Derby

This one's so obvious, it feels like cheating to post it.

I am one of two (A-Block is the other) founding members of Maine Roller Derby who is still active with the league. I played for a couple of years, and for a thousand good reasons decided to become a ref a little more than five years ago.

Derby has given me so many things: A sport that turns me into a crazy super-fan (so I can finally understand what that's like). A way to physically push myself that has made me much more open to testing my limits and trying new things (see all the discussion about the Mountain Raid and wanting to do it again). An excuse to own and wear so many tutus. And the socks! But most of all, it's given me this collection of incredible humans.

One-third of my partners in awesome are people I met through derby. (Misadventure Canada was planned for me by someone I met once at a bout we reffed together; the partner in awesome for the trip was a fellow official; and during the trip, we met up with my derby wife.)

Ten out of the 26 red notebook conspirators and eight out of 13 postal ninja project participants are people I know from derby.

In June, I officiated the wedding of a friend who was a founding league member with me. Later this month, I'll go see Catching Fire -- just like we planned when we first learned the Hunger Games series was being made into movies -- with A-Block. In June, when the movie version of The Fault in Our Stars comes out, I'll have a whole group of derby people to go with me. (In fact, nearly every nerdfighter I know is someone from derby.)

Saturday, an old derby friend is going to make me up all pretty, and then I'm going to go to the Derby Lite party, where I will step out of my comfort zone by: 1. attending a ginormous party full of people, 2. participating in my first cheerleader pyramid, 3. participating in a choreographed dance. Why? Because I adore this little community.

I'm thankful for all of them. For the people who cheer me on and make me feel like I can do anything. For the people who are in it with me and stick by me, whether it's a matter of staffing a bout or completing a crazy obstacle race on a mountain or making it through the challenges we set ourselves for this month. For the people who are so kind and thoughtful and willing to share their knowledge, their time, and to show thanks when I do the same.

I'm thankful for the derby wife I said I never wanted and the derby kid who calls me "Mom" (and the incredibly unexpected way it makes me feel when she says it).

I'm thankful for friends who have shown time and again that I can count on them to be there when I need them and to be up for having fun (even when my idea of fun is a little -- or even a lot -- strange).

Taking chances vs money stress

My derby colleague View Grind'er is also blogging her gratitude every day this month. Today, she posted this. And, WOW, can I relate.

Five years ago, I was still living and working in Portland, my mom was sick but not yet terminal, and I paid off my credit cards every single month. Now, not even close. I've accumulated quite a bit of credit card debt in the four years since my mom died. Some of it has been due to unexpected car expenses (not just repairs, but all the damn miles I've clocked on this car mean I've also shelled out a ton in gas money). Most of it, though, has been due to specific choices I've made. Places I've traveled. Misadventures I've had. The ways I've chosen to celebrate my last few birthdays. This session, I opted to take two Derby Lite classes, even though I knew that the extra class registration as well as the extra gas money would be A LOT (even just one is A LOT). Because when it came down to it, I decided it would be worth it.

My first semester of college, I was the founding editor of the school's honors program's newsletter. I had started the newsletter on the one computer in the program's computer lab that had Publisher97 on it. You couldn't open Pub97 files in older versions of Publisher. So, if someone else was using that computer, I was out of luck. I was living at home (45 minutes away) and working (my job was a half hour the other direction from home) and didn't have time to hang around campus waiting for that computer to be available.  It was stressing me out beyond belief.

My mom and I went to the software store in the mall to see if I could get a copy of Publisher97 to install on our home computer. It was going to cost $100. At the time, that was A LOT of money for me (it still is, but not in the way it was to 18-year-old me who made $7.50 an hour). My mom looked at me and she said, "How much is the peace of mind you'd have from being able to work on this newsletter at home worth to you? Is it worth $100?"

I gave her an emphatic yes, paid the money for the software, and never regretted it. That is how I learned cost-benefit analysis, and to this day I say it's one of the best lessons my mom imparted to me.

These days, money is very tight, and I've made some hard decisions about what I need to prioritize and where to put my resources. But in the end, what matters most is that I don't regret the choices I make, that I always opt for what will make me happy. After all, what good is a nice, comfortable savings account if I never have any fun or do anything I want to do?

Today, I'm thankful for my mom's lesson in cost-benefit analysis and Grind'er's reminder that sometimes you have to make scary choices to go after the things you want.

Jackie's birthday

It's easy to find a reason to celebrate today, because it's Jackie's birthday.

Jackie was my journalism teacher in high school, and we've gotten together every year at Christmas since then. (For years, it's been tradition that we meet on Christmas eve and take a long walk at the town park together.) She's the person who took me on a long walk in the woods -- in the unexpected snow -- right after my mom died, just to get me out of the house. She's the person who volunteered to pick up Mom's ashes at the funeral home, to save my sisters and me from that task.

She's a partner in awesome, one of my top five favorite people on the planet, and more like family than some people who share genes with me.

And none of this even comes close to describing how incredible she is or how she's impacted my life.

From the time I met her as a shy, geeky high school sophomore, she has been tireless in her encouragement. I want to work harder, be a better and kinder person just so I can be half the person she says I am. She's been level-headed about stupid boys who have spun me around (she's always right about that -- always), and she has helped to close some of the empty space left when my mom died (something I didn't expect from anyone).

So, on the fourth day of a month where I'm focusing on gratitude and celebration, it is so easy and obvious to want to celebrate Jackie on her birthday, because I am thankful every day that I found my way into her journalism class all those years ago, and even more thankful that she's still such a big part of my life.

Busy Sundays

Right after my mom died, I was talking to a co-worker about how Sundays were hard. She assumed I was like many people who would have weekly calls to loved ones on Sundays. But that wasn't it. My mom and I talked nearly every day for most of my life.

Thursdays were hard because she died in the very early hours of a Thursday. But Sundays? They were hard for a whole different reason.

When I have a Sunday all to myself, it's hard to make it productive. I spend the whole day sleeping as much as possible or just generally feeling wound up about the work week about to start. Sunday nights are always the hardest for me to fall asleep (while Fridays are always the easiest).

But busy Sundays are great, because they keep me distracted from the weight of anticipating a long or hard or busy week.

Today, I've got errands to run in the morning (laundry, picking up guinea pig food, doing my daily plank and editing, etc.) before I meet friends for late lunch/early dinner. Then I've got Derby Lite. Then I'm helping to ref men's practice. By the time I get home, it'll be just about time for bed and just about tired out enough to sleep easier than I do on a non-busy Sunday.

So, even though it may seem like a contradiction to be grateful for lazy Saturdays one day and busy Sundays the next, that's just how it is. (Welcome to the life of a Pisces....)

Lazy Saturdays

Today I am exceptionally grateful for a Saturday where I didn't have anything to do or anywhere to be (it's almost 7 p.m. and I'm still wearing my pjs from last night).

Between Feb. 16 (the first bout of the spring season) and Oct. 12, I had a total of 6 Saturdays free. (I've had the last three Saturdays in a row free, and it's been GLORIOUS.) It's not that I haven't enjoyed the things that kept me busy -- bouts and outings with friends and trips home to see my family and weddings and such. It's just that I need a lot of downtime in order to feel sane -- time away from everyone and everything else, where I don't leave the apartment or talk to anyone unless I want to. Time to read and sleep and think. And it's been real nice to have that these last few weeks.

Although, technically I misspoke about today. There are things I need to do -- I needed to write this and I need to do my NaNoEdMo editing and I need to do a 2-minute plank as part of the Plankosaurus Challenge. But that should be easy, now that I've spent my day watching TV, finishing the book I was reading (This Book is Full of Spiders), cleaning, making pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, and napping.

Sometimes it's good to be a "grown up"

People have often told me that they appreciate my child-like wonder. It's not something real quantifiable, but I know what they mean, and I take it as a compliment.

There's also the part where I'm just downright child-like (some might say "childish"). I take children's chewable vitamins (because they taste better and adult ones make me gag). I sleep with a stuffed pig I bought right after my mom died (and no matter how many times I've thought, "I am done sleeping with this pig" I just can't seem to put him away...). My favorite set of sheets for my bed came from the little boys' section of Target (they have DINOSAURS on them). My favorite food is macaroni and cheese. I only buy fun Band-Aids.

But sometimes, it's good to act like a proper adult. It can help you feel accomplished. I've started trying really hard to exercise on a more regular basis. Before, I didn't exercise much outside of Derby Lite classes, derby practice, and bouts. (The occasional outdoor skate, energetic outing with friends [trampolining!], etc. helped fill in on other days, but never consistently.) My friend Danielle gave me her elliptical when she moved halfway across the country and couldn't take it with her. Since it arrived in my library, I've made sure I use it every day that I don't have derby (regular or lite), except for Tuesday when I was feeling worn down by a cold and just napped all evening after work. (I'm totally good with giving myself a pass for that day.)

Last night, Olive (who cheered me through the Mountain Raid and teaches my Derby Lite classes) posted on Facebook about a challenge to do planks almost every day, gradually increasing from 90 seconds to four and a half minutes. I did my first plank last night, then filled in the boxes on my calendar so I could keep track of how much to do each day. After the plank, I made myself do some pushups (because I hate them and I suck at them and maybe if I do more, one of those things will change). Then I did a half an hour on the elliptical, followed that with 10 burpees. I took a rest, did 10 more pushups and 10 more burpees.

This will seem like nothing to most people, but it's a big deal for me that I wrestled myself off the couch when I got home from work and didn't have anything in particular (other than me) to motivate me to get up and DO SOMETHING.

I'm actually LOOKING FORWARD to doing it again tonight. Which is awesome.

And so, I don't feel so bad for eating a chocolate cupcake for breakfast this morning. As I was munching on it, I thought, "I'm an adult, dammit. I can eat a cupcake for breakfast if I want."

"Adults should not weep, I knew. They did not have mothers who would comfort them."

- Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Dear Ma,

It's probably always been weird that I write you letters, but now that we've scattered your ashes, it even seems a little weird to me. (I don't know why that changes things, but it does.) Still, I can't help that writing is how I process things (always has been) -- sometimes I don't even know what I think or feel until I sit down and words start appearing. I've been finding myself composing letters to you in my head all week, so I guess this is something I still need to do. (It's hard to talk to someone pretty much every day of your life and then never have a chance to talk to them again, ever.)

I saw a falling star for the first time last night while I was driving home from practice. It was beautiful and bright and gone so, so quickly. Which, of course, made me think about you and life and this ongoing attempt at working on love.

My friend Emer has started a blog that's supposed to be about gratitude, and she invited me to post (I've already written two!). She says I've taught her a lot about how to celebrate the daily awesome. I had a lot of awesome to celebrate yesterday. It started with a text from Daniel encouraging me to keep going with the books I'm working on, telling me he was proud of me. At lunch, I came home to find a thank you note from a stranger. We'd both ordered some cards from a company and they accidentally sent me her order the same day they sent mine. So, I mailed her stuff to her. She thanked me and sent me cash to cover the cost of postage. She said my actions were heart-warming. (I thought her note was!) After work, I stopped by Staples to print a copy of Only Now to give to Curve, who had offered to be one of my beta readers. She says having a hard copy will be easier for her, and that she'll even be able to read it this weekend. The guy at Staples was friendly (if a little overly chatty) and it was pretty neat to hold a copy of the manuscript in my hands for the first time. Practice was good, and then there was the falling star on the way home.

There's been plenty of awesome to celebrate today -- the cold that's been lurking in the background the last couple of days seems to have passed me by without ever making me really sick and right now it's raining and I don't have a headache! (Not to mention it's Halloween, so we had lots and lots and lots of snacks at work....)

Tomorrow is November 1. I did a variation of NaNoWriMo for three years in a row where I focused on daily writing and didn't pay any attention to word counts (that's what kicked off my 240 consecutive days of writing that ended in June). I didn't want to start writing something new this year -- not until I've gone through Now What? So, I figured I'd make it NaNoEdMo this year (National Novel Editing Month).

But then a friend from derby mentioned daily blogging, and I realized that that was a way to still incorporate daily writing into my November. So, in honor of Thanksgiving and Emer's idea of celebrating the everyday awesome, I'm setting out to write a celebratory blog every day in November.

I think sometimes we miss opportunities for happiness because we just aren't looking for them. This will be a good way for me to keep my eyes open.

The not-so-secret thing behind all of this? It's all part of me trying to be someone you'd be proud to call your daughter. It's part of me trying to live my life as fully as I can, to make up for all the time you didn't get to have, all the things that held you back while you were here. It's part of me trying to feel whole after losing you.

I may not be able to talk to you every day (but maybe these daily blogs will feel kind of like that...), but it still amazes me how much you shape me and my actions on a daily basis. Even now, four years after you died.

I miss you so much.

Love, Tara

"Words save our lives, sometimes."

- Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Whenever I write about having a good day or the awesome people I’m lucky to call friends, I feel uncomfortable. It feels like bragging. But, the thing I realized just now is that I write about the shitty days when I miss my mom something fierce or my head feels like it’s going to implode from the barometric pressure. I write about the stupid things I say and do to make other people laugh. So, it’s only fair to write about the good things, too. Present the whole picture.

Today was a good day for me.

It got good at lunchtime when I stopped at home and got yet another fabulous ninja surprise in the mail. And then my friend Danielle’s dad came to deliver the elliptical she had to leave behind when she moved halfway across the country earlier this month. I am downright giddy about this piece of exercise equipment, because I think it’ll help me overcome a lot of my lazy tendencies and get in better shape (because I am going to do the Mountain Raid again next year, dammit, and I’m going to DO BETTER).

But then my day got all kinds of amazing toward the end of the afternoon.

I’ve often recited the three best compliments I’ve ever received.

The third is when Sarah DiMarco, in sixth grade, said, “I like your oddness.” (Although that one might get bumped off the list by Olive's declaration, "Graceless! You were hulking out on those monkey bars!" during the Mountain Raid.)

The second was when Dennis Lehane was mentoring me and said, “You read everything.”

The first goes all the way back to third grade. That year, my aunt gave me a copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends for my birthday and inscribed it, “When I think about dreamers, I think about you.” It was the first time anyone had ever used that word to describe me and it still feels truer than anything most anyone has ever said to or about me, which is why it’s been the best compliment I received for the last 25 years.

Until today.

This afternoon, I got an email from my writing partner that mentioned how he’s been binge reading the rough draft of Now What? since Wednesday and will finish it tonight. He concluded his email, “I just wanted to offer those kudos and also say that I haven't binged through a novel that quickly since Cormac McCarthy's The Road, like, 7 years ago.” (And then he also spoke so highly of both of Ramona’s books to his wife that she asked me to send them to her to read.) That’s my new number one compliment.

I bought Allegiant after work tonight, and I’m looking forward to reading it just as soon as I finish This Book is Full of Spiders.

All in all, it’s been a very good day. The best in a good, long while.

Hey, I *did* that

A couple of months ago, I decided to sign up for the Mountain Raid because I thought it would be an awesome thing to be able to say, "Hey, I did that."

And, it is.

It's awesome to say, "I did that."

But it's more awesome to say, "I did that with a lot of encouragement and help from some really great people."

Things I learned today at the Mountain Raid

1.  Running can sometimes make you feel like you have menstrual cramps even when it's not that time of the month. (I actually thought my ovaries were going to explode during the first mile straight up the mountain. You think a stitch in your side is painful? Um, no. Not compared to this.)
2. The obstacles aren't that bad -- in fact, they are way more fun than climbing up and down a mountain. (If the course had been flat, it really might not have been all that hard.) 
3. If there is even the slightest possibility of mud, you should bring extra sneakers to change into afterward. (I brought a full change of clothes, but no clean sneakers. So, even my dry socks ended up feeling wet, because there was so. much. mud. So much that I almost lost each sneaker in the mud at different points.)
4. When it's 50ish degrees and you're worried about leaving your sweatshirt in the car at the start of the race, you shouldn't be worried. You will be SO GLAD it's not anywhere near you within minutes. (And I'm so, so, so glad this race was not in the summer heat.)
5. Everyone should have a miniature Olive Spankins to carry around with them when they are feeling tired/sore/uncertain. She will keep you going!
6. Sometimes, strong and athletic people are willing to blow their own race times to cheer you on and keep you going, because they are just that amazing. (Big, huge, giant thanks to Olive and my rock-steady derby wife, Rehab, for being those people today.)

I was not dead-last (two people crossed the finish after Olive, Rehab, and I did).  I climbed UP a MOUNTAIN. A mountain. I jumped hurdles, climbed even bigger hurdles, sat on a log and shimmied across it (my legs were too shaky at that point for me to try walking it), carried a 20-pound sand bag up a little incline and back down, climbed across a set of monkey bars (which earned a, "Graceless, you totally hulked out on the monkey bars!" from Olive -- probably my proudest accomplishment), walked under one cargo net and climbed up another, flipped some giant tires, climbed a Finnish wall, climbed a rope ladder, and then rappelled down a wall.

It took me a little less than an hour and a half to complete the 3.5-mile course. Olive, Rehab, and I ran through the finish line, holding hands with our arms in the air.

And even with our slow times, somehow our team of six managed to win first place in women's teams, so I got a medal.

I thought I might die during that first mile up the mountain, but now I'm already thinking about the things I can do to get myself in shape for next year.

Fall

The word "autumn" just sounds so hoity-toity to me. I like fall. It's short and simple. When I think of the verb, I think of freedom and trust and bravery and comfort -- like falling from a trapeze platform with a safety harness and net. It's only later that I think of fear and embarrassment and pain -- like stumbling and tripping and falling.

The autumnal equinox is still 12 days away, but you wouldn't know it judging by the weather. It's chilly and the leaves had started to turn already when my boss and I did our doughnut trek across Maine the last week of August.

Fall has always been my favorite season. I love that it's cooler. I love the colors. I love digging out my comfy, warm clothes (it feels like snuggling). I love that this season is packed so full of holidays -- especially Halloween and Thanksgiving. (I especially love holidays that relate to food....) The fall derby season is so much less crazy than the spring one.

For the last several years, though, fall has also carried this crappy burden around with it: It's the season my mom died. Less than a month from today is the fourth deathiversary. And even though I know I should stop counting, even though I know her birthday is the date I should focus on, I still can't help where my mind wanders. It just meanders there without any help or guidance from me.

Last night, I was lying in bed trying to sleep when I heard this tremendous crashing sound outside (like a garbage truck rattling through the house or something). Thunder. I love thunderstorms, but I don't love the headaches that accompany them.

And that's when I remembered that last fall also marked the beginning of one of the worst headache seasons I've ever experienced -- the headaches themselves weren't the worst I'd ever had (although some were really bad), it was the frequency of them that was so much worse than anything I remember dealing with before. Thanks to a concussion I received 13 months ago and the way my head reacts to barometric pressure, I had a headache nearly every day between last October and the beginning of April.

As many headaches as I've had since the middle of April (and there have been quite a few, even some real doozies), it hasn't been anywhere near as bad as it was last fall and winter. I'd actually let myself forget how bad it had been. Until last night. When the thunder crashed outside my apartment, I didn't think about how much I love thunderstorms, I thought about fall (the verb with the bad connotations). I thought about what's in store for me in the weeks to come.

Sometimes, it's hard to shake off past hurts and walk around appreciating the wonder and beauty in the world. It's especially hard when you're experiencing physical pain (which makes me think of my mom and how sad she always was and how it makes a lot more sense to me now that I can relate to the physical pain part a bit).

All I could think of last night was the world is terrible sad and I am lonely. I'd accidentally transposed part of a quote from The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making by Catherynne M. Valente. The real line is: "Be my friend and love me, for the world is terrible lonely and I am sad." Really, I guess it works either way.

And if I seem a little less myself than usual in the coming weeks, the coming season, that's why.