Shelter From The Storm

The wind raged, the rain lashed at the windows and the lights flickered. Hurricane Sandy had swept ashore, and she was mad.

I had been pretty cavalier about this storm. I ignored the severity of my closed office and the shuttered subway. I went for a run even as the NYPD urged people to stay inside, and wrote a chatty blog post about it. I wasn't worried about this category 1 storm. My family lived in Florida for 12 years after all. Show me a category five, I thought, and then I'll be impressed.

But that was day, and now it was night, and half of Manhattan was in darkness.

My lights were still on, but since we were about to move we had already switched the cable and internet to our new house, so I couldn't watch any news, or even the Gilmore Girls marathon I had saved on my DVR. Our temporary internet wasn't fast enough for streaming, so I had little entertainment to distract me from the Armageddon befalling my city.

So there I sat, filling pots with water and checking to make sure all my devices were plugged in so they would be fully charged in case we, too, ended up in the dark.

I hadn't spent much time on Twitter before the night that Sandy arrived, but without TV, it became my lifeline. Every time I refreshed the screen more tweets would pop up with pictures of the devastation in lower Manhattan. I watched as the streets and river became one. I saw the water pour into the 9/11 memorial site. I was sitting there when NYU Hospital's generator failed and nurses carried tiny babies down stairs and out into the storm.

And as each story broke, I shook a little harder. My heart pounded a little faster. The walls of my tiny Manhattan apartment closed in a little more.

I knew I should get off Twitter before I really lost it, but it was like driving past a bad car accident. You know you shouldn't look, but you can't help yourself.

In an effort to calm down, I joined a Twitter conversation with Yeah Writers, and fellow tri-state area residents Stacie, Michelle and Kristin. We had never met in person, but that didn't matter. We had read each other's blogs, commented on each other's stories, and learned about each other's lives. And as the storm raged, we talked about what we were eating and drinking, who still had power, and what we were writing about. We talked about how our houses and families were fairing, and wondered how long the whole thing would last. We were each other's windows to a world that had suddenly become very, very dark, and with them, I didn't feel so alone anymore.

Sometimes there are people who come into your life at exactly the right time, and touch it in unexpected and important ways.

These three ladies are those people, and their friendship during that long, scary night gave me shelter from the storm.

Day 22 of Yeah Write's 31dbbb series asked us to pay special attention to a reader.

These three readers are not only incredible writers, but very, very special people as well.

I am lucky to know them in this online world, and to call them my friends.

The Very Best Way To Watch a Show

It started off innocently enough.

It was summer, our shows were all on hiatus, and it was about a year before the networks caught on to the fact that people still like to watch TV when it's hot outside and started a full slate of programming from June through early September.

At this point you may want to say something like, "it's summer! Go outside and do something summery! For the love of God, get up off your couch!"

And you might be right, but we're not listening.

Because we love TV. TV has been central to our relationship since it began. Our first kiss happened while we were watching TV. We bonded at first over a shared love of The Office and a mutual need to unwind at the end of the day with the TV on. As time went on we each adopted some of each other's shows so that much of our time spent together was in front of the TV, which suited us fine because talking at the end of the day gives us both a headache. When we got married we decided we were above compromise when it came to our shows, and became the proud owners of two DVRs to accommodate our habit.

But that summer we didn't have anything to watch. We subsisted for awhile on movies and some random stuff that had been crowding our DVRs, but before long we were out of shows, and in withdrawal.

It was David who came up with the idea for 24. Neither of us had seen it and we figured 192 episodes would take us all summer to watch. We figured wrong. We watched them all in three weeks, barely stopping for things like eating, sleeping and going to work.

And our era of binge-watching was born.

When Jack stared up into CTU's camera drone and the clock counted down to zero for the final time, David and I looked at each other in similar torment, wondering what to do next. We tried going back to our regular schedule of a show or two a night before bed, but we were strung out like meth addicts jonesing for a fix.

Binge watching was the only answer.

The next night we started The West Wing, and plowed our way through its seven seasons. By the time we were done with that, fall TV had started up again and we had little choice but to watch our shows like regular people. But we decided that was the amateur's way to watch TV, and we had graduated to the NFL.

So while we watched our weekly shows we also downloaded all the seasons of Fringe, Big Love, Friday Night Lights, Weeds, Gilmore Girls and a few others. And lately it's been House of Cards, Falling Skies, and Chicago Fire. Some we watched together and some we watched separately, but to both of us it was clear.

Binge watching is the absolute best way to enjoy a TV show.

There are plenty of people who disagree with me, and that's just fine. The truth is, I don't really have time to argue.

Netflix just released all 13 episodes of Orange is the New Black, and tonight, it's go time.

The Years Go By And What I Read

It was always books for me.

I was five when I taught myself how to read.

The book was called The Teeny Tiny Woman, and I spent hours sitting on my bed, little legs dangling, while I sounded out the words. I don't remember exactly what came before I opened that book, or what came right after, but I remember vividly thinking "I can read."

And read I did.

I was seven when my mom bought me my very first Baby-Sitters Club book. I read it in one day and made her take me straight back to the bookstore to buy more. And for the next few years, wherever I was, there was always a Baby-Sitters Club book close by.

I read The Truth About Stacey in the coatroom at school. I read The Ghost at Dawn's House sitting on a bench on the playground while everyone else played dodge-ball. I read Super Special #5: California Girls on a family vacation to the Jersey Shore. I read Kristy and the Snobs at my best friend's 10th birthday sleepover party. I read Super Special #2: Baby Sitters' Summer Vacation during my third summer at sleep-away camp, and I read Super Special 11: The Baby Sitters Remember during the spring I was getting ready for my bat mitzvah.

I was twelve when I entered the wonderful world of Judy Blume. I lived in Miami Beach with Sally J. Freedman, I got my period for the first time and figured out that I could raise one eyebrow with Margaret, I was best friends with Stephanie and Rachel, and I spent some summers with Vic and Caitlin long before I was probably old enough to be a part of their story.

While I was reading my way through Judy Blume, I took a spin through the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys Supermysteries, but was always more interested in Fred and Nancy's romance than whatever mystery the foursome was out to solve.

During the beginning of high school I read some Jane Austen, had an ephemeral obsession with the Bronte sisters, and started the Harry Potter books as a testament to my eclectic tastes.

I was sixteen when I read my first romance novel. I picked up a Nora Roberts book that my mom had left on the coffee table, read the entire thing in a single sitting, scoured her bookshelves for more, and began a love affair that has lasted for more than a decade. These are the books that bind me to the women in my family. They are the stories that comforted me on my first night of college, offered me an escape from a very sad summer, gave me sanity when I felt like everything was in chaos, and made my brand new house feel like home.

The story of my life is in the pages of the books that live on the shelves in the corner of my living room. The books that have been my loyal friends and constant companions as I have grown and changed and become who I am. And I may not know exactly what the future has in store for me, and where I will go from here. But I do know one thing for sure.

There will be a book in my hand as I figure it out.

Linking up with the Yeah Write Challenge Grid and
Yeah Write's 31 Days to Build a Better Blog.

The Elevator Pitch. Or, Making Myself Sound as Interesting as I (Hopefully) Am.

Seventeen months ago.

It was a rainy February Friday. It wasn't cold, but it also wasn't warm. It was one of those days where you remember that there might be this season called spring sometime in the future and walk around with your down jacket unzipped, but that also reminds you how thoroughly sick of winter you are as you dodge puddles of slush and wonder if your rain boots with their fleece liner will just become permanently attached to your feet.

I was sitting in my office staring out the window, completely uninspired, waiting for the day to be over.

And then I started writing words.

So on that uninspired and completely ordinary February day, this blog was born.

At first I thought I would write about books, because that is what I love. Then I thought I would write about running, because I love that too. Then I thought I would write about the political and social issues that matter to me. Then I thought I would write about family, because my love for them weaves its way through all of the other things.

And then I decided I would just write it all, which has been amazingly fun, incredibly fulfilling, and ferociously complicated to explain. I groan inwardly every time someone asks me what my blog is about. And then I sputter and stumble and end up saying something completely nonsensical but it doesn't matter anyway, because whoever asked stopped listening practically before they finished asking the question.

Well. I think maybe that stops today.

For Day 1 of Yeah Write's 31 Days to Build a Better Blog, the assignment is to write an elevator pitch. No more than 150 words describing what exactly we write about. Easy right? Not at all actually. But here goes nothing.

I used to write in a journal. I wrote about everything and nothing and all of the things in between. I told my stories even though no one would read them, maybe not even me once I turned the page. And I loved every minute of the thrilling rush that was putting pen to paper.

But now I want to share, and here is the place where I will. Here is where I will write the story of who I was, who I am and who I want to be. Of the family that made me and continues to make me. Of the New York life I never thought I would have and the big law firm career I never thought I would want. Of the books that fulfill me and the running that sustains me. Of the deliciously unexpected ways that life can surprise. 

This is my story. And I would really like to tell it to you.