Full Moon Rant

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Sandi LoConti

“The moon was reigning over their world, glowing its full splendor to all those willing to look up.” ― Irina Serban

I seem to be living on the corner of “What do you think?” and “What do you want to hear?” It’s a pretty damn busy street when venting and excuses make their way into the same conversation over and over and over again and you no longer know how to respond. Should you ask, are you venting or do you want me to respond? Or should you just assume the person is venting and shut your mouth, wait for the what do you think at the big exhale or the end of the email that says, “Your thoughts?” So do you want my thoughts or is that just a way of getting me to bite. Because I’ll bite…

God knows I can spew off a good rant given the right circumstances and most people find it amusing but they know when I get to the end of it it’s over, it’s out of my system and I can move along to the things that give me strength, balance, and dare I say it, joy. But there are others who can spew the same rant over and over and over, are you sensing a theme here? What’s the sense of ranting, venting, bitching, whatever your favorite term for it, if it brings you no relief. If you don’t come to any conclusions at the end of it, if you don’t see a plan or even an inkling of a plan what good is going over it again. If you’re going to get something out of your system then get it the hell out. My guess is if you’re living the definition of insanity then you’re not really venting but asking for an opinion. Or another opinion since you’ve probably been given opinions (your thoughts?) before. Or you like the sound of your own voice lamenting your situation. Or you’re making excuses that are probably fueled by fear the destroyer of all things creative and confidence driven.

I especially love the part that says I don’t understand. Ok, maybe I don’t but it’s not like I’ve been living alongside the enchanted forest for my whole life. Most of my life I was stuck in a job that was extremely high stress, mostly brought on by my setting martyr precedence I later realized I didn’t want to live with at the same time himself was losing
his mind and collecting ATM receipts for 200.00 at a time on a daily basis. Yeah I think I know a thing or two about high level stress and what we do to ourselves under the guise of fear and the unknown. So stamp your feet if you want… all you want, but know that you have to actually do something to make it stop.

I know I’m that person that wants to fix everything and everybody and it takes an enormous amount of effort for me to hold back so forgive me that and just say it out loud: I’m venting, you just need to listen. I’m good with that it helps me. But don’t tell me your just venting and then set an expectation to it, I get confused. You can’t have it both ways…you can’t live on the corner of “I’m going to piss and moan again about the same thing” and “Oh yeah I’m not going to do anything about it and get mad at you when you remind me of a few things I might try (again)” What????

So for all you little darlings (and you do know who you all are) that had varying degrees of shit fits this week I’m blaming it on the moon. It’s full and it seems to me it’s getting fuller all the time and hardly waning…ever. I’m begging you to make up your mind. You’ve put me in that position of wise woman and then you slap me for pointing out the obvious, really? I’m breaking my own precedent, I no long want to live in a perpetual full moon, I am not that wise woman I am simply going to follow your lead. I know like I know that the only corner I want to live on is Stowe Lane and Enchanted Forest. Whew, I feel much better.

Time Passages

Posted on March 9, 2014 by Sandi LoConti

“I avoid looking at the clock, fearing the slow passing of time that will only seem slower if I watch its progress.” Michelle Zink

Except for today, of course. I know you think this is going to be my annual “I want my hour back” rant but not so much this year. I have to say there were a few very profound happenings this week that seemed to wake (yeah I know) my ass up.

First and foremost my dear friend Paul sent a wonderful email (after attending a school presentation by his daughter Greta) entitled The Secret of Time:

Today the 4^th grade classes at Race Brook School presented their research and enactments of famous people in history. Our Greta was Betsy Ross, and aside from the great job she did on her research and memorizing her speech, she personified the most famous flag maker from Philadelphia perfectly. She even answered questions about Betsy in first person, and was very proud by how impressed everyone was with the flag that she had sewn on her very own “real” sewing machine that she got for Christmas.

Most of all she tested Dad’s ability to keep smiling and not succumb to the urge to burst into tears. There’s a very fine line between being happy to be alive, and becoming overwhelmed by the realization of riches that have been bestowed upon us, and just how precious each day is.

Now the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time. James Taylor

Somehow Paul always has something happening with his family in March. It’s a time I walk softly and carefully and sensitively lest I fall on my knees from missing my Father. He’s gone nine years already. Already? See what I mean about the passage of time. Anyway, each March my friend Paul elaborates on something that he is doing to cement his legacy to his family. More so, I see him creating “father’s daughters” and I couldn’t be happier. For them and for him. It gives me strength to watch a Father bring everlasting memories to the children in his life. I remain in awe of him. And I appreciate his sharing me right through the end of March.

To add to the family theme I was honored to attend my dear friend Cookie’s grandchild’s baby shower. Baby Cook. So, of course, I did what I do in all matters Cookie, I hid behind the camera for fear of becoming a whimpering nut to capture the day and regret that he was not a physical part of it. It was beautiful, she is beautiful, they will carry on the family name in some way (the baby’s sex is a surprise!) with notions of Cookie in the back of their minds. This is the most validating indication of the passage of time, it’s natural and beautiful and fulfilling for legacies both past and present.

Later Muriel and I actually howled telling stories of when they were all kids and how her Father’s memory lives on and on and on. Ironically it was a story of a family tree. Truth, my friends, remains stranger (and a helluva lot funnier) than fiction.

So this morning I awoke missing an hour. I walked the girls, made my coffee and treated myself kindly. I didn’t piss and moan once about losing my hour. Nicely my sister (who has lived with the rant far longer than anyone) brought me a wonderful gift of lox for my Sunday bagel and it was a delicious treat. I’ll never get this particular hour back, but I must say after this very long, very cold, very snowy winter I am thrilled to be writing this with sun still shining and Spring on the way.

No, I won’t get this hour back but I will get an hour back. What a gift to look forward to:

Time does not pass, it continues” Marty Rubin

Five Hours Later…

Posted on March 2, 2014 by Sandi LoConti

Hospitality is about…the energy to give the time necessary to add a flourish to the ordinary events of life…Dorothy Kelley Patterson

I am so blessed to have friends scattered throughout my “territory”. Whenever I travel for business there is no better way to shake off the day than to be welcomed home to somewhere where a friend lives. It starts with the smell of something amazing on the stove, a hug, an “I love you”, a glass of wine and a seat at the table.

When the catching up begins all the usual conversation ensues, the talk of work, their former work, the talk of fond memories of former colleagues, of grudges still held, the usual gossip and the grapevine’s latest rumors. All of which are just a prelude to the amazing thing on the stove finally coming to the table.

My friend George is becoming quite the chef, not cook, chef. He is developing a honed love of the process, the curiosity and palate required to cook with abandon. He hasn’t moved off the recipe book yet but he is ever so close. I’m pretty sure his specialty will become comfort food. He speaks those words as if they were a gift to him from above. From what I can see, smell and taste he is but a moment away from being a dedicated resource for my future questions on the matter.

The menu was simple on the surface, braised beef short ribs, creamy mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans. Beneath the surface was the complexity of seasoning, the brown of the fond and the hours required to bring perfection. It was an amazing meal which led us on to the subject of our favorite meal ever. You won’t be surprised to know that I have a list…just sayin.

My favorite meal ever was a fresh pork roast, butchered that morning on a farm in Ohio. I was the guest of a business client I was visiting several decades ago, their kindness in my being far from home wasn’t just touching but so genuine. I truly believe they had a part in developing my joy and willingness to open my home and cook for anyone who walks in the door.

The pork roast was accompanied by roasted carrots and potatoes pulled from the ground that same morning and cooked in the roasting pan with the pork. That’s it. I could not stop eating. It was the most delicious meal I have ever had to this day and I’m sure they are still talking about the city girl that acted as if she had never eaten before. At that moment I realized I really hadn’t ever eaten before, certainly not food like that.

As my friends shared their favorite meals I came to realize it isn’t just about the food. Each of our stories had a story. The meals were delicious certainly but it also had much to do with the company, the circumstances, the locations, the feelings that went along with the meal like a very special sauce. I’m sure if anyone of us had the opportunity to smell that meal again we would be flooded with the nostalgia of those moments, not just that meal itself.

And so I’m adding George’s now famous beef short ribs, mashed potatoes and green beans, served with a wonderful Malbec (similar to the one used in the sauce) to my list of favorite meals. In addition to the wonderful comfort it brought it was shared with friends I love, in a warm and eclectic home that has been collected over time, at what I hope is the end of an extremely long and very frigid winter.

“Ponder well on this point: the pleasant hours of our life are all connected by a more or less tangible link, with some memory of the table.” Charles Pierre Monselet

Bits of Legacy

Posted on February 23, 2014 by Sandi LoConti

Somehow I don’t think people understand that legacy is all the little bits they leave behind. I’m becoming more and more aware of what I’m leaving behind but this week I had a few wonderful moments of other people leaving parts of themselves behind.

My local dry cleaner is a funny, warm, interesting man. We have the most thought-provoking and animated conversation each time I come in. Frankly it’s the only reason why I come in as he doesn’t accept credit/debit cards. It’s all cash or check and it is the single only check I write anymore. One thing led to another during our weekly conversation and he was duly impressed that I write a blog. We talk nostalgia, we talk NPR, we talk crazy people and he was excited when he found out he might find a bit of all that on Ordinary Legacy. He was supportive before even reading a single line. What a credit to his warmth and personality.

Then there is “the guy”. We have a help desk for all our IT issues/problems/questions but…they aren’t really much help. Mostly no fault of their own as they aren’t authorized to do many many many functions. Greater minds than mine have figured out that this is an efficient way to operate (she said tongue firmly implanted in cheek). I’m a pretty self-sufficient computer user but every once in a while I come across something that is unnerving/puzzling/aggravating/ always when working remotely. It’s beyond my scope of knowledge and it would require the help desk but I’ve got “a guy”. I’m not really sure how I found myself on the other end of a “call me directly anytime” invitation but I am so grateful I did. I don’t take advantage and I try to exhaust most avenues before I instant message him with a help me Obi Wan but there are times when I’m in WTF mode and he is always helpful. I adore him and I tell him so. The thing is if he stood in front of me I wouldn’t even know it. He is patient and reminds me without making me feel like the dinosaur I am that he needs to be invited into my computer to fix it. No snappy remarks when I say….remind me again. What a gem, a gentleman and a true help. He can’t begin to know the value in that and I truly do adore him. Being a helpful individual leaves behind huge bits of legacy.

I had a young couple to dinner on Friday night. He is dear to me but I was meeting her for the first time. Oh how I love meeting old friends for the first time, some people are just destined to be in your life and leave behind grace, wisdom beyond their years and pragmatism. What an enjoyable evening filled with talk and laughter and eating and on and on. What they left behind for me was the gift of their youth and the prospect of watching them grow together.

Not a bad week all in all, filled with gifts from people who have no idea that they are spreading bits of themselves with legacy written all over them. If only they knew that these little bits could be harnessed and expanded and could cement their legacy to so many. The thing is do they have to know or is it better to just be who they are? I know like I know that time will tell, it always does.

Snow

Posted on February 16, 2014 by Sandi LoConti

The snow doesn’t give a soft white damn whom it touches….E.E. Cummings

How soon we forget. It’s winter. I have heard more bitching and moaning about the snow this week than I have in quite some time. Mostly from people snug in their homes with laptops and fireplaces and fresh brewed coffee and their kids. From retirees that can’t stand another minute…what is so urgent that the snow is cramping your style? Just curious. And from my mother who refuses to even look out the window at it all the while watching the 24/7 coverage of it on the news and grabbing her rosary for anyone stuck or stranded or who’s house lost power. God love her if she lets her guard down for just one minute the world would….who knows.

It’s true, snow doesn’t give a soft white damn but have we really lost track of the soft white part? You know the beauty, the fury, the magnificence of all that snow? Have we lost track of the nostalgia? There was NO SUCH THING as pre-announcement school closing when I was a kid (God how I hate typing that). My dentist and I had this discussion on Thursday, when he confirmed my tooth was indeed fine, that we waited with anticipation for the siren to go off at 6:30am when school was closed. As I may have written before, pandemonium in feety pajamas broke loose in my house.

My father couldn’t stay home because he had that kind of boss but he knew how to drive in snow and taught us how to drive in snow. His big problem became all the people out and about getting in his way. Same problem the plow drivers have when someone is valiantly trying to make it to work in the office. The office, not the hospital right, the office. We never had the luxury of having him home on a snow day but now fathers are bundling up the kids and going out to play. That is an awesome part of snow.

I’m blessed to have my Stowe Lane family coming to my rescue. Best sight ever was Muriel showing up for “payment” after cleaning off the 12” of snow from my car we got in the first round. I didn’t even know they were out there and I certainly had no intention of going out until the “email” came. One bottle of wine, two cans of Coke, a quart of sauce and half a loaf of bread (ready for the oven) later my debt was paid. Love those two.

Don’t think I’m not guilty of becoming that person. You know the one. We get the “email” from our property manager pronouncing us all get out and clean off our cars as soon as possible so the snow removal people can clean up the parking lot. She gave the usual dos and don’ts but the gist was getting your ass out there ASAP. We’re a pretty good group, all of us bursting out the door like something out of Dr. Seuss with our brooms and brushes and shovels and scrapers. Dressed in our layers and big boots and funny hats and mittens. We’re quite the sight on Stowe Lane. So we’re all done and moved over to the already clear spots from the morning and we wait and we wait and we wait and now people are starting to come back home. The next email goes something like; yesterday we got 18” of snow, then rain, then more snow. Ok, we’re listening. And the guys are concentrating on the streets.

No they’re not. The guys haven’t been seen since early in the morning. The guys are still at the beginning of the complex because they didn’t believe the weather forecast and are trying to use their existing equipment and manpower to clean up the after effects of a blizzard. Really? They shovel a shovel-width path all around the complex completely ignoring the handicapped spots (not that anyone living on the second floor is really handicapped but I digress) then they bring one snow blower, one. OK, don’t give me that line about how over worked they are and their concentration on the streets when you should be asking where the rest of their equipment and manpower was. Yes I did send her pictures; yes I did mention that at least some of my maintenance money should go to the residents who were cleaning out the handicapped spots. And YES the bobcats and plowman and backhoes did show up 15 minutes later. Oh my God I have become that person…

Meanwhile by Saturday my sister was calling it “day three of the hostage crisis”. Granted she might have done something to her back (not shoveling as she has an angel of an upstairs neighbor for that) but she was also enjoying a good book, getting back to cooking albeit Sandra Lee style as she calls it, and the very genuine phone calls from work wanting to know how she’s doing.

While I was cleaning up and digging around my car on “email” day I had an interesting conversation with GI Joe (he’s a former marine with a story). By interesting I mean more than the usual pleasantries, I try to duck him since I found out he went to Brockport with my ex brother in law. While he’s moaning about the snow I remind him that Rochester might have been a little worse than this and he’s a former Marine made of tougher stock than most. It dawns on him I might have something and switches to telling me about the steak he barbecued last night. Seemed a bit serendipitous as his wife is usually very meek, let’s say. I smelled that steak cooking when I took the girls out. It was a pleasant surprise in the middle of winter and it smelled damn good and I told him so. I asked if he and his wife enjoyed their dinner….well um she is taking care of her sister who broke her wrist….I know like I know this was his version of pandemonium in feety pajamas.

For me, being socked in on Stowe Lane is priceless, I work, I read, I cook, I enjoy the beauty out in the enchanted forest and my neighbors and going to bed early and a good bottle of wine and the quiet of the neighborhood when I poke my head out before anyone else. I love what my camera sees and I love having the uninterrupted time for just a bit of nostalgia. Still I too am longing for spring:

“The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.” ~ E.E. Cummings

Can’t wait to bitch about that when it gets here in thirty one days.

Ordinary Legacy

Preserving moments in time through thoughtful words and images.

Category Archives: Pause Points

Full Moon Rant

Time Passages

Five Hours Later…

Bits of Legacy

Snow

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