downs and the ups they bring

This weekend was supposed to be our family vacation. School starts Monday for our boys. I work at a pool in the summer, and the school district there started Wednesday. Combine those factors with the fact that August is always slow at the pool, and the formula is complete for a weekend to go away.

Our plan had been to go to Maine to see the Blue Angels at Brunswick, ME, and stay with dear friends in Topsham. Unfortunately, the stars did not align; they had to take their daughter's things to school, so we decided to have our first-ever Staycation. Giving our son, Henry, parameters, he made a chart with weather forecast, planned activities for each day, and an alternate activity, too. Hurricane Irene made an appearance on the eastern seaboard, which led to Plan B each day, but so far not due to severe weather, just some clouds and sprinkles.

Yesterday, we did get to go on our planned hike at Hawk Mountain. The climb up started out fairly flat and easy, with lookout points requiring a little rock scrabbling. Fun, easy, and we enjoyed each others company--and the chipmunks that showed up at each lookout point. Rather suddenly, the path got rocky and rough, but before too long we summited and took in the panorama. It was absolutely breathtaking! Sky with hazy clouds, trees swaying gently in the breeze, green fields, railroad tracks and a few houses below......I could have stayed for hours.

After a few minutes, probably 15 or so, my husband and Henry were ready to go, Joseph asked if he could just take a nap, and even Drew was ready to move on. I chuckled, as awed by the differences in all of us as I was by the view. Differences that not only make us who we are, but also help our tolerance to grow, help us to appreciate one another, and make our lives more interesting. I knew that it was quite possible that my desire to just sit on a rock may very well have been greatly indulged by my guys, so with a last look, and a simple "already?" I climbed up off my rock to head back to the trail.

On the way down, other pink-faced people were heading up--looking, I'm sure, very much like we did not long before. Henry joked about his disappointment at not seeing any hawks or eagles, and I feigned exasperation at his lack of patience. As I was thinking about how sweet my "city boy" husband is, and how fun it is to do outdoorsy things with him, we passed the benches provided very near the point where the trail changes from smooth to rocky. Sitting alone was a woman, perhaps mid-60s. The boys, ahead of us, politely ceased their chatter. That's when Guy spoke.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked. Such a simple question, but one that completely blew me away. The woman's face softened, and she replied, "I'm fine. I'm just waiting for my husband. Thank you." It's one of those things that always catches me off guard, yet it's one of the things that made me fall in love with him in the first place. Guy has a way of picking up on the needs of strangers, and addressing them in a way that puts them at ease. The question he asked is one that I could certainly have asked, but never occurred to me until he asked it. As life has gotten crazy with jobs, kids, dogs, bills, we don't get to spend the same kind of time together as we did when we were dating or newly married, so moments like this are so very necessary to our marriage, our relationship, our love. In that half a moment, I fell in love with him yet again. No, it wasn't the falling off a cliff in love feeling I had back in the early 90's, but I still recognized it in that bit of breathlessness, that "ah!" in my heart, and especially in the way my eyes were affected.

When I think about the things that are our love, I can feel my eyes soften on the edges. I imagine it's the "soft focus" of real life. When I concentrate on that feeling, I realize that my neck and shoulders also soften, relax a bit, become a little less tight, and my heart opens. That's when I remember the cliff-falling, ultra-intense, uncontrolled explosion of feelings from all those years ago. Those small moments feed the fire. It's still there, although having become familiar with it, I sometimes take it for granted. Searching for those small moments, and recognizing them when they present themselves, is such a beautiful exercise! I love falling in love again, unexpectedly. I wonder where the next one will be.....

Fannie Tang returns :)

"Stephanie, right?" As I walked in the door, for the second time, I was once again struck by the feeling of complete 'homeness' of the studio, and immediately felt warmly welcomed. "I'm Shani. I feel like I've met you before..." Indeed, as I mentioned, this was my second visit, but only my second--and the first had been in the late winter/early spring. It is now mid-August.

Through a mutual friend, I had heard about Shani and her studio, Flow Together Yoga Center, and the wonderful space it was to practice, learn and refine. Months later, Guy got me a Groupon for my birthday. I've only been the one time so far, but on that one visit, I so enjoyed myself; I pushed myself through the class, which was twice as long as my usual practice, with the gentle, yet sure guidance of Shani. During the class, she encouraged me to tent my hands on the floor, using my fingertips for balance and strength, rather than my flat palms. What a difference it has made! After the class, she told me my practice was beautiful, and I truly felt as though my body had returned to a placement it had been lacking--even though I had been practicing frequently.

Today I visited for a very different reason. Earlier in the week, Shani had posted on Flow Together's Facebook page a call to artists. The studio will be celebrating its one year anniversary, and they would like to add a 'heartmade' element to the retail space on consignment. On a whim, because making stuff is my therapy, I responded and asked if my eclectic selection would fit in with what she's looking for. I've sold my work in the past, with varying results and reactions, but have never found just the right fit. I take pride in my work, and do see it as art, although that statement has garnered some strange looks at times. It seems some see "art" and "craft" as dichotomous, and never the twain shall meet. So be it. I put my heart into what I make, sometimes using patterns, sometimes not, but the hardest part comes when I have thought about selling in the past.

Simply put, I get bored easily. I don't want to make 425 purses. But I do love to make them! Sometimes I like to knit, or make French message boards, or paint some wooden thing and transform it into a showpiece. My current impetus is to use up the scraps and freebies I have accumulated for the past 10-15 years. That's a lot of stuff. And I live in a house with Guy and our four boys. There are only so many things I can make! I love that I have the supplies on hand to have made birthday presents for two dear friends lately (and that I had the time that week!) because I know just how genuinely they appreciated what I could do just for them. Using my recycled and repurposed fabrics and notions may seem more challenging for strangers, but I have another way of thinking about it entirely. And Shani spoke it aloud today without even realizing it. Each person has something that will touch them. It may sound a little "out there," but if I really focus and breathe life into what I make, I will know. Anything that doesn't sell just hasn't found the right place, the right 'finder.'

That mutual friend has been interviewing for jobs, and is understandably frustrated. So many of her friends have commented on her status updates reminding her that the right position just hasn't come forth. She will land on her feet; she will find what seeks her. Her yoga practice will help, especially since she has the support of a remarkable instructor and friend like Shani. I'm looking forward to working with her, and to attending more classes at the studio: a home if ever I felt one. Namaste.

Happy birthday to you!!

Twice, I started writing about my son's birthday today. How hard could that be, anyway?

I'll tell you how hard. Jonathan is a great kid. Actually, that's not true, because he is hardly a "kid" anymore. As his mother, it's sometimes hard to see him as an almost adult. Yet when I hear his coaches say that he is a "fine young man," I still see the schoolboy that we would say that about. I frequently step back and look at him, trying to see the person others see. Sometimes it's possible, other times, not so much. Then again, sometimes he behaves like that schoolboy!

I took the day off work today, but he's on the football team, which started pre-season practice yesterday. Between his two practices today, he will work at the pool. Normally, we celebrate with a meal of the birthday person's choice, cake, ice cream, the whole deal. This morning when he left, I asked what--and when!--he'd like to eat today. "I'll text you," he said. We might see him before dark tonight. Next year, he may already be at college on his birthday, celebrating with new friends that are really still strangers. How quickly time has passed!

As I have mentioned, I always wanted to be a Mom. When Jonathan was born, I remember wondering just what I'd gotten myself into. Babies are tough to work with, and can be so stressful to live with! I loved him to pieces, but sometimes thought I was crazy to have ever wanted this for my life. It was frustrating that a "great day" was one in which I had managed to shower, dress and brush my teeth in the nine hours that Guy was gone. "It'll get easier," so many people kept telling me, but the truth is, it never gets easier, just different. There is so much to think about; so much to remember on any given day. Being a Mom is harder work than anything else I've ever done, and I can't imagine not having it as my true occupation; my calling.

I've talked about wanting to see results; to finish projects and let them go. At the same time, I would trade nothing about this Mom job. I do see the results of my work: the man Jonathan is becoming, and his brothers, too. And I see the woman I am ever evolving into, in many ways because of them. My kids as "projects"--a concept that many will most certainly find offensive, but it's just a word. They are individuals, of course, and in all honesty, I have very little to do with who they are, yet our influence indeed has molded them. True projects, I learned in writing two papers a month for two years, often take on a personality of their own and determine their own direction, no matter how hard you try to control the outcome. I love that about everything I work on, and especially about the boys. Jonathan has not arrived at a point I expected, or even would have wanted him to; instead, we have traveled a crazy path together to arrive at a really amazing place.

See what I mean? There are no words that adequately fit this day. Everything just misses. What's so important about birthdays and the people that we love that makes words not enough? Or is it just that the simple words can say so much? Words like:

Happy Birthday, Jonathan!

I love you!

Thank you for being my son.

I'm so proud of you.

I can't wait to see what's next.

Those are the things that really say everything about this Mom job, and about Jonathan being my "prototype." Thankfully, I think Guy and Jonathan know what I'm talking about. This job, the projects we work on, is based on love, and with that comes joy, pain, sorrow, hope, happiness, laughter--everything I could ever want out of life. It's all about the gravy.

perseverence

I don't understand football.

I've been trying since high school, but I think I get distracted too easily. That little ball gets lost to me on that great big field with those boy/men dressed in so much padding. Instead, I get lost in the teamwork, the choreography of the plays. Watching the players run, turn, pass, catch, tackle, I see a performance--one that at times doesn't work out as planned. For the most part, though, I see talent, drive, desire, dedication and an awareness and knowledge of something that seems far beyond me.

Our eldest son plays football. He starts pre-season for his senior year today. I used to worry on this day, and throughout the season, that he was playing for the wrong reasons: to impress someone, to get out of playing something else, to be accepted in some group. I've come to realize that most of my worries are related to not knowing what the heck is going on on the field. True, football is risky, and I still worry about injuries, but I am no longer concerned about Jonathan as a person on the field and on the team. Rather, I see that football has helped him to learn about himself--his abilities, his limits, his reach. Funny, that's exactly what dance did for me at his age.....

There is a new coach this year. He is very charismatic, and seems to have the heart to back up what he says, what he believes about these boys. He is enthusiastic, energetic, and, very importantly, really seems to understand kids, boys, players. I like him. I like what he has to say. What I really like to see, though, is that the team responds to him, and he is working at including the parents, the staff, the community in the team spirit he is fostering. He has a keen respect for the game, which he translates well to an honest respect for his players, our sons. In return, the players respect him and his coaching staff, and have a real desire to do well--not just for him, or for us, their parents, but also, ultimately, for each other and themselves. I don't think this will be a team of hot-shots or standouts, I think we will see a team that works together to make the team look good.

Every year, I've tried to better understand the game. A year and a half ago, I bought Football for Dummies, by Howie Long, and determined to learn. I haven't gotten far--have I mentioned that I get distracted with football?--but I will try again. It's Jonathan's last year with this team, and I want to know what he's doing out there. I'm proud of him for sticking it out, and for becoming someone his teammates look up to as a team member. I'm impressed that he worked out all summer long, looking forward to this day, to this season.

This new coach, he told us parents that the work they do with the kids, what they make the kids do, is hard. That the boys will want to give up from time to time. That what he wants to do is guide them in supporting each other. To do this, he often breaks practice and sets into quarters, like a game. At times, at that point where they might think they are done, he says, "It's the end of the third quarter. You can't stop now! You need to finish!" I like that. I like the idea that there is only so much left when things get tough. I like that the tunnel will end, even if you don't see the light, so you might as well go forward. It's better than worrying that the light is not from the sky.....

Like the players, I will finish out the game. I will pull out my book, and keep reading. With the indulgence of my husband, sons and friends, I will ask questions. And through it all, I will continue to see the beauty in teamwork; the choreography of football footwork; the performance of a game. Because, as Coach said last night, "When you feel like you want to quit, there is usually more there. You just don't know it." Life lessons at football practice. Yep, I really do like this guy.

what to say....

The other day, I learned that there is a website dedicated to what you would like to have said to your loved ones before they died. A question was posed: "What do you wish you'd said?" Immediately, my thoughts went to my dad, and the fact that I have never felt like I missed telling him anything. I resolved to think about it, and come up with something. I can't.

This morning, though, as I sat at the computer trying to think of a topic, I realized that I do wish I'd said something to my mother-in-law. This, actually, surprised me a great deal.

I never felt welcomed by Marie. Guy's sister, at one point, told me that Marie talked about me in glowing terms, but that never got back to me when she was alive. In fact, there was a time when she told me I was too "loud and opinionated" to fit in with the family. It made me giggle, for reasons you could probably guess. There was also the time, pregnant with Jonathan, that she told me how awful newborn heads are to deliver. Sitting broad shoulder to broad shoulder with Guy, I pointed out that I was more concerned about the baby's shoulders. "Why on earth?" she asked. "Have you noticed how we are built?" I asked. "Both of us are good, solid peasant stock." She wondered why I would put myself down so, and why I would think of Guy and myself as anything less than royalty. Again, I chuckled, because this was yet another trait I held to be a part of me.

In the twenty years I have been a Tanguay, I have grown and matured in so many ways. If I were to meet Marie for the first time now, our relationship would be very different, I'm sure. I doubt that we would ever have found enough common ground to be "close," but we probably could have understood each other a little better. When we met, I was a kid--wet behind the ears, and raring to go. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was independent, self-assured. Now I know better; there's no reason to "prove it" anymore. I am still self-assured, and fairly opinionated at times, difficult, but I am also more at ease with myself.

What do I wish I'd told her? That her son is a wonderful husband and father. That our life together has been difficult, but worth every trial. That I know that her influence on him was very important to who he is today, and that I appreciate . I would thank her for having Guy.

Thank you, Marie.

first memory

This morning, listening to the radio, the question was asked, "What is your earliest memory?" They went on to say what the top first memories are. A list which ranged from gifts and celebrations to dentist appointments. I have always been aware of my first memory. Before I tell you about it, I must say that I find it oddly comforting. Even I have a difficult time understanding why. My first memory could easily have been my last moment....

In 1972, I was three years old, and a hurricane caused flooding in Elmira, NY, where my father worked. His office was unusable, and the Holiday Inn in Horseheads became home base until the clean-up was completed. Long after I began recalling the day, I learned these details, which is what made me realize it was a memory, and not simply a strange dream. I could never figure out why we would be at the Holiday Inn....

So many times growing up, I heard stories about Agnes from teachers, preachers, parents, strangers. Agnes was a turning point in the collective conscience of the region, and even here in Camp Hill, PA, I sometimes hear mention of the storm and it's aftermath, although my connections here are a younger crowd, so the memories are more shared history than personal observations. I learned this morning from a case study of Agnes that Elmira and Wilkes-Barre, PA, sustained the worst urban flooding associated with the storm. Again, this explains so much....

Agnes occurred early in the hurricane season, and the flooding in late June meant that Dad's office was closed for most of the summer. Along with use of guest rooms for office space, the Holiday Inn allowed use of the hotel facilities, which for us meant use of the pool. I clearly remember that the pool was crowded--certainly more crowded than I have seen a hotel pool in my grown up life. In my memory, as a three-year-old, I see more people than I am used to.

We went to the pool that day to have fun in the sun: to swim, sunbathe (back then it was a far more acceptable practice), and relax. I remember toddling around with my sister, and faceless people larger than me--not necessarily strangers, but people not specifically important to the memory. I remember being in the pool with my Dad, and being tossed in the air, scooted around in the water, and jumping to him. I remember feeling perfectly content and safe. Especially feeling safe and comfortable. I remember the sun being bright and clear, not a cloud in the sky. And I remember clearly that I didn't just fall into the pool; that I decided to step in. And I even remember being aware of the fact that Dad was not in the water for me to jump to. I remember that the water was a fun place to be. I remember the sensation of sinking through the water, and being surprised that the water did not catch me.

The next thing I remember is seeing Dad's watch; a beautiful watch. I don't recall the band, the brand or even the color of anything but the watch face: a white analog watch face--the kind that needed daily winding. Seeing the watch meant that Daddy was there, that there was no reason to resist being lifted out of the water, out of the pool, carried to the towels we had laid out, and covered with one of them. I was not at all afraid. I then remembered Mom saying, "You went in the pool with that watch on?"

That's where the memory ends. When I hear a question about first memories, this is what flashes through my mind, and my heart. And when I get to the end of the clip, tears sting my eyes every time. There was a time when the tears were free-flowing because of the questions they brought. Today, and for quite a few years now, the tears are less painful, more reassuring.

A watch face. A memory.

Love.

inspiration

On our college visit tour, we stayed with my friends, Amy and Ed for two nights. I went to school with Amy until high school, and we rode the bus together for all that time. Her husband, Ed, I met last spring when I ran the Race for the Cure as close to our hometown as it gets. Ed joined me in the race--a return to running for him after a long break. He decided shortly after to blog about his return to running, and told me that I had, in a small way, inspired him to do so. I've followed his blog, and I have to say, that he has become quite an inspiration to me. This weekend, we ran together one morning; a run that I found to be energizing both physically and psychologically.

I don't remember why, exactly, I started running. There was a little bit of the fact that if I caught Jonathan unawares, I could beat him in a race from here to there. There was also the slow realization that in dance class from January until June there was little to no aerobic cardio work. A group of teachers that I liked had a "running club" after school--as much for the social aspect as the physical. Dad had heart surgery, and I learned what recovery from that involved. And I needed a change, a challenge to work toward. I had never been a fan of running, but I decided to give it a go. I have become more fit, but the reasons I stick with it have more to do with the inspiration I get from others.

Ed, for instance. His return to running began with running poles with his son. Fartleks on a small scale. Now he's running 4 miles or so at a go. When I read his blog posts, I think, "Wow, I don't know if I could be as dedicated as that!" and I determine to go out again. My husband, Guy, inspires me, too. He started running secretly at the gym so he could surprise me and run with me. Like me, he was no runner; never a fan, never any desire to run, and certainly never felt built for it--yet he stuck it out, and now we run together almost every day. He amazes me! Beth, my wonderful dance friend and partner in crime, has asthma, and always believed there was no way she could run. After I started running, and started to enjoy it, she decided to conquer her asthma and try running. There is no way I could match her dedication! She could now run circles around me! Sometimes that is discouraging, but then she'll say something about me inspiring her to start, and I, in turn, am inspired by her example of what can happen when you put your mind to something.

My running inspiration doesn't just come from others who run. My friends and family inspire me in so many ways, keeping me on my feet. In thinking about inspiration last night, I realized that most of the time, it's related to something small. Something that isn't even meant to be inspirational. And sometimes the inspiration I get from someone came from something I did to inspire them in some small way. I don't mean that to sound self-important, because the small inspirations snowball in a really cool way; a chain of events that leads to seeing opportunities in our lives and then taking advantage of them. My friend Connie has gone back to school, in small part because I did, along with other reasons, but I don't know if she realizes how much she inspires me by being a student, mom, wife, and friend, all while working full-time and maintaining a cheerful, quintessentially sunny, Southern disposition! I love that I can call her "friend."

I have friends like Kim, Maria and Shawna, who inspire me in their courage facing cancer and other illnesses; serving in the Armed Forces, or being married to one who serves. Friends like Joe, who take up hobbies, and then share the joy they find with the world. Others have reinvented themselves--some by choice, like Betty Ann, who took her students to volunteer at an animal shelter year after year, then realized she'd rather be working at the shelter, so she went back to school to become a vet; and others who had little choice in the matter, like Janet, who was "re-tooled" from engineer to math teacher. Still others are living the dream in their hearts, knowing that it could be temporary, so it might as well be wonderful, like Evan, who dances and travels the world.

Inspiration is a funny thing. Sitting here, thinking about the people who inspire me, I realize that inspiration comes with balance. If I am content within, I can see these people as an example of what I desire; if there is darkness within, the success of others can easily become a barrier to my own aspirations. My family and friends truly do change my world. There is a saying that "To the world you may be one person, but to One Person, you may be the world." I find it to be true of those I associate with the most. What's interesting is that most of the people who inspire me, who change and shape my world for the better, probably don't even realize it. But you do; you are the world to me.......

on the road

We did this morning's run last night. Travel gets in the way of routine, usually in a good way. This morning, Guy drove south to put Mom on a plane west, and Jonathan and I will drive north to visit colleges. Although I'm looking forward to the trip, a part of me still wishes it would be a family vacation. Working summers puts a cramp in that "summer vacation" groove. This is beginning to sound melancholy, but that's not how I feel at all!

So many times I hear people say how sad they are about their children heading off to college. I am so excited for Jonathan! I remember choosing a college and a major, shopping and packing, driving off and moving in. What an amazing transitional time college is! On one's own, but with a safe haven to return to; meeting people from all over, and choosing who to associate with closely, and who to keep at arm's length; that feeling of having a hand in one's future for the first time, truly. I love turning points!

Not too long ago, Jonathan was not terribly interested in looking at colleges. He wanted to go, but felt pressured to choose. At first, I didn't understand, and felt, for the first time, that we could not talk it out. It took a while, but he finally told me that he didn't know who and what he wanted to be; that it's not fair or right that he should have to plan his entire future when he is sixteen years old. To his surprise, I agreed. Because I don't think it's fair or right, either.

Certainly, there are people who know all their lives that they want to be doctors, nurses, butchers, bakers and candlestick makers, but I was not one of them myself. Or rather, I was, but there was no college major that could make me a Momma. That's who I always wanted to be. I went to college and chose a major based on what was expected of me. Aptitude tests and the suggestions of the adults around me determined my original major: Hotel/Restaurant Management. I changed to Recreation/Leisure Management when it became clear to me that I was not cut out for a 24-hour, out of the house job. In all honesty, I should have started over with one of my dreams: dance, photography, helicopters, international law.....but it just wasn't something I could do at the time. The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint. Who? Anyone. At the time, I was far more concerned with disappointing others than I was with letting myself down. I don't want that for my children.

With my boys, I try to talk about options, and the whys and hows. I encourage them to talk to others about their experiences and the paths that led them where they are. I tell them about the choices I have made, the sacrifices that have resulted, and the dreams I have yet to reach for. The far-fetched, I've learned, are sometimes the best and most relative ideas--the ones that truly reflect one's potential. The last thing I want is for fear to dictate who and what my children become. My sons, you cannot disappoint me if you are true to yourselves.

Some may read this and misunderstand, thinking that I have regrets, that I am bitter, or sad. The truth is, I would not be who I am if not for these experiences and realizations. Life is a lesson, a series of them, really, and I am a learner. Sometimes I try to explain myself as a teacher, but that's only because "learner" is harder to explain, to qualify. Recently, I've been working on doing less explaining and qualifying. I've been working on listening to myself, as well as those around me. I still have so much to learn, and I want to continue to learn right along with my sons.

Two colleges in three days. Visiting the schools is important, but what I'm most looking forward to is the time in the car with Jonathan; the talks, the music, the growing up we will both do this weekend, and every day forward.

why am I here?

The other day, I wrote a note. Just a little note that got to the heart of an ongoing search for self. Some notes are better than others, and some bear sharing. Posting the note on my Facebook page brought a number of comments, all of which dug deeper into who I am finding that I am. From that discussion came the suggestion that I blog. I'll give it a try.....

Who I am is an ongoing search, and I like it that way! In many ways, I am the same person I was before--whenever and whichever "before" one might remember. But in many more, very important ways, I am evolving, changing, growing continuously. Naming this blog nearly stumped me! To sound real, without being trite; to reflect me, without giving too much away--these were the challenges....So, why did I choose "clarity and vision" anyway? As I chuckle, the meaning is twofold-- first the obvious: I am, indeed, on a quest for clarity and vision in myself. I look inward as I experience, and try to determine how I can better myself and/or better understand myself. Life, to me, is learning, and I am my current subject. The second meaning is far less obscure: I wear glasses or contacts, and as I created the blog, I am wearing neither. Nothing is in focus, unless I lean in close to my screen, and slouch (almost painfully) in my chair. Silly me--I took my glasses off after my midday run, and don't remember where I put them! They will show up, or rather, I will come upon them before long.

In the meantime, I will continue my search for clarity and vision.....