West Coast vs. East Coast

I’m back, not only on the West Coast but also in my own skin. This year has been a tremendous journey, from the moment I got the biggest wake-up call of my life to this very minute, sitting in a Seattle hotel room with a no-longer-elusive sense of peace and wholeness. Best part is, it was here all along.

As a result, I’ve been finding even more reasons to appreciate life, including the countless differences between West and East Coasters. ;) I’ll first speak briefly about Connecticut. Essentially, there are two Nutmeg States. The city of Hartford is the Mason-Dixon Line dividing down-to-earth Yankees (north of Hartford) from high-strung Greater New York City neurotics (south of Hartford). Suffice it to say, I’m from Fairfield County (an hour’s drive from Manhattan).

My parents, meanwhile, plan to move upstate someday “where people are nice.” I can relate. (When I first started at my current company, some of my coworkers thought I was from the Midwest. One coworker also calls me “Bubbles” (“the cute and bubbly one”) from PowerPuff Girls. Yeah, Exactly).

I have natural cheer. I’m easily excited about things, whether it’s my hotel’s state-of-the-art showerhead or a Chinese takeout bag with a smiley-face on it. Nevertheless, I used to struggle with an East Coast ‘tude so huge I made Larry David look laidback. Well, okay, I’m exaggerating. Sort of. There’s a lot of factors that helped me become more relaxed, namely self-awareness. I also believe learning from each other is a major tool for growth.

A lot of my growth results from observation, both of others and my own frequently entertaining behavior. Let’s start with this morning. My alarm went off at 4:15 a.m. ‘Nuff said. Fast forward to 7 a.m. outside a JFK Airport Starbucks.

I was so tired I started emptying packets of Splenda *onto the lid* of my tall nonfat Chai.

Once settled onto the plane, however, the caffeine began restoring me to human form. Watching my fellow passengers board, I decided to play a game: “East Coast or West Coast?” Basically, the nicer and more polite they were, the less likely they were to be from New York. A scowling adolescent with a Yankees hat slumped by. East Coast. An older Asian man took the seat next to me, but first asked if I wanted my coat from the overhead storage bin since the plane was chilly (!). West Coast. A tall woman with cowboy boots sat on the aisle seat. West Coast. And so on.

Halfway through the flight I’d devised a list:

West Coasters vs. East Coasters

*Non-Billy Mays Speech vs. Billy Mays Speech: West Coasters (pretty much anyone outside New England) tend to speak slower. They actually pause after sentences. They even may let you finish a sentence. East Coasters tend to talk like Billy Mays on cocaine….oh, wait….that's just wrong.

*Superficial vs. Direct: The last time I went to Seattle a New York native confessed she missed the East Coast’s “directness.” She believed West Coast people were often polite to the point of superficiality or phoniness. While I’ve experienced this firsthand, I still prefer a little over-politeness to disrespect any day. Side note, East Coasters are often accused of being “too PC.” Hmmm.

*Laidback vs. All-Important: I believe studies could prove living out West lowers blood pressure. They can start by doing a Case Study on me. The West Coast vibe, even in a bustling city like Seattle, is simply not as entitled and impatient as the energy in New York or even Boston.

*Animal Prints vs. ‘Normal’ Prints: The West Coast seems to have an affinity for animal prints. The last time I stayed in Seattle, my hotel had complimentary leopard-print robes. Which is fabulous...if you’re Burt Reynolds on a shag rug circa 1973.

*Mountains vs. Hills: I believe if the East Coast had mountains larger than the Appalachian “Hills,” they might be more…West Coast. Mountains are both exhilarating and peaceful. There’s nothing quite like a good mountain chain to lift spirits.

*Jack in The Box vs. Wendy’s: The East Coast would be a better place if we had happy-faced clowns as fast food mascots.

*Open vs. Constrictive: I love open space, open land, open fields. Preferably bordered with mountains. The East Coast has lots of trees, but no mountains and no real open space, the kind where you see nothing but miles of blue sky. Despite their Red State politics, the people seem a lot more neighborly, as “open,” maybe, as their land. I like that.

Anyone got anymore? Thoughts? Comments?

A Few Of My Favorite Things

I felt like taking a break from the book tonight but was definitely in a writing mood. As I look around, candles lit, fingers still slightly pruney from my bath, I thought about a “few of my favorite things.” It’s the sort of seemingly banal stuff that makes a tough day easier. It also makes our relationships with one another a lot more fun.

Here’s the short list. And away we go!

In no particular order:

-Bubble Baths
(When I was a kid, I loved taking bubble baths. Then, for some reason, I stopped. Then, one day, this past summer in Seattle, I decided to run a hot bath. Since then I take baths several times a week. There’s no better way to unwind and relax!)

-Candles

-A Book You Just Can’t Put Down

-Mountains
(I’ve always had a minor infatuation with the West. My first glimpse of “real” mountains this year made it a major one. ‘Nuff said.)

-Bicycling
(Bicycling is to a bath what running is to a shower. Both are a good form of exercise, but biking is a great way to see and experience a lot more.)

-Motorcycles (Preferably Harleys) ;)
(I never thought riding a 300 lb hunk of metal would be so simultaneously relaxing and invigorating).

-Kayaking
(There is no greater way to feel Zen.)

-Rain
(See, this is why I belong in Seattle. ;) I love a good rainy day, windows all smeary, tucked inside warm and safe).

-Autumn

-Apple Crisp

-Apple Butter

-Pumpkin or Apple Pie (Tied)

-Carrot Cake

-Banana Bread

-Earl Grey

-Vanilla Soft-Serve Ice Cream

-Slow Kisses

-Open Fireplaces

-Massages
(I like to get a professional massage every so often. I got a mother-daughter package this past Mother’s Day and my mom and I really enjoyed it).

-A Star Filled Night Sky In The Middle of Nowhere

-Snow
(When I’m Warm and Tucked Inside)

-Snowball Fights

-Sledding

-Tiny Blue Christmas Lights

-Any Object Bearing A Happy Face

-You Tube

-Braveheart

-Music

-Dancing
(But not usually in front of people, since I tend to jerk my head like (a) those Night at the Roxbury guys from SNL or (b) a chicken).

-Chickens
(Of course)

-Alpaca Wool

-Red Roses
(Classic)

-Lingerie
(May seem like TMI, but let me step on my soapbox for just one quick second. Whether it’s silky nightgowns, push-up bras, plaid thongs ;) or whips and chains….we often undervalue or undermine our own sexuality. We may feel “fat” or have a cheap Porn Star view of sex (not that there’s anything wrong with porn). But, all joking aside, there is nothing more painfully vulnerable and subsequently beautiful than having a connection with someone you could fall in love with—if you haven't already. As a result, there is nothing funnier and more fun to mock than sex. After all, it’s all about having fun and not taking each other or life—including sex—too seriously.)


….What are a few of *your* favorite things?

Seattle, Again!

So I found out at I had extra vacation time at work and am seriously thinking about heading to Seattle the second week of November (my birthday is November 12).

If anyone's in the area and wants to get together, let me know! ;)

I cannot wait to go back!

Don't Stop Believing (Journey Title Intended Haha)

Don’t you love a day full of (good) surprises? After an afternoon doing laundry following a rather hectic week, I realized my pantry was literally empty (save two cans of tunafish, useless without bread). I needed food, and I needed to go grocery-shopping, stat.

Outside it was excellent football weather, crisp and sunny. I felt almost festive driving downtown to grab a bite. As I approached the Town Green, I noticed giant tents covering the lawn. I grinned. Milford always seems to have something going on. During the summer, I often wanted to simply park somewhere and walk around. Now I had the chance.

After parking at the library and inhaling a six-inch roast beef at Subway, I darted across the street. Stuffing my sandwich wrapper into a trashcan, I headed tent-ward. It turns out there was a sizeable art show going on. In fact, it was the best one I’ve ever gone to. Most vendors were from Connecticut. Quite a few were Milford residents. I loved chatting folks up, admiring the photography, paintings, mosaics and jewelry.

I even bought two pieces from two very different artists. Bruce Dumas is a construction worker-cum-painter specializing in stunning landscapes. I love rural scenes and pieces that capture the contrast between light and dark. Much of Dumas’ work features farms. I instantly loved a piece a depicting a silo against a winter sunset in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I decided to look around and return to buy it if it was still there.

Meandering on, I visited photographer Charles E. Hull of Rhode Island.

“Oh my God!” I gasped, studying a detailed picture of a tree at sunset. “These are amazing! Are these paintings?”

Hull chuckled. “If it was a painting it wouldn’t cost thirty dollars,” he said dryly.

I felt myself turning red. “Well, they’re great,” I said. “How do you do it? They look like you’ve painted them.”

Hull went on for a while about how he printed his photographs on a special type of canvas. Meanwhile, all I could think of was how I had to have that damn tree on my wall. I’ve been looking for pieces to cover the large space above my bed. At the same time, I’ve been weary of hanging a big, heavy painting that could fall and crush me in the middle of the night. ;) But this piece was small and light and….yes, perfect. I pulled out my checkbook.

Walking back toward the Dumas tent, I thought about how lovely the farm painting would look next to the tree. I liked how the sunset theme fit the bedroom’s character. After all, they were end-of-day scenes, evening scenes. The warm yellows and blues would contrast nicely to the taupe color on my wall…..

Returning to the car, I thought of how Dumas had done various odd jobs until talent, determination and luck turned his passion into a fulltime gig. It took him years to get there. I have friends who are excellent artists, talented enough to hopefully someday make a living at it. I also know firsthand how “real life,” like paying the bills, can interfere with making those dreams true. Nevertheless, I’m confident they can do it if they keep the faith. Yes, you can open that studio! The only block, ultimately, is you.

I definitely will publish my novel(s) someday (to great success of course). ;) I also believe in my friends. I believe they can take their passions as far as they desire, if they believe hard enough. After all, you only go around once (as a human, at least. Not sure about the whole Buddhist thing. We might return as a bee or something). ;) I think about my childhood celebrity crush, Jim Carrey, burying a check for ten million dollars in his father’s casket years before he became a star. If you believe it, you can do it. In the meantime, dream on….

To learn more about Charles E. Hull visit:
http://www.cehullphotography.com/

To learn more about Bruce Dumas visit:
http://bruceadumas.com/index.html

River of Dreams

It’s been an amazing year. Over the past few months I’ve soared above Connecticut in a hot air balloon, fallen in love with Seattle, discovered a passion for motorcycles and learned a new way to become Zen: kayaking. In July, I met a lovely woman while volunteering for the Connecticut Challenge, a charity bike ride supporting cancer survivors. She emailed me a few weeks ago about an upcoming kayaking fundraiser. I’d been struggling to plan a trip with friends, hindered by scheduling and cost.  Now I had an opportunity to “Yak” twenty minutes from home!

“Sunset Paddling, Wine and Cheese” was sponsored by Downunder Kayaking, a Rowayton-based shop nestled in Norwalk harbor. Proceeds benefitted  Harbor Watch, a water  monitoring program run by Earthplace, a nature center in Westport.  I successfully pitched the story to the Westport News, a local newspaper I’ve written for in the past. Game on!

I’ve always loved the water. Kayaking was an activity I'd always been curious about. By the time I arrived at the dock last Thursday afternoon, the warm September sunshine had vanished. The air had turned sharp, skies gray. Zipping up my bright green windbreaker, I wondered if I’d be warm enough. (I tend to get cold if it's under 80 degrees). I was wearing a fitted T-shirt and Yoga pants over a bikini, bare feet tucked into boat shoes.

I lowered myself into a sea kayak the same apple-green shade as my jacket. Admittedly, I was a little nervous. What if I capsized? What if I couldn’t paddle well? While my legs are strong from years of biking and elliptical training at the gym, I often compare my upper body to a T. Rex. My arms are small, spindly and essentially useless. Then again, I’ve managed to lift a fifty pound bag of chicken feed without too much trouble. Maybe I could do it after all.

Fortunately, slicing through the water with a long, light “Yak” paddle was a lot easier than lugging a giant sack of cornmeal.  I was on top of the water. I was on top of the world.  The sense of peace I felt was amazing. When it was time to return to the docks I still wanted to stay out, exploring  the Five Mile River until I couldn't see through the dusk.

I strongly recommend kayaking to anyone who hasn’t tried it! You don’t get as wet as you think. The sense of peace and empowerment is truly Zen-like. (The paddling is very rhythmic. You might even fall asleep).

Next I’d like to spend a few hours on Long Island Sound. Kayaks are minimally invasive and can float in as little as five inches of water. I loved spotting swan and even pigeons in a way I never could in a motorboat. Trips generally cost about $40 for up to three hours. If you live by a body of water and want to try something new, definitely plan a trip! Here in New England, I only have until early October before the season ends. I’d love to fit in one more trip! Who's in? ;)

Back-To-Life

My favorite season is almost here and I'm already feeling the positive effects. I like the idea of people favoring the season they were born in; a lack of consistent evidence fails to support the theory. Nevertheless, my birthday is in November and I no doubt feel most alive, most exuberant, in autumn.

Tonight I finally used the Pier One gift certicates I recieved at my June housewarming. This year I'm giving my new place a fall wardrobe of red-and-gold throw pillows and a cheerful floral doormat. Also, I've become so taken with my George Foreman grill I take pictures of the food I cook. As well as gratuitous shots of myself on the couch. Yes, June Cleaver has stolen my soul and I'm currently "nesting."

Sure, it's a touch ironic: everything's dying. But I see autumn more like a brilliantly colored path toward rebirth. This is, after all, the time of "back-to-school" and the Jewish New Year. I find this time of year a great period for reflection, an opportunity to make changes you're more likely to keep now than in the dead of winter on New Year's Day.

...Today I spotted my first cluster of orange leaves in an oak tree. Soon it will be time for apple picking and pumpkin carving. I can't wait!

Feels Like The First Time

Have you ever been to a place you used to like but then didn't? Then, years later, you return to find you appreciate it again. A good metaphor might be running into an ex years after you decided the relationship wasn't quite right. Now, suddenly, everything falls into place.

I had that feeling today when I visited my family's cabin upstate. During the 1970s my grandfather purchased the property. My dad helped him build the cabin piece by piece. I have great memories of growing up fishing and roasting marshmallows long into the summer evenings. But as I grew older, I liked the cabin less and less. My parents' refurbishment of the interior a few years ago made little difference. It was, after all, situated in the middle of "East Bumblefuck." As recently as last summer, when I stayed a single night with my dad, I felt suffocated.

Well, my feelings have changed, or, I should say, returned to the feelings I had as a kid. I just got back from my second annual "Father-Daughter Tubing Day" down the Farmington River in upstate Connecticut. We go tubing and then visit the cabin nearby. The day began considerably more humid than last year. The river was fat and swollen thanks to the fact it rained virtually every day in June. 

Our "Deliverance" moment came when I banged into a huge rock and got stuck in a whirlpool. I literally began spinning, washing machine style, for several seconds. My father was worried when he didn't see me emerge, fighting the current to come back toward me. He stopped about eight feet away, calling out advice. The water was too deep for me to stand. I pushed against the rock fruitlessly with my feet. At first I was laughing but after a good five minutes the first pricks of anxiety and frustration began forming.

"Stay calm," Dad coached. "Center yourself in the tube and push yourself toward the current. Stop fighting it." (Ooh, another good metaphor, I thought). Seconds later I finally broke free....

...And slammed into a giant tree branch, from which hung the biggest spider I've ever seen in my life. It didn't have eight eyes. It had ten. Its spindly, hairy legs twitched. I shrieked so loudly my father capsized. "Sorry!" I gasped, producing a sound somewhere between a giggle and a whimper.

"It's okay," he huffed.

And then we both started laughing hysterically.

Later, we headed to the cabin. I loved the way the long driveway curved, lush and misty, in front of us.  The pine trees towering above the cabin were reminiscent of the forests of the Pacific Northwest. Immediately, I started taking pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/40071030@N08/sets/72157621981579545/

My father took this one of me outside the cabin next to my beloved rental car, a PT Cruiser. (I've really enjoyed it while my Nissan's been in the shop).

Although I didn't say so directly, I think my father sensed I was more at peace than I was last August. Perhaps that's why I saw the cabin with new eyes. My life is more settled this year, and yet, in many ways, far busier than I could imagine. I see more possibilites. I see more answers instead of questions. There's no doubt the improvement of certain circumstances in my life have a lot to do with my overall perspective. But even more significant is how my changed attitude has made a positive difference in my life.

Has a change in perspective or circumstance ever steered you back to a place you never thought you'd return to?

Easy Rider

For a long time I’ve wanted to ride a motorcycle, drawn by the roguish appeal of screaming down a highway atop hundreds of pounds of scorching metal, scant inches from the ground. One of my good friends is a seasoned motorcyclist. Today I took my maiden voyage on his beloved Harley. His girlfriend, also a good friend, followed in her car to capture the moment on camera.

The Night Before…

My friend gave me some tips via Instant Messenger:

Tzi(9:08:56 PM): gonna make this short and sweet
Tzi (9:08:59 PM): hi by the way
Tzi (9:09:11 PM): tomorrow..
Tzi (9:09:19 PM): jeans...not the ass-showing ones...
Tzi (9:09:35 PM): sneakers
Tzi (9:10:22 PM): ...or sturdy boots...and NO SCREAMING

Later that night my friend’s girlfriend and I exchanged emails extolling the wisdom of 80s hair bands….in this case, Night Ranger:

From: "K”
To: “Larissa”
Subject: Night Ranger Said It Best
“Sister Christian, oh the time has come
And you know that you're the only one to say, okay
But you're motoring
Yeah, motoring!”

From: "Larissa”
To: “K”
Subject: RE: Night Ranger Said It Best
“Sister Christian
There’s so much in life
Don’t you give it up
Before your time is due
It’s true”

Interestingly, “Sister Christian” played on K's car radio on her way to meet us. The motorcycle adventure was significant because I’ve never been the adventurous type. Growing up, whenever something didn’t come easily, I rejected it. If forced to do it, I froze up so I inevitably failed. But there are many things in life that don’t come easily. Does that mean we shouldn’t do them? Or does that mean resistance only exists in our minds?  

It’s Already 8 a.m.?!!?
My cell phone buzzed just after 8 a.m.
“Hullo,” I said, still sleepy. “Is this my wake up call?”
“It is!” my friend chirped.
"I was wondering if you were going to give me one.”
“Don’t eat breakfast," she warned.
“So I don’t throw up on the motorcycle?” I deadpanned. “Oh, wait…so we can have breakfast together?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay…see you soon.”
I threw off the covers, feeling pretty damn carpe diem for a Saturday morning.

"The only Zen you can find on the tops of mountains is the Zen you bring up there."
--Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

A few months ago I went hot-air ballooning in part to conquer my fear of heights. I thought riding a motorcycle would feel similar: exciting, albeit unnerving. Following my friend’s advice, I leaned with him into every turn. Each movement was fluid, simultaneously exhilarating and peaceful. By the time we reached the diner, I couldn’t wait to eat and get back on the bike.

                                                                                              After breakfast I suggested following my friend’s girlfriend to her office. (We work at the same company). I pictured my coworkers’ amused reactions to my arrival, alien-like in my oversized helmet, straddling a vehicle that outweighed me by about 450 pounds. Roaring down the highway, I savored the irony of feeling safer and more in control than I do in a car. Of course, an eighteen-wheeler could have rear-ended us. We could have hit a deer or wiped out on a sharp turn or bump. But somehow, inches above the ground, I felt oddly protected.

As predicted, my office visit was a lot of fun. Riding back, I realized I'd succeeded because, for once, I didn't over-think it. When you treat a new challenge like it's something you’ve always done, you often find it was never a big deal in the first place. You may even find you were born to ride…. ;)

Riding Into A New Future

For the first time this year I volunteered for the Connecticut Challenge, a charity bicycle ride for cancer survivors. It was the first time I’d been involved in a philanthropic effort outside of a work or family connection. I’d never considered myself a “cause” person. I’d always maintained people made a difference every day in the way they treated their family, friends and most importantly, the world at large.

But as I’ve gradually become more financially settled, I’ve begun contemplating ways to better utilize my time and resources. Both my parents are cancer survivors. After being diagnosed with uterine cancer, my mother had a complete hysterectomy. Since finishing chemotherapy last summer to eradicate his colon cancer, my father has slowly returned to his robust self. Driving home from my parents' house this past May I reflected on how far he’d come. I began thinking about doing something to help other people whose families have been afflicted by this unnervingly common disease.

Literally moments later I spotted a Connecticut Challenge sign. As soon as I got home I googled the name and discovered the Connecticut Challenge organization. While I’ve never been much of a runner, I’ve always enjoyed five-to-ten mile jaunts on my road bike. While raising a minimum of $750, (making up the difference if unable to meet the goal), exceeded my ability to participate, I still wanted to volunteer. I registered online and pledged to raise a modest $100. A few weeks later I received my assignment: operating one of several aid stations set up along the 12, 25, 50, 75 and 100 mile routes.

The Connecticut Challenge is unique in its dedication to survivorship, a relatively new medical specialty focusing on optimizing survivors’ post-treatment lives. Proceeds benefit survivorship programs at Yale New Haven Hospital, Stamford Hospital and Saint Vincent’s Medical Center in Bridgeport. In addition to enduring the potential for reoccurrence, many survivors develop ancillary health problems, from heart disease to sexual dysfunction to depression.

In the years since her hysterectomy, my mother has continued to face medical challenges. I remember how wrenching it was to see my father, once famously hearty, become so weak after his colorectal surgery he couldn’t lift a pail of water. My father had always enjoyed putting up our outdoor Christmas decorations, stringing colored lights and positioning our wicker reindeer so it looked like they were kissing noses. During Christmas 2007, however, shortly after his surgery, our outdoor (and many of our indoor) decorations stayed in boxes.

In the spring my father spent the time he’d once enjoyed meticulously landscaping receiving twice-weekly chemotherapy treatments. Despite working full-time, my mother and I tried to visit him as often as possible. I loved meeting his new friends, fellow fighters from varied backgrounds joined in a united front. Several of those people have since passed on. My father, who's remained blessedly healthy, paid his respects to each one.

In response to my first fundraising email blast, one of my friends asked why they should give money to people who had actually survived. I began talking about some of the residual effects of treatment. “Why should they be depressed?” he said, laughing. “They made it!” It was a very honest reaction. I chuckled back. “Everyone’s experience is different,” I replied simply.

After registering at the Challenge’s headquarters at Greenfield Hill Congregational Church, I loitered briefly by the launch area. A record-breaking number of approximately 500 riders participated this year. It was quite a spectacle seeing the mass of cyclists together right before take-off. Emotion surged in my throat as I watched a young teenager take the podium. I was impressed by their ability to speak with such eloquence to an audience of adults, many of whom would rate public speaking a fear greater than dying. I smiled at the irony.

On the way to my aid station I noticed several signs bearing statistics: one in two men and one in three women will suffer cancer at some point during their lives. I also noticed a lot of inspirational signs (“Never Give Up!”). Handcrafted flags honored everyone from survivors to people battling the disease to those who had lost their fight. I sent a silent prayer to a relative currently battling the illness.

My aid station was on the sweeping grounds of one of the organization’s founding members: Jeff Keith, a survivor. We had plenty of supplies, from first aid kits to bags of ice; Poland Spring water; Gatorade; wheat bread; peanut butter; grape jelly; mixed nuts; M&Ms; pretzels; Fig Newtons; bananas and oranges. Several children joined in making PBJs; later they helped track the identification numbers of the 200 riders who stopped during their 25 and 50 mile treks. We kept busy the whole morning: slicing fruit, preparing fresh sandwiches, refilling snack bowls and beverage coolers. “Thank you for doing this,” we heard over and over. “Thank you for riding,” we responded, equally gracious. The morning was filled with this repetition: Thank you. No, thank you.

The riders remained amazing throughout. One cyclist arrived with a jersey matted with dirt and blood; he had wiped out on a sharp turn a few miles back. There were gashes on his shins and elbows. He refused any kind of treatment. “I only live a short distance from here,” he assured us. Another woman, however, got a deep cut on her calf she allowed me to provide ointment and bandages for. Another fatigued rider asked if we had salt pills (illegal to provide without medical authorization). He had to settle for pretzels and Gatorade. I laughed when another rider confessed he’d accidentally consumed a packet of “butt gel,” mistaking it for an electrolyte substance. I marveled when another man took off his helmet and sweat literally poured out like a flood.

I realized I enjoyed volunteering probably as much as I would riding. Next year's rider costs are expected to be lower. Most of the reason the cost has been so high is logistical. Only a limited number of cyclists can safely enjoy Greenfield Hills’ narrow roads at one time. Additionally, large numbers couldn’t be properly accommodated on headquarters’ modest grounds. Finally, massive amounts of participants could make overhead costs perilously steep.

Nevertheless, I'm looking forward to Connecticut Challenge becoming more inclusive to survivors and supporters of more modest economic means. I plan to beat the $100 I raised this year. Volunteerism can be habit-forming, and I can’t wait to do it again.

For more information about the Connecticut Challenge, visit http://www.ctchallenge.org.

A Writer's Workshop

A few months ago I joined a writers' group through Meetup.com specifically geared toward twenty-and-thirty somethings in my area. I've greatly enjoyed the camaraderie of a similar age group. Most importantly, however, I've savored the invaluable critiquing process. After a few meetings we switched from our original Starbucks location to my home. The comfortable environment seems to nurture our group's natural receptivity.

It seems a telling metaphor.

Last December I moved into my condo. After years of bouncing between apartments, even briefly returning to my parents' house, the move was very significant. At first I felt profound anxiety; the growing pains of crossing the threshold into the unknown. It seems whenever we take a major step forward, our past regrets and unresolved dissapointments can threaten to hinder our progress.

Fortunately, as the months have passed, I've grown increasingly settled in my new place. It seems with every new piece of furniture, every piece of artwork, every kitchen item I've slowly acquired, a piece of myself has returned, too. My fellow writers have become part of that.

During our first meet-up I was concerned I might not "fit in" with my marbled black-and-white notebook. I wasn't sure if most people would bring laptops or something different. It turned out everyone had notebooks. One had their trusty laptop, too. I marveled at the idea of Writer As Specimen. Look, there's another one!

Last week my friend asked how the meet-ups were going. When I told him how much inspiration and challenge they provided, he said, "Wait, are you doing this for real? Or just for fun?" While writing is often fun, it is something I am compelled to do as others are compelled to paint, sing, dance, act or teach. It is in many ways a calling. While that calling is ultimately rewarding, it is often frustrating along the way. I told my friend I was serious about getting my fiction published. While my journalism background has strengthened my skills, it is a far different animal from creative writing. It lacks the latter's intensely personal core.

Recently a coworker said, "If you like writing so much, why don't you do it fulltime?" I explained I'd made $25,000 a year as an editor of a small newspaper. I had to switch jobs into another industry to earn a viable living. While I've continued to freelance, I never would have been able to independently purchase a condo as a writer for several more years.

It took a long time to assauge the guilt I had for not striving to see my name on the masthead of an internationally renowned newspaper. But I have never been passionate about the media in the way I am about the written word purely as art. I also view writing as communication, of course, but while reporters see writing as truth by way of facts, I see writing as truth by way of heart.

My writers' workshop may well be a workshop for the soul, too. One of our members left law school to become a teacher and writer. Isn't it exciting when we divert the path we're on, even a seemingly prestigious one, to pursue what we really want? Until we reclaim our hearts, we're not quite living our lives fully awakened.

Short Story Contest

Entries for Good Housekeeping's Short Story Contest should be submitted by September 15, 2009. Stories should focus on womens' lives today and not exceed 3,500 words. They must not be previously published (which, I assume, includes blog forums like PNN, online journal or magazines). They must not be entered into other contests. They must be original works of fiction.

Find out all the details here.

Good Luck! :)

A Life Of Green Eggs and Ham...

Google the words "farming therapy" and you'll score dozens of hits, from tales of urban escape to therapy farms providing comfort to emotionally or physically challenged children and adults. Growing up with chickens (and later ducks and geese), I can attest to the peace that can be found in the quiet rhythms of agricultural life.

Though neither of my parents grew up on farms, both were always drawn to the country lifestyle. I still remember the day my father and I drove to Benedict Agway to buy our first two Rhode Island Red hens, Mindy and Cindy. (Their names were inspired by my then-favorite show, Mork & Mindy, on Nick at Nite) . Mindy and Cindy quickly became full-fledged pets. They spent a lot of time poking around the deck that summer, pecking up everything from potato salad to birthday cake. (Ironically a favorite food was chicken).

As the years passed our brood grew to three dozen. Each winter we eagerly anticipated the new catalog from Iowa-based Murray McMurray Hatchery, one of the country's largest carriers of mainstream and exotic breeds. The chicks always arrived at the post office in the early morning, a bustling, peeping mass in a well-ventilated cardboard box.

Raising chickens seems to strike a lot of people as a charming oddity. I guess the moment fruit began defining technology (from Apples to Blackberries) a once-indigenous part of society officially became alien. I'm often asked what it's like to raise them. Chickens are relatively easy to care for, requiring only feed, water and a secure area to lay their eggs and roost. Their personalities are as varied as their many breeds.

While our modern lives are "easier" in convenience, they aren't always better in quality. Private farming can be an effective way to ease life's frenetic pace. Spending time with my family's birds keeps me in the moment.

Hobby farming is also a great way to connect with people. I love giving my friends and coworkers fresh eggs, including green and blue ones. They're produced by the Araucana , or "Easter Egg" chicken, native to South America. (It's the perfect icebreaker at a party: "Hey, did you know you can really have your green eggs and ham?")

Seriously, however, raising chickens is part of the simplicity I need in a world in which Paris Hilton has come to define The Simple Life. I'm intrigued by therapy farms using animals to lend comfort and strength. My goal is to have my own farm to share someday. Who knows what it could become? ;)

Supporting Cancer Survivors

This past May I registered to volunteer for the 2009 Connecticut Challenge, a bike ride benefiting cancer survivors. I love Connecticut Challenge because of its focus on survival. Proceeds will benefit the Yale New Haven Hospital Cancer Survivorship Center.

As we continue to implement increasingly effective cancer treatments, the medical and psychological impact of chemotherapy and radiation remain significant. Debilitating side effects can range from premature menopause to greater susceptibility to heart disease and even new cancers. It is imperative for survivors to continue routine medical check ups to keep strong. This is what survivorship, a medical specialty focusing on post-cancer treatment, is all about. With this spirit, I know we will eventually find a cure…perhaps even in our lifetime!

So please take a moment to remember the many lives affected by cancer every day. Donations of any size would be appreciated. Remember, each dollar counts.

Please feel free to visit  my page  to learn more.

Thanks so much!

~Larissa :)