A pause amidst a whirlwind

Having a child is like having your life sped up.  Suddenly everything I've always done at a reasonable pace has been pushed into hyper-speed.  Perhaps it's the weight of caring not only for your own well being but the entire well being of another human being; everything is double-time.  Perhaps it's the fact that you're trying to hold on so tight to more than you can physically grasp that makes you feel hurried, rushed, excitable, and generally busy.  You love that little monster with all your heart, but at times it's challenging.  It's amidst this chaotic new normal that we come to appreciate it's polar opposite.  Those rare moments of quiet; the serine times of non-decision, the gift of "me" time.   This new found appreciation for nothingness is precisely why this summer's respite was that much sweeter.

Grandma, Grandpa and Aunt Emily (horrah! huzzah! bravo!) took over the parenting duty and allowed Adam and I to experience some childless luxury.  Life didn't magically become like it was before having a child, it actually was better.  Before having children, I remember moments of boredom, restlessness, feeling lost...but now that the "me" times are few and far between they are weighted with purpose when they do occur.  Every moment of nothingness felt like a warm bath washing over me...it helped that often times the French Mediterranean was actually washing over me.

We began our vacation on the tail end of Adam's "business" trip to Cannes.  I put "business" in quotes because while there was a fair amount of networking and Adam was rushing around like a madman at times, overall it's a pretty spectacular place for an industry to host it's annual "conference" -- and Adam won 4 Cannes Lion Awards to boot!  We even had time to sneak over the border to Italy for a leisurely lunch and swim.

As soon as the festival was over, we both were officially on vacation!  First stop, Theoule sur Mer, a picturesque coastal town where we immediately proceeded to sit by a pool that overlooked the Mediterranean, drink wine, eat little fried sardines with dipping sauce and pretty much nothing else.  I read a book.  I'll say it again, I read a book!  Something I love but specifically haven't done since having a child.  We pretty much spent 48 hours doing nothing and it was glorious.  Another glass of rose?  Oui Garcon!

Fabulous dishes from La Scene, Paris

Next we were off to Saint-Paul de Vence.  Staggeringly beautiful medieval town perched atop a fortress plateau. This began the art portion of our trip.  We paid our respects at Chagall's grave, wandered Renoir's home and property, followed Picasso to his vacation retreat in Antibes and then dined at the famous Colombe D'Or - a Restaurant  & Inn renowned as much for it's classic French fare as it is for the art which adorn the walls - many of the greatest artist of the last century traded works in exchange for room and food.

After a quick trip to Eze where Adam zoomed around the narrow hillside roads in a borrowed Ferrari, we were on the bullet train headed towards Paris.  I remember those few hours on the train as the French countryside blurred by being especially peaceful considering the last few times I've been on a major mode of transportation I've been wrangling an active toddler.  I put my headphones on, blasted some music and let the scenery engulf me.

Ah, Paris.  What to say about that magical force.  We arrived during the height of a major heatwave but that didn't stop us from go, go, going.  To shops (we arrived just in time for their annual 50-70% sales!!!), more art at Picasso's primary residence and museum and of course, food!  Paris was the portion of our trip where we dined.  First at the Three Michelin Starred, 12th on Pelligrino's top 50 in the World - L'Arpege - Alain Passard's cornucopia of vegetable forward cuisine.  As if that wasn't enough, we followed one of Chef Passard's disciples to La Scene where we tasted exquisite works of
art made primarily with butter. 

Like all good things, our trip came to a close.  But unlike past vacations, the recharge I got from these precious days has stayed with me.  Like a flash-back, I find myself back in these French places now and again and I take pause to relive the trip...especially during those chaotic, whirlwind days chasing after my beloved Everest. 

An open letter

I have been sitting silent for too long. Partially because I couldn't even begin to know what to say and partially because the weight of it all felt insurmountable. But no more. We are so far beyond feeling heart broken for the far-away victims. We are at the point where good people need to act. Because as we all know the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.  Well, I can't just feel heart broken and do nothing any longer. 

In my lifetime I think the three most horrific things that have happened in our society are: September 11th, the Newtown CT shootings and finally the deep-rooted systemic racism and all its manifestations.  I'm not certain that we can overcome the latter unless we face it head-on. Unless good people everywhere take a look at themselves and ask what is my role in all this?  And what can my role be for a better future?

Yes there are major issues related to poverty and income inequality, tolerance and education, mental illness healthcare, gun control, the militarization of our society and racial profiling. But I don't think any one individual can take on those issues and succeed. As sad as I am to admit that, we as a society we have proven time and time again that we can't or won't make meaningful movements in those arenas in the near term.  What we need now are short term, one-step-at-a-time, attainable goals that we all can participate in. 

What can individuals do?  How can we be involved in a dialogue?  Who should we talk to and what actions should we take?  I'm open to it.  I want to be a part of the change. I want to be a drop of water in the ocean that ultimately shapes this rock.  I want my son to grow up in a world where people are just a soul inside a body trying to do their best and where society is just a larger version of a neighborhood.  Isn't that what we all want?  What can I do?  Please tell me because my heart can't break anymore for the far away victims. We're all victims now unless good people act.
 
Here are a few links I thought worthwhile:

Stand in solidarity with the family members of the church
http://action.groundswell-mvmt.org/petitions/send-prayers-to-familes-of-charleston-church-shooting
 
Emanuel AME Church in Charleston
http://www.emanuelamechurch.org/index.php
 
NAACP
http://www.naacp.org

MoveOn.org
http://front.moveon.org/

ACLU
https://www.aclu.org/ 

Contact your elected official
http://www.usa.gov/Agencies.shtml

Please let me know any other relative links.

Advice worth seeking

Back of the postcard, photo by Jill Krementz

Twelve years ago today Kurt Vonnegut sat down at his desk where he's written so many luminous verses before and wrote me a letter.

As a student living abroad in Australia I would frequently wander Sydney alone with a sketch pad and a pen - I filled pages and pages of poetry, observations, drawings and musings.  I was looking for something...I was looking for myself.  In many ways, I still am.  It was on one of the early days of my study abroad program that I wandered into an old Australian pub and sat down for a pint.  On the old wooden bar was a stack of coasters, the bartender slid one towards me before placing a frosty beer atop.  As I sipped the foamy brew, I looked down to see the words "seek the advice of everyone's advice who's worth having and then make the decision yourself" written on the coaster.   I immediately starting drafting a letter to Mr. Kurt Vonnegut in my mind.  He was the first person I thought about the advice worth having.  I drafted the letter over and over in my head and then finally in my notebook before transcribing it in a letter.  I introduced myself, my life, my thoughts, my feelings on his work (which had been very influential to me during my formative years) and then I sent the letter into the abyss not knowing if it would ever reach him.  I had researched his lawyer, agent and towns which he frequently mentioned in his more autobiographical stories.  And then I came across a PO Box in Long Island and something about that address stopped me in my tracks.  I envisioned him surrounded by hydrangeas like the photo his wife, Jill Krementz, had taken.  I put the letter in the outbound mail and wished it well.  A little over a week to the day, I received his reply.

I've read his advice countless times and each time I take something different from it.  Sometimes I agree, sometimes I don't.  But mostly I just add it to the encyclopedia of my life and refer to it whenever a certain kind of advice is needed.  And then I continue to make the decision myself.

Two funerals and a birthday

Poppy Carl & Grandma Jeanne in the Bronx

   My grandmothers were born 2 weeks apart in August 1919 and died 2 days apart in Januray 2015. They were 95. It's hard to summarize two lifetimes well lived in a space reserved for pithy commentary. But I will mention my Grandma Brondie's elegance, pride, loyalty and headstrong nature.  And my Grandma Jeanne's sense of tradition, stamina, innocence and perseverance. I don't use those descriptors lightly. Each woman encapsulated those words in my mind. And I can recall countless examples of those traits peppered throughout my memory. My Grandma Brondie writing strongly-worded letters to newspaper editors espousing the virtues of her liberal beliefs. My Grandma Jeanne accompanying us on a trip to Israel so she could plant a tree in honor of our Bat Mitzvahs. My Grandma Brondie's 66 year marriage to her beloved David who on his 90th birthday before blowing out the candles on his cake said 'I don't need to make a wish, everyday I wake up next to you is the best day of my life.' Or my Grandma Jeanne patiently teaching me her famous chicken soup recipe; I don't think I'll ever taste a broth rich with that much love again. 

Beautiful Grandma Brondie

I am choosing to take these memories and many others and carry them with me. I want to celebrate these women and their generation as I raise our family's next. 

Three days following the deaths, we celebrated my mom's 64th birthday. It was a bittersweet day for my mom having said goodbye to her own mom days earlier. But as the cold arms of winter embraced NJ our house actually felt a little warmer listening to my mom sing as Everest chatted beautiful babbles to her. My mom is now the Grandma. And on this birthday and forever more she gives to him the best of the grandmas before her. 

Young Grandma Brondie (and Grandpa Dave)



Grandma Jeanne and Poppy Carl at Mom & Dad's wedding, 1978

The whole family, Autumn 2002