Thankful for all the Hodgepodge

Tis the season

Tis the season for what?

Tis the season for long lines.

Tis the season for rushing, pushing, and shoving.

Tis the season for frantic shopping.

Tis the season for people late to trains, planes, parties and dates.

Tis the season for never enough time and always one more thing to get done.

OR

Tis the season for thanks.

Tis the season for calling a friend you haven’t talked to in a long time.

Tis the season for holding the door open for an elderly person.

Tis the season for taking a long walk through the park.

Tis the season for creativity.

Tis the season for reflection.

Tis the season for gathering together.

I have always believed in gathering together a “hodgepodge” of family and friends for the holidays.  My uncle was great at this. He would stack together card tables that didn’t quite fit, throw on a few different colored table clothes and pull together a mess of chairs to seat all his guests. His friends came from far and wide–from the guy who sat behind him in the office to his neighbor that collected his mail a few times a year. To him–these people were as much his friends as they were his family. I am always amazed how strangers can feel as familiar as the people we have known our whole lives, and sitting around the table together we could practically be related.

It must run in the family because my mom is great at gathering together a hodgepodge of people too. She is famous for big pots of soup that simmer for hours and end up drawing everyone in–from close friends and family, to stray neighbors. I can’t recall a holiday that didn’t include “strays.” In my house, the “strays” are always the honorary guests and as a kid I was always excited to see who would be joining us for the holiday. One year we had a teacher from school, another year we took in law students from Lewis & Clark, and once we even gave up on our “blood” relatives all together, and just got together with friends instead. Every year we have multiple sets of families, stepfamilies, twice removed families, adopted families, friends, and friends of friends squeeze around the table. I used to think we gathered together the hodgepodge because my family was always small, and so we filled the empty chairs with good company from outside the family circle. But as I got older, I realized that size had nothing to do with it–it is the deep sense of community, love and warmth that brings us all together.

Sometimes you don’t even need a table or a warm spot to have an excuse to gather together. This week I was part of an email thread for a new (but old) tradition of meeting in an empty parking lot on Thanksgiving morning to take part in a early morning Turkey run followed by an all day long pot luck (a pre-game to the big Turkey dinner). These friends have turned into my family, and I couldn’t be sadder that I am missing it this year. But my favorite part of the email thread was that someone had loaned us their house to hold the festivities after the run and all of us agreed that this gathering had to take place in the parking lot, in the freezing cold–the traditional way. For us–it didn’t have anything to do with being warm and dry, but it had everything to do with being together, sharing hand warmers, freezing, and feasting.

This year–for the first time ever–I am the “stray.” I have never been the “stray”, but I am so grateful that I will have a seat at the table with my new “adopted” New York “family.”  The more “families” I can be a part of the merrier. And so as you expand your tables, add leafs, add card tables, dust the cobwebs off your extra chairs from down in the basement and the garage, and piece together table clothes, I encourage you to invite a “stray.” You never know when they will just become part of the family. Related or unrelated– it doesn’t matter. Join hands, and be thankful that you have one another–here–there–and everywhere.

Tis the season to eat, drink, and be merry.

This cup is for all the hostesses who do such a good job gathering together all the hodgepodge:

George & Maurice, Chris & Chuck, Barb & Sam, Chris & John, The 49ers, The Supper Club, Mark & Jill, Lissa & Albie, Joanne, John & Alison, and Eli, Sharon, Lanie and Jake.

…For some of the best gatherings I’ve ever been to–Thank you.

And cups & cups of love to all my friends & family–I am thankful for you.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Disconnected

An installation in the widow of Fishs Eddy: Messages to Hurricane Sandy

Where do I find the words for the past two weeks? They are hiding in the dark. They are clogged in gutters. They are submerged in murky puddles. They are fractured in broken power lines. The words I am looking for got swept away by a hurricane–hurricane Sandy. Fourteen days ago I evacuated from lower Manhattan. Looking back on it now–it’s all a blur. The long lines of people stocking up on water, granola bars, peanut butter, flashlights and candles–the empty shelves–the panic and uncertainty of what was about to happen filling the air–and then everything went dark.

A few days before Hurricane Sandy blew through I was riding the 4 train, when suddenly everything came to a complete stop–the car went dark and all of us just waited in silence. After about 15 minutes, the lights flickered back on and the announcer told us that it would be another 15-minute wait because of “an incident” up ahead. The sigh of disgruntled passengers filled the car–everyone was late to somewhere–and I remember thinking to myself “if one train can clog up the entire city and make everyone late, imagine how bad it would be if something really catastrophic were to shut down the entire line.” Three days later that catastrophic thing came–hurricane Sandy–and it didn’t just shut down one train–it shut down the entire island.

If I had to pick one word to describe what the last 2 weeks have been like it would be disconnected. Not only was the city completely disconnected from the rest of the world, but I was disconnected from the rest of the island. As I stayed warm and dry on the Upper Westside, my texts and phone calls with friends downtown went silent. The only information I had came from parents that were outside the state that called with comforting words (tinged with a silent worry that loomed between the phone lines). It wasn’t until we turned on the TV that the reality of what was going on began to sink in. Lower Manhattan was under water.

The days following the storm were surreal. The Upper Westside had survived the heavy winds, and by Tuesday, the neighborhood was bustling with a mix of Upper Westsiders and refugees. For those of you that have never been to New York, people who live downtown rarely head uptown, and vice versa. We stick to our neighborhoods, to our small routines, to our local supermarkets, where we know the drill, the fastest ways to get through the line, the quickest way to get the cheese and the apples (even though they are on opposite sides of the store). But when everyone from one neighborhood (downtown) is suddenly displaced to a new neighborhood (uptown) everything suddenly feels foreign. Walking along the streets of the Upper Westside you could identify the natives from the refugees. Natives had dogs, knew their baristas, and gathered in grocery lines and sidewalk corners to chat with neighbors about how many refugees they had taken in during the storm–how many beds they had squeezed into their living rooms, how much extra hair now clogged their shower drain, and how many extra dishes they had to wash by hand thanks to their new long term guests. As a downtown refugee, I made my way through the aisles of Fairway wide eyed and wandering. Wandering and wide-eyed doesn’t work to your advantage in any grocery store in New York–or in any store in New York for that matter. Thankfully I wasn’t the only one, as I shuffled behind other refugees from downtown who I overheard on their phones saying “No I didn’t have time to even grab a change of clothes” or “The air mattress takes up their entire living room” or “Mom–I don’t know when I will be able to move back downtown” or “Where is the orange juice in this place?” As I settled into life on the Upper Westside, I began to pass by the same refugees on the street. We were the ones with messy ponytails, the same clothes and sweater we had lived in for the last 5 days and held the same expressions on our faces. We were all thinking the same thing: What is going to happen? How long will it last? When will downtown have food and water? When will we have electricity? When will the trains be up and running again? What should we do? Where are you staying? Where am I staying? Will I have school? Will I have work? When will the bridges re-open? If I had to get somewhere would I be able to find a cab? What bus takes me to where I need to go? How will I ever find a gift that really shows how thankful I am to my hosts who took me in? Will I ever be able to live in my apartment again? Do I want to even move back downtown? If I didn’t move back downtown where would I go?

To all our amazement–the city miraculously got up and running again. Slowly the waters began to recede and Manhattan began to light up–one building at a time. Unlike so many refugees around the world–I was lucky enough to stay with two amazing people (who gave me a cozy place to stay with amazing food) and eventually I was able to return home. I made it back downtown just in time for a freak snowstorm to arrive, blanketing the city in a freezing cold slush.

As a kid I remember countless drills of duck and cover. I remember climbing under my desk and folding my legs into a crumpled mess for multiple drills. I remember wrapping my arms around the leg of my desk in the event of an earthquake. I remember filing outside as a class and getting the chance to take a break midday for a practice fire drill in the “event that there is ever an emergency.” But never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that all those small–scale practice drills in elementary school would (a decade later) translate to escaping a historic hurricane to the Upper Westside. There is no drill that prepares you for that.

Here is my advice to all those small elementary school kiddos lining up to leave the classroom for a “practice drill”: make sure you have an extra pair of underwear and toothbrush in your pocket, because you never know how long it will be before you can go back to class.

This cup is for Jake and Lanie–Thank you. And for all the refugees out there–on a small scale–I know just how you feel.

First Aid Kit: Hurricane Sandy

If Hurricane Sandy were a Halloween costume...

My First Aid Kit for Hurricane Sandy

Jake and Lanie

An apartment with a view

A blow up air mattress with a super awesome cloud nine cozy comforter (in a very Rudy pattern)

A purple bath towel (A Rudy Color)

Plenty of weathervanes

Boxes of wine

Yummy homemade Indian food

Flashlights

Candles

A jazzy red emergency backup radio

Lots of plugs for charging lots of gadgets

Anna’s ginger thins

Trader Joe’s Dark Chocolate Peanut Butter Cups

Apples from the farmers market

Cozy socks

Comfy pajama bottoms

College sweatshirts (Columbia. Check. OSU. Check)

Homemade veggie sandwiches (instructions from Mayor Bloomberg himself)

Magazines

Messy hair

Mascara (can’t function without eyes)

Homework

Blogs

Coffee

Colored Pencils

A 4 year old to stop by and color with

Lots of calls from multiple moms and dads in multiple states outside of NYC

The New York Times for up to the minute news and events

Awesome friends and family checking in all along the way

This cup is for Jake and Lanie–this safety kit would not exist without you, and for that I am eternally grateful. THANK YOU! THANK YOU! THANK YOU!

Happy Halloween Everyone:)

Cups and Cups of October in NYC

This cup is for Sam, Nimish & Lauren. Thanks for sharing the cups with me.

I'm bleeding

Fond memories of stumbling upon this gem in Los Angeles, CA on the day of the 2008 election

I don’t normally like to talk politics. Well, lets back up–I like to talk politics depending on the setting. If I am in a bar having a drink I would be happy to talk about politics if it happens to come up in conversation. If I am at a little kid’s birthday party, I don’t want to talk about politics. If I am out on a run I might consider talking about politics, but only around mile 5, and only for about a half a mile. If I am painting, I don’t want to think about politics. If I am thinking about my career, international affairs, helping others, and making the world a better place, I will probably mention something about politics and then I will probably talk about it.

Recently I had a professional look over my resume—as they peered over their horn rim glasses, after studying the page, she said “Well, clearly you bleed blue.” Suddenly it dawned on me–politics is not something I choose to talk about or partake in, politics is a part of who I am because I actively participate in the political world–however you define “political.” Sure, I have something to say about what I think or feel–everyone should. I once had a long political discussion with a dear friend–one of my best friends (who happens to bleed red)– who asked me where my blue blood came from? And I explained that it came from the people and experiences that have filled my life and shaped who I am. All of our perspectives and backgrounds, thoughts and ideas, people and places, shape who we are. From those deep roots where we come from, to those far-reaching corners of our lives, from those good times and from those bad times–we bleed–be it red or blue. We are supposed to–it is how we survive.

We are not all supposed to be the same. This week I talked with a mentor who told me that the best conversations that we (as people) can have are with those who think differently from us. What do we gain from agreeing all the time? What do we learn from those who finish our sentences and always respond with “Yes! Exactly!” How do we really broaden our horizons if we are constantly surrounded by people who always agree, hold the same thoughts and ideas, and share the same values and beliefs? The truth is, we need others to challenge us, just as we should challenge others. We need to push each other to ask questions, inquire, and gain new perspectives. We need to learn from one another. Everyone has something to bring to the table, and we are all allowed to agree to disagree.

What we can’t tolerate is turning our backs on one another. What we can’t risk is broken friendships and broken ties over disagreements and different perspectives. What we must hold (above all) is respect for one another. What we must keep is the peace. What we must do is participate–because if we don’t, no one wins. We are given an incredible opportunity–the opportunity to participate in our democracy. We are able to vote. Whether you are political or not, think about it, this is an incredibly powerful thing. People around the world are risking their lives everyday to do what many of us take for granted–vote.

Things are getting political. There are 17 days until the Presidential election. These are exciting times. Whether you bleed red, blue, or purple, the election should get your heart pumping. So, while friends and family who know me best would argue, that I in fact do like to talk politics, it is probably because it is in my blood, and I know it is in their blood. It is in your blood. It is in our blood. It is living and breathing inside all of us. And so I encourage everyone to go out and vote–red, blue, purple, and every shade in-between.  

This cup is for Brooke & Sasha: who challenge my blue blood with their red blood–and know that no matter what colors we bleed we will be friends forever.

And here is an extra little treat to start your day thanks to the very talented Ingrid Michaelson

Blood Brothers

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nQxRZQW9kZY

Happily Ever After

Love has been on my mind lately–not just any love–but that deep heart throbbing love. This kind of love gathers in a lump in the back of your throat, fills your lungs and makes your chest feel heavy. This kind of love tests your emotions– pushing you to laugh or to cry, makes your heart beat a little bit faster– and triggers an uncontrollable smile that is so big it hurts your cheekbones.

Last weekend I attended a wedding for a friend I have known my entire life–a friend I consider family. As I sat under the trees, a golden glow reflecting off the faces of those in attendance, I felt that heart throbbing love as they exchanged vows, blessings, and lifetime promises to one another. As their parents, family, and friends gathered together to celebrate their love, that heart throbbing feeling filled the air. Did you know I am a hopeless romantic? This is probably thanks to the many years that I spent engrossed in fairy tales watching Cinderella and Beauty find that heart throbbing love…Or maybe it’s because I have grown up surrounded by so many people who truly love one another. Regardless–spending the weekend surrounded by love was the perfect way to celebrate on a crispy fall October day.

Community Blessing

We your community of family and friends

Wish upon you all these blessings…

…in your autumns of great abundance

…in your winters of immense expectations

…in your springs of hard work and execution

…and in your summers of cultivation and caring for one another.

May you both live to see this cycle renew itself for many years to come.

~Lanie & Jake Tracer, October 14, 2012

This cup is for Lanie & Jake: I will never forget dancing under the twinkle lights... Cheers! To happily ever after

And for those of you that haven’t been to a wedding in a while, check out some of my favorites:

Love Actually

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqHRMuUhmnA

Jim and Pam’s Wedding

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J3Nxerpkvnc&feature=related

Father of the Bride

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onunI7e5DpE

It’s not always glitter and lights

New York city is not always glitter and lights–and the last few days have felt glum. I think it is that transition from summer to fall, where it is not quite cold enough to pull on your favorite sweater. I think it is that transition in time, where no amount of coffee can wake you up, and all you are left with is a dehydrated headache. Maybe it is a loss of space–that you can’t quite fold up your things into a tiny corner of your own–that everything is shared–you are constantly moving over, shifting around, pulling the sheets over your head to drown out the light and wishing that your earplugs would stifle the noise. Maybe it is the late trains that leave you on the platform for an extra 20 minutes, setting you back a whole hour and slicing your day in half. It could be the rain. A rain that doesn’t smell like fresh pine and cedar, but instead is a muddy haze that makes even the brightest corners of the city look dull. This glum could be a result of too many blocks in wet boots, and soggy socks. Or it could just be an invasion of the mind taking over the body–a fight between the head and the heart– a battle of the inside with the outside.

In the midst of gray three things happened: I witnessed a fistfight on the corner of Broadway and Price between two complete strangers. Obviously the gray gloom had gotten the worst of them, and they could no longer contain their frustration, and so they took it out on each other. As I dodged puddles and made my way to a favorite nearby café–my refuge– the woman behind me barked at the waiter–clearly dumping her gloom onto someone else. When he asked her if she was finished she snapped, “Well do you think I am going to eat the cup and saucer too?” The woman sitting next to me, about 75 years old, ordered a glass of wine at 11AM, a sure sign that her gray morning could only be cured with a toast to the clouds.

Fortunately, for me, I was able to share my gray matter with a friend who was there and at the ready, who was happy to listen, ready to respond, and always makes me smile. How lucky am I?

And so just like a storm, the gray matter will pass. The best advice I received was this:

Write down how you feel today and read it tomorrow…you will be pleasantly surprised.

How I feel today: Today I feel overwhelmed. Price elasticity, supply and demand, normal and inferior goods, total revenue, monopolies, oligopolies, internships and summer plans are taking over my brain, leaving me little time to run, sleep or explore. I miss the trees, the ocean, and my yellow lab. I close my eyes and picture my feet hitting the trails in Forest Park. I open my eyes. I stand up and stretch. I head for the kitchen for another cup. The clouds will clear. Tomorrow is a new day.

This cup is for anyone who is brave enough to walk in the rain without an umbrella. Cheers!