Drowning in tears

I cry.

A lot.

More as an adult.

At inappropriate times and without an end in sight.

As a child, my mother said once that she couldn't attend my soccer games because they made her cry. As a 12-year-old tomboy, I thought it was a screwy excuse. I thought it was an odd way of getting out of having to watch poorly coordinated preteens flopping around on a soccer field under the sun.

But now I get it.

In college, I remember standing at a bus stop and falling into tears when a fire truck screamed by, lights blazing and siren blaring. My only thought: Someone is hurt. It was raw and embarrassing, standing in broad daylight with tears streaming down my face over what might, ultimately, have amounted to a cat stuck in a tree.

Since then, I've had similar moments. If I see PETA footage on the evening news, I break into tears. I tear up almost every morning while watching Good Morning America--whether the story is happy or sad. I welled up once in my car, listening to the live version of Indigo Girls singing "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee," a song I've heard and sung aloud infinite times before. And then there was the time I held my friend's four-year-old son at Fred Penner's "Happy Feet" show. The boy was happy and laughing and clapping. I was holding him on my lap, crying, enjoying his pure happiness. Over happy feet. I know. Someone get that girl a drink.

A friend of mine became engaged last year. Like a baby, I cried when I read her e-mail announcing the news--cried with joy--just true, undeniable happiness. Not envy, not sadness. I was just happy that she was happy. More recently, at her wedding, I pulled a Tammy Faye, crying during the ceremony and letting out an audible sob when there was mention of those who had passed and couldn't be there as well as the generations to come. Ugh. Then there were the speeches during the reception . . .

And now there are the photos that are starting to circulate from the wedding. Beautiful pictures. My friend, so genuinely happy, surrounded by family and friends. I scrolled through the photos on Facebook tonight and felt my eyes watering again.

***

It begins to make sense, why I keep a small circle. Not purely because I'd be dehydrated if I cared so much about more people. But because I truly care about those I let in. It is much easier to keep people at a distance and not care too much. Hell, I've had long-term relationships with people over whom I barely shed a tear. And then I've also had relationships with people over whom I've shed too many. Dangerous business, affairs of the heart.

So what I've learned is that I can't have children, love my partner, watch TV, take the bus, or become a firefighter. All of those pose aqueous dangers. But rather than limit myself, I guess it will be easier to just stock up on tissues.

Hotmail, how didst thou know?

Okay, so I'm a bit of a horoscope follower. I'm a cancer, and damn, I fit the bill pretty closely. I've found that the MSN Hotmail horoscopes are eerily right-on with me each day. It's one of the last things I do online each day, checking that horoscope. (Stop yer snickering. I can hear you.)

Today I did something big. No need to go into details, but suffice it to say, I was left with sweaty, adrenaline-sparked, wild-girl fear and mania. The same kind of rush I get when I've gone on stage for acting or speaking. Though tonight I was left with more of a fear rush than a holding-a-bouquet-of-roses-and-bowing-at-the-end-of-the-night kind of rush. I stood up for myself in a way that I have not in a long time. And now I'm feeling scared and liberated at the same time. Anywho . . . today's horoscope:

The last months have been very challenging - and there's a very good chance that you no longer feel up to meeting the challenges. So if you have been yearning to modify something in your daily life, do it now, dear Cancer. The hour has come to make concrete changes. Regardless of whether the change you seek is at home or at work, physical or emotional, don't be afraid of seriously upsetting your life.

Holy smokes, amen to that. Seriously upset my life, I did. My only thought at this point: Now what?

It's going to be a long four years . . .

. . . if I'm going to tear up every time I hear Obama speak or watch a crowd of people take in his words. Man!

My afternoon with Stevie

So I took Stevie Wonder along with me up toward the mountains today. We shared deep thoughts as we followed rt 11 along the grandeur of Lake Winnipesaukee, past Alton Bay, Weirs Beach, and Meredith. We marveled at the way the sun shone on the White Mountains, and we thought we picked out Mount Washington (though probably only because it was the prettiest peak). We agreed that the folks way out on the lake in school buses and old camper are loco. I told him about the one time I walked out onto that lake. The slightest sounds of the ice below paralyzed me with fear, and I tiptoed back to shore, waving out at my friends and thinking that if they fell in, well, they'd just be fucked because I'd be crying like a baby from shore.

Our destination was a kick-ass quilt shop in Centre Harbor. Stevie stayed in the car with a hot chocolate. Said there wasn't much in there for him to see anyway. I started to feel bad, but he shooed me away and told me to take my time. He's good to me like that.

Keepsake Quilts is a big enough shop that busloads of blue-hairs come from all over to check it out. It's grown over the years, now housing a cross stitch shop (sub par) and yarn shop (I drooled with desire to learn how to knit just looking at all the pretty yarns--seriously pretty stuff) in addition to the fabric wonderland that is the heart of it all. And the shop doesn't hold your run-of-the-mill JoAnn Fabrics cheapo material. This is nicer, and the patterns are classier. It took me over two hours to get my act together and make my purchases (wandering through a store looking for the right fabrics and considering the right pattern and making sure it'll all work is serious business).

And when I got back out to the car, Stevie was there waiting for me. He smiled. He said he'd been listening to the snowmobilers while sipping his hot chocolate and thinking about how soft and slow a Saturday can be. Then he laughed and said, "Let's go home."

Resolution time

As I futzed around the apartment this evening, I began the useless tradition of listing resolutions for 2009. Good or bad, I like to have something to look forward to. This year I decided to list out things I can reasonably accomplish. No absolute numbers ("I'm going to lose 25 pounds." Yeah sure.), no b.s. So here's what I'm considering in the last two weeks of the crummy year that was 2008.

1. Drink more.
2. Drink with artists.
3. Wear cuter underwear.
4. Read the books on my shelves.
5. Get regular haircuts.
6. Less TV.
7. Put pen to paper, fingers to keys.
8. Read 1-2 books/month
9. Develop an ass.
10. Take care of cuticles.
11. Make one new, decent friend.
12. Don't take things personally.
13. Finish family tree.
14. Use gym membership--or save the damn monthly payment.
15. Sweep more . . .
16. . . . and sleep more.
17. Get passport in case I need to make a quick getaway.
18. Explore a new state.
19. Take chances.
    
20. Swing hips.
21. Less thought, more action.
22. Be a woman--hot, fiesty, confident.
23. Be unbearably, intolerably selfish.
24. Make it work, or move.

How yous doin?

I can finally cross off one thing that has been on my New Year's resolution list for several years running. No, silly, I didn't lose weight. I saw New York City.

My initial thought from the window seat on the Fung Wah bus: It's massive. No kidding. By comparison, Boston is a cute neighborhood. Boston has about 500,000 people. Chicago has 3 million people. New York City has a whopping 8 million people. Holy crap.

NYC is so infused into American culture (movies, TV, music, photography). So going for the first time gave me the same giddy feeling as listening to the Quebecois speak French. It's real. Terrifically real.

Over the years, well-meaning friends have offered to be my guide to NYC. And as I begin to get excited, their voices become dreamy and I hear the words "theatre," "modern art," and "Cats." I instantly chill and think fuggetaboutit. I don't want to be a tourist in that sense. I don't want to wave a sign outside the GMA studio in the freezing cold. I want to see the city. I want to work at not making eye contact with the crazy guy (actually, guys; there are many crazy guys there). I want to see the juxtaposition of glamour and poverty. I want to smell the urine in the alley . . . well, maybe not that. But you see where I'm going.

My kind friends who live in Brooklyn played tour guide and took me on a whirlwind tour. It was akin to being a prairie dog. Every time I lifted my head above ground from the subway I was tranferred to a wildly different aspect of New York. Some aspects were scarier than others. I think Times Square was the scariest experience of the weekend. There was just too much. You name it, there was too much of it. People, lights, chaos, taxis, consumerism . . . it was just too much. But now I've seen it.

But there were far more incredible moments that gave me the warm and fuzzies:

1. The guy who ran the Italian restaurant single-handedly, the inspiration for this entry's title. He was kind of like my uncle Mike. Corny and intimidating at the same time. He joked around with a four year old at one table and then stared us down when we asked for the check. I was spoken to for not being part of the clean plate club. And I began to sweat.

2. The Drop Off, a chill bar in the east village that welcomes children and dogs. Oh, and adults of drinking age too. It was the kind of bar that just feels right.

3. Standing beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. My friend was right: It's awe-inspiring. The sense of lines, scale, architecture, and history is unique.

4. Eucalyptus. The farmers' markets are intoxicating--the people watching, the smell of fresh produce, the bundles of fresh eucalyptus. That right there is enough to make me sell my car and live in a cruddy, overpriced apartment.

And the things that blow my mind in a not-so-great way:

1. Monuments and statues constructed to remind us of 9/11 and the struggles of our immigrant ancestors are not smiley photo ops. What did amuse me is that it was not solely the American tourists putting on a tacky display of smiling in front of such serious statements. Most of the folks in Battery Park clicking photos were not speaking English.

2. A liquor store that is really like walking into a glass closet. When it's your turn, you yell out what you want and point to it behind the glass. Then the little man behind the register skirts around the glassed-in corners and retrieves your choice. The transaction takes place through a 6x6-inch opening in the glass.

3. Being around so many people calls for a lot of touching. Stranger danger!

4. Who charges $18 for an omelet?! I don't care if you shave gold over the top. It's a couple eggs and some cheese. Get over yourself.

Yay, the fair!

For my entire life, my family has gone to the Deerfield Fair every September. And it's important. In fact, this year little brother came up for the fair but will not make it for the holidays. That's how dedicated we are.

And we have it down to a science. There are rules:

1. Arrive early on day 1. The animals are perkier, the food is better, and the attitudes warmer; plus you get to skip out of work for a day.
2. Do not eat ahead of time. When you're complaining later about a tummy ache, don't say I didn't warn you.
3. Only buy food cooked by old people. They don't care that you're waiting; they will take their time and put love into that food. Ever buy an awesome blossom from a 16-year-old? That's a whole lot of disappointing raw onion and crummy coating.
4. Attend with like-minded people. Because you're sharing food, you will get to try more as you work your way through the day.

The whole family is very much in sync about the food situation, but little brother and I are professionals. And mad props to his girlfriend, who is a total trouper through what some might call an ordeal. Food consumed by the group included:

• Onion rings (big'uns)
• Corn dogs
• Fried pickles
• French fries
• Funnel cake
• Fried dough
• Enormous donuts
• Lemonade
• Coffee
• Soda
• Hot fudge sundae (it was the hot fudgey-est)
• Steak and cheese sandwich

No one indulged in the hot apple crisp this year. Surprising, because the family really enjoys goading me because I once got sick after eating it and cannot look at warm apples, cinnamon, and crumb topping the same any more.

The crafts are one of my favorite things at the fair. And each year, the braided rugs, quilts, hooked rugs, and paintings are better. I look forward most to seeing the latest creation by my favorite painter, Ted Nichols. He submitted two this year. Unfortunately, I cannot find him on the Web anywhere. I would love to buy some of his work. Someday.













The quilts are great too. This log cabin village was adorable.










But the ultimate joy that I get out of the fair is being up close with the animals. My family, particularly little brother, is extremely patient while I high-five each sheep and stand in awe of the oxen. They're all such interesting creatures, and they bring me a sense of calm. I just generally enjoy animals more than people--I can accept the faults and behaviors of animals in a way that I can't for people.

So another year, another fair. Another day off the diet, and another day of laughs with some of the people closest to me. The ones who know me best and accept my faults. It's worth every minute.