sea salt

This weekend we helped Kevin's parents unpack their storage unit. It was filled to the top, boxes and furniture that once filled a 4-bedroom house with two young children. Now that they've downsized to a much smaller condo, it was time to finally empty out the things they'd amassed throughout their life as newlyweds, young parents, empty-nesters. I was eager to help - I pride myself on being ruthless when it comes to getting rid of old stuff, realistically assessing if I'll ever wear that sweater ever again, feeling secure enough to move on and leave some of the past behind. I implored Kevin's parents to get rid of a small orange tent they've had for 35 years - the tent they used on their cross-country honeymoon trip. "I've known your family for 5 years and you've been camping approximately 0 times," I said. "I know, but what if our grandchildren want to go camping?" "Like we'd ever let our kids go camping in a 35...

Note: I wrote this draft on July 17, and emailed Jodi to ask if it was ok to use this beautiful picture of her. I did not hear back from her before receiving the news that she died on August 2. Instead of revising this post to reflect on her death, I've chosen to post the original, which reflects on her life. * A few months before I began my MFA program at Lesley University, I received instructions to read the first essay submissions of the writers who would be in my first workshop. I had been accepted for the nonfiction writing track, so everything I read was a personal essay. Everything was true. As the submissions came in and I began reading and editing, I realized I was an outlier. With the exception of one other writer, I was the only one who hadn't written about being abused in some way. The essays shocked me, saddened me, and made me feel strangely guilty that I'd grown up with loving, protective parents and relatives who would never dream of hurting me...

Grammy and Grampy at our wedding, October 2010. A month before my grandfather died, he told me a secret. Kevin and I were in his room at Spaulding Rehab, and for the first time we were the only visitors there. My grandfather was well-loved in health; in sickness, he inspired a steady stream of cheerful visitors.             “Hi, Grampy,” I said. “Can I have a kiss?”             He puckered his lips the best he could. Since he no longer wore his dentures, his lips outlined the sunken hole in his face. The smoothness of his cheek told me my aunt had stopped by to give him a shave.             I took out a Christmas ornament and hung it from a pushpin on the bulletin board with a calendar and the name of the nurse on duty.               ...

I never understood those people who complain about their birthdays being close to or on Christmas. Their reasoning is that they don't get as many presents because most people just give them a combination Christmas/birthday gift. That always seemed pretty obnoxious to me, and confusing. If your birthday falls on a special holiday, it means your family is together. Everyone is festive. People are smiling, celebrating, joyful. And you get to share that. My best friend's birthday is September 11th. She gets to share the day with the nation's mourning. The recounting of the "Where were you on 9/11?" stories. The photos and videos of that day replayed on every news station, every flag at half-staff, the moments of silence before memorial speeches. There's no selfish complaining about not getting enough presents - there's the awkward and inescapable realization that while she's opening presents and blowing out the candles, thousands of people are crying...

J.J. was a skinny kid who moved to our neighborhood when I was in middle school. He was my age, but a lot shorter than me (most of the boys were). More importantly, he played basketball in his driveway. For a few glorious summers, there were enough kids in my neighborhood to have big games of basketball, dodge ball, and hide-and-seek. So one afternoon I took my basketball over to J.J.'s house and rang the doorbell. "A bunch of us are playing basketball at the end of the street. Wanna play?" After that he became a regular in our pick-up games, which we played most nights in the summer and every weekend. We didn't know each other very well, as we went to different schools, but my parents liked his parents, he was nice, and really good at basketball. Perfect qualities for a neighborhood kid. And because he was so much shorter than me, I never had a crush on him. When we reached high school, J.J. moved back to Milwaukee to live with his biological father, and I di...

I have this unrealistic idea about myself, which is that I can probably do anything I set out to do. Of course, our parents and teachers wanted us to believe this, but most of us know it's not really true. Most of us. So one day while watching a reality show about fancy cake bakers, I thought, "How hard can that be? I can do that." I purchased a good cookbook , a few supplies, and set out to make the first fancy cupcake: a simple pink top with a black bow. On Sunday I baked vanilla cupcakes and whipped up a large batch of white chocolate ganache. On Monday I spread the ganache over the tops of the cupcakes. And last night, I applied the icing, using a syrup I made with boiling water and apricot jam. The book strongly favors purchasing ready-made fondant, as the consistency is hard to get just right. And since I'm a beginner, and had made everything else, I was happy to buy a box of 4 packages of fondant, already colored. All I had to do was roll it out, cut, and st...

 As many of you know, I've been lucky enough to have a close relationship with all of my grandparents. As some of you know, we recently lost my grandfather, a man I truly admired and loved. I've published various pieces about him before (see links to the right for "What I Think My Grandmother is Thinking," "Mt. Auburn," and "The Man I Know"), but this weekend I was honored to write a new piece, one to deliver at his memorial service. Below is the eulogy I read at the service. I was limited to 3 minutes, but those of you who knew Grampy know that I could have spoken for days. I may later post the entire list of 101 Life Lessons mentioned in my eulogy, and I may later be able to compose a new piece to reflect on this loss. For now, my tired and grieving heart just wants to rest. Enjoy remembering this wonderful life, and feel free to share your own memories. You are also welcome to read his obituary , an impressive testament to a life well li...

One of the most distinctive differences in the way my generation has grown up, compared to our parents and grandparents, is that we are both more exposed to and protected from the harsh realities of war. People lazily protest with bumper stickers and others use the military as a political platform. Media channels tell us what they think we need to know, and then we turn off the TV and go to bed. But when it comes to our day-to-day lives, most of us could easily forget that we've been at war for 10 years. Try comparing that experience to those who lived through WWI, WWII, and Vietnam. I can't. It's just a different era. The war hasn't changed my ability to buy food. I'm not limited to the amount of sugar I can use in a week. I don't have a victory garden. I'm not filling a job that a drafted man left vacant. I'm not responding to a poster of Uncle Sam telling me he wants ME, and I'm not part of a new music movement with a powerful anti-war messag...

  (in loving memory of Alison) Last week Kevin and I had dinner with some dear friends who have a 2-year old and a 3-month old. Their lives have changed dramatically since they had children, their world turned upside down. We had a pretty dramatic year ourselves. In the span of less than one year, we were engaged, married, transplanted to a new state, and homeowners. Each decision felt like the biggest of our lives. People do this every day , we kept reminding ourselves. But that didn't make it any easier. When we shared this with Brian and April, they laughed. "Wait till you have kids," they said. "To you, every moment is the biggest deal of your life. But everyone has kids. So you're saying, 'Guess what! My child is potty-trained!' but everyone has already gone through it. It feels like the whole world has changed, but it really only has to you." We laughed. We don't have kids, but we understood. Lots of people get married and buy hous...

Pellegrino was not my grandfather.  He was not even related to me.  He was an old man with broken English who smoked on the porch and wore a red knit cardigan from September - May.   Every morning I came down from my third floor apartment, left the house and said, "Buongiorno!" and he would check his watch and say, "You late!  You sleep all a-day!"  Every evening I'd come home and say, "Buona sera!" and he'd say, "You late!  You been sleeping all a-day!"  Some days I thought he might really be crazy; other days I thought he was just being silly; most days I thought he was a combination of both, so like my grandfather in the years before he died. Today I found out that Pellegrino died in January.  He was in his 80s, he had bladder cancer, and he had been living with his daughter since last year.  I moved out of the apartment in 2009, and missed him when I came down from my new third floor apartment every day to an empty porch, wishing ...

I arrived early for my appointment at Porter Square Veterinarian, so I checked in and sat next to my cat Lucca, who was crying from his little blue carrier.  The vet came out to see me, apologized for the fact that I'd have to wait, and said, "I'd see him early, but I'm about to euthanize." Suddenly I wasn't grateful that there'd been no traffic, that I'd managed to get Lucca in the carrier in just a few minutes, and that for once I wasn't rushing into the vet five minutes after my appointment.  I didn't want to be around for this, and I didn't want to be the next appointment after the vet had just euthanized somebody's pet.  Dr. Champagne rushed into the back room with the swinging door, and came out a few minutes later carrying a white, medium-sized dog.  The dog's legs dangled from the vet's arms, and despite the fact that he was too big of a dog to be carried on a regular basis, he didn't put up a fight.  He swun...

On this day, five years ago, my grandfather finally passed into peace after a long and painful battle with Alzheimer's.  Grampy has been the inspiration for much of my writing, including my memoir, At Ease.   To honor the memory of his life, struggle, and death, I've copied below a few scenes from my memoir. I love you, Grampy.  I still miss you... The Motorcycle My head was hot under the red helmet and I held my breath as Grandpa leaned in to secure the chin strap, the plastic clasp burning with summer heat. He bought the helmet for the grandkids to share, but while I was riding I pretended it was all mine. It was my turn to ride. My older sisters, Christine and Angie, had already ridden, and Julie had to wait in the driveway until I got back, since she was only eight and I was ten. I hoped Grandpa wouldn’t shorten my ride because she was waiting. As he lifted me onto the motorcycle, I stretched my legs to keep from touching the hot chrome of the exhaus...