Lindy from my ARFE life! Crazy! She’s started up her own company based around Nordic Walking…we had a really lovely day on Siesta Key, and I realized that I need sunglasses if I’m going to do this kind of thing. I mean, I have them, but I’ve been wearing my spectacles a lot, and I wanted to see everything crystal clear, so I went without on this bright day. What a moron. Needless to say, I went and ordered a pair of photochromic glasses then next morning.
We walked about five and a half miles along the incredible sands…they were beautiful. I was so grateful and happy to see Lindy. It’s not that I had despaired of ever seeing her again, but I didn’t know if we would stay relevant to each other after she left her job and I left ARFE. But personalities don’t change with jobs, and I always liked Lindy. Along the way we did this:
and saw a bunch of terns lined up like a runway:
and also discovered these things:
Lindy says they’re “seablobs.” Jim is informing me over my shoulder that they are actually jellyfish, and that he and his friends used to throw them at each other when he was growing up in Rhode Island. Yuck!
That night I had dinner with some ShelterBox USA board members and then drove home to hang out with Erica, read, watch some Olympics, and have a glass of wine.
Next morning, last day of my stay in FLA, Bev, another SRT, came and picked me up. We had lunch at Simon’s, a lovely little whole-food joint. I had some gorgeous haddock wrap thing with smoked gouda and a mango salsa. Yum.
it was an hour ride to the airport filled with terrific conversation, then, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
I had a great time. It was well worth the effort to go down there. If I hadn’t, I doubt I’d be either as energized or as overwhelmed by the work ahead. In the end, the added energy and sense of cohesion about the organization–and face time with key folks, friends, and admin alike–make it all worth it.
Tags: friends, happy, Jim, ShelterBox
Category art, Food, Life, ShelterBox, The Weekend |
New book review: Read it here.
Tags: adventure, E.L. Konigsberg, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, girls, Gloria Skurczynski, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Lost in the Devil's Desert, middle-grade, Norah McClintock, Scott O'Dell, taken, wilderness
Category Book reviews, Geekdom, Life, Things I Wrote |
I am ridiculously proud of him. Without getting too much into the gory details, we’ll just say that there were a number of obstacles in the new couple’s way. Some of them were curiously people-shaped.
There’s not much to say here, really. I’ll post what I said during my toast to the happy couple, as best I can remember it.
“Hi. I’m Yi Shun. I’m Bor’s sister. I write for a living: I tell stories. I’ve got a couple of good ones about Bor (some involving some embarrassing bits), but I’ll only limit myself to one tonight. We can talk about the embarrassing ones later.
“When I was nine or ten–that would have made Bor four or five–I considered myself a really cool kid, too cool to be seen with the likes of a little brother. So one day, I was out playing with the way-cool neighborhood kids, and Bor was tagging along, and I told him, in so many words, to Go Away. So he went, all tears and sniffling, and I went on playing with the cool neighborhood kids.
“Not five minutes later, they turned on me. We got into a huge fight, me on one side, them on the other, yelling across the street. I think they did something to my bicycle. Now, if you ever wondered what five-year-olds do when they’re not trying to play with their older sisters, I can tell you: They’re spying on their older sisters. I know this because, suddenly, from around the corner, came Bor.
“You have to picture Bor at age four or five. He was perfectly round. So from around the corner comes this perfectly round little kid, and he’s screaming, ‘HEY! Don’t pick on her! That’s my sister!!’
“That day, I knew. I knew what loyalty meant, and unconditional love. Some four, five-year-old taught me that.
“So when Bor met Laura, years later, and we met Laura, I was so pleased to find someone who not only was deserving of this level of loyalty, this brand of love, but someone who understood it, gave it back, reflected it onto her community, her friends, her family. I am proud to call Laura my sister. I mean, I always wanted one of those anyway.
“At this point in the wedding, someone usually cracks the old joke. They ask the bride to put her hand on the table, and the groom to put his hand over hers, and then they say something like, ‘Oh. Cherish this moment, because this is the last time the groom will have the upper hand.’ That’s funny and all, but it doesn’t work that way for Bor and Laura. They’ll go through life hand in hand, on equal footing, sharing all of their major decisions and as true partners. Congratulations, you two.”
Yeah. That’s about it. Great ceremony, great to see friends and family, great to be a part of the wedding party, great to see them get married and celebrate under a warm California sun.
Tags: happy, my brother, toasts
Category Life, The Weekend, Things I Wrote |
Perhaps I’ve seen one too many viewings of The Wizard of Oz. Or maybe I just have a penchant for bright things. But really, I think that my predilection towards red shoes can be explained thus: My mother was a right proper bitch when she was eight.
It goes something like this: When she was eight, my mother was in a class with a girl whose parents bought her the best of everything. It should be said here that while my grandfather was a gentleman landowner, he didn’t see the need to shower his children with all sorts of geegaws and flashy items. So my mother wore hand-me-downs, often, and my grandmother often had to fight to get my aunts and uncles new items of clothing.
This did not bode well for the girl across the aisle from my mother, although she didn’t know it yet. My mom loves pretty things. Lately it’s ruffles. In the 80s it was skinny jeans with zipped ankles (don’t I wish I still owned a pair!). Back then, it was red velvet shoes. The girl across the aisle had them.
My mother went home, dragging ‘cos she didn’t have a pair, and my grandmother asked what was wrong. “Red shoes,” moaned my mother, and proceeded to ask for a pair. Of course her father snorted. She had perfectly good shoes; why would she need red ones? Pretty wasn’t a good enough reason. In the end, she begged and pleaded and finally struck a bargain: if she reached the top of her class in all of her subjects, she would get a pair of red shoes.
Oh, joy! Mom jumped at the chance. She studied hard and got great grades and did indeed reach the top of her class. Her mother sent the kitchen maid to pick up a pair of red velvet shoes.
My mother paced in the courtyard. Back and forth, back and forth. She waited until she couldn’t take it anymore, and then she ran onto the long drive leading from our home to the street. She stood there until she could see the puffs of diesel smoke from the tailpipe of a moped that signaled the maid’s return from her shopping trip.
The maid smiled to see my mother so excited, and then handed over a paper bag. My mother tore it open and set her eyes upon a pair of cheap velvet shoes, colored like dried blood and stiff with sub-par fabric. Her eyes welled with tears. She turned away so the maid wouldn’t see.
“Aren’t they okay, little bear? Just what you wanted?” The maid was anxious to see that she’d done a good job.
“They’re okay,” said my mother, and sat on the ground to pull on her new shoes. She says she remembers what they felt like, crisp and rough against her feet.
The next day my mother wore her shoes to school. And the girl across the aisle had acquired a red velvet school bag to go with her red velvet shoes. My mother saw spots. She pulled the girl’s school bag off her desk, emptied it, and threw it on the floor and stomped on it.
Then she got sent home for the rest of the day.
Yesterday I went shopping with my mom. We got me a pair of red shoes. I am really partial to them.
My mom and I don’t always get along. Sometimes the sense of wistfulness is so great–the sense of wistfulness, I mean, that we aren’t ever really going to see eye-to-eye, I mean–that it’s like a fricking hole in my chest.
But we do, at least, share a love for fine things, the written word, great movies–and red shoes. To me they mean aspiration and joy; hope and envy. It’s pointless for me to try and explain really. But I’m glad I did. And I’m glad I bought these with my mom.
Tags: JP Tod, Mom, red shoes, shopping, Tod's
Category art, Life |
See? It is teeny tiny on me (I’m on the right). Second, the time I bought the shirt, I must have been feeling very aggressive: On the front of this tee it says, “Jog and die.” At the back hip it says “yes it hurts.” I like the sentiment of this tee, but the reality is, although I’ve been heard swearing profusely on race courses in the past, that was all for show, some kind of sick need to be heard exerting myself. (I bet I was a grunter in the gym, too.) I’m not an uber-aggressive athlete, and on the days that I do feel aggressive, I tend more to seethe quietly on the inside and be internally annoyed at either myself or competitors. I’ve found, for me, that swearing does help, but swearing quietly helps more. It’s what I’ve settled on, and I don’t need to shout about it as much as I used to. So–out it went.
There are no photos of me wearing this thing. Probably for the better.
Sweetheart neckline, nice lichen-green color. I purchased this dress in Boston, I think, on my very first real job. (I guess by “real” I mean it was out of state and my mom didn’t get it for me.) I was an intern at the Atlantic Monthly and had free rein to purchase what I wanted to, since I was also working at a $5.75-an-hour job at Brookstone in Copley Center. It was a great summer. I had a terrific time, and came home with items like this and a long-distance boyfriend. It was a little bit big in the bust and a little short in the leg, and I only wore it twice. Also, I was a bit of a chunky monkey back then. Anyway, I think, after years of wearing boyish plaid or struggling to find something that really worked for me, I went a little girly-nuts in the opposite direction. (As I recall, I also came home with a pair of vegan Mary-Janes.) The last time I wore this dress was out on a picnic with friends with Lincoln Park after a trip to the zoo in 2007. The best thing about this dress? There’s enough material in the skirt that you can sit cross-legged and not expose the world to your undies. I will miss this dress when it goes. If it doesn’t go, well…I’ll probably wear it again.
Another item from the working days. Each of the four years I worked in a high-paying job in the city I went out and purchased two Thomas Pink shirts. I went for the trimmest fit, since I had by then figured out what my body shape was and liked it, and was just getting into colors. I favored narrow button plackets and deep or French cuffs. My first pair of cufflinks was based on a Frank Lloyd Wright design and made from sterling silver. They were like a talisman. The year I left my job, I lost them. Anyway, I was introduced to Pink by an ex-boyfriend, a guy whose parents were Old New York and who Knew About Such Things. I bought this when Pink still made their shirts in Great Britain (they’ve since moved their production to Myanmar, or summat), and so I don’t buy them any more. Anyhow. An era gone. I’m not sad to see this shirt go; I never much liked it, and a good friend of mine once asked if I was going to a hoe-down when I saw him for lunch in it. Sigh.
