Tag: reverb10

On this shrunken globe, men can no longer live as strangers.
— Adlai E. Stevenson

Today’s prompt took some thinking on my part:

Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011? (Author: Cali Harris)

Ever since I lost my hearing, I’m not big on socializing generally.  There’s often too much noise for me to hear everything clearly, and too many people talking across each other.  I miss a lot; it’s hard to be the only one not reacting when the group suddenly bursts into laughter at a joke you weren’t even aware was being told.  Plus, David is a bit of a hermit, so we spend a lot of time together, just the two of us.

When I do go places, to happy hours with co-workers, or Christmas parties, or a recent retirement dinner, I really enjoy talking to different new people and catching up with people I haven’t seen in a while, but it takes me a while to get comfortable and it takes an awful lot of energy to focus and pay attention to hear what people are saying.

I was pretty involved in an online community for several years, but that fell by the wayside once David and I got together and I didn’t have as much free time, or, rather, the free time I had, I wanted to spend with him, not chatting online.

This year, in February, David and I decided to try out curling.  There’s a local curling club, and they had an open house right after the Winter Olympics where you could check it out and see how you liked it.  We had so much fun in our one-hour lesson that we decided to join a 5-week league.  We were paired with two other people we’d never met, and our team came in second in the league.  After each match, the teams hang out in the “warm room;” the winning team buys the first round of drinks and we chat and get to know each other.

The club closes down in April and reopens in October – it costs way too much to try to keep the ice up during the summer months – so we talked occasionally over the summer about whether we wanted to officially join the club as full members when the season started again this fall.  Our teammates from the Olympic League were coming back, and we decided to go for it.  So, most Friday nights, we head up to Laurel for curling, beer, and conversation.

This past weekend, we participated in our first bon spiel, or tournament.  It was an internal bon spiel, meaning it was only teams of people from our club (there are a lot of curling clubs in the US, and different clubs host numerous bon spiels throughout the season at which teams from other clubs are welcome).  The rules for this particular bon spiel were created to encourage people to form teams with people they might not already know and who might be way more or less experienced that you.  David and I played on a team with a guy who’s been curling for 7 years and a guy who has 1 year of experience.  They were both really great people, and even though we lost all three games, we had a good time playing with them.

The Saturday portion of the bon spiel was an all-day event, with games and contests (Wii tennis, team sudoku), a gift exchange, and tons of food.  Because we played three different teams, we got to spend time after each match with 4 new people.  It was wonderful getting to talk to so many different people, only some of whom I’d met before, and to catch up with people we’ve played with/against since the Olympic League.  When we left Saturday night, for the first time I really felt like I “belonged” to the club.

So that’s my community.  I hope we remain a part of it for a long time.

True happiness comes from the joy of deeds well done, the zest of creating things new.
— Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Today’s prompt:

What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it? (Author: Gretchen Rubin)

The last thing I made?  This cake for the curling bon spiel (tournament)* we participated in at our club this past weekend:

Because I didn’t have much time, I used a boxed mix and store-bought icing.  That’s not my usual MO, but it had to be done.    I love baking – the smell of something yummy in the oven just makes me really happy.

I need to make more journals, to complete an item on the 101 in 1001 list – I haven’t made a single one since I put it on the list.  I’ve got the materials, I just need to make time.  In 2011, I hope to complete them all – want one?  🙂

* I’m working on a post about curling – stay tuned!

By letting it go it all gets done. The world is won by those who let it go. But when you try and try, the world is beyond the winning.
— Lao Tzu

Today’s prompt is another tough one:

What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why? (Author: Alice Bradley)

The first thing that came to my mind this morning when I read this prompt was a person I’ve recently cut out of my virtual social circle.  I expect she hasn’t noticed, and if she has, I assume she doesn’t care, which is the reason I decided to cut ties to begin with.  I don’t know what I did, but she stopped responding to any kind of contact from me some time ago, and I’ve spent way more time than I should have trying to figure out why.  The bottom line is, the relationship was one-sided, except when it suited her, and that isn’t ok with me.

I said that I thought the secret of life was obvious: be here now, love as if your whole life depended on it, find your life’s work, and try to get a hold of a giant panda.
— from Hard Laughter, by Anee Lamott

Saturday’s prompt:

How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (Author: Jeffrey Davis)

Well, I wouldn’t say I did, really.  Not intentionally, anyway.  I mean, I spent some quality time with the Princess and the Conductor, and kids are always good at seeing wonder in everyday things.

I took them to see Disney on Ice in February, and the Princess was just tickled that she was old enough to need her own Metro card.  We went to the aquarium in Baltimore a few weeks ago, and the Conductor would have watched the rays swim languidly around their big pool all afternoon if we’d let him.  They were also the catalyst for renting a dragon paddle boat and paddling around the Harbor for a half-hour, though I likely would have dragged David with me to do that even if the kids hadn’t been there.

That’s the thing about me, see: I cultivate whimsy, if not wonder, just as part of who I am.  In Las Vegas, I nixed David’s idea to rent the sensible silver Sebring and insisted we rent the bright blue PT cruiser.  Aimee and I try on giant movie star sunglasses in the drug store and take pictures of ourselves, not caring about anyone else.  I buy David a set of Sham-Wows for his birthday, because he loves the Sham-Wow guy.

As for wonder, it’s generally easy for me to see it.  I work in Washington, D.C., and nearly every day I’m struck by the enormity of life that goes on here, and has gone on here, for hundreds of years.  I pass by the sign that says, “Missing Soldiers Office, Clara Barton, 3d Story, Room 9,” and see words the civil war nurse and founder of the Red Cross wrote in 1863: “I have paid the rent of a room in Washington . . . retaining it merely as a shelter to which I might return when my strength should fail me  under exposure and labor at the field.”  I’m reminded that all the sacrifices of the Civil War weren’t made by the soldiers.  At Red Rock, I told David that it was the most beautiful place we’d ever been together, and to this day, I’m in awe of the beauty we saw in the hard landscape.  When I visit Karen, I usually arrive well after dark, and as I walk to the house from my car, I walk slowly, savoring the gigantic sky over her rural home and marveling at all the things we don’t know about the universe.

Sometimes, though, it’s easy to forget to look for all the wonder around us.  We get caught up in the day-to-day business of living – paying bills, commuting, dealing with surly shop keepers, fighting with loved ones – and we lose sight of how much good there really is in the world.

So, although I don’t necessarily need to cultivate a sense of wonder in my life, in 2011, I can certainly work on taking a moment each day to see the everyday wonder all around me.

The Golden Gate Bridge’s daily strip tease from enveloping stoles of mist to full frontal glory is still the most provocative show in town.
–Mary Moore Mason

I’m going to answer Friday, Saturday, and Sunday’s prompts in three posts today.  We were participating in a curling tournament Friday night and all day yesterday, so I didn’t have a chance to write my responses.

Friday’s prompt was an easy one for me:

Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)

On our vacation to the west coast this summer, David and I rented bicycles in San Francisco and rode through the city, over the Golden Gate Bridge, and down into Sausalito.  The moment I felt most alive this year was during the ride across the bridge.

It started out sunny and clear, around 4 in the afternoon.  We made our way through the city from the bike rental place, through Ghiradelli Square and several parks, and came to a place where we had to decide whether to ride up a huge hill or carry our bikes up a long, sloping staircase to continue our journey.  David chose to ride, I chose to carry.  We met at the top of the hill, then coasted our way a bit, before climbing the switchbacked path to the bridge.

Once we got to the top, David gave me a kiss and sent me on ahead of him.  I pedaled out onto the bikeway on the western side of the bridge.  To my left was nothing but water and cliffs, huge rocks with white foam around their bottoms.  To the right were at least 6 lanes of traffic, then the city off to the east.  The wind was killer up there, but I had the sun on my face, and I was a happy girl.  I looked across at the water, and I can remember so clearly the way the sun shined its pathway towards us, glinting and rippling.  I remember thinking, This is unbelievable, I’m riding a bicycle across the Golden Gate Bridge.  I said to myself, Remember this.

At each of the two towers, the path turned left, then straight, then right, then straight again.  When I turned left each time, the wind nearly bowled me over.  It took all my energy to keep pedaling into it and to stay upright.  Others were biking in the opposite direction, commuters, I suppose.  I thought how lucky they were to get to do that everyday, knowing even as I thought it that they probably took it for granted.

Once we reached the other side, we carried our bikes down to the pedestrian walkway underneath the bridge so we could get to the visitor’s center on the other side.  When we go there, we looked back to where we had come from, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that, at that exact moment, the legendary San Francisco fog began to roll in.  In under 10 minutes, you could no longer see the city.

It was, literally, a picture-perfect moment, and the one where I felt most alive in 2010.