Enjoy Not Knowing

Just another American living in Sweden


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t-man

On this, Tyler’s birthday, I would like to share with you his childhood nickname. T-man was the little tyke who always had a smile on his face, and did his best to keep up with his big brother. 


It took a while, but when I got over the fact that he was not the sister I had been hoping for this little guy really grew on me.

When he was in Sweden last we were reminiscing and I mentioned how I remember him just loving candy as a child. Like actually love. When you’re little (and damn pithy) you like to say “If you love it so much, why don’t you marry it?” T-man would have married candy, no questions asked. He wouldn’t even bother with whatever taunting tone you tried to have because he would have been so darn excited about the impending nuptials. 

From the perspective that comes with adulthood (we’re adults now, I think) Tyler says he still loves candy. Like love love. So I guess we’ll see what’s coming down the road (or aisle) in the future.

Happy birthday T-man! I hope it’s one for the books.

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book of january: the opposite of loneliness

I remember going to see Marina in a play. My cousin had invited me along, and when we drove up to the blue paneled colonial that housed the theatre I didn’t know what to expect. We were in grade school, and my only previous conception of children in plays was the school produced fifth grade play.  Though I myself did not categorize myself as a child at the time.

It was dark when we arrived, after what seemed like an eternal car ride. The sort of car ride that once illuminated by adulthood is one that could not have taken more than five minutes to span the distance from my cousin’s house to the theatre, door to door. It must have been my anticipation pulling on time, extending it.

At the time I only knew Marina through my cousin, but seeing her on stage I was both awe-struck and inspired. Much the way I am now, after reading her book. My child self went home after seeing Marina completely determined to participate in a play and simultaneously terrified at the prospect. That is how I would describe my experience reading Marina’s book. Inspiring and terrifying.

The Opposite of Loneliness

In my own mind I fancy myself a writer of sorts. I would love to write a book, but put no actual practice to these thoughts. Marina’s book inspires me to write, to put finger to key and create. Though this thought is also terrifying: it is a daunting task. Many of the similarities between Marina and me are also unnerving. The ending of her really hit home for me. Not to give anything away, but I was shocked by the similarities between Marina and me. We are, and though I wouldn’t use the word terrified, I would use the word concerned, about the future of the human race and what that means. While she focuses on the permanence of the written work I focus on the permanence of genetics, and that is where we differ.

With further thought, I realize it may not be surprising that we share much in common. I’m beginning to realize that growing up in the same home town does expose one to many of the same things. Her life is not so unlike my own. I applaud Marina’s work, and the work of her  parents getting her book out into the world.

If you haven’t already read this book, do so.

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flash back three years: last week at my job

Remember 2012? I do. Just last week I was writing the date and rounded it off with a good ‘ol 2002. So part of me still thinks 2012 has yet to happen. But the larger part of me that is in fact in touch with reality does realize that 2012 was three years ago. That was when I promised you this post. This is me: delivering.

In a nostalgic state I’ve been reminiscing on my previous job. That is the job I held before becoming a pre-school teacher. Yes, fond memories have been etched in the blog archives, like fruit basket, when i was youngwhat i think about at work, and my second post ever: a bone to pick with god. However, my last week at REC comes readily to the forefront of my mind.

REC 1

Something about knowing, with stark clarity, that it is your final week working at a place allows you to appreciate it with a new light. Or at least that was the case for me. I had my rose-colored glasses on. Not that things were so pink that I thought I would one day miss the insulating machine, or in the beginning when I only knew how to use one pipe making machine. But I did realize I would miss the place.

REC 2

It was nice knowing in advance I was leaving because I got to say my goodbyes and fair wells to the colleagues I’d be leaving. We were only about 7 people who worked at the entire pipe assembly factory, so it was a touching moment. I definitely miss the people I worked with at REC. If we hadn’t moved I’d likely still be working there.

Some days I even miss the coffee.

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5 years

I was once asked, while sipping wine in the warm Spanish evening, how I knew I had found the one.

A smile made its way across my face, as I replied:

It’s like I’ve found this person. I am hers, and she I mine. And everything else in the world, all the noise, it will settle down. It will resolve. There’s no need to think or worry about that. Because, forever, there will be us.

there will be us

Looking back on that night, first, I think that was a damn good answer. Second, I think what I have found is peace. In this person I have now been with for five years. I have found my peace, my missing piece. Happy fifth anniversary dear.

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happy birthday dad!

 

 

 

 

I love looking back through pictures of my family. Pictures from when I was alive, and from when I had yet to be born. Not only to gawk at the absolutely wonderful clothing and accessory choices of my family through the years. (I have yet to understand the meaning of glasses that go down low enough to allow your cheeks to see clearly – but knowing fashion that’ll probably be “in” again next week. Cheeks have the right to prescriptive lenses too.) But also to hear the stories told by my parents, aunts, uncles, and my grandmothers (when I was lucky enough to have them).

Pictures are memories. They remind us of who we were and where we’ve come since the photo was taken. Pictures show us our history. I guess oil paintings do too, before 1826 – but do you really trust oil paintings? (Do you really trust photographs anymore either?) That’s neither here nor there.

The fact is a camera isn’t always handy. I haven’t had a camera available at every moment I would have wanted one. Maybe that’s not so important though. A camera can capture a scene, but does it always capture the feeling and emotion occurring? A camera can’t be relied on to remind us of every memory we have.

On this day, my father’s birthday, I’d like to share one of my earliest memories, that wasn’t captured on film.

As far as I can tell, my first memory was of being held by my father. Cuddled safely in his arms I was being fed milk. He stood with me by the kitchen sink, and I looked up at the, blurry with the passage of time, vision of lights above us.

While a short memory, it is one I often bring up with fondness. Over the years I have been carried by my father on countless occasions, and sometimes, when I’m really really tired I realize how good I had it when I was little. Carried up to bed after a long day of running around wildly.

Dad, I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Sit back, relax, and rest that back of yours, I’m sure it’s tired after years of lugging us kids around.

Happy Birthday Dad! You’d better like the present I got you.