Bouncing Back

The wiper was replaced at a reasonable cost, which is good. At worst, it was an act of vandalism. What can you do? I plan to just have it fixed and move on.

In more cheerful news, despite the fact that I haven't been able to exercise this week I've lost 8 lbs. since I've started my weight loss plan. The clothes that had grown too tight not only fit but in some instances are a little loose, depending on the cut. Best of all, I'm not feeling deprived of the foods I love. I'm becoming more adept at planning and adapting my daily menu to my taste.

Now how can I dwell on a random act of meanness when I have my own achievement to focus on and be proud of?

Aahhh, and now I've just seen Snow Patrol perform "Chasing Cars" on The Tonight Show, so I'm feeling completely blissed out now. Actually, Lightbody looked a little blissed out too...

Was It Necessary?

I left my meeting last night, hopped into my car and got it started. When the lights came on I noticed something odd off to my right. Upon closer inspection I realized that my passenger-side windshield wiper was bent up and twisted in such a manner that it can only have been done intentionally by someone. I'm trying to give this anonymous person the benefit of the doubt, trying to believe that somebody wanted to be funny and pulled my wiper blade away from the windshield to stand upright. Most wipers do this; mine don't. Perhaps this person broke it and panicked.

At any rate I got out of my car and bent the wiper blade back down, tucking it back as closely as I could to its usual position. My plan was to call today and make arrangements to have it replaced. But when I went out to my car and saw it by light of day, I also discovered that the windshield is cracked as well, a fact I missed in the dark due to its size and location. So now I have to replace the windshield as well as the wiper! The crack is in line with the wiper and it arcs, so the two are definitely tied together. I have to bring the car to the dealership first thing in the morning for the wiper, and make arrangements with the insurance company's glass replacement people to come out as soon as they can. I'm a little angry today as a result.

At least it was the passenger-side wiper. I tested them today and they work well enough for the driver's side to clear the windshield if it rains while I drive in the meantime.

I think I'll go watch Bones, and imagine that whichever corpse they're examining in this week's episode belongs to the person who did this to my car.

Not really.

I don't think.

We All Want A Brawny Man

Boredom is a terrible thing, but it can sometimes lead to great discoveries if you're either:

A) driven off the couch with an electric cattle prod

or, more likely...

B) ...you have a laptop with an internet connection handy.

Now, as often as I've felt that I would very much enjoy owning an electric cattle prod, I am not currently in possession of such a delightful item. Thankfully though I not only had the laptop with an internet connection, I also had the television on. A commercial prompted me to check out a certain website, and I now feel as though I would be doing my readers a grave disservice if I didn't share my find with you.

I can hear you now. You're thinking: Please, oh please dearest Aravis, don't keep us in suspense any longer! Tell us, oh Great One, what is this site of which you write?!

And if you weren't thinking this, then you should have been.

I am writing to you now about the incredible Brawny Academy website. Created by the makers of the fine paper towel product prominently on display throughout this show- Brawny- the Brawny Academy is an online reality show set in a cabin in the woods. For those of you not familiar, Brawny Man is a rugged outdoorsman so it's only fitting that his academy would have a theme as campy as his (intentionally) cheesy personality, which is a rather tongue-in-cheek portrait of The Perfect Man. He walks around chopping wood for the fire, waxing poetic about the sun rising over the mountains and how it reminds him of honey-golden hair as he sculpts a woman's figure out of wood with a chainsaw, or moderates a squabble between two loons- avian, not human- in disagreement about something. He gives keen fashion advice as well, though perhaps here it would be best if the men didn't choose to emulate his particular style.

Women were asked to nominate their husbands or boyfriends to participate, men who had such stellar qualities as insensitivity, thoughtlessness and sloppiness to name just a few. Eight men were chosen and sent into the woods to the Academy where Brawny Man teaches them how to be strong yet sensitive men through a series of challenges. There's no voting anyone off, but they do separate into two teams to compete in different tasks for rewards. Seeing burly men don high-heeled shoes to vacuum in the middle of the woods is not something you should miss. I think the most hysterical episode is the one in which Brawny Man teaches them to dance, but there are also some really moving scenes in later episodes as the men try to express how deeply they love the women in their lives.

The first episode is the setup and is ok, but the following episodes improve vastly. Each episode is only about 10-15 minutes long, and in the end We, The Viewers, get to vote on which camper is the Most Improved. I actually had trouble deciding which one I wanted to vote for because, despite their attitudes when they first arrived, most of them endeared themselves to me. I think Roland may be my favorite simply because of the depth of emotion he wound up showing, but Barclay (who gave his wife a bow and arrows for their wedding, during which he refused to dance even once) or Buck, the shy loner afraid of life but deeply in love with the girlfriend who is ready to leave him, are also close contenders in my book. For those of you wise enough to check out this short series, I'd be interested to hear who you think is Most Improved.

Just a brief note about the women who nominated the men: most of them were lovely and I thought that together with their male counterparts they made really wonderful couples. There were one or two, however, who I thought might have benefitted from a female version of this one week boot camp.

Amusing and ultimately pleasing stuff. I can't wait for the results to come in...

Tendresse

This carved wooden statue was the treasure I found in the back of a small shop at Gay Head. I fell in love with the smoothly flowing lines and the intimacy portrayed. It now has a home with us.

Another Sarah Update

First of all, thanks to all of you for your messages yesterday; the pain has lessened and I was able to get some sleep. My condition, therefore, is improving.

Speaking of pain and promise, I've finally received some news about my step-sister Sarah. When last we saw her she had gotten out of the homeless shelter and got a job, a car and a new apartment. Then a couple of weeks ago I learned that she had been fired- why? I don't know- and had gone to work for herself as a private housekeeper. That lasted a week. Next thing we know her phone has been disconnected and nobody can reach her. I hadn't heard anything new since before Randy and I left for vacation.

Yesterday, while helping Dad, he told me he had heard from Sarah. He didn't offer any details (I don't think he had any to offer, honestly) but told me that Sarah had decided to check herself into a rehab in Rhode Island for 6 weeks. She told Dad that she hadn't been drinking or using, a statement I sincerely doubt, but that things were really bad and she needed to go away. As cynical as I feel, still I see this as progress. Before, she didn't want to hear about rehabs, feeling that alcoholism isn't a disease but rather a matter of will power. She didn't think she needed to do any work on herself other than to put the bottle down. She knew everything, and she knew best.

In short, she's just like every other alkie I've ever known.

Not that I think everyone should go to rehab. I never did; I just started going to meetings, and kept going, learning, getting a sponsor and working the steps. It worked for me and has changed my life completely. But every person is different, and for Sarah it's my opinion that rehab is the best option given the person that she is. It doesn't matter what I think, though. All that matters is what she thinks. I hope that she honestly desires to get sober this time, that it's not just another con to get people off her back and garner sympathy. She'll do anything to get people to take care of her, and is a master manipulator. If she spent a tenth of that energy on taking care of herself, she'd be in pretty good shape! So if I seem a little heartless or cynical, I have reason. But I truly hope that this time she does get it in actuality. There are a lot of gifts in sobriety, and I want that for her. I know she misses her two little boys terribly- they live with their grandmother for now- and if she could get clean and sober she could be with them again. Talk about gifts! But that's never going to happen if she doesn't start taking care of herself. This is a good first step.

In the final analysis, it's all up to her. I wish her well.

Must Rest

Between helping Dad move- which entailed running up and down stairs endlessly on Friday and again today- and the emotional drain of yesterday, I'm done in. I've hurt both wrists and thrown out my knee again. Thrown out. Hm. That's what I'd like to do to it right now. All of this has left me exhausted and feeling a little sick, so I'm taking tonight off. Catch up with you all later...

Finding My Way Home

Have you ever lost touch with someone while you had some unresolved issues, some uneasiness between you? How about a whole, large group of people who mean a good deal to you, but due to insecurities and uncertainties, you've let relations slide for a long time until you've almost lost the ability to mend the breach?

The Riordan family is that group for me.

To explain, I have to go back to the months before I was born. Grampy and Nana Riordan and their many children surrounded my mother with love when she was pregnant with me and engaged to my first step-father, John. The Riordans hated him because he was married to their daughter Kathy until she died of a brain hemorrhage. They had never liked John and, having once witnessed him abusing Kathy, he was never allowed on their property again. John and Kathy had a son before she died, a little boy named Tommy. It was Tommy who introduced my mother to his father when he knocked on her apartment door. He was lost in the building and couldn't find his way, so Mom helped him find his father. Kathy had been pregnant with their second child when she died along with the unborn baby, and here was my mother, single and pregnant with me. It was a match made by Freud. They married and Tom and I were often shipped to the Riordans because John didn't like having us around. The Riordans loved us both, treating me as their own family member. When- not surprisingly- things eventually went south between Mom and John, they pitched in to help Mom get on her feet, and they often took care of me while Mom worked and went to school to become a nurse. Dad (step-father 2 and so far, last)came into the picture around this time, though he and Mom didn't marry until I was 8. Then we moved to Texas. Tom and I always considered each other as brother and sister, and the Riordans have remained my family even though in the legal sense of the word we aren't related. We kept in touch over the years and I would occasionally stay with them for a week or two in the summer while I was up north visiting. Naturally, though, we drifted a little. Until I was a sophomore in college.

Two of my aunts shared my late Grampy and Nana's old house and took me in while I went to school nearby. They were very good to me, but my drinking had begun to pick up momentum and I know I was difficult for them. To make matters worse, Tommy lived in the house next door and though we love each other we are polar opposites, especially when it comes to politics. I was a liberal theatre major, he was a marine who had his buddies spy on me at college to report back to him about my activities. We clashed often. In fact, we disowned each other after one of our fights and didn't make it up before he was sent to Iraq during the Gulf War. We wrote to each other to fix things up, and I was terrified he would die before we could give each other a hug, that symbol of forgiveness. So you see, we love each other but don't always get on so well, both of us being just the teensiest bit opinionated and verbal about those opinions.

When I left college and moved out, I had little contact with any of them as my drinking and self-absorption progressed. Mom became better than I at keeping in touch, a first for us as she was so busy with babies Andrew and Ashley. Sometimes a year or two would go by without calling or visiting. Then, in January of 1997, there was a tragedy. Tom's best friend from his earliest childhood was killed in a snowmobile accident. They were like brothers and were inseparable. Tom was completely devastated. I attended the funeral, and the party after. With Irish Catholic families like the Riordans, you get together afterwards to celebrate the life of the one you've lost. And usually, get pretty drunk. At least, that was my experience with them. I proceeded to do just that and made that day all about me in a loud and obnoxious way until Tom had to physically remove me from his house and drop me off at my aunts' next door while I hurled abuse at his head.

I squirm when I think of how ugly I was, even now. I got sober a month later.

Though I've tried to make amends to Tom, he's never wanted to talk about it. He says to forget it, that it's over. Yet I can't help but feel that it isn't. Maybe that's just me; I don't know. But the distance between us and the rest of the family has increased. Mom has remained in touch, but I haven't. If it weren't for Tom's very sweet wife Julie, I probably wouldn't have had any contact with them for the past several years. I've watched their children grow up in the Christmas photo cards she's sent us every year. When my younger brother Andrew ran afoul of the law in 2001 and had to go to prison, Tom came through for our family. He works as a corrections officer in one of the CT. prisons and he called Andrew's prison to put in a good word for him. He's a great guy. But again, though we tried a couple of times since then we just haven't connected.

Then a few weeks ago Randy and I received an invitation to another one of my aunt's 25th wedding anniversary. Randy couldn't go so it was just Mom and I. I was nervous, having not seen most of them since I got sober. I was also leery of Tom. I shouldn't have worried. Everyone was so warm and welcoming, so glad we were able to make it. Tom was reserved but then, that's just his personality to begin with. He's uncomfortable showing emotion. You have to read between the lines, and in doing so I realized tonight that though there may yet be some tension, he truly does want to reconnect. They all do. We exchanged email addresses with those family members who have one and made some initial plans to gather at the end of October. We're all determined to spend more time together now that our lives are calming down. I don't think it's always going to be easy- Tom and I are still complete opposites and vocal about it, though perhaps we're a little mellower with age- but I believe he has really missed me too. We'll see how it plays out, but for now when it comes to Tom and the rest of the Riordans, I no longer feel like an outcast anymore, and that's pretty special.

A Golden Moment

What is it in us that makes us overcomplicate our lives? If- as we so often say- we truly want to live our lives in peace, why do we become so restless that we must look for something more? Why the need to stir things up, clutter our lives, or- in extreme circumstances- even seek conflict?

I look at this, and I want simple. I want peace.

I want it preserved.

Until I don't.

Watching Over

Wouldn't it be incredible to live in a lighthouse? I believe that in my case this desire can be traced back to watching Walt Disney's Pete's Dragon as a child. Sure, the quarters might be a little cramped at times, but I don't need much room and the view would be amazing! Not to mention the fact that there wouldn't be a lot of windows to let in that annoying morning light, and the lantern would be way over my head and focused outward, so that its light wouldn't bother me. It would be diffused in the day and I'm awake at night anyway.

Then again, Ive often thought a nice, sandy hobbit-hole would be cool, too.

Looking Inward

I'm feeling introspective tonight, pondering things such as boundaries, spirituality and peanut M&M's. While I'm off thinking my deep thoughts, here's an image for you to contemplate. I've added my vacation photos to my Flickr account. It may be easier for some of you to access. Now I'm off.

Ommm....

The Only Way To Travel

A vacation is meant to be an escape, and that's what this was. I'm not the type to travel only to sit by a pool, though. No, if I'm away from home I'm going to explore.

We rented bikes our first day there. To fully appreciate the enormity of that statement you must realize that neither Randy nor I have ridden bicycles in at least fifteen years. This might account for some of the raised eyebrows and skeptical glances we received from family and friends when we shared our plan to ride around the island. Doubters notwithstanding, we followed through. Perhaps because the height of tourist season had passed we received an excellent deal (and wonderful service) at Edgartown Bicycle Rentals. Two bikes, helmets, removable side-riding baskets, a lock and a bike rack for the car came to $160 for the week. Pleased with ourselves we returned home and decided to take a ride immediately.

We were near Katama Beach and I decided to head in that direction. There are bicycle trails all over the island making it both easier and safer to travel this way. Most of the trails are fairly flat, which is a good thing when you haven't ridden for awhile. My wrist often hurt and I would try to ride with one hand; I used to ride with no hands when I was younger so this should have been a cinch. It wasn't. The bike was so responsive that as soon as I dropped my left hand, that little moment of instability would send the bike weaving out of control. Eventually I got the hang of it, however. The way to the beach was literally a breeze. The weather was beautiful for most of our stay, with temperatures in the '70's and a slight breeze blowing, cooling us down as we rode. It all went well, but I did find myself wondering about all of those red-faced people we saw riding in the opposite direction. "That one's older." Or "Wow, he must really be out of shape!" I thought smugly to myself. Pleased and feeling more confident about my own obviously superior stamina, we arrived at the beach. The road loops around here; if you turn right, ride down a long straight stretch and then turn right again, the road leads back to the one we were staying on. Rather than turn around and go back the way we came, therefore, we decided to follow this loop. On our left were the sand dunes and beach. To our right were some scrub, a few houses and just beyond them, an airfield where one could pay for rides in gliders or biplanes. It's all open space for the runway, and is starkly beautiful. We turned right down the final stretch, and that's when I literally had the smugness knocked out of me as I met my Great Nemesis:

The Headwind.

Legs pumping, thighs burning, gasping for air as tears streamed down my face caused either by the wind or despair- I'm still not sure which- I plowed on into the blasted thing out of sheer determination or stubborness. Even so I repeatedly had to stop, catch my breath and take some sips of water before I could go on. I believe I rested three times in a quarter mile and in retrospect I admired those people at whom I had scoffed earlier. They were red-faced but they were able to keep riding despite the cost. I aspired to be those wonderfully strong and brave people! Finally, at long last, the road curved away and the wind was a gentle breeze once more. But never was there a person happier to get home and off of her bicylce than I was that day! I could barely stand and I went straight for the bottle of ibuprofen I had brought with us in order to stave off the worst of the muscle aches to come. It worked, leading me to a depth of gratitude that is rarely felt this side of a life-threatening event.

Randy and I clocked the distance in the car later that night and discovered that the route was 5 miles, about twice as long as we had thought when we set out on the ride. Even so, I maintain that it was more like 10 miles with that headwind. For the rest of our stay on the island I rode happily along, exploring side roads with my husband for hours. We even rode halfway across the length of the island and back one day! However the moment we turned down a road with any hint of a headwind, I immediately turned my bike around and refused to go any further. I firmly believe that torture- even when self-inflicted- is a crime against humanity and must be stopped.

All in all we rode about 50 miles in our estimation over the course of the week. We enjoyed it so much that we are about to purchase bikes of our own. Of course, we don't have bike paths and instead of headwinds we have hills, but I think we're up to the challenge.

This image of sand dunes silhouetted against the sky was not photoshopped in any way except to resize and add my usual border. These are the actual colors.

Dancing With The Tides

I think I must have been a sailor in a past life. When I'm not near the sea I don't think about it too much, but once I inhale the salty air, I'm lost. I don't know that there are sirens singing men to their doom- I haven't seen any lately- but the ocean draws me in. The sound of the waves rhythmically crashing on the shore, the cry of the gulls or the incredibly swift terns racing the tides as they try to forage for food beneath the sand before the water rolls in to pull them out, enchant me. I love sitting in the sand and burying my toes, feeling the sting of sand, salt, sun and wind on my face as I look to the horizon, hypnotized by my surroundings. I play games with the ocean, daring it to come and get me. I would sit on the beach at night as the tides rolled in, watching as the water crept closer and closer to where I sat, wondering if this was the time it would pool around my feet and ankles, cold and comforting all at once. Other nights I waded in a short distance as waves almost as big as myself gathered force and came at me as a wall of water. I knew I was safe, that I was far enough away that it would crest and collapse without posing a real threat. Yet there was the adrenaline-fueled excitement, that hint of fear that maybe this time it wouldn't fold in upon itself farther out, but rather crash down on me, grind me into the sand and drag me out to sea with it. It was as if the water challenged me, or perhaps I challenged myself, because often when it failed to capture me I found myself moving out a little further towards it without being fully aware of what I was doing. Then the wave would break and the foam would come rushing in and, so high were the waves that created it, the foam would wash over my thighs and up to my hips, bracingly cold as it moved inland, forcing me to retreat a few steps before washing back to the sea, inviting me to join with it. It was an elemental dance and the tide was my partner. I held my own, keeping time as much by sound as by sight. I would stay until after dark when I could no longer see that the wave was gathering before me; intuition was my guide. There was the merest hint of moonlight undulating across the surface of the wave just before it crested and dove headlong onto the beach, allowing me scant time to move before the ocean tried to claim me. Randy was my sentinel, sitting back on the beach and keeping watch, sometimes holding his breath as his wife embraced this aspect of nature, and of herself.

My nightly visits remain my favorite memories.

A tamer- but still beautiful- landscape to be found on Martha's Vineyard. To see my complete photo album, including some really gorgeous ocean views, click here or check the listing under My Photos on the left-hand menu bar. There are brief descriptions under most of the photos. Enjoy!

The Beach Bum's Back

I'm tired, I'm a little sunburned around the edges, I'm happy and...

I'm home!

I've taken way too many pictures and have a lot to sort through. I've also got to catch up with everyone's blogs and I'll do that over the next couple of days. I missed you, but I kept a journal while there. Look for more from me tomorrow; tonight I've got to rest!

Good to see you all again.

Unfurled

Have a lovely week!

A Reminder

I haven't mentioned it in a long time so I thought I should bring up the fact that I leave early Sunday morning for a week in Martha's Vineyard. After some mental debate, I've decided to go unplugged. This means I'll blog tomorrow and then I'm off to the island until the following weekend, the 17th I think. I'm sure you'll muddle along without me somehow in the interim. So look for a post from me tomorrow (if you like) and then I'm on vacation, and to some extent you are too. It'll mean one less daily blog for you to read for a bit. I'll have lots of pictures to share when I come back, though!

Here's a brief update on another front as well: as suspected I didn't lose too much weight (in pounds) my first week. I'm not really worried about that. I measured myself when I began, and then again yesterday. So far I've lost about 1/4" all around, so that's good.

Hasta manana, mis compadres! (forgive lack of accent marks, you know what I mean)

Not Halloween Yet

I drove home tonight past fields, through forest and thick fog wisping and wending its way across the road. A full moon lit up the night sky and I thought:

The only thing missing is a werewolf.

Book And Brothers

I've just finished reading The Ragwitch, by Garth Nix. I could tell fairlly quickly that it was an earlier work that had been re-released. At times it was easily interchangeable with almost any other fantasy novel. When Paul chases The Ragwitch into a magical, alternate realm in order to save his sister, you get the usual Real Person Bumbling In Strange Realm sort of thing. It's formulaic. That said, there are shades of Nix to come as seen in The Ragwitch and her minions. As the characters developed, some of them gained depth and interest. Others remained sadly two-dimensional with plot lines abruptly ended. Speaking of abrupt endings, the conclusion of the novel itself seemed a bit sudden. Ultimately this novel was entertaining enough, but not at all one of his best. I much prefer his Abhorsen trilogy and his Keys To The Kingdom series.

Here are a couple of photos of my brother (who I'm sure would rescue me from magical realms if he thought there'd be a big meal in it for him), taken by his friend Tom Schindler. They are both into photography as well.

A Bright Spot

This rainy day needed a little sunshine, so I found it where I could. These were planted by Randy's grandmother and still flourish decades later, most likely due to my neglect of them.

Untitled

Crocodile Hunter, Gone

Steve Irwin dies at age 44

Wow. I mean, you would kind of expect him to die rather like this. Still, I'm a bit stunned. At least he died doing what he loved.

Now I'm Cooking!

I made a tasty jambalaya tonight. Pictured below you'll see an illustration of my eyes while chopping the onion...

It's Good To Be Human

You know, it's easy to look at our pets dozing and think "Wow! They really have the life!" When those moments of envy hit, remember this:

At least you don't have to chew your toenails or lick your butt to groom yourself.

They Call Me Mellow Yellow

I've been meditating by candlelight, listening to classical guitar music played against the backdrop of sounds from a forest as I did my quigong. I am so completely mellow at this moment that I've got nothing more to say.