Ma Kelly

My mom and me, a couple of years before I discovered roller derby.

Maine Roller Derby was about 15 months old the afternoon I got a call from my sister while I was at work. She never called me during the day, so I knew something was very wrong. Mom was at the emergency room and the doctors there had (correctly) determined that she had a mass on her lung that they thought (incorrectly) was pressing on her heart. I remember saying "Okay" a lot during that phone call, telling my sister I would leave for New York as soon as I could. I started crying when I pulled my boss out of a meeting to tell him I had to go and why. I went home, packed up my pets, and emailed several people from the league to let them know what was going on. I still had a suitcase full of merch from our last fundraiser in my apartment. I told them where I left the spare key, so someone could come get it. Then I drove the 300 miles back to the house I'd grown up in.

My mom never got to see me play roller derby, even though the second of the three games I played in was a mere 40-minute drive from her house. (It was a year later, and she was very weak then. She wouldn't have been able to sit so long.) And even though I think my fascination with derby surprised her, she did seem to enjoy it and the impact it had on me.

My mom took this picture at the park across the street from her house shortly before we found out about her lung cancer.

My mom fought lung cancer for two and a half years. In that time, I transitioned from playing to reffing, changed employers, moved an hour north. I made that long drive to New York often.

I have only ever missed three of Maine Roller Derby's home games in the history of the league. One while I was helping to care for Mom a couple of weeks before she died, the second just days afterward. (The third was for my writing partner's wedding.)

My mom's death was the single most difficult and painful experience of my life. Skating helped. My derby family helped -- in fact, many of them went on to be Partners in Awesome*.

And although my mom never got to see me participate in roller derby, never got to skate with me, Box o'Ma did.

Me and Box o'Ma skating the Green Belt trail in South Portland.

Box o'Ma at WFTDA Eastern Regionals, 2010.

Me and Box o'Ma at Happy Wheels, the rink my league is trying to buy before it goes up for sale on the open market.

It's been almost six and a half years since my mom died. I think I probably would have found a way through my grief even without roller derby, but it would have been a lot harder and lonelier.


* I call all the people who helped with the Misadventures of Box o'Ma my Partners in Awesome, because they were so much more than "partners in crime."


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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

Fun and fitness!

I never regretted my decision to become a roller derby ref instead of a player. There's no question that reffing was a better fit for me in pretty much every way. Except for this: I really did love to skate hard and figure out new things on my wheels. When you officiate, you don't always have the opportunity to focus on your skating skills.

But then something amazing happened. A retired skater started offering Derby Lite classes at the rink where my league does most of its skating. Derby Lite's tagline is "Roller Skating for Fun and Fitness" and it couldn't be more true. I. Love. It. It's all the things I missed about playing roller derby (endurance and skills and just a chance to skate more) and none of the things I didn't like (hitting people). 

Derby Lite is the reason I can transition to the left, skate backwards with any kind of speed or confidence, cross-over backwards, and plow stop instead of the "plow slow-down" I did for years. And I love endurance drills. I love sprinting. (I hate running. Always have. But I love to SKATE FAST with a minimum of obstacles in my way.)

(c) Brianne Seekins Photography. This is me participating in my first-ever cheerleader pyramid to celebrate Derby Lite's 6th birthday in 2013.

I am willing to drive more than two hours round trip to spend one hour on my skates at Derby Lite. I am willing to get up an hour early so I can get out of work early enough to make it to class on time. When I've considered other jobs or major life changes that might make me move somewhere else, I look to see if there's a nearby city that offers Derby Lite. Most places have roller derby leagues, but not that many have skating for fun and fitness. Public open skates just don't cut it.

Derby Lite has also expanded my derby family. As with roller derby, I have met so many incredible humans through Derby Lite. Roller skating can be a difficult and humbling experience. Trying to do anything with eight wheels on your feet is going to take practice. The retired skater who brought Derby Lite to us often says, "If you're moving, you're perfect." (A motto that I carry with me when I'm struggling off my skates, too.)

I can't imagine what my life -- who I -- would be like without roller derby. But I also can't imagine either without Derby Lite.


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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating (including Derby Lite!) before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

That time Hank Green wore my tutu and that other time Ruth of All Evil and I found Aerofighters at a rink in Rhode Island

In the world of roller derby in northern New England, I'm kind of known for my tutus. All three doll likenesses of me wear them:

So, when John Green tweeted that he was looking for a tutu for the first stop on the Tour de Nerdfighting back in 2012, Ruth of All Evil made sure I saw it:

@graceless880, GET ON THIS. RT @realjohngreen: does anyone coming to the show tonight in Wellesley, MA have a tutu that would fit, say, me?

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) January 10, 2012

Which led to this exchange:

@graceless880 AWESOME! THANKS! Tell the people at the bookstore that YOU HAVE THE TUTUS.

— John Green (@johngreen) January 10, 2012

 ...And then this happened:

I have photographic proof of @hankgreen wearing @graceless880's tutu. Thanks for a great show, Hank & @realjohngreen! pic.twitter.com/X2uvy06u

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) January 11, 2012

Interestingly, the person who would go on to be my BFRef was also at this event, but we barely knew each other at the time. 

A little more than a year later, Ruth of All Evil and I were in southern Rhode Island to officiate a game between Maine Roller Derby's Port Authorities and the Rhode Island Riveters. Evil came running up to me, "Graceless, they have nerdfighters!" 

I looked at her uncomprehendingly. "...Someone's wearing a Pizza John shirt?"

And then she pointed out the game at the far edge of the rink, which led to this:

.@graceless880 and I found #nerdfighters in a roller rink in Rhode Island! Roller derby refs love @realjohngreen pic.twitter.com/wTerPJdPmO

— Ruth of All Evil (@ruthofallevil) March 24, 2013

When another official received his Pizza John shirt in the mail in December, he posted a picture of it to my Facebook timeline because he knows I am a die-hard nerdfighter even though I don't think we've ever had a conversation about it.

Nerdfighteria -- like roller derby -- is a huge part of who I am, a huge part of what got me through losing my mom six and a half years ago and then my dad almost two years ago. That rink in Rhode Island with the Aerofighters game closed last year, and several rinks in my state are closing or have closed down already. As of June, the Portland Happy Wheels -- which is home to three roller derby leagues, a skating fitness class, and more than 30,000 people who skate at public events -- will be one of only three remaining rinks in the state. It would be devastating to our community if we lost this facility.

Maine Roller Derby, a certified nonprofit, is trying to raise enough money for a down payment to purchase Happy Wheels before it is sold on the open market.

We hope that other nerdfighters will help us meet our goals:

• To sustain the personal, athletic, and professional development of women in southern Maine;
• To maintain a supportive athletic community for LGBT and other athletes who face discrimination in other sporting ventures; and
• To sustain roller skating, a physical activity that promotes healthy lifestyles in people of diverse backgrounds, in southern Maine.

You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online here.

That time I was semi-stalked at Bubba's Sulky Lounge because of Neil Gaiman

Way back in the beginning of time when I played roller derby, I would always sign up to be in charge of merch at fundraisers because I don't like talking to strangers, but I'm willing to take someone's money and hand them something they want in exchange. I used to get bored, so I'd bring a book.

I was reading Good Omens at the second-ever Lucky Lass Throwdown eight years ago when some guy came up to the table and said, "So, you like Neil Gaiman?" It was the beginning of an incredibly awkward evening where he kept coming on to me, and I kept turning him down. Eventually, he asked for a picture together (which was especially weird since another skater took the picture with her phone and he didn't know her, so there was no way he was going to get it).

When I got home that night, I wrote Neil Gaiman a letter about how it was all his fault this guy semi-stalked me, complete with a copy of the picture and footnotes. I made sure to tell him this all happened at Bubba's Sulky Lounge, because it's one of those names that makes for good storytelling and had the bonus of being fact.

Three months later, I got a postcard back with a note from Neil himself:

Why, yes, I do keep this postcard matted and framed on my library wall. It's from NEIL GAIMAN -- who happens to be my favorite writer -- for crying out loud.

On the back was a note from Neil's assistant Cat (not the one who eventually went on to play roller derby) asking how much it would cost to sponsor a roller derby team. At the time, my very new league wasn't good at following up on offers of sponsorship from the assistants of amazingly talented writers.

Our league has grown and changed a lot in the last eight years -- recently becoming a non-profit, continuing to raise our all-star team up in its international rankings, adding two home teams, talking seriously about developing a youth league, and more.

Unfortunately, our league also faces a huge challenge right now. We need to raise money for a down payment to purchase the rink where we skate or risk it being sold on the open market. Historically, when that has happened with other rinks in our state, they end up closing or being repurposed. As of June, the Portland Happy Wheels -- which is home to three roller derby leagues, a skating fitness class, and more than 30,000 people who skate at public events -- will be one of only three remaining rinks in the state. It would be devastating to our community if we lost this facility.

Neil, you considered sponsoring one of our teams eight years ago. Might you consider sponsoring skating in Southern Maine now? My league-mates would love to talk with you in more depth about this opportunity and how you might be able to help us keep this vibrant, empowering community alive. You can contact them at trip@mainerollerderby.com or visit our website here.

Ten. Years.

I count the day I broke my ankle -- March 28, 2006 -- as my derbyversary. Do the math. That's ten years coming up next month.

(Because I like contextualizing things like this: Graceless Kelly is old enough to be in fourth grade now. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?)

I acted as team manager for nine games before I played in my first (of three) games. I have now officiated 174 games, plus a whole lot of scrimmages. I was Maine Roller Derby's first-ever Skater of the Month. I was NERDerby's first-ever Raging Zebra. I've been recognized as MVP Ref, Mama Zebra, and Ms. Chutzpah for Derby Lite's 2013 intermediate class. I had a song written about me. And three different people have made doll likenesses of me (one of whom has been to Montreal, Ft. Lauderdale, Germany, and Iceland).

Derby has brought so many good people into my life -- and I've managed to hold onto quite a few of them. People who helped me have adventures with my mom's ashes, who helped me fill a red Moleskine notebook with magic, people who have helped me be a better skater, official, and human.

In the last decade I've gone from mid-20s to mid-30s. Lost several pets, my last two grandparents, and both of my parents. I've moved and changed jobs a couple of times. Visited Iceland (I even got to ref a practice for Roller Derby Iceland!). Read hundreds of books, and written a couple, too. Had my heart broken in so many ways, but always managed to put it back together (mostly with help and thanks in no small part to strapping eight wheels to my feet). Conquered fears and had so many adventures.

And four weeks from now, I'm going to celebrate. I've rented Happy Wheels for two hours. I'm going to do a bunch of skating, and I'm going to eat cake. It's going to be glorious. I'm inviting most everyone who has positively impacted my derby life in some way (playing, officiating, and/or skating Derby Lite). I can hardly wait.

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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and make a tax-deductible donation online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

Reffing isn't a second choice for me

Every time I see this flyer, all I can think is, "Oh, dear. That's my butt." I mean, it's well-covered, but still. It's a weird thing to have your butt on a flyer.

I've been a roller derby official for more than seven years. I've reffed 125 games on skates and almost 50 off, which isn't a ton for that span of time, but considering my dislike for tournaments and devoting too much of my life to derby travel, that's not so bad.

When I first found roller derby, I wasn't aware of a single female official. I spent two years working my butt off learning how to play roller derby. I wasn't particularly fast or agile, and although I have a competitive streak, I found that I wasn't particularly aggressive either. I didn't really like hitting people. I thought maybe it was just because they were people I knew, that once I scrimmaged against strangers it would be different. But it wasn't. I liked the skating part but not much else.

There are so many reasons I decided to stop playing roller derby and become a ref. More than I could count on all my fingers and all my toes. I am sure there were some people who thought then (and maybe still think now) that I became a ref because I wasn't very good at playing roller derby. Officiating is often treated as the back up plan for people who, for whatever reason, can't commit to playing. But it wasn't like that for me. It's the right choice I just happened to take a circuitous route to get to.

I love being a roller derby official. It appeals to my analytical brain, my sense of fairness and order. It's hard and constantly changing. The various positions (on and off skates) require a tremendous range of skills and talents.

But it's no easy gig. There's a lot of pressure to do your job (whatever it happens to be) well, to ensure fairness. We talk a lot about safety, but usually we're just recognizing when something unsafe has happened and trying to get people to cool off and refocus before it escalates.

Being a female official adds an extra layer of complication. It can be hard to get skaters and other officials to recognize your authority. (Oddly, my height has also played into that. I'm 5'5", but apparently that's pretty short in the world of roller derby officials. I have never been patted on the head, but I know at least one official who has and I've definitely experienced metaphorical head patting.)

And officials get injuries, too. I've collided with plenty of skaters and other refs; one incident a few years ago led to a concussion. I managed to stretch out a tendon in my neck/shoulder area last year that caused an incredible amount of pain and kept me from reffing on skates for 11 months.

But I'm back to reffing on skates at least part-time now, and I don't see myself giving any of it up any time soon. My league is holding a recruitment event for officials this Monday (see above flyer for details!), and I'm excited at the prospect of gaining some new people on our crew.
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Roller derby has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. My league is trying to buy the rink where I do most of my skating before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space. You can read more about the Capital Campaign and donate online (every little bit helps!) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. To help do my part, I'm going to write about the tremendous influence derby has had on my life until we hit the deadline.

The birth of Graceless Kelly

That's me on the left, obsessing about a skate even before I ever put any on.

First: A birthday party at Upskate New York, where I fell after skating too fast over a warped part of the floor. Almost bit through my lip. Stood up and some strange lady who'd seen it asked if I was okay. I nodded excessively, but my friend's older brother was standing behind her. He went pale (because I was bleeding) and when he asked the same question, I started bawling. I spent the rest of the party sitting on the elevated light-up dance floor, legs dangling between the railings, watching other people skate while I iced my face.

Later: Third grade. I have pink Hug-a-Bunch roller skates that I got for Christmas. I am a pretty odd and solitary kid. I mostly stay inside watching TV or reading (or both at the same time). But I go out to the back porch, draw a hopscotch board with chalk from one of Mom's broken ceramics molds, and put on my skates. Because I also love jumping rope, I grab the jump rope. I slow-motion jump rope WHILE completing the hopscotch board ON roller skates.*

Eighth grade: The National Junior Honor Society takes a trip to go rollerskating one evening. A girl named Norma tries to teach me to cross-over. I fall down and trip another kid from the honor society with my sprawling.

Most of the things that stand out are the falls and injuries, the gracelessness. But not all of the things. What stands out most is how much I loved to skate. I didn't do it all that often, but I always enjoyed it and kept coming back, even after I repeatedly hurt myself doing it. For a kid who didn't get out and do much, who always felt afraid of things and people, that's a pretty big deal.

It should have been no surprise that when I was in my mid-20s and saw a clip about a reality TV show following a roller derby league in Texas that I would be completely enraptured with the very idea of roller derby. I knew it was something I needed to do the same way I knew before I could even write sentences that writing is a part of me.

At the time, the closest league was in Boston, a couple hours away. I would've been willing to do that kind of crazy commute (even though I am very much anti-commuting after spending 10 hours a week in the car going to school and work my first two years of college). I would've been willing to do just about anything. And then I heard that some women in Southern Maine wanted to form a roller derby league of their own.

Another memory: I want to go to the meeting about forming a roller derby league in my own backyard, but I am terrified to go alone (I still get freaked out by strangers) and know that I will just not go if I don't have a buddy. I ask two co-workers who have no interest in roller derby themselves to accompany me. They do.

At our first meeting, we are split into "teams" based on when we are available to "practice." My team decides to go to the next Tuesday night open skate at the local rink. In my excitement, I have already bought some skates, but they aren't right. They are like the rentals, high boot and way too heavy. I try to remember what Norma taught me all those years ago about cross-overs. I fall down again. Fracture my right distal fibula. But I don't know it. I don't want to look like a baby, so I keep skating on and off for the next hour and a half. When I get home, I have a limp. "Must've sprained it," I think until the next morning when I can't put any weight on it without screaming in pain. I call my boss, who brings me to get an X-ray. They confirm the fracture. We stop at the pharmacy to fill the pain prescription, but I have him bring me directly back to the office, because we have a major grant report due at the end of the week, and I am going to finish it.

I hobble in on crutches and one of the girls who went to the initial meeting with me points and laughs. "Roller derby?" she says.

"Not exactly," I respond.

But that's how I decided what my name should be: Graceless Kelly. The girl who falls down and gets back up, no matter how long it takes or how much it hurts.

A little more than a month from now, I will celebrate my 10th derbyversary at the same rink where I fell and broke my ankle. My league is trying to buy that rink before it goes out on the open market, because a regular buyer would likely repurpose the space (just like the rinks I skated in as a child or the one in New Jersey where I used to skate with a friend each time I came home in my early derby days). You can read more about the Capital Campaign and donate online (if you are so inclined) here.

There's a very short timeline to raise the money the league needs for the down payment. The deadline is 3/7, the day after I turn 37. I see some magic and luck in that. Just like I saw some magic and luck in the sport of roller derby when it caught my eye a decade ago.

Roller derby has been one of the biggest influences on my life. Over the next couple of weeks, I'm going to write more about how and why, and the importance of this campaign.











* With no protective gear and no supervision of any kind, of course. I wonder where everyone was. I feel like I did this more than once, but maybe it was all the same day. In any case, I didn't fall or even hurt myself. Must've had a guardian angel looking out for me big-time.

You Are Not Alone/Make Your Own Magic

I'd been thinking for a while that I wanted to write the "You Are Not Alone" post and then also the "Make Your Own Magic" one and I never got around to either. So, since it's the first day of a shiny new year, I'm just going to write them together.

It wasn't the easiest year for me. I lost a couple of friends (one to death and one to what I can only call major communication failures on both sides). I had the longest/worst bout of insomnia of my life (which is saying a lot). An overuse injury that caused a lot of pain and kept me from reffing most of the year. Lots of work stress. A bunch of rejections (touching on just about every aspect of my life). My cat's trip to the emergency vet the day before Thanksgiving for yet another urinary obstruction.

But all the bad stuff I had to deal with pales in comparison to the stuff people I love had to go through. This year that just ended was miserable for so many people (illnesses and deaths and just so much loss -- often compounded on each other). It was hard to witness, and I can only imagine how hard it has been to live it and carry it.

And there were lots of really good things in my life this year -- another trip to Iceland (when it was green!) and a good visit with a great friend in Colorado being among the highlights.

You Are Not Alone

When I visited Em in Colorado around Halloween, I told her I wanted to see aspens. I'd learned years ago that an aspen grove is actually one large organism, because the trees are connected at the roots. I thought there was something really amazing about that. We were in Rocky Mountain National Park with not a lot of time to hike before it got dark, but I got to see aspens, and I was happy.

And then we saw a lone aspen on a small slope just off the path we were on. I stopped to take a picture, marveling at the fact that this tree was connected to the cluster of trees we'd passed a few yards back. It seemed like a bit of poetry -- this tree that looked like it was all alone was just set apart a little, out of sight it was connected to so many others. I handed my camera to Em and told her I wanted a picture with the tree. I ran to it like a Muppet (because that is something I do), shouted, "Hi, friend!" and threw my arms around the tree.

It is a testament to Em's kindness and friendship that she took this picture without batting an eye at any of that:

Sometimes I feel alone. Sometimes, it feels more real than anything else. But I know that it's not true. I know that I am connected to some deeply kind and good humans who love me. This picture -- and the tree in it -- help remind me of that. (And it's not only me. It's all of us. Connected just below the surface.)

Make Your Own Magic

A few days before my birthday, I received a package in the mail. It had books and music and a Veronica Mars bookmark in it (so, a pretty perfect gift for me). When I texted the sender that it had arrived, the reply text I received was surprising: "Books or glitter brick?" It turned out to be a joke (because I am gullible and willing to believe in things like glitter bricks). I wasn't sure what a glitter brick would do (book end? door stop? paper weight?) or what it would look like (a brick made out of glitter or a regular brick covered in glitter?), but I kept thinking about it. Part of me was hoping that if I thought about it enough, believed in it enough, a glitter brick would just magically appear in my life. Finally, months later, I decided to make one. Because if I know anything, it's that sometimes you have to make your own magic. I bought a brick, glitter paint, glitter glue, and regular old glitter. I made a glitter brick. I liked it and the process of making it so much that I made a whole bunch more. I kept one for me and gifted the rest to friends. It may not be the most practical thing ever (the one I kept is sitting on a bookshelf right now) but it's pretty, it brings me joy, and it makes me feel like I can make my own magic.

If nothing else, 2015 gave me these two tangible reminders of really important and valuable life lessons. 

Shame and judgment (and maybe a little empathy)

I have read and loved several books by Michael Chabon. I looked him up to find out more about him and what other books he's written, and I learned that his wife is also a writer (and she has a cool first name). Turns out, his wife is known for having written an essay in which she said she loved her husband more than her children. People freaked out about it, as if their self-righteous indignation should mean something. As if being accusatory and judgmental would change something. Like being publicly attacked and threatened would make her suddenly say, "Oh, yes, you're right. How could I have been so mistaken about my own feelings?"

If there is one thing I have learned (over and over again) -- the hard way -- it's that people can't control their feelings. Sure, there are anger management classes and meditation practices and psychotherapy (not to mention drugs), but those are about dealing with feelings, not controlling them. I vividly remember sitting in my shrink's office shortly after my mom died, talking about how I wanted to think my way out of my grief. Because my rational brain could handle it all more than my squishy little heart. She looked at me and said, "You just have to feel it." And she was right. I hated it (hate it still) but it's true. All any of us can do is feel our feelings and do the best we can with them.

Ayelet Waldman's feelings may be unpopular (which I suspect has more to do with shame on the part of people who secretly feel the same way she does than anything else), but they're her feelings. What gives any of us the right to judge her?

A friend once told me I was the least judgmental person she knew. My former boss used to say I was really good at assuming people's best intentions. I like to think both are true (because I work hard at it), but I still catch myself judging people rather harshly from time to time.

Recently, I was on a train to New York City. There was a girl on the train dressed in a very skimpy Wonder Woman outfit. The people I was traveling with snickered and made comments. My initial reaction was similar to theirs, but then I thought about it some more. I figured there are probably people who have had similar reactions to me when I've worn my tutus in public (and not so public) places. My tutus don't hurt anyone, and even at my most judgmental, I do not have a malicious bone in my body. So why be hostile about my whimsical choice of clothing? Why judge this girl on the train about hers? I mean, if she actually thought she was Wonder Woman, that might be reason for concern (and for calling a mental health professional). Otherwise, who cares?

I have a couple of friends who have said some pretty harsh things about people who read certain books, particularly super fans of them. I may not like the things they read, may not understand their obsessions, but how are the things I like and obsess about any better?

I saw a picture of a tattoo somewhere that read "More joy, less shame." I liked it a lot, even though I don't tend to experience a lot of shame. (Guilt? Yes. Truckloads of it. And a fair bit of worry, too. But not much in the way of shame.) But isn't judgment all about shaming other people?

So, when I catch myself getting judgmental, I try to remind myself that we all like different things. Not only is that okay, it's one of the things that makes the world (and the people in it) interesting. We're all just feeling our feelings and doing the best we can with them.

36

I was looking back at the post I made just before I turned 35 that listed all the awesome things I did in my 35th year. ...The year that ended with my grandma's death two days before my birthday.

My 36th year was much more complicated (because I was still newly grieving my grandma when my dad died), but I still did a lot of fun and awesome things that I never collected in a list. I'm a little more than halfway through my 37th year now, so I feel like I should go back and make the list for the 36th:

• I celebrated my actual birthday in New York City with my sisters, brother-in-law, and friend Daniel
• I got to finally go to Strand Bookstore and eat at Veselka and had a great mini cake from Black Hound Bakery just before they closed their shop

•  Reffed my 100th game on skates (and was presented with an amazing cake made by my friend You++)
• Saw bands I love (Taking Back Sunday, Fall Out Boy, Paramore, Scott Bradlee & Postmodern Jukebox)
• Had lovely visits with good friends, including old friends I haven't seen in much too long
• Explored some roadside attractions
• Completed the Urban Raid, Color Me Rad, Beach Raid, and Insane Inflatables 5Ks
• Drove hours to meet a couple of friends at the geographical midpoint between our residences and played a bunch of ski ball (and discovered I am not as good as I used to be)
• Spent hours watching movies of video games on YouTube...and actually enjoyed them tremendously
• Finally went to Acadia National Park
• Discovered the fancy new recliners at the local movie theater with my sisters
• Took my sisters to Moody's Diner
• Got to visit a real live topiary (even if it was starting to die a bit)
• Saw SO MANY PUMPKINS
• Got to dance to What Cheer? Brigade on Peaks Island again
• Climbed around at Monkey C Monkey Do again (let's forget the part where I fell off the element and dangled by my safety line, shall we?)
• WENT TO ICELAND!!!!!
• Saw so many bands in Iceland
• Got paid to write creative stuff for the first time ever (even if it was just a small amount of contract work)
• Got the award for Most Valuable Official - Ref at the MRD Christmas party
• Visited the prison showroom, which is an adventure all on its own
• Painted a picture I really like (and had fun doing it)
• Participated in a live sing-along show of Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, which was just as amazing as it sounds (and worth driving in a blizzard to get there)
• Officiated a lot of derby (on and off skates) 
• Wrote a bit and even started querying agents
• Started a really, truly healthy meal and fitness program (which led to me losing about 20 pounds, getting in the best shape of my life, and receiving the best lab report I've ever had on my bloodwork)
• Mailed (and received) so many strange and whimsical things as part of my postal ninjery campaign

I ended my 36th year with a relatively simple celebration that included foot soaking and tea with good friends, Indian food (mmmm) for lunch, a trip to an art gallery, a trip to a gluten-free bakery, a trip to a bookstore, bouncing on trampolines, my first-ever PiYo class, dinner with more friends, AMAZING cake, and a slumber party followed by getting a memorial tattoo for my dad the next morning.

I'm a little more than halfway to 37 and while the last six months haven't been without their challenges (and heartbreaks), there have also been lots of incredible adventures. Looking forward to rounding out the list and posting it at the end of the year.

(And thank goodness for my color-coded Google calendar with nearly EVERYTHING in it...).