A Jewel Amoung Brothers

[Originally posted Tuesday, April 15, 2008]

April 16 is my brother's birthday. When I look at my brother the man, I see my brother the kid. His hair is thinning. He's not the skinny boy he once was. But, he still has the same smile and the same giving nature. We had our spats, as siblings will. We each may even have a few scars. But, when the dust settled, we were always friends. We still are. I think that's the way it is—we carry the past with us, and sometimes it rises to the surface of our consciousness, ebbing and flowing with the present. So it is with me and Mike.


What I remember most is Mike's quick smile, his willingness to help. He was outgoing, whereas I was introverted, contemplative. I thought about things. He just went and did them. He was a good son. My mother could talk him doing almost anything for her. After he was grown, I remember his great friendship with our father. They golfed together, they played softball on the same team. We lost dad too soon, but in the time there was, to each of them, the other was the brother he never had. And it was beautiful to watch.


As a 17-year-old, I remember forcing myself to get up early on cold winter Sunday mornings to drive Mike around on his paper route. I hated to see him take his bike out in the bone-chilling pre-dawn night. We always ended our adventures at Dunkin Donuts, with hot chocolate and warm glazed donuts. We laughed about the mailboxes I had hit, as a new driver. In the summers, we went to Friendly's (my treat—I was working part-time). Mike's favorite was the Jim Dandy. Five scoops of ice cream, a whole banana, and five toppings. I never knew where he put it all.


I remember the time Dad chewed Mike out for leaving his tools outside overnight. We had been building a fort in the woods nearby. (I'm sure this happened more than once.) Mike tried to light a campfire in those woods one day, and boy was there hell to pay when the fire trucks showed up. In the Adirondacks, we took the motorboat out—just the two of us—and poked into the creeks off the big lake our family camped on the shore of. At the beach in New Jersey, we challenged each other in the rough surf, and played skee-ball and bought 10 cents worth of penny candy on the boardwalk. With grandma, we rested on the warm blanket and listened to the Yankees games. I cheered Mike at his Little League games. We bowled together, on different teams. We played ping-pong after dinner; loser had to clean up the kitchen. At night, we saved each other from nightmares.


I remember several years ago, when I found myself saddled with a nasty boss—I was actually afraid of him. Mike, usually a peaceful guy, threatened to come up and "take care of him." All I had to do was say the word. Mike had a temper, but you rarely saw it. If someone hassled one of his kin, though, that's when it would surface. I laughed. I would never give him that green light, but it cheered me to know he was there to protect me. I knew I had to quit that job. Mike sneaks cash to my kids when they're in college, and writes them big checks when they get married. On his off days, he volunteers at his church. His pastor knows who to call when he needs something done, and done right. Mike likes visiting shut-ins best, and I'm sure they count the days until they will see his smile again. He drives clothing to the poor in West Virginia and Katrina victims in Louisiana.


In adulthood, our lives took different paths. I chose college, editing, and writing. I married, settled in Pennsylvania, and raised a family. Mike stayed in New Jersey, took a series of jobs laying tile, bartending, and working in a supermarket. Eventually, because of his integrity, business acumen, and affinity for hard work, he found himself managing a branch location of a large company in the service industry, doing the work of a college grad, his degree earned from the school of hard knocks. He, too, married (a sweet girl named Laura) and had a child—a son—on whom he dotes. They've taught Chris to work hard, and he does—on the scholarly route—achieving A's in high-school honors and AP classes, playing the saxophone, helping out at their church. Ask Mike about Chris looking at colleges—he's so excited about it. I'm so proud of both of them.


We grew up in the same household, but today, our politics are different, our religious perspectives are different. Our hobbies are different. My husband and I sail and rock climb; Gary builds robots, I publish a magazine. Mike's a sports fan. His TV is a fourth member of the family. I'm a bookworm. I could not own a TV and never miss it. Our childhood, our shared memories, draws us together. What's more, I respect him. He's achieved so much with so little. In today's divisive world of black and white, where everyone tries to compartmentalize and marginalize everyone else, there are shades of gray, even shades of rose, of happiness. And, for me, Mike's part of that—the happiness, now and in the past, that I have in my life. He's the kind of guy you would want for a brother if you could pick one out yourself. I consider myself one of the lucky ones. And, I honor him on his special day.


Happy Birthday, Mike!

Hiking Spring Mountain

[Originally posted Friday, January 16, 2009]

A Thing of Beauty
Instead of hiding from the cold this winter, we went out to greet it. We rediscovered Spring Mountain. I had forgotten its beauty, especially in winter, when a crisp sky frames stark trees, and a light dusting of snow nestles among gray rocks and brown leaf beds. Everything is so neat, so organized, and so in its place. No foliage, no bugs, no people. (And I do love summer!) Just the gentle hum of the snow machine on top of the mountain. I had forgotten how much I valued the quiet after all the craziness, the lushness of summer. A winter hike is an excellent place to collect one's thoughts.

I’ve lived here more than 20 years and this just occurs to me now? It’s funny how the things that surround us become part of the backdrop to our daily activities and therefore seem part of a painting, untouchable. We don’t think to explore. Then, for some reason, we do. This year will be all about getting out of the rut. After all, one never knows how long one has in this life, and it would be a shame to leave stones unturned, so to speak. We will not be doing the same old things, in the same old way—not this year. I think I decided that then and there, on Spring Mountain.


Christmas Day
We bicycle up Spring Mountain on the Perkiomen Trail each summer. Once the days shorten and grow chilly, though, we so easily forget things outdoors. We begin to “go to the gym.” If that. On Christmas Day, though, with our grown children at home, a lovely brunch under our belts, gifts opened, and cat naps stolen, I sounded the call to pull on boots and parkas and ear muffs and gloves and get out on the mountain. I would like to think my family was grateful. At least, there were no arguments.

We hit the mountain and raced the sun. From the ground, it had already set. But as we made our way up the serpentine trail, the magnificent sun - in such great demand during the short days of winter - came into view once again. As if by magic, we were able to summon it back to life from the long, cold winter night - an orange ball hiding among enormous cotton candy balls of pink and turquoise. We had only a short time, but it was enough. Todd and Amie raced to the top, Todd’s long legs setting the pace. Gary hung back with me, as he has always done, and Sarah fell between the two groups. In an hour we were up to the top and back (after all, it’s a very small mountain), but we were infinitely better off for having left the couch.

A New Day, A New Year
A week later, on New Year’s Day. By this time, the kids were back to their respective homes, and we were alone. I sat at my computer, Gary at his. From my desk, where I rushed to catch up on deadlines ignored during the busy holiday week, I could see that the sun had already set. It had slipped down behind the rise that faced our house. This time, though, I knew where it had gone. It was up on Spring Mountain. Rather than feeling the usual sadness, I was challenged.

“Let’s go,” I said to Gary. I knew that if we could just reach the trail, and climb it quickly, we could see the sun once again — and borrow some time. And so we did. Again, getting out in the cold air, just being there with the trees, the snow, the path, the sun as it set, put a few more nicks in our rut. Gary said, “We’ll have to do this more often.” I said, “Yes we will. We’ll have to see what the mountain looks like with the sun on the other side of it.”

Sunday
We awoke that Sunday morning about 7:30. The sun, just peeking over the horizon, was enticing now. I remember years gone by when that same sun would tease me out of bed. I would wash the sleep from my eyes, don running shoes, and jog around the block to greet it. No so in recent years. Now the old bones creak, and it’s easier to just turn over, pull pillow over head, and drift back to sleep. Or, to get up but huddle indoors, especially in the cold winter months. Not so today, though.

I said to Gary, “Look—the sun is up. Let’s see what it looks like on Spring Mountain.” Usually, I lament the short winter days. Now, I felt, I was doing something about it. We were out the door in no time. The hike was exhilarating. I have so much more energy in the morning — I remember that now. We pushed to the top in record time. The snow machines hummed, and the ski area’s maintenance crew readied the slopes for the day. From our perch, we clicked off photos of the sleepy village below.

On the way down, we came across an alternate path. It veered off in another direction. I wonder where it goes? I thought. I’ve never seen the other side of Spring Mountain. We followed the cairns a ways and found that we were not, in fact, on a short cut to the Perkiomen Trail below, as we had thought. I had a schedule to follow that day - and this exploring would surely interfere — so we made a pact to come back and push that trail some other time. Gary tracked our progress on his new GPS. We made it down the mountain in time. This time, everything looked different. It was as if we were seeing everything for the first time: The sun was coming up and not going down. And, we knew we'd be back.

Another View
The following week, we planned to make good on our promise to further explore the mountain, but things didn’t turn out the way we thought they would. Saturday morning was out, and so was Sunday morning. Gary ran off to his own obligations on Sunday afternoon, and I stayed behind, puttering around the house. He came back after dark. Too bad, I thought - There would be no hike now, and I was disappointed. Gary had another idea, though. “How about after dinner?” he said. “Tonight, we’ll have the biggest moon of the year.” Apparently, the moon was as close to the earth as it would be all year. “Um, okay. What if we can’t see?” “We’ll bring headlamps,” he said. And so we did.

Let’s talk about surreal. The moon, even from behind the clouds, provided such an aura that we didn’t even need our headlamps. I found myself quoting a well-known verse: “The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave a luster of midday to objects below,” and for the first time, I knew exactly what it meant. I set out thinking we’d stay on the main trail, but that quickly changed. My feet wanted to know what it was like to hike up Spring Mountain in the dark. If you could call that, dark. The air was cold, but not too cold; there was no breeze. I couldn’t have picked better conditions.

So, up the mountain we pushed. In the dim light, we could just barely distinguish between path and non-path: The moonlight fell in shadows on the path, where feet before ours rustled the snow and leaves. Non-path was pristine white and unbroken, in comparison. Not that it was bright enough to really tell. Somehow, though, we made it to the top and back without spraining an ankle. By now I knew the zig zags of the path. I knew what to wear—how many layers, when to unbutton my jacket and remove gloves on the uphill to avoid overheating. And, when to cover up again on our descent. I knew we’d be back. Again and again. Breaking out of our rut was becoming routine.

In fact, tomorrow begins another weekend. Which day will find us on Spring Mountain, clearing the cobwebs, jumping the rut, and enriching our lives? Who knows where this could lead?

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Year End Hiatus

a new start...
well, class is over. my job is over. the holidays are over. with the new year, it's time to make a new start! (how cliche.) new year's resolutions: love more. laugh more. think less about money. don't play free cell. write. in lower case.

ok. so, i'm writing. what a whirlwind month (and year) it's been.

i worked two jobs. one was as a writer/editor for the drug information association. a great place to work--nice people, a mission/vision I could live with and believe in. ironically, the board's strategic plan eliminated my position as of the end of the year. the last few weeks were tough, knowing I was leaving. but, staying gave me the holiday week pay, the annual bonus, and a chance to leave doors and windows open for freelance work. my other job, freelance writing/editing/photo research/proofreading/you name it for publishers and production services, continues in earnest.

christmas craziness
our family christmas was super—sarah arrived from NYC the wednesday before christmas, ready to invite friends in to bake cookies. that worked for me. ending a job, finishing a class, and soliciting extra freelance work in december, i was way behind in the holiday stuff. we did manage to get the front of the house decorated, tree up (albeit w/o ornaments), and things cleaned up before her arrival. a false facade of control over the holiday preps only. gary's "paint and carpet the living room" project (begun in september) had evolved into "let's move the supporting beam, rip out the walls to see what's behind them, then re-wire everything, insulate, and drywall. then paint and carpet." his home-depot activities were still in full swing as we careened into the holiday season. there was no hope to finish in time.

amie's much-awaited red-eye from LA arrived thursday morning. i think she was ready to ditch lockheed and LA for a week or so. she loves PA. we even had a smattering of snow here, in her honor. gary made the run to the airport. then, the fun began in earnest. wrapping, more decorating, baking, and visiting, culminating in a family christmas eve filet mignon dinner. (gary the chef really felt the pressure to get it right on the grill.) amie whipped up the twice-baked potatoes. i did the glazed carrots. sarah the bartender mixed chocolate raspberry martinis. amie opened the merlot. it's a wonder i could sit up through dinner.

christmas morning saw the (not quite hung-over) bonner women preparing for their annual gig at st. mary's church (schewenksville). we sing christmas mass—just the three of us. amie on flute, sarah on lead vocals, and robin on vocals and guitar. we all wore matching red sweaters. ah, i live for that! when i can calm down enough, i enjoy it. we all used to be in choir together, but the two brats moved away. :) so, we do it once a year, and it's fabulous. sarah sings a couple of impressive solos, and amie improves everything with her harmonies. members of the congregation stop by to thank us, saying how much they enjoyed it. not as much as i do...not as much as i do.

christmas afternoon finds us on the way to new jersey to visit the only other cushings in the area—my brother mike and his family. we've already had a lavish christmas brunch of eggs, bacon, popovers, and fruit salad, not to mention "christmas" cream cheese pound cake and holiday cookies. some of us have had naps. we party into the evening, arriving back in pa around midnight.

next morning, it's pack for the drive to albany. the rest of the bonner family awaits. we do three days of eating, visiting, and sleeping. sarah's 20th birthday happens when we're there (12/27). we head out wednesday morning (are you keeping track of the days?) to get amie down to philly for a late afternoon flight. she's heading to utah to meet up with boyfriend todd. they spend the rest of the week, including new year's eve, with todd's brother drennan and his new wife heather.

new year preps
back, at home, i move a mountain to pay the nyu tuition bill. then, i resume the freelance project i was keeping afloat amidst everything all week, finishing up friday morning. then, sarah and i head to the lederach tea room for breakfast. i drive her to the airport. she's visiting nyu roomie megan before megan heads off to london for the spring semester. i head to delaware to lunch with an old friend

saturday morning i wake up and realize i have no employment-related obligations. it's the first time i can remember in months. i proceed to tear the house apart—washing bedding, organizing, baking more pound cakes—while gary works on the living room. eric is over to help him spackle. a great way to spend new year's eve. actually, it felt good. like taking a shower after a multi-day camping trip. i have a lot of catching up to do in the house. we spend new year's eve quietly at home.

new year's
it's new year's day. i play guitar with my group at church (they are so good! did i tell you we cut a CD?) and enjoy a festive new year's "cocktail-party" choir practice. that was interesting. we join my mother-in-law in levittown for the rest of the day. she shows off her holiday decorations (amazing—red and gold everywhere! where the heck does she store it all the rest of the year?). we take her out for a steak dinner. she's amazing for 77. she can still run circles around me. and never finishes a sentence before she's off to something else. i'm exhausted just thinking about her.

monday. the "extra" holiday. i'm ready to run errands. get things done. but businesses are closed for new year's. (don't they know new year's day was yesterday?) my hard drive crashes. i guess the new work-year is going to get off to a slow start. i check out my laptop with wireless connection and decide to work on my neglected blog. gary fixes my hard drive. didn't even need a trip to the apple store. a sigh of relief! what a guy.

i look over my planner. a lot to do this week: gotta get that office in order. lunch with a business associate on tuesday. sarah's birthday/holiday party with h.s. friends (as well as my root canal. i can't wait.) on wednesday. several freelance projects landing on my desk. critical theory class starts in two weeks. fix up my blog site and websites before that.

new years are such an adventure... hey, at least i'm writing. in lower case.

Team Websites

Well I'm here to report on the wonders of team website building.

Pluses:

Someone (else) will do the coding.

You don't have to think of everything yourself.

Three heads are better than one!

Minuses:

You might have to do the coding.

You have to check everything, to make sure everything the group decided on is getting done.

Too many cooks spoil the broth!

I think we're working pretty well together and making progress on the site. It's difficult, though, because there's so much more to keep track of. And, the decisions are all so subjective. I, for one, realize only over time what others had in mind when they proposed parts of the site. But, it's all coming together.

Would it have been easier doing it alone? Probably. I have at least 100 emails to prove the complexity of doing things this way. But, the site looks great, which probably wouldn't have happened if we each did it by ourselves.

Hopefully, my teammates agree...

Sixth Sense

It's weird losing your job, then working for the next few weeks anyway. Especially when there's nothing to do. I'm not complaining, though. Could have been worse. They could have said, "Pack up and leave," and then paid me for the next two weeks. This way, I get to sort through files and emails lesurely, to decide what's worth keeping for future reference and what's not. Instead of just up and leaving everything. I get a paid Christmas vacation. My class will be paid for. I'll get a Christmas bonus, too, if they give one out this year. That will really help. And, my last paycheck will be dated 1/6/06, not 11/23/05. A few weeks reprieve. These are all definitely good things.

What's really bad is that you're there but you're not there. People look at you as if to say, "Are you still here?" It's like the lines from the movie The Sixth Sense, when the young boy says, "I see dead people. They're everywhere. They don't even know they're dead." Only, there's just me. And, I know I'm dead. My brain has already moved on: Notes on prospective clients. New job leads. Freelance work. What to do—freelance or job hunt? (I'm friends with monster.com now.) How to pay for classes next semester? But, my car still takes me to Horsham in the morning. And my feet into the office. And, then, I go home again at night.

Someone walks in with an editing task. I look at them. "Don't you know I don't work here anymore?" I think. But, I don't say it. I don't burn my bridges. They may have freelance work for me. They may hire me back eventually. They could give me a good reference for another job. Sigh! It could always be worse. And, it has been worse. So, I know better. I'm getting off easy this time. But, already I don't remember what they are doing here. What I'm doing here. My mind has moved on to January, although my body spends the day in Horsham.

Still Crazy

I think I'm still crazy, and not Thoreau. After some further mucking around with the code, my new website is up and running. Kind of. The header's not perfect, but it's improved (and at least tolerable). I'll go at it again eventually, but right now I'm impatient to share. Check out Henry David Thoreau, Still Crazy After All These Years...

Black Friday

The news showed people being trampled. Pushing and shoving until one, then more, land on the floor. The others just rushed over them. For a free case of CDs? To save a few bucks on the new X-Box? Hard on the heels of a quiet Thanksgiving Day comes Black Friday. We give thanks, then we shop with a vengeance. Shoppers shake off the turkey's tryptophan and rise early to get a jump-start on Christmas shopping. Some stores welcomed customers at 3 or 4 in the morning. CompUSA opened at 11:59 Thanksgiving night. It's almost as bad as playing Christmas music after Halloween. Maybe it's worse.

I don't participate in this ritual. But, my family picked it up several years ago, like a bad habit. The first year, my husband had his eye on some deals. He headed out at 6 a.m., alone. I thought he was crazy. Our oldest, a college student at the time, thought he was cool.

The next year Amie wanted to go along. The lines were long, but Amie and Gary double-teamed. One went right for the checkout line. The other shopped. They did three or four stores this way, scarfing up freebies along the way. They were home by 9 a.m. We scored with a new TV, a DVD player (our first), and assorted computer accessories. And, lots of rebates to process. The following year, Amie insisted they go again. She loved the thrill of a good deal. A tradition was born.

By last Thanksgiving, Amie had relocated to California. She wanted to save her plane fare for Christmas. We missed her. But, on Black Friday, we just moved on: The younger one said she'd go. Gary and Sarah headed out before 6 a.m. to get in line. Circuit City offered a Cat in the Hat look-alike and free donuts—definitely the best pre-dawn, pre-store-opening deal. We ended off with more free CDs, $5 DVDs, a flash drive, battery back-up, and so on. I prayed I'd never be drafted.

This year, Gary prepared early. He scanned the newspapers Thanksgiving morning. He consulted Sarah. They came up with a strategy: What to target. Where to hit first. Where to go last. What time to head out. You'd think it was a bank heist. Might as well have been: Grandma ended up with a flat-screen HDTV for her birthday and Christmas. Gary set it up quickly in her family room. We were all in front of it by evening. Of course, the assorted freebies and rebate items appeared, too. But, we were more interested in the TV. Especially the news. The war in Iraq was eclipsed for the day. The big news was people trampling other people at shopping malls on Black Friday.

Parlor Mission Statement

I couldn't see fictionalizing the Parlor mission statement if I didn't have to. So, I got in touch with Mikael Johnson. She's a student, is on the Parlor editorial staff, and works in the Graduate Department office. Here's what she had to say:

"Our purpose is twofold: We want to publish anything and everything that reflects the newer movements in writing (even stories that aren't an attempt at modernism are valid as writing) AND we want to give a chance for our MFA students to engage in the process of becoming working writers (it's mostly about the first one, though). The parameters were literally only in word length (max of 5,000). The genre is everything (for now). [After further inquiry, I learned this means poetry, fiction, and nonfiction.] We didn't want to limit the creative process or do a "theme" lit mag, as we are also trying to validate the lit mag's existence, to hopefully go national in another year or so ( i.e. solicit submissions from outside of the the Rosemont community). Really we just want to give a chance for writers who aren't simply spewing out something remotely resembling modernism (since the New Yorker can't seem to break out of its '70s mentality) to be taken as serious writers."

Hope that helps!