Seaweed Chronicles

Nuts. Just . . . . nuts.

Tomorrow's the annual Special Olympics NJ Polar Bear Plunge in Seaside.  Last year I attended as a spectator/picture taker.  This year, I signed on as a plunger.   That means in exchange for the funds I raise, I get a wristband that allows me onto the beach legitimately, instead of sneaking on as I did last year.   It does NOT, however, mean I actually have to plunge.  Pul-eeeeze.  I have a heart condition **batting eyes and patting chest**  I'm so Fra-JEE-lay.   But I do have mad fund-raising skillz.  Pledged $500, earned $535.  Woot! 

Hopefully, more pics like these tomorrow. 

 

Happy Birthday, Edgar

Edgar Allan Poe's birthday, today.  I wonder sometimes if it doesn't say something about me that he and Lewis Carroll and A. A. Milne and Ogden Nash were my favorite authors and poets from an early age.  Oh hell, of course it says something.  I was a creepy weird kid who loved animals and believed they could talk.  Anyway . . .

I find it very sad for some reason that the graveside visitor now seems to have disappeared for good.

I am sure it is because he was no longer able.  But I still am, and so here's a toast to all that will be Nevermore. 

And my favorite, least well-known poem of his:

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been

As others were; I have not seen 

As others saw, I could not bring

My passions from a common spring.

From the same source I have not taken

My sorrow, I could not awaken

My heart to joy at the same tone,

And all I loved, I loved alone.

Then, in my childhood, in the dawn

Of a most stormy life was drawn;

From every depth of good and ill

The mystery which binds me still.

From the torrent, or the fountain,

From the red cliff of the mountain,

From the sun that 'round me rolled,

In its autumn tint of gold,

From the lightning in the sky,

As it pass'd me flying by,

From the thunder and the storm,

And the cloud that took the form,

(When the rest of Heaven was blue)

Of a demon in my view.

Happy Birthday, E. 

 

Hey, Buddy, can you spare some Bone Marrow?

I've been a registered Bone Marrow Donor since around 1985.  I don't remember exactly why I signed up. I think I knew that my aunt had donated (or tried to) for a friend of hers who was deathly ill, and that put the spark in my brain.  Registration involved only a simple blood test, and I would always have the option to back out when/if I was actually called as a possible match. 

So here we are many years later and I've never been called.  I am disappointed, because my time as an eligible candidate is running out . . . age is a factor.  But I like to think that because I was part of the pool, I increased the odds for someone in need.  And now that I actually know someone who is a recipient, and is struggling to survive, well, I'm pretty passionate about this cause.

I can't tell you how many people have said to me, "That's supposed to be painful.  Why would you do that for someone you don't even know?"  Which is absurd, if you ask me. Why would you NOT save someone's life if it was in your power, and meant only temporary discomfort for yourself?   Not much different than performing CPR for someone, as I see it.  

But since I have never actually done it, and others have who are willing to talk about it, listen to them, not me.  And please consider registering yourself to donate the gift of life? 

K, thanks . . . back to your regularly programmed weekend!

NYC Parade 2010

Our band marched in the NYC St. Patrick's Day Parade yesterday.  The weather was awesome, warm enough that we left our uniform jackets on the bus and marched in shirtsleeves and vests.  It was my first time in this parade as a member of the band, and I couldn't have been prouder.   The only thing I don't like about being a drummer with them is that it means I have to leave the camera behind.  The pictures below were all taken by our unofficial band photographer, Paul West (aka "Paul the Brit" on Picasa).

Gathering in the ShopRite Parking lot before boarding our luxury limo bus:

Kevin explaining the wearin' o' kilts:

Offloading the bus somewhere around 48th and 6th:

Before stepping off Paul managed to round us all up for a group shot:

And one of the first-timers:

Taking an opportunity to try recruiting a new member:

 
Finally, about two hours later than scheduled, we step off and start down 5th Avenue:

Our Mary, Queen of Scots (also Grand Marshall of the Somerville Parade this year):

Our two Pipe Majors, Sergio and Jimmy:

Great formation:

Our flags:

 
Another marching shot along Central Park (you can see me all the way at the back, right, with the red face):

At the completion of the 2.1 miles, our reward:  Sergio's Green Sangria!

And this is just one example of the fun times we have on the bus (I happened to get this shot myself): 

A truly awesome day with some of the best people on this planet. 
 
 

 
  
  
 
 
 

I Love NJ, Occasionally

At least, days like this, I do.  These pics are from the Special Olympics Polar Plunge today, delayed from the originally-scheduled date last weekend due to the awful weather a week ago.

  But really, after seeing these, do you think the weather mattered much?  Maybe for the spectators on the boardwalk, but for those plunging?  Not so much.  The were pretty enCOURAGEed by various substances and fans and other motivations. 

This may be one of my top favorite photos ever taken.  It wasn't one of "our" team, but it certainly captures the spirit of the occasion - frivolity with a purpose!

 

Karma

We're having a "major snow event" here in NJ today.  It was snowing when I left for work this morning, and continued to snow heavily though the morning.  Around 11:00 AM my cell phone rang, and I picked up seeing that the incoming number was my daughter's.

Me:  Hi Em!  What's up?

Em:  Mom?  Where ARE you?

Me:  At work.  Why?

Em:   The weather is horrible! It's really bad . . . are you leaving soon?

Me:  No, not unless they close early which they probably won't.  Why?

Em:  I'm worried about you driving home.  My classes are cancelled.

Me:  I'll be OK, don't worry. 

Same thing the kids always say to me, and that offers me no sense of security.  And I next thought: 

Wow, she's grown up. 

Wow, again. Birthdays and years passed don't measure this kind of progress.  Graduations don't mark the true milestones.  What matters most in measuring whether you've successfully raised a child is their treatment towards others.  Whether they have the ability to be not just unselfish, but self-less.  

I got to see that today, and it was beautiful.   

Thank You

To all who served.

To all who are serving now.

To those who intend to serve.

To all the families who supported those who served, are serving, or will serve.

To those who gave all. 

Thank you.

 

Resurrection

I had the most surreal, unexpected experience this week.  While lots of other things are going wrong lately, this one thing was so incredible, I can't even think about it without getting choked up.  I'm in shock, in awe, and overjoyed.  Why?  Get comfortable and I'll tell you. 

There was this friend of mine, someone I have known for thirty years. We worked together for ten years during my first real job.  He later went into business on his own, and after a number of years making his way, he mentored me through the training I needed to join him in that business.  I eventually changed my mind because it was far from a nine-to-five job and I recognized I'm pretty much a nine-to-five personality.  Anyway, he was someone who was around in my life through all through those early adult years when you're getting married, having kids, getting divorced, changing jobs, etc.  If I had to characterize the relationship, I'd say we were pretty good friends. Not close friends, like the kind you should only have 2 or 3 of, but good friends, like the kind you have maybe 8 or 10 of if you're lucky.  You talk to them fairly frequently, see them four or five times a year, exchange birthday and Christmas cards and know each others' middle names. 

But I haven't talked to him since 2004.  That was the year he was in a severe car accident that, I heard through mutual friends, had left him comatose, on life support. There was a lot of talk of him during that time, people asking questions and sharing news, shaking heads, what-a-shame-ing.  

Months later, I learned that he had "improved" and was now in a semi-conscious but mostly vegetative state in a nursing home. I called his wife a few times and sent a note once, each time letting her know I was thinking of them both and hoping things were better.  Most recently, about a year ago, I had to call his office on a business matter and spoke with a young man there I wasn't acquainted with.  I gingerly put forth the question:  "How is Joe*doing?" and heard that he was "Pretty much the same, this is probably the way it's going to be for good."  I really never expected to see him or talk to him again, and wondered how his kids and wife had coped with this the last five years.

Then, this past Monday, I got an e-mail from him.  Perfectly written.  He even joked around a little, asking if I understood why he hadn't been in touch?  He also said he plans to be at an upcoming reunion of employees from our former workplace. 

It took me a few hours to compose myself in order to be able to write back.  It felt exactly as if I had been contacted by a ghost, someone I thought was gone from this realm, someone that I'd expected never to hear from again.  But I did write back that night and told him how amazed I am to hear from him, to see his name at the bottom of an e-mail, to know he isn't lost to me after all.  I also told him what my impression of his condition had been, and how sorry I was that I didn't know I could have talked to him sooner.  We exchanged a few more e-mails during the week, and I learned that much of the details about the accident and its aftermath were true.  He does have brainn damage and it has severely affected his speech and balance.  He talks with difficulty and uses a wheelchair.  But he is very much conscious, living at home with his wife and family, and getting on with his life. 

He called today and I didn't recognize the number on the caller ID but it was local so I picked up.  As soon as I heard his voice, I became very emotional.  I told him right away that I didn't want to lose another opportunity to tell him how great a guy I think he is, how he impacted my life in good ways, and how overjoyed I am to be able to communicate with him again. We talked about family events, jobs, friends in common, the upcoming reunion.  In all, about 45 minutes.  It was hard to understand him at times, much like listening to someone with stroke-affected speech, but the same sound of his voice was there, his humor was there, his memory of past events was there, HE was there. 

IS there. 

How absolutely awesome is that?  

* Name changed to protect privacy    

Several Short Stories about Gifts all Mashed Together (the stories, not the gifts. But then again, they sort of are, too)

It has been just over two weeks now since I made the commitment to join the band as a tenor drummer.  I got my first sticks on the NYC Parade bus trip on St. Patrick's Day, and have barely put them down since.  I attended my first weekly group practice last night, and according to earwitnesses, I seem to have some type of a gift for syncopation and rhythm and banging on things that make noise.  I am playing some competition pieces that normally take much longer to pick up.   Already knowing how to read  music helped me immensely, but I've still made phenomenal progress in a very short time. 

More astonishing than the ability to play, though, was the ability for me to perform in front of other people.  See, I have played piano most of my life, and if you exclude my parents and sisters who had to listen to me learning it many years ago, I can count on one hand the number of other humans I have been comfortable enough with to let them hear me play. And I'm pretty good at it; certainly better than someone who has never played, so the source of my fear is a mystery.    Or it could be that recital I vaguely remember being forced to do /no guilt, Mom, really, not your fault/ when I was first taking lessons.  I muddled through "Glow Worm," up on a stage in a local church, my back to the audience, feeling abject terror at the possibility of screwing up. And then I actually did screw up.  Apparently, the devastating embarrassment of not being able to play "Glow Worm" without errors may have had lasting effects.  To this day I am an over-achiever and perfectionist. 

So my ability to (a) perform last night, and (b) do so in front of other people, was a gift from somewhere and I don't take it for granted.  If I had known just how much JOY I would feel playing this drum and being a real part of this group of people that I love, well, I wouldn't have waited this long. 

I got another gift today, in the mail.  A few whiles ago (years maybe?) I told a friend of mine that I really liked a particular photo she had posted on her site. She promised to send a copy and asked what size I wanted it printed.  Time went by, and she's a very talented, busy, charitable, thoroughly hip kind of lady with a life, so I wasn't surprised that I didn't actually get the photo.  I thought about it occasionally, but not in a "she promised" /hands on hips/ kind of way but more "I have to remember to ask her if I can purchase that print from her because it made an impression on me and the image keeps coming back to my brain now and then, and - dang - I'd really like to hang it on a wall around here somewhere."  But the thoughts were fleeting (which is a weird word - implies that fleet is a verb, dontcha think?) and I have a deliberate case of ADD, and never actually got around to asking her.

I spent a good deal of time in the house this week, home from work for a few days, and got caught up on some internutty things.  Like e-mails.  And cleaning up some blog stuff (note that above friend was one of my first daily reads).  And finishing signing up for Twitter (which above friend told me about long ago), and Facebook (which above friend reminded me about recently, and for which I should not thank her because -gah - it's eating all my time), and also remembering where I put my Etsy Shop because I really did lose it  not long after I established it.  I haven't quite got it going yet, and haven't been able to decide whether to try to sell some photos or go back to that tapestry-making idea that keeps bugging me.  /Author's note . . this IS going somewhere related to my story. Hold on a sec./  Anyway, guess who first convinced me to join Etsy in the first place?  Bingo, Queen of the Internuts.  See above.

So after I found my shop and paid my bill (40 cents for my two listings and are you sick of parenthetical statements yet?), I logged out, then remembered that I'd meant to check out the status of her Etsy Shop, and went searching for it.  I couldn't recall the name for the life of me - something about a number? I also couldn't find it based on her screen name, or geography, or media.  I was about to give up and made a mental note to e-mail her to ask for the name when BAM it suddenly shot like an arrow into my brain causing my head to jerk back from the monitor about 3, 4 inches.  Sure, I exaggerate, but the point is I remembered it.  And found her shop, and perused, and found she has all these really neat, interesting photos there with brilliant witty commentary about them.  The fact that she had interesting photos?  Not a surprise.  Brilliant witty commentary? Not a surprise.  The photo I'd admired lo those many whiles ago not being there?  A surprise.  I tried to send her a note through Etsy to ask her "why?" but it wanted me to log back in and that was too much work for my lazy fingers so I made a mental note to send an e-mail to her later.  Time stamp on the mental note?  4/1/09 approximately 6:02:01 PM (the date happening to be Queen of the Internut's Birthday).

Time stamp the moment I totally forgot the mental note?  4/1/09 approximately  6:02:30 PM.

So.  Home again today, and that meant that I heard the postman arrive early in the afternoon.  After he clomped off the porch I went to see what bills and magazines we'd gotten (and I have to purposely avoid coming face to face with the eejit lest I give him a few pieces of my mind about his stupidity in not being able to follow simple directions like "Only our mail goes in OUR box.  Mail for the people who live in the back house goes in THEIR box six feet away.")

So I opened the door and see this big old homemade kind of packaged and taped squarish shape was propped up on the post of the front porch, and my first thought was "This is something for THEIR box" but then I saw Queen Internut's proper given name written all cozy  in the upper left corner and I began to wonder about the contents.  The package also had my address in big black Sharpie-type ink, handprinted on a blue piece of paper taped to the front middle . . . the same sort of blue I remembered from . . . /walking to the kitchen and carefully opening the package with a steak knife and unwrapping miles of bubble wrap to find . . . / . . . the very same photograph I had admired, forgotten about and remembered occasionally, and took pains to look up just two days ago, at which point the package holding it was probably somewhere over West Virginia or thereabouts, on it's way from her hands to mine.  Amazing. 

But she and have previously discussed a shared belief that there really are no such things as coincidences. Things is meant to be, Amen.

Which brings me to the last of my "Short Stories About Gifts" today:  Queen Internut is one of those connections I have made that I like to think is rare.  Maybe less rare in the days since we've all gone on-line, and there were definitely many friendships made in those early blogging days that would never have come about ordinarily.    I have made several that resulted in very good friendships.  But the Queen and I . . . I think she said it once something like "God made us recognize each other" and that made such complete sense to me.  /She's so very good at putting words to things.  I won't try to define it or name it.  Just IS./  And my point in recognizing her in this piece is not a public thank you or a kissing up or anything like that.  That would not be graciously accepting her gift, now, would it? No.  My point is to recognize that there are so many really amazing, awesome, wonderful people that I know. All of whom I think are rare and incredible beings.  Some are friends I've made over the years through school, work, hobbies.  Some I'm related to.  Some I relate to but have never met in person.  I am floored and awed days like today receiving things given to me, but I am even more floored and awed by the gift of having so many people like this in my life.  I am so lucky.

Robert Fulghum said:  "I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge -- myth is more potent than history -- dreams are more powerful than facts -- hope always triumphs over experience -- laughter is the cure for grief -- love is stronger than death."  

I hope that you know what I'm talking about.

  

/Yes, this is THE photo and I took a photo of the photo and am posting it here entirely without her permission (so six people can see it) but with all due credit.  If you recognize it, you know I am right about her, yes?  If you don't recognize it and would like to know more about whom I rave, send me an e-mail and I will see if I have her permission to divulge the internet location of her Queenly Palace. /

 

It's that time of year again

Happy Birthday, Deco! 

(Note to everyone else:  This picture shows my son on a bicycle but today he becomes eliglible for a permit to drive a loaded weapon car.   You might want to consider avoiding this neighborhood county for a few years until he gets more experienced with that.)