tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58036216500746279302024-03-12T16:58:04.575-07:00Embracing the AbsurdIf I were any more transparent, I'd be invisible.Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-40442510334235160152021-01-01T13:34:00.004-08:002021-01-02T15:35:22.411-08:00The Word was “Learn”I’ve been choosing a yearly theme word for about a decade now. Sometimes I forget about it by February. Sometimes it becomes the star of the year. 2020 worked my theme word hard. The word was LEARN.<p>I started out in January by taking a course at the Journalism School at UC Berkeley on film editing. The instructor - Maxim Jago (yes he looked and sounded exactly like his name) - taught us many things, though the real nuts and bolts of the matter didn’t come round til the last day of class... it was quite a learning experience. </p><p>I started taking Spanish at the local adult school. Every Tuesday night I walked over and we sang songs and talked at kindergarten language with 28 other people hoping to grasp the language that more than half of CA already speaks. It was a fun addition to my Duolingo app studies and I thought I might actually be getting somewhere</p><p>In March I voted in the Presidential Primary hoping for an Elizabeth Warren win. But she lost, and I learned, once again, that America is not ready for a woman president no matter how smart or qualified she may be. Then COVID-19 arrived and I learned more than I ever wanted to know about viruses and how they pass from human to human and - more importantly - how to avoid letting that happen. Just like all of you, I learned about “social distancing”, “pods”, “remote learning”, and Zoom. Everything was cancelled. My kid came home from college. All public schools closed and I stopped going to Spanish class. I walked around the neighborhood crying while taking photos of flowers. I didn’t sleep or eat. I lost ten pounds.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eEPz9vuYrxg/X_D7mRGltBI/AAAAAAAADiA/Qy91UYD6dW4ccefuFCXiMngDBh8qTfvQwCLcBGAsYHQ/F0958350-73FB-4B3A-A8B4-7F55DEAC3192_1_105_c.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eEPz9vuYrxg/X_D7mRGltBI/AAAAAAAADiA/Qy91UYD6dW4ccefuFCXiMngDBh8qTfvQwCLcBGAsYHQ/F0958350-73FB-4B3A-A8B4-7F55DEAC3192_1_105_c.jpeg" width="180" /></a></div>In April I learned that the level of anxiety I was experiencing was abnormal and I needed help which was provided to me by my doctor in the form of Ativan. It worked. As did TIME - time to come to a “new normal.” Suddenly they told us that it would be good to wear masks so I learned how to sew one. It took a long time and several patterns and ultimately I decided it would be best to just purchase them. Our family’s ZOOM Passover Seder was not terribly successful. We hadn’t quite learned how to use the platform yet and it was not at all spiritual and actually slightly chaotic.<p></p><p>Summer came and there were protests - Black Lives Matter - too many police killing too many black people. I posted signs and cheered loudly from my home - too afraid to be part of such a large crowd during this pandemic. Say their names: Ahmad Arbery, Manuel Ellis, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd<a href="https://sayevery.name/" target="_blank"> are only a few</a>. I’m learning about the perversity of white privilege and how to be a good ally. I don’t think that learning here will ever be done.</p><p>The season felt long. My daughter took a job as a counselor in a day camp. I worried constantly. <br /></p><p>Finally Fall, and the schools my kids attended decided to remain closed but we decided it would be best for my son to live near his university in San Diego with peers. So he went off and my daughter continued her studies from the computer on her desk at either mine or her dad’s house. That’s when the fires started and I learned why all post apocalyptic movies look so dusty. When smoke covers the sun the air becomes thick. Like soup. Scary and surreal. We were all shocked by it’s eeriness.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-yctlZXoKozA/X_EB3e0zSSI/AAAAAAAADjE/YI9qjJ75oDss51WeGxeV79BV6gain8R1ACLcBGAsYHQ/38A34730-4550-4E74-9F30-EF24B64F77FE_1_105_c.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="886" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-yctlZXoKozA/X_EB3e0zSSI/AAAAAAAADjE/YI9qjJ75oDss51WeGxeV79BV6gain8R1ACLcBGAsYHQ/38A34730-4550-4E74-9F30-EF24B64F77FE_1_105_c.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p></p>Around this time I found a caterpillar on a plant in the front yard. Turns out, my neighbors had planted tons of milkweed in hopes of attracting Monarchs and it worked. Another neighbor lent me a little butterfly tent and I set about raising caterpillars. When the first one turned into a chrysalis - seemingly in a blink of an eye - I was stunned and smitten. I learned all about monarch caterpillars and butterflies and what happens in between. I learned the difference between a chrysalis and a cocoon, and what signs to watch for at each stage of the transformation. Beautiful.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ADjv2vYZxyA/X_D8dlVRlJI/AAAAAAAADiM/fyj3vryIqt0IE1neUQ0diQSCE_YhUIcjgCLcBGAsYHQ/BC919CF1-BA3F-4AC4-92CE-3E4FE803A052_1_105_c.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></a></div>This was the month I started growing some cannabis plants (ultimately somewhat unsuccessfully - learning that time:money ratio made it cheaper to buy) and a friend gave me a garbage bag full of trim. What to do? I learned to make cannabis butter. There were so many different theories on what works best, how to and how long to decarb (decarb??), cook, and the best recipes to bake. I gave a lot away and was grateful for the opportunity to help friends with anxiety and sleeplessness.<p></p><p></p>Somehow, sometime in early October, I got it into my head that I needed to get back on a schedule (what month was it?) and I started waking early, enjoying my coffee in bed, and heading out the door with Sam the dog by 7:30 for a walk round the neighborhood while listening to “<a href="https://www.nytimes.com/column/the-daily" target="_blank">The Daily</a>” podcast. Whoa - this was life changing. And not just for Sam. Unlike running (which had somehow lost its luster no matter how many times I tried to resurrect it) the no-pressure approach to exercise (no special shoes, or clothes) worked for me and I started logging more miles than last year (according to my trusty iPhone that measured my steps). It’s a constitution I intend to enjoy for many years to come. I’ve learned how important it is to my wellbeing.<p></p><p>TikTok finally sucked me in around October and I somehow ended up in a roller skating loop - people were cruising on old-style quad-wheeled skates. Like from when I was a kid. They were so smooth, looked so cool and made it seem so easy. Many days, on those morning walks, I’d pass by a completely empty North Berkeley BART station parking lot - seemed like a great place to roll around... SO I went on Amazon and bought the cheapest skates I could find ($65) along with all the safety equipment because - let’s face it, I’m old and will break easily - and put them on in my living room, falling immediately. </p><p>That’s ok. I started skating at the parking lot. Back and forth. Back and forth. I fell. I got up. At the end of November I downloaded an online skate course and I’m a couple of weeks into that. And I found a better place to skate - at the community center down the block. The concrete is smoother. I’m learning a lot and by the end of 2021 I’m hoping to cruise like the gals on TikTok.</p><p>Here it is the last day of the year and I keep learning. I feel like “learn” could be my word again for 2021 but that’s boring - my word should be fresh and mindful. I was thinking “gratitude” because if there is one very important thing I learned from this year, it’s to be grateful for the things I have - the back yard space has been essential during lockdowns and I can’t imagine what we’d do if we were in an apartment; work - and the fact that the pandemic didn’t change it much - in fact, I’ve had a really good year; and of course, our health - I’m lucky my kids and parents are on the same page regarding the masks, lockdown, social distancing, and safety. So far nobody close to me has had a case requiring hospitalization <knock on wood>.</p><p>Alternately I’m thinking about a word that challenges me to move outside my comfort zone (will definitely need to do this for skating). Is the word RISK? Or is it DARE? Or is it something similar but totally different? Whichever word, it will result in growth - because the only way to get better is to do what you’re afraid will fail. Hmm.</p><p>Happy New Year.</p>Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-67522414439673395682020-06-01T13:04:00.003-07:002020-06-01T13:16:04.927-07:00A Sunny Day in 2004<div>I paid for my coffee and went outside to sit at a table. <br /></div><div>Suddenly, confronted by the shop owner: <br /></div><div>"HEY you paid with a fake bill! You can't use this!" <br /></div><div>Wait. What?</div><div><br /></div><div>He came over to the table and angrily put the bill down in front of me, pointing, <br /></div><div>"See here. And here!" <br /></div><div>Oh. Yes. I do see. I had no idea that I had such a bill in my possession - it must have come from another transaction. Can you take my card? Can I write a check?<br /></div><div>Shaking his head, mumbling, "Can you believe this? A pretty good forgery!" <br /></div><div>To me: "Don't worry about it." <br /></div><div>Laughing to himself, walking inside: "I'll take this over to the bank later." <br /></div><br /><div>Fin.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>RIP <span class="st"><i>George Floyd</i></span></i></div><div><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bFk84WLeWPA/XtVhtSsN_II/AAAAAAAADb8/aABg-5rLnsAoagO8nQ09IyHOjsDoPW5ZACK4BGAsYHg/750.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="211" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bFk84WLeWPA/XtVhtSsN_II/AAAAAAAADb8/aABg-5rLnsAoagO8nQ09IyHOjsDoPW5ZACK4BGAsYHg/s320/750.png" width="211" /></a><i><span class="st"></span></i></div><div><i><span class="st"></span></i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bFk84WLeWPA/XtVhtSsN_II/AAAAAAAADb8/aABg-5rLnsAoagO8nQ09IyHOjsDoPW5ZACK4BGAsYHg/750.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-2942133546362394422020-05-11T19:35:00.004-07:002020-06-01T13:24:30.928-07:00My Son’s FaceMy son is home from college. His freshman year cut short by this pandemic. He’s still taking classes, online, from is room. But that’s not what this is about.<div><br /></div><div>I came upstairs the other day and he said ‘what do you think?” </div><div>“About what?’</div><div>“About my face?!” Incredulous.</div><div>Blank stare....</div><div>“OMG I shaved!”</div><div>Oh.</div><div>I’m sorry, did you have facial hair?</div><div>“I LOOK SO DIFFERENT”</div><div><br /></div><div>But when I look at him I don’t see the man in front of me. </div><div>There are layers upon layers of memories through which he filters.</div><div>His infant disgust, his toddler frustration, his boyish delight .... all of those faces are still there.</div><div>Most people can’t see them but I can.</div><div><br /></div><div>I wonder what he really looks like.</div>Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-10666226433362732352020-05-09T16:36:00.001-07:002020-05-09T16:36:32.094-07:00Chained to FreedomThe perfect analogy today made by a NYTimes reporter: America’s response to Covid19 is equal to our response to guns; somehow dozens of other countries are able to control the problem but the US is too chained to it’s freedoms to allow control to actually happen.<br />
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Chained to our freedom might seem an oxymoron but it’s true. Our freedom is more important to us than our safety and even our lives.<br />
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More than that our addiction to money and capitalism supersedes any call to health. “Some people will die if we open the economy? Let them die. It’s a risk we have to take - thousands of lives for millions of jobs.” Fair trade? Hell no.<br />
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They say the disease doesn’t discriminate but that’s bullshit too. Some people can hide from the “invisible enemy” on one of their yacht in the South Pacific while another person tries to figure out where he can lay his tent for the night without being told by cops to “move along.” And even when the virus takes us down it is the rich who will have the private care needed to come back from the beast. Nobody is going to tell the largest donor to the hospital that there isn’t a ventilator available. They’ll pull it from the older uninsured vagrant who “probably would have died anyway. Right?”<br />
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The virus is not an “equalizer” and this is not the “great pause.” Romanticizing these months perpetuates a myth that will fool generations. Can we call it what it is? A screeching halt made toxic by a lack of unifying leadership over a divide that this virus has pushed to the limit.<br />
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I’m not seeing any good way out of this. But I remain curious to see how it unfolds. To be clear: I did not say hopeful. I said curious and I mean that in a myriad of ways.<br />
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<br />Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-90242798162854485432020-05-03T16:43:00.000-07:002020-05-09T16:40:42.821-07:00The DanceMay 3 and we’re in this weird spot. The state government is loosening things ever so slightly ... giving an inch, so to say ... but people are taking a mile. So many people in the park today, nobody wearing masks.... you wouldn’t even know there was a pandemic if it wasn’t all over the news all the time. It makes me angry. Then I feel bad for feeling angry .... I mean, not everyone has a yard and people need to get out somehow. Fine. But everyone is pushing boundaries and I’m not sure how far I’m willing to go or what I’m willing to tolerate. Without clear rules it’s hard to know what is safe and what is not. I hate it.<br />
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I feel like the next natural step would be for each household to combine with another. Keeping mingling between two or three households and introducing more slowly ... maybe once a month. Until a vaccine or cure is plentiful.</div>
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Meanwhile I dislike taking the Sam (the dog) for a walk. I’m constantly crossing streets or changing direction to avoid oncoming pedestrians. It’s like a big zigzag dance. We need to make rules .... walk on the sidewalk in the direction of traffic... I think that would at least help. I read somewhere that that’s how they “do it” in Europe but I have no proof that it’s true.</div>
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Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-14022427135010208992020-04-25T11:12:00.000-07:002020-04-25T11:17:55.493-07:00Normal is as Normal DoesAnother month has gone by... As we in California “flatten the curve”, shelter in place has become the norm. We’re hunkering down. I’m weeding and pruning and gardening like a crazy lady. It calms the nerves. The roses smell delicious even as the the thorns draw blood and howls.<br />
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The weather this week has been beautifully warm. In past years I’d go for a run or take the dog(S) for a hike but it’s no fun dodging pedestrians and hikers who don’t seem to give a rat’s ass that the virus dictates a 6 foot boundary around my person.<br />
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My anxiety level has dropped considerably in the last three weeks and I’m not sure this is good or bad. As my panic subsides so does my vigilance. I’m no longer wiping all the groceries down with Clorox before putting them away, and I’m not quite so weird about the mail. But I’m still sheltering in place. I don’t see that changing for months and months.<br />
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Nothing will ever be the same but all this is already starting to feel normal.Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-19869861143854907232020-03-29T14:41:00.000-07:002020-03-29T14:41:37.380-07:00Notes from the ApocolypseWelp ... I should have started this about 4 weeks ago to truly document what’s been happening but I didn’t and that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t start. Now. So. Here we go.<br />
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Read my tweets (@berzerkeley) if you want to get an idea of what I’ve been feeling up til now... I don’t say much on facebook that’s of any worth... but my Instagram feed might be interesting. I don’t know. It’s up to you.<br />
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The two weeks I had without anyone, without the kids, felt ok. I had some momentary freak outs and panic attacks (one early on led me to the doctor who, bless her heart, prescribe Ativan for me so I can occasionally find a level head (half mg) or sleep (whole mg).<br />
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The birthday was a little weird, but not unlike a lot of birthdays in the past. I remember one year - must have been 1988 because it was in NY and I spent the day at doing what we NOW call “self care” - the gym, nice lunch at a restaurant (solo), walk around the park (Central). I don’t mind spending my birthday alone as long as I’ve planned it. Which is did. I ordered cupcakes for delivery and dinner from my favorite local restaurant (then Beau - it’s what we’ll call the fellow in my life) Venmo’d me money because he had wanted to do all that and I beat him to it. I’m just so used to taking care of me ... I didn’t even think to wait. Ha.<br />
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I spent the birthday weeding the front yard and it looks great now. Super happy with it. .. Actually maybe another couple of hours to put in, but wow such a difference. (Again - that’d be my instagram feed for photo proof of that).<br />
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When it came time for the kids to come home to me (they had been with their dad for 2 weeks and we decided that 2 weeks between visits is the safest (?really who the fuck knows? It’s what we decided, might not be right for your split family but I think it will be ok ours. We’ll see. Again who the fuck knows) I flipped out and had a panic attack. I was afraid they’d bring germs here or they’d pick up mine here.... They calmed me down (and half Ativan) and as it turned out only Joe ended up coming. Apparently the kids decided they needed a break from each other. Ohkay. Would have liked to know but whatever. Choosing battles is easier now.<br />
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So when Joe arrived - who I’d not seen since January = I found myself afraid to touch him. I’d not touched anyone’s in 16 days or more... I was hesitant which felt so wrong. <br />
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I think this shelter in place is going to be a 9-12 month venture. Maybe longer. A lot of innovation will happen - good. Unionizing among grocers, delivery people, and other “essential” employees will happen with support of the public. The economy will never ever be the same as what it was and that’s ok. Maybe even good. I hope I live through it. More so I hope my kids and my parents live through it because death from this is lonely. Nobody can be by your side. You’re infectious. I can’t bear to think of any of them suffering this way. I wrecks me. This is when I seek the Ativan.<br />
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But for now I’ll take a walk. With Sam. Because Joe is jumping rope in the backyard and I’m getting bossy. And stressed. Yeah. Bye.Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-35285562880452906722013-11-29T21:37:00.000-08:002013-11-30T08:36:12.735-08:00I Won!<i>A follow-up to <a href="http://embracingtheabsurd.blogspot.com/2013/11/american-girl-lessons.html" target="_blank">this</a> post in which I decide to run a 10k to help Maia raise funds for her school.</i><br />
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It was close, but thanks to a lot of generous donors, Maia and I surpassed our fundraising goal of $1000. We found out while waiting in line at the neighborhood bakery - I was checking my phone and a congratulatory email came in from <a href="http://www.crowdrise.com/corikesler" target="_blank">Crowdrise</a>. She and I were cheering and jumping for joy and the people in line were smiling at our silliness. It was very bonding.<br />
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Running <a href="http://berkeleyhalf.com/" target="_blank">the race</a> was more fun than I expected. I normally like exercising alone, so I wasn't sure what it would be like - surrounded by so many people. But it was fine. I kept my headphones on, listened to my jogging playlist and Nike + Running kept me conscious of my pace.<br />
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Surprisingly (at least to me) I was truly motivated by the people who came out to cheer at the sidelines. How awesome are they!? Certainly the two best moments of the race were when my friend Chaz appeared on the sidewalk at the 2nd mile, giving me a great big hug and yelling, "run Cori, run!"; the second was towards the end of mile five when a friend's parked car honked just loud enough for me to look over and catch my daughter's eye - peering out the passenger side window, hands waving, cheering "GO MOMMY!".<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0OuZKhE0EUQ/Uplu07tGo9I/AAAAAAAACG0/IcbzC55RJzA/s1600/image_6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0OuZKhE0EUQ/Uplu07tGo9I/AAAAAAAACG0/IcbzC55RJzA/s1600/image_6.jpeg" width="200" /></a>For various reasons (cough ... cough ... Aunt Flo ... cough, cough...) I knew this wasn't going to be my best 10k time. But I ran the whole way (no walking!) and did OK - especially considering the last hill that nearly killed me.<br />
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Due to a communication glitch, there was nobody to meet me at the finish line, which was, honestly, kind of a bummer. But not horrible. I received a medal and t-shirts and all the other swag for those who completed the race. Still, I skipped the beer garden and took a shuttle back to downtown Berkeley.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9UlZemWPBIE/Uplw20g1gYI/AAAAAAAACHA/nO74XhdPHqE/s1600/image_5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9UlZemWPBIE/Uplw20g1gYI/AAAAAAAACHA/nO74XhdPHqE/s1600/image_5.jpeg" width="200" /></a>When I finally made it home, Maia greeted me with hugs and kisses and a homemade card with things like, "congratulations!" "you're the best" and "I'm proud of you!" scrawled across it in bright colors. She took my photo, told me to shower, and the two of us spent the rest of the day prepping for <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/christinebyrne/thanksgivukkah" target="_blank">Thanksgivukkah</a>.<br />
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In all it was a great experience. I learned a lot and reached two important goals: 1.) being fit enough to run a 10k and 2.) raising $1000 for <a href="http://www.berkeleypublicschoolsfund.org/" target="_blank">Berkeley Public Schools Fund</a>. Best of all, united in a common cause, Maia and I developed a kinship and closeness that we hadn't yet had an opportunity to develop.<br />
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I won thrice.</div>
Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-74570151496300745232013-11-12T08:57:00.000-08:002013-11-15T14:18:06.734-08:00American Girl Lessons<div>
While waiting in an excruciatingly long line at <a href="http://www.joann.com/" target="_blank">JoAnne Fabrics</a> one day, I pulled an <a href="http://store.americangirl.com/agshop/static/magazine.jsp" target="_blank"><i>American Girl Magazine</i></a> off the rack in a last ditch attempt to quiet my whining daughter. Full of fun quizzes and art projects - and advertisements for dolls and books and crafts and clothes (all sold by American Girl) - it was love at first sight. When we finally got to the register I had no choice but to buy it and bring it on home.</div>
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Naturally, the requests began. First - Maia asked for <a href="http://store.americangirl.com/html/myagconfig2/main.html" target="_blank">a doll that looked just like her</a>. We created it on their website and ordered it for her 2012 Chanukah gift. Meanwhile<i> I</i> discovered <a href="http://store.americangirl.com/agshop/static/books.jsp" target="_blank">American Girl books</a>. Really good books. Everything from historical and contemporary novels, to self-help, to arts and crafts. I embraced them and began gifting them to Maia. She didn't complain.</div>
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Eventually Maia read that one of the (American Girl) books she loved had been made into a movie and was available to view via amazon. It was <a href="http://store.americangirl.com/agshop/html/set/id/1674/ctc/XSCOORD" target="_blank"><i>McKenna</i>, about a young gymnast</a>. After watching it <strike>10 million</strike> several times, Maia requested gymnastics classes for herself. I signed her up and she continues to go now (8 months and counting) The sport has provided her with exercise and motivation for improvement. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JxWWLax7CxM/UoGyJRdQMgI/AAAAAAAACE0/jYA86J-Q5ck/s1600/maia+and+sage+-+Edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JxWWLax7CxM/UoGyJRdQMgI/AAAAAAAACE0/jYA86J-Q5ck/s320/maia+and+sage+-+Edited.jpg" width="236" /></a>Then came <a href="http://store.americangirl.com/agshop/static/saigedoll.jsp?cm_re=leftnav-_-girloftheyear-_-textlink" target="_blank">Saige</a>. I don't know which was first - the movie, the doll, or the book. Regardless, we managed to acquire all three (plus a matching "Saige" outfit in Maia-size). She must have read the book 5 or 10 times and watched the movie even more. This is Saige's story:</div>
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<i>Saige’s new school year isn’t starting out well. She and her best friend, Tessa, seem to be growing apart. And because of funding cuts, Saige won’t have art—her favorite class—at school this year. Her grandma Mimi suggests that she do something about it, such as lead a "save the arts" parade and fund-raiser on Mimi’s horse Picasso. Soon Saige is training Picasso for the parade, which helps take her mind off her troubles at school.</i><br />
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<i><br />Then Mimi is injured in an accident, and Saige waits and worries, wondering what she can do. Can she ride Picasso in the parade and make her grandma proud? Can she still raise money to protect art at school? Saige is determined to try. <a href="http://store.americangirl.com/agshop/static/saigedoll.jsp?cm_re=leftnav-_-girloftheyear-_-textlink">(From the AG website.)</a></i></div>
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On the drive to school one day, Maia told me her own story: "we only get to go to Cooking Class once a month now and Gardening Class is gone all together. I asked [my teacher] why and she said it's because funds have been cut. I said we should have a fundraiser so we can make enough money to bring the classes back... Maybe a bake sale, or a fashion show or ... a parade." </div>
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Wow. Talk about life imitating art. </div>
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I assured Maia that people were doing many things to try to raise money for these programs. <a href="http://www.gourmetghetto.org/" target="_blank">The North Berkeley Gourmet Ghetto was putting on a tasting event</a>, the PTA was trying to funnel more money into the programs, and the <a href="http://berkeleyhalf.com/" target="_blank">Inaugural Berkeley Half Marathon</a> had a team to raise money for the <a href="http://www.berkeleypublicschoolsfund.org/team-schools-fund-run-for-education/" target="_blank">Berkeley Public School Fund</a>....</div>
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<i>And everything came together</i> - of course:<a href="http://embracingtheabsurd.blogspot.com/2013/11/cori-gets-fit.html" target="_blank"> I could run the 10k option </a>and would join the the team to raise money for Berkeley schools. Even better, I could allocate HALF the money I raise to the school of my choice: Maia's school.</div>
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The race is two weeks away and Maia is elated - eagerly helping me figure out ways to approach people for donations. She looks at the <a href="http://www.crowdrise.com/teamschoolsfundrunfo/fundraiser/corikesler" target="_blank">fundraising site </a>regularly to view the bar graph that shows how close we are to the $1000 goal. Together we subtract what's been given so far from our final goal to see what we have yet to raise. She watches my training carefully - making sure I'll be up to the task of running 10k in two weeks. It's all been a very very good lesson.</div>
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Sunday, November 24 (2013) will see me running my first ever race. Maia (and her brother) will be on the sidelines cheering me on. Last week I ran six and a half miles, so physically, I'm ready. Fundraising is a little slower, but we'll get there. <a href="http://www.crowdrise.com/teamschoolsfundrunfo/fundraiser/corikesler" target="_blank">Want to help? A $5 or $10 donation to the campaign "buys" a lot</a>: 1. monetary support for Berkeley Public Schools with half the funds going directly to Maia's school; 2. lessons in math, strategy, and community involvement for my daughter; 3. encouragement for me to continue my quest for fitness in middle age. </div>
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I am in no way affiliated with American Girl and this post is not an advertisement.</div>
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Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-90181060462015435622013-11-05T10:37:00.001-08:002013-11-12T09:14:36.327-08:00Cori Gets FitMy friends were getting these little devices called <a href="http://www.fitbit.com/home" target="_blank">fitbits</a> and posting their steps walked, calories consumed, and even habits of sleep to facebook, twitter and any other social network in which they participated. I was intrigued.<br />
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Having not taken part in any regular exercise since 2007 (when Maia became too old for Baby/Mommy yoga) I was the most out of shape I'd ever been in my life. Climbing the BART stairs at Mission Street resulted in immediate breathlessness and sore muscles the next day. Walking <a href="http://embracingtheabsurd.blogspot.com/2012/10/sam-i-am-pimms-no-1.html" target="_blank">Sam</a> was a chore so I'd bring him to dog parks and let him burn off energy while I sat watching. This, combined with the fact that my daily "commute" is about 3 yards from my bed to my desk, had me wondering how many steps a day<i> I</i> took...<br />
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Fitbits are expensive so I ordered a good old fashioned <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ozeri-4x3sport-Pedometer-Tri-Axis-Technology/dp/B008DLVKES/ref=sr_1_11?ie=UTF8&qid=1383667226&sr=8-11&keywords=pedometer" target="_blank">pedometer off amazon</a> for about $20 bucks and soon discovered that on an <i>active</i> day I took a total of about 2400 steps. <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14715035" target="_blank">The National Institute of Health categorizes less than 5000 steps as "sedentary" and 10000 as "active."</a> I was officially sedentary.<br />
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So I started walking with Sam. I used an app called MapARun (available for free in the app store) to chart mile-long walks around town and began finding ways to add steps to my daily routines, but 10000 seemed absolutely impossible. Until one amazing day it wasn't.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M5LT-VfyNZo/Unk1yFn_YnI/AAAAAAAACEA/Ujl-CMRJs7w/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M5LT-VfyNZo/Unk1yFn_YnI/AAAAAAAACEA/Ujl-CMRJs7w/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Somewhere in there I read a short story by <a href="https://www.google.com/shopping/product/12262102507458481039?q=zebra+by+chaim+potok&safe=off&rlz=1CASMAE_enUS553US553&bav=on.2,or.r_cp.r_qf.&bvm=bv.55980276,d.aWc,pv.xjs.s.en_US.EcV7juPhZrc.O&biw=1100&bih=609&tch=1&ech=1&psi=Yyp5Ut-aBIS0ygGY0oGYCA.1383672431697.3&sa=X&ei=iyp5UsvQCtLeyAG2roHoCA&ved=0CEAQ8wIwAA" target="_blank">Chaim Potok called ZEBRA </a> that was partly about a boy who loved to run. He flew. His adoration of running was described so beautifully that the rest of the tale was lost to me. I could focus only on the boy who ran for the "sheer joy of feeling the wind on his face." I wanted to feel that too.<br />
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The first time I ran was towards the end of August. I'd been walking pretty steadily for a couple of months and I'd just read ZEBRA. In the lasts blocks of a 4 miles stroll something made me pick up the pace. Hop. Jog. I ran the rest of the way home. I broke a sweat. I could barely breathe. It felt great.<br />
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So I kept up the walk/jog routine for several weeks and soon found myself <i>looking forward</i> to that time. My walk/runs were turning into run/walks and then, just runs. Almost suddenly I <i>could</i> breathe during my exercise and by the 15 minute mark my legs, like Zebra's, would "feel wondrously light". I began tracking my progress with the <a href="http://nikeplus.nike.com/plus/products/gps_app/" target="_blank">Nike+Running App</a> which was incredibly motivating. The first time I ran five kilometers I posted it to my facebook wall. Like my fitbit friends.<br />
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It's been about 5 months since the pedometer arrived at my door. For the past month I've kept steady at about five kilometers, four times a week. This past Saturday I managed five and a half <i>miles</i> in less than hour. Which is important because I'm running my first race - a 10k at the <a href="http://berkeleyhalf.com/" target="_blank">BerkeleyHalf</a> - mainly to raise money for my daughter's elementary school (more on that in a future post) - but also to show myself that I can do it. (Which means, by the way, that you can do it too.)<br />
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P.S. You can read ZEBRA for free <a href="http://www.wattpad.com/8058942-zebra-by-chaim-potok" target="_blank">here</a> - the first page is the one that had me running.<br />
P.P.S. You can help me raise money for my daughter's school by sponsoring me in the Berkeley Half 10K. You can do that <a href="http://www.crowdrise.com/teamschoolsfundrunfo/fundraiser/corikesler" target="_blank">here</a>. (There will be more on this in a <a href="http://embracingtheabsurd.blogspot.com/2013/11/american-girl-lessons.html" target="_blank">future post</a>.)Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-31959902421747997922012-12-18T12:15:00.000-08:002012-12-20T15:56:50.818-08:00Rebuild<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today I'm thinking of the kids in Newtown and their first day back at school. Thankfully "<a href="http://usnews.nbcnews.com/_news/2012/12/18/15990432-nervous-parents-send-kids-back-to-school-in-newtown?lite" target="_blank">Sandy Hook ... remains a crime scene, with no indication if its 600 students will ever return to the building. Preparations are being made for them to use a school building in a neighboring town in the interim</a>." I'm assuming most parents will stay with their children today. There will be police present, counselors, perhaps some story-tellers and clowns or magicians. There will be lots of art-making. The children, their families, and staff will feel as safe as is possible given the circumstances.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'd like to see the Sandy Hook school leveled to the ground (after the crime scene is processed). I'd like to see the students and teachers and parents participating in its destruction. Pounding with hammers and pulling with cranes. Destroying the place where this happened to them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then, after it's all down, I want to see the students set the first bricks onto the new foundation that will become their school. Again.</span></div>
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Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-82652351738667078712012-12-14T09:57:00.001-08:002012-12-18T12:16:22.334-08:00Photos Sharing SwitchThere are several reasons that I <a href="http://embracingtheabsurd.blogspot.com/2011/06/appsperiments.html" target="_blank">switched from a Droid phone to an iPhone</a> a couple of years ago - one of which was joining <a href="http://instagram.com/berzerkeley" target="_blank">Instagram</a> which, at the time, was not available on the the Android platform.<br />
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Nearly two years have passed and (finally?) this week things have begun shaking up in the phone-photo-sharing world:</div>
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1. Instagram and twitter stopped working together. Instagram photos are no longer included in the feed. To view the image you are required to click out to the Instagram website.</div>
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2. Twitter introduced filters to its photo platform. Images are, of course, included in-stream and kept as a record in your profile.</div>
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3. Flickr introduced a huge new upgrade to its iOS app which includes filters and editing along with sharing in-stream to twitter and facebook. </div>
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As someone who cross-posts many (most?) of my photos to twitter, it is essential to me that it's easy for my followers to view them. I've always disliked having to click out to see photos (on tumblr for example) so why should I expect other to do so? Based on this feature alone I made the decision to only share via Flickr. </div>
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet tw-align-center">
for your convenience, I'll be linking photos via flickr from now on.<br />
— Berzerkeley (Cori) (@berzerkeley) <a data-datetime="2012-12-10T00:18:18+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/berzerkeley/status/277930201202192384">December 10, 2012</a></blockquote>
My plan had been to continue editing in Instagram and sharing to flickr and THEN sharing from flickr to twitter. But then this happened:<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet tw-align-center">
Wow Flickr! Great job on the new app! <a href="http://t.co/qLKCYsqN" title="http://flic.kr/p/dAufxF">flic.kr/p/dAufxF</a><br />
— Berzerkeley (Cori) (@berzerkeley) <a data-datetime="2012-12-12T17:01:24+00:00" href="https://twitter.com/berzerkeley/status/278907416245071872">December 12, 2012</a></blockquote>
<script async="async" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>
It's an awesome app. I love it. There is room for improvement, but it's already heads and tails better than instagram.<br />
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Check it out <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/flickr/id328407587?mt=8" target="_blank">here</a> (unfortunately it's not available for Android yet).<br />
You can follow me on flickr here: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/corikesler/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/corikesler/</a> (Or you can just click on the flickr photostream widget on the right.)<br />
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Happy photo-sharing.<br />
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<script async="async" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script>Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-87482120078364101142012-10-22T11:37:00.000-07:002012-10-22T11:37:41.853-07:00Calling Wisconsin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BpHRlz2qjCA/UIWRs4TvBSI/AAAAAAAABxg/-mpnECdzPu8/s1600/6527071681_2662a96eb1_o.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BpHRlz2qjCA/UIWRs4TvBSI/AAAAAAAABxg/-mpnECdzPu8/s200/6527071681_2662a96eb1_o.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
"Hi, may I speak with Mable?"<br />
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"This is she."</div>
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"Hi Mable, my name is Cori and I'm a volunteer for the GrassRoots Obama Campaign. How are you today?"</div>
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"Ohhh I got sick in church today and I'm just not feeling well."</div>
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"Oh no! Do you have someone with you?"</div>
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"No... my sister might come over later... but I just don't feel well."</div>
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"Mable, are you safe? Do you need me to call someone for you?"</div>
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"Thank you dear, I'm safe. I'm just going to lay down."</div>
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"Ok, should I call back another time?"</div>
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"Oh yes! Please do!"</div>
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Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-46792999914320124022012-10-17T09:59:00.000-07:002012-10-17T11:59:07.366-07:00A Binder Full Men<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o3mngor3onY/UH7jD8EVrTI/AAAAAAAABxA/a57n1kUKgsY/s1600/binder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o3mngor3onY/UH7jD8EVrTI/AAAAAAAABxA/a57n1kUKgsY/s1600/binder.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo: flickr, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/span112/" target="_blank">Jinx</a></td></tr>
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I saw only the tail end of the Presidential Debate last night, so I missed Romney's comment about "women in binders". My twitter stream, however, was paying full attention and blew up with quips and comments hash tagged<a href="https://twitter.com/search/realtime?q=%23bindersfullofwomen&src=typd" target="_blank"> #womeninbinders</a>. Within minutes there were facebook pages and groups, tumblrs, twitter handles and memes. I could write about how fun this collective conversation is, but my friend <a href="http://tarahunt.com/2012/10/17/why-i-heart-the-social-web/" target="_blank">Tara Hunt has already done that beautifully on her blog post this morning.</a><br />
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I have a different story to tell.<br />
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Eleven years ago a friend of mine decided that she couldn't wait any longer to have a baby. She was nearly forty and financially secure. With no volunteer fathers among her friends, she made her way to a bank. A sperm bank. Once there she was presented with binders full of questionnaires completed in handwriting by potential donors. (Incidentally, I also missed Romney's stance on single parents, but I gather from<a href="http://nymag.com/thecut/2012/10/how-to-be-a-good-single-mom-to-obama-and-romney.html" target="_blank"> what I've read </a>that he would not approve of my friend - or me, for that matter.)<br />
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She tells of sitting in the bank's private room, browsing through the binders, reading the donors' answers, analyzing their words and the curves of the letters, the crosses on T's and the dots on i's. It was like catalog shopping, she said. Choices included men of all races and religions, tall, short, rich, poor, educated and not. She went back several times over the course of six months before finding the "match" that was right for her.<br />
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Now my friend has a beautiful, intelligent daughter in the sixth grade at a competitive private music school. She has done an amazing job raising this little girl but, with all seriousness, she credits having chosen the best man from the binder.Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-63375781503634780782012-10-15T18:51:00.000-07:002012-10-15T19:02:34.238-07:00It's NOT Always About You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zh2vh1zgnJ8/UHy9jSB5e3I/AAAAAAAABwQ/hWxfyOcKtcg/s1600/6273936029_2fe0fe2eee_m.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Zh2vh1zgnJ8/UHy9jSB5e3I/AAAAAAAABwQ/hWxfyOcKtcg/s1600/6273936029_2fe0fe2eee_m.jpeg" /></a></div>
Last week two friends came to pick up some pears from my tree and they happened to cross paths. I've known both of them for more than 20 years; one more than thirty. Naturally they've seen each other from time to time at my (ever more infrequent) gatherings and dinner parties. The two exchanged warm hellos and briefly caught each other up on main life events.<br />
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As I handed over the pears one friend had to leave, said goodbye to us both, and left out the front door. The other friend looked at me and said, "did you see this? We're dressed exactly the same!!"<br />
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I got up and turned around (there's a mirror on the wall) and we stood there, side by side, sure enough, "brown long sleeve shirts, jeans, black vests, black shoes... Look at us!" and we burst out laughing. It's funny because we are both 43 year old newly divorced moms who have been friends since Girl Scouts and somehow continually reflect each other - right down to the clothes we wear.<br />
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She stayed a while longer then had to run off to get her kids.<br />
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Fast forward three days and I receive a call from the first friend - the one who left early. "I wasn't out the door two seconds before you girls started making fun of me!!"<br />
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"Huh? What are you talking about?" - me.<br />
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"There is NOTHING WRONG WITH A BROWN SHIRT!" he yelled, "I heard what you were saying - those windows were wide open! You should be ashamed."<br />
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After I recovered from my bewilderment and figured out what he was talking about I told him he had misunderstood and reiterated the actual conversation.<br />
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He was silent for a moment, then said, "I've been feeling bad for two days thinking you were making fun of me."<br />
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.... "How are you enjoying the pears?"<br />
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<br />Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-15575105719871448532012-10-11T22:14:00.001-07:002012-10-15T18:52:33.201-07:00New York Apartments<b><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: large;">January 1987 - June 1987</span></b><br />
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<b style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Fashion Institute onTechnology dorms on 27th between 9th and 10th Avenue.</b></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Because of my mid-year arrival all the dorms were taken so I, along with two other transfers, were placed in a cleaned storage room stuffed with a bunk bed, a twin and three desks. One roommate was a spikey-haired goth punk who quickly obtained a job in The Village. The other was a Catholic gal who was practically engaged to a man with whom she'd never had sex. We ate at the school cafeteria with the rest of the students. I consumed a lot of cereal and the only reason I didn't gain the freshman ten is because I took a part time job at a health club.</span></div>
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<b style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span style="font-size: large;">July 1987 - October 1987</span></b></div>
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<b style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One bedroom on the fifth floor of a 5-story walk-up on 46th Street between 9th and 10th Avenues</b></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The punk roommate and I escaped dorm life for Hell's Kitchen. We shared a bedroom in a tiny oddly shaped apartment for which we paid $750/mth. She liked to sleep late. I'd go to the corner and eat at the diner. It's still there - the Galaxy, it's called. We were robbed the week we moved in. From my bedroom window I could watch the street and thus uncovered which prostitutes belonged to which pimps and the best way to outsmart the cops during a raid (throw your lollypop in the street, put on your coat, hang your purse on your shoulder and walk with purpose. The ones who ran always got caught.) I transferred to Baruch on 24th and continued working at the health club.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><b><span style="font-size: large;">October 1987 - February 1988</span></b></span></div>
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<b>Large one bedroom on the 28th floor of a Luxury Doorman Building on 36th Street and 1st Avenue</b></div>
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After a fallout with the punk roommate, and with the financial help of extended family, I moved across town to share a one bedroom apartment with a gal who modeled. Funny thing is, she was incredibly unattractive, though tall and thin with long hair. She had lots of pretty lingere... In retrospect I'm sure she was an escort. I kept going to school and working at the health club. Eventually the roommate went postal on me - accusing me of stealing clothes, if I remember correctly... I moved.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">March 1988 - January 1989</span></b></div>
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<b>Studio Garden Apartment on the basement floor of a seven story building on 83rd Street near 1st </b><b>Avenue</b></div>
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Having been completely put off any sort of roommate scenario, I found a studio apartment on the Upper East Side and transferred to Hunter College. The studio had a door to a "garden" with a table to eat outside. It was my first time living alone - I sewed curtains and cushions and made the space a home. It was beautiful and I loved it there until the mouse arrived. After my landlord stuffed the hole from where it came, the mouse couldn't get back outside so took up residence behind my stove - driving me nearly crazy. </div>
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I was 19 years old and I quit my job at the health club and transferred to UC Riverside.</div>
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I never had another opportunity to live in the city again.</div>
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Of course, life's not over.</div>
Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-18185047031041410522012-10-10T17:27:00.000-07:002012-10-11T22:17:35.474-07:00Locks of Love (Wordless Wednesday)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-83684805500325816502012-10-09T16:45:00.000-07:002012-10-09T17:10:50.444-07:00The Coffee Promise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Reading and responding to <a href="https://twitter.com/Lizz_Porter" target="_blank">Liz's</a> tweet yesterday morning prompted me to contemplate my own coffee habit.<br />
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It's big. And it has a routine.<br />
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Ironically, it all begins minutes before I retire for the night: I prep the coffee maker. Cleaning the pot and catching a whiff of fresh grounds as I pour them into the filter is <i>a promise of good things for the morning</i>.<i> </i><br />
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I rise at six so I can enjoy an hour of quiet before waking the kids. As I walk to the shower, I stop by the coffee machine and tap the "on" button. By the time I'm cleaned up, there is a full pot waiting.<br />
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Poured into a favorite mug and doused with a healthy splash of half and half (no sugar!) I return to my bedroom, dress and relax with my coffee while catching up on facebook, twitter and emails from the night before. It's my favorite part of the day.<br />
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Throughout the morning I drink coffee - while making breakfast for the kids, in my travel thermos on the way to school, a final cup when I get back before starting work.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee Ice "Cubes" </td></tr>
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Around four in the afternoon I start jonesing for another cup. There are several different ways of going about this. The first, and least glamorous, is to simply reheat the morning's coffee. Alternatively, if it's a hot day I pour myself an iced coffee using what's left in the pot and coffee ice cubes made the day before. <i>(That's right, the last thing I do with the puddle at the bottom of my pot is pour it into trays and pop them in the freezer. Coffee cubes mean I don't have to worry about a weak and watery drink.)</i> Finally, I might get my afternoon coffee by brewing myself a single cup (using pour-over method) or taking myself out to a cafe.<br />
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Sadly, this entire routine is being somewhat <a href="http://embracingtheabsurd.blogspot.com/2012/10/invisalign-on-eating.html" target="_blank">thwarted by Invisalign</a>, but I'm managing... Coffee is more than a drink for me - it's a symbol of renewal that promises a fresh start.<br />
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Of course, it also keeps me awake.Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-70714236969708338212012-10-08T15:48:00.001-07:002012-10-08T15:49:58.807-07:00Invisalign and EatingDuring the past four years I've been (cue sarcasm) lucky enough to have developed a tongue thrust in which - particularly at night when I'm clenching my teeth - my tongue presses against my teeth. The result is teeth that have shifted, leaving gaps and spaces that provide a less than perfect smile.<br />
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Never mind cosmetics, the fact is that - unless I do something - my teeth will continue to move outward until they eventually fall out. Seriously.<br />
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After consulting several orthodontists it was decided that <a href="http://www.invisalign.com/Pages/default.aspx" target="_blank">Invisalign</a> was the best choice for my particular issue. I'd spend 10 months straightening my teeth and then wear a retainer-type thing every night. Forever.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wearing my Invisalign trays.</td></tr>
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The process started ten weeks ago, but I've been wearing the trays for only four. The idea is that you wear <a href="http://www.invisalign.com/How-Invisalign-Works/Pages/Default.aspx" target="_blank">these trays</a> 22 hours a day - taking them out only to eat and drink. After you eat, you must brush both your teeth and the trays before returning them to your mouth.<br />
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This has been a HUGE disruption to my life. I like to spend the mornings sipping coffee. Meals aren't as big a part of my life as is snacking on almonds and berries. All. Day. Long.<br />
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Now, every time I want to take a bite or a taste of something the trays must be removed. And it's not an easy process. It takes me a few minutes. Sometimes I have to use a special tool to prod the plastic off my teeth.<br />
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Needless to say, I've been taking less bites, sips and tastes. It's not so easy to snack on grapes while driving home from the grocery store, stop for a quick coffee, taste food samples at CostCo or TJ's. I have to be much more mindful of when I eat and where there is a suitable place to brush my teeth after doing so.<br />
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I hate it. Nine more months to go.<br />
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<br />Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-21732024297062626862012-10-07T21:16:00.000-07:002012-10-08T15:49:27.548-07:00The Keyboard TrayFifteen years ago (give or take) my new live-in boyfriend (to eventually become my husband and then my ex) built a desk for me from two saw horses and a door. He claimed it was what all the cool studios were doing ...<br />
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Regardless of the "cool studios", the desk didn't work for me. I replaced the saw horses with two-drawer filing cabinets and set out to find a keyboard tray to make it a real desk.<br />
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I soon discovered that keyboard trays came in a variety of models - from a very simple roll out drawer to a platform that could be adjusted every which way for "correct ergonomic posture." Ergonomic language was just beginning to get popular and I decided that since I was going to be sitting at it all day, it would be best to be comfortable.<br />
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The tray I chose not only rolled in and out from under the desk, it also rotated right and left and the platform itself could be placed at an angle. It was more than a hundred dollars and a huge splurge for me at the time. Furthermore it was one of my first substantial online purchases. It came from an office supply store in New Jersey and took more than two weeks to arrive<br />
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The keyboard tray has been with me through three different desks (including the door) and has kept my wrists straight and my elbows at right angles and - despite thousands of hour in front of my computer since 1998 - I've not developed carpel tunnel syndrome.<br />
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Today it broke. And not in a way that can be fixed.<br />
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Swamped with work and hoping to get the job done quickly I rushed over to Office Depot thinking they'd have something. Nope. They suggested IKEA - a place that I would never ever venture on a Sunday afternoon.<br />
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So I'm online again - looking for keyboard trays. Funny: they haven't gone up (or down) much in price but there are many more from which to choose. What HAS changed is that I'm searching via <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Doffice-products&field-keywords=keyboard+tray&rh=n%3A1064954%2Ck%3Akeyboard+tray" target="_blank">Amazon</a> instead of Yahoo. Furthermore, I'm limiting my search to "Amazon Prime" items so my tray will be on my doorstep by Wednesday.<br />
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I can hardly wait.<br />
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<br />Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-32857916497847114272012-10-06T19:14:00.002-07:002012-10-06T19:25:37.090-07:00It's HairRecently I took about six inches off the length of my hair. I did it in two steps - three inches at a time. The result is a chin length bob - straight and tidy. Friends on facebook used words like professional, sassy, sexy, sophisticated. The cafe owner around the corner said - you should have done this years ago. Acquaintances ask me how I feel about such a big change.<br />
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One part of me feels this is ridiculous. It's (only) hair. It grows back. Another part is relieved that those years of growth are shorn - those (dead) hair cells contained all the angst and drama and sadness from years ago - the hair that remains is newer and reflects the person I'm striving to be.<br />
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So when Maia asked to have her hair cut like mine I was only little surprised by my immediate rejection. True the time and energy saved by NOT having to <a href="http://embracingtheabsurd.blogspot.com/2011/10/braids-before-bed.html" target="_blank">maintain her long lock</a>s would make both our lives easier, but her tangled mane contains so many memories and discussions and arguments and love...<br />
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Then I think - it's HAIR. Let's cut off her 10 inches and send them to <a href="http://www.locksoflove.org/" target="_blank">Locks of Love</a> so a child - who's loss of hair is truly emotionally and physically significant - can have a sense of normalcy.<br />
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I made an appointment for her next week. An old friend will be cutting Maia's hair - a stylist who gave Joe his first cut. Somehow this comforts me.<br />
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Maia will look adorable in a bob.Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-66059850160232144342012-10-05T23:10:00.000-07:002012-10-05T23:19:37.320-07:00Election Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Have you ever had a conversation with someone and come out of it realizing that neither of you understood what the other was saying? Even when speaking the "same" language our messages can be misinterpreted because words are like shells we've created around objects and feelings. They are fragile. We speak our own truths which are absorbed, shuffled and reorganized by the person to whom we talk. Once words leave the safety of our mouths, (head, heart) they become the property of those who have heard them. And they, dear speaker, can do anything they'd like with the colloquy offered. Everyone has an agenda and they will hear what is needed to fill it.<br />
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Words: they mean nothing. <br />
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<br />Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-84303435496688610972012-10-04T22:39:00.001-07:002012-10-05T08:51:19.437-07:00Retrospective Applications<br />
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Every day, two services - apps to which I subscribe - scan my social media feeds (facebook, twitter, instagram) and deliver an email to me that contains my posts from one day from the past.</div>
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<a href="http://www.timehop.com/" target="_blank">Timehop</a> sends my feed from exactly a year ago. It also tells me what the day and weather were like and if anything significant occurred. Best of all it gives me a pep talk, saying I'm awesome (or not) in a little note at the end of each report.</div>
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Offering a deeper look into your online life is <a href="http://www.memolane.com/" target="_blank">Memolane</a> - it too sends a daily email. Rather than limit itself to a single year, this service can reach back further and I find myself viewing tweets I wrote four years ago when at the age of seven, for example, Joe coined the word "<a href="http://bit.ly/T5NFc4" target="_blank">republicat</a>". I love being reminded of my son's quiet genius.</div>
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On the other hand, there is always a risk that I'll be reminded of a horrible day. In fact, it happens more often than I would like. Occasionally it gets me down, but more often I'm grateful for how far I've come.</div>
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There are other apps that are offering this service (foursquare, for one). Do you subscribe to any? Why do we find our own pasts so fascinating?</div>
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Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-16711345418160721742012-10-03T15:36:00.000-07:002012-10-03T16:19:40.347-07:00What I See (Wordless Wednesday)<span style="color: #3a2a34; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 15px;"><a href="http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_wordless_Wednesday" target="_blank">On Wednesdays all over the internet, bloggers post a photograph with no words to explain it on their blog. Hence the ‘wordless’ title. The idea is that the photo itself says so much that it doesn’t need any description. </a></span><br />
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<br />Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5803621650074627930.post-71437562357666213212012-10-02T15:41:00.001-07:002012-10-06T13:36:34.066-07:00One Summer with Mrs. Stahl A twitter friend recently pointed me to <a href="http://www.jweekly.com/article/full/66560/mrs.-stahls-famous-knish-recipe-finally-found-in-san-francisco/" target="_blank">an article in a local paper</a> regarding a book being written about Knishes and featuring Mrs. Stahl's Potato Knishes - a store that was once owned by my great uncle Morris and his brother Sam. It was a family business and everyone worked there - at least for a little bit. This is a story about the few days I worked behind the counter. It is as I remember it, and I'm absolutely positively sure that my memory is flawed.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4L4VF2G82tc/UGtsavwzzLI/AAAAAAAABsU/lZ2KnF8PflE/s1600/Stahls_Knishes.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4L4VF2G82tc/UGtsavwzzLI/AAAAAAAABsU/lZ2KnF8PflE/s1600/Stahls_Knishes.jpeg" style="cursor: move;" /></a>It may have been my first time flying alone - that summer of '81 when I traveled (from San Diego) to Brooklyn for a few weeks to be with relatives and work at the Knish Store. Towering over my friends at 5 feet, 2 inches, I was tall for a 6th grader, and the most ... developed. I looked to be closer to 15, and was treated as such by strangers - flight attendants, shop keepers, distant relatives - who didn't know different or see me too often. </div>
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The "work" I did at the store those weeks was filtered through the love of my Great Uncle ... I didn't mop floors or even wipe tables but I could make the coffee - light, sweet, black, everything - and hand over a knish while someone else rung up the orders. I vaguely recall glances full of angry resentment from my colleagues ... I don't think I understood exactly what the problem was and wasn't concerned enough to ask how to change it.</div>
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A boy - maybe 18 - who worked at the shop asked my great aunt if he could take me out. They loved this kid (I don't remember his name) and I think they were happy for me to have a chance to hang out with someone my "own age" (after all, the difference between 12 and 17 is only five years and that's nothing ... right?) </div>
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We went to the Coney Island Board Walk and rode the roller coaster. As we whipped around, the boy began stroking my arm with his thumb. An act meant, I'm sure, as a gesture of comfort (this is why boys take girls on carnival rides, no?), but it was overwhelming and absolutely confusing to me: the 12 year old who may have liked (or even been attracted to) this boy but wasn't really ready to be stroked.</div>
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I don't remember any more of that day - which I suppose, was my official first date. But what I DO remember - in hindsight that is seeped in years of therapy - I find quite fascinating.</div>
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The next day (or a few days later, I'm not sure) arrangements had been made for me to go to the movies with the boy. He was due to arrive when something - I have absolutely no recollection of what - set me off, and I had the tantrum of all tweenage tantrums. Acts of rage on my part were not unheard of (I was a depressed and difficult child/teen) but this one was different because I remember having to be physically contained. There was a fear the upstairs neighbors would call the police. My grandmother became desperate and I was locked in the TV room (completely air conditioned and comfortable) until I calmed. </div>
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By that time, of course, the boy had come and gone. I asked my aunt what had transpired, what he said, I wanted to know everything. They'd told him I wasn't feeling well and couldn't go out. He had been a little disappointed and left.</div>
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I didn't go back to work at the store after that.</div>
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Cori Keslerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14493062547489487428noreply@blogger.com0