So today's thought is to list 20 of my favorite things. Let's see. In random order:
1. New books
2. Gelato
3. Checking on E right before I go to bed, when he's asleep
4. Getting (good) mail and packages
5. High heeled shoes
6. Running
7. C's wedding ring on his hand
8. Seeing my friends
9. Going to bed and staying asleep
10. My pets, especially when they are well behaved :)
11. Baking bread
12. Hosting parties
13. Doing the laundry (really!)
14. Purging my closet/changing the clothes for the season
15. Watching E dance and sing
16. Feeling this baby kick after worrying that he won't
17. Travelling
18. Chocolate chip cookies
19. The first red leaves of Fall, and the first green shoots of Spring
20. Date nights with C
About Me
- Mary Beth
- My life on the run. Balancing family, mental and physical exercise, and all the emotional baggage accumulated throughout several decades of living.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Day 5--A Favorite Quote
In high school we used to keep notebooks full of quotes. Lots of Indigo Girls and Tori Amos lyrics were in there, I'm sure. Our yearbooks overflowed with these phrases, interspersed with silliness of our own uttering.
Lately I've paid not a whole lot of attention to quotes. I read them, internalize them, and immediately forget who said what to whom and where and for why.
What I have heard, a billion times over since Calla died, is platitudes. Do these count as quotes? Clearly SOMEONE was the first to say, "Everything happens for a reason," or "It will get better."
I remember sitting in my hospital bed, waiting to deliver our dead daughter. So many times I wanted to scream "WHY ME?!?!?" But I couldn't. It just didn't make sense. Because to me, WHY ME? implies WHY ME AND NOT SOMEONE ELSE? And really, who would wish this grief, pain, sadness, emptiness on anyone?
Words that stick to me are usually the most simple of phrases. Maybe it's because I can't remember an entire sentence, or maybe that's all I can handle in my brain.
"Just Do It."
"It Is What It Is."
These two phrases have played over and over in my head on steady rotation for months now. JDI is how I have to live my life. I have no choice. One foot in front of the other, on and on, slow and steady. But I have to just do it. I don't have to like it. And IIWII is the answer to all my WHY'S? It just is. There doesn't have to be a reason other than it is what it is and was what it was.
Not exactly inspiring, but right now they are my words to live by.
Lately I've paid not a whole lot of attention to quotes. I read them, internalize them, and immediately forget who said what to whom and where and for why.
What I have heard, a billion times over since Calla died, is platitudes. Do these count as quotes? Clearly SOMEONE was the first to say, "Everything happens for a reason," or "It will get better."
I remember sitting in my hospital bed, waiting to deliver our dead daughter. So many times I wanted to scream "WHY ME?!?!?" But I couldn't. It just didn't make sense. Because to me, WHY ME? implies WHY ME AND NOT SOMEONE ELSE? And really, who would wish this grief, pain, sadness, emptiness on anyone?
Words that stick to me are usually the most simple of phrases. Maybe it's because I can't remember an entire sentence, or maybe that's all I can handle in my brain.
"Just Do It."
"It Is What It Is."
These two phrases have played over and over in my head on steady rotation for months now. JDI is how I have to live my life. I have no choice. One foot in front of the other, on and on, slow and steady. But I have to just do it. I don't have to like it. And IIWII is the answer to all my WHY'S? It just is. There doesn't have to be a reason other than it is what it is and was what it was.
Not exactly inspiring, but right now they are my words to live by.
Day 4--A Favorite Book
Like so many other DBMs out there, the book that really pulled me through the fire was Elizabeth McCracken's An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination. I remember tearing this book out of the paper wrapper from the mail, sitting on the kitchen floor, and reading nearly all of it in about two hours. I couldn't get enough.
It was only weeks after Calla died, and I felt like this woman, this stranger, was writing my exact life. (Well, except we weren't living in France. And we're not writers. And lots of other little things.) Anyway, this book was like a life raft, thrown out to drowning me. I'm not trying to be overly dramatic here, but I felt like reading this book helped save my life. At least, my emotional well-being. After I finished it I immediately read it again. I wish I could show Ms. McCracken my gratitude for so eloquently, perfectly, painfully committing to writing my exact emotions.
I really have always been a bookworm. From my childhood straight through adulthood I have found solace in books. These days I usually have 2 going at once, sometimes 3. What I read varies, but I've started to enjoy non-ficton more in the past few years. I tend to read everything by one author in a row--right now I'm on a Richard Russo kick. For awhile post-college it was John Irving. In high school my go-to author was Tom Robbins. Jitterbug Perfume is one of my all-time favorite books. I spent a few years catching up on literature I either skipped over or just plain didn't read in high school or college: lots of Dumas, Hugo, Dostoyevsky, Balzac. I've always loved deeply Toni Morrison and James Baldwin.
I am not someone who HAS to finish a book I start. I've been known to throw a book across a room and turn my back on it forever (hello, Life Touches Life!). Bill Bryson is one of the few authors who has made me laugh so hard, out loud, to the point of convulsive tears, that C has woken from a dead sleep wondering what the hell I was doing. Some books make me wish I could go back in time and read them for the first time all over again--Les Miserables and The Book Thief come to mind immediately.
Clearly, I could go on and on and on. There's a lifetime of books both behind and ahead of me. How delicious is that thought?
Sometimes it's just easier to escape into a book than it is to deal with real life.
It was only weeks after Calla died, and I felt like this woman, this stranger, was writing my exact life. (Well, except we weren't living in France. And we're not writers. And lots of other little things.) Anyway, this book was like a life raft, thrown out to drowning me. I'm not trying to be overly dramatic here, but I felt like reading this book helped save my life. At least, my emotional well-being. After I finished it I immediately read it again. I wish I could show Ms. McCracken my gratitude for so eloquently, perfectly, painfully committing to writing my exact emotions.
I really have always been a bookworm. From my childhood straight through adulthood I have found solace in books. These days I usually have 2 going at once, sometimes 3. What I read varies, but I've started to enjoy non-ficton more in the past few years. I tend to read everything by one author in a row--right now I'm on a Richard Russo kick. For awhile post-college it was John Irving. In high school my go-to author was Tom Robbins. Jitterbug Perfume is one of my all-time favorite books. I spent a few years catching up on literature I either skipped over or just plain didn't read in high school or college: lots of Dumas, Hugo, Dostoyevsky, Balzac. I've always loved deeply Toni Morrison and James Baldwin.
I am not someone who HAS to finish a book I start. I've been known to throw a book across a room and turn my back on it forever (hello, Life Touches Life!). Bill Bryson is one of the few authors who has made me laugh so hard, out loud, to the point of convulsive tears, that C has woken from a dead sleep wondering what the hell I was doing. Some books make me wish I could go back in time and read them for the first time all over again--Les Miserables and The Book Thief come to mind immediately.
Clearly, I could go on and on and on. There's a lifetime of books both behind and ahead of me. How delicious is that thought?
Sometimes it's just easier to escape into a book than it is to deal with real life.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Day Three--Must See TV
For years I'd been a LOSTie. C and I got hooked on it in Season 2 and never looked back. We were such LOST nerds we watched Season 1 on Netflix in anticipation of the final season this past spring, looking for clues, trying to find parallels. Every day after the previous night's episode I'd go online and read recaps, trying to piece together the puzzle.
Last fall and winter as the commercials started airing for the final season, I realized the first episode was dangerously near my due date. "Oh no!" I'd lament, "I CAN'T be in labor for the first episode!" To paint a little picture, we would not make plans on LOST nights. We'd CANCEL plans for LOST nights. We were mainlining LOST and had no interest in rehab.
Cut to January 8th, when we realized Calla was dead. It was little solace knowing I'd have plenty of free time to catch any episode I may want to watch. But still we did.
LOST's premiere was a pinpoint on the endless horizon, something that gave me direction as I put one foot in front of the other on my aimless, rambling path, stumbling through the shallows. It sounds silly that a television show gave me focus, but I clung to just about anything in those drifting days.
It would be overly dramatic to link my state of emotion to this show, but LOST indeed I was, and was desperate to be found, to be understood, to be told everything would be OK.
So each episode was a stepping stone--I leapt from episode to episode, week to week. Something to look forward to. C and I would discuss what we thought was going to happen, how it all came together, how it would end. It was a welcome distraction and escape from our grief.
And then I joined a group of friends every Thursday for Project Runway. These guys have all been friends for a LOOOOOONG time, and I knew a few of them individually from various places in my life. S and E, who live two blocks from us, invited me to join their Thursday night FASHIONS! parties, and, once again, they became pinpoints on the dark horizon. Somewhere, like watching LOST, I could step out of the immediacy of my life and just escape.
And then Thursday night FASHIONS! became stepping stones, making the leaps shorter, more manageable. It was less about PR for me--although we loves some fashions!---and more about laughing, eating, making new friends who knew about our loss and weren't weird about it. Supported me without the awkwardness.
In those early days and weeks after Calla's death, I immersed myself in music, television, books, the internet and online shopping. Watching television might be a guilty pleasure, but those two nights a week really helped me feel human again. Sometimes a step out of life helps put that life back into focus.
Last fall and winter as the commercials started airing for the final season, I realized the first episode was dangerously near my due date. "Oh no!" I'd lament, "I CAN'T be in labor for the first episode!" To paint a little picture, we would not make plans on LOST nights. We'd CANCEL plans for LOST nights. We were mainlining LOST and had no interest in rehab.
Cut to January 8th, when we realized Calla was dead. It was little solace knowing I'd have plenty of free time to catch any episode I may want to watch. But still we did.
LOST's premiere was a pinpoint on the endless horizon, something that gave me direction as I put one foot in front of the other on my aimless, rambling path, stumbling through the shallows. It sounds silly that a television show gave me focus, but I clung to just about anything in those drifting days.
It would be overly dramatic to link my state of emotion to this show, but LOST indeed I was, and was desperate to be found, to be understood, to be told everything would be OK.
So each episode was a stepping stone--I leapt from episode to episode, week to week. Something to look forward to. C and I would discuss what we thought was going to happen, how it all came together, how it would end. It was a welcome distraction and escape from our grief.
And then I joined a group of friends every Thursday for Project Runway. These guys have all been friends for a LOOOOOONG time, and I knew a few of them individually from various places in my life. S and E, who live two blocks from us, invited me to join their Thursday night FASHIONS! parties, and, once again, they became pinpoints on the dark horizon. Somewhere, like watching LOST, I could step out of the immediacy of my life and just escape.
And then Thursday night FASHIONS! became stepping stones, making the leaps shorter, more manageable. It was less about PR for me--although we loves some fashions!---and more about laughing, eating, making new friends who knew about our loss and weren't weird about it. Supported me without the awkwardness.
In those early days and weeks after Calla's death, I immersed myself in music, television, books, the internet and online shopping. Watching television might be a guilty pleasure, but those two nights a week really helped me feel human again. Sometimes a step out of life helps put that life back into focus.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Day Two--A Non-Favorite Movie
As I mentioned in my Day One post, I think there are music people and everyone else. I also feel this way about movie people. I am not particularly a movie person. In high school some of my best friends went to the movies all. the. time. I'd go occasionally, but these two were buffs. I never really had the attention span to sit comfortably through and entire mov--hey, are those new shoes you have on?!
See what I mean? I just can't sit still for that long. I do enjoy, on occasion, watching movies at home. In fact, some of my favorites are better suited for sitting on the couch--Dirty Dancing, for example. I know, har har har, so corny. I had some good times as a kid re-enacting this movie in my living room, and I will forever love it. In college my roommates and I made up some fun drinking games to play along while watching "Billy Madison." So my tastes skew towards the easy and stupid. Brain candy, if you will.
C and I optimistically joined Netflix when we were first married. We'd put movies in our queue that we thought we should watch. They'd arrive in the mail, and we'd never really get around to watching them. We've since learned our lesson, and we tailor our choices to things we'd actually want to watch. For example, we've been catching up on old episodes of "Dexter" and, just the other night, enjoyed "Hot Tub Time Machine."
Such philistines, we are.
A few weeks after Calla died, we decided to stay awake past 8pm and ordered "The Hangover" on Demand. Um, terrible choice. I was so disturbed by the irresponsible handling of that freaking baby that we nearly had to turn it off. Even now, thinking about those scenes, makes me wince. Everyone we knew absolutely RAVED about how funny they thought this movie was, and it made me feel even worse knowing how far I'd drifted from mainstream society.
Lately C has been making fun of me for choosing movies without a climax. For example, "Away We Go." Come on, nothing REALLY happens in that movie. But I think that's what I need now, in a way. Dealing with so much drama in my real life, coming down (up?) from such a climax (nadir?) I need a little stability. Movies on methadone.
I leave you with this clip:
A philistine, indeed.
See what I mean? I just can't sit still for that long. I do enjoy, on occasion, watching movies at home. In fact, some of my favorites are better suited for sitting on the couch--Dirty Dancing, for example. I know, har har har, so corny. I had some good times as a kid re-enacting this movie in my living room, and I will forever love it. In college my roommates and I made up some fun drinking games to play along while watching "Billy Madison." So my tastes skew towards the easy and stupid. Brain candy, if you will.
C and I optimistically joined Netflix when we were first married. We'd put movies in our queue that we thought we should watch. They'd arrive in the mail, and we'd never really get around to watching them. We've since learned our lesson, and we tailor our choices to things we'd actually want to watch. For example, we've been catching up on old episodes of "Dexter" and, just the other night, enjoyed "Hot Tub Time Machine."
Such philistines, we are.
A few weeks after Calla died, we decided to stay awake past 8pm and ordered "The Hangover" on Demand. Um, terrible choice. I was so disturbed by the irresponsible handling of that freaking baby that we nearly had to turn it off. Even now, thinking about those scenes, makes me wince. Everyone we knew absolutely RAVED about how funny they thought this movie was, and it made me feel even worse knowing how far I'd drifted from mainstream society.
Lately C has been making fun of me for choosing movies without a climax. For example, "Away We Go." Come on, nothing REALLY happens in that movie. But I think that's what I need now, in a way. Dealing with so much drama in my real life, coming down (up?) from such a climax (nadir?) I need a little stability. Movies on methadone.
I leave you with this clip:
A philistine, indeed.
Day One--A Favorite Song
All right, so A favorite song should grammatically read MY favorite song, as favorite implies one, the ultimate, the top, the best. But for someone who lives and breathes through music, choosing one song out of the billions is impossible. So today I'm talking about one of many, one that just crushed me in the aftermath of my life falling apart.
I think there are two types of people in the world: music people and everyone else. My husband falls into the second camp. When we met he owned about 1 CD. He listened to talk radio in the car--and NOT EVEN NPR. I'd talk about legendary concerts from my past, about singing with my friends to mix tapes in the car, and dancing around the living room as a child to Christopher Cross (ha!) and Neil Young and Michael Jackson and the Beatles--nothin'. The irony of all this is his mother OWNS A DANCE STUDIO, and he literally grew up listening to music.
I knew I had a huge task on my hands. Summers of my youth were spent on the porch, reading and listening through headphones to The Smiths, 3rd Bass and a Tribe Called Quest (we're talking "People's Instinctive Paths . . ." back then). Many afternoons and evening of high school I spent locked in my bedroom playing Dire Strait's "Romeo and Juliet" over and over and OVER again, with some Elvis Costello and Cypress Hill and De La Soul thrown in for good measure. College inevitably brought out the Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction in me. (Oh, and also Phish. Good god, so much Phish.)
I have a whole library of music I have to ramp myself up to listen to--the summer of Van Morrison, the Grateful Dead and Guru. The memories are visceral. The first CD's I owned were LL Cool J and Jesus Jones and EMF--what would I have done without Columbia House and BMG?! I hear songs from the early 1990's and can remember the CLOTHES I WAS WEARING the first time I heard them.
So to say my husband and I have a completely different world view on music is an understatement. He likes music, even enjoys it--don't misunderstand. It's just not a central part of his world as it is mine. When we got married I remember asking him, "How EXCITED are you that I come with ALL THESE CD'S?!?!" Blank stare.
So for his birthday a few years ago I made him a collection. About 10 CDs I titled "The Essentials." Alphabetically ordered from Alice in Chains to Yes, and quite literally everything else in between. he listens to them in rotation, and as I discover new favorites, I try to keep him updated.
These days for me it's a steady rotation of Belle and Sebastian, Fleet Foxes, Blitzen Trapper, my all-time perennial favorite R.E.M., Q Tip and Ben Folds, among others. This is where I am right now. I tend to gorge myself on certain bands, genres, albums, and then they have to hide for awhile. For example I'd probably run out of the room if you put on Great Big Sea at the moment, despite my deep rooted love for them. I've been like this my whole life, and it works for me.
So back to my original thought, a favorite song. In the aftermath of Calla's death, I loaded up my iPod with loads of new music. I tried to forge a new identity through music, and if blasted loud enough into my brain, maybe I'd become her. And, while I'm still me, despite all the cracks and fissures, I've found some new favorites. The playlists don't really contain a theme--there's Alphaville, Lady Gaga, Peter Bjorn and John, Bon Iver, Krishna Das and Leo Kottke.
But the one song that stopped me cold was Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work." I love Maxwell's version too, but the vocals on Kate Bush's rendition are enough to bring me to my knees. I remember one afternoon, out for a run, when this came through the earbuds. And suddenly I was running and huffing and puffing and crying. This woman's work, indeed. This grieving is work, it is hard work. And although this song isn't necessarily about my particular loss or situation, it feels right. My new theme song.
"I know you have a lotta life left,
I know you have a little strength left."
I sure hope so.
I think there are two types of people in the world: music people and everyone else. My husband falls into the second camp. When we met he owned about 1 CD. He listened to talk radio in the car--and NOT EVEN NPR. I'd talk about legendary concerts from my past, about singing with my friends to mix tapes in the car, and dancing around the living room as a child to Christopher Cross (ha!) and Neil Young and Michael Jackson and the Beatles--nothin'. The irony of all this is his mother OWNS A DANCE STUDIO, and he literally grew up listening to music.
I knew I had a huge task on my hands. Summers of my youth were spent on the porch, reading and listening through headphones to The Smiths, 3rd Bass and a Tribe Called Quest (we're talking "People's Instinctive Paths . . ." back then). Many afternoons and evening of high school I spent locked in my bedroom playing Dire Strait's "Romeo and Juliet" over and over and OVER again, with some Elvis Costello and Cypress Hill and De La Soul thrown in for good measure. College inevitably brought out the Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction in me. (Oh, and also Phish. Good god, so much Phish.)
I have a whole library of music I have to ramp myself up to listen to--the summer of Van Morrison, the Grateful Dead and Guru. The memories are visceral. The first CD's I owned were LL Cool J and Jesus Jones and EMF--what would I have done without Columbia House and BMG?! I hear songs from the early 1990's and can remember the CLOTHES I WAS WEARING the first time I heard them.
So to say my husband and I have a completely different world view on music is an understatement. He likes music, even enjoys it--don't misunderstand. It's just not a central part of his world as it is mine. When we got married I remember asking him, "How EXCITED are you that I come with ALL THESE CD'S?!?!" Blank stare.
So for his birthday a few years ago I made him a collection. About 10 CDs I titled "The Essentials." Alphabetically ordered from Alice in Chains to Yes, and quite literally everything else in between. he listens to them in rotation, and as I discover new favorites, I try to keep him updated.
These days for me it's a steady rotation of Belle and Sebastian, Fleet Foxes, Blitzen Trapper, my all-time perennial favorite R.E.M., Q Tip and Ben Folds, among others. This is where I am right now. I tend to gorge myself on certain bands, genres, albums, and then they have to hide for awhile. For example I'd probably run out of the room if you put on Great Big Sea at the moment, despite my deep rooted love for them. I've been like this my whole life, and it works for me.
So back to my original thought, a favorite song. In the aftermath of Calla's death, I loaded up my iPod with loads of new music. I tried to forge a new identity through music, and if blasted loud enough into my brain, maybe I'd become her. And, while I'm still me, despite all the cracks and fissures, I've found some new favorites. The playlists don't really contain a theme--there's Alphaville, Lady Gaga, Peter Bjorn and John, Bon Iver, Krishna Das and Leo Kottke.
But the one song that stopped me cold was Kate Bush's "This Woman's Work." I love Maxwell's version too, but the vocals on Kate Bush's rendition are enough to bring me to my knees. I remember one afternoon, out for a run, when this came through the earbuds. And suddenly I was running and huffing and puffing and crying. This woman's work, indeed. This grieving is work, it is hard work. And although this song isn't necessarily about my particular loss or situation, it feels right. My new theme song.
"I know you have a lotta life left,
I know you have a little strength left."
I sure hope so.
30 Days of a Welcome Distraction
I just learned that October is Pregnancy Loss and Awareness month--right along with Breast Cancer Awareness month. For some reason that struck me as significant, these two issues so important to women remembered and fought together. Not that a pregnancy loss or breast cancer doesn't affect the men in our lives too--it's just that we are the front lines, the foot soldiers in these particular battles.
So anyway, one of my favorite blogs to read is written by Angie at Still Life With Circles. Girlfriend is seriously talented, and her posts are a pleasure and inspiration to read. Yesterday she wrote about the 30 Posts in 30 Days challenge to bring focus to Pregnancy Loss and Awareness month, and provided a list of jumping-off points. She tailored these ideas to fit with her grief, and I thought I'd like to do the same.
Here's the list:
So anyway, one of my favorite blogs to read is written by Angie at Still Life With Circles. Girlfriend is seriously talented, and her posts are a pleasure and inspiration to read. Yesterday she wrote about the 30 Posts in 30 Days challenge to bring focus to Pregnancy Loss and Awareness month, and provided a list of jumping-off points. She tailored these ideas to fit with her grief, and I thought I'd like to do the same.
Here's the list:
Day 1 - your favorite song
Day 2 - your favorite movie
Day 3 - your favorite television program
Day 4 - your favorite book
Day 5 - your favorite quote
Day 6 - 20 of your favorite things
Day 7 - a photo that makes you happy
Day 8 - a photo that makes you angry/sad
Day 9 - a photo you took
Day 10 - a photo taken over 10 years ago of you
Day 11 - a photo of you recently
Day 12 - something you are OCD about
Day 13 - a fictional book
Day 14 - a non-fictional book
Day 15 - your dream house
Day 16 - a song that makes you cry (or nearly)
Day 17 - an art piece (drawing, sculpture, painting, etc)
Day 18 - my wedding/future wedding/past wedding
Day 19 - a talent of yours
Day 20 - a hobby of yours
Day 21 - a recipe
Day 22 - a website
Day 23 - a youtube video
Day 24 - where you live
Day 25 - your day, in great detail
Day 26 - your week, in great detail
Day 27 - your worst habit
Day 28 - what's in your handbag/purse
Day 29 - hopes, dreams, and plans for the next 365 days
Day 30 - a dream for the future
As you can tell I'm a little behind--today's the 3rd and I haven't even gotten to the first one. But I'll play a little catch up and work it as best I can. If you'd like to play along I'd love to read all about yours, too. Let me know so I can check you out. I'm going to write about how each of these topics has fit into my life, if only to illuminate how one's life is completely, totally, utterly affected by babyloss. Like, there's no escape.
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