all dogs go to heaven

(more to follow)

in the spirit of the sox

On Thursday, as we watched the Red Sox pull a win over Cleveland to bring the series back home to Boston, my sister reminded us of one of her "brighter" moments.

Here's the background: The World Series in 2004 was a big one for us (not to state the obvious). My fandom peaked that year - I watched the games religiously that season and attended at least 15 of them (not an inexpensive feat here in Boston). Laura became a fan of baseball in general and the Sox in particular, and Taice switched her allegiance from the dark side to the red side. Sara and I had been fortunate enough to get a last minute invite to the ALCS Game 4 against the Yankees where we ("we" like I was pitching that night instead of Derek Lowe) turned the series around. A picture of me from that game, being the screaming, adoring, out-of-my-mind fan that I was, was posted on the Red Sox MLB site.

Those couple of weeks were abnormally cosmic. Text messages, emails and calls buzzed for days. Old friends reconnected. Little to zero work was done. Sleep was fitful, adrenalin surged and this city, known for being cool in composure, smiled together. The night the Sox won the World Series we partied in town and hung out with Green Day. I shed a tear for my grandfather, whose love for the Sox lives on through me, because he missed seeing this in his lifetime. I was still glowing when I met Michael the night before the big parade. It stuns me that it has been three years, because it all feels like yesterday.

Anyway, the following spring, as our team took the field, Sara saw the big red "C" which freshly adorned Jason Varitek's shirt. Sara chirped, "Look at the C he has on his shirt! It must stand for 'Champion'! That's so nice!"

She had missed all the hype around Varitek being named 'Captain'. She still chuckles every time she sees that 'C'.

Go Sox!

central scare

Since I left my car at the shop last night, I took the bus aaaand the T followed by a 12 minute walk into work today. Central Square is always full of crazies but at least there's the beacon of light in the Starbuck's located right at the top of the T steps. I headed in and was followed by a guy who hadn't showered or used deodorant for a good week. I held my breath and waited it out. If I was going to wait to have coffee 30 minutes into my commute, it was going to be for Starbucks.

While fixing up my grande toffee nut iced coffee with some whole milk, the guy next to me sniffed at the pitcher of cream that he held in his hand. He sniffed, looked at me, sniffed, looked at the stinky guy who had sidled up on the other side of him and said to him, "Does this smell bad to you?" The guy waved his hand in a no, no thanks kind of way, so he tried to get my attention again. I gave my best "does-it-look-like-I-want-to-join-in-your-cream-conversation-me-thinks-not" scowl, but he tried anyway.

"Do you think this smells bad?"

"I don't smell stuff." (It's true! Not just an excuse for the crazy.)

"Ha, yeah, some people don't like to. I worked on a dairy farm and that kind of stuff doesn't usually bother me, but on this one, I just can't tell..."

I nodded and bolted out of Starbuck's with my tasty treat and gasping for "fresh" air and waited to cross Mass Ave. with everyone else.

Just as a group of us were stepping onto the curb of the opposite side, this woman who I hadn't taken much notice of turned to me and said in a Swedish accent:

"Jesus Christ! Why are you stalking me up my back? You feel like a dead ghost!"

When she first started her assualt, I smiled, thinking she wanted to vent something TO me, not AT me. I'm not the type to be quick on someone's heels - I like my personal space as much as the next guy and rarely come into danger of giving someone a flat tire. Then my expression turned startled, which provoked the next taunt from the Metro guy:

"Smile lady! There you go! Have a good day!"

I don't miss commuting via public transportation much.

small victories

Today was one of those days where I asked myself, "What else is going to suck today?" But there was something that did give it a little lift as I was reading the Metro on the bus ride home...

How did I end up on the bus today you ask? Let me start at the beginning.

I awoke, slightly hungover from an evening out to celebrate T's birthday (Happy Birthday T!), to my alarm at 7:30 a.m. At which point I realized that I didn't need to actually get up until 8:30 since the funeral was scheduled for 10. I changed the time on the alarm but never really fell back to sleep.

After finally rousing, we headed out to a funeral for Michael's second cousin. While funerals are never easy, this one's poignancy involved a ten year old neighborhood boy, Sean, who had befriended Jim through the church. When Sean heard that Jim had a stroke, he headed to the apartment that Jim shared with his sister, Sissy. He ran into her on the street, helped her home with her groceries and offered to take her to lunch. Sissy told him that was the best offer she's had in years. Following lunch, they went to the church and prayed for Jim. As they left the church, they were told that Jim had passed.

To witness that level of grief in a such a young, wonderful kid is heartbreaking. His story was included in the priest's eulogy for Jim, and when I spotted poor Sean in heaving tears, tears came spilling down my own cheeks. At that moment, I felt for all parents who realize the weight of their children's sorrow for the first time.

In the funeral procession with hazards blinking, we drove down the Arnold Arboretum towards the cemetery for the burial portion of the service. Suddenly the lights in the car began to dim and we heard a strange beeping noise. The panel indicated there was a problem with the battery, so I switched off the hazards. The battery light went out and the beeping noise stopped. Since we drove for a stretch, I figured the battery recharged itself (right?) and the problem was over.

We started the car - as we left the cemetery and headed back to the church for the reception, again as we left the church to head home, and again when I headed out to spend a few hours at work - with no problems...

Down by the Seaport Hotel, a guy blasted through a red light and came THISCLOSE to hitting me. That woke me up.

The mini sandwiches at the church didn't quite do the trick and knowing I'd be at work a little later than my normal hours, I pulled over in a loading/tow zone to run in for a quick slice and a Gatorade on Mass Ave. I wasn't really psyched to be headed to work after emotionally spending myself all morning, so when I turned my key and nothing happened, it didn't feel quite real.

I turned the key again - this time noting the flicker of lights on the panel and that the engine barely eeked out a turn. I tried again. And again. Crap.

CRAP!

I approached a police officer working a construction detail up the block. He called in my plate to prevent me from getting a ticket and asked, "Do you want me to call a tow truck?" Hold up! I think there's another solution before I automatically throw $100 down the tube. How about asking these guys if anyone has jumper cables? Ah ha! Got the car started and drove it straight into the garage around the corner from work. Told the mechanic the story of my day so far and he diagnosed the alternator, but he would check it out and let me know. I noted, a little too late, that they are a cash only operation. Perfect!

He called me an hour and a half later to tell me it was just the battery. Phew! I could have it today at 5:30 for $170. I thanked him and then asked my boss if that seemed steep to him. He agreed that it was, and I called back to ask for the break down in cost. "Well," the other mechanic said, "we happen to have this more expensive battery on hand, but if you can wait until tomorrow, we can purchase a cheaper one and install that for you." Could've told me that in the first place! Take the girl for a ride...

I struggled through a couple tasks at work and decided to call it a day. As I settled in for my T ride home, I leafed through the Metro where I found the news that would perversely brighten my day:

"$7,400: Amount the winning bidder paid for 22 Michael Vick football cards, chewed up and slobbered on by two Missourri dogs, on yesterday's eBay auction. The money is expected to be donated to the Humane Society."

Without getting into the utter disgust and horror that I feel about this case - it's not quite enough retribution and there will undoubtedly be more - it was a small victory for today.

perspective

Off to L.A. - again! Looking forward to seeing some new and different stuff. Not the same trip this time - bigger things on the horizon.

Lessons learned this week:

The tickets on Craigslist will not always be there.

What you focusing on happening probably will. Especially if it is negative. That whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing.

That said - there comes a time when your the cliches in your life MEAN something. With a depth and weight you could never know before. "You never know until you know."

That the priviledge of having/being a "friend" is lost on some people. Others take it much more seriously.

his middle name is carlson after all*

My brother-in-law, Johnnie, calls me now and then to keep me posted on the latest "Casey Cuteness". I received such a call this evening on my way home from work. I've been giggling to myself ever since - except when that stupid douche stole my parking space at the grocery store by cutting up the aisle THE WRONG WAY. Anyways, I digress...

This morning, as they were driving through town, a car two cars ahead put on their left blinker. The car directly in front of them swerved to go around and then decided to stop short instead, forcing Johnnie to slam on the brakes and stop short too.

From the back, he hears Casey say, "Oooh!"

Johnnie turned to make sure he was okay and Casey looked him right in the eye and said...

...wait for it...

"Jesus."

*Other titles that were considered:
"making Buppa proud"
"two more in succession"
"a carlson through and through"

bill cosby would've had him on the show

IMG_0533, originally uploaded by kopykater.

I went up to Kittery to give mom a hand with the lil rascal while his parents were off cavorting in Kennebunk.

He did lots of cute things during the visit, but one - of the "kids say the darndest things" variety - stands out.

We took him into town to do some shopping (or, get the heck out of the house) and as we buckled him into the shopping cart at Marshall's, he said, "No cry! No cry!". As if it is the mantra that his mother (my co-shopaholic sister) has sold him on.

eliza love

It has been a ridiculously (that is a hard word to spell once you've had a couple) long time since I've been here.

But today is a momentous occasion. Dear Eliza has given birth to little Kaede Orion Silva. 7 lbs 10 oz at 2:48 am. Listening to the Boss as he arrived.

They keep telling her she can put him down now, but almost 20 hours later, she's just so in love she can't do it. From the pic, he looks just like his dadda.

So very happy for their love. Can't wait to meet him next weekend.

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he said auntie!

IMG_0392, originally uploaded by kopykater.

Granted, there were three aunties in the room. And afterwards, as the three of us were squealing and chanting our first names, he got totally freaked out and wouldn't say it again. Nor anything close to our first names.

But hey. He's cute. Auntie will do for now.

my dear sweet mim

Every child should be blessed by the magic of a special grandmother. My sisters and I are much more than fortunate, because Mim was beyond special. And I was her Katydid.

Mim was a delight. Her love radiated. She was the epitome of a joyful, patient and comforting grandmother. You were never asking too much of her – giving was what she did best. She had an enchanting twinkle in her eye, the kindest smile and was always ready with kisses, hugs and snuggles.

Part of a grandmother’s love is evidenced in the art of cooking and the ceremonies that are created around it. Mim was a phenomenal cook and prepared for visits by having our favorite treats on hand. Ginger snap cookies, rice crispy treats and, at Christmas, 7-layer bars. The best macaroni and cheese ever, hamburger casserole, pineapple chicken. Sour cream frosting on the moistest Devil’s Food cake. In the summer, there were BLTs and peppermint stick ice cream out on the back porch. The rest of the year, tea time with cookies. Without fail, there was a canister of chocolate Quik in the cupboard - something taboo in our house. Four, five, six spoonfuls... she wouldn't stop you. To complete the experience, we’d pour the milk from the cow pitcher. And you could always find a gum drop in the green candy dish in the dining room.

Mim had a stash of stories which she would tell us over and over. It was her way of bridging the years that separated us from each other, showing that she wasn’t just our grandmother, but a confidante who offered a middle ground to relate. Stories about squabbling with her sisters showed us that she knew growing up wasn’t easy for anyone and that sisters aren’t perfect, but they’re family. Stories about the mischief her own children got into, so we’d know that everyone makes mistakes and learns from them. She reminisced on her favorite moments of watching us grow up – so we knew just how much she loved us.

It was important to her that she taught us the ways of living life right and being good little ladies. Shoes at all times, no wet hair or bare shoulders. Mim was not afraid to raise an eyebrow when we were being fresh – and that was enough.

Mim would take us to the church fair every summer. She was always so proud to show us off and everyone we met seemed to know everything about us. The outings never ceased - to the aquarium, to the movies, to the wild animal farm, to the mall, to the pet store, to the park, to the beach, to the doll lady’s house, out for Papa Gino’s, Captain Frosty’s or Seafood Sam’s.

While I was writing this, memories of Mim came back in droves. Of Mim kneeling in the garden in the spring and summer. Of her perfect English posture in church. The huge coat boxes full of gifts that she would send each of us on our birthdays. The calming noises she made and the way she rubbed her hands together as she was preparing for her daily snooze – sitting upright – on the couch. The way she laughed and how the tears would stream down her face if you really got her going. Her relationship with Gimps and the love that flowed between the two of them. Together, they formed the most remarkable bond and created such a wonderful family.

The memories that Mim created for us have made us better people for knowing her. We are incredibly blessed to have such a wonderful woman in our life, who taught us so much just by loving us.

perspective

"What we have once enjoyed we can never lose.
All that we love deeply becomes a part of us."

~Helen Keller

feather count

I'm fairly well-adjusted in the body/food relationship department. Sure, I have my moments of guilt after a scarfing down the third piece of pizza or downing half a pint of Chubby Hubby, but in general I've always taken it in stride.

I'm not completely adjusted, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. When the co-worker with the incessant mouth must comment, "Going on a trip?" in response to seeing my Lean Cuisine for lunch, my shoulders scrunch. Excuse me? "Looks like airline food." Why men will ever find the audacity to judge what goes in my stomach escapes me.

I worked my ass off to lose 30 pounds. Yes, I keep an eye on what I put in my mouth. And yes, actually, those Lean Cuisines are paired with a normal breakfast, snacks of all varieties - good, bad, gross - throughout the day, along with a full meal and, hey!, maybe even dessert.

I've seen some - most - of my best friends struggle the demons of their eating disorders. At the least, subscribing to Weight Watchers and counting points diligently. At the most, being admitted to a hospital at a weight unhealthy to maintaining life.

But, no, NO, I do not need someone's ignorant judgements about my choice of a balanced, affordable meal.

That balanced, affordable meal brings me to the original point of this post. I've been trying to watch the cash flow lately and noticed that too many meals and coffees have been purchased when I can be more cost effective. Brewing coffee at home and grabbing a frozen meal and a banana on my way out the door even just a couple times a week can make a difference. And leftovers! I heart leftovers.

Sister Sara got a slow cooker for Christmas and the excitement she has shown in hers and renewed the interest in mine. She boasted how she stuffed a chicken with celery and herbs and when she got home from work the meat was falling off the bone. A warm, filling, satisfying winter meal. And the rosemary! How she loves the rosemary.

I set out to do the same. I cut the whole chicken from the bag and found... feathers. Small little inconsequential feathers in the grand scheme of things, I'm sure. And, no, not the first feathers I've ever seen on a chicken that I've prepared. But more than I'm used to seeing.

Which made me start pondering just what the mechanical process is for removing feathers from the bodies... and I had to stop that thought train from happening or BLEEEEECH. I get grossed out easily (the cleanliness of utensils and other surfaces is what gives me OCD, more on that later) and I could be on chicken strike for a while.

But it does beg the question, what is my feather count?

"i don't look like a monkey"

Observations while watching the American Idol auditions:

1. I miss watching them with Laura. We would convulse from laughter, gasping for air and make proclomations of "going to hell" (us, not them.) Now we text. Not quite the same.

2. Makes me wonder, which I frequently do, "how do people get like that?"

3. Pink mesh netting does not disguise sausage arms. Or legs. Please, no matter how punkalicous you are: don't. do. it.

4. Wherever you go, whoever you are, you will find a friend. The world, it turns out, is not that cruel. (See title of this post).

5. If your boobs are so big that they visibly swing back and forth as you walk, newsflash!, you need a bra. Always.

6. Yelling is not singing.

7. You do not need to wear a costume to get noticed. Unless you want people to laugh at you. Title of the show?

8. If you believe, try and try again. Sometimes the third time is a charm.

9. Singing the part of the Cowardly Lion is not going to get you to Hollywood. Not on this show anyway.

10. Count your blessings friends. We are a very fortunate, lucky group.

dreaming

I padded down the stairs, through the formal living room, the dining room and all of its knick knacks tinkling as I passed, into the kitchen and saw a familiar sight.

In the next room, my grandfather was sitting in his favorite chair - his recliner. The morning sunlight streamed through the windows as if casting a spotlight especially on Gimps in his spot.

"Gimps!," I exclaimed as I moved through the rooms toward him.

He turned, and stood. The dream did not allow me the memory of Gimps in his better days. The dream gave me a picture of him not in his best health. Though not his worst either.

He beamed. His smile was, as always, enchanting. Anyone caught in its shine couldn't help but to smile back.

He gathered me up in his arms and said, "I just want to make sure you know how much I love you."

the pats win!

Heard tonight:

"Nice! Now we're going for a two point conversion!"

"What does that mean?"

"We go back to that line and have a chance to run it in again."

"Oh! So for three points? Yay!"

easing back in

I am a lot of things. Sensitive? Don't let the cool exterior fool you. Stubborn? My family invented it. Generous? To a fault. Flexible? In body probably more than mind, but yep, that too.

I am not, however, one that you would call overzealous in getting krackalacken.

Resolution Number One - to start writing here again - pretty much taxed all motivation for the first week of 2007. Everything takes more effort when you are out of practice.

Week Two was a launching pad for getting Resolution Number Two - getting back to the gym - off the ground. Surely, with a whole week as a self-imposed deadline, I could handle that. Especially one that I haven't officially said out loud to anyone. Plus, even less than a year ago I was a five-days a week gym slave. Okay, four on average. But definitely always three. I just had to get in the pattern again.

Sunday: didn't leave the house all day except a quick jaunt to return some absurdly overdue movies, one of which I didn't even watch.

Monday: accidentally missed (can you say "subconciously avoided"?) the exit and ended up at the super market instead.

Tuesday: Having realized that I didn't have socks in my gym bag (the gym bag that has been packed and sitting in my office since, um, July) I headed home. Come on, I know you hear me. Working out without socks sucks. You start working up a sweat, already flailing appendages this way and that on the eliptical, and suddenly you are slipping and sliding in your shoes. I suppose it makes for a better core workout, but I didn't need the extra challenge.

I felt the old pattern of excuses taking hold. I'm home! It is chilly out! Time for dinner! I didn't sleep well last night!

But, my friends, you will be proud. Instead of throwing the car keys aside and resigning to spend another night in front of the tube, I went and found those dastardly socks. And I pulled them on. And wrangled the girls into two bras (yes, two, or talk about flailing appendages). And dug out the lined running pants that were missing from the summertime-stocked bag. And shoved a bit of sustenance into my mouth (though Honey BBQ Frito Twists might have defeated the purpose).

And as I stood there, munching, I made a deal with myself: 30 minutes with an upped heartbeat and you're done. No weights. No crunches. No lunges. Not today. Today, just get there. And I marched right back out the door.

Given that it is the get-my-body-back resolution time of year for not only me but for every other part-timer with a gym membership, the parking lot was a cluster like I have never seen. The back lot had a whole extra row of cars down the middle, forcing 4+ point turns to eek one's way into a spot. It was enough to make you want to go home and nap. But I did eek my way into a spot, left the Mim-mobile parked at an obscure angle (which pains the rule-abiding side of me), and ambled in. Had to swipe my card twice through the machine (backwards the first time since I'm out of practice). Weaved my way into the locker room and stripped off my coat and running pants. Breathe in! Walked back out into the socializing nightmare of the main floor to find nary an open machine in sight.

But! I did not give up! On to the women's workout room. And, ta da!, one single elipitical stood waiting for me. I jumped on and gave that taunting machine a good, solid 30 minutes. I was proud of myself.

As I marched, I silently congratulated all the people who were obviously new to the gym thing and remembered what it was like two years ago to start the battle of losing those 30 pounds. Thirty pounds that had crept up on me out of nowhere until one day I looked at a recent photo and saw a bloated, stuffed sausage staring back. A daunting battle at the start, a liberating reward at the end.

I rehearsed a speech in my head to all the newcomers about how those first 6 weeks are always the toughest, but then suddenly your clothes start to fit better and the exhaustion evolves into a spring in your step. And you too could drop a few sizes in a year! No pills, no fad diets - just hard work and eating right (most of the time). And then you get to buy a new wardrobe! And make fun of your "fat days" with your BFFs. And everyone tells you how great you look! Keep at it kids!

And while the mileage gauge told me I did not flail as far as I normally do, my head was happy and muscles tingly. I'm just easing back in.

krackalacken

Last year about this time, it was KC that gave me the nudge to get back to work on this little blog o'mine.

This year, unbeknownst to her at this point, Tara is motivating me. She started a blog which serves as her marathon training diary. Her second marathon.

I can't run anywhere without the aid of a machine taunting me - forget actually getting out into nature and letting it control the factors. And she's doing it because she wants a goal to work towards. A 26 mile goal in a city known for it's "heartbreak". Lofty.

Huh, okay. I need a goal too. One that I can accomplish and find rewarding. This is the one that I want and one I feel deprived of when I don't give to it. So I'm going to give a little something to myself and get back at it.