Revitalized

This morning I felt a passion reignite. I have been searching for a new job for the last few months, and the biggest challenge has been deciding what I really want to do. It's been like something was missing and I couldn't put my finger on it. Today I did.

We just had our annual CPR / AED recert class down at the firehouse. An old friend – actually the one who first sponsored me in the fire department – was the instructor. It was my first time doing CPR or talking about emergency medical situations in a long time. It is very different to discuss when you have used your training in real-life outside of the classroom. In my EMT training four years ago I saw one of the most bizarre cases ever with the use of an AED, but that was still a "controlled" environment.

About a year and a half ago, as a program director at a fitness facility we had a gentleman go down in the fitness area. He was out cold and members were performing CPR already. We responded down the hall with emergency oxygen and the AED. By the time he was wheeled out on the stretcher, he was sitting up and talking. We were true first-responders to the incident.

While teaching today, I couldn't help but think how unrealistic the manikins actually are. With that, I also realized that I miss working with / on people in need and in real emergencies.

What passion have you recently discovered? How?

Slipped Up

As I mentioned in my last post – this writing every day thing is really challenging me. I've missed days again. They seem to just escape me. I always had the intention to write as the day progresses; however, the drive drives by without stopping.

Sometimes I let it flutter away and others I sit there with the computer in front of me. I let the internet, television, and life around me distract me. I guess this is where the discipline comes into play.

In the last post, I wrote extra to cover for the days I missed. I don't think that is fair. If I miss days, I need to own up to it. The purpose of doing this is to help me discipline my writing – in style, length, and commitment.

Thus, my "make-up" theory this time will be to write about 200 words per post per day that I skipped. I'll have to check my calendar, but you should see this followed up by at least 3 more posts.

It's not that I can't sit down and write 1200 words or whatever I owe. That's easy for me. But now, I must write a post for each day which would force me to change topics.

Plenty has happened - lack of stories is not the issue. Now I must settle down, reflect, relate, and record.

Baci and Boys

My favorite candy seems to have eluded me since I met it in high school. We first met when an ex-boyfriend gave me some for Valentine's Day. It was love at first taste!

Just over a year later, a sojourn to Perugina reacquainted us. I was mystified by all the Baci everywhere! I stocked up and only a mere fraction made it home to RI.

Since then I always search for it, but never go all out. I know a gourmet candy store in town that has it often, but I don't want to buy them out so I don't go in. My sister got me a box for Christmas or a birthday a few years back. But that's the last I remember having it.

Today at TJ Maxx as I was wandering the aisles in discontent for the jeans I could not find, the silver stars sparkled to me against the blue packaging. I couldn't resist.

Inside each Baci foil wrapper is a love note. As soon as I got back in my car today I couldn't unwrap one fast enough. However, before I did, I took a breath. Many things have been on my mind lately and I was letting it all get to me. The pause allowed me to recollect myself. The button-shaped chocolate was my restart button.

Last night and this morning I kept thinking about how I want someone to say goodnight to. I have been living on my own for about a year and a half, and it's not the same saying goodnight to my cat. The boy was over and I wanted to ask where the more of us went.

When we got back together two months ago, he went out of his way to make me feel connected and we talked if not saw each other daily. The last month or so I see him on Mondays and Thursdays and though I understand financials have a part in it, they are not the whole reason. I have trouble believing so.

Thus, I took my breath and told myself the answer to us would be in the wrapper. The English quip read "In love, silence is of more avail than speech."

 

Italian Game Thanksgiving

I slipped. Already. Day 5 and I missed days 3 & 4. My theory is that I now need to compose 600 words instead of 200. It will make up for my missing days.

Oh where to begin?!

Yesterday I attended my first Game Dinner. We had venison, rabbit (both wild and tame) and bear. It was delicious. My stomach didn't leave room for the bear, so I took some home. Now I can say I have a bear in my fridge that is below the counter.

We all sat around the table. He set up an extra plastic table to accommodate everyone. Gosh there were maybe 15 of us all together. Friends who are treated like family and family who is treated like friends all gathered for the shindig. I've met most everyone there before, and if I hadn't I still knew of them.

Plastic plates and hungry stomachs filled the tables. Bottles of homemade wine followed the meat down. A second bottle of red wine and then a third and a fourth flowed through the afternoon. Warmness filled my belly as the NASCAR race turned and the meat kept changing.

He brought each plate out in phases. The spezzi was first. The white Italian bread soaked up the tomato base and the chicken pieces broke right apart. So tender! The tame rabbit was put on a platter in front of me. They looked like big chicken wings. It took me awhile to try a piece of the white meat. It was tender and dry, but not bad.

Next he placed the venison meatballs and wild rabbit out on the buffet table. The meatballs were some dry, but also rich with flavor. He used a sausage and ground venison mixture. More friends and more food joined us. Folks were moving to the couch to make room for our new guests. Friends were asking about family and hoping more would come.

As the bear and other venison plated the table, I sat back and wondered how much more I could taste, how much more my dish could hold. As our stomachs were stretching, the conversations were shrinking. Soon there was just one – one that involved everyone. It was nice, smooth, and simple.

It didn't take long for our mouths to just take on the task of talk. Talk, wine, and espresso set the sun. The small white mug delivered a sweetness that countered the red wine. Before long, the last drops of the red wine vanished and the white wine was all that was left. When the shots of espresso had grown cold, and the homemade chardonnay was a refreshing new taste.

People began to go home, to go indulge in the food coma that all the game and wine induced. The few of us left behind decided it was time for wine tasting. We left his house and went to his parents' basement. The barrels lined the walls and the soupy hung from the pipes above. The air was filled with a mellow and balanced scent – as if the soupy and wine cancelled each other out mostly.

One of the gentlemen reached above the sink to get something out of the cupboard. He turned and handed each of us a small plastic Dixie cup – our tasting cup. From the drawer he grabbed a turkey baster. Meanwhile, another gentleman with whom I am familiar but this was our first time hanging out, told me to watch what he was going to do. He tapped the top of the barrel like a trumpet and then wiggled his hand in front of it. The water levels on the top danced. He claimed it to be magic.

The turkey baster was rinsed and he proceeded over to one of the barrels. He pulled the cookie size cork out of the top where the water had just danced and stuck the turkey baster inside. He then squirted each cup two-thirds of the way full. They were like little delicious shots.

Eventually we made it around to all the barrels. The other women and I bargained another glass before we left. Then, like family parting we locked up and walked away. No empty promises of phone calls, no feelings of discontent, no lackluster memories. Rather I left with the feeling I will be there again.

Songs and Sound Bites

I can't sleep. You've fallen asleep in my bed, next to me. And I can't sleep. I lie awake. But not wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, perhaps more of a wide-eyed and…thought/remorse/regret FULL.

You were cold. I got out of bed and got you my down throw that I heart. I put it on you and tucked you into…my bed. So sweet and peaceful you lay there. Innocent and absent. I don't get it and I can't sleep.

My mind is racing. The song by CAKE comes to mind – "He's racing and pacing and plotting the course / He's fighting and bighting and riding on his horse / He's going the distance." What does this have to do with you? I ask this of myself as I type this (due to the nature of this writing).

Well, Gosh! The first line of this piece stands out because of the nature of 'racing.' With you I feel as though I am racing against time, against life, against you. Thus, it is probably the latter that keeps me going because once upon a time I was 'plotting the course.'

In your old apartment (which happens to be a mere three doors down – no pun to the band, as I speak of a bunch of bands the way these words go - from mine currently where you snore) I will never forget the day you swept me off my feet. You made Espresso Martinis - and I still want the recipe - that we drank with Pirouettes and delight. Oh once upon a time…

You came back in from the kitchen. Why you were there I can't recall; nor does it matter. You came through the threshold to your bedroom, swept me off my barstool, and we danced. We danced in your doorway to the song that I've always wanted to have someone to dance to with. I fell.

Two weeks prior you asked my permission to kiss me. I thought I fell. After the dance, I knew I had only skinned my knees the first time.

Oh once upon a time!

What gets me – why I am up and you've been sleeping for almost an hour now – is everything between now and then. Sprinkled with much more of the NOW like cinnamon on my chai.

If only I could take the two of you and mush you together like the bumble bee in the old repetitious song.

Though I complained that you only call me when you're drunk (which eludes another song that friends said I should make your ring tone – once upon a time), I cannot think of anything I would give up for our talks, our honesty, and dare I say our love. Love, not in the romantic sense but, in the real – here –for –life sense.

We've always said we were friends-for-life, ever since you introduced me to the idea. I couldn't love you more, nor could I hate you more. And thus, I can't sleep.

- I've surpassed my goal, reached my limit, and wait for Day 3 -

Who is your friend-for-life? WHY?

Dash – and Em-dash

It seems to me that their use is up on the internet – more so by those whom have a higher education. I am guilty of this myself; however, I was only really cognizant of this when a former colleague friended me on Facebook.

My friend with whom was always a pleasure to work is of the Baby-Boomer (also read my parent's) generation and has never been too keen on the technology upswing in recent times. It was to my delight to see that he has embraced the Facebook vortex.

He is brand-new to the social networking site, and I think I was his third or fourth friend on the page. When he accepted my friendship, I stopped over to his profile to say hi. I noticed that another former colleague had posted on his wall too – with about the same reaction as me – wow! In response, the Facebook newbie typed up no less than 3 "-"s.

And I wondered –

Here is someone who is well educated, was a teacher and storyteller, and writes often. While working together we'd embark in debates with semantics and syntax; often we would forward jokes to each other only the linguistically inclined could laugh at. Now, in this informal setting he was using the dash.

He is not the first, and I know not the last. I am guilty of it myself and I continue to catch myself using it – many times to replace a period or ellipsis. Yet, as I type it onto the screen I ask myself – where/when did this all happen? I remember not doing it, and I remember being acutely aware that I was doing it.

I began to look at my friends' social networking pages and posts. Since I became more aware of it, I see more and more people doing it.

I have my college degree and a passion for language. The friend from whom I suspect I picked up this new typological trait does it ALL of the time. She has her degree, also in education I believe.

Is there a connection?

- I can't help but to wonder yes. Yet today (day 2), I took out of my stack s of leftover college books Little Brown's Grammar Book – or something of the sorts ( I will update with proper citation when I cite). I feel the need to delve into this much, much further. The differences and purposes of each, plus the present day use of each in formal/informal writing, and the result of the two reasonings I hope to comment later upon.

- Do you find your finger traveling up to the right of zero often? Under what circumstances?