Category: Thoughts

Hopeful Thankful Season

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‘Tis the season– the season for seeing the first dusting of snow, filling shelves with bottles of Cab & Merlot, building fires in the wood stove, and casting stitches for knitted hats, mittens and scarves. The radio stations praise jingling bells and baby boys and Black Friday enthusiasts are setting their alarm clocks across America. Reserve a turkey and plan the menu. The holiday season is here.

This year my Thanksgiving, as many in the past, will be held at my parents’ house. The morning begins with fresh coffee, breakfast bread and the low hum of parade commentary drifting into the kitchen where preparations are in full swing. As cars arrive, hugs are delivered and tinfoil dishes are slid into the oven. Tradition is butternut squash soup served in hollowed turkey-shaped dishes and Grandpa’s pumpkin pie with a healthy dollop of whipped cream. The dining party is small–five wooden chairs arranged at the table–but the quality of the company far surpasses the quantity of faces and names.

I am thankful for these people around my table and seated elsewhere throughout the world. I saver their unyielding support and generosity as I do my braised carrots and mashed potatoes, thyme and time again. Behind everything in my life that I am thankful for–my job, my home, my travels, my future– there is a friend, family member or stranger who contributed to my thanks.

Who are you thankful for?

Giving thanks often begets feelings of guilt. The Philippines will not easily recover from their country’s devastation. Wars are being fought, children shot and voices left unheard. Who am I to sit in a warm house with a full stomach and fuller heart while others struggle for so much less? But guilt does not help the world. Guilt neither feeds the hungry nor protects future generations. It is hope, not guilt, that arises from thankfulness and paves the way forward. Hope is the kindling that fuels the fire of change. Hope pulls us from our beds each morning and tucks us in every night with the promise of a new dawn.

This year on November 28th, wherever you are and whoever you are with, give thanks for all the people and moments in your life that have made you who you are today. And with this thanks find hope in things to come.

—

photo (13)Want to have a sustainable Thanksgiving? Check out last years blog: Giving Thanks Sustainably.

Orange and (the new) Black

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Two blogless months and none the wiser… 

Halloween, once again, has snuck up on me. There are 2 for $6 candy sales on miniature Snickers and farm stands overflowing with carving pumpkins, squash and oblong gourds. Empty windows are transformed into “Spirit Halloween” displays that appear overnight in abandoned lots and vanish just as quickly as they come. On liquor store shelves, bottles of Octoberfest and pumpkin ale fill the aisles while children plan their trick-or-treat routes around the most generous of neighbors. Apples and celery sticks? No thanks.

It is the evening of October 30th and I, a young lively 23 year old, have no plans and no costume for the company wide costume parade tomorrow. What is a girl to do?

Answer? Bake mini cupcakes. 

Here are some wise and wiser words of wisdom in anticipation of Halloween Eve:

  • Carving a pumpkin should be fun, not a creativity competition.
  • You can’t eat too many candy corn.
  • Being a cat for Halloween was so 1999. I was 9. And I was a cat.
  • If you feel like over-indulging, opt for the mini peanut butter cups  NOT the unidentified punch bowl.
  • You CAN eat too many candy corn.
  • Even fake chainsaws are scary.
  • Do not attend a party if bobbing for apples is the main attraction. It feels like you’re drowning.
  • Eat dinner early, around 3pm. After that, your doorbell will ring until you run out of candy and your house is egg-ed.
  • Thank every adult person you encounter who is not wearing a mask.
  • Be safe, eat candy and celebrate with friends…

Or go to your favorite writing group because Carol just e-mailed and said you come come.

One Year

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Where were you a year ago?

August 26th, 2012 was a Sunday. I was awake, reminiscing on my most recent weekend as a newly graduated, slightly lonely resident of Western Mass. My third week of work was about to begin and I sat in bed recapping my weekend to my journal before setting off into a new Monday. I had experienced my first solo outing in an unfamiliar town. I had traveled with co-workers to the Red Fire Farm’s Tomato Festival and baked my first homemade quiche. On August 26, 2012 I wondered how long I would be in Northampton and what I would be doing a year from now. One year ago to the day on this rainy Monday evening.

Journal entry: “Curried tuna fish for dinner and walked to the Brewery. It was nice outside but a little boring, lonely almost. Not because I felt pity for myself but simply because I wanted someone to talk to.”

photo (12)Fast forward to 2013. I went back to Red Fire Farm’s Tomato Festival and ran into a couple of familiar faces. I drank a beer at the Brewery with co-workers last week and welcomed the new round of EcoFellows into our company. And just yesterday, I laid in bed and wondered where I would be one year from now. In 2014. Another 365 days of unknown possibilities.

The earth rotates, the sun burns and we find ourselves looking at a calendar full of memories cast behind a forgotten closet door. Don’t forget to open that door, dust off the taped boxes and shrunken sweaters. You might be surprised to find by how far you’ve come.

Approaching August

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Stare long and hard at the horizon out beyond the low-lying hills.The nights you spent huddled over the wood stove and buried beneath blankets with a good book and a cup of tea vanish into fond memories as the sun erupts into pinks and blues across the sky. How you have waited for summer to arrive. Keep your eyes open and alert. Even when tears form, do not blink. Summer is coming and almost done–Anticipating April blending into Hot and Humid August. Where did all those lazy, hazy days go?

photo (11)“Mid-August,” the woman answered as she folded plastic wrap over our blueberries and secured each container with a *snap* of a rubber band. Peach season, summer’s signature digestif, were three weeks away and I found myself wondering where all the time had gone. July and July had been trusted friends and secret admirers but August was coming, a childhood sweetheart bridging the worlds between blazing sun and crisp fall chill. My summer had floated by, fierce and brief as smoke rising off a sizzling grill before dispersing into the thick warm air.

My plan is to eat my way through these remaining days and nights of late sunsets and hazy sunglass goggles. I will savor each blueberry in pancakes, muffins and sprinkled in my morning yogurt or smoothie. I will patiently bide my time with cucumbers and fresh cherry tomatoes while I wait for beefsteak varieties of hungarian hearts and Cherokee purples. And when the branches grow heavy and tired with ripe peaches, I will satisfy the summer child within me until my tongue itches with fuzzy sweet juice.

Summer is luscious and fleeting. Eat up every last moment of it. I know I will. 

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When is the Right Time?

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I often find daily planning to be annoyingly exhausting: when to eat dinner, return a phone call, hang the clothes, grocery shop. My timed decisions and scheduled obligations fall in series; each moment knocking against the unforeseen progression in domino succession. These frustrations only magnify with the mention of larger questions regarding my current relationships or future career. I find myself constantly asking:

When is the right time?

I learned to ride my bike around eight or nine years old, much later than the other kids in the neighborhood.  I had no desire and didn’t feel quite ready. One summer, my best friend passed down her little pink bike with uneven training wheels and I wobbled countless times along my driveway until the road was mine.

When is the right time?

As children, the questions comes pre-answered and the forethought is almost nonexistent. When will we get there? When is dinner? Life was simple. Then school begins, responsibilities grow and puberty directs our thoughts against those of our peers. When is the right time for a first kiss? A boyfriend? A sexual experience? This confusion follows into high school and college, tumbling like gravel along a steel slope gathering force and speed. When to find the right major? The best job? Our parents and loved ones die. We get promoted, move to new cities and buy more furniture. We get married. When is the right time to grieve? To start a family? To hold on? To let go?

And so we compare our choices to those around us. We measure our landmark events against the decisions of others whose lives appear successful and correct. We kiss people because we think it’s time. We wear the same clothing at the same time and cry when deemed appropriate. We get married before our younger siblings do and try to earn as much as our college peers. Timing is everything. 

Library Clock Town
Library Clock Tower

Maybe it’s time to stop asking ourselves what we should be doing. What our friends are doing. What our parents have done. Perhaps there is no right time for any one landmark decision but a series of events that occur or do not occur based on our individual wants and needs. In my last moments, I doubt anyone will compare my timeline against my peers and wonder if I did things too soon or not fast enough.

Perhaps the question we should be asking is: When is my time?

Congratulations Class of 2013

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I had a stark realization yesterday morning while routinely unrolling the morning Gazette before work. Pictures of cap and gowns, diplomas and quotes from inspirational commencements speeches were displayed prominently on the front page and Cities section of my local paper. Another group of eager, confident young people had stepped off the stage with glorious dreams of success. My first thought went to the new graduates moving out into the hazy abyss known to many as the “real world.” Are they ready? Have they been prepared? Underneath these questions was a much deeper fear. Am I ready for them?

Recalling my last 12 months after college is strange and bittersweet. I feel their breath on the back of my neck as they sprint forward along the next leg of their journey. How far have I ran since graduation? Am I on the right path? I looked up wise words for the graduates:

Katelyn Tsukada’s Five Practical Tips Post-College:

Never judge your success based on your peers or your bank account. Comparisons are inevitable but remember your self worth, job title and future dreams are not defined by your surroundings.

Read often. With a completed undergraduate degree, assigned readings and lengthy PDFs become things of the past. It’s much easier to add names to a “Must Read” list than to cross any off. As TV show re-runs become more appealing than a bestselling novel, have a cup of tea and make time for a book.

Remain in touch but stay present. Your best friends no longer live one door over or across the hall. Some went home, got jobs on the opposite coast, or packed a suitcase for an overseas adventure. The Internet allows you to stay connected with these close friends easier than ever before. Just remember that your future life will attract equally inspirational and life-long friendships. Keep all doors open.

Learn to cook (and bake). Mac and cheese is super convenient but even the best boxed variety isn’t appropriate for dinner guests or parent drop-in visits. Begin to accumulate reliable recipes for a delicious home-cooked meal and freshly baked desserts. You’ll look like a superstar the next time a new friend invites you to a potluck or picnic.

Enjoy being alone. Making friends, going on dates and planning movie nights will certainly be harder after the college campus environment. Your next couple days, months and years will inevitably include mornings and nights alone. Savor these moments. Try a beginner meditation class or take a walk around your neighborhood. Reintroduce yourself to the uniqueness of you.

Be wary of the question “Why bother?” Life isn’t always about the life-changing mission or the personal career choice. Monumental decisions are backed up and followed by innumerable smaller choices like reading the daily news and baking late at night to surprise a co-worker on her birthday. Think about others often.

Congratulations Class of 2013 and don’t fear. The best is still yet to come.

Sending Love

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Tuesday morning words:

Hug those close to you and reach out to those farther away. People, money and goods are taken from us before we can understand and appreciate their value. Don’t waste a single day wondering if you gave precious moments away.

The dead give us a gift. The ending of their stories open up space for our own novels to continue. Be thankful for their accomplishments and hold onto the glory of a life well lived. We are writing the next chapters, forging the new path, finding a better way. The dead have given us a gift that we take with us until we too must pass it on.

My thoughts, prayers, hopes and dearest sympathies go out to those who have died. Some of you I knew, some of you I did not. Some died suddenly while others fought for every breath. The world honors and respects you every day.

[EF, JE, ES, RK, runners at the Boston Marathon, victims of car bombers, frog along the hiking trail.]

Time to Talk

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Good morning world! 

Tuesday is already here so shake off those Monday blues. I bought a book at the library yesterday for $1 called “The Complete Guide to Blogging.” Haven’t started it yet but seeing as I would pay that much for anyone’s advice, I can only gain knowledge from a basic how to. I would assume the first thing about blogging is actually to write and while I have an extra couple of minutes I’d like to share some new found wisdom.

I have developed a preconceived notion that staying connected with people I love is a time draining, intensive process; one I need to schedule into my planner for hours at a time. Over the last week I have spoken with a number of people over the phone and via text message. Hearing from them and recounting my own life has been incredibly rewarding. Ah yes, I think, this is why we were friends in the beginning. How could I have waited this long to follow up and check in? 

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It turns out I DO have enough time:

2 min- text to college roommate followed by 🙂

5 min- short e-mail to high school BFF

10 min- purchase some stationary and write a letter to your grandpa.

20 min- phone call to that close friend you never seem to talk to enough.

40 min- Grab the nail polish, hop on your bed and dive into a great conversation.

Make a list of those people you miss and begin reaching out. You’ll be glad you did. Chances are they will be as delighted as you to hear a friendly voice. Probably should put your mom on that list too.

I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gutter

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My once bare bedroom walls have transformed themselves into a functional museum– framed prints, warm scarves, an earring collection, and my own reflection from an ancient plastic mirror. The brown chair near my only window holds dirty clothes more often than people and both sneakers & cowboy boots have claimed their designated spots within the confines of my closet. I have located the sole location under my bed that breeds dust bunnies and at night I can see the lights from the neighbors’ house across the street.

Next Tuesday, my bedroom and I will quietly celebrate our six-month anniversary. We can’t believe how fast the times gone by. On that day, I will try to think back to that sunny afternoon in mid-August when I first committed to my new home.

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Six-months…

I now have a fairly regular work routine. Monday-Friday. 9am-5pm. I have favorite grocery stores and can navigate to said grocery stores without my iPhone GPS.  I’ve experienced car problems. I have friends who invite me to drinks on Friday night and Downton Abbey on Sunday. I pay my student loans on time. I attended my first political rally. I’ve spent mornings and nights feeling utter alone. I’ve tried mixed martial arts, sweated through Bikram yoga, and attended a writing workshop. I’m afraid I’m getting fat. I feel proud to know the people in my life. I second-guess myself every day.

How do you know when you’ve “made it”?

On the weekend of March 2nd, I will be participating in a Masquerade Bowl-A-Thon. This great event raises funds for Big Brothers Big Sisters of Hampshire County, an organization in Amherst that provides one-to-one mentoring relationships to local children in Hampshire County who are in need of positive adult influence and friendship. A special person, such as a “big brother” or “big sister” can often be the one factor that can change the destiny of a child’s life, providing the resources and encouragement to become a productive and healthy adult.*

Can't Believe GutterI think about my path in life that has led me to where I am today. Could I have done it alone? Absolutely not. My mother drove out to Northampton multiple times while I looked for places to live. My father took care of all my car problems, taught me to check the oil and use the heated seats. My godparents, Carol and Stan, came out to see my theatre performance as they’ve done for the past 15 years. High school friends have driven out to MA for a weekend of new food and new bars. College friends call just to check in. I’m constantly surrounded by love and warmth from other caring souls.

Our bowling team, expertly called “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gutter” has already raised $1,147.00 and we still have three weeks to go. In some small way, I am helping to support  children who weren’t as lucky as I was growing up. My six month anniversary in Northampton, MA is not a reason for a celebration but for a thank you. Thank you to all the friends and family members who have contributed to our team and to my life.You mean the world to me. 

To donate to the cause, visit:

My Page!

*Excerpt taken from bowling team website. Thanks Carlin.

The Writing Workshop

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A well crafted, well executed writing workshop is a beautiful thing.

I was introduced to my first workshop opportunity by a friend and mentor Peggy who acted with me in the production of Our Town a couple months ago. As she explained it, a writing workshop is facilitated by an instructor for a group of people with the sole purpose of writing, freely and without distractions. A room full of writers writing. Nurturing creativity. It sounded wonderful.

Blank Ringbound NotepadSo I e-mailed Carol, one of Peggy’s close friends and writing facilitator, to gain access to this magical writing world of workshops. I learned that both Carol and her husband Robin led sessions three times a week from their home in Northampton. Each workshop begins with a meal: breakfast on Monday mornings and dinner on Wednesday and Thursday. After food, the participants retire to the living room for the reading of short prompts and the sounding of a small gong.

The collection of writers assembled on this particular Wednesday evening, curled up in arm chairs or resting on the sofas, paralleled the similarities of a box of 50 flavor jelly beans. No age, writing style or method of delivery was the same. But the group was familiar with each other, friendships had formed, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear that this was the 10th or 12th year at Carol and Robin’s home. Even as a newcomer, I felt connected by our mutual love of writing and the conscious effort to spend an uninterrupted three and a half hours to listen to good writing or sit alone, writing ourselves.

During the writing portion, I took my notepad upstairs and found a small table near the fireplace. This was my time to write anything I wanted, knowing my only obligation that night was to my creative self. Sentences bubbled forth, frothing and foaming into funny phrases and broken thoughts. No need to follow the rubric or stay within the lines. And please…leave all disclaimers and self-doubt at the door.

“The woman sitting next to me on the subway lets out a sigh. Its weight drops like dense iron balls ont the floor and rolls in all directions around the car. A younger woman with red lips picks up her feet as one of the balls rolls past. These heels cost $200 a piece and Ill’ll be damned if they get scuffed by the sighs of that maid. The heels return to the grooved metal floor of the subway car and turn away from the thick black sneakers. The young woman’s breathing is shallow and tight. She keeps her audible exhales in check-they are not suitable for public consumption.”

Apparently Katelyn writes fiction now too.