Do you have a stuffed Yeti from Disneyworld?  Perhaps you visited Scotland when you were a kid and brought home a Nessie Doll.  Ever thought of opening your own museum with the copy of Harry and the Henderson’s you’ve tried to sell on Ebay, but no one wanted to buy?  Well after this weekend I realized you can make a museum out of anything, and people will travel for it.  My brother, two nephews under the age of eight, and I drove an hour from their home in New Hampshire to Portland, Maine to see the newly opened International Cryptozoology Museum.  It is the ONLY International Cryptozoology museum in the world!

Loren Coleman, curator, director, founder, and owner of the museum spent half his retirement fund to open the museum in the storage room of a book store in the art distract of Portland.  http://www.cryptozoologymuseum.com/ Both my brothers grew up loving comic books, characters that you wish were real, such as Moth Man, Big Foot, King Kong, and The Great Yeti.  I never understood why my thirty-eight year old brother loved toys as much as, if not more than, his two young sons.  The difference is my brother has kept a lot of his treasures unopened in boxes in the attic of his home.

We were on an adventure to see Big Foot, and the jackalope, and the four of us were excited as we sang along to The Nightmare Before Christmas soundtrack in the car.  Or rather O sang, T mouthed along, my brother drove, and I just laughed.  I have to admit I was excited to see a whole museum devoted to these mythical creatures, plus Cryptozoology is a fun word to say.  Cryptozoology.  Just say it once out loud, Cryptozoology. See, isn’t that fun?

To make what could be a long story short, after a fun meal at Becky’s diner, we arrived to a giant statue of Big Foot greeting us at the front of the bookstore.  Big Foot was cool, and I would like to think that if real, BF is a friendly creature that is just misunderstood.  It was a promising introduction to what proved to be an awkward museum experience.  We walked past the bookstore cashiers to the back store-room where Loren happily greeted us, and took our $5 per person.  As we entered he explained the museum setup.  Smaller than my kitchen, it was hard to move with other onlookers observing the Cryptozoology setup.

On one wall over twenty stuffed Yetis smiled at me.  A small sign said, “Yeti’s are not White.”  On another wall mugs, t-shirts, and stuffed animals devoted to the Loch Ness Monster represented Loren’s trek to Scotland.  Very similar to the mug I had brought back from Scotland in 2001.  He had King Kong statues, skulls, taxidermy, and other random toys devoted to some of the most famous Crypto Creatures.

We lasted about five minutes in the museum, spending much more time in the Comic Book shop across the street.  On the ride back home we all agreed that my brother had a similar, if not more extensive collection in his attic.  So the Witting Museum was born that November day on Epping Road in the attic.

The Witting Museum is a steal.  It costs only .25 per minute, and it’s hands on.  The tour is given by The Bug, and O, and they will time your visit, and proudly collect your money at the end.  You must pay in quarters.  The Witting Museum also has an interactive Genie Head that will tell your fortune if you put your head up against it as demonstrated in the below picture.You can meet State of Maine, the rare black bear found only in the woods of Maine, and you receive a custume made t-shirt by the in-house Witting Museum artist.  I spent twelve minutes in The Witting Museum that was calculated on a kitchen timer by my four year old nephew.  I was also allowed to take as much flash photography as I would like.  Truly a wonderful experience.

Later that evening we decided to go on our own expedition, and traveled the streets of Exeter, flashlights in hand, searching for Moth Man.  We think we might have spotted him down by the natural spring, but once you flash your light on Moth Man, he disappears.

Cryptozoology is now one of my new favorite words, and I wish Loren nothing but success with his Portland Museum.  Perhaps on the next visit to The International Cryptozoology Museum, we will see something on loan from The Witting Museum’s permanent collection.  Have a wonderful day.

 

Amy

 

 

Books like “The Secret”, “The Artist Way”,  and “Vein of Gold”, teach you to really visualize your dreams.  If you put the image in your head you will accomplish your dreams.  I did put the image in my head of getting laid off of my day job, and although it took three long years for the Universe to provide (the first two years at the job were decent) I have my wish.  Although I’m not sure if laying in bed with my PJs on at noon, granted I have a bit of a head cold, is really what I was aiming for, but I got my wish.  I also have image files, pictures of the man of my dreams on my kitchen wall, but that too has taken a long time to Manifest.  The one dream I really wanted to work on was my dream of being a MILLIONAIRE!  What is the quickest easiest way in the city to become a Millionaire?  Try out for the show.

I invited my parents to come up for the show, thinking my Dad was going to ace the test, and I would get 10% of all his winnings.  I had put this thought in my head, and was excited when I met my parents at ABC studios early last Thursday morning.  We weren’t sure how the day was going to go, but discovered that many people in the line had been repeat offenders, serious audience members.  We had to fill out a questionnaire in which my mother proclaimed that her favorite hobby was, eating!  I thought she was a shoe in.  If they were going to go on personality alone clearly they would take my mother.  If they needed the brain power, my dad would definitely make it into the hot seat.  I on the other hand didn’t think I had a chance next to my new friend on-line, The Hat Lady.

“The Hat Lady” was there to win, and it was clear she had been through this all before.  She was dressed all in black, with a beret of sorts, sitting askew on her head.  She was with her sister, and proclaimed “we’re going to make it this time.”  She didn’t crack a smile, staying focused on all the random factoids that were swimming in her head.  I watched The Hat Lady as the line moved from outside to inside.  She was a pro, but when they were seating us in the audience I lost her.

We settled into our seats for a three-hour studio adventure. At first we were given a test which was much harder than the questions asked on the show.  How many one-syllable European Countries?  Anyone?  Something about Kanye West, but Taylor Swift was not an answer.  The questions I didn’t know, I was sure my dad knew.  I felt confidant that one of the Witting’s was going to make it on to the hot seat.  My nickname is “Award-Winning Writing Witting” after all.  But I have always frozen at tests that involve a number two pencil, and scantron.  I knew my name wasn’t going to be called because I was bad at taking tests, not because I didn’t know the answers.

So the taping started, and we were surrounded by personalities.  A large woman in front of us kept mooning us without her knowledge throughout the whole taping.  One of the contestants had a horrible toupee, which caused our entire row to erupt into uncontrollable laughter.  Stomachs started growling, and my mother got very excited when she saw PA’s coming out with a treat for us at half time.  Her new friend, Roy, who was about three hundred pounds kept guessing what could be in the little tub they were passing around.  I think they were hoping for a large turkey sandwich with mayo dripping from the sides, which I wouldn’t have minded myself, but instead one tiny piece of hard candy per person was handed out.  My mother and her friend Roy were furious, but The Hat Lady wasn’t.  I finally had found The Hat Lady, and her sister across the studio.  The Hat Lady was prepared with a snack of what seemed like nuts, and string cheese.  She must have been on the South Beach Diet.  But she sat eating her little snack with a smirk on her face.

How many times could she have possibly tried out for the show?  The Warm-Up guy knew them by face, and the sister apologized for not going to the Warm-Up guys comedy show.  It was creepy, but they were stalkers of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire!”  Yes, I wanted to be a Millionaire, but not so badly that I would show up everyday to the show, trying desperately to get on.  I wondered if she wore the same black outfit every time.

The show was fun, my parents seemed to have had a blast, and at the end when they were calling the handful of audience members who passed the test, I kept visualizing my dad in the hot seat.  That will make it true according to “The Secret”, but our names were never called, but of course “The Hat Lady” was called.  She didn’t even show one ounce of emotion when they called her name due to the factoids that were taking over her brain.  I wish I wrote down her name, so I could look out for her on the show.  I have a feeling one day she will make it to the hot seat, and one day I will become a Millionaire.  The only difference is I will do it through my witty charm, and hard work.  I wish The Hat Lady, nothing but luck.
I hope you all have a wonderful day!

 

Amy

 

 

 

 

Life happens.  It happens to the best of us.  Some of us go through it, some go around, but we all manage to find a way to live together.  People are important during different phases of life, but when faced to meet again, it’s comforting to know that we can all take advice from the Sea Cows.  We can all enjoy the stillness of the moment eating vegetation, and coming up only when air is necessary.  I’m a day late with this post due to being outside of reality in ninety degree heat at Kristin and Philip’s wedding.  Racing on waterslides, drinking pina coladias, dancing in unexpected brief rainshowers.  A wedding weekend that not only showed me how far I’ve come in life, and how happy I am with where I am at this moment, but also how Kristin and Philip have never left my side for a moment.

Right now I’m transitioning from career woman to full-time artist.  Some people have looked down on this transition, mainly “the lobster”, but I am throwing myself into it, whatever IT is.  I’m trying not to question, and I’m just doing.  But in the almost five months I’ve been unemployed I haven’t stopped running.  I always feel the need to go somewhere, do something, keep writing, keep creating or the well will dry up, but sometimes it’s good to remember to live like a Manatee for a moment.

On Captiva Island Florida, where I spent the last four days, a family of Manatee’s floated around observing.  I had just settled into the resort, and was walking with an old-new-again friend Sean, and I heard a crazy noise.  (Which I also want to point out that the lady on Central Park West had a debate with me today on the meaning of crazy.  The interesting thing was everything she was saying directly related to her.  Now that’s crazy. )  Back to the floating descendants of the Elephant.  In the water this massive animal poked his head out of the harbor, and I was convinced it wasn’t real.  Sean kept walking, but I kept loudly pointing at the creature in the water.  What could it be?  Did the resort have animatronics just for the wedding guests?  My over active imagination is sometimes too much for some, but luckily Sean remembered my craziness from college and laughed along.  I came to know the Manatee’s that swam outside our villa, and felt I needed to remember to sometimes move like a Manatee.

The whole weekend at the resort we all moved like Manatee’s.  Floating in the beach side pool, laying on chairs welcoming the sun on our skin, and excerting the smallest amount of energy having waterslide races.  Kristin was full of joy that all of her friends were together in one place for a weekend, and I welcomed the restful moments of just being.

So a note to myself, and a note to all my faithful readers:  When life becomes so hectic you’re not sure what day it is, take a moment to Live Like a Manatee.  Even if it’s for the smallest amount of time, it will remind you that we are all in this together.
Back on track next Tuesday!  Have a wonderful day!

Amy

I was set to write about my lovely solo trip to the Bronx Zoo last week, where I experienced the perfect fall day.  I sat and watched people watching animals watching people.  The season of Fall was really resonating with me.  Change was in the air, the leaves gave me universal proof, and I was ready to take on the world!  I took notes, sat on many benches, and was blissful, even ending the day flirting with the Mister Softee Man.  Blissful I tell you, but today not so much.  So therefore I can not imagine accurately conveying the essence of that blissful day.  Instead I will let that day simmer in my memory bank, and write about today.  This moment.

Today I got into an argument with a woman who was born into a “higher station” while concurrently  working on a scene by Schiller where I play a poor fiddlers daughter, and have a confrontation with a woman of a much higher station. The lines have crossed, but I did not realize this at the start of my day.  My real life nemesis is a frail woman who  lives alone in a fancy “Central Park West” apartment, as I live happily in my humble one bedroom Long Island City abode.  She reads books on etiquette, I read books on Astrology.  She eats only organic foods from a local farm share, I eat peanut butter with a spoon straight from the jar.

This woman has the ability to help my career, and yet I can find myself only wanting to throw things at her when I’m in her presence.  And I’m not talking pillows and bunnies.  I want to throw sharp things. Knives, forks, plates, and the millions of books she recites from as I watch her pace in her classic eight apartment.  For the most part I am a positive, happy person, but when forced to be ms. happy hen, my anger just bubbles up inside.  While in her presence I keep it locked inside, until I’m thrown back on the streets of Manhattan, and feel like I’ve inherited a bit of the crazy by osmosis.

I leave my reality of feeling like this woman gets off on making me feel like I am less than she is, and hop on a bus uptown to meet my scene partner.  I’ve already been up since 7am, after a sleepless night dreaming of rats eating my toes, took care of a young child, broken my umbrella, stepped in a puddle up to my knee, and had a run in with the above mentioned woman.  My head is pounding from caffeine withdrawal so I decide to focus on my breathing.  I know that my fellow bus passengers are looking at me funny, but this is my world too, I can do as I please.  Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.  Yes, I am struggling a bit right now, but for the most part I have been happy.  I’m trying desperately to change around my mood.  I have control over my thoughts, but unfortunately the weather is making it difficult to concentrate.  It’s allowing me to seep further into a mood.

Dripping wet, cold, but sweaty, I arrive at what I think is my next destination, my friend Salome’s apartment.  I have been up to Sal’s apartment many times before, but never by bus.  The bus unloads me at the side of the street, and my normal keen sense of direction has no idea where it has landed.  Am I even in Manhattan anymore?  I am the Dorothy of the city, except switching out ruby red slippers, for green Wellington boots.  I let our a big sigh.  In front of me is the following scene:

At first I feel as if I have been transported to another land.  Why have I never seen this park before?  It’s always been just at the end of my dear friends block, but I’ve never walked out of my way to see the beautiful waterfall.  In the distance is St. John the Divine’s Church on the hill.  There are a row of benches, and I decide to pause.  I needed to pause.

All of the darkness that felt like a barbel resting on my shoulders didn’t matter as I sat on a bench.  I know that New York City is my home.  I love the surprises it hands me everyday at every turn.  Sometimes the day is hard to get through, but as I pay more attention the city hands me tiny rewards.  Like this waterfall, and a friend ready to take me into a realm of fantasy, a scene in a play where I’m allowed to be proud for my “lowly station!”  I am proud of where I have come from, and although the road I’m on right now is not the clearest road, it’s the right one.

After rehearsal I came home and started this blog, but my eyes couldn’t stay open and I decided to take a power nap.  I hardly allow myself to rest in the middle of the day, but I needed to recharge, and I woke up with resistance of leaving the house again to meet my writers group.  I reluctantly put my Wellington’s back on, took out a new umbrella, and made it to Chelsea just in time for the start of what proved to be a very inspiring writers circle.

So to all my faithful readers, just remember to slow down every once in a while.  A brief moment sitting on a bench can surprise you.  AND, always carry a camera:)

Gnight

Monday’s are professional artist’s Sunday’s in NYC.  Broadway, for the most part, is dark, and finding an open Museum is a difficult task.  I first encountered this problem in August when my sister-in-law and I had planned a Monday day trip to the Bronx Botanical Gardens, closed.  Back up plan, Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, also closed.  In fact every cultural activity I came up with was closed due to Artists rest.  Even dead artists need the day off it seemed.  We ended up enjoying a walk in Central Park, but when my dad (aka POP) called to say he was coming into the city on Monday, I was prepared.  I did my research.

The options for a Museum Outing in NYC on a Monday are as follows:

American Museum of Natural History (http://www.amnh.org/),  Cooper-Hewitt, National Design Museum (http://cooperhewitt.org/)  The Jewish Museum (http://www.thejewishmuseum.org/index.php) , MoMA (http://moma.org/),  National Musuem of the American Indian (http://www.nmai.si.edu/),  Neue Galerie (http://www.neuegalerie.org/), The Guggenheim (http://www.guggenheim.org/new-york),  South Street Seaport Museum (http://www.southstreetseaportmuseum.org/), Tenement Museum (http://www.tenement.org/)

Since I had a dessert date at Serendipity on 60th street in the late afternoon we settled on the MoMA.  The Museum of Modern Art.  Six floors of art, permanently on display, and exhibits of the rotating kind.  I have a controversial relationship with modern art.  Sometimes, I just don’t like it.  For example, on floor three there was a chair on display, a wooden school chair that looked like it could fit nicely around my kitchen table, and the description to the side simply said, CHAIR.  I stood for a few minutes trying to discover what made this Chair so worthy to be exhibited at the MoMA.  I examined it from all angels only to be disappointed with the Curator’s decision to place duct tape around the Chair.  I wanted to touch it, sit in it, and see if it turned into something magical.  But to me, sadly, it was just a chair.

Two years ago when my old office was being renovated our boss asked our opinion on the potential art for the walls.  I was out numbered by Rothko fans.  The two red painted boxes of an imitation Rothko loomed just to the left of my everyday sight line.  To me the painting was of red boxes, but to my dear friend and x-co-worker, KFitz, the boxes were an expression of emotion, a clear burst of energy.  I didn’t buy it.

Face to face in a room full of original work by Rothko I tried to connect with him, but I wasn’t moved.  I wanted to be moved, I tried to be moved, but the only thing I could do was move away.  Pop agreed with me that he wasn’t a fan of the solid color modern art trend. We were both captured by the multiple periods of Picaso’s work they had on display.  I also learned that Mr. Picaso has one of the longest given names of anyone I’ve enountered. Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno María de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso.

There were many moments in the Museum where I was motionless due to the painting inviting me in for a dance.  I found myself surprisingly lingering at multiple Jackson Pollacks, and finding a soothing warmth in the room filled with Monet’s waterlilies.  As I explained this to KFitz on the phone tonight, she said back in her loving matter of fact manner, “you like impressionism.”

I started to think about the paintings that have stuck with me from all the wonderful museums I’ve been lucky enough to visit, and it’s true, I like impressionism, and abstract impressionism.  I was happy to discover that I had a taste in art!

They day with POP was spent with wonderful conversation, magnificent art, and a comfortable silence as father and daughter explored individual emotions together.

Today starts the weekly Blog series.  This is my first entry of many more.  I’m hoping in the next Blog to explore the Bronx Zoo.  Enjoy your day.

gnight

Amy

Even without a day job Sunday nights are still special.  Yes, I realize the title of my BLOG is Everyday is Like Sunday, but when the actual day is Sunday there is something soothing about it.  It’s the only day where I feel I can dictate what I want to do.  I can sleep in, or stay up all night, or watch bad movies all day.  I can do whatever I want with Sunday.  The day was created for me, and you for that matter.

I need to take this moment to make a Blog vow, and I hope my faithful readers will take it with me.  I have created a goal. My goal is to turn this BLOG into a weekly accomplishment.  Every TUESDAY I will post a new entertaining story about my unemployed life.  I’m going to get back on track with the benches.  This will create multiple things in my life.  Every Tuesday I will have my own Artist Date, and every Tuesday I will have a date with my computer.  I’m going to take this BLOG more serious.  Obviously people are reading, so I have created this goal.  According to Ms. Miriam Webster (I would love to think that Merriam Webster is a little old woman named Miriam that has been tracking the origins of words her entire life) the definition of GOAL is:

1 a : the terminal point of a race b : an area to be reached safely in children’s games
2 : the end toward which effort is directed : aim
3 a : an area or object toward which players in various games attempt to advance a ball or puck and usually through or into which it must go to score points b : the act or action of causing a ball or puck to go through or into such a goal c : the score resulting from such an act

I’m part of a secret society called THE GOAL SETTING GIRLS, aka The GSGs.  We meet in undisclosed locations around New York City twice a month, admitting to our little society of five, our dreams and passions.  The purpose is to keep each other on track, and have a cheering squad for when we make a word on a piece of paper into a reality.  Although the five of us are very different, and live in vastly different New York City neighborhoods, there is an electricity when we sit down at a table armed with notebooks and pens.  For the brief hours The GSGs are together, we truly believe there are no limits.  The hard part is keeping up that thought process alone.

The GSGs started in December 06 and turned into a “lets meet up for dinner, drink copious amounts of cheap wine,  and bullshit with each other” in August of 07, but now we are BACK.  In full force.  Since our hiatus we have had many life changes, and we are all now unemployed.  Or at least the five of us aren’t in soul sucking day jobs like we used to be in 06.  Not sure if this is a sign of the times, or a sign that we are meant to fulfill our creative destinies.  I would like to think it’s the latter.

The GSGs have pointed out that in 06 one of my goals was to take my writing more seriously.  I wanted to write on a daily basis, and get paid for writing.  Technically the Government is paying for me to write this BLOG, so part of my goal has come true.  Perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch, but my secret society has helped me point out that I need to firmly believe in my goals to make them happen.

So I firmly believe that this BLOG will be visited by many, adored by all, and passed on through generations.  Something like that.

So this is my vow to create my weekly BLOG, and take more care in the postings.  As always, thank you for reading.

Gnight,

Amy

When we are children we enjoy small moments.  Last week when my family was together for Christmas in October, a rare gathering of all the Wacky Wittings, I watched my two nephews at play. They are growing very quickly, and are a constant reminder of my age.  Owen was born the month I moved to New York City, and now at seven he has grown into a young boy.  Tait Anders was born right when I rediscovered my love for the theatre four years ago.  They both wanted to have a “battle” nephew’s vs. Aunt and Uncle.  This proved to be hours of fun.  Although I needed breaks in between I marveled at the pure joy of running around the house hitting each other with foam “weapons.”

Tait Anders, at the old age of four can spew random facts about the US presidents.  When asked at the dinner table what happened to Abraham Lincoln, he proudly recalled the following story.  “Hammy (code for our 16th President) was watching a play with his wife, and some guy said, “Hey Hammy,” and Hammy turned around and the guy blasted him.”  Oh the simple ways to tell historical moments.

Playing is such an important part of anyone’s life.  If you don’t allow yourself to dance outside in the park, throw leaves at each other, or dance out loud to Single Ladies in your apartment alone, life gets lost.  I think at times we all have moments where we get wrapped up in self-induced pressure of what we need and want out of life.  Isn’t it true that enjoying beauty that is in front of us is the real goal out of life?

I’m a little off track this morning, and feel that I have stuffed my schedule with classes, and preparations to make 24Hour theatre into a reality.  I get lost in my own deadlines, and my own worries, and it’s nice to have a moment to remember to sit up and take notice.

The sun is bright today, and I intend to force myself to play.

I hope you will too.

Amy

Mr. Carb and I are.  For a moment at least.  I saw a picture of myself today that made me look like a whale.  Truly, a whale.  A big bright blue whale.  It didn’t help that I was wearing a big blue hippie dress, but I blame it all on Mr. Carb.   Our relationship is not healthy, it never has been.  It’s abusive.  I can sit down and eat a whole bag of chips smothered in cheese, and for dessert I always crave a big chocolate chip cookie.  There’s popcorn with butter at the movies, two dollar street-dogs, french fries, home fries, toast, pasta, and more pasta.  It’s all goodness, but it’s too much goodness.  I have to learn to live without Mr. Carb.  I thought I would be exercising more since I’m not in the middle of my day job, but instead I find myself grabbing cheap unhealthy eats on the go in between meetings, and projects.

I am an emotional eater, always have been.  I’m not a heavy woman, but I am curvy, and when stress hits I get to know the pizza delivery man on a first name basis.  Actually at Familiga in Union Square tonight , the man asked if I wanted two slices of cheese to go before I even opened my mouth. I felt like he knew me, and I had one of those, “what if I die alone moments, and the last person to see me is the pizza man.”  Anyway, I wrote a “Dear John” letter to Mr. Carb, but I think it’s more of a separation and less of a break up.

We went on a break once before, and my skin was thanking me, my body felt fit, and I wasn’t necessary skinnier, but I was happier.  I think that’s important.  The Carb Master often clouds my thoughts, and makes me confused as to what are the right eating choices, and my sleeping habits become disturbed.

When I was in Ecuador this summer I had a moment in the Andes where I realized I had an unhealthy relationship with food.  I didn’t eat what the earth provided for me, I crammed my system with processed foods, and ate at times when I wasn’t even hungry.  It’s hard for me to get back on track, but I have made a vow that for the next three weeks I will detox my system.

I’m coming over a beautiful weekend where I celebrated my friend’s marriage.  During the weekend, Mr. Carb and I danced together, drank together, slept together, and laid on a couch for hours without movement.

I’m feeling good about this break, and I will keep  you, my faithful readers, updated with my progress.  I’m hoping with the elimination of Mr. Carb in my life, I will be allowing new love to enter my life, and more focus.

I hope your weekend was full of love.

Gnight

Amy

Acting class.  That’s what you do when you’ve lost your job, and you want some structure in your life, and love acting.  It is a main passion, or you think it is, or it was.  Perhaps you’re searching, but in reality life is so much like an Acting Class that perhaps you just need to pay more attention.  You have your leading man, the girls you want to be friends with, the ones you already are friends with, secret admirers, crushes, and questions if this is all worth it.  Is it? There is comedy, tragedy, passion, breakthroughs, heartbreak, all in the matter of one evening.  A four hour block of time for the mind to be opened, and emotions allowed in.  The one requirement is to check your insecurities at the door.

I struggle with the language of Moliere, who I just learned by typing this post his real name is Jean-Baptiste Poquelin.  I wonder how he came across that stage name, and I wonder if he knew I would be struggling through his play centuries later.  It makes me wonder where I am right now, and if someone one day will be looking at a piece of literature I’ve written after I am just a name, and a Wikipedia page.

I feel very reflective, due to the fact I’ve been overwhelmed with rites of passages in my friends and families lives.  Last weekend was spent at a pre-wedding bash, wedding planning, baby showering, “Christmas” in October at my parents house, and my dear friend’s first child being born.  People are having events, and they are swirling around me, but I feel like my feet are in mud.  I try to get words out in class, and all I can get out are the words, no feelings, and my breathing is lost.  I am lost.

On my walk home from the subway I looked toward the sky and saw for an instant a flash of light.  For a moment I thought it could be a shooting star, but I don’t know what is the likelihood of a shooting star on a cloudy night?  Perhaps a Satellite?  Or maybe it could be a sign that I’m connecting more with the Universe, and learning to pay more attention.

I will get back on track with this blog after the big DAT wedding this weekend.  I will have close to three weeks of semi-calmness before the big wedding at the end of the month.  I’m starting to feel like I overwhelmed my schedule with activities, and I’m not sure how to schedule in time for myself.

I hope everyone sees a shooting “star” tonight, and enjoys another page of this always evolving play we are writing together.

Gnight

Amy

This will be a short blog because I have to get up early to go to a baby shower.  This fact both thrills me and scares me.  I have gotten to the age where my friends are now having children, and I am still left in the dust of single hood.  I like my single hood, but I still can’t really wrap my head around the fact that I’ve moved into the pregnancy phase with my friends.

Anyway, this post it a bit of a shout out to my dear friend Kristin.

We have days of fun, that often turn into evenings of fun, that turn into memories.  Cheeeeeesy, I know, but there is something special about my relationship with Kristin.  For starters I know for a fact that she won’t read this posting for at least a month(although I might force her), I know for a fact that we won’t talk tomorrow, but I also know for a fact that when something happens in our lives we call each other.  We like to have mini adventures in this crazy city, and solve the problems of the world in a fun and uplifting way.

We met up today for a “Kristin and Amy day of fun,” and due to the rain did not trek out to Brooklyn for the chili festival, and instead went to lunch and a movie.  After the movie we decided to go to Barnes and Noble to learn more about 2012, and if it was true the world was going to end or not.  This was ignited by a preview for the new “2012″ movie coming out in November.  We discovered that there were two modes of thought, the one is to think major destruction will happen, and the second is we will experience an enlightened state of mind.  We decided to choose the second mode of thought.

Sometimes I look at Kristin, and wonder why she is still my friend, and one of my biggest cheerleaders.  She has always believed in me, and although we have gone through tough times, she is always there at the end.  There is something very special about a friendship that only gets stronger through tragedies, and one in which both parties make efforts to meet up at least once a month.  Sometimes this city gets overwhelming with day jobs, and passions, and it’s easy to lose touch with friends that live right around the corner.  Kristin and I always find time for each other.  We make sure we have a day where we can catch up, talk, and share our lives.  She is very important to me, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever told her that.  I hope in a month when she gets around to looking at this blog she will understand what she already knows.

Anyway, she is getting married in twenty seven days, and I’m so excited that I get to be a part of this celebration.

I will post more photos of my benches tomorrow, but felt the need to discuss the importance of old friendships like I have with Kristin.  So please give one of your friends a hug tonight, and tell them what they mean to you.  Sometimes even though the unspoken word is strong, it’s nice to hear.

Gnight—-amye
The end.