Rituals and Finding Myself

I'm drinking the second cup of today's special tea. I won't write about the feelings just yet, but I did want to stop in here and think out loud.

Today was the first day of school. All the kids in school, and I have calls to make to banks and friends and one other thing that escapes memory. I had my special tea, which I believe I've explained before.

One of the motivations I've taken to heart in drinking the tea is my priority of slowing down to enjoy the tea, to try new things and new flavors, to remember Brittany and appreciate what I do have and make positive changes for myself.

One of these positive changes is that I want to blog, well, that's not exactly accurate, but in order to move forward out of my depression and begin writing more or less as a professional, whether paid or not at this point, I need to write.

I make lists, but I rarely write anymore. Some of that is because of the depression, but some of it is also not having my own voice. I'm only beginning to come into my own voice, and for some people that's a problem, but I need to balance their need against my need.

I shouldn't hide who I am or who I've become in the last couple of years of illness and depression and the self-awareness that has come, more since March and I haven't found a direction as much as a path. It's dim, but lit enough to start out and feel my way around.

I also must apologize for the rambling of this. I hope to have a reintroduction to myself by the end of the weekend (if not sooner), as well as an introduction to my philosophies as well as a guideline for what I want to do here.

Thanks for whoever's reading and welcome. I'd love to hear from you; let me know what you think. My email is kbwriting11@gmail.com.

Have a great day.
I look forward to seeing you again soon.

Tea Ritual, Part II - Mango Black Tea

Starting this whole Tea Ritual thing. Tea Ritual. I guess that's a good name for it. If you've read the first part of this series ( Tea and Friendship – An Introduction ), you already know about the tea, but since this is the first tasting, I'll share some of what led here.

Just over one year ago, my friend was murdered by her ex-husband. Her name was Brittany and she was 27 years old. A second roommate was also murdered and a third roommate (my close friend) was injured and survived. Sometime in that week, Brittany and my friend ordered tea, which they never received. After the one year anniversary of a very long year, my friend replaced the tea and shared it with a few of Brittany's friends. He only asked that we take the moments of quiet reflection and journaling. Journaling anything that comes to mind, about the tea, about Brittany, about ourselves.

I've been looking for myself recently and in death, I find Brittany a constant source of thought-provocation.

I had been trying to find the perfect time to relax and try the first tea, and being so busy or paralyzed in being overwhelmed with life lately, I hadn't found that time. I had decided on Mango as my first tasting, but finally determined that there never is a good, perfect time to sit and relax with a cup of tea. (I have three kids and it's summer.) You have to make your own and I realized if I keep putting it off, there will never be a perfect time and the teas (and the memory) would have been wasted. I've wasted too much already.

While the water boils, I turn the tea bag over in my hand. I smell it – nothing unusual or special. I prepare my breakfast – a savory scone, zucchini bread and half a kiwi. I don't know why I chose a kiwi at Fresh Market; I only knew that I did not want mangoes or strawberries.

The tea (as you will see) is very dark. I add nothing, wanting to find the appeal that Brittany found in this Mango Black Tea.

I take a tiny sip (it is much too hot for anything else) and that is when it hits me full in the face. I can feel my eyes brighten and my nostrils flare as my lips curl into a small smile.

It is the fruity tang of the mango. It surprises me and I slurp a little and smile broadly at the tea.

It definitely did not smell this enticing before the hot water soaked into the tea bag. What a tremendous difference and a welcome one. I was all set to not like this one, so my surprise was truly powerful in how all of my senses responded to it.

I've added my sugar, but no milk. I always add milk, but I know that it would change the fruity smell and the taste and it is truly the smell that gives it the flavor that I'm enjoying. The senses are a funny thing. I notice the bag (after I've taken it out) and the tea spreads across the napkin and I can't help but think of how much Brittany's influence and inspiration is spreading and will continue to spread; for some through her life and for others through her death. I also know that while it's not forced I am almost feeling ridiculous at waxing philosophical and how in with something like this – this ritual – it is almost expected and therefore can't be helped.

The smell as I put my lips to the mug is an introduction to the mango flavor – a warm greeting, like a tap on the shoulder – "here I am." As the cup is drawn closer to my face and the heat and steam go up into my nostrils, the mango scent is still s surprise in each sip. I tried the mango first because it was the one I least wanted to try. I don't like fruit teas. I really do, so the surprise is palpable. I add this to my list of teas for the teacher's gifts at Christmas so I can share the pleasing surprise with them.

I spent almost an hour sipping tea and writing most of this in my special journal; the journal that went with me to Wales and Denver and my quiet time at Starbucks. I liked the physicality of writing by hand, the ritual, the mandatory sip and jot and slow down, but the thoughts came too fast and I could barely read my handwriting for transcribing it for all of you. My kids were entirely cooperative, keeping themselves busy (and a rarer feat: quiet) almost the entire time I was enjoying my tea, Brittany's tea, thinking and writing.

Practical Tips for the Mango Tea: Let it steep until dark, remove tea bag, but do not squeeze (do not ever squeeze). Drink black with 1-2 tsp. of sugar (unless you don't normally add sugar). Enjoy with something savory – scone, zucchini bread (not a sweet bread). Savory compliments the mango flavor. Just as an aside, I let a little get cold and this tea was very good also when cold. Actually enjoying cold tea is very rare for me with brewed tea.

It's a New Year. I'd Like to Make Something of It

Sorry I've been absent and that you've had to look at the last sad post for so long.

It's a new year.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

I will try to make this a better place to visit, and promote it. This is my first resolution of the new year. Many more to come.

Hopefully, I can focus and part of that is finding a new computer. Any suggestions, please leave them here. Not having a computer to work on daily is definitely a disadvantage.

There have also been some health problems, which I am sorting out, and like almost everything else in my online life, it eventually gets posted.

And so 2012 has begun. And so have I.

9/11 Book Recs

Taken in the 1980s

• I don't read many books about 9/11. Having witnessed it in my own way (I may include that account here tomorrow), I know that we all, and especially those of us New Yorkers or those of us with family and friends still there, have a story to tell and I don't often want to read others. These books are different.

• 9/11 Book Recs for this weekend:

• Wake Up Call: The Political Education of a 9/11 Widow by Kristen Breitweiser. This is her love story, her tragedy and the politics of becoming an activist.

• The Day the World Came to Town by Jim DeFede. This is the best, most uplifting book you will ever read about the days of 9/11. When all the planes were forced to land, they had to land somewhere.

• The Good Life by Jay McInerney (I haven't read this one. I saw the author on Morning Joe and it seemed like an interesting read. I've put it on my list.)

Snowdon Mountain. Eriyi.

When I was in college, my roommate did her student teaching in Britain. She invited me to come along for Christmas break. I thought she was crazy. Broke up with my boyfriend (well, he broke up with me, but who keeps track of those things) and borrowed some money from my younger brother, and off I went. We did a three week tour of England, Scotland and Wales and I thought it was fantastic. Traveling by airplane for the first time that I could remember (I think I flew before when I was five). New Year's in Trafalgar Square.The worst snow in 15 years in York. Cab rides, haircuts, pubs and cider and rain, hitch-hiking, hiking and cold. Very cold. And it was fantastic.

Arriving in Wales was the same as the rest. We met lovely people, checked in at the hostel and planned our three days. Pen-y-Pass and Bangor. It was nice. It was England, but it wasn't. It was Wales.

The feelings came suddenly and overwhelmingly. I was in Wales. But it was much more than the excitement of a European vacation. It wasn't that typical excitement that you get being in a new place, seeing new things, tasting new foods. It was Wales, but it was more than Wales.

It was spiritual, and even that description is wrong. It was blue sky and it was brilliant and it was something I'd never felt before. I felt as though I'd returned home. And I was home. Only I'd never been before and never expected to be again, and I'm not even Welsh. But I felt it. And ever since then, I've been (Welsh in my mind that is), and I've wanted nothign but to go back.

And finally, in 2009, I did go back. A gift. The gift of Wales, and I'll share what I went back for, even though what I found was much more than I'd left.

I thought I was looking for what I'd found in 1987. Snowdon had played an enormous role in my mind's eye of what I'd experienced and what I was looking for. And so, when I returned in 2009, I thought I was looking for the mountain. I wanted to climb it again. Should I return to Pen-y-Pass? Could I stay at the same hostel? I anticipated that this would be my last time; would it seem the same as the first time?

I had planned on Snowdon mid-week. Wednesday. I hadn't planned on meeting a friend in Bangor for dinner on Tuesday, and walking up a very, very steep hill and hurting my knee and having the most serious panic attack that I'd had since I got off the airplane and drove on the wrong side of the road (by Britain's standards.)

I could not get in my rental car and drive to the mountain. I couldn't do it, and I thought I would cry. And this is not a case where the mountain can actually come to me.

One of the people staying at the hostel offered to take me up to Llanberis. He and his daughter were driving there, then taking the train up and climbing back down. Did I want to go with them? I didn't. For so many reasons I didn't want to go with them, but I did. Once the decision to go along with the Dutch pair was made, my panic subsided. I was a little nervous, but I knew I'd made the right decision.

I got to Llanberis glad I didn't drive up those narrow, winding roads; we parted company at the train queue and I wandered. And I stared. And the mountain was there. It was perfect. The air was cool, but not cold at all. The sky was clear as you'll see below. The sky, the sky was the most brilliant blue and the clouds perfectly floated across the tops of the peaks. I was so glad I came and so glad I got the ride. It was beautiful, and it was this day that I realized that I wasn't looking for what I had in 1987. I was looking for now. I was looking for me, and there I was on the bus stop in Llanberis, staring and grinning like a madman and loving it.

Now, the bus ride, now that was something else, but that is another story.

From the bus stop in Llanberis.

 



Afon Hwch

(apologies for the photograph layout. I'm still trying to figure it out.)

Children, Risk, and Playgrounds

In response to this news article, I wrote this comment, and the more I read it, the more I wanted to share it publicly, albeit a couple of words or phrases cleaned up a bit, but context kept the same.

Councils told playground should 'bring back danger' after years of being softened by 'compensation culture'

There is nothing wrong with a 'bump, a bruise or a graze.' I agree completely.
The problem with this article is that it feeds into the stereotype that parents are just too lazy to watch their own kids and when they get hurt, they would rather sue for damages. And while some are lazy, the bigger problem that should be addressed is the compensation which they only spoke about briefly.

I'm also not sure you can expect the same level of care from a teenage babysitter as you can a parent in the chaos that is a public playground.

The fact is that the boy that got killed by a falling branch wasn't killed because he was 'soft.'

Kids are already inherent risk takers. They don't know that this swing is safer than the last one. They behave the same way and emotionally get the benefit of the risk without becoming hurt badly.

Net swings are not age appropriate for very young kids and adding them to a public park is literally an accident waiting to happen since the playground, by the fact of having it there is stating that it's all right for all who use the park.
The same for paddling pools.

Even putting an age on something is a misdirection. My oldest son was born very small. He was small until he hit grade school. His car seat which was appropriate for ages 6months through 5 years was suitable and safe for him until he was 9. When he was five, he could still use equipment aged for toddlers. He was often tangled in net bridges at McDonald's, and thought he could swim when he, in fact, could not.
Do you know how quickly a toddler can drown in a paddling pool with multitudes of adults watching him/her?

Will parents have to take a child development class to know what their child's actual limitations are before they're allowed to use the playground equipment?

What I'm saying is that the kids still take the risks. In fact, they take more because on safer and appropriate equipment, parents will let them alone to explore instead of hovering all the time.

I'm sorry for the long-windedness. I'm a little tired of non-parents and lay people bashing parents who parent and basing parental/child development decisions based simply on money or because 'it worked for me and I didn't die; it's good enough for my kid.'

And for people who do not know me here, I am the parent of three and hold a Master's degree in Educational Issues, so I'm on both sides of this fence.

Apologies and Future Blogs

I'm sorry for anyone actually reading this that my posts are not consistent.  I'm hoping to change this once the school year begins.

This summer has been a bit disjointed.

Everyone is being lazy. Last child is starting kindergarten next week. First child is starting high school. Middle child is in the middle.
I'm trying to practice and focus my writing to make a living freelancing as well as self-publishing a new travel chapbook for parents.
I've been resupplying three hikers walking to raise awareness for domestic violence and in memory of a friend of ours who was murdered Mother's Day weekend.  I may talk more about this in the coming weeks, and catch you up on the past three months.

I hope to also include more of my published writing from the past. Most of these are educational/curriculum related, and as I prepare to fly again for the second time in recent years, I'll plan on filling you in on my travel tips, my sightseeing and my anxiety.

Thanks for visiting and for coming back. I'd like to get it so you want to come back, so I'll keep trying.

Water, Water, Everywhere

Yesterday, I saw this tweet:

"Ironing is so much more pleasant with an ocean view." This was from Brendan Farrington, AP writer based in Florida.

The funny thing is that when I saw this tweet, I thought to myself, "isn't everything?"
What's funny about that is that I hate the water. Water scares me. Not dish water or bath water or even rain, but big vast pools of water. Like the ocean.

And lakes.

And ponds.

And, well, you get the idea.

Although funny enough, I really like Falls.

Then, I started thinking about all of the times that water actually calms me and makes me feel good, and I realized that maybe I don't hate water as much as I thought I did.

San Clemente, CA
This was sent to my phone from
my friend when he was on vacation.
It is the first time I remember
the ocean calming me.

Hudson River,
Riverfront Park,
Albany, NY

USS Slater,
Albany, NY
as seen from the AquaDucks Tour

Cohoes Falls,
Cohoes, NY
I come here on a monthly basis;
well, I try to.

Menai Strait sunset,
Caernarfon,
Wales

Afon Hwch,
Llanberis,
Wales



River?
near the base of the mound at
Dolwyddelan Castle,
Wales



Inigo Jones designed bridge,
Llanrwst,
Wales

River adjacent to the
Church of St. Grwst,
Llanrwst,
Wales

The only two I couldn't find was a drive around Saratoga Lake in Saratoga Springs, NY last Mother's Day weekend (2010) and Niagara Falls, Ontario, Canada (2002). I will try to add them when I find those because the Saratoga one was a surprise in that it was a spur of the moment drive and great fun because it was something different, and the Niagara Falls trip was right before my oldest son went to kindergarten, and despite the power and the force of the Falls, they are spectacular and bring back such phenomenal memories of my childhood visiting there.

I guess water isn't as bad as I thought it was.

Essay/Memoir Contest with The Writer Magazine

As you can see, this blog is slow going. That's because I'm not quite sure what I want to do with it.

I thought I would share with you, dear reader, my newest project, an essay/memoir contest with The Writer Magazine. I'll link at the bottom, but first, let me sing the praises of The Writer Magazine. It is the only subscription I get. I renew it every year. I used to buy all the writing magazines and then subscribed to two, but this is the only one I've stuck with. They are perfect for any level of writer who wants to do more and write more.

http://www.writermag.com/2011essaycontest

I've been toying of the idea of writing about my very special trip to Wales. I've written about bits of the trip in other venues and kept a journal for as much as I could while I was there. Some memories are so vivid still.  In fact, if you stick around, you will be subjected to treated with tales of my dream vacation almost constantly at times.
I decided that this contest was a good idea for practice and for experience and when I saw this contest, I saw it as an opportunity to use one of my dearest memories, so one day in the shower, the beginning of the book came to me and on another day in the shower, the beginnings of this essay came to me. Then I saw the ad on my Facebook for this contest.

And so, here we are.

If you also join in, good luck.

The Travel Organizer, 2nd Edition, 2009

The Travel Organizer was a culmination of years of list-making for packing for vacations. After two years of photocopying and giving it out to friends, I finally self-published it with the illustrative help of my artist friend.

I have experimented with different versions, including attending a cos-play convention, writing conference and weekend getaway. This is the original (the second edition came about after some revisions from my personal lists, and the inclusion of the artwork) and works well for either an individual or a family.

Personally, I have used this version for a family (of 5) trip to Grandma's and for my solo trip to North Wales.

The price is quite reasonable at $5 plus $1.50 for shipping. Please use the pay pal button located at the bottom of my page and send me an email (or include it in the notes portion of your paypal) that includes your name and mailing address and either a phone or an email where you can be reached if there are any problems with the shipment.

Happy Traveling!
KB