Tag Archives: family

June 10, 2013 · 4:00 am

Accepting with pleasure

RSVPing


In today’s edition of things are becoming real: my sister’s wedding invitation arrived last week.

I shouldn’t have felt as simultaneously excited/nervous/teary-eyed/crazed as I did given that I personally helped create them. I mean, we spent hours designing and typing and printing and stamping (with a rubber stamp) and stamping (with postage stamps), so the arrival of that little blue envelope? Hardly a shock. I actually addressed my own invitation, for goodness’ sake.

But something crazy happened when I arrived at my soon-to-be home and found that piece of mail on the counter. I viewed it with fresh eyes, oohing over the details with Spencer before I untucked the RSVP card and dug around for a Sharpie. Writing our names on that card — Ms. Megan ABC and Mr. Spencer XYZ — felt very official. It’s one of the last times I’ll write our names separately.

And, you know, I was RSVPing. To my little sister’s wedding. Because she’s getting married — in three months.

Since we both got engaged last December, I think I’ve held myself together well. Three years apart, my sister and I have been close since the day she made her grand entrance into the world. We may have had our growing pains over the years, as all siblings do, but I fully expected myself to come unhinged at the thought of my sister tying the knot. Because we’re planning weddings simultaneously and both preparing to leave home for the first time, I feared my level of unhinged-ness would reach a critical point.

But it hasn’t. I’m okay. Better than okay, even — and really trying to embrace this transition.

Transition. I’m learning to both love and hate that word.

To have been a thin wall away from your sister, best friend and confidante for 24 years is a pretty amazing thing. Though I’ll admit to having my nervous/sad moments about our impending nuptials (and thus our separation), I’ve noticed a distinct change lately . . . and I can only describe it as hope. Though I’ve always been excited to marry Spence, don’t get me wrong, that joy was coupled with anxiety about all the other upcoming changes.

Changing households.
Changing my address.
Changing my name.

But less than six months from my big day, I’m trending far more toward excitement. I’m thinking less of what I’m “losing” and more of what I’m gaining. Just picturing Spence at the end of the aisle on our wedding day is enough to activate a wellspring of tears. I genuinely can’t wait.

And the tears at Katie’s wedding? Oh, they will fall. I will be as emotional as I’m ever likely to be, trying to muddle my way through some sort of maid of honor speech, and it will both be a beautiful and a hard thing.

But it will be more beautiful than hard, I know. In time, our families will form new traditions. Make new memories. Have new shared interests. I look forward to the new dimensions we’ll share as my sister and I enter the truly “adult” portions of our lives . . . though there will be tough days and great days in equal measure.

I do accept. With pleasure.


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May 20, 2013 · 4:00 am

A very vintage wedding

Our wedding is going to be one pearl-studded, vintage-inspired day of science and literature and love.

And since weddings are, for the most part, a shining beacon of tradition, I’ve been going through vintage family photos. I started out curiously, just wanting to see how my mom, grandmothers and great-grandmothers dressed, but then a comment at A Practical Wedding got me thinking about how beautiful a display of our family wedding photos would be at the reception.

Great grandparentsI have my maternal great-grandparents’ photos from the 1930s (one set is pictured at right). I have my grandparents’ photos from the 1950s. I have my parents’ portrait from 1980 and, soon, my fiance’s parents’ photo from the 1970s. Seeing our families through the ages, making a pledge so important that we wouldn’t be here without it, has added extra weight to our day. Come November, we’ll be adding another branch on the family tree — and, in due course, welcoming children who will someday peer at our wedding photo.

The women in my family all dressed differently on their wedding days. I mean, check out Great Grandma’s rockin’ hat up there. My other great-grandmother wore a very long veil, while my mom and grandma chose shorter ones. My paternal grandmother looked radiant and sophisticated in a sleek ensemble; my maternal grandmother wore a poofy, lacy gown. Similar eras, different choices.

How do I want to look on my wedding day? I ask myself and daydream, staring at Etsy-generated favorites lists of jewelry and pouring through websites of shoes, hairstyles, makeup tips. With my vintage-inspired dress, I know I want the red lip/red shoe look. I want to look sophisticated, too, but still playful and fun. And I just want to feel . . . like me. Like me on my wedding day.

Can there be a more surreal experience?

Regardless of whether the women in my family chose short or long, lace or taffeta, there is, of course, a theme in each portrait: they’re beaming. Smiling with their lips and their eyes. And in the photo I have of my paternal grandparents, their beautiful tiered cake sits ready to be sliced on a table. Maw Maw is looking right at the camera while my grandfather, a man who sadly passed when I was young, is looking at her.

I could do with a photo like that, too.


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January 22, 2013 · 4:00 am

Book review: ‘The Spellman Files’ by Lisa Lutz

The Spellman FilesWhen I walk into the library, it’s typically with a purpose. Spending so much time on the bookish Internet means I usually have a shortlist of books I’d like to find and take home with me — or better yet, place on hold long before I darken the library’s doorstep.

But sometimes — very occasionally — I leave things up to chance. Live on the edge and . . . choose a random read without consulting a single review. Since I’ve methodically worked my way through many of my local branch’s limited supply of audios, I’m always on the lookout for something new — and the red cover of Lisa Lutz’s The Spellman Files spoke to me.

Isabel “Izzy” Spellman works in the family business: spying on people. As a group of private investigators working out of their home in downtown San Francisco, the Spellmans are used to delving into others’ secrets — and cataloging their own. At 28, Izzy lives in the loft of her childhood home with her parents and younger sister, Rae, a sass-mouthed teen who gets herself in scrapes.

The staff of Spellman Investigations is so good at what they do that it’s impossible to turn off . . . and Izzy herself wouldn’t know what privacy looked like if it smacked her in the face. Each family member is used to turning a deadbolt on their bedroom door and looking around corners to see if they’re being followed — and it’s never been a big deal. And when it comes to her line of work, Izzy is used to . . . um, circumventing the truth. With almost a dozen ex-boyfriends littering her past, she’s comfortable on her own — until she meets Daniel, a handsome dentist and tennis pro. Who thinks she’s a teacher. Because that’s what she told him.

As Izzy gets to know David and delves deeper into a 15-year-old cold case, her own family secrets come to light in the wake of a disappearance and endless trouble with Uncle Ray, noted gambler and drinker. As she struggles to keep everything from falling apart, Izzy will come to understand the true bonds of family — and whether she can ever really break free of the family business.

So yes. The Spellman Files. It is so. much. fun. I can’t remember the last time I was tooling around town, desperate for a few more errands to run so I could spend a little more time with this kooky crew. Izzy’s narrative voice is so wry, hilarious and sarcastic; my sense of humor to a T. As our narrator, the eldest Spellman daughter is so funny and realistic, and I loved the dynamic she shares with her parents and younger sister. In fact, Rae and Uncle Ray — her namesake — were two of my favorite characters in the book.

Though that would require me to choose a favorite. And I can’t do that.

I don’t read much mystery. For a true lover of the genre, The Spellman Files might not captivate the way it captivated me — but what I loved about the story was Lutz’s ability to plunk me in the middle of these dramas and give me full access to the chaos. Izzy speaks to us like we’re in on the joke, providing enough back-story on her eclectic family to keep us intrigued without overwhelming the reader. Young Rae was the perfect example of a character with personality bursting right out of her ears — and I loved it.

The book’s pace is brisk, marching us from putting out one fire to another. We’re told from the get-go that young Rae — who has recently become addicted to “recreational surveillance,” tailing strangers in alleyways — disappears. We also know that Uncle Ray, a cancer survivor, has a penchant for booze and ladies . . . and that the Spellmans are often required to retrieve him from his “lost weekends.” The pieces of a larger puzzle come together fairly easily, but I never felt like The Spellman Files was predictable. The shock of the cold case Izzy is working on wasn’t something I’d concluded on my own, though I can be a bit dense about these things.

What sent this book into awesome territory is absolutely the characters — and dialogue. Izzy’s interactions with Daniel had me giggling, and I loved a pivotal dinner table scene where Daniel meets the whole clan. Though the plot might not scream funny to you, I found this book downright hilarious. And when I learned it’s the first in a series, I actually clapped.

If reading has become a bit staid and boring for you, allow me to prescribe Lisa Lutz’s series. Described as “part Nancy Drew, part Dirty Harry,” The Spellman Files is the perfect cure for the humdrum winter reading months. I loved its San Francisco setting, too, and could imagine Izzy and Rae following strangers along the city’s curving streets. It was wickedly entertaining — and you can bet I’ll be grabbing the next one very soon.


4.5 out of 5!

ISBN: 1416532390 • Goodreads • LibraryThing • Amazon • Author website
Audio copy borrowed from my local library


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November 29, 2012 · 4:00 am

Cousin-induced motion blur


My cousins are always in motion.

Since I don’t have little ones around every day, I really look forward to seeing the kids in my family. On one side is our Virginia crew of rambunctious, adorable boys (and their equally great little sister!); and from Pennsylvania, we have a gaggle of girls to delight and entertain us. All my little cousins — actually second cousins, in most cases — are under the age of six, so it’s never dull at our gatherings.

Whether I’m coloring, running, doing “karate” (Peyton’s favorite, learned from many a screening of “Kung Fu Panda”) or jumping on a trampoline, our kid crew teaches me to live in the moment. I absolutely love spending time with them — mostly because they’re hilarious and random. They let me color in their Barbie coloring books. And yes, they definitely say the craziest things.

It’s both my blessing and curse to be so aware of the passage of time — and I know that the next time I see Trinity and Peyton, my northern cousins, they’ll be older. Different. In school. With new friends and new experiences. And because they don’t see us too often, they probably will have forgotten all our silly jokes and games from this summer and their Thanksgiving visit. I will remember them, but they won’t remember me.

So I tried to document our family time — if only for myself. My photography skills have definitely been put to the test . . . and, um, have been found lacking. And I’m learning there isn’t a shutter fast enough to capture a child’s devilish grin or head thrown back in laughter. I mean, news alert: kids are fast. They move all the time. And if I thought I was one step ahead of Peyton, an adorable blonde firecracker, I was wrong. Nearly every picture I took was blurry — save this one:



The motion speaks to me, though. I bask in the knowledge that I can barely keep up with them — and love the challenge of capturing a fleeting moment. The girls will never be 3 or 4 or 5 again, but there’s a beauty in that. In the growing up. In the knowledge that these moments are temporary — but no less meaningful. Maybe more meaningful . . . because they’re temporary?

And I know someday I’ll come home to a family of my own — a family with kids I’ll desperately want to document, want to suspend in time. They’ll be fast and wild and silly and smart and bossy. And loved.

Let’s hope there’s a shutter fast enough to capture all that.



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November 21, 2012 · 8:00 am

Thoughts this Thanksgiving week


Excuse my unexpected absence, friends — I managed to catch some weirdo stomach virus that knocked me flat for a few days. At first I thought, great — super sick and stuck on the couch, but at least I can get some awesome reading done! I’m behind! I have, like, 200 books in my bookcase — and just looking at those piles is starting to make me anxious!

Then I realized I was too sick to move, let alone focus on anything on a page. I wanted ginger ale, a cold washcloth, a quiet room and . . . that’s about it, really. So Roland Merullo’s Lunch With Buddha, no matter how lovely, would have to wait.

But the sickness has passed. I’m back on my feet. Spencer’s parents have arrived, kicking off our week of festivities, and I’m preparing to feast with family, Black Friday shop and drag out the Christmas boxes next weekend. (Well, all right — let’s be fair: my dad or Eric will drag out the boxes. But, you know.) It’s hard to believe we’ll segue straight from Thanksgiving to Christmas, but that’s the natural way of things. And since I’m crazy behind on my holiday shopping this year, that will be my next order of business.

I don’t know about you, but my Facebook feed has been flooded with friends’ “today I’m thankful for . . .” posts this month. While I haven’t participated publicly, I have been thinking about gratitude. When life feels stressful and I’m trying to hold my head above water, I remember how lucky I am to have been born in my country, my family and my world. I’m thankful for my amazing boyfriend; my job; my creative outlets. I’m thankful for this blog. I’m thankful for all of you. And I’m really just . . . thankful to be here.

In a year that has personally proven tomorrow is guaranteed to no one, I’m grateful for life. That’s cheesy, but it’s true.

This week? I will be making Spanish green beans, corn casserole and cupcakes. I will be addressing my Christmas cards on Thanksgiving morning, as is my tradition, and watching the parade with my sister. I will spend time with visiting relatives, who I’m so excited to see, and celebrate an “early” Christmas with my boyfriend’s lovely family. We will be decorating, eating and talking. Favorite movies will be watched. Hot chocolate will be consumed. I will be merry.

I’m thankful. And happy. And here.

And hey, after last weekend? I’m just thankful I don’t have to expect to spend Thanksgiving isolated in a darkened room, sick and angst-filled and without even a book to comfort me.

Some serious gratitude right there.



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November 12, 2012 · 4:00 am

Book review: ‘The Good Woman’ by Jane Porter

Perfection.

On the outside, Meg Brennan Roberts is the very portrait of it. Attractive and successful, Meg manages to weave her three kids’ schedules in seamlessly with full-time work at a winery in scenic Napa Valley, California. Her husband, an architect, is a good provider — even if Jack is distant lately, a bit absent-minded. At work, Meg feels happy and sophisticated; at home, she feels like she’s drowning. And with three younger sisters battling issues and a parent facing illness, Meg feels . . . tired. Cold. Desperate for escape, for something more.

But there are consequences.

It’s been a while since I sank into a book like Jane Porter’s The Good Woman. From the description above, you might think, “Eh, great — another story about a mid-life crisis.” And to be fair? It sort of is. It’s obvious Jack isn’t paying Meg much attention. After 17 years of marriage, he’s just sort of . . . around. Not helping with the kids, not helping with things around the house. Not showing Meg any care and affection. Just there.

The events following Meg’s realization of discontent are gradual — so gradual it took me a while to realize what was happening. But I liked that about it. Porter’s pace is deliberate, and she lets us into Meg’s head often enough to feel the frustration and boredom without playing all her cards at once. Though I felt parts of the narrative became repetitive (Meg hadn’t felt this way in so long, Meg just needed something more), Porter’s in-depth exploration of her main character’s emotions made this book for me.

While The Good Woman stays firmly in the present, flashbacks to the Brennan sisters’ childhood and teenage years provide backdrop for how Meg — sanctimoniously called “Sister Mary Margaret” by a sneering sister — became such a control freak. Known as an extreme perfectionist, Meg is the quintessential “good woman”: a good wife, good mother, good daughter. She works so hard to maintain these ideals that she rarely pauses to figure out what she wants. And who hasn’t felt that way?

Honestly, as the eldest of five kids (four of them women), just about anyone born into that large Irish-American family would struggle under the collective weight of expectation. The Brennan sisters, all at various stages of their lives, are dealing with some heavy stuff — and Meg tries to be there for all of them (save free spirit Bree). When she finally cracks, succumbing to a handsome man’s advances, I didn’t feel nearly as annoyed with her as I should have. By the time the real stuff goes down, we’ve bonded with her. I felt like I knew her. And while not excusing the behavior, I just felt really sorry for her.

The Good Woman is more than mommy-breakdown-lit — and more than a book on infidelity. With three-dimensional characters, a captivating storyline and many emotional twists, Porter’s first in a new trilogy centered on the Brennan women held me hostage. I devoured the book in less than a week, picking it up whenever I had a few minutes, and will eagerly anticipate the next novel in the series.


4 out of 5!

ISBN: 0425253007 • Goodreads • LibraryThing • Amazon • Author website
Review copy provided by publisher in exchange for my honest review


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September 17, 2012 · 4:00 am

Just jump


Until last Sunday, I’d never really jumped on a trampoline.

And what a tragic statement. I’m a classic over-thinker, a worrier — someone often too weighed down with “what ifs” to let myself go. One of my biggest challenges is simply living in the moment and taking risks . . . real risks, ones that could end well or poorly. It’s so against my nature. Every action is fraught with meaning; every decision must be evaluated. I don’t take spur-of-the-minute trips. I’m not spontaneous. I would never randomly decide to dye my hair or impulsively make a big purchase. I’m careful, calculated. Even romantic break-ups have, in the past, required a list of pros and cons.

I’m Meg, and I rarely let my hair down.

But that’s where kids come in.

Before my cousin David and his lovely wife Betsy started their family, we didn’t have many little ones in our crew. On my mom’s side, my 15-year-old cousin is the closest we have to a kiddo — and she can’t be called one any longer. The under-10 set on my dad’s side is larger, but I don’t live close enough to see many of my extended relatives more than once or twice a year.

Enter the boys.

My four cousins, all under the age of 5, are an enthusiastic breath of fresh air. My parents, sister and I enjoy every moment spent with them — because they’re so darn fun. I’d forgotten what it was like to have kids around, begging you to play checkers or color or throw a ball, and I have to say: I love it. It makes me so excited to be an aunt and a parent. I know I see the good parts and not the complicated ones, but even those seem to be handled with grace and aplomb by Betsy and David. With three little boys and a baby girl, they’re my heroes.

At my cousin Lane’s fourth birthday party last weekend, we were all outside enjoying the freshly-cool Virginia temperatures. It didn’t take long for the kids to jump in the ball pit and monkey around, and we eventually went over to make sure they didn’t catapult themselves off a large trampoline.

My grandmother asked Eric, my sister’s boyfriend, if he was planning on taking a turn jumping. He smiled and said he was, though not without carefully asking, “Is there any weight limit on that thing?”

Five hundred pounds, we were told. So Eric was in.

I wasn’t really planning on jumping myself. Little DJ, Lane and a buddy were having a ball somersaulting, and I figured my 27-year-old self would get in the way of their good time. But after Eric took a few spins and nearly launched the kindergartners into the trees, DJ asked if I wanted to jump.

How could I say no?



I had no idea what I was doing, of course. Like the time I tried rollerblading to impress a group of snobby fellow fifth-graders (and failed), it took me a while to get my “sea legs.” I was jostling about like a baby deer, afraid one wrong move would throw DJ into the grass or flip me at an odd angle. I’m old enough to know backyard mishaps can land you in the emergency room . . . and uptight enough to actually worry about such things.

But I let it go. Amazingly, I let it go. And once I stopped worrying, I had a heckuva good time chasing DJ on the trampoline, dirtying my bare feet and springing the kids into the air. I didn’t get fancy, but my little jumps made me feel lighthearted and free. With the cool breeze and golden-hour light on my skin, I could imagine being 10 years old again.

Only I can’t remember jumping on a trampoline back then. If I knew anyone who had one (which I didn’t), I would have been too afraid of falling or looking stupid to just enjoy it.

But I’m not anymore. And I’ll be launching sky-high from now on.



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