Tag: postaday2011

Angels on the Tree

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the tree in our lobby

When my twin girls were in the nursery school at the YMCA, we received a small scholarship for having two enrolled at the same time —  it was something like $11,000 per child instead of $12,000.

We loved the Y. The girls had a great time going to school and learning to play. And we remain great friends with families from that class.

Around this time of year, the preschool staff put up a Christmas tree where you could pluck a paper angel off the tree and buy a present for a needy family. Feeling quite charitable, I went to pick an angel. And there hanging on a paper angel was my family’s name and the ages of my kids — for everyone to see. I grabbed the angel. I waltzed into the office.

“I don’t want anyone to think of us as needy,” I told S., the school director. I felt so ashamed. Seeing our name on the tree made me rethink my attitude towards my family and myself.

Me? I am the giver and the do-gooder, not the recipient of charity and generic toys. S. apologized. She said that all families that received scholarships were on the tree, but they would take those angels off.

So I remember this experience every year around this time. I felt shame when I was perceived as needy. And I don’t think most families are thrilled to be hanging on a Christmas tree. Sure, I would’ve gotten some free presents, and being cheap, that’s sort of appealing. But I would’ve had to pay with my pride. That’s expensive.

It was made worse because people knew us. I worried that if my angel stayed on the tree, we would become social pariahs. We would not be considered equal to other families. We would be helped, but we would be looked down upon.

One deadly sin in this society is to be a charity case. Families like ours have plenty of needs, but please don’t cross the line and consider us needy.

Mother Daughter Book Club

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The House on Mango Street

This month we met at our house and we discussed the House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. We were five moms and six daughters, in 6th and 7th grades. We had these comments:

  • the language is poetic
  • the daughter feels ashamed of her home
  • all women and girls feel that they are different
  • the women keep the families going
  • every man is suspicious
  • it’s not so great to be pretty
  • names and naming are important

The next book we read is Home for the Holidays: Mother-Daughter Book Club by Heather Vogel Frederick.

I have signed myself and the girls up for Girls Leadership Institute in March. It’s expensive and I have to save some money in the coming months from my writing and teaching to pay for it.

As I was sitting in the circle last night, talking about this book with my book-loving friends, old and young, I felt we are already in a leadership group. Sharing the truths found in books is a way to talk about yourself, your values and girls’ leadership.

Get Outside

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My mother raised me following Dr. Spock’s advice that every child must spend at least two hours outdoors, no matter the weather. When my kids were babies, I tried to do this. I tried to “air them out,” as Mom would say, for at least one hour a day. Now that they’re preteens, it’s hard to pull them away from their computers and push them out the door.

“Direct sunshine contains ultraviolet rays, which create vitamin D right in the skin… Changes of air temperature are beneficial in toning up the body’s system for adapting to cold or heat. A bank clerk is much more likely to become chilled staying outdoors in winter than a lumberjack, who is used to such weather. Cool or cold air improves appetite, puts color in the cheeks, and gives more pep to humans of all ages. It’s good for a baby (like anyone else) to get outdoors for 2 to 3 hours a day (!), particularly during the season when the house is heated. … in the northeastern part of the United States, most conscientious parents take it for granted that babies and children should be outdoors 2 or 3 hours a day when it isn’t raining and the temperature isn’t far below freezing.” – Dr.  Spock.

A few months ago at the top of an Adirondack mountain.

I like that the outdoors “gives more pep.” Who doesn’t want more pep?

I must remember Dr. Spock’s admonishment on the occasional Saturday or Sunday when one of my darlings hangs out at home in front of the TV all fricken day.

I will ask her, “Have you gotten outside at all today?”

“No.” I will remind her of the scientific truth, Newton’s Law, that says a body at rest tends to stay at rest and a body in motion tends to stay in motion.

The National Wildlife Federation is bolstering my argument with their new campaign Be Out There. And there’s a ton of research that shows that a child who is connected to the wild is a healthier and happier child.

Hiking, family time, living an active life? This is What We Value. I would like to write more about this, but I have to wake the girls. It’s time for their basketball league, which interferes with church, but that’s a different story! Just for today in the battle between caring for the body and caring for the spirit, the body wins! (We may still get to church, but late!)

Christmas Carol

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Last night, I went to the opening night of A Christmas Carol, sitting beside my husband who had played Scrooge for at least four years about ten years ago in this production at the McCarter Theatre in Princeton, New Jersey.

It is unlikely, due to Chris’s Parkinson’s Disease, that he could still act a huge theater role like Ebenezer Scrooge. We reminisced in the car about how he was making the M. Night Shyamalan movie The Village at the same time he was in Princeton performing as Scrooge.

Chris as Scrooge, watching himself as a boy.

Acting is an art, like painting or playing the cello. But in the US, unlike maybe Russia, the performing arts get short shrift in a culture that worships celebrities (and then delights in their demise).

Acting is hard work. It is physical labor. It is not putting on make up and posturing. It requires depth of emotion and focus and athleticism.

In this production, Chris as Scrooge flew down from the rafters and flew back up again. He foisted Tiny Tim on his shoulder and jumped on the bed. (He particularly disliked having to do those last two things.)

So watching the show last night, I think Chris felt pride in his past work, but also sadness, and a sense of letting go, a resignation to having physical limitations.

I have seen this production at the McCarter a billion times. Still, it makes me cry. Why? Because, like Scrooge, I discover again the reality that we are made to love another, not to dismiss our loving tendencies by criticizing Christmas or other people. I remember that I am mortal and my time is limited. I must seize this day. There is so much joy in the scene when Scrooge realizes it is not too late to live — never too late to love.

The play is so good. This adaptation by Tommy Thompson is beautiful and simple and elegant, as is the direction by Michael Unger.

Chris has recently had a lovely success with a play he translated, Cherry Orchard by Checkhov at the Classic Stage Company, so I don’t think he was not sitting in the audience wondering, Why aren’t I up there, playing Scrooge?

I drove back and forth from the city. Chris fell asleep, off and on in the passenger seat beside me. When we talked, I told him, “You have had a great life in the theater and I’m so glad I got to see so much of it.” And yes, his theater life continues in a different direction.

My take-away from last night? Be like Scrooge, seize the day, buy the biggest turkey, jump on the bed. Or be like us, see a play, reminisce, have a life in the theater, have dinner with friends, (thanks KP and Wayne!).

Comment, Like, Cheer

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I love to like. Do I over-like? I wish there was a love button. Then I could crank my love into overdrive.

I think everyone needs a boost; everyone wants their stuff to be liked. My friend Amy once told me everything we do or say is either one of two messages — “I love you,” or “Please love me.”

On Facebook , there’s the handy-dandy like button, a thumbs up. And on Twitter, you can retweet a tweet to show your favor. On a blog post, you can like or comment.

Best of all is the cheer button at 43 Things. Here are my 43Things.

You get only 5 cheers a day. Once you start complimenting or cheering others, you don’t want to stop, so once you hit your 5 cheer limit, you have to stop cheering people online and start cheering them IRL (in real life). Being a positive person is contagious. And you’ get back as many cheers as you give.

I love making New Year’s resolutions at 43 Things and one of my resolutions will be to admire, to like, to comment, to praise, and to cheer more — online and IRL!

Cherry Orchard

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Turturro lets the stuffing out of the chair. (photo by Richard Termine for the New York Times.)

My husband’s translation of ‘Cherry Orchard’ was so naturalistic. A few minutes into John Turturro’s opening scene, I squeezed Chris’s arm and whispered, “So good. Genius.”

Chris (John Christopher Jones) did a brilliant job of situating the audience right there with the family at the grand Russian estate as it falls into disrepair and bankruptcy, sold to the local boor — or is he a self-made man? — played by Turturro.

An actor at the cast party told me it was the only of Chekhov’s place that the author considered a comedy. (Actors can be so smart — like real artists, not just empty-headed celebs!)

Chris worked hard of this translation, obsessed by it for months. He spent a lot time sitting in front of the computer. I know how hard it is to write.  It is mostly about keeping your seat in the chair.

I have seen Chris in a number of Chekhov plays. From those plays, I can see what life was like back in the day before people realized you should work out to lift your spirits. Or perhaps, people, try some anti-depressants?

In Chekhov’s plays my heart always breaks for the way the characters ridicule the intellectual, the perpetual student. Ugh.

This production is not depressing. I loved the party scene where the family, led by Dianne Wiest, and the guests wait to hear about the fate of the estate. The party goers’ spirits were as light as the stuffing from the chair that flew around the stage when Turturro ripped open the furniture.

For some reason, I always imagine the cherry orchard bathed in late afternoon light, like in the Van Gogh painting of the olive orchard. The cherry orchard never appears on stage yet it is a character in the play, once great and now parceled away — like so many nations, families and nature itself. 

On the cab ride home from the opening night party, I read Chris the The New York Times Review of ‘Cherry Orchard’ off of my smart phone, hitting bumps and speeding up Third Avenue. It was a triumph for Chris.

Woken in the Night by Neighbors

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Where the party was.

I woke last night at 1 am and then again at 2:30 am because of shouting on the street.

Due to some massive and elaborate scaffolding outside my window — another city hazard — I couldn’t see what was going on, so I crept towards my front door.

My husband was asleep on the couch. He often falls asleep in front of the TV (Parkinsons!) So without back up, I headed across the lobby in my barefeet and pajamas (PJ bottoms and a red tee shirt from the Rethink Church campaign emblazoned with the message, “Impact the Community”).

One of the doormen, E., appeared at my side. Doormen are great back up!

E. said he’d already called the cops once.

It was a drunken party on a stoop across the street.

“Guys,” I yelled, because there were about 12 guys shouting and one woman in a red dress shushing.

“C’mon, keep it down,” I yelled. “We have kids sleeping around here,” I said that. I did. I played the “kids’ sleeping here” card.

E. told me, “A group of people, led by the woman in the red dress, got out of a Columbia University ambulance. They were honking and yelling and left the flashers on in front of the building.” That must’ve been my 1 am wake up call.

We turned to go. The guys grumbled, but began to disperse.

One ran across the street to catch me.

partygoer attacked the pillar on the stoop

His eyes were glassy. “I was having a party and my friends started destroying the pillar on the steps.” He wanted sympathy. I did too.

“Okay…Be neighborly,” I said. “Quiet the party down. People are sleeping.” I’m a huge fan of sleep (and I’ve written about Mommy Needs Sleep.)

If you live in the country, the sounds of nature, like dogs and birds, may wake you, but here in the city, it’s laughter, yammering, stolen ambulances and vandalism.

To cover your back you need back up.

I woke last night to the sound of thunder. How far off I sat and wondered – Bob Seger

getting through december

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Last year I went cross country skiing at the Hildene estate in Manchester, Vermont. So fun. So pretty. The winter months don't have to be depressing.

It’s no wonder people find Christmas depressing. It’s a holiday in a dark month full of rabid consumerism and fake merriment.

Here’s how I’m going to power through the season:

1. I will be exceedingly good-natured, especially to crabby people. This is my passive-aggressive way — if I hold a door for you, a stranger, at the bank and you don’t say, Thank you, I will shout exuberantly, You’re welcome and have a beautiful holiday season!

2. Seriously, I will try to maintain a sunny attitude, even while facing layoffs, long lines, and disappointing gifts from my children.

3. I will give and go to a lot of holiday parties and have conversations with family and friends that are so deep and meaningful they cannot be summarized in a tweet. (But follow me any way on Twitter @MaryBethC — Self promotion? Not gonna stop!)

4. Delve into some childhood memories and try to make some damn good memories for my kids — but NOT memories of things like iPhones, but memories of experiences, like hanging out with cousins, eating fondue or looking at the Rockefeller tree. (We live in NYC and we never do any of the touristy, Christmas crap.)

5. Do some Christmas-y NYC things:

  • see the Renaissance angels at the Met
  • see the origami tree at the Museum of Natural History
  • see the windows on 5th Avenue
  • listen to Handel’s Messiah
  • eat Scandinavian food

6. Write a lot.

7. Travel a lot (to Chicago and the Adirondacks).

8. Drink a lot (of egg nog).

This was last winter’s post from my visit to Hildene.

Finished NaNoWriMo

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I loved when I validated my word count at the NaNoWriMo website and a dozen nerdy people on a video clip applauded me. Their applause made me cry. I love them. I love all my cyber and real friends and family who supported me during my month of extreme novel writing. Thanks!

When I finished NaNoWriMo (national novel writing month) two years ago, I was in the small office at my husband’s family country house. And I cried then too. My tears surprised me. I didn’t realize that you could cry when you impressed yourself by doing something great. I thought tears were for extremes sadness or happiness, not novel writing. Why did I cry?

I cry all the time during commercials or at certain songs at church. I’ve cried twice today already (in a deep conversation with a work friend and then due to some family stress!)

Crying’s no biggie. I tell my kids, It’s good to cry; tears clean your eyes.

So, yes, I love my tears and my achievement. But I doubt I’ll embark on the adventure to write 50,000 words in one month again next year.  (FYI, that comes out to about 175 double-spaced pages.) I think I’ll do it every other year for the rest of my life.

See, this year, I ignored my family, let my house fall into disrepair, and blew off my work peeps who wanted to chat by the water cooler! I’ll take December now to pay attention, to make repairs, and to chat.

Oh, one more thing, please don’t ask to read the novel, because it’s total drivel. It’s a sketch that needs hours, days, months of detail work. And I don’t know if I have that kind of attention in me.

Whether or not, I return to that novel, I’m extremely proud!!

the view from my office window

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image

There is nothing in my view that is commercial — no billboards or neon lights. From my office window, there is Riverside Church, the George Washington Bridge, the Hudson River, and the New Jersey skyline.

When I ride my bike to work I go for miles and see nothing but trees, grass, and occasionally a hawk. That is why I call this blog My Beautiful New York.