Happy Hump Day

I am starting to get jazzed about my vacation that commences on Friday evening.  I am planning to spend the week at my parents' house.  I will visit with them in between taking super long baths and super long naps.  Today is day 10 of my office's 12-day work week and everyone is ready to throw in the towel.  This morning I was bummed to discover that today is Wednesday rather than Thursday.  Ouch.

This will be another brief post, but I want to share two videos.  The first is a lullaby performed by Chris Parnell and Maya Rudolph on Rudolph's variety show.  It is a very sweet song.



The second video is an impressive Newsies medley from a BYU a cappella group.  I have mentioned before that Newsies was a big favorite for Ryan and me, so of course I've watched/listened to this half a dozen times today.

From Oscar to Fred

Today is day eight of a 12-day work week and day four of me being a great big grumpy baby.  I have a strong desire to slap someone silly, and to suffer no consequences for doing so.  I am in such a unpleasant mood that I am chafing at my own company.

I started this post before I stumbled upon Mr. Rogers' 2002 commencement address at Dartmouth College.  Mr. Rogers' genuine goodness squashed my slappy impulses.  I have greatly admired Mr. Rogers for a long time; many of his statements resonate deeply with me.  You just cannot be grouchy when you absorb the wisdom and kindness of his words.  Here are a few favorites that helped turn my day around:

• “Love isn't a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now.” 

• “I believe that appreciation is a holy thing – that when we look for what's best in a person we happen to be with at the moment, we're doing what God does all the time. So in loving and appreciating our neighbor, we're participating in something sacred.” 

• “The connections we make in the course of a life – maybe that's what heaven is.” 

The Happiest Place on Earth

No, I am not talking about Disney Land/World.  My favorite place on the planet is Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

My uncles Steve and Jeff gave me the best 21st birthday present ever-- a week's vacation in Rehoboth Beach.  Jeff's sister and brother-in-law, Maureen and Mike, had a gorgeous beach house in Rehoboth Beach.  In the ultimate display of generosity and hospitality, they welcomed me into their home four summers in a row.  The first time Steve and Jeff invited me to RB, they told me I could invite whoever I wanted.  My cousin Molly, who didn't know Steve and Jeff very well at the time, agreed to join us on the adventure.  I hate heat and hide from the sun, so I found out later that Molly was hoping the trip wouldn't be a disaster.  It turned out to be the opposite.  The beach house was beautiful, the beach itself was perfection (so much better than the icy water at New England beaches), and Steve and Jeff are two of the most fun people I have ever met.  Even the car rides between Massachusetts and Delaware were enjoyable.  We played games, made up songs, ate delicious food (including Nic-O-Bolis), and laughed a lot.  We usually walked over to the beach around lunch time-- our hands full with beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers packed with refreshments, and canvas bags filled with towels, sunscreen, books, and games-- and stayed until the sun set.  While at the beach, we swam, read, listened to music, napped, and got crushed by Jeff at Boggle.  He played the rest of us as a team and still dominated.  It would have been demoralizing if we weren't having such a good time.  Then as it was starting to get dark, we walked back to the house, took turns in the glorious outdoor shower, and enjoyed a feast prepared by Jeff and Steve.  We spent our nights playing more games, putting together puzzles, walking or riding around town (sometimes on a fabulous tandem bicycle), and selecting the annual perfect tee shirt from It's a Breeze.  One night each summer we went "night swimming"-- which was really just all of us running into the water together in the dark and hustling right back out.

2001*

2003

2004

During the third summer at the beach, Molly and I were determined to get tattoos.  We spent the better part of a week scoping out strangers' tattoos and visiting tattoo parlors until we found the perfect place and each got a butterfly tattoo.  (Thanks, Drew Winner!)  Every time I see the little teal butterfly on my ankle, I think about the fun the four of us had together at Rehoboth Beach.  And with a dozen years between me and the event, I am including the stink-fest that was Pony Penning Day in those good times too.

Tattoo Buds

This is one of the busiest times of year at work and it is nice to take a moment from the commotion and reminisce about fabulously relaxing and joyful vacations.  It is not a coincidence that I decorated my bedroom to remind me of the happiest place on earth.  I am eternally grateful to Steve and Jeff for their thoughtfulness and generosity.  I will never forget the blast I had with them at Rehoboth Beach.

Awesome print from USteve

*I went to RB with Steve and Jeff in 2002, but Molly couldn't make it that year and I am not sure if we took a group shot at the beach that summer.

Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough

I heard the posthumous release of Michael Jackson's "Love Never Felt So Good" today and it has me in the Jackson zone.  Have I mentioned on this blog my love for and obsession with the Jackson family?  Evidence:

• The Thriller album was an appropriately ginormous deal in my family home.
• Ryan and I had a Jacksons Victory Tour poster in our shared bedroom.

• I owned a Michael Jackson doll.
• Ryan owned a Michael Jackson red leather jacket.

• Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation was one of the first cassettes that I owned and didn't just borrow from my parents.  The tape was in my Christmas stocking in fourth grade.  
• I danced to "Escapade" in my fifth grade dance recital.
• I remember watching the world release of Michael Jackson's videos for "Bad" and "Remember the Time" on prime-time TV.
• I saw "The Jacksons: An American Dream" when it was released in 1992 and became wildly obsessed with The Jackson Five.  
• I know the names and birth order of the nine Jackson siblings.  And I know that Marlon had a twin brother who died as a baby.
• I remember watching Oprah's interview with Michael Jackson on prime-time TV.
• We didn't have MTV, so when we visited my cousins on school vacations, we always wanted to watch that channel.  Michael and Janet's "Scream" video was a particular favorite in the mid-90s.
• When I was in college, my mum recorded Michael Jackson's 30th Anniversary Special for me.  I brought the VHS tape back to school and watched it a hundred times.

• I cried when I watched Michael Jackson's televised funeral.
• I watched every episode of "The Jacksons: A Family Dynasty."
• I own a DVD of Michael Jackson's greatest videos.
• The Jackson family is responsible for a solid percentage of my CDs.  I'm off to enjoy them.

Lost the faith, thanks a lot, Bruins/UBri

The Boston Bruins lost in a pathetic fashion 4-0 to the Montreal Canadiens last night.  And yes, Canadiens in the frenchy NHL team sense is spelled differently than the group of folks who live up north, Canadians.  After the Bruins gave up a terrible goal right off the bat in the first period, I knew they were going to lose the game and quasi lost my mind temporarily.  I went into the bathroom and shaved off five weeks worth of beard growth.  I had a basketball game last night, so I put the embarrassing Bruins game on pause and played bball with a freshly shaven face.  The thing about not shaving for a while is that your face becomes sensitive to the razor, especially when the shaving was done in a hastily, coupled with a lack of shaving cream.  My face was as red as Santa's ass and as itchy as the Easter Bunny's pubes.  Despite showering both last night after ball and this morning, the face is still recovering from the sudden clean shave.  I'm basking in a softball size amount of moisturizer right now and cursing myself for not having a beard in May/during hockey playoffs for the first time in nine years.

My "lunch break" today while working from home will consist of a quick haircut and the purchase of more facial moisturizer.  I have a basketball game tonight at 8:15pm that might be the death of my baby face good looks.

One note on basketball - the phrase, "ball don't lie" might be my least favorite basketball phrase ever.  I'm a bit rusty at free throws and am shooting a lame 40% from the line.  In my Monday night league, that gets yelled whenever someone misses a foul shot.  I understand the origin of the phrase, how it can sometimes make sense and be pertinent to a situation, but not every time someone misses a foul shot.  I realized how old I am and how outdated my references are when I blocked the "ball don't lie" guy later in the game and yelled, "meal".  Kid was confused and no one on the court really knew what that meant.  Somehow that isn't a phrase or common now?  Probably should keep the 1995 Central Maine Flem family pick-up lingo to myself next game.  Thanks a lot, Uncle Bri.

Manic Monday

Troubling times.  It has been so long since Ryan posted to the blog that he has fallen off our front page.  I know our tens* of readers are as disappointed as I am.  I got to see him nap on my couch while I watched Philomena this past weekend, but the rest of you are out of luck. 

Today I am relying on my trusty '80s radio station and Dunkin' Donuts iced coffee to keep me awake.  I was up until the wee hours of the morning thanks to HBO GO's quality Sunday night programming and my cat Neville.  He is the feline version of the Snuggle fabric softener bear and what am I going to do, not cuddle the stuffing out of him?  Please.

I don't have much to report, aside from a nice visit with my maternal grandparents yesterday.  I was sorry not to see my mum on Mother's Day, but at least I got to see her mother.  I also have a few recommendations for all ten(s) of you.

1) My Uncle Steve bought me a Vera Bradley Throw Blanket last summer and it is a treasure.  At first glance, you may think, "Another fleece blanket.  What's the big deal?"  The big deal is that this is the coziest blanket ever.  It is also larger than most fleece throws and comes in a variety of pretty patterns.  A bunch of my family members have one of these blankets and I swear they are universally beloved.  These throws are on sale right now at Vera Bradley, which concerns me a bit.  I hope they are not going to stop carrying them.  I am tempted to stockpile just in case.  Did I mention that they are phenomenally soft?

A photo of my Vera Bradley Throw Blanket, which just happens to be my cats' favorite blanket too.

2)  Speaking of stockpiling, I loaded up on Satsuma products at The Body Shop last week.  I find the scent to be clean and pleasant.  I sanitized my hands with Satsuma Antibacterial Hand Sanitizer today and now I am less germ-y and I smell fantastic.  Bonus.

3) I mentioned HBO at the start of this post.  I have been a big fan of "Veep" since it began a couple of years ago and now I am really enjoying "Silicon Valley" as well.  Both shows are super funny.  I like "Last Week Tonight With John Oliver" too.  My recommendation is not simply to watch these shows, but to find a friend with an HBO subscription and invite yourself to that person's home each Sunday night.  Bring some delicious snacks and/or bevs to your buddy's house so that you are not a total leach.  And since you have a close enough relationship to invite yourself over, go ahead and pack your new Vera Bradley throw blanket for optimal cozy television watching.

The cast of "Silicon Valley."  Bill Haverchuck!

*A single "ten" would be optimistic.  Tossing that "s" on the end is borderline delusional.

Odds & Ends

I don't have an idea for a cohesive post theme today, so I'm just going to mention a few items of interest.

1)  When I was home a few weeks ago, my dad mentioned "Nuts Over Fudge" ice cream and I accused him of being full of it regarding that product name.  Yesterday he had my mum send me a photo Friendly's Nuts Over Fudge Sundae Cones.  He could have just linked to the online product page, but I think he got more satisfaction from finding it in the grocery store flyer. 

2)  I enjoyed listening to Steve Zimmer's story "The Case of the Pencil Case" on The Moth podcast last week.  It may be in large part because of his midwestern accent, but I was reminded of Harold Ramis when listening to Zimmer.  I looked him up online and discovered that I had heard and really liked another of his stories, "Stars, Rockets, and Moons."  I recommend checking out "Stars, Rockets, and Moons" first and "The Case of the Pencil Case" second.  There are three more performances by him available on The Moth's website if you like the first two.

3) Dang, things in my life are really slow this week and I am struggling to round this list out with a third item.  I have decided to reference an embarrassing story, as I have an endless supply of those.  I took the Commuter Rail to Providence last weekend for the first time in ages to attend my Auntie Kathy's 60th birthday party.  In the few years after I graduated college, I used to take this train every so often to visit Kathy and family.  A decade ago I had a train experience that has resulted in Commuter Rail Anxiety.  (I assume that is a diagnosable condition.)  Here is an email from 2004 that explains:

Friday afternoon.  4:30.  I have had a lousy day at work and I have a train to catch, so I shut down my computer the very second that my workday has officially ended.  One of my bosses pokes her head out of her office as I am jacketing up and asks me to email her a file.  Upon explaining that I have shutdown my computer, it is suggested that I turn the machine back on.  What an idea!  This email business puts me ten minutes behind schedule.  I book it over to South Station and am greeted by a heinous ticket line.  It is the end of the month and loads of people are purchasing their February passes.  I decide to wait in line until the train is five minutes away from departing.  At that point, I will just hop on the train and shell out an extra couple of bucks for not purchasing my ticket in advance.  As always, I suffer serious line anxiety.  I spend approximately five minutes examining the second hand on my watch as the queue slowly advances.  I make it to the front and buy my ticket just under the gun.  I check the Commuter Rail “scoreboard” for my track number and dart off to Track 2.  I get onto the train and walk the crowded aisles looking for a seat.  When I find a seat, I call Auntie Kathy to remind her and Mum to pick me up at 6:10 in Providence.  Moments after placing my phone back in my bag, the conductor announces, “The Express to Worcester is now departing.”  Terror-stricken, I look at the woman sitting next to me and squeal, “Did he say Worcester?!”  She confirms.  I grab my bags and barrel down the aisle like a bat out of Hell.  At the end of the car, the door to the train has been shut.  I open the door and am horrified to see the view of the track is steadily moving.  The train is in motion.  I determine that my best move is to jump out of the train.  Unfortunately my Indiana Jones moves are a bit rusty and I topple out onto the track with all of the grace of an inebriated rhinoceros.  Landing on everything but my feet, I take a moment to appreciate the sheer stupidity of my actions before the last call for my train (departing from Track 6) is announced over the speaker system.  I pick myself up and start a crazed sprint down the now abandoned Track 2.  My knapsack rebounds off my back with sufficient momentum to drill my feet into the ground but I continue bounding toward my destination.  There is no time to process the expressions of terror on the faces of onlookers as I cross over four tracks barking, “Excuse me!”  By this point a perspiration and tear cocktail has rendered me nearly blind, but it appears that against all odds the Providence train has not yet taken off.  I triumphantly board the train and spend the 60-minute commute contemplating my asinine conduct and imagining all of the ways in which I might have been injured and humiliated after leaping from a moving train.  I relay my Commuter Rail escapade to Mum and Kathy on the drive from Providence to Somerset and they remark that I do indeed “look like Hell.”  When I attempt to get out of the car, I discover that my tumble has resulted in some pain in my “Red Light” area.  This proves to be fun for the whole family, as Mum and Kathy seem to enjoy watching me hobble around like a geriatric patient.  I spend the night wondering if I landed directly on my lady business when I fell, but a ginormous bruise on my outer thigh later indicates that this was not the case.

The Maine Accent

Ryan sent me a clip of a Boston commercial today in which a mother calls her family to "dinnah."  He got a kick out of the accent so I then referenced a Maine classic from Hammond Lumber company:

I wish I could copy an authentic Maine accent, but I just can't get it right.  Ryan had a coworker in Maine known as "Cowboy Bill" whose accent he still mimics.  (I am going to go out on a limb and guess that Bill gave himself that nickname.)  It is unbelievable how people in our hometown and the surrounding area could have such thick accents while others had, to my ear, no accent at all.  I think we fall into the latter category, but who knows.  I can detect a slight Maine accent when our dad speaks.  I say slight because his accent is minuscule in comparison to that of the man who built my parents' house and many other Mainers.  While I fell into a Maine-accent rabbit hole online, I came across the following clip of a Maine State Trooper and an enraged motorist with a Maine accent.  Our Uncle Pat, a former trooper, recently admitting to being a loyal Baking Like A Toasted Reader, so I am posting this in his honor.  (Warning:  Inappropriate language.)

One final note.  Until I started college, I was under the impression that using "wicked" as a synonym for "very" was unique to Maine.  It is the only word/phrase from the Bangor Daily News* article "Everybody's heard about the (Maine) words" that I regularly use.  My mother is from Western Massachusetts and my father's parents grew up in Boston, so I have never heard a family member utter "Ayuh."  In fact, only a few items on the list ring a bell.  My nana uses "cunning" to mean cute, it is very possible that I have said "Jeezum crow" at some point in my life, and my dad says "numb" in place of stupid.  He also favors the phrase "numbnuts," as in, "Did that numbnuts just drive over my lawn?"  He's a colorful guy.

*I cannot think about the Bangor Daily News without hearing my Uncle Dave practice answering their phone, emphasizing a different word in the paper name each time:  "Bangor Daily News. . . .  Good morning, Bangor Daily News. . . .   Good afternoon, Bangor Daily News."  We are a simple family.

They Laugh Alike, They Walk Alike

True to my strong geriatric inclinations, I enjoy a stroll down memory lane.  Today I am trying something new with a through-the-years photo post featuring Ryan and me with our cousins Kyle and Molly.

I have no idea who the girl sitting next to Ryan is, but this is the earliest shot of the four of us (plus a stranger) that I could find.  Also the first of a hundred times someone has yelled, "GD it, Samantha, put down the sandwich while I take a photo!"

Baby Molly is finally sprouting some hair in this shot.  Who knew Nike sneaks were so affordable in the mid-80s? 

Quite a time jump to this photo, which was taken in May 1994.  As God is my witness, I am bringing back the killer combination of Gilligan hats and sweater vests in 2014.  (Guest appearance by our cousin Michaela.)

A shot of our stuffed animals:  Kyle's pillow person, Ryan's bear Fuzzy Softy, Molly's bunny, and my Wrinkles dog Tippy.  Molly has since traded in the bunny for "Mr. Beaver."  Seriously.

Having a blast at an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet.  We may have gone home, turned off the lights in the house, and used only "rations" (flashlights) and code names to communicate that night.  You know-- usual teenager shenanigans.

Slumber party in Nana and Grampa's living room.  (Kyle and Molly call Grampa "Papa", but they are WRONG.)

One of our many visits to a New England amusement park.  We hit Funtown USA in Maine, Riverside (now Six Flags New England) in Massachusetts, and Rocky Point in Rhode Island.  "The Free Fall is nothing."

A very brief visit with Molly at a truck stop in southern Maine.  She was grounded from visiting us after sneaking out to a nightclub.  I hope she is able to sleep at night knowing that she destroyed a week-long cousin visit with her rotten life choices. 

Presidents' Day weekend 2001.  Kyle, Ryan, and I came back from college to spend the weekend with Molly and several of Kyle's and Molly's friends.  Ryan taught us the routine to N'Sync's "Bye Bye Bye" and Kyle caused us to wet our pants while watching What Lies Beneath.

Kyle's and Ryan's graduation weekend.  Ryan graduated on Saturday, Kyle on Sunday.  Ryan pulled his robes out of the trunk of his car for this photo opportunity.

Molly's graduation the following spring. 

Holiday dinner.  I've cut out a few exes.  You're welcome, boys.

This is an example of not being on the same page.  Molly and I are going for a standard smile, while Ryan and Kyle are doing their best Blue Steel impersonations.

Summer 2008.  You can identify the season by the non-ginger's tan.

January 2013.  Reunited and it feels so good.

Memories. . . Light the Corners of My Mind

When I read today's post title in my head, it is in Tom Hanks' voice rather than Barbra Streisand's:

Every year on the first Friday in May, I share the Orange Line with Northeastern University graduates in their caps and gowns.  I am always surprised by how early their graduation is, as I graduated from college on May 31.  (They probably had a much shorter winter break.  Wellesley gave us loads of time for the holidays and "Wintersession"-- a month-long mini-semester that I used every year for champion-level napping.)  This morning's grads were sporting their finest duds and exuding excitement.  The happiness of the grads is at least momentarily contagious each year.  Today that happiness is combined with lovely spring weather and the fact that a coworker told me that my hair looks "especially cute" this morning.  Does life get any better?  (Spoiler alert:  Mine does not.)

The Northeastern lads and ladies made me nostalgic for the gorgeous Wellesley campus, my wonderful Wellesley friends, and the beautiful spring day a dozen years ago when I graduated and my family and friends came together to support me.  Whoopi Goldberg was the commencement speaker and she delivered the best address I have heard at a graduation.  When Ryan and our cousin Kyle found out Morgan Freeman was there to see his granddaughter graduate, they stalked him so hard that he had to change his seat.  In the era before digital cameras, I was surprised to discover that we were out of film after just a handful of post-graduation pictures.  When  I got the photos back, I had dozens of blurry shots of a seated African American man and one very clear shot of Ryan scooping Kyle up in An Officer and a Gentleman-style embrace.

Graduations are long and boring.  This is a fact of which I am acutely aware, as I work at a university and am therefore guaranteed the "opportunity" to attend at least one graduation every spring.  My college graduation was on a Friday, so in addition to the promise of a painful ceremony, most of my loved ones who attended had to take a day off from work.  My dear friends Christi and Laura, who had graduated from Wellesley the previous spring, flew back to attend graduation.  They had been out in the real world for one year and they used their money and vacation time (and spent a couple nights sleeping in the lap of luxury-- my dorm room) to celebrate with me.  True friends.

Of course my parents and Ryan attended Commencement.  My mother came down early to go to a few pre-graduation events, such as baccalaureate (also boring-- sorry, Mum) and a senior week Boston Pops concert.  My uncles Steve and Jeff attended the Pops concert as well.  It was such a thrill to spend four years living close to them and getting to see more of them.  They took me to dinners and shows, and in one of my favorite college memories, they showed up with an ice cream cake on the final night of my sophomore year at Wellesley.  My roommate Jamie and I had one of the best doubles on campus and we ate cake on the patio with my friends, while USteve sported my roommate's tiara.  Having them at my graduation meant the world to me.

My mother's sister Kathy, her husband Stephen, and my cousins Kyle and Molly had me pretty much move in with them during numerous weekends throughout my four years at college.  I lived an hour away, so getting me and bringing me back meant four hours of driving for them every time that I visited.  It also meant that their laundry facilities were not available to them as I never failed to show up without a massive bag of dirty clothes and that Uncle Stephen may have to devote some time to talking me through a school-work-related panic attack.  Our families had always been close, spending school vacations together growing up, but when Ryan, Kyle, Molly, and I all ended up living outside Boston in college, we became even closer.  I couldn't have imagined graduating without my aunt, uncle, and cousins there.

My four grandparents and my step-grandmother also attended my graduation.  How amazing is that?  Not only was I lucky enough to have all of my grandparents alive and healthy enough to attend, but they sat on folding chairs for hours on a hot day just for me.  My dad's brother UJohn came to my graduation as well.  He had been kind enough to give me rides from Boston to Maine and back many times over the years.  He had a very long commute each week and added time onto that drive by helping me.  I was surrounded by the absolute best people.  When I walked across the stage to receive my diploma and saw and heard them cheering, I was so overwhelmed with happiness and love that I teared up.  This morning when I saw the graduates on the train, I felt grateful to every person who shared in my celebration twelve years ago.  I understand now even more than I did then that they all made sacrifices to be with me on that day and that many of them, my parents most of all, had made sacrifices on my behalf through my entire life.  I am so very fortunate and today during my usual rushed commute I took a moment to remember that.

Whoopi's Wisdom: Check your own basket.

*Edited to use REAL NAMES per my co-blogger's suggestion.