growing pains

according to WebMD, 'growing pains are a rite of passage, a sign of growing up[,]' and the term refers to discomfort (sometimes severe) felt by children between the ages of 3 and 7, 'triggered when bones grow, stretching the bone's thick covering.' (full article here) i'm not entirely convinced of the whole 'between the ages of 3 and 7' thing, as i experienced those types of pains through adolescence, but that's neither here nor there.  the operative words in that definition are 'rite of passage,' and 'triggered when bones grow.'

i hated growing pains when i was younger - puberty is difficult enough without being subjected to random, often-excruciating pains in one's legs that is capable of waking one from deep REM sleep, or that is severe enough to cause one to lose concentration during a physics exam.  granted, i emerged from these years as the tallest woman (and, depending who you ask, the tallest person) in my family, so it turned out all right.  the fact is, though, that it took a long time to get to this point.  i think the most insidious aspect of growing pains is that you never know when they'll hit, how long the pain will last, or even where the pain comes from.  also, the pains were sneaky: they never occurred as a result of a particular activity, and i never knew what was going to hurt; the ultimate insult, though, was that my brain blocked them out so i wasn't ready for them.  each new occurrence struck me from the blind side, as if i'd never experienced them before, and so i was helpless to prepare my body and mind for what was to come.

on May 22, my beloved Aunt Connie departed this world after a brief, but bitter, struggle with a serious illness, and the day my mom gave me the news that she was gone, i was shattered.  how could this be, when Aunt Connie was still so young (only a year older than my own mom)? when she still had so much to give to the world, and asked so little in return?  when i, having learned so much from her over the years, am clearly still in need of her singular brand of guidance ('three lefts make a right, unless you're talking about feet')?  in many ways, the sense of betrayal i felt was eerily similar to those growing pains, and just as unwelcome.  i realize, of course, that death is a part of life, albeit a confusing and intrusive part, and that we must all succumb to it at many points over the course of a lifetime - loved ones and friends pass away, goldfish go belly up, and even pets that seemed immortal by sole virtue of their dedicated awesomeness leave us, presumably to serve and protect others in need - much like an adolescent's intermittent bouts with those pesky growing pains, but it always takes us by surprise, and the pain associated with each loss seems foreign and steeped in the injustice of having growth forced on us in such an offensive manner.

my first recollection of Aunt Connie involved Christmas, coffee (for the adults, not me), and her dog Benji. i remember Benji being much bigger than he actually was, likely due to the fact that i was only 3 or 4 at the time.  there was also atticus, a black cat roughly the size of Mother Russia and with an attitude to match.  over the years, Aunt Connie and i developed a special bond as the only members of our respective families blessed with sinistromanuality (that's being a 'lefty,' in the vernacular), and she taught me everything i know about playing the guitar.  among my cherished memories: trips to Dairy Queen with Aunt Connie on those occasions (less frequent for me than for Sandy) when we made the honor roll at school; gathering at the Hessville Restaurant for birthday dinners; Christmas open houses when Aunt Connie would stay long after the other guests had gone home, chatting with my sister and me and playing the Christmas Game; and crafting a makeshift hatchet out of corrugated cardboard and aluminum foil to embed in one of her favorite birthday treats, the 'Lincoln Log' that my mom baked especially for Aunt Connie one year (she shared a birthday with Abe Lincoln).  Aunt Connie was one of the first people i remember seeing after i got my first stitches (in the forehead, as a result of a nasty fight with a fencegate - i lost), and later, when my dog Mac bit my lip - requiring me to have the right side of my mouth taped shut for two weeks, during which i drank Instant Breakfast and Jell-O through a straw - Aunt Connie assured me that the wide, starched medical tape was 'hardly noticeable.' when we left hammond to return to TN, Aunt Connie wasn't far behind, having purchased her house on Clearwater Drive, where she lived for more than 20 years with her mother.

when i was a teenager, i would go to Aunt Connie's house to mow the front and back yards for her, for which i was paid in 'cold hard cash' ($15 in the form of a $10-bill and $5-bill stashed in the freezer for at least two hours prior to my arrival to ensure its 'cold hard' state).  after i was done, my mom and i would visit with Aunt Connie and Grandma Bonnie until it was bedtime (for mom) or until i could no longer stand my own stench and had to take a shower.  at the time of those visits, i wasn't aware of how precious they were, and sometimes i would indulge in an internal monologue (while mowing) about how i hated it, particularly because the back yard had a subtle grade in it that made it look *much* smaller than actual size.  now, i would give anything to be back in Aunt Connie's kitchen, covered in grass stains and drinking sweet tea, enjoying the summer evening and listening to 'the adults' reminisce about anything and everything.

the last time Aunt Connie heard me perform was at my junior recital in college - i cannot remember ever being so nervous (before or since), but when i finished, it was difficult to tell whether she or my mom yelled louder or clapped harder. afterward, when we went to dinner as a group, i told Aunt Connie that the school had made a CD recording of the recital, and she practically begged to listen to it on the way to the restaurant.  i can still see with perfect clarity the pride in her eyes when i gave her a copy of that recording for Christmas that year, along with a note thanking her for her incredible contribution to turning me into the musician i had become.  as i read this post, i'm not surprised to discover that most of the memories i've recounted involve gifts Aunt Connie shared with those around her while never asking anything in return.  this, it seems, was her greatest talent: to give so much of herself, with incredible profligacy, while placing her own problems/needs/hardships firmly in the backseat, or neatly dismissing them with a clever epigram ('i'm so poor i can't even pay attention'). 

Aunt Connie, whether it was creme de menthe cake, the elusive perfect guitar chord to complete a song, help with my French translations in college, or just her signature peal of laughter over the phone, you had such a gift for knowing just what i needed, and you were so very generous in obliging.  in reflecting on the too-short time i had with you, i can only hope and pray that i was able to give back to you, in some small measure, the love, support, and unending #1-fan-ness you poured out on me. as with growing pains, the unwelcome feelings of loss and grief i've been carrying since your departure will fade, and the keen edge of your absence will dull with the passage of time.  i can say without hesitation that your legacy of selflessness, wit, and music - oh, what music - will remain as bright and fresh in my heart as the green of Ireland glowed in your eyes.  may your welcome in heaven reflect our heartfelt gratefulness at having lived in the wake of our very own Irish Tempest.

Remembered Joy 

 

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free!
I follow the plan God laid for me.
I saw His face, I heard His call,
I took His hand and left it all...
I could not stay another day,
To love, to laugh, to work or play;
Tasks left undone must stay that way.
And if my parting has left a void,
Then fill it with remembered joy.
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss...
Ah yes, these things I, too, shall miss.
My life's been full, I've savoured much:
Good times, good friends, a loved-one's touch.
Perhaps my time seemed all too brief—
Don't shorten yours with undue grief.
Be not burdened with tears of sorrow,
Enjoy the sunshine of the morrow.

In memoriam - Connie Lynn Bolinger (February 12, 1953 - May 22, 2011)

the last word

OK - it wasn't so much an assignment as it was a fulfillment of an answer to a question asked during our first session of Wills & Estates (sure to become my favorite class this semester, thanks to Judge Lee).  he asked the class how many of us had a will - out of 70+ students, 4 raised their hands (including me).  in the interest of full disclosure, i am obligated to admit that i don't have a *valid* legal will, but i do have the skeleton form on my laptop and i now have an excellent reason to validate the will's provisions and get it safely stored away.  in any case, having done some research into the matter, i discovered a neat part of a will, the name of which will surely strike a reflexive, albeit retroactive, dread into the hearts of any of this blog's followers that went through the travails of law school applications: the personal statement.  yes, that's right - today's modern will contains an option to include some last words which must be included in the reading of one's will.  who says you can't get the last word? the addition of a personal statement to a will gives one the opportunity truly to get the drop on all those pesky relatives who never let anyone skate by without some pithy commentary or cautionary axiom floating on the breeze as its target drives away.  that said, here is the text of my personal statement as it stands now, though i'm sure as i get older, more crotchety, and less in control of my mental faculties (though it's difficult to see how i could lose any more control over those), it will change somewhat. even so, the message will win through - imbibe each word, friends, as they are all for you.

******

As Freud once famously said, '[E]veryone of us is convinced of his own immortality.' Considering this was a man with more neural pathways under construction at any given moment than your average Amoeba Mathletes team, in this he was completely correct, and yet I couldn't agree less.  In my humble opinion, I think it's even more important to be not only convinced, but absolutely and utterly aware - at every moment - of one's mortality. Otherwise, we lose sight of our motivation to get things right while we can, and where we fall short, to make amends as best we are able.  Living as though you are immortal takes no special drive, no remarkable talent even.  The trick is to keep your mortality always at the periphery of your awareness, so that when the Fates hold your life's thread taut and start sharpening their scissors, you can observe all this with the contentment of one whose immortality awaits only the germination of seeds planted in stories passed down through generations: evolving from dry, even antiseptic, recountings into evermore colorfully embellished family folklore, from folklore into the stuff of legend.

If, when I leave this world, I can say that death is truly the only thing I have left to experience, the only bridge I have yet to cross, the only stone I have yet to turn over, the last empty box on my checklist....well, then immortality becomes a significantly less significant achievement, doesn't it?  Who wants to live forever if you can never really complete the race, cross off that last to-do?  It's said that Mozart never overslept when he had important meetings, because his wife Kostanze discovered a foolproof alarm, guaranteed to rouse the great Amadeus from his bed without exception: she would go to the piano and play the first seven notes of a C major scale, but she would omit the C at the top, leaving the penultimate tone hanging in the air while she walked away from the instrument, and forcing her husband to leap from the bed within mere seconds to play the entire scale with the final tonic note at the end, right where it should be.  He simply *could not* leave it alone.  To me, it seems that actual immortality would be like hearing that same unfinished scale over and over again - the agony of never being able to play that final note and have the satisfaction of resolution and accomplishment would defeat me.

For my part, I choose not to recollect the failures in my life, which are legion, but in this moment - which, in my mind's eye, is full of people celebrating according to my instructions rather than weeping or mourning - I would like to catalog what I believe are (or I hope they will be, at the moment of this document's reading) my greatest achievements.  My one great hope is that when this document is read out loud, the following statements will have been borne out in truth:
- that I lived deep and sucked out all the marrow of life (credit to Thoreau for this, a lasting image captured in my mind so many years ago), with the understanding that there is no time for 'what if.'
- that I was known as a compassionate person, one who could be counted on in a pinch to answer 'Yes!' to all those who needed my help, regardless of whether I was asked.
- that those dear to me knew every moment of every day how much I loved them and how much of my own strength I drew from them and their love for me.
- that I never met a stranger.
- that I always stood ready with a smile and kind word, even in my own darkest moments, because it really is possible to 'fake it till you make it.'

- that my sister, Sandy, lived each day secure in the knowledge that never in this world has anyone ever been blessed as I was with the sister of the ages, a staunch defender, one whose shoulder never grew weary of absorbing my tears, a firm ally in both famine and plenty, and one who always joyfully proclaimed that she shared my blood.
- that Trinity, Micayla, and Jaden were as proud to be my nieces as I was, every moment, to be their aunt, and that I was always there for them when they needed me, bound inexorably together by love stronger even than steel.
- that I will be remembered as a cheerful giver, someone with an astounding capacity for remembering even the smallest details, but with complete amnesia for the faults of others or wrongs done to me.
- that my life, despite my mistakes, misgivings, and mishaps, truly reflected God's love and kindness, someone of whom all my family and friends would never be ashamed to claim as their own and who made them proud.

Dear ones, I love you.  For those gone ahead, I rejoice in anticipation of our reunion, and for those left behind (it's only for a short while!), I implore you not to cry for my passing, but to remember me each time you speak without thinking, act without hesitation, and love without expectation of recompense.  'And now abide faith, hope, and love, these three; but the *greatest of these* is LOVE.'

new year's introspection

hello again friends - it's a new year and with the dawning of 2011, i (like so many others out there) find myself unusually pensive, spending time dreaming about things that never seem quite as possible in november or december, but at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Day, all the world suddenly reclaims its place as my oyster.

that said, here are a few tidbits about 2010, in no particular order.



1. Visited Seattle (again) for a conference, during which I was able to soak in the magic of the Emerald City and meet up with good friends for crumpets, tea, and green tea martinis (not in the same meal, of course).  More and more, I feel as though we will eventually live there, even if it's only for a short time.

2. 'Snowpocalypse' - my flight left Baltimore for Seattle in the morning, and by rush hour, there was 4 inches of snow on the ground, ultimately accumulating 18" at our house that weekend.  My flight home was delayed a day and my flight home finally landed at BWI as one of the last six planes to land during the 21 hours the airport was able to open before Round 2 hit, bringing another 16" of snow (for a total of 32" on the ground by the time it all cleared).

3. Butler University came within literally *inches* of pulling off one of the greatest Cinderella story upsets in the entire history of the NCAA basketball tournament, losing to #1 (actually #3 overall) Duke in the title game, after Gordon Hayward's Hail Mary kissed the back of the rim after banking off the glass, just barely too far to hit the net instead.  An amazing game that kept the entire March Madness faithful glued to the screen as the final buzzer sounded, and one of the few times that my mom's rooting for the team opposite the one I was supporting failed to clinch a victory.

4.  The Young Squire (aka Rowan Davies) enters the world (1/4) and inserts himself into our hearts within mere seconds - and so, the great adventure begins for dear friends.

5. My niece Trinity turned 10, finally cracking into the double digits and somehow retaining the sweetness and light of childhood, all the while staring her 'tween years in the face.  Under the 10-going-on-27 exterior, however, she's still my Boots.

6. My sister and nieces moved home to TN, with bittersweet overtones aplenty.

7. I traveled to Central America and had weight-loss surgery, reclaiming my body for myself and learning that I'm liable to break into Spanish when under the influence of heavy anesthesia.  Pounds lost to date: 86.  Clothes reclaimed from the back of the closet: 4 shirts, two pairs of pants, and one tuxedo jacket.

8. Got a Facebook message from a private investigator who said my dad was trying to find me and my sister.  After much virtual hemming and hawing, the three of us sat down and had coffee, double-chocolate Coca-Cola cake, and 2 hours of conversation at Cracker Barrel, where in true Southern form, our check was comped by the manager when she heard our story.

9. My hometown was flooded when the Cumberland River crawled over its banks, encroaching nearly half a mile into downtown Nashville, submerging Riverfront Park, and causing irreparable damage to thousands of homes, businesses, and cultural rally points such as Schermerhorn Symphony Center and the Grand Ole Opry's Acuff Theater.  Later, Lighthouse Christian School - a school funded by the operation of its preschool, and which served as the subject of one of the most incredible YouTube videos I have ever seen, when a portable classroom literally floated down the interstate and was crushed in the water - received a truly amazing gift from Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.  In the face of overwhelming loss to their property and ability to operate the preschool (the lifeblood of the rest of the school), LCS set up a community shelter where displaced Nashvillians could come to receive food, blankets, necessaries, and help in rebuilding.  All the while, LCS was suffering, but the indomitable heart for the people - one of the many reasons I am *so* proud to call Nashville my hometown - would not let them stand by while the rest of their community suffered so great a tragedy.  When Ty Pennington and his crew came on the scene, the principal of LCS stared as though an angel had descended on the school, which of course is exactly what happened.  (In the midst of the flood crisis, Nashville received little to non-existent national media coverage, and so I sent an email to Rachel Maddow, beseeching her to give us just a little exposure on her show if it was at all possible.  Dr. Maddow responded less than 2 days later - not via email, but via a 4-minute segment on her nightly show, detailing the damage and giving Nashville the airtime it so deserved.)

10. My wife's family lost its matriarch when Elizabeth B. Stefon passed away November 20th.  Aunt Betty left no heart unturned, and had an impact on us all.  Though it hurts to think of her apartment being rented by someone else, leaving us only a few tenuous threads of connections in the great state of Connecticut, it is easy to imagine Betty reunited with her siblings, parents and all those others who went before her, crippled no more, and able to relax in the knowledge that she made it after all.  RIP Aunt Betty - you will be missed.

Overall, 2010 was a year of change: new Congress, new body for me, new location for my sister and nieces, 2 cousins who left for their first years in college, a new baby, weight-loss surgery, the '2L' year, and countless other events that haven't been mentioned here.  The 'twenty-ought' decade (quoted from my former Economics teacher, Mr. Adams) came to a close and Susanne and I celebrated with great friends.  We enter the 'twenty-teens' decade (again, credit to Mr. Adams) with a hopeful sense of wonder, humility, and excitement at the dawning of a new census period, wherein our dearest hope is that we will be able to add to that census number in our own good time.

Friends, family, strangers who may have simply stumbled on this page - you are so dear to those around you.  When you consider 2010 and what you left undone, unsaid, or unwritten, I urge you not to regret but to consider those things a built-in, ready-made goals list for 2011 - as I learned over Christmas, 'for every regrettable, there's a hypothetical.'  Don't make your what-ifs into 'woulda, shoulda, coulda.'  Change those what-ifs into 'when-I.'  Try to live your life so that you don't regret what you've done, but what you've left undone - the best way to accomplish this is not to leave doors unopened or 'I love you's' unsaid, or emotional beds unmade.  It's 2011, and I officially declare this the year of CARPE DIEM!!!!