Sad Day

During my observation hours today I saw a lot of patients I'd never seen before but also two repeat patients (i.e. I was observing another time when they also had come in for treatment). The first was in her early 30s, had back pain, was doing quite better.

The second a man, much older, had gotten knee replacement surgery. The first time I saw him he was in a lot of pain, had very limited mobility. It had been several weeks since the surgery and his recovery was unusually slow. It was obvious that even bending or straightening his knee was causing him a lot of pain. He ended up having to have manipulation under anesthesia performed (basically they knock you out and the surgeon bends the knee to restore range of motion - sounds gruesome but apparently tends to be effective). That was a few weeks ago.

He was the last patient today and it was kind of heartbreaking. For whatever the reason he had lost almost all of the mobility that the knee manipulation had restored. It was almost exactly the same as the first time I saw him getting therapy. Even with assistance, his knee was not able to bend past 90 degrees, and even that caused him immense pain. He was shaking and kind of whimpering, eyes pressed tightly closed, and when he opened them, they were watery. It didn't seem like it should have caused him so much pain, and the PT I was observing said that even for people of comparable age, this is rare. It just appeared that his body experienced pain differently from most people, that he wasn't able to do - or motivate himself to do - his exercises because of the pain he was experiencing (even with a pretty hefty dose of percocet).

I don't know. It just seemed like, if he cannot do what needs to be done to restore the range of motion in his leg, it isn't unlikely that he will ever be able to walk without pain. I just felt kind of bummed out leaving on that note. The PT was really supportive and encouraging to him, but I think she felt a little bummed out too.

Long Over Due Post: Why I Am Not a Mormon

Short answer, there are probably a ton of reasons:

• Political ones
• Social ones
• Doctrinal ones
• Faith ones
• Creepy experiences with men in power ones

These were all sort of happening for years and eventually I couldn't justify those things, didn't get enough out of it, didn't feel I could find enough good to justify them. Basically, I got tired and I wanted to be happy.

Long answer: I know I never had the rock-solid belief that a lot of other people in my various congregations seemed to have. I didn't know if I believed, but I knew I wanted to believe in a benevolent, all-powerful, all-loving God who wasn't sexist or racist or arbitrary or believed in certain sexualities over others. Who was there when you needed him/her. Who helped you through the tough times. I prayed and prayed for that. For God to tell me even something as simple as Yes I validate your struggle, you are known and loved. I clung to the words that other people spoke of their own experiences. Searched everything I could find. Tried to train myself, my habits to be the kind of person who believed, who was worthy of the gift of faith. Who - to use the LDS phraseology - knew.

I don't know why, but I could never feel certain. And I could certainly never justify a lot of the horrible things that have been done in the name of my religion, and the religions it was based on. Never seem to have enough faith in the other stuff to let those bad things slide, or trust that they would be explained 'in the eternities'. And I didn't want to. That felt gravely wrong, terrifying.*

But I also didn't think that I should give up on the good in it. Didn't think my voice, my experiences should be discounted, just because I didn't fit the mold. At times, I thought maybe my role would be to help pave the way for other forms of belief, of living the religion, or to work against those bad things from within, trying to fight injustice where I found it while still attempting to fit in with the greater culture, to 'live in harmony with the gospel'. But let me tell you. That's kind of exhausting. I don't actually love conflict. I struggled on for what felt like a very long time.

And I had my little seedlings of faith and hope. I stumbled upon fiercely loving friends, gentle ones who listened to my teary confessions of doubt, ones who would discuss the complexities of what I was facing, who were maybe facing similar things, or who at least didn't trivialize either side of my conflict.

I came across ideas and principles that really resonated. Little bits here and there that made me feel larger, powerful, good... and gentle too. I created simple rituals for myself (and close friends who were interested) that reflected the beauty and order - and chaos too - around us in the seasons, in darkness and light, in quiet moments and joyful ones and painful ones. Hey, I figured. Joseph Smith could start a religion, why can't I? I carry those little seedlings with me still. And now, too, I love to snatch up those little bits that make you feel like your soul and body are a part of something bigger and like that deeper, wiser part of you knew this all along. They are taking root, getting stronger and sturdier.

Somewhere in this process, my little brother decided to go on a mission for the LDS church. I think I hadn't attended a service in awhile, but then on top of that, began spending Sundays afternoons having family time, hanging out, eating delicious food. A legit 'excuse' for people from my own congregation who might be concerned for my spiritual welfare. My parents went to their congregation in the morning with my little brother and littlest sister, and I didn't want to miss the family time to go to the one near me, so I just didn't go. After he left for his missionary service, I realized, I am happier, calmer, more peaceful when I don't go to church. So I didn't go back.

I have done and tried a lot of new things these past couple years now, most of them not even directly related to things that I wasn't "supposed" to do as a practicing Mormon. I just found myself saying "yes" to new things, new experiences, trying stuff I had never even thought to try before. And it has been good. I am challenging a lot of things I didn't even realize I was holding to so closely. For example, I went to a shooting range and fired a pistol for the first time. I don't love guns, but I have at least tried that now. The world has opened up before me. I feel safer and more confident in myself. I still only think I like 30-40% believe in God, but I do feel more settled and serene.

People from church - I try to remind myself, they are coming from a place of care and concern - have tried to encourage me to go back, to attend activities or meetings, to meet with leaders. I have had to learn to politely say "no thank you," to set my boundaries, and stick to them. To respect my own ability to make choices for my life to trust my decisions and understanding of what I want, and to demand that others respect that as well. This has been a good learning experience for me too.

I don't know what the future holds. I don't know if I will get married or have kids, if my path will lead me back toward the church my parents chose as a young couple with two children, or to a different church, or to some other path I can't even imagine. Maybe I'm actually ok with not knowing.

Maybe it is enough that I can tell myself, Yes I validate your struggle, you are known and loved.

*and probably even a lot of people within the religion would agree that I shouldn't go against that, but other people might also think a person struggling with such thoughts should pray more, read her scriptures more, just trust more

Sad Muffin

Warning... kind of dumb post ahead.

Who would've known it would be so difficult to obtain a NOT non-stick muffin pan?  Apparently everybody wants non-stick.  I just think it's kind of crappy, because they get all scratched up if you're not super careful. 

So I found some online for a reasonable price. 

Except it arrived damaged. 

TWICE.

I returned it one time, very conveniently with this print-out postage label so you don't have to pay for postage.  But then the replacement came back damaged as well.  Ughhhh... 




As I write in the details of my 'reason for return' I JUST WANT TO MAKE MUFFINS... :(((((((

Lunch, Possible Outcomes, Ranked in Order of Desirability (with 1 Being the Highest)

Because lists are fun, sometimes...

1. Bring lunch
2. Purchase lunch
3. Do not bring lunch OR wallet and scrounge up stale roll and leftover pasta from fridge at work

Love Notes

Dear Boston,
Just wanted to make sure you didn't forget about me and my harrowing beauty.  Didn't want you to grow complacent.  Didn't want you to forget pain. 

love,
Snow



Dear Boston,
You should have known I am capricious and fickle.  You should have known I make an exciting lover but a terrible spouse.  And Newt, you should have worn gloves today. 

love,
March



Dear woman next to me on the train with the books of art photographs that were so beautiful,

Why did you flip through the pages so quickly?  I didn't even get a chance to see half of them, let alone CHERISH the aesthetic details.

I understand it is YOUR BOOK, but still...

-Newt



Dear Snow/March,
We are going to bloom anyway.  And we're not going to die.

-Pretty Trees



Dear Newt,
It is my book, so I can do what I want with it.

-Woman next to you on the train with the art photograph books

p.s. Stop snooping over my shoulder.

Real News

I saw a used pregnancy indicator in the flower bed in front of my building.  Just lying there.  Discarded.  It had spoken its message and been tossed aside. 

A pregnancy test does not deliver petty gossip. 

It comes bearing news.  Real news. 


Did the woman who used it want a child?  Had she been praying and hoping that this time, THIS time, it would come out positive?  Is she jumping up and down and kissing her husband?

Or is she reeling, is her throat dry and knotted?  Did she miss that menstrual cycle and think "oh shit, oh shit shit shit," and hoped against hopes that it was just because of midterms stress, but now everything is so fucking real that it doesn't feel real at all?  

I can't imagine it's possible to pee on one of those little sticks without strong feelings.  Hope, joy, apprehension, delight, disappointment, fear, horror, disgust... the seeds for all of these are contained in this disposable electronic instrument.   Based on a simple PREGNANT or NOT PREGNANT her life could change for better or for worse (usually both, I would imagine) or could stay, sadly - or blessedly - exactly as it was.  So rarely is there such an intense binary in all of the human experience.

Dear woman, whoever you are, wherever you are, and maybe even the potential child whom your blood will nourish, my heart goes out to you. 

You Didn't Eat the Fruit

I've been sort-of reading a book by a scholar of Jung recently, which has introduced me to the idea of the story as a map of our psyche, the different characters representing different sides of ourselves, the different locations representing the different territories of our consciousness and unconsciousness.  And so, I have been examining the imagery of Adam and Eve and the garden through that lens.

God tells Eve, “I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception. In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children.”

If the garden is innocence, and partaking the fruit is a fall from innocence, then Eve represents the part of each of us (whether we are female or male) that asks questions, the curious, eager side. The unfortunate truth is that often when we ask powerful questions we learn unpleasant truths; we find sorrow and disappointment. However, we are also able to open new worlds to ourselves, to give birth to new potential. The act of creation, of giving birth is not pleasant. It is painful. It is work. There's a reason we call it labour. When we put our whole being into a task, we feel the sorrow of failure or disappointment or dismay, but we taste the sweetness of potential and we see the possibilities which we have created by our actions.

We are constantly partaking of the fruit and leaving the garden.  Over and over again.  It's called growth.  The serpent was wisdom to many ancient religions.  Dangerous and powerful, shedding its old skin over and over as it grew. 

Perhaps even the symbol of the Goddess.  

Wants

That which we want with our deepest of yearnings is truly the most terrifying of all.  To claim it is to take the risk of naming it as our own. 

Hands Free

So pup called me Wednesday just as I was about to do some dishes (after Monday's post, I'll spare you the description of how badly the dishes needed to be done). Blast. My plans are foiled! I thought, somewhat disappointed, because I only very rarely actually FEEL. LIKE. doing the dishes.

Foiled? Not so.

I am, as you know, an engineer, fascinated - since a very young age - by finding creative solutions to everyday problems, as evidenced by the the it's-raining-but-I want-to-ride-my-bike photograph below:


Apparently I peaked early, though, as the bike + umbrella (umbrellycle?) seems to be a much more elegant solution to the rain problem than the following solution to my most recent dilemma involving dishes and a cell phone. Witness... hair scarf + puce-colored binder clip + phone.


Instant hands-free device!!! Ugly and awkward, yes, but still it seemed to function as I imagined.

Seemed to, that is, until Julia and I got disconnected. The phone was set to vibrate, so when she called me back... let me tell you THAT was a bizarre feeling... IN MY EAR. My hands were covered in suds and water, and I KNOW from experience how cell phone + water = very bad* things happen.

So, naturally, I flipped out and ran into Beth's room. AHHH IT'S RINGING. DO SOMETHING. I leaned my head over her desk where she was working on some writing. STICK YOUR THUMB IN THERE AND ANSWER IT. STICK YOUR THUMB IN THERE AND ANSWER IT.

I have such a good sister.




You know, just a day in the life...




*i.e. now the little camera flash is constantly shining and the display screen no longer works even though I did everything I was supposed to like letting it dry for 24+ hours and NOT plugging it in last time I got it wet.

I wish I were one of those people who liked to ORGANIZE things...

We have a lot of food in our tiny kitchen, but lots of random things as well, like boxes with approximately three Triscuit crackers or a ziploc containing a couple tablespoons of baking powder, nut chopper, loose packets of unpopped microwave popcorn, stuffed animals, a stray sock, Christmas ornaments, bottles of black and green food coloring... you know, just regular stuff like that.

After some contemplation, I came to the conclusion that the space in there wasn't really used very efficiently. I decided I'd go through and purge and rearrange, and then maybe I would want to actually EAT some of that food. So, just now, I removed everything from all of the shelves and all of the cupboards. I relocated the baking pans and supplies to above the cupboards by the sink. Then I looked at all the cans and boxes all over the floor and chair and counters and suddenly felt the urge to go into my bedroom and check Facebook. And write a blog post.

Soon Beth will get home, and food will be everywhere, and I'll be asleep or drooling or reading Mormon feminist blogs or BBC news, maybe doing breaststroke through my dirty and clean laundry or something. I suspect - though I am not certain - that this is why she tells our aunt that I'm "a good sister, but a bad roommate."

Ohhh the agony which smothers my soul when I imagine going back in and tidying everything up!!! Best to just pretend it never happened. Yep. Just pretend it never happened.

Katie, what is going on in the kitchen?

What do you mean?

There's food and crap EVERYWHERE.

What the...? I have no idea! I haven't even been in the kitchen since I've been home.

Katie, your bag is in here. And your shoes.

Uhhh... I have to go to the bathroom. (climbs out the window and down the fire escape)

I don't see any problem with this plan. Because I am so good at lying. And I don't need to eat. Ever....

Mature

Today it is raining. The clouds descended upon the city while I was at church, spewing soggy drops of suffering from their swollen bellies. It is a cold, miserable rain that sucks the life from every store front and washes every joyful thought into the catch basin and away to the ocean.

Or the misery might have something to do with the fact that I did not anticipate it and, therefore, have not brought an umbrella or worn appropriate attire.

To get to my apartment from Harvard Square I have to take a bus and then transfer to the trolley. As we approach the transfer stop, I see a green line trolley waiting at the intersection. I thank the bus driver and descend the stairs of the bus. All I must do is cross the intersection and I'll be on the final leg of my journey: safe, warm, and dry. I step out part way into the street and peer around the front of the stopped bus. Car after car zooms past, each one hitting the same puddle and sending the same low arc of water across my legs. With each passing auto, I grow more anxious. The light is going to change and the trolley is going to depart without me on it!

Plus I am getting a little bit soaked.

Finally there is a tiny gap in traffic and I dart recklessly across the street. Apparently another person likes this idea and follows directly in my wake. The cars slow just enough to let us pass through, and we make it to the doors of the trolley exactly as the light changes to green.

The conductor in the first car looks at us, a couple of poor, rain-drenched little slobs, shakes his head 'no, sorry' and begins to move the train forward.

"What???" I say out loud.

"What???" my new friend echoes. We are both more than miffed.

I am actually sooooo tired and upset by this point, and I just cannot understand why the operator could not just wait the fifteen seconds to open the doors and let us on - yes I know I know there are schedules and headways to maintain, but, on a cold and rainy afternoon, one might consider that there are some things that are more important than schedules and headways. And this is ME, here. MEEEEEEEE. Did he somehow miss the fact that the focal point of this universe is my momentary happiness and well-being? As the trolley passes, I stick my foot out and kick the side of it with my shoe (and a quiet 'hmph'). I know it is probably not safe, that my shoe laces could become entangled in the ventilation grill and I would be dragged along, my face being ground to a pulp along the ballast or something, but the action itself is remarkably satisfying. Nothing like a little misplaced anger to ease the emotional slights of calloused MBTA employees.

Best part: another trolley followed immediately behind the first one...

Failure

Oh man, so some friends and I are doing this coordinated content thing each Monday where we all post on a particular theme. The theme this week was Victory. And you can clearly see that I was not victorious. I thought it was a difficult topic, and, therefore, put it off until I felt more "inspired."

Then I checked some of their blogs and saw the victory posts and felt shame shame shame. Not real shame but shame like I didn't do the blog post even though I intended to. Hopefully they don't kick me out of the coordinated content project.

---

This post was supposed to be part of the Blue-Beta Blog Coordination, a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Confuzzled of I Keep Wondering, Gromit of The Dancing Newt, Redoubt of Redoubt Redux, Third Mango of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Xanthippe of Let’s Save Our Hallmark Moment, and Yarjka of Sour Mayonnaise. This week's theme: 'Victory'.

Courtship

The "traditional" Western method of heterosexual courtship consists of a very specific set of rituals: - boy asks girl out, picks her up, pays for dinner, etc. While I often enjoy symbolism, I find the symbolism of this particular ritual troubling and somewhat insulting. It seems, historically, the male has specific, concrete, active ways to show interest in pursuing a relationship with another person: I will pay for your dinner. I will hold the door for you. However, what is the parallel ritual for the female in this situation? (You shouldn't have to think too hard about that one. Hint: rhymes with "put out.") In sub-cultures which discourage sexual relations outside of marriage, there is less of an answer to that question.

Meanwhile, the "hookup" culture seems to be becoming the norm among our generation. Totally absent are traditional dating behaviors. It seems - at least superficially - to be more egalitarian. However, I also find this replacement to "traditional" courtship troubling as well, for different reasons. It does not seem to be a solid basis for forming a lifelong partnership, which is, purportedly, the goal of courtship. At least as a courtship model, hooking up fails.

This puts young people from more traditional sub-cultures, such as LDS, which strongly discourages sexual activity before marriage, in a somewhat awkward position. There is an amalgamation, an entire spectrum of acceptable courtship behaviors present here: from the people who follow the traditional pattern very strictly, to people who opt for a more egalitarian approach (not to mention people who pick and choose). This can make things messy. Extremely messy. And that messiness sort of helps me to see the benefit of having things clearly defined. When there is no formal framework to distinguish a romantic relationship from a simple friendship, the participating parties can easily end up with differing expectations regarding or understandings of the interactions. Recipe for disaster or heartache or at least confusion. That point has been especially driven home for me recently.

So what are we left with?

The traditionally arbitrary, gendered behaviors? Lack of any sort of framework whatsoever within which to place the relationship? Is there some sort of compromise here - some sort of egalitarian ritual we create - perhaps from the traditional pattern superimposed with our current ideals? Or does it come down to that pesky adult behavior called communication?

I am interested in what other heterosexuals think. Also, I'm interested in how individuals within the gay/lesbian community approach courtship.

My Life is So. Unfair.

Excuse me, but I am not the one who went away all weekend. I hardly got to see her at all except for one minute this morning before work. Now she kicks me out of her room as though she would rather be alone than with me.

Where does she expect me to go? In my own room? In the living room? BY MYSELF???

Oh gosh it reminds me of high school when she would always want to do homework, and she would whine and whine, and then finally Mom would have interfere. "Katie leave your sister alone."

All I can say is good thing these earphones are small and I can fit them under the ear flaps on this hat.

I shall listen to angry music.

BOSTON RESIDENTS LEAF COLLECTION

(October 27th to December 5th)

The first time I saw the above words on a big sign in the neighborhood next to mine, I thought, What a great idea! Residents collected pretty leaves from their neighborhood, and then a local artist arranged them all into a public display.

My mind sort of went crazy for a few moments, thinking about the awesomeness of a community leaf collection.

Maybe there will be photographs of the individual people to go alongside it... or perhaps stories about the trees or the streets where the leaves were found.

I was in the middle of wondering the methods by which the leaves had been preserved (or whether their transience and inevitable decay had been one of the themes of the art installation) when I realized that the sign had been put up by the public works department so that people could have the leaves they had raked into yard waste bags removed to be composted at the city's facility.


Bummer. Oh well, it still makes me smile to pass by there on the bus.

My Friend, the Architect

My friend, the architect, is slowly going blind. It is a gradual thing.

I Love...

...the eels. They can talk to me about everything important, sad, and beautiful.



I bet you are flying inside.

No More Tears

My tears dried up at the beginning of this year, and I haven't really been able to cry since.

Sometimes you just want a good CRY though. Like when you get to the warehouse room of IKEA and realize that they are out of stock on every. item. on your list. Even Alseda, which you so desperately wanted. And maybe at other times too, where crying is actually an appropriate response to the situation. It is like having a song inside of you but no vocal chords.

I can remember ONE time since March that I cried.




p.s. I am trying to break the 6 posts in one month barrier which I haven't seemed to be able to surpass recently.

Who We Are

What is the human soul?

What is determined by our early experiences and what by our genetic makeup? Almost everything, I would say. Most of who and what we find ourselves to be at the moment of awareness is nothing of our choosing.

I know that I personally struggle with the details, with making decisions and following through, with occasionally finding myself disproportionately overwhelmed by minor things, with debilitating sadness that arrives at times from no discernible source, with deep feelings of insufficiency. Other people struggle with entirely different sets of issues, which I won't even begin to try to compare to my own or even enumerate. And here's the thing: I don't think that is the point. We are each running the race as ourselves, and ourselves only, with universally unique challenges and appendages.

I do not know how I found myself here, how I came to be who I am, but here you have it. Katie, la Dancing Newt, child of the rain, and daughter of dreams. This is me floating in all of these variables, all of these traits, treading to keep my head above the water in a pool littered with scraps of who I was and who I want to be.

I look at my parents, like many kids do, with pretty harsh judgment. I see all of the ways they are not who I want them to be, who I feel I needed them to be. I look at friends who have hurt me, who have let me down, at people who have damaged those I care about. And I find myself angry that they could be like that, that they could DO such things.

I realized recently, though, that my mom and dad, by all statistical models, should not be who they are. It is something I can only attribute to their souls, their will, that they are the strong and loving people whom I know them to be. Without going into unnecessary detail, let's say they both were raised in environments with at least one seriously unhelpful character. It would be easy to transfer that pain and bitterness on to their children or to avoid the whole messy process of raising kids altogether. However, the fact that they have consciously dedicated so much of their time and effort toward ensuring, to the extent that they are capable, that each of us feels loved, safe, and accepted speaks to me of something amazing and beautiful. Surely they were and are not perfect as parents. Surely their childhood experiences have damaged and biased them. But the fact is that they TRIED. They saw things within themselves and tried to change it.

I look at my friends and see how they are trying desperately to grow and to cope with the shreds that life has tossed them. And some are still working on just accepting who they are. And they are all beautiful. I've just had this strangely generous peaceful feeling lately.

First is blind struggling, second is awareness, and third is conscious effort. And, hopefully, change, to the extent possible.

This, I believe, is where you see the true soul of a person, the moment that they are MOST themselves: when you are aware of them struggling against the backwards current of probability, against what is easy and safe and convenient. As imperfect as they are, as I am, this example is something I am very grateful to have received from my parents.

Honestly, I do not know what I am capable of in this life, but lately I find I surprise myself almost daily.

Cape Cod and This Life

Got back last night from a five-day camping jaunt on Cape Cod with the family and had my first shower since Thursday. My roommates were all still at work and I had the apartment to myself. So I did what any normal person would do: laundry. And naked time. And blogging. Not necessarily in that order.

We gave the mommers the birthday CD we'd recorded of us performing church hymns and folk songs that she used to sing to us when we were young. Beth's friend let us use his equipment, and, for the skill and rehearsal we possessed at the time of recording, I think it came out decently. Well, it made her cry, and that's what we were going for. I think Beth said she specifically chose and arranged the songs for that sole purpose. Heh heh heh.

We made it to Nausset Light Beach for low tide a couple of the days, and the waves, though small, had good form. So we were able to take my father's old relic of a surfboard out. After smashing up jaw and kneecap with failed attempts, I was able to get up a couple times. So I am satisfied with my efforts. But Oh My Gosh does it take the life out of you. Now that I don't have field hockey to keep my arms in shape, I am thinking that I seriously have to train because they were WIMPY.

There's something about the ocean THE OCEAN that makes you feel your place in the universe so keenly: tiny, weak, fragile, and yet somehow, you are at your strongest there too, when you are connected to all the waters of the planet and you can feel the source of all life flowing around you. When you are in that wave, when you can channel that power of the water and tide into your own motion. And then you think of the first surfers and you sort of marvel at how awesome Mother Nature is that we have and are such brilliant creatures. I like what he says about play, “the product of an inventive brain and a restless mind.”

We collected pretty rocks and made up arbitrary rules, like that Rosie could only pick up green ones. Well I think she actually made that one, but Em and I enforced it and gave her every green rock we saw.

Saturday, everyone went on a bicycle ride along the CCRT from Dennis almost to Nickerson and back. BEAUTIFUL. We passed through cranberry bogs, woodlands, sunny meadows, and little kettle ponds that resulted from melting chunks of the glacier that formed Cape Cod as it retreated. If you don't know the geological history of the landform, you should check it out... it's fascinating. Anyway, along the trail, we happened upon my new favorite thing in the universe. Yes that is correct: bicycle rotary. Combining two of my other favorite things. Bicycles and rotaries.

Also, I learned to ride with no hands. No, more descriptive would be to say that I tried to learn. This mainly consisted of me saying wahhhhh and accelerating linearly and laterally, my oscillations becoming more and more amplified (please listen to the music and amazing narration) until they forced me to grab the handlebars or take a digger or worse.

Sunday, my brothers and sisters and I walked along a boardwalk through the marshes by the Sandwich Town Beach. There were all these kids catching crabs with chicken legs tied to pieces of string, the captured crustaceans scuttling around in buckets of salt water. “We're selling crabs!” “No we're not!” There was some debate, apparently, as to the purpose of the activity. Further out we got to a bridge where everybody was jumping off into a deeper area of the marsh. Kevin, Em, Rosie, and I jumped in (except that I was like that crab bait – chicken, and jumped last of all of us). The picture makes it look so peaceful and serene, and it was, but just imagine it with about 300 times more kids, yelling and laughing, running up and down the channels in the marsh grass with small nets and floaties, and streaming through the air from the railing right at the crest of that bridge. It would be a miracle to be a kid growing up there.

Each of these milestones of the summer, each of these things I have been looking forward to for months has been gradually approaching and then falling away into the my own history, to be savored as sweet memories. Weddings, travels, events... I try to absorb it all up to saturation for those brief moments of immersion, but it just seems like time goes by faster and faster the more you live. Last night I said goodbye to a dear friend who is moving from Boston tomorrow for a career opportunity. She'll surely be missed. Life is so bitter bitter sweet.

Time to move my wizard calendar to August.

Thanks to kelly - PTT for the image of Sandwich Boardwalk. You can check out her site here.