Keep Your Friends Close and Your Farmers Closer: Two Local Farms Join Forces to Expand in May

Amid economic uncertainty and small business obstacles during a global pandemic, it’s nice to hear about businesses working together to help each other succeed rather than compete until one can no longer run.

Two locally owned farms are doing just that. Hailing from Shortsville and Farmington, New York, Orchard Hill Farm and Silver Linings Farm both specialize in selling produce, eggs, poultry, and pork.
“They’ve been running a similar farm operation to what we have going on, and they were raising pigs too. We decided to join forces rather than compete against each other.” Explains Nathan Boor of Orchard Hill Farm.

Joining forces looks to be working in both farms’ favor, as they are now planning to expand.
In September, Orchard Hill and Silver Linings bought the former Fresh-Ayr Farm Market – a successful and beloved garden center. After 32 years of success, Fresh-Ayr Farm Market owner Kris Gray was looking to retire and was very pleased to sell her business to someone that would want to do something similar with the property.

According to Conor Trippe of Silver Linings Farm, both he and Boor knew about the property being for sale before they even decided to collaborate. “Back in January I was trying to get a butcher date for our pigs, but I couldn’t find any. I called Nate and asked out of curiosity if he found any, but no luck. Shortly after that phone call, I asked if he’d want to build a butcher shop together in passing, and the idea just stuck.”

Serendipity Acres Greenhouse and Meat Market’s Owners (from left to right): D’Lena, Conor, Nathan, and Cierra.

A new chapter calls for a new name, and the two farms decided to name their new venture Serendipity Acres Greenhouse and Meat Market.
They will continue to sell plants and flowers, but rather than a seasonal operation there are plans to keep the market open year-round. The biggest addition will be a meat market placed in the current storefront. Their butchering will be done on site, as Boor and Conor Trippe (of Silver Linings Farm) have been working diligently to renovate and equip one of the property’s existing buildings with everything to keep the entire butchering process locally sourced. While pork is both farms’ specialty, they also plan to sell pasture-raised chicken, beef, and lamb.

Serendipity Acres’ soft opening is on April 1st, 2022 with a grand opening to follow a month afterwards on May 1st.

Though the grand opening isn’t until next spring, Serendipity Acres is happy to offer some of their services. If you have any meat that needs to be processed (deer season, anyone?) or some meat that you’d like turned into sausage or jerky, you can visit the blue building in the back of the market. Serendipity Acres will be there every evening from 4:00pm to 8:00pm and happy to help.

As someone that enjoys supporting local business and is conscious about the quality and care of their food, I am very excited about this farming collaboration. I’m looking forward to seeing this family owned and operated business grow while making new memories at a place that was so frequently peppered throughout my childhood.

In the meantime, follow Serendipity Acres Greenhouse and Meat Market’s Facebook page to get the latest news and updates on their products and expansion. See you in May 2022!

Studying a Sleep Study

Last Friday I had a much-anticipated sleep study. My dentist referred me to a sleep specialist a few months ago, and I was able to get an in-person sleep study set up this fall.
My quality of sleep has been very poor lately for a multitude of reasons: stress, grief, recent wonky sleep patterns, and years of grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw at night. The last reason is why my dentist decided to refer me to a sleep specialist. She believes there’s an underlying cause.

In case nobody has drilled it into your head enough, sleep is important. And the quantity of sleep you get means little if it’s a poor quality of sleep.

Sleep deprivation can wreak havoc on your health, including but not limited to, mood swings, memory issues, lack of concentration, a weakened immune system, headaches, weight gain, depression, and constant fatigue.

The more I woke up feeling fatigued, moody, or with a headache the more I actually looked forward to getting this sleep study done. Is it how I wanted to spend a Friday night? No, I could think of more fun things to do. But all in all it was an interesting experience, and I’d like to figure out how to improve my sleep so I can get back to doing the things I love to do after work (like working out, running, cooking, etc.) without feeling too exhausted to do them.

While driving to Rochester (yes, I had to drive from Buffalo to Rochester) during rush hour on a Friday evening to get to my sleep study, inspiration struck.
Why not study my sleep study? I had a notebook in my work bag that I take with me in case I have writing ideas while I’m at the office. I had a pen in my purse. My appointment was scheduled for 7:30 and I knew I’d have some downtime.
They’re going to be studying me, so maybe it would be interesting to study the sleep study, the sleep center, and the whole process. It was a silly idea, but I rolled with it. I figured I might as well make the most out of my Friday night. I started logging what went down before, during (until I was asleep), and after my sleep study and sarcastically referred to it as the Sleep Study Study. Creative, I know.

Pre Sleep Study: Getting Started

7:15 pm – I called to check in from outside the lobby doors. They keep the office locked after hours. The sleep tech, Rebecca, came to let me in. She was friendly. She took my temperature and showed me to my room.

7:20 pm – I’m in Room 3. It looks very similar to a hotel room. There’s a TV and a nice little bathroom sink, probably so we don’t have to run to the bathroom every we need to use a sink or mirror. It’s pretty cozy. The only glaring difference between the sleep study room and a hotel room is the video camera fastened to the ceiling.

7:45 pm – The bathrooms are conveniently located across the hall. They’re clean and each bathroom is shared between two rooms. I sign some forms. Rebecca explains the study. If I need anything during the night I can just speak out loud and the machines will pick it up. I’m going to feel like I’m talking to myself.

8:00 pm – I put my pajamas on before Rebecca comes back in to attach the wires. I assume I’ll look like one of those experimental potato clocks you see in old cartoons.

8:40 pm – I’m all wired up. There are two wires behind each ear to record my jaw movements, two on my temples to record my eye movements, a few on my scalp, two for an EKG, two on each leg to record any restless leg syndromes, and two bands strapped across my chest and right below my chest. I feel like a science experiment.

8:42 pm – I try to make myself comfortable and start watching an old Halloween episode of Bob’s Burgers. The episode where the family tries to scare their youngest daughter, Louise, with a homemade haunted house because she’s never been scared before. It’s a good one – highly recommend.

8:53 pm – I’m getting kind of thirsty. I’m hoping they have bottled water or a watering fountain somewhere, but I could use the sink to fill up my water bottle if need be.

8:58 pm – I realize my “bedroom” door is just a swinging door. (Though the sleep techs always knock upon entering). I immediately imagine someone randomly barging in, but then remember it would be recorded. Five minutes of thinking of how thirsty I am is enough for me to use the sink to fill up my water bottle.

9:03 pm – Wondering if I can actually brush my teeth like this, or if I shouldn’t risk it with these wires connected to my head.

9:20 pm – I managed to brush my teeth and not get any wires wet. It was easier than I anticipated. I can’t go to bed without brushing my teeth. It drives me crazy not to.

9:57 pm – I started to wonder if I had to keep this lanyard that’s hooked to the EEG box around my neck.

9:58 pm – Took the lanyard off. Nobody has yelled from the void to put it back on, so I think I’m safe.

10:03 pm – Maybe it’s something in the air here, but I think I’m ready for bed. Then again, I just drove to the sleep center right from work and I always seem tired lately. Maybe it’s just me.

Sleep Study Begins:

10:04 pm – Rebecca’s voice reaches me from the beyond (loud speaker) asking if I’m ready to get started.

10:07 pm – Getting under the covers poses way more of a challenge with all of these wires.

10:09 pm – Rebecca comes in to put the nasal cannula (to test for any sleep apnea or breathing issues) and oxygen reader on. The oxygen reader slips onto your pointer finger, so it’s preferable that you don’t wear any dark nail polish, gel polish, or acrylic nails.

10:11 pm – Rebecca leaves to find some tape because my finger is too small for the oxygen reader. She explains if anything comes off of me while I’m sleeping that someone will have to come in and put it back on.

10:15 pm – Lights are out. My eyes are immediately confused by the complete darkness. This room is windowless.

(At this point in the Sleep Study Study all times are an estimate as my phone is sitting on a nightstand.)

10:16 pm – Rebecca’s voice comes over the speaker and asks me to do a few tests to make sure the wires are working, such as moving each foot, blinking five times, etc.

10:18 pm – Rebecca says goodnight. I laugh in response.

10:20 pm – The lights from the camera on the ceiling look like two red eyes staring at me from the darkness. Fitting as it’s now October. Spooky season has commenced.

10:25 pm – My eyes have adjusted to the darkness. No more red demon eyes.

10:26 pm – I try to turn onto my side, but the band around my chest makes it uncomfortable.

10:30 pm – I realize as a sleeper that frequently moves around that I could very well suffocate myself with these wires, but then I remember the EKG wires and oxygen reader and turn over (for some reason my other side is more comfortable than the first side I tried to sleep on) and try to fall asleep.

10:36 pm – I hear a “pop” come for my leg, as if I accidentally ripped a wire off. I almost mumbled an expletive but remember I have a microphone taped to me in case I need anything. I didn’t rip any wires off. It turns out they just made a noise when I stretched my legs.

2:30 am – Rebecca’s voice comes from the void asking if I could try to sleep on my back. I sleepily move to my back and hopefully comply. (Rebecca mentioned before the study started that if I didn’t end up sleeping on my back on my own that she or another tech will prompt me to do so halfway through my study. The doctor wants monitoring of my sleep on my sides and my back.)

Post Sleep Study: The Aftermath

6:15 am – Rebecca comes in to wake me and warns me that she’s about to turn the lights on. Quite considerate of her. My parents never warned me that they were going to turn the lights on when I was a kid.

6:20 am – All the wires and tape are taken off of me. As far as I can recall nobody had to come in to adjust anything or put something back on in the middle of the night.

6:21 am – I’m free to leave whenever I’m ready. I get dressed and wash up.

6:23 am – I’ve gotten dressed and start washing my face. There is goo everywhere. Goo in my hair. Goo on my forehead. Goo on my chin. Luckily my childhood epilepsy had made me familiar with EEGs and this wasn’t my first rodeo. For anyone who is unaware: during an EEG, sleep study, etc. they will use this gooey substance to adhere the wires to your skin. The only way I can describe it is a mixture of glue and wax. It’s messy and makes you look like Albert Einstein when they put it in your hair, but it makes the wires much easier to get off of your scalp.

6:40 am – I’m cleaned up (to the best of my ability without a shower) and ready to hit the road. I text my Mom. I start my journey back to Buffalo. Jefferson Road has never looked so dead, but then again it’s before 7 am on a Saturday. I’m hoping that by the time I find a drive-thru to grab a coffee that the mark on the side of my face from the nasal cannula tube will fade away.

Though it’s not a typical or entertaining way to spend a Friday night, I actually found my sleep study to be interesting and was pleasantly surprised that I slept as well as I did with wires attached to my head and people watching me from another room. Many people who knew I had this sleep study have expressed interest or asked questions, and I hope this Sleep Study Study provided some insight and answers. Just as I hope I have some answers at my follow up appointment in a few weeks.

In the meantime, I’m trying to be better about establishing a nighttime routine, spending less time on my phone right before bed, and listening to a soothing meditation as I’m getting ready to fall asleep.

Fluff your pillows, count your sheep, and sweet dreams.

Infographics courtesy of:
Visual.ly Community Infographics
Skyterra Wellness
World Sleep Day
My Southern Health

The Hidden Parts of Grief

I often worry that I overshare my grief.

I wonder if people look at an article or quote I share on social media and think, “this again?”
I fear that my other best friends will think that I don’t appreciate them or care about them as much if I openly focus on my grief. (On the contrary, I don’t think I would be able to navigate this difficult time in my life without them.)
I worry that people will start to think of me as a “downer” if I share my feelings too often.

But I think to hide my grief would be to hide my true self. Nobody should hide who they are, and just like my best friend Allet was a big part of my life, my grieving over the loss of her will also play a big role in my life.

While I was fretting over whether or not I’m oversharing, something in the back of my mind kept nagging at me to write about it, because maybe I can reach out to someone that’s going through their own grieving process. Maybe they’re having the same thoughts I’m having about sharing grief, or maybe they aren’t fortunate enough to have anyone to talk to. If I’m going to “overshare,” I might as well do it in the hopes of reaching and relating to others in a similar situation.

Suddenly, when I started to write, another thought occurred to me. Allet lost her father last summer and used writing as a way to process her grief and as a form of self-care. She started her own blog called “You’ll Be Alright” – something her Dad always used to say to her.
Did I ever think she was “oversharing,” or talking about her grief too much, or “bringing the mood down?”
Never. I thought what she was doing was brilliant.

From then on I decided that I would continue to be open with my grief and grieving process so long as it continued to serve me (and hopefully others).

Grief can be isolating, but there’s no reason to face it alone.

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It’s been almost eight months since I unexpectedly lost my best friend. I think about her every single day. I think about the inside jokes we had. About how we could communicate with one simple word in a text message and the other person would immediately know what they were talking about. I think about how she was way too young to die. How I have to live the rest of my life without her. Every day I think about how absolutely lucky I was to have her for a best friend.

I’ve also thought about things that I never would have thought I would think about. I suppose it’s the other side of extreme grief that you don’t know about until you experience it for yourself.

Very few people are experiencing the same situation I am, and I have to learn to accept that.

Everyone that knew is Allet is experiencing a different type of grief, because everybody’s relationship with her was different. A mother, brother, grandmother, grandfather, boyfriend, aunts, uncles, cousins, college friends, high school friends, childhood friends, coworkers, neighbors – the list is nearly endless. And since we all had a different relationship with her, our grief forms its own unique path.

So I’ve had to learn to navigate my path on my own.

Sometimes outside influences make grief feel even more isolating and less relatable. I’ve noticed that many times these past eight months.
I hear it far too often, the downplay of the pandemic. How flippantly people talk about it.

“It only kills like one percent of people that get COVID.”
There have been 39.7 million reported cases in the United States. If one percent of those total cases resulted in death, there would be approximately 397,000 deaths. There have been 633,786 total deaths related to COVID-19 as of August 28, 2021. My best friend was one of those 633,786 people that lost their life to this pandemic. She is one of your “it only kills one percent.”

“I don’t even know anyone that was seriously sick.”
They’re lucky.

These phrases are a slap in the face. A permanent reminder that I will forever be different from the people that have uttered those sentences. I think I’ve had to remind myself at least once a day that they don’t understand what I’ve experienced. They don’t know what I’ve been going through. I hope they never have to know.

Hearing those phrases, and others like it, over and over again – on social media, at the laundromat, in the grocery store, from complete strangers, from people I know – sometimes takes a toll on my faith in humanity. At times I feel cynical and jaded. Hope feels as if it’s dwindling away. But then I hear some encouraging words from a friend, or my parents, or my Grandma, or I read a Humans of New York story and my hope in humanity is restored once again. It’s quite the cycle.

I know people are frustrated. It’s been a long (almost) two years. I believe that people are entitled to their own opinions and are free to make their own choices. I just wish they spoke about these things with more empathy, for there’s really no way to know what the person next to them as gone through.
Nevertheless, I need to take the things I hear with a grain of salt and move forward because when it comes down to it I need to accept that I’m traveling on a lesser-walked path.

If I don’t accept this, I’ll probably never find peace.

Survivor’s guilt is not just for plane crashes.

Whenever I heard the phrase “survivor’s guilt,” plane crashes with a few survivors or a war veteran back home from battle without his fellow soldiers always came to mind first. People that went through some sort of atrocity that could have just as easily harmed them as much as the person next to them, and yet they survive.

I didn’t realize the trauma of losing a best friend in a pandemic could feel the same way. It was sudden. I was texting her the night before just for her to be gone the next morning. Allet and I lived in the same city. We were the same age. We both followed safety guidelines during the pandemic. To our knowledge we were both healthy. I could have just as easily contracted that virus, but I didn’t.
I know many people that have lost someone special to this pandemic, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve felt the same way.

Allet was a kind person and productive member of society. She placed fourth academically in our high school class (while I was lucky if I received a B in math class) and was a college honor student. She was part of a young professionals nonprofit group, volunteered at the SPCA, and raised money for charity. She was compassionate and patient, (she had an abundance of patience compared to me). She was thriving at her career, had a loving boyfriend, and planned on having kids that I feel would have grown into productive members of society as well. (Meanwhile, I’m not even sure if I want kids.)
Do you see where I’m going with this? She had so much of value to share with the world.

This isn’t a pity party, and I know I too have skills to bring to the table, but sometimes it’s difficult to think about that when such a great life was taken so suddenly for reasons that can’t be explained. There is no rhyme or reason for the loss of those by sudden or tragic death.

I often feel these bouts of guilt when I have the opportunity to experience things that I feel like she’s missing out on. Our good friend’s wedding, the birth of her cousin’s baby, the trip to Europe we were planning, etc.
Something in the back of my mind nags at me when I think of how unfair it is that she has to miss out, but then a bigger part of my mind reminds me that Allet would want me to experience every great thing that I can, and she wouldn’t want guilt to get in the way of that.

As she often said – we can’t play the what-if game.

“I don’t waste my time trying to answer unanswerable questions, because, by definition, they’re unanswerable.”

Brian Clark, a 9/11 survivor

I’m much more aware of what is considered a priority in my life.

“Live your life to the fullest.” It’s just as terrible of a cliché as “life is too short,” but I’ve noticed that for the past eight months living my life the way I want to is my main focus.

I can remember talking to my Mom on the phone, for probably the third time that day, the morning after Allet passed away and saying to her, “I know when people go through grief many of them lose the motivation to everything, but right now I just want to do all the things that I’ve wanted to do.”

Everything I used to worry about seems trivial now. Rain during a vacation, losing a job, expensive car repairs, an awkward date – things that used to spark my anxiety don’t phase me like they used to.

Sometimes I used to get anxious about doing certain things. Now I just get anxious that I’ll run out of time to do them. I worry less about my finances, because once you’ve gone you can’t take it with you.

So I’ve started planning and doing. I’m in the midst of planning my 30th birthday trip to Europe. I bought Rosetta Stone and started learning German. I’m building a writing portfolio. I’m going to Vermont in November for a writing retreat. I began belly dancing and have my first recital this weekend.

I don’t know when my time on this earth will be up, but I’m going to strive to make it as memorable and worthwhile as I can while I’m here.

I feel so driven to make a difference.

Two of the kindest and most genuine people were taken from me within three months of each other – Allet and my Nana – and realizing what the world will lack due to their absence makes me want to attempt to fill those shoes. I have suddenly felt driven to make a difference, even if it’s just one person.

I was always a quiet child and even in my adult years tried to avoid conflict and keep my thoughts to myself. I used to care so much about what people thought of me, but now that some of the most important people in my life are no longer with me, I realized I only really cared about their opinions. And I know they loved me and what I have to offer to this world.

I’m not as silent as I used to be. I can still be quiet, but I use my voice in different ways, especially when I have some important to say. Sometimes, when something affects you so deeply, you can’t stay out of it. It almost physically hurts to refrain from it. I’m not afraid of peoples’ reactions anymore, because the people that truly care about me won’t turn away.

Allet was always willing to help others. In college she went to Mexico with her business club to give Maid of the Mist Sandals to people in need. She raised money for the United Way, the Alzheimer’s Association, and the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. She was always looking for a way to make a difference.

My Nana also made a difference in her community during her lifetime. She spent many years volunteering at a local nursing home. She worked with a local historian and researched the laborers that worked on the Erie Canal and raised the money for a marker dedicated to them at their resting place, which was once an unmarked grave and a local folk legend.

I often think of what they have done for others, and can only hope that I can do the same throughout my lifetime.

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Grief affects us all differently. Some feel its physical effects more, while others may feel the emotional effects are more prominent. Some feel both, and it varies every single day. Some days you might feel motivated to change your life or the world, while other days you go through your day only to realize you put your shirt on backwards and your car keys that you swore you misplaced are in the ignition, because you’re, you know, driving.

If you’re currently experiencing grief and all its hidden facets, remember that you aren’t alone, even if you feel like it.
If you know someone that is currently experiencing extreme grief, feel free to check in on them. Even in the silliest or mundane of ways. You aren’t bothering them. I promise.

Take care of yourself. Take care of others. And, as always, take care of each other. ♥

• 

  photo from Project Grief

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  photo from Zen Care

3 Ways That Finding The Courage to Attempt My First Solo Hike Changed My Perspective On Life

“Some beautiful paths can’t be discovered without getting lost.”

At the Eternal Flame

Dear Reader,

The day was August 2nd. Maybe it was the way the wind gently kissed my face as it blew northward as if nudging me on to explore the greater unknown. Perhaps it was the fact that behind me were my tumultuous 20’s with the blank slate of my 30’s ahead of me. Whatever the reason, I went inside, dusted off my hiking boots and told Flynn that today was a good day for an adventure. Today would be the day that I pushed my fear of getting lost aside and would give solo hiking a try and cross the Eternal Flame Trail off of my bucket list.

As I made many wrong turns, staggered up daunting hills, tried to make sense of trail markers, and tried my best not to look like a total newbie, I came to realize many beautiful things. There are many incredible lessons that I learned along the way of this short little adventure, but I thought I would share 3 of perhaps the most prolific of them with you

1. It’s okay to get lost

I am convinced that a privileged group of humans was born with the innate ability to know where they are at all times and where they are going in relation to where they are located now. Much like the albatross who can circumnavigate the globe time and time again with great accuracy and precision, these few lucky humans never have a fear of getting lost. I am pretty convinced that I am not one of those people, haha. I am the kind of person that if my phone GPS could grow arms just in the hope to smack some sense into me, it would. I am the complete opposite of an albatross. And while I am not sure what the animal equivalent would be in juxtaposition to an albatross, I am pretty sure it may be a lemming; the little animals that get lost and end up running off cliffs in droves because they clearly took a left when their GPS said to take a right. I’m not kidding, look it up haha. Anyways, I digress. My fear of getting lost has been a large contributing factor to never attempting a solo hike no matter how short. Much like my lemming relations, I believed that if there was a way to get lost I would find it. My fear was so great, that despite knowing everything would probably be just fine, I somehow managed to talk myself out of it every time I had the urge to try.

By some miracle, I was able to override that fear long enough to drive to the trailhead with Flynn and put one foot in front of the other into the great unknown. Did I get lost? Yes. Very much so actually, haha. I ended up following the wrong trail markers (rookie mistake) and we ended up ascending a very steep and rocky hill. Did I at one point want to sit down and have a bit of a pity party? Also yes. But crying would not help my All Trails App find cell connection. Did I feel stupid? Yup. But seeing as Flynn was the only observer to the precarious situation somehow made things a bit better (even if he was totally giving me the judgey stink eye of his). However, five minutes into realizing that I had no idea where we were, I took three deep breaths and realized something amazing. Sometimes in life we get lost and our internal compass doesn’t work, and we have no choice but embrace self reliance and know that everything will work out and trudge on. As this new found calm and courage swept over me I was able to back track and get back to where I needed to be. There will be points in your life when you are all you have, that the way forward isn’t clear. It is in those moments that you must take three deep breaths and know that you were made for greater things and that at some point perhaps you can look back with a smile or laugh at the time you thought you were lost. That getting lost is just a part of every good adventure and every great life, for in getting lost it meant you had to have the courage to try something new.

2. Embrace Your Inner Child

You are never ever too old to jump in mud puddles and laugh as you splash in a creek. I am 100% convinced of this. In fact I would go as far as to say it is downright good for the soul to let joy run amuck with reckless abandon. Unfortunately, most of us forget how to lose ourselves in the the joy of such simple pleasures around the age of 12. It is around that age when the world tells us to hurry up, grow up, and be a productive member of society. The past six months I had been so focused on forging ahead ensuring personal and financial security that I neglected to take the time to just play. To do things that I love to do for no other reason then the simple fact that they bring me pleasure.

As the days had turned to weeks, and the weeks into months. It seemed as though I had been so busy making a living that I forgot to make life along the way. With each tentative step forward and every mud puddle Flynn and I jumped in, I found my soul grow lighter and lighter. We were a complete mess, a muddy, messy, mess; and somehow, I hadn’t been that happy in what had felt like ages. Flynn would jump with a fevered passion into the creek in an attempt to catch the feisty minnows that swam between his legs. The sight of him all muddy and splashing in the stream like a little pup was all I needed to break down laughing as I decided that dry hiking boots were overrated and joined him in the festivities.

When our adventure had at last concluded, we arrived at the car soaking wet, completely covered in mud, yet somehow feeling years younger than we had at the start. It appears the secret to feeling young involves lots and lots of mud, hahaha! Who knew?! I thanked my lucky stars above and whatever hiking gods had bothered to listen that I was smart enough to bring a large beach towel to wipe both Flynn and me off with because lord did we need it. Tired but unfathomably happy, Flynn and I looked at each other as if both asking what had taken us so long to give this hiking thing a try?

3. I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends (Or In This Case Strangers haha)

Reader, I wish I could tell you that I only got lost once during this whole escapade. However, that would be an extensive oversight, and I don’t want to get in the habit of being anything less than honest with you during our time together (even if it would save me a tad bit of face in the end, haha). You see, it is one thing to follow the trail markers correctly to the Eternal Flame; it is another thing entirely to find your way back to the trailhead from the Eternal Flame. Maybe I had gotten cocky, perhaps I was tired, perhaps it had something to do with the magical euphoric properties of the mud that I was coated in, but getting back to the car was more challenging than getting to the flame.

Now, before you judge me too harshly and speak up to remind me that this is, in fact, a very well known and traversed trail in the area, I would like to take a moment to defend myself, Karen, (lol) by saying it was a random Monday afternoon. Meaning that most people were busy at their desks just trying to get through another workday without throwing their computers out the window or losing all sense of sanity. There was literally no one on the trail. Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch; there may have been three people that I saw, but hey, that is close enough to no one for me, haha!

Anyway, as I was saying, I was lost, not sure which way may lead to the noble steed that would take me to safety (my Honda CRV) or would lead to particular peril (probably just another two-mile trail). Alas, I had broken one of the hiker’s sacred vows, thou shalt not hiketh with an almost dead-eth phone battery. Needless to say, the lesson was learned the hard way (as per usual). It was then when I felt myself falling into the pit of despair of having to choose between two paths, one bringing salvation and snacks, and the other taking me farther away from said snacks that I saw a lone venturer. First my stranger danger kicked in (thank you safety school from when I was 5), but then I realized that no matter how embarrassing it might be I really should ask for directions. Mustering up every bit of stored up extroverted courage that I could while simultaneously pushing the remnants of my pride deep deep down I asked the kind gentleman which way would lead me back. I am not sure why I expected otherwise, but the gentleman was nothing less then kind and helpful, pointing me in the correct direction which would lead me to my increasingly desired snacks in my car. 15 minutes later, low and behold I made it. Not only had I made it, but I made it on my own even after getting lost at least twice.

It was in that moment, the moment where you are opening your bag of chips, that I realized that had, I not swallowed my dignity and asked for directions, Flynn and I could’ve still been somewhere in the woods. Somehow, it reminded me that while there are times where self-reliance is the key to getting out of tricky situations, there are other times when it may be necessary to reach out one’s hand and ask for assistance. I’ll be the first to admit that I am very stubborn and like to get things done myself. But perhaps this chance encounter with the hiker when I was lost had not only reminded me but affirmed that in the end, I really do get by with a little help from my friends.

In Conclusion

As I drove home, completely and utterly exhausted and probably smelling to high heavens, I couldn’t help but feel this wave of both peace and accomplishment wash over me. Sure, It was just a three-mile trail. Nothing akin to hiking the Appalachian Trail or backpacking in the Adirondacks. However, I did it. Perhaps most importantly was the fact that I did it alone. Now, will I say that my fear of getting lost is completely gone? Not even remotely. What I can say though is that getting lost no longer terrifies me. For getting lost it seems is what makes for good stories at the end of the day. Getting lost is when you have to dig deep and trust yourself to get back on the right path. Getting lost is part of living, and in some cases when you feel most alive. Perhaps getting lost isn’t getting lost at all. Maybe in the end it is just a happy little detour in this crazy thing that we call life.

“I Don’t Dance.”

I was never a very coordinated child. I was lucky enough to be able to play some sports let alone pull off a dance routine. I preferred roller skating parties over school dances, and was quite disappointed when fifth grade ended and I knew roller skating would become a thing of the past.

For most of my life, people have heard me utter the phrases, “I don’t dance,” “I can’t dance,” or “I don’t like to dance.”
Looking back on my previous relationship with dance, I wonder if it wasn’t that I hated it or was too clumsy or uncoordinated. Perhaps I just lacked the patience and the confidence in myself.

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I liked everything about middle school dances, except for the dancing. I was always reluctantly pulled onto the dance floor by friends, (remember that luxurious cafeteria linoleum?), and though I enjoyed spending those three hours with them, I dreaded the dancing part.
Middle school was where my shyness peaked and my confidence took a nose dive. I barely liked raising my hand to speak in math class let alone dance ridiculously in front of my classmates.

“What am I supposed to do with my hands?” I’d ask my best friend Allet. “I feel like a robot.”

Spoiler Alert: She had no idea how to dance either.

When I would finally feel comfortable enough to start dancing with my circle of friends, it probably looked something similar to a clumsy duck shuffle – or at least it felt like I looked that way.
And once the attention was on me while I was trying to navigate this foreign language called dance? Forget about it. Even as my best friend Steff cheered a word of encouragement as I danced, I’d start feeling self-conscious and hyper aware of my arms and whether they looked like a robot or a jelly fish this time. Sometimes I’d even stop mid dance move.

And I think that’s where it started. I became afraid of dance.

In high school, a couple of friends encouraged me to audition for a school musical. I had taken chorus as an elective for a couple of years and they assured me that even if I wasn’t skilled in dancing, the director would take my singing abilities into account. I gave it a shot – figuring the worst that could happen would be that I wasted two days auditioning for nothing. I was assigned to the chorus, which I was more than happy with. Something to perhaps boost my confidence without being the center of attention.

Though theatre managed to help me gain some of the confidence I had lost during those awkward middle school years, it did not repair my relationship with dance. As a teenager with no formal dance training, and apparently a lack of rhythm, memorizing steps was equally daunting and disheartening.
Heel, toe. Heel, toe. Shuffle, ball, change. Buffalos. (Exactly. I didn’t get it either, much to my dismay.)
I wish I could say my struggle learning how to tap dance made me hungry to succeed, but I think it drained me and depleted my energy more than anything.

I enjoyed my time in theatre. I had the opportunity to continue singing even though I wasn’t in chorus anymore, learned to use some power tools during tech nights, hung out with my friends, met people that I still keep in touch with from time-to-time, and even gained more confidence by actually singing (and dancing – though that was the toughest part for me) in front of a large audience.

But even though I liked performing in our school musicals and participated in them for two years, I didn’t audition my senior year. I used my part time job and getting ready for college as an excuse (both valid ones), but looking back, I think deep down I couldn’t bring myself to go through with another dance number. I didn’t want to lose sleep worrying about whether I’d get that one move right in time for opening night. I didn’t want to go through the angry tears on hour four of rehearsal because I just couldn’t get my brain to remember to move my foot that way. I didn’t want to go through the podiatry appointments for my swollen toes again (thanks, tap shoes).

My middle school “can’t-dance-self-consciousness” was rearing its ugly head again.

And so it continued. I became frustrated with dance.

I didn’t have many opportunities to dance after high school, or maybe I just had a knack for avoiding it. Sure, I’d go to Zumba classes at my campus gym in college and felt pretty ridiculous during them, but not like the insecure middle school me would have. And luckily for me, my friends and I frequented a favorite bar much more often than a club in our college years and early twenties, and if we found ourselves in a club they were usually so packed that nobody would notice any strange dancing from me anyway. I didn’t have room to flail around let alone worry about what my arms were doing.

My roommate freshman year, Emily, has been dancing for most of her life. If I’m remembering correctly, she was well-versed in ballet, jazz, tap dance, and hip-hop. I was in awe of her. Not only could she dance, but she knew multiple dances! She minored in dance and was on our college’s dance line for her entire college career. Now she even teaches little ones dance at the place where she learned all her skills.

Her relationship with dance seemed like the complete opposite of mine. Where I saw frustration, fear, clumsiness, and self-consciousness she seemed to see fun, creativity, a challenge, and self-expression.
I ran from dance. Emily embraced it.

It was then that I realized something. I didn’t quite understand dance.

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Two months ago I did something very unlike me. Something that middle school me wouldn’t have fathomed, make high school me cringe with embarrassment, and have adult me raise an eyebrow and shake her head like she did at almost every wedding reception (Remember my famous phrase, “I don’t dance?”).

I signed up for belly dancing classes.

I have never belly danced in my life. I signed up blindly with absolutely no experience besides some forgotten tap steps. I’m not even sure if “tap steps” is the proper term – Emily, help!

Why did I sign up for a dance class if I hate dance, don’t dance, and feel totally uncomfortable dancing?

Maybe I felt stuck in a rut and wanted to try something new. It’s possible that I was looking to shake up my exercise routine. Perhaps I signed up for belly dancing just to do something I’ve never done before, and I stopped caring if I was horrible at it or what people would think, because the person whose opinion mattered the most to me is no longer here to give it.

I think it was a combination of all three of these things that really drove me to try belly dancing.

I’ve probably taken about ten classes so far. I’m not sure how good I am it, or if I have any talent for it at all really, but I don’t seem to care. My perfectionist tendencies fly out the window when I belly dance. Our instructor is encouraging, welcoming, and has a fun sense of humor. It’s a refreshing change when the only dance lessons you experienced consisted of a theatre director barking orders at you until you’re crying or swearing under your breath.

I can truthfully and whole-heartedly say that I enjoy dancing now. I dance in my kitchen while I’m cleaning. I move my shoulders to the beat while listening to the radio on my way home from class. I enjoy practicing new steps we learned at home, even though I can’t always remember them.

I look forward to my Thursday evenings now. I never dread going to the Oasis Dance Center for my lessons, and I never mind my twenty minute commute. An hour in that studio feels like fifteen minutes. I’m always shocked when it’s over.

I’m not afraid to make mistakes when I belly dance. I’m not worried that people are scrutinizing my every move. I finally feel like I have a use for my hips, instead of them getting in my way all the time. I don’t get as frustrated as I used to when I don’t pick up a new move. I’ve noticed that I laugh and smile while I dance now.

Every Thursday when I leave that studio, I feel upbeat, free, and rejuvenated – like a phoenix being reborn.

Now, I dance.

Old Friends and Cold Beers: The Power of Connection

I had the opportunity to catch up with an old friend a few weeks ago. I think I’m at that age where friends from middle school are finally classified as “old friends” now, and I’m taking that in stride. I met Amber in Mrs. Smallman’s fifth grade classroom and our friendship continued throughout middle school and high school. We went to different colleges, I moved out of town, and we fell out of touch for a while – as many people do.

Thankfully, living in the era of social media Amber and I were still able to keep tabs on each other and witness our major life events even though we didn’t live in the same place or see each other anymore.
A couple weeks ago, Amber asked me if I had any plans on a Saturday in May. She and her fiancé, Collin, were visiting a friend about an hour from where I live, and they wanted to check out some breweries near me while they were in the area. She told me she had thought of me, and wondered if I’d like to join them. I was looking forward to it.

I’ve been much less busy than I used to be. Plans I used to make and places I used to go regularly were diminished with the start of the pandemic. Everything around me shut down just two days after my birthday. No eating out, no beer tastings, no happy hour with friends, no concerts, no sporting events, no gatherings with friends, or Easter dinner with the family. Once restrictions were lifted and a vaccine was in the works, people were able to venture out of their homes for leisure again, but it was still limited or few and far between.

My weekends became even less busy after the passing of my best friend. I lost Allet back in January, and even though we couldn’t go out to get drinks or brunch or any of our usual activities, we still spent nearly every weekend together. Even if one of us just went over to the other’s apartment with a bag of takeout from one of our favorite restaurants.

I’m sure this is completely normal and even part of one’s grieving process, but it kind of came as a shock to me when I realized maybe a week or two ago that I felt lonely. I don’t know why this hadn’t occurred to me or why I was so surprised by it.
I’m not quite used to loneliness. I would consider us more like distant acquaintances.
I grew up an only child. Being alone never really bothered me. I take week-long vacations by myself. I’ve been called self-sufficient. I pride myself on my independence. I consider myself quite introverted and used to joke about having to “charge my social battery.”

What I realized is that I wasn’t necessarily longing for more plans or a busier social life. I was craving connection with others.

“One of the most basic common human needs is connection.” – Jen Sincero

It doesn’t matter how independent you are, or how quiet or shy you are, or if you’re a reclusive hermit – everyone needs connection on some level. Perhaps not the same level across the board, but some type of human connection.

On a much lighter note, I also wanted to showcase some of Buffalo’s fantastic breweries. I know many restaurants, breweries, bars, and other establishments are trying to catch up on lost revenue from the pandemic and I feel the best way to help them out would be to support these local businesses and spread the word about them.

Big Ditch flight. “Berry Vision” pictured second from the bottom.

Big Ditch Brewing Company
55 E. Huron Street
Buffalo, NY 14203

In a large building in downtown Buffalo with an industrial chic set-up, Big Ditch has enough seating and a variety of dishes and drinks for any party. Flights costed us about $4.00 per beer, and any beer on their specials list costed an extra price of their 5 ounce glass.

The four of us were feeling more of a refreshing, fruity sour beer on that warm and slightly humid day, so Big Ditch’s popular “Berry Vision” was a given. It tastes just how it sounds – packed with berries.

We couldn’t leave without adding two specialty beers to our flights. I can’t even remember what the first one was called – though I know there was a dash of tequila and lime in it – because the second beer outshined just about every other beer we chose for our flight.
The “LET’S GOOO” was a fruity sour that – get this and stick with me because it’s going to sound weird – smelled like marshmallows! I didn’t get a chance to read the description on the menu before trying it, and it caught me off guard, but the “LET’S GOOO” had a pleasant strawberry flavor with marshmallow undertones. Yes, it tasted like marshmallows too. Do you see why I can’t remember the other beer’s name?

Unfortunately, “LET’S GOOO” is not sold in cans and can only be found on tap, so finding it might resemble a scavenger hunt.


Thin Man Brewery
492 Elmwood Avenue
Buffalo, NY 14222

Located in the middle of Elmwood Village, Thin Man is very popular with a very laid back vibe. They sport a wide variety of craft beers, usually 24 are on their menu, and a fully stocked bar for those that aren’t quite into craft beer. Flights are priced by half the price of each beer you pick, and you can pick up to eight. (I suppose that makes sense if there’s 24 beers to choose from. No, we did not pick eight.)

Thin Man has a special place in my heart. When I moved back to Buffalo after a brief stint of living back home after college, Thin Man was one of the first bars that I could proudly call my regular spot. Allet and I could often be found there on a Friday night, and it’s how our weekly Bitch Bars (a night where we could converse and complain) began.
Amber was quite excited to check out Thin Man, as she and Collin often sample their in-store selections.

Thin Man’s IPA, “Equipoise,” stood out to me. I’m not much of an IPA drinker, but it was fruity and I really enjoyed the pineapple flavor – which funnily enough Amber couldn’t seem to find when she tried it, but she tasted more orange than I did.

In the past few years Thin Man has grown, and there are two other locations – one on Chandler Street in the city of Buffalo, and a new location on Transit Road in Williamsville.

Resurgence Brewing Company
55 Chicago Street
Buffalo, NY 14204

Resurgence’s “Cosmic Truth” pictured second from the right.

Near Canalside and across from Outer Harbor, Resurgence has plenty of seating – indoor and outdoor – along with plenty of parking. Guests can either choose to be seated with a full menu, or walk up to one of their two bars for a drink and then wander over to the food counter to place an order. Flights were four for $10.00 with a splendid variety of options (Loganberry Seltzer, anyone?).

My first visit to Resurgence was at their old Niagara Street location, and while I enjoyed my evening there, they have outdone themselves with their new digs on Chicago Street. The building has an industrial modern feel with beautiful exposed brick and funky chandeliers. If you know me personally, then you know my affinity for exposed brick.

We each chose a beer for our last flight of the night, mine being the “Cosmic Truth” – a tasty tropical flavored ale with a subtle bite. Amber and Collin even left with a few cans and some Resurgence-branded glasses to take home with them.

My weekends might not be as fun or eventful as they used to be, but it’s ultimately up to me to change that. I’m very glad Amber reached out to me last month. I didn’t realize how much I must have needed a nice afternoon out with awesome people and great drinks until then.

This past year and a half has been hard on many of us, and though it can be easy to retreat to what is normal, or what has become normal, I think it’s also important to reconnect with each other.
Whether it be people you haven’t seen in months, or maybe even years (Amber and I). Whether you go to a restaurant with a group of friends, or sit at the bar by yourself (maybe you’ll have a fun chat with the bartender). Whether you have a day full of activities, or just decide to go to a different coffee shop a mile away from your usual (I’ve done this. Overwinter coffee is wonderful).

Connecting with others doesn’t have to be a big ordeal, but it can have a big impact on yourself and others. Thanks for the invite, Amber. I can’t wait to check out some more breweries. I’ll come to your neck of the woods next time.

Remembering Allet: 1993 – 2021

We could never quite remember exactly when our friendship began, but I can remember what solidified our friendship for good.

We were wrapping up our eighth grade French trip in Quebec. My so-called friend was being a pain, and her so-called friend was more interested in drama back home than the actual trip we were on. Tired of my friend picking another argument with me and dreading the possibility of having to sit with her on the nine hour bus ride home, I asked Allet if she would like to sit together. I offered to share my notebook to doodle in. She offered to share her crayons. I wouldn’t be surprised if this moment is what started our best-friendship. A friendship that I was blessed with for fifteen years.

Allet (given name Allison, or Alley, if you’re curious) was born on May 16, 1993 so late into the evening that the nurses at the hospital originally wrote her birth certificate for May 17th, figuring she surely wouldn’t make an appearance before midnight. She was her parents’ oldest baby and only daughter. They were so proud of her kindness, intelligence, and silliness, but I believe they have themselves to thank for part of that because they helped mold her into the amazing being that she was. I will never be able to repay them for raising my best friend.

Allet always cared about others and wouldn’t hesitate to care for her family and friends. She babysat her younger cousins in the summer – making sure to plan fun things for them to do. She made birthday cards for all her friends and would make sentimental handmade gifts for her grandparents. She would help me with the geometry homework I struggled with during every study hall, even when she had her own to do. She never hesitated to lend a listening ear to others, even when she had her own troubles. She included anyone that looked like they needed a friend.

Allet put love into everything she did for others. Her kindness was contagious. Her love was infectious. She cared for others in such a way that it makes me want to be a better me.

She cared for her Dad so much that she almost missed her good friend’s bachelorette weekend when he was sick in the hospital. (He convinced her to go, and threatened to come down to Florida and “beat up” any guys that gave us trouble.)
Her Mom was so important to her that she was constantly planning fun things for the two of them to do together, especially after her Dad passed away. From matching tattoos, to trips to the zoo, smash therapy sessions, and fall decoration shopping sprees.
She cared about her boyfriend, Dan, so much that I remember her turning our apartment upside down when she misplaced something he gave her. (We didn’t lovingly call her a walking Bermuda Triangle for nothing.)
Her Gramma J. was so important to her that she proudly wore her jewelry and scarves as a badge of honor after she passed away. I am honored to have a few pieces of Gramma J’s jewelry myself, especially now, as I feel it brings me closer to both of them.
She was always thinking of her Gramma G., finding the most creative gifts for her – like a picture puzzle of them sitting on a swing in Niagara Falls.
She cared for her brother so much that she hid his bologna and left notes in the kitchen saying she’d give it back if he just applied for that summer job that their Grampa found in the paper that week. (Sometimes she implemented tough love.)
Her community was important to her. Allet shopped local whenever she had the chance (she and Dan even adopted their cat from the local pet supply store!), joined a Young Nonprofit Professionals Network, participated in several Alzheimer’s Walks, and was a friend and ally to all.
She cared for her friends like they were her family. She was enthusiastic about making plans for drinks or a bonfire. She loved going on double dates with Dan and our friends, Nina and Sawyer. She never hesitated to lend a strong shoulder or a listening ear. She cared so much about my wellbeing that she dropped everything and took me to urgent care after my first car accident. She brought me groceries and meals right after my grandfather passed away. She took the time to text me to let me know she was going to the hospital, just like a best friend would.

Loyalty and support from ones parents and family is a fantastic gift, but there is something about loyalty from a friend that sits differently in your heart. They chose to befriend you and they chose to stay. I am forever thankful that Allet chose me to be her best friend. I am forever grateful that my thirteen-year-old self went out of her comfort zone and asked another quiet thirteen-year-old to sit with her on that bus back in February 2007.

Her time here on earth was much too short for our liking, but the impact she made on the people who knew her is larger than life.

Today we celebrate Allet’s life on the most appropriate day – her birthday. We will celebrate the life she had and the wonderful person she was, while mourning the loss of her beautiful personality and the time we’ll no longer have with her. We will laugh together. We will cry together. And may we take care of each other, like Allet would have cared for us.

Happy Birthday, my dearest friend. ♥

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Author’s Note: I had been tossing around the idea of writing something for Allet as a birthday present, since I wouldn’t be celebrating with her this year. I just wasn’t sure what to write or where to start, until I had this beautiful and vivid dream.

Firstly, I think it’s important to mention that I’m a believer in an afterlife, a Heaven, and when I picture Allet up in Heaven I picture her with her long permed hair. I’m not sure why, as she had a short hair cut for the past few years. The only thing I can think of as to why I might picture her like that, is because she sported her long mane of blond hair when we were a bit younger. Before she experienced much of the trials she went through when she was older – like the passing of her Gramma J. and her Dad.

With that being said, even though I picture her in Heaven with long hair, any appearance she’s had in one of my dreams has been a short-haired Allet.

On Tuesday night, I dreamt that Allet was with me while I was in New York City. I was touring some new apartments with a small group of people. Allet had the presence of a ghost-like form – she was very light and ethereal looking, and I seemed to be the only person that could see or hear her. She didn’t seem to believe that I could see or hear her at first, because she would make silly movements or say things like, “oh, I wish I were alive right now so I could eat one of those cheesy pretzels,” as we passed a pretzel cart on the city streets.

Toward the end of my dream, I must’ve been facing away from her, Allet gave me the biggest hug from behind me and asked, “Can you really see me?” I responded to her: “I see you everywhere.” Dream Allet disappeared and I woke up.

The first thing I noticed about Dream Allet when I awoke? She had her long curly hair.

Five for Fighting or a $5,000 Fine: Inconsistency with Player Safety in the NHL

Hockey is a balance of finesse and toughness. I admire both.

I don’t mind a good hockey fight. They can be pretty exciting to watch, especially during a low-scoring game. However, the lines start to blur once a player goes from being an enforcer starting a fight to send a message not to mess with his teammate, to going after unsuspecting players with the intent to injure.

Washington Capitals forward Tom Wilson is known for his controversial playing style throughout his eight year career in the National Hockey League. He plays with an edge and is known for his hard hits, instigating, and fighting. He’s a big player standing at 6’4 and weighing over 200 pounds, so it’s not surprising that he’s caused some injuries.

What is surprising though is the amount of times Wilson has been penalized, fined, or suspended for a dangerous hit or unnecessary violence, along with the amount of times he has gotten away with it. His most recent suspension was for a hit on Boston’s Brandon Carlo during a March 5th matchup. The hit sent Carlo to the hospital. Wilson had a hearing with the Department of Player Safety and was suspended for seven games.

https://twitter.com/i/status/1367999717825712130

Washington Capitals vs Boston Bruins: March 5, 2021

Last night, during a game against the New York Rangers, Wilson started to punch Rangers forward Pavel Buchnevich in the back of the head after crosschecking him during a scramble at the Capitals’ net. He then proceeded to toss Rangers forward Artemi Panarin to the ice and slam him around like a ragdoll after Panarin jumped at Wilson’s back to stop him from punching Ryan Strome – who had tried to intervene when Wilson was crosschecking Buchnevich.

New York Rangers vs Washington Capitals: May 3, 2021

I would have just boiled the whole fiasco down to a blind rage, except he laughed as he skated off the ice.
Wilson was back on the ice for the third period of that game. Artemi Panarin was not. According to Rangers head coach David Quinn, Panarin is “ok,” but he’ll be out of the lineup for the remainder of the season.
MSG Network’s announcer Joe Micheletti speculated that Wilson was “incensed ever since he was given that penalty,” meaning the roughing penalty he received earlier in the game. Zibanejad scored a power play goal on Wilson’s penalty, tying the game 2-2.

This morning the NHL announced that the Department of Player Safety fined Wilson $5,000 for the altercation with Buchnevich. No mention of the altercation with Panarin. No suspension. Not even a hearing.

Henrik Lundqvist got the same $5,000 fine in 2014.
He squirted Sidney Crosby with a water bottle.

The NHL’s Department of Player Safety’s repercussion decisions have been baffling at best and horrific at worst, and this isn’t new. I’m not sure of Wilson’s exact salary, but I doubt $5,000 would deter someone from doing something like that again.

I saw a tweet in my twitter newsfeed last night that this whole situation could have had a similar outcome to the Bertuzzi-Moore incident in 2004. (Luckily it didn’t. Buchnevich was still able to play in Tuesday night’s game and Panarin was able to skate off the ice on his own.)

In 2004, Vancouver Canucks’ Todd Bertuzzi – angry with Colorado Avalanche’s Steve Moore for a hit on Canucks captain Markus Naslund that referees ruled a legal hit in a game a month prior – tried to instigate a fight. Moore wasn’t having it, skating onward. Bertuzzi punched Moore in the back of the head, causing Moore to land face first onto the ice and three skaters piled up on top of him. Moore ended up knocked out on the ice with three broken vertebrae and a concussion.

Bertuzzi was suspended causing him to miss 20 games.
Moore never played in the league again.

I’ve thought to myself that I hope I would be this upset if something like this happened to a player on another team, and not because I’m a Rangers fan, but the more I watch the Bertuzzi-Moore Incident, I know I would be.

I’m all for players being able to police during the game and not get stopped by the refs any time there’s a small scuffle. Sometimes a fight is, dare I say, beneficial to a team during a game. It can ignite a spark if they’re down a goal. It can help a team stand up for a player and build comradery between teammates.

But there’s a difference between policing and acting like a bounty hunter.

I’m not saying the NHL should omit fighting or completely change the game, but the violent antics that some players instigate aren’t a part of the game. They don’t add to it. They wouldn’t be missed if they didn’t happen. This situation could have been a lot worse, and I think it’ll take a lot more than a few thousand dollar fines to prevent it from happening again. It will take consistency.

Music Monday: “What Are You Waiting For?”

I’ve always liked Van Halen. I wouldn’t immediately think of them if you asked me to list a few of my favorite rock bands off the top of my head, but I really do enjoy listening to them. Though they aren’t at the top of that list, their song “Right Now” from their 1991 album, For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge, is currently at top of my Spotify playlist this month.
Sammy Hagar once described “Right Now” as some of the best lyrics he’s written, and I’d have to agree. I’m inspired every time I listen to this song as if a fire has been lit at my heels.

Why has this song been at the top of my Spotify playlist? Because it seemed to walk into my life during a time of change and uncertainty, and has somehow provided me comfort.

This song started playing randomly in my car on the way to do something so mundane that I can’t even remember what it was. All I remember is hearing the opening piano riff that makes you want to get up and do something. Then enters that late 80s/early 90s beat that never seems to get old. Their accompanying music video just amplifies the message of the lyrics with a mix of inspiration and humor. “Right Now” is Van Halen’s own little message of carpe diem, and it popped up in my life at the perfect time considering I probably haven’t listened to it in years.

“Don’t want to wait ’til tomorrow. Why put it off another day?”

I’ve been asking myself the above question a lot lately, among many others.
“Why put it off?”
“How much longer is later going to be?”
“Why not now?”

I’ve also been guilty of asking myself these questions, and then not doing enough, or anything, to follow through.

Why put it off another day? Because tomorrow isn’t promised.

Perhaps it’s because I just recently lost my 27-year-old best friend unexpectedly or because I lost my Nana to ALS at the young age of 66, but I’m more aware of how fleeting time can be now. You can live to be 102 or you can live to be 22, but you’ll never know.

I’m not suggesting someone without any money in their bank account making an expensive investment with their credit card today, but perhaps we should work on prioritizing the things we really want to do, because we don’t know when we won’t be able to.

“What are you waiting for?”

I’ve grown tired of thinking, “maybe someday.”
I don’t want twenty years to go by and think, “What if I had just done that? What if I had given it a try?”

I have two friends that have very often said to me, “Just do the thing.” Such a simple yet loaded sentence,

After all, what is the worst that can happen?

• You lose money? You will make more somehow.

• That class you signed up for isn’t your thing? Well, now you know. Sign up for a different class (or don’t!). At least you tried.

• The new career path you thought was your passion turns out not to be? You can always take another path, or even go back to what you used to do if you realize that’s for you.

• You move back in with your parents? At least you have people in your corner that support you while you get back on your feet.

• Embarrassment? It happens to everyone at some point. It’s not forever.

• Failure? Failure isn’t final.

I don’t think the worst that can happen is as bad as you think it can be.

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My best friend, Allet, had said to me a couple of times during the past year, “we can’t play the What-If game.”

But what if we play the Right-Now game instead?

In the music video – which I highly recommend watching – one of the sentences that flashed across my computer screen that resonated with me the most was:

“Right now you aren’t doing what you most wish you were.”

Are you doing right now what you most wish you were?

If you are, I applaud you and I encourage you to keep at it. Because I’ll let you in on a secret: I’m not. At least, not exactly what I’d most want to be doing or the way I’d prefer to be doing it.

But I vow to work on that, and I think of that promise to myself every time I listen to this song.

The Gift of Gratitude

Allet always took pride in being the first and the last person to wish me a happy birthday.
From midnight on March 13th to 11:59 pm that same night.

My 28th birthday was last weekend, and it was very different from how I originally planned it to be.
If you had asked me at the end of 2020 what my birthday plans would be, I probably would have told you that my best friend Allet and I would be spending three nights in New York City. We got a great deal on our favorite hotel in SoHo. We would probably get brunch at Tiny’s, go on a jog through Central Park, check out the Color Factory like we had wanted to on our last visit (but didn’t have time), and meet up with our friend Mike from Queens for dinner and drinks.

Unfortunately, at the beginning on 2021, I unexpectedly lost Allet to COVID-19 and every plan I’ve made for any future event changed – because she was a part of all of them.

I didn’t really want to spend my birthday by myself in NYC, or at least not when I was supposed to go with someone that was no longer with me, but I decided to take the time off of work that I planned to take and visited my family.
This long weekend that I took off for my birthday just highlighted all of the things and people that I have in my life to be grateful for, even though a big part of my life is no longer present on earth.

I had a busy – yet relaxing – weekend, and I wanted to touch on some of the things I did with my family and friends to reflect on the gratitude I felt during this strange and difficult time in my life.

And during a time like this, I feel like gratitude is an important thing to cling to.

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• On the evening before my birthday I had a nice dinner with my parents. My Dad and I sang along to AC/DC and Creedence Clearwater Revival while helping my Mom prepare things in the kitchen.

Sometimes the smaller or more mundane things can provide the most comfort.

• On my birthday, the New York Rangers beat the Boston Bruins 4-0. If you know me at all, then you’re aware that I really like the New York Rangers and I really don’t like the Boston Bruins.

Every little victory counts.

• My Nana got me a little ceramic butterfly-shaped tray as a gift. It’s colorful, cheerful, and the perfect place to put my Allet pendant every night before I go to sleep. I wasn’t able to see my Nana because she lives in a nursing home, but her gift reminded me that she thinks of me as much as I think of her.

I have so many people in my corner during this tough time. Even if I haven’t seen them on one, two, or five years. People have constantly been reaching out and reminding me of the good in humankind.

• I went to Barnes and Noble on Sunday and treated myself to one of my favorite things – books! I could spend hours in a bookstore. I found a bunch of travel books for my 2023 European adventure: a book on the German language, a book of The Netherlands, and a book on Swiss culture.

It is so important to take some time for yourself and take care of yourself. Get the massage. Build the firepit you’ve always wanted in the backyard. Buy the book. Plan the trip to Europe. Why wait?

• We had another small birthday dinner at my Grandma’s house with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. Before dinner we spent some time playing Spoons.
  For those unfamiliar with Spoons: each player is dealt four cards. There are spoons set in the middle of the table, but one less spoon than the amount of players present. The dealer will pick up a card from the pile and decide to keep it or pass it along to the next player, but if you keep the card you must discard another card in your hand. The object of the game is to get four of a kind and pick up a spoon once you do.
  You can probably guess where this is going. Once one spoon is picked out of the center of the table, everyone follows suit. It gets suspenseful. It gets fast-paced. Spoons go flying. People claw for a piece of silver.

Sometimes life can be very difficult or hard to navigate, but it’s also full of fun and excitement.

• While my family was talking about a (hopefully) upcoming vacation to Maine, my Mom told me that they were going to suggest that Allet come with us like she did last time.
  My uncle, who lost his best friend when he was in college, looked at me and said, “Things like this are going to happen. You’re going to have things come up that you wish they could be a part of, or things that you wish you could do together.” I responded with the first thing that came to mind, “It sucks,” to which he replied, “Yes, it does suck.”
  For some reason this short conversation brought me so much comfort in a span of two minutes.

Resilience is real. My uncle lost his best friend a little over 30 years ago, and he’s still standing. He graduated from college, has a had a worthwhile career in teaching, got married, has two children – the list goes on. It is possible to grieve and miss someone everyday while still moving forward.

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As someone who went from having a busy weekend of birthday plans to a weekend of unknown expectations, this birthday was everything I could have hoped or asked for. Instead of something to dread or fear, it gave me something to look forward to.

We can mourn what we have lost while being grateful for what we still have.