Sticking to the Point

Follow Your Dreams

My friend L is a runner. Taking to the sport in her late 30's, my friend runs marathons, competes in triathalons and she's good. Good enough to run Boston. Good enough to get a spot in the NYC marathon.

A asked the other day if L wins her races. I explained that professional athletes run the races L competes in, so even though she does really, really well, she doesn't win nor does she expect to.

A ponders my answer and then asks,

'just like my babysitter, right? she plays soccer and that's her job...'

I nod my head in agreement, silently squishing my desire to rant. Yes, it's her job now, while she's still a college girl. But make a career as a professional athlete, sustain yourself by playing sports? Hardly. Go get a real job. 

It's 2007 and we can count on our hands, (not even necessary to include the toes), the number of  professional sports opportunities available for women. Women aren't encouraged to pursue sports beyond college and the opportunities to make a career are slim. Golf and tennis. These are two sports I can think of that women compete on a level equal to men.

Perhaps it's the media. The sports world is dominated by men, marketed towards men and for the majority of the population, sports have become their universal language. I've always envied that. Having sports to talk about in social situations. Even with nothing in common, chances are there's sports.

At home, we try to encourage our girl to think big. Nothing is an obstacle, everything an opportunity. In her wide-open heart, A doesn't see limitations because of gender.  If she can't do something  it's because we've said no or she wasn't able to. Yet. 

Squishing my desire to say it like it is, I answer my girl.

"yes, it's just like our babysitter, playing soccer is her job." 

I hope things will change. Maybe by the time A is finishing college, there will be more opportunities for women as professional athletes. And maybe it won't matter. Because she'll have found a way to follow her dreams based on her mind and abilities, not gender. I can follow my dreams too.

It's Friday Love #72

Photobooth Friday. Oldies in honor of our anniversary. 

We met on a blind date and three months later, we were talking marriage. At six months we were living together and planning a wedding, 08.31.96. Everyone said it was too soon, how do you know. You just do  I'd say. We always said we couldn't wait until we'd been together a long time, that someday people would look at us as a old-timers. We've reached that anniversary, our 11th. A long time. Being married hasn't been easy. For me the things that count, never are. We have our plans and dreams, our lives intertwined and familiar, we try because it's worth it and always has been.

I'd like to share a few favorites from that Saturday evening 11 years ago. All the photos are clickable for a larger view.

M and I were married in an old carriage house in the West Village.  The florist decorated the stair case with vines and hydrangea, it was lovely.

 

This is one of my favorite photos. Unaware that the cantor breaks into song during the service I bust out in laughter, confirming the cantor's distaste for me. He truly didn't care for me. I squished his schtick and wouldn't let him use his old standard cliches during our ceremony.

My favorite part in a Jewish wedding, the breaking of the glass,

followed by the first kiss.

Eleven is my favorite number. I like this anniversary already.

The little stuff.

• Babysitters and playdates. They've saved my ass this week.
• Looking forward to: the roller derby BBQ on Sunday, a day trip into Manhattan with Luzie on Monday and Tuesday, a girly trip to the beach.
• Etsy love. Earrings from here and here, a new camera strap

and clothing for the wish list.

Said.

"Daddy loves classical music. Once I can play my violin, I'm going to play whatever he wants to hear."

Scenes from a pool

The emptied pool spread low and wide before us as we walked in through the archway. Crumbled, fading blue paint covers the ground, the center space broken by the occasional dark-holed octagons, shooting water back in the day.


An emptied pool is an excellent venue. Forty-eight inches deep on all four sides, the vast space doesn't feel like a pool. I wish I'd seen it when it was. Built-in seating along the perimeter, I imagine women sitting waist-deep in the water, their legs resting against the light blue sides, smoking and  gossiping, while their kiddies played nearby.

I notice a small patch of faded polka dots significant and forgotten,

a grid of jewels.

Later I notice more polka dots, graffiti bubbles splashed onto brick.

The concert was a good time. There was  a light, warm, breeze, the perfect evening for an outdoor show. Some music translates really well live, other music not so much. It wasn't the quality of the music or that the songs didn't sound right. And it wasn't the musicians or their abilities, they're all quite accomplished. I just expected something different.

Random #2

* M is traveling this week, a return trip to Cali,  just girls in the house. Speaking of in the house...

* Luzie's here. We were expecting her this weekend, but her plans changed and it's nice to have someone else here while M is away.

* I love reading KC and JC's posts on  the word search that leads to their blogs.  Most search links in my stats are boring. A lot of tattoo searches find me especially ones with hip tattoo, aries tattoo and stars. 

* A few medical searches bring people my way: constant oozing from c-section incession (incision) is my personal, gross favorite. 

* I've had a number of hits this week for Sara Gruen percocet. Everyone I know whose read Water for Elephants has enjoyed the book so I don't see the connection between the author and percocet. Whatever.

* Two disturbing searches stand out this week:

1. she said come guys give me my panties back
2. percentage of girls who go commando

* A little freaky that these sentences lead to me. Note to self: no more talk of knickers or the lack there-of. Seriously wondering if the dude (because who else would search these words together?) ever found his answer.   

* Today we're going to the music store to rent a violin. My girl has been asking for music lessons, her desire to play every instrument narrowed down to the violin because she's too young to play clarinet. And I found a teacher that comes to the house; no carpooling, no driving 30 minutes for a 30 minute lesson.

* Tonight I'm going to Brooklyn to see Feist.

Self Portrait Challenge - patterns.5

What kind of mother am I, she asks herself, desperate for alternatives, a way to break the tedium of gray weather and a bored six year old. Summer camp long over, the weeks before school begins stretching long and wide, simultaneously flying by. What kind of mother am I she wonders, checking her list of alternatives, yearning.

The last week of patterns over here

Bloggy Friends

On Thursday, miss A and I met Bella and her girl (also A) for a field trip to the Liberty Science Center. Our 3rd playdate, you'd think the girls were friends since birth, picking up where they'd left off months ago, clasping hands to run ahead of us.

We saw an IMAX movie, Hurricanes on the Bayou, ate lunch in the cafeteria and visited all the different exhibitions; fighting the crowds of field-tripping summer camps and families looking for something to do because the weather has been crap. We had an excellent afternoon, thank you B & A.

Update

I'm. so. relieved. When I arrived at the doctor's office this afternoon, the first thing she said is, 'don't worry. this is not something to worry about.'

Turns out it's not my lungs at all, nor is there swelling. There is small soft tissue on my anterior mediastinum and on the report it specifically says, it could be a normal variant. As in I was born with this. I asked if it could be a mass and my doctor doesn't think so. My lungs are clear. My heart is unremarkable in the findings. I never thought I'd like to hear that I'm unremarkable, except in this instance it's divine.

I suppose there's a chance it could be something, but I'm choosing to believe it's all good. To be on the safe side, my doctor has prescribed a CT scan and I agree. I'd rather be certain than sloppy.

Thank you for  your well wishes and support, it lifted my spirits and made me feel loved and protected. xo

It's Friday Love #71

Photo booth Friday. asbury park, nj.*

The big stuff. I'm so hoping that this turns out to be nothing. I came home this afternoon, after a wonderful play date with Bella to a phone message from the hospital ER I was in 2 weeks ago.

'please call us, we have additional information about your chest x-ray'. 

I wasn't under the impression that there was additional information needed from my films. When I left the hospital that evening, it was with clear lungs (no pneumonia, no cracked ribs) and I even said to M, 'it's a relief to know my lungs are clear'. As an ex-smoker with smoking-related deaths on both sides of my family, this is my biggest fear.

I call the hospital and finally locate the doctor who'd called.

'i'm returning your call...'

'yes. we found an area of swelling on your lower lungs and you need to see your MD for a CAT scan.'

'what do you mean, swelling? is it a mass?'

'no, it's not a mass. we can only call it swelling. it doesn't appear to be related to your visit to the hospital. i don't think you need to rush to the ER but you need to see your doctor.'

She also asked if I was feeling better, after having been to the hospital and I said I was feeling good. "well that's good" was her reply. WTF?!?!?!? I asked what the procedure was in getting this information to my doctor, wrote it all down and we hung up.

I have an appointment tomorrow at 1:45 to see my doctor. She'll have the report and we'll talk. I assume there will be more tests. Please, send your healing thoughts for me. I'm scared.

*I'm posting boothy squares because I need some levity. I'm scared but I also believe it is what it is and even if it's my biggest fear something terrible, at least I'll know. Small consolation. I want desperately to believe that because I was sick with bronchitis when I was at the hospital, if this is something serious than I wouldn't have recovered so quickly. My cough was gone in 5 days and I feel good. I need to hold onto this thought.

Book Club #2

I'm not the majority here when I say that The Year of Magical Thinking wasn't for me. I really wanted to love this book. I loved Play It As It Lays and just knew that YMT was going to be the same, except it wasn't. I found the writing cold and remote and it was hard for me to feel the author's pain as I read along. I felt empathy for the loss of love and I felt my heart aching for her daughter, gravely ill and unaware that her father had passed away. There was a process being served and because I haven't experienced death intimately, I can only understand from afar, in no position to judge. Didion's process, her way of grieving and creative expression felt foreign, a perspective that didn't register or resonate.

I'm certain to be the lone wolf at bookclub next week, from the emails floating about. The stage production was in NY this summer, a few of the girls have gone, raves all around. I was ready to keep myself quiet, agreeing, without much to add until I had dinner with DeeZee last week in Venice. Talking about the book, admitting that I had luke-warm feelings about the story, felt cleansing, much like the pickled ginger we snacked on, waiting for our vegan soups.

----

On our 6 hour plane journey last week, I read Susan Minot's Evening. A slim novel, Evening seemed the perfect summer vacation read. I love bittersweet reverie, particularly when it involves unrequitted love. The main character, Ann Lord is dying, her family gathered around to witness her last few days. Through a morphine haze, Ann reminisces about a weekend 40 years earlier, when she fell in love. The flashbacks to that weekend were enjoyable, I was curious about the relationship and how it would end.  What didn't work for me was the present. As Ann slips back and forth into consciousness, I found her fragmented lucidity an inconsistent aside. I wonder if the movie takes liberty with the novel, (script adaptations tend towards this) and I'll watch for this on cable.

I'd love to hear your comments and thoughts on either of these novels. Tell me what you think, why my reviews are rubbish or not, talk to me. I love talking books.

Self Portrait Challenge - patterns.4

The distinct smell of roller rink permeates as you walk in the door. In the bathroom, you open the new pack of fishnets, hot pink tonight, you need a little something extra. You hear compliments as you walk by, a tough crowd, you smile to yourself, knowing that hot pink was a good choice against your zebra black and white. Adrenaline rushes your body as you put on your skates, the combination of thin socks and fishnets a good one, no foot constriction in the fit-like-a glove leather boots. A whistle and stop watches for the penalty box. Whiteboards and markers, the errant sock a perfect white board eraser. A clipboard with the rules and water. Lots of water. These are my patterns as a roller derby referee.

more patterns over here