To My Dearest Fellow Boston Drivers:

You make it really difficult to be a pleasant road companion. Between unnecessary honking, cutting people off, and refusing to use your blinker when you squeeze your large vehicle into a tiny space between two others, I'll admit- I get a little frustrated.

And I was wondering- is it too late to change our driving culture?

I get it, nobody likes to be stuck in traffic like we were (I was listening to WBZ1030 and they said we were ranked 13th in worst traffic in the US). Sure, it makes us a little cranky. And after a long day of work, or play, we really just want to go home and relax and watch whatever Boston team is playing that night. Really, I am there with you.

But seriously. Wouldn't your blood pressure be a little lower if we all actively tried to play nice with one another?

"Oh I see that you have had your blinker on and are trying to get into this lane, here let me make some room for you."

Wouldn't that be nice? Or wait! Let's change perspectives:

"Hmm I need to get over to the right lane but it looks like I would be squeezing into the personal space of my beautiful fellow Bostonian's brand new car, maybe if I am considerate and put my blinker on and they might give me room to get in!"

I get it. Not everybody is going to let you in, or even see you when you put your blinker on. But there is another virtue that you can practice called patience that might help you in this situation where you have to wait for 2 more cars to go by before you meet your fellow friendly driver who will let you into the lane. 

Sometimes we are in a rush. We've all been late for something, but is refusing to use your blinker and cutting someone off, nearly causing an accident, really going to help you get to where you are going any faster?

Goodness I feel like I am preaching to a Driver's Ed class:

MassDot... I kind of love you.

Anecdote time!
You want to hear something interesting? I went to China last year, and their driving culture is only about a decade old as opposed to our century of driving. And Beijing has some of the worst traffic I have ever experienced in my life. BUT!...

But they use their blinkers and beep their horns appropriately to warn other drivers that they are getting a little too close, rather than in rage that someone isn't taking that left at the light where a steady stream of cars is coming from the other direction. What a foreign concept!

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We aren't perfect. We are going to make mistakes. You, me, and that other guy in the big truck that thinks he's better than us. But practice makes perfect, so... maybe... try to be pleasant on the road? And perhaps, together, we can reduce stress induced hypertension across the city!

//end rant.

It's not that I don't love you Boston, but right now I just don't like you.

Cleaning Out the Bookshelf

I love to read- being able to leave the real world, and enter one that allows my transgressions and mishaps of the day to fade away. I often feel a sort of people-claustrophobia caused by social-anxiety. That isn't to say I dislike being around people, rather that I often over-analyze and work myself up about minor interactions and sometimes I just need to unwind.

I'm also a disorganized bookshelf keeper.

Recently, I found that my "unwinding" time is spent on the internet (Facebook, tumblr...), which still ends up in some sort of social interaction, even if indirect. I have begun to turn to video games, all the while my bookshelves of many unread promises are collecting dust.

I have 2 bookshelves in my dorm packed with books, and another, larger, bookshelf at home stuffed, and overfilling with many unread books.

With my last semester of college winding down, my goal is to begin reading these books, and create a collection that I wish to keep with me forever (Harry Potter, all Jane Austen novels... to name a few). I realize that because I will be moving out of my house (sorry mom, sorry dad, lovers you!)  in the near future, I should probably cut back on the number of books I hoard. My plan is to donate some of my books as I finish them- to give other people an opportunity to read, rather than have something that is going to collect dust on my shelf.

Don't get me wrong- I will one day have a large collection of books when I finally settle down. But that will not be happening soon. There is still too much of the world to explore.

With all that being said, I am beginning this clean out with a book called, Pop Goes the Weasel: The Secret Meanings of Nursery Rhymes by Albert Jack. I don't know how long I've had this book... I think I bought it back when Borders (RIP) was closing.  

I likely won't publish something about all the books I read, but inspiration often leads to writing. There are also a few milestones fast approaching in life that I am sure I will have a lot to say about.

Cozy Rosie Says Goodbye

Rosie takes a nap.

“Soft kitty, warm kitty,
little ball of fur.
Happy kitty, sleepy kitty

Purr, purr, purr.”

–The Big Bang Theory

I'm sure nobody is really surprised that I’m writing about a cat right now, but “Cozy” Rosie was so much more to our family (and probably me especially) than the cat part of those family minivan bumper stickers. We would probably never admit that if you asked us last year.

It’s been a journey, and I imagine Grammy Lou calling Rosie right now, like she did every night when she was living with us, “Pshh pshhh pshhh pshhh. Rosie!”

The Holden Residents
From back to front: Wiley, Spot, Skye

It all began fall of 2011. At the time, it was my mom, dad, and brother living at home with Spot, Skye, and Wiley. My sister was living in Maryland as a working student. I had just returned to college for my sophomore year of college.

From my brief calls home I began hearing things that summed up to: Grammy Lou, cancer, and moving in. I was busy trying keeping up with classes, extracurriculars, and soccer that updates were few and far between.

Grammy Lou moved in, along with Rosie.

Now, any pet owner knows that introducing a new pet to your home… is a process. Couple that with having your grandmother/mother/mother-in-law, depending on who you are in the situation, move in. 

It’s chaos.

Grammy Lou began her chemotherapy for lung cancer. It did not take long until we realized that lung cancer wasn’t the only thing we were dealing with. And while the cancer was in remission, the dementia was coming on full force. Like a nice graph showing a negative correlation between x and y.  

But God bless my parents.

In addition to all the doctor’s appointments, the late night cat fights (Rosie and Wiley did not really like each other at first), my grandmother shuffling around wondering where she was and how to flush the toilet, there was my father doing all he could to support the family while working his ridiculous 40+ hour work week, and my momma did all she could keeping up with her job, keeping the house together, caring for Lou Lou, and all the pets. (Run on sentence? I don’t care that’s what my life felt like all of sophomore year.)

Rosie started peeing everywhere; a behavioral problem that occurs frequently when cats are actively telling you that they are unhappy. Her meow was obnoxious, and she didn't want to be near any of us. My family considered either giving her up for adoption… or the more unfavorable alternative.

But, real talk now- if you've ever met my family though, you learn quickly our attachment to animals—be if the fur that’s attached to our clothes that gives us away, or the fact that were 6 of them running around our house. And, if you've ever met me, you would learn pretty quickly my feelings on putting an animal down unnecessarily. So the second option was never really an option.

As Grammy Lou’s dementia worsened, Rosie began throwing up around the house. More behavior problems? The vet diagnosed her with hyperthyroid, which required a double dose of medicine every day.

An added chore, sleepless nights, worry, another auto-immune illness, and a whole other world of things kept piling on my family. And I sat at school.

And I sat at school. And I sat at school.

Stuck. Useless.

I went home every single weekend, that I could, just to be there… to try and help. But there was nothing to do but make toast and tea, and sit with Grammy Lou.

My sister moved home from Maryland, May 2012, with two more cats: Boy and Girl. The family bonded too quickly with the kittens to force them out.

Girl and Boy/The Kittens

Two parents, two kids, two dogs, four cats, one grandmother. The Holden household was bursting at the seams.

The dementia got to the point that a cloud of depression began to loom over the bursting house. We were sinking.

That’s when Lou-Lou moved into the nursing home down the road. My father would visit almost daily (not that she remembered that the next day). He would bring her to church with us, and home for frequent visits so we could all see her and spend time with her.

At least my family was able to get some sleep.

"The fat one that purrs before you even pet her."

And that’s when I started bonding with Rosie Posy. With 4 cats running rampant, it’s difficult for people to differentiate between all of them- my brother labeled her as “the fat one that purrs before you even start to pet her.”

She would literally start purring like a motor as soon as you sat next to her, waiting for you to pet her. She really liked her mouth scratched where her old lady teeth had fallen out. 

She was a shy cat, but she’d been through a lot as well. Moving three times to a new place, 3 different owners, and now living with 5 other animals. She was old too.

When I was home, I was responsible for her medicine.

I had made the decision that she was mine, and I would take her when I left home after I graduated college.

Grammy Lou passed away on December 30, 2012. Not unexpectedly. And it had already felt like we lost her months before that date, but it doesn't make it easy.

My family asked me to write and read the eulogy, and it ripped me apart to mentally relive everything. And I cried. And Rosie walked into my room, and just lay on my face, purring.

“I don’t have hands to bring you tissue, here’s my fur.” -Plop-

Over this past year, Rosie finally became comfortable with all the people in the family: sitting on the couch with us watching TV, hanging outside right off the porch, meowing a greeting when we entered into the driveway.

Her favorite place to nap outside.

She was struggling to breathe at one point over the summer, and the vet found a cancerous tumor in her nose. It seemed the medication they gave her was helping, and the tumor wasn’t growing, until this week.

I saw her last week, a few sniffles but perfectly fine. But over the course of the week the tumor grew. She struggled breathing most of the time, and her right eye was watering constantly where the tumor pushed up on it. My poor baby.

The vet tried softening the blow of the awful word: euthanasia. This would be the fourth and final time we would call the vet for the same thing. 

The previous three times the family all agreed she had time left, and we weren't ready to play God.

And we wanted that. We dearly wanted that for the fourth time too.

“Animal’s bodies are resilient.”

Aren’t they though? Like they are trying to hang on just to be with you.

Rosie, you can’t breathe. Please stop looking so content.

But there was no getting better. Not from here.

I’m not meant to play God, and that makes this all the worse for me, because I left the room while she was still purring.

It’s been a long journey Rosie Posy, sleep well and get some rest. You deserve it.

 Maow meow prr. I love you my Button Nose.

A Little Creative Spark: A Storm at 4000ft

I love storms. I've always been interested in weather. And, for a good portion of my life, thanks to Twister, I wanted to be a storm chaser. I'm not crazy though. I don't look to get struck by lightning whenever there is a storm. For the most part, I try to stay safe. I've never been scared of a storm though... until this summer.

I attribute that fear to a couple things 1) it was dark outside, 2) I was alone, and 3) I was in a tent. In any case, it got me writing a creative piece that has a little bit of me, and a little bit of my fear speaking (maybe I'm just losing my nerve). I named that character Franny... because I couldn't think of anything better. :]

------------------------------

 

The thunder shook the earth. The lightning seemed to be striking close. Unnervingly close. It's to be expected, Franny thought. At 4000ft elevation, there wasn't much atmosphere for the lightning to have to travel through, and the thunder could easily be twice as loud here as she ever thought it was at home.

 

Granted. While she was at home, she was usually inside the house or on the porch, rather than in a tent, but this is what she chose for herself.

 

She grew up in the city, and knew it quite well, but something inside her always yearned for the outdoors, and for nature, and to be consumed by it.

 

"Well, you're consumed by it now," she muttered to herself. She didn't very well like storms. Sure, they were exciting... if you liked the whole heart pounding in your chest- scared to death sort of thing.

 

Well not Franny, thank you very much. She just as well would have liked to be home right now. In the warm and dry with a cup of tea, or hot chocolate, or maybe just some dang company to make her feel a little bit more secure. She glanced at her watch, lighting it up with a convenient push of a button.

 

"It's not even 9," she complained to herself. She wasn't tired, nor did she have much to do in the current state of weather.

 

She could write in her journal, or read a book... re-read the same book she had already read 4 times now on this trip.

 

Franny sighed, laying her head down on the pillow. Staring up at her tent ceiling, she tried to locate where each individual rain drop fell. It was distracting at least. Until the next bit of lightning flashed so bright she could only see white, and swore it could've made her blind. Quickly followed by one of the loudest, shaking booms of thunder, she shrieked and pulled her pillow over her head to try to block everything out.

 

It worked when she was at home, and too stressed to function. She figured it could work now, to at least give her a sense of home and comfort.



Alaska

I've been slowly hearing back from the places I applied for internships at, and most recently I've heard back from an internship in Alaska that asked me for an interview. I was reminded of a poem I wrote last year when I was rejected from an internship. Even though I knew I wasn't likely to get it, I was still sad so I wrote this. Here's hoping for good news. (So far so good!)

"Alaska"
The frozen caps call me.
The glaciers melt, waiting.
Ocras breach their impactience
as I sit, with only dreams.

The forests rustle with whispering wind,
The wolves howl, trying to pass the message.
It is lost in translation
as the moon shines and a coyote scurries.

The oceans crash the shore, reaching for me.
The lights point colors, trying to direct me.
But they cannot reach me, because
I wake to a sunrise on the ocean.

Dear Basketball,

I am sorry.

I am sorry that we have fallen apart in the past few years. It wasn't your fault. I take full blame. I went to college, you know? I joined new clubs and got a few jobs. I played a lot of pick up freshman year, you probably thought I would never give you up. I mean, I didn't think I was going to either. Funny how things don't always turn out the way we were expecting.

I'm a junior now. I played some intramurals this year... but it wasn't serious We had maybe 4 games. My heart wasn't there though. I was just going through the motions: dribble, pass, box out, lay up. I am sorry I let myself fall so far away.

I had a reality check this past week. I was in the stands, watching you. And you know what? I was jealous. I had stopped trying to play, and yet I had the audacity to be jealous of those players. Not because of the fan count (though ENC represent!). You remember those high school games? We had maybe 5 parents (15 on a good day) in the stands (M-what? MV) and we still played our hearts out. No it's not the fans, it's you.

It was the competition and the heart, the bruises and the sweat, the strategy and vision. The one time I got poked in the eye but hit the shot and everyone thought my eye was bleeding. The one time I was afraid of playing varsity, so I made a bigger deal about my back pain than was true. We've been through a lot.

I think of the love letter Michael Jordan wrote you. I remember reading it in high school, and thinking, "Yes. Basketball, you truly are fantastic." I thought about playing college ball. I got scared though. I didn't think I was good enough, and was afraid to try... and this is where it has gotten us.

I'm sorry Basketball, and I'm sorry Delilah. We will make amends.

Thank you ENC Basketball for reminding me.

Much Love x14,
Mega Leg

Activism for the Out of Shape

I would never call myself an activist, an advocate maybe... but I don't actively advocate anything. As a vegetarian, I advocate for a more humane, and environmentally friendly meat industry, but I am not actively doing this. I am passively advocating; quietly boycotting the infrastructure.

I am non-confrontational as well. This means that if I disagree with someone, I likely will not argue with them; rather try and find a less confrontational way of saying what I wanted to. Like making a blog post about what someone said to me, sharing it on Facebook, and then blocking them from being able to see the post.

There you go. Passive and non-confrontational; the two things that are completely opposite of an activist.

"Let's clean the river!"

Now here's the problem: essentially, I want to be an activist, but I am afraid of judgement, and anger, and confrontation that inevitably follows it.

My mom always told me: Know what you're advocating, before you advocate. (I am pretty sure she worries that I am about to become a protesting hippie that just protests because it's cool.)

I do agree with her though. I want to know every little thing about what I am supporting, and the group I am with before I join a chant, and crazily wave banners around. I don't want to jump on a bandwagon with no basis or background information.

This is why I usually stick to passive advocating: it's easier, nobody can justifiably hate you for it, and if you change your mind, nobody will really know you had an opinion about that subject in the first place.

Activism requires energy, time, knowledge, courage, organization, and not batting an eye at someone's crude words.

Passivity requires... next to nothing.

Now you see why I am so drawn to my passive advocation. The cat's out of the bag! I am a terrible environmental science major.

This past week however, I got my first taste of activism. I attended a protest. I was asked to represent the YECA (Young Evangelicals for Climate Action) at a protest on Romney's Headquarters in Boston over his environmental "plans." My response was: Absolutely (although my anxiety levels immediately began to sky rocket). Me? An activist? What is this madness!?

The rally delivered a petition with thousands of signatures demanding that Romney take environmental issues more seriously. (For those of you interested- his campaign rejected the petition).

Thumbs up for activism!

Chanting, poster waving, large groups of people... these things makes me nervous. So, going to this rally put my anxiety at an all time high, and yet I am proud to be able to say that for those fleeting moments, at that rally, I was an activist.

Activism is not for everyone, I can attest to that. But maybe it becomes easier with more practice, and I am just out of shape.

I do know that with the right conviction, people can make a change for the better.

Here's hoping.