Multiple Personalities
It’s May 7 and it’s about 19 degrees. I don’t know if this weather is early or if it’s late. That’s the thing about living in Nova Scotia, our weather is never consistent. Regardless, it’s gorgeous. The sun is shining high and warming me all the way to my soul. These are the days I long for. The days when nostalgia takes over and I relive memories each time the wind sweeps my hair; I’m thrown back to days gone by. High school and college and days with my friends at beaches or soccer fields. Or days just spent driving around, longing for summer. Today is one of those days.
I should be at work but I had a medical appointment and took my lunch at the end of the day so I could come home instead of making my way back to the office, and I’m sitting on my deck, feet up, blazing sun beating down on me, flip flops just lingering on my toes. Oh how I love this. I am thrilled that Old Man Winter has finally departed us and Spring has sprung.
I am not one of those people who fare well being cooped up. I am too social to be a couch potato. I get my strength from my friends and being active and socializing. I always have. Mine is the way of the butterfly.
But who I am can vary depending on who I’m with. I can be a dancer or a comedian or a wine connoisseur or fitness coach (well, technically, I am). I’m a therapist and brawler and a bawler. And a baller.
You know how I always celebrate Birthday Week? I have multiple gatherings with multiple friends and multiple groups. This has been going on since I was little-ish. And mostly because a lot of my friends didn’t always like each other. This carried out through high school, and then when I hit college, many of my friends didn’t know each other, and the tradition has continued on for the same reasons. Some of my friends don’t like each other. But also, some of my friends don’t like some of the activities I do. The shopper doesn’t necessarily want to go dancing. And the running buddy may not want to sip wine. I wear many hats and I love my adventures, but not everyone is as resilient as I am.
I have a great group of friends who, at a moment’s notice, are able to ditch their lives and are up for whatever our days or night bring us, planned or unplanned. But I also have a friend or two that need a completely choreographed itinerary detailing our outing and who will be there. And I have friends who I like to keep to myself and who are reserved for end-of-week wine-and-dine and gabbing about how complete bullshit our work weeks have been. And I also have those friends who are up for any adventure I throw at them – Wanna drive to Quebec for a concert? Let’s go? Wanna come to a Fitness class with me at 6am? You got it! Wanna drive to the US for the weekend and go shopping? What time do we leave? Wanna do Mud Hero? Where do I sign up?
These are the many types of friends I have and the adventures we’ve had. These are my soul sisters. These are the girls that bring out my multiple personalities. I don’t have to chase their friendships, because they’re right there. Ready, waiting, willing.
Cheers.
….And Just Like That
Summer feels over.
August hits every year, and every year it’s as if Mother Nature flicks a switch and the air changes.
A week ago I was walking out in the mornings to humid air, already 20 degrees by 5am. This week’s mornings the air was a cool 8, 9, or 11 degrees when I walked out at the butt crack of dawn. It’s darker in the mornings too…the sun doesn’t rise as early, suddenly. And I feel lost in an early fall temperament.
When August hits like this, I am saddened; I hate the loss of summer so early. I fear that the days won’t be as hot and the sunshine won’t last, and it agonizes me to think that summer is over so quickly. It’s a jump to conclusion, I know. But it happens almost every year.
But then I get hit with days like yesterday and today – gorgeous sunshiney days with a sun so hot it beats down on my skin with a fierceness that feels like late July. Because, late July was just a week or two ago. And, although August feels different, the afternoons lazing on the beach or a deck still feel the same.
I remember summers of my childhood, when we played outside from dawn ’til dusk – from June thru September, feeling the hot air embrace us in a big hug, squeezing us so tight that the sweat glistened from our foreheads and salted our lips. But it feels different now. And maybe because I always yearn for the freedom of childhood, for the memories in the making, for the long day’s journey into night.
And once that morning air changes at the start of August, I know another summer is almost over, and it’s one more year I have not been able to go back to those “good ol’ days”. The summer air is not the only thing that changes as we move toward fall. And, I think back to just last year, with our Indian summer and how I rode into the autumn air with a thick heaviness on my soul.
I still have a month of August to enjoy. I have so much more sun to soak up and lakes to surf and beach sand to stick my toes into. I can think about cool breezes and changing leaves and pumpkins everywhere soon enough. I’ll let the ideas of October float out of my head and hang onto the threads of summer while they still dangle before me.
But I know it won’t last. And I know next year, at this same time, I will be right back here, dreading the oncoming of winter and losing the memories to be made.
Cheers.
In the Outfield
When I was 12, my brother and I joined a softball team. I was not overly athletic when I was little, but I was excited to join. After our first few practices, my friend Kim, who was staying at our place for a few days, tagged along to a practice. She decided to join the team too and it made for elation.
Our little team, the Boulders, was terrible. Oh my gosh, we were so bad. Not necessarily at the game, but we were a new team with no money, a weirdo for a coach, and our home field was nothing to write (home) about. I should also state that for the first few weeks I was sporting a cast on a broken left arm. And I’m super clumsy. So, I was determined not to get hit or re-injured. Kim always has said that I looked like a little ballerina out there…swinging the bat with one arm.
I was terrified of the ball too. I hated being stuck in right field, which I often was. Probably because most hits are center or to the left. Which, I was relieved for, but also terrified that the ball would come at me. But eventually, I got less scared, I got more aggressive (not a lot back then, but some), and my eventually my cast came off.
And as I improved, so did our team. Our community rallied around us and our field got some maintenance; our dugouts cleaned up, and we got a snack shack. AND eventually, we got team uniforms: Horrendous lime green tshirts and matching hats with our team name on them. They were so ugly, but we looked great as a team!
Honestly, I WISH we looked this good. (NOT US)
We started getting more spectators. We were invited to tournaments (most of I’m sure we lost – but maybe not). My skills improved and eventually I was moved out of right field and into centerfield *mic drop!*
We played through summer nights and in the rain and we played in the hottest of tournaments, having to have our parents drive us home in between games sometimes to shower or to at least get us out of the heat. Our little team was a family and we had so much fun. I loved our baseball team. We lasted two incredible seasons.
But by the time the third season rolled around, some of the team moved up to the next level because of age – including my brother and Kim. Gah! The whole point of our team was to be together and now we were breaking up.
So some of us moved up to another team, and some of us stayed behind to hold fort in our main team, with new players joining ranks. I stayed and I played. But it wasn’t the same. And by this time, I was good. I was a good hitter (well, definitely better than my casted ballerina days), and I was a great outfielder. And I had a mouth made for baseball. But it wasn’t the same.
I played that summer and that was it. I played on the girls’ team in high school for a minute and a half, but didn’t finish the season (helloo, social life), which I kind of regret. And there have been times I have wanted to join a team in my adult time, but just never bothered. Those days of playing ball in the summers with my friends were some of the best of childhood. And for that, I always keep my baseball mitt in my trunk, just in case someone, somewhere has a pick-up game going.
Each time I drive by our old field, it makes me sad. The field is overgrow, the snack shack and dugouts are caved in and decrepit, the mound is unseen, the fences falling down. Our home field has become a graveyard for our youth, and our memories of those glorious days are all we have left.
Still not us
There are no new teams. The children are busy playing online games or surfing Instagram. But me, I would never, in a million years, trade in those summer days with my friends under the hot sun, under the cool night skies, and on the green grass, swinging a bat and sliding into home.
~Cheers.
Minnie Driver and a Cuppa Joe
When I was in high school I started working at a Tim Horton’s coffee shop. I worked there for 6 years. And I never drank coffee. Ever.
This is the magazine I ripped off from a cleaning cart.
#adulting
~Sandy
SandyLand Stories
The other night I finished what was, I think, my 23rd John Grisham book. And although I’d picked up three more of his on the weekend, I couldn’t wait to delve into Drew Barrymore’s Wildflower.
As you may know, I love Drew Barrymore. She is my all-time favorite actress; since the first time I saw her in E.T., I fell in love with her – with her spirit and her spunkiness, and I have since followed her career. The ups and downs. The stints in institutions and rehabs, the bad movies, the badass moves. I have followed the 90’s wild child and doted on her for years.
The original wild child and my not-yet-met best friend (Drew flashing David Letterman in the mid-90’s)
And so, I have been waiting since I received this book for my birthday in October to read it but, 1. I had shit-tons of studying to do to prepare my nutrition exam and 2. I’m kind of addicted to John Grisham’s storytelling and am always anticipating completing one of his books so that I can immediately begin another. This time, though, I forfeited Grisham to finally read Drew’s book.
Day #27: Post Three Photos of Yourself that You Like
#1 – I love this photo of me and my friend Jesse. It’s one of my favorite photos. Ever. It was taken a few years ago at one of our infamous Wicker parties. Whoever took the pic caught us in a moment of honest laughter. I still have no idea what was so funny but the angle of the photo caught the length of my foot-long nose beautifully.
Me and Jesse Whoreface
#2 – This was taken 2 years ago at my BFF Stephanie’s wedding. We have a friendship that has lasted many years. I had not planned on kissing her on the cheek. Photo turned out great. I love this girl.
Steph and me
#3 – This photo is great because I was living out a fantasy of (FINALLY) getting to see the New Kids on the Block in concert. That’s right, I said New Kids on the Block. My friends and I drove 16 hours straight from Nova Scotia to Montreal to see this concert. We had tshirts made up and ended up being interviewed to discuss our trek to Montreal. It was such a fun road trip AND my ass looks pretty spectacular in those jeans.
Angie Whoreface, Melissa, ME, Jaime (aka Fellow Asshole)
Cheers!
Songs of My Youth
Back in the summer of 1991 when I was a mere 8th grader, I fell in love with a song of the summer….I’ll Be There by The Escape Club.
The song was probably the saddest I’d heard….I think it’s still the saddest today, right up there with Pull Me Through by Jim Cuddy. It’s a terribly heart-breaking song and it and the movie “Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead” are the two things that remind me of that summer…if nothing else, I have those two memories.
Back in that summer, long before iTunes and downloading music, I would sit in my room Sunday mornings and listen to the weekly countdown with my stereo ready so that I could record the songs I liked. I had a little notepad which I would write the name of the song and the artist(s) and then I would either color-code or number the tape (yes, tape, not CD, not MP3) with the corresponding song list. I was very cool.
But I loved that song. I fell in love with The Escape Club. The song resonated with me deeply at the time as a neighborhood kid had died after being hit by a car while riding his bike. He’s just graduated. To me, at that time, this song was meant for him. I cried every time I heard it. I have thought about the song here and there but hadn’t heard it in so many years (although I still have all of those mixed tapes, I need to find a decent tape deck that will play songs smoothly without dragging or unwinding them). Then one day a week or so ago it sorta just popped into my head. Not necessarily the song or the melody but the memory of it. And yesterday I downloaded it. As soon as it started those feelings came welling back up. Those sad, heartbreaking feelings of loneliness and loss and devastation were right there on the surface and before I knew it there were tears in my eyes.
It’s funny how our minds and our hearts work like that. A song I haven’t listened to in close to 20 years still has the same emotional impact on me as it did back in 1991.
And I guess it seemed sort of fitting that I played that song on a morning when I woke to news that another young musical talent has left this world. RIP Cory Monteith. You helped change the world’s views on school choirs and glee clubs.
Cory Monteith
~Cheers
Sandy the Social Butterfly 