Results tagged "New Hampshire"

I remember wishing that I could feel more.

10 years seems too long ago. Living in our apartment in Portsmouth–just north of Boston, having just quit my full time job to be a freelance designer. I wish now that I hadn’t procrastinated that morning and wasn’t in my bathrobe when the 2nd plane hit. I stayed in it for most of the day. I was so far away. There was nothing I could do. I still feel helpless when I think about it. Because, just like every other American, I remember every second of that day.

My best friend had just moved to Los Angeles, and I had just flown back from seeing her. I had driven there with her, across the country and the feeling of this great land was still fresh in my mind. I returned via Logan Airport in Boston where flight 11 took off from. Could it have been the same plane? Later I learned that the pilot was from a neighboring town, Stratham, NH. I called my Mom. Panicked. My Dad was in New York City — in another trophy building, nonetheless. He had an office in the Twin Towers too. What were the chances? I called and called with the lines going nowhere — my Mom — My Dad’s office. Finally my Mom called me. He was fine.

I called Bill — my now husband, at work. I called my friend in California. I called my Mom again. I couldn’t stop calling people — eyes glued to the television. Why? Tears pouring down my face. No. Not happening. I threw up. The day went on and I thought of everyone I knew that might have been killed. Hurt. Annie, my sister, called me from Australia where she was studying abroad. She was so displaced and didn’t understand — I told her that I didn’t either. They said it was terrorism. Everything was going to change and everyone everywhere was effected.

Later that night I drank too much wine. The news media had become too much. Someone mentioned a possible threat on the Empire State Building and I lost my mind. My Dad was still in the city — only blocks away. My head started spinning and I called my Mom again. She insisted that I not let them–the media, get to me. I breathed through it, standing against the wall in our kitchen, crying. Our neighbors upstairs were playing guitars out on the deck and I started to think that I had no business in taking the attacks personally. Some of the parents of my sister Kate’s classmates (then in high school) were among the missing… Simply not returning on the train home from work. I thought about the car accident that I was in several years before — one that left me with slight PTSD and the loss of feeling in most of my right hand. The ambulance ride. The paramedics. The smell of I-95 encrusted on my clothing. It should have been a fatal accident but we were spared by the Guardian Angels sitting on our laps. I tried my hardest to imagine what it must have been like to be in New York City, the Pentagon or on one of the planes but I couldn’t come close, and as I stare at the scar the car accident left on my hand, I still can’t. Bill and I couldn’t sleep, despite the alcohol. We agreed to not watch the television except for one or two hours from that point forward, a plan that lasted for about ten minutes.

A woman I knew through work was on the plane from Boston. We had only met once during a meeting a few months before at my old job. I had heard that she quit her job as well and was going back to California, where she was from. I barely knew her, and yet suddenly she became a fixture in my mind. She was simply trying to go home.

I didn’t want to be in New York, but I didn’t want to be where I was in New Hampshire either. I was blessed with not losing loved ones. But I couldn’t help thinking that if I could just feel what it is like to be witnessing all of this terror firsthand, then I might be able to understand. Then I might be able to find some kind of juxtaposition in fate and how things happen to other people while the rest of us just watch. There’s just a little something pathetic feeling about having to remember that day and how removed I was while so many were suffering. How the varying degrees of how each individual was effected found me way out in the spectrum of barely touched. Because that’s most of what I remember — the feeling, and how I didn’t think that I was feeling enough for the enormity of the situation, which may never end.

We are heading North.

via http://www.portsmouthnh.com/

And I know. Today was finally nice outside… meaning that 20 layers of goose downed garb was not necessary for walking outside.. So why would we go and leave this 50-something degree heatwave and go to a land where ice loves you so much that it sticks to your face? Well… I’ll TELL YOU.

I think I’ve mentioned before that Mr. Sal and I lived in Portsmouth New Hampshire for YEARS AND YEARS before moving to the bitter death end of Long Island. And yes. It isn’t quite true that Southampton is the edge of the universe — it is the Hamptons, after-all (snickering). But…. ye not be unequally yoked, SAY I! It might be all shiny and glossy on the outside… but on the inside, we are still AT THE END OF AN ISLAND. An island that is equal to that of an enormously overdeveloped sandbar… One with famous people that enjoy pretending not to be famous — but don’t you dare treat them as such… As well as the overgrown populous of Trustifarians (thanks to the two Anastasias for the terminology) … Otherwise known as self-proclaimed hippies that drive Land Rovers, only eat organic and live “status” free green lifestyles thanks to that of well endowed trust funds… Also known to cluster in popular ski resort areas, University towns, The Berkshires, and of course Portlandia. It would be remiss to say that they can’t be found in Portsmouth either… It’s just that you’re too busy scraping the ice off your eyelashes to notice most of the time — Plus, any town that reeks of Patchouli as a CLEANING PRODUCT kind of passes the not-a-poser test right away.

BECAUSE… like I was saying before completely losing track of myself, we are going back to Portsmouth later on this week. We haven’t been up for a visit in a few years and I think that if we stay here — despite the hints of spring, at the end of this void where you turn one way and see the same thing you saw two seconds ago, we might just start locking our jaws and talking like Lovely and Thurston from Gilligan’s Island… I mean — IT WOULD MAKE SENSE.

And so, whilst we are away — clamoring the ice and dirty snow mounds of the city where we once lived… in complete and total SIN… please have a nice week. Enjoy the spring-like rouse before Mother Nature notices, takes a big swig of her martini and then blasts us with another 40 feet of winter before being tempted away by the Easter Bunny… I’ll catch you cats on the otha-ahh side.

Not really, but have you ever seen that movie? I blame my parents for embedding the film into my brain.. I mean really. That title has very little with what I am about to write about.. and I’m laughing already. And I know, NOT FUNNY…. But it really is. And with this mind set….

I live in Southampton, New York – as many of you know…

I have lived in many other places… Born in Virginia – scouring the east coast with my parents through Tennessee, Florida, Maryland–where I picked up a sibling, and eventually Connecticut, where I picked up another sibling. Then through life during college in Philadelphia and afterward back to Connecticut, New York, an absurdly fun and desperately freezing seven years in New Hampshire… And now here. Southampton. I’ve always harbored this weird timetable in my mind.. like if you weren’t born in that place… it isn’t your home.. I mean not really… which obviously is a seemingly sad way of looking at life.. but HEY, that’s just me, deal with it. Obviously, having moved to Connecticut at the ripe old age of 8 and not leaving until 18, not only made me a crafted hand at living on the road, but clearly made the state my home… I know – I’m such a TRANSIENT. Whatever.

We’ve been here for almost eight years now, and I feel comfortable and safe to finally say that we live here. I don’t know… something about having a baby at the local hospital, designing every other local brand, owning and closing a local business, cohorting with criminals, making enemies along side meeting really nice people… knowing the back roads… knowing when the markets stock their shelves… knowing who to call when the rednecks attempt to shoot deer in our backyard… All good times that I call home. Lately we’ve been “looking at” preschools — and I quote “looking at” because that seems to be the proper way of saying “conducting detailed background searches and combing through the personal garbage of school directors”… But I think all of this COMMUNITY stuff is making our toes take root….. and, in short we are surrendering. 

This is also the time of year is when we open up our doors to many guests… Most family and some friends that travel to enjoy the weather… being surrounded by water creates this great Florida-like sun effect with beams reflecting off of the water all around… A great deal of guests arrive late on Friday evening… taking the Jitney or the train from Manhattan. Others from New England take the Long Island Ferry from Bridgeport or New London… No matter how, it is a journey to get here… and, apparently, it is worth the trip. Honestly… you would think that with everything going on having guests almost every weekend (and some weekdays) would be a headache, but I really do love it. I love having people here… I love having someone lounging about in most rooms of the house… I love that someone is cracking a beer while someone else is pouring a cup of coffee… sitting in the sun, reading the papers, watching the Fox Network– throwing conflicting party fists into the air in anger over what’s what and who’s who… Hey, you have to have a little blood pressure with all the relaxing going on, right… Just, whatever you do, don’t bring up the Great Pumpkin, k…?

At any rate… This is my favorite time of the year… and, although this post has gone no where — other than my head, I’m looking forward to the next round of visitors… and the next and the next…  

So… I cryptically mentioned the other day that I am starting to archive old blog posts.

There I was, bawling my eyes out with one hand on the mouse, the other on the bottle–WHY! Why can’t the QUOTA go the OTHER WAY? WHY WHY… and then a dedicated reader and participant in the whole FTB experience reached out and suggested that I NOT delete… Instead, as she grasped my shoulders firmly…shaking me with understanding and fury… She exclaimed.. “JUST PUT THEM SOMEPLACE ELSE!..” And with that the planets realigned and calm spread throughout the land.

So it is with this advice that I have started to compile les Archives — found just up over there… No, not there… THERE – up at the top of the left hand column under PAGES. There you will find the beginnings of a compilation of “yeah I wrote that” words strung together into nonsense-grammatical-sentences — historical rants and raves of almost daily observations. Don’t get me wrong, the duds are being deleted… but as this process continues.. just know that if you haven’t had enough of me yet – there is now a place where you can find MORE.

And it is with this that I am also starting an new “thing” called Two for Twosdays where I republish something from the way back machine… Because the other day while driving I heard Three Strange Days by School of Fish… which took me back a few decades to a time when I used to slip away (sorry mom & dad) to NYC to go to a concert series called Two for Tuesdays at the Twin Towers. And I’m so totally grounded for this. It was awesome– AWESOME I SAY and always an adventure, and while I’m reading all this old stuff anyway… it took me to this piece, written last April.

Can I borrow your headlamp?

Almost 10 years ago (yikes!) I worked at a company that was deep out
in the New Hampshire woods… a company that developed ground
penetrating radar equipment and software. I will give you a second to
think about this.

The radar tools were used worldwide for things
like major infrastructure projects, highway repairs, and my favorite –
archeology and hidden treasures. I was titled the “Graphic Presentation
Specialist” and spent a lot of time looking at pictures of digitized
rebar. It was my job to make radar look sexy. I have always had a
slight interest in science, so this was it wasn’t too mundane for me…
most of the time.

My co-workers were all scientists–geologists
mostly… and when I needed approval on the latest product shot I would
have to go on a scouting hunt through the woods to find the individual
in question.. Once found, they were usually dressed head to toe in
protective jump-suits, not as a precaution–just because they wanted
to–testing equipment in the dank woods. Headlamps were also big in this
office… when at their desks, they all seemed to need the extra
light–despite the mind-burning fluorescents in the ceiling.  Gas masks
were also in abundance, although I don’t recall ever seeing or catching
a wiff of any hazerdous chemicals. These were all regular people…
just really smart and into the world underground.

There were some
creepshows– the guys that lurk around unibomberesk. But for the most
part everyone was really friendly and upbeat. They had organized runs
after lunch–big groups of geologists running on the country roads
talking about rocks and rebar. I’m not going to lie–it was amusing…
And, it was a good job. They had awesome beneifts and, because we were
owned by a larger Chinese oligarchy, the 401K was-a-rollin. I probably
would have stayed with the company longer than I did (about 1.5yrs)..
but I began to laugh at the rebar jokes… I began to recognize the
flaws in the digitized software accounts of cracked concrete… I
started to think that the lights weren’t bright enough–can I borrow
your headlamp? It was time to move on… and so I did.

In
2001–after 9-11 and during the clean-up of, I was watching the news.
Still living in New Hampshire — although no where near the woods, I
was of course somber about the course of events when… WAIT – in the
background there… That man… I know him… Hey that’s STEVE from
GSSI–he’s holding a peice of Ground Penetrating Radar equipment!

To date, the company is still going strong, and I will always have fond memories.

It means so many things.

Just tonight, for instance, a dear friend recommended this topic… 20 minutes later and just 5 minutes shy of bedtime, Will ran naked and free through the house like a wild child… Only to face the consequences of such freedom by projectile rocketing his dinner all over the house. He’s fine now…. and if I weren’t so responsible sitting here with the baby monitor strapped to my head as he sleeps… I might like to throw caution to the wind, taking a glance at the martini glasses..  But no…I’ll only feel Plowed later. It parallels to the ad I just placed in the paper yesterday for a part time Childcare/Personal Assistant position… I thought Personal Assistant sounded so much more fun and exciting than “Mother’s Helper”… Well – sexy sells because today I had a HUMONGOUS response… humongous being the WORD OF THE DAY.. ringing in my ears. People need work, huh?… kidding. I really just want some overachieving high school kid to play with my son for an hour and then pick up my mail while I work. Because… Yes, before I get Plowed, the work is starting again.

But can you imagine being the snow? Seeing this winter in the forecast and thinking (because we all know snow thinks) This is it! This is the winter that I am going to fall from the sky and do my mighty snow dance all over planet earth… only to fall, settle in a bit, and be unsuspectingly PLOWED… after all that hard work and build up..  It isn’t unlike quicksand if you think about it… I mean, what CAN YOU DO? I know snow. My husband owns a plow and PLOWS SNOW… I’ve been PLOWING… Not so much fun, to tell you the truth… Snow. I’ve lived in heaps of it throughout many locations and times in my life and this winter has been eternal.. Plowing us under… I can pick snow up and tell you what kind it is… what wine to drink with it… what heel to wear. It’s a gift, I know… but I’m getting off track.

This winter, my friends, is the retribution for all of our plowing. While the weather people of the world unite and try to scare the daylights out of us before a flake falls… The snow this year has taken heed. It isn’t unlike anything else in life that can’t be predicted.. leaving us with our feet stuck in a mess of something frozen, cold and extremely uncomfortable.. I’m spent. Who wants to get plowed?

Yesterday I drove to the Breakwater Design Studio in Bridgehampton.. (I know, what was I thinking?) I put Will in his car seat and hopped on CR39 to 27 East–crept past the Southampton Jitney stop and onto the back roads. Somehow, I made it –I breezed right past the angry traffic demons that haunt the Hamptons and into “Bridge” in under 20 minutes. What?–Even then, slinking over Main Street and behind the Candy Kitchen to our back parking lot… a space awaited. A huge parking space in our building’s private lot that is used by… well everyone in town. I was stunned… I was amazed. Our stay was short, as was our stroll around town–packed with shopping lunchers, and then we were back at it — this time heading west. I drove our tank of a Toyota with the aggression of a graceful charging mother elephant… only to find ourselves home again in under 20. Angels singing. The heavens have finally acknowledged the number of lifetime hours that I have spent driving a car, sitting still in traffic. I am a Golden God. 

I know, this is a very tedious description of a rather lame afternoon — but while nearing the confines of the main drag, I spied traffic sitters on 27 — going east with their boats in tow — bikes, over packed cars… all frustrated to the nines. All too familiar to me and all in the name of the beach…

A few weeks ago, I drove — with loving passengers — to Rehoboth, Delaware. We left around 9am on a Saturday… spent about 4 hours, which should have been 2 on the NJ Turnpike and another 3 on some god-forsaken route in Delaware.. which should have taken under an hour. Stop, go, stop, go, stop… torture.  I was not involved with the suicidal timing of this quest, but I don’t think it had too much to do with it. Had it been Tuesday at 5:30am, we still would have found ourselves at a standstill. Be it The Hamptons, Cape Cod, The Jersey Shore, Rye Beach New
Hampshire, Ogunquit Maine, Ocean City Maryland, Todd’s Point… The
long-awaited shoreline of choice does not come without a few hours, if
not days, of self-inflicted sacrifice. Just focus, pack mean snacks, keep one hand on the wheel…your foot hovering over the break and breathe–September is only  a few weeks away.

Almost 10 years ago (yikes!) I worked at a company that was deep out
in the New Hampshire woods… a company that developed ground
penetrating radar equipment and software. I will give you a second to
think about this.

The radar tools were used worldwide for things
like major infrastructure projects, highway repairs, and my favorite –
archeology and hidden treasures. I was titled the “Graphic Presentation
Specialist” and spent a lot of time looking at pictures of digitized
rebar. It was my job to make radar look sexy. I have always had a
slight interest in science, so this was it wasn’t too mundane for me…
most of the time.

My co-workers were all scientists–geologists
mostly… and when I needed approval on the latest product shot I would
have to go on a scouting hunt through the woods to find the individual
in question.. Once found, they were usually dressed head to toe in
protective jump-suits, not as a precaution–just because they wanted
to–testing equipment in the dank woods. Headlamps were also big in this
office… when at their desks, they all seemed to need the extra
light–despite the mind-burning fluorescents in the ceiling.  Gas masks
were also in abundance, although I don’t recall ever seeing or catching
a wiff of any hazerdous chemicals. These were all regular people…
just really smart and into the world underground.

There were some
creepshows– the guys that lurk around unibomberesk. But for the most
part everyone was really friendly and upbeat. They had organized runs
after lunch–big groups of geologists running on the country roads
talking about rocks and rebar. I’m not going to lie–it was amusing…
And, it was a good job. They had awesome beneifts and, because we were
owned by a larger Chinese oligarchy, the 401K was-a-rollin. I probably
would have stayed with the company longer than I did (about 1.5yrs)..
but I began to laugh at the rebar jokes… I began to recognize the
flaws in the digitized software accounts of cracked concrete… I
started to think that the lights weren’t bright enough–can I borrow
your headlamp? It was time to move on… and so I did.

In
2001–after 9-11 and during the clean-up of, I was watching the news.
Still living in New Hampshire — although no where near the woods, I
was of course somber about the course of events when… WAIT – in the
background there… That man… I know him… Hey that’s STEVE from
GSSI–he’s holding a peice of Ground Penetrating Radar equipment!

To date, the company is still going strong, and I will always have fond memories.