Susane Colasanti - Journal

I am not embarrassed to admit that I watched inaugural festivities (on and off...okay, mostly on) for about 12 hours on Tuesday. Everything was fascinating, including what was for lunch at the Inaugural Luncheon and the Obamas dancing at the balls (although Michelle's gown was too long and I felt bad for her, having to fling it out of the way every few dance steps). I even found those moving vans outside the White House to be fascinating. Since I was watching online at CNN/Facebook, it was a very different experience for me. So many of us were watching alone in our homes or offices or home offices, but at the same time we weren't completely isolated because we could update our Facebook status on the side of the screen and see what everyone else was writing. We were able to connect with each other on that important day.

Something like this would have never been possible a few years ago, younger neighbors. I know it's hard for you to imagine a world without the Internet, but that world existed and we lived in it. We did things like write letters and go to the library to find stuff out and call back when we got a busy signal (which is still the case with my phone, actually). We made mix tapes from the radio and pressed rewind on our Walkman if we wanted to hear a song over. We only watched what was on TV at the time we wanted to watch something.

Dude. It was an entirely different world.

Now we have things like Facebook. We can connect with people we would normally never connect with. Or reconnect with. Which is fine for days like Tuesday or if you really want to find someone. But what about people you never want to see again?

The weird thing about this new world of hi-tech reality is that people I went to high school with can find me. Including people I never talked to. Which is fine because we're older and nostalgia tends to wash past events in peaceful pastel watercolors and it's all good. I sent friend requests to some kids I wasn't friends with because I'm wondering what they're doing now. But here's the thing. There are some people I just don't want to have a virtual reunion with. Especially this one girl.

Let's call her...Sally. Sally was so mean to me I cannot even tell you. She wouldn't let me sit at her table in lunch. She made fun of my discount clothes. When she talked to me, she never looked me in the eye. Her line of sight always hovered somewhere above my right eyebrow. She spewed negativity. So no, Sally. I will not be accepting your friend request. Your friend request is a joke. However, it's been fun reconnecting with everyone else, regardless of whether or not we were friends. And the thing we mostly write on each other's walls? Is how weird it is to reconnect like this, using a format we never imagined back then.

Team Technology, you win this round.

Today is the autumnal equinox. Summer is officially over. This is always a hard time for me. I mean, I love the whole back-to-school excitement with all of that hope and the possibility of reinventing yourself. And most of fall has some refreshing weather going on. But it's hard for me to say goodbye to flip-flops and summer breeze and the whole relaxing vibe of drinking fresh lemonade (with a twist of lime) out on a back porch watching the stars somewhere. I will be fruit starved. I will miss longer daylight hours.

John Mayer gets me. He said, "There's fog inside the glass around your summer heart." We go way back.

Here's the thing, though. Time keeps zooming by at an alarming rate these days. It's not like when I was in high school and one day felt like 23 years. Before I know it, the vernal equinox will be here. And I will celebrate again.

As a tribute to summer, here is the best of my window box sightings. No worries. The flowers will grow again.

I've been reading Garrison Keillor's books and listening to A Prairie Home Companion for almost half my life.   So when Garrison brings his radio show to New York and performs at Town Hall, I'm so there.  Actually, the last time I was there was in 1997.  I met Garrison after the show, all nervous with my old tattered We Are Still Married with page 73 falling out, clearly a hardcore fan.  And he signed my book.  Last Saturday, I brought the same book for him to sign again, 11 years later.  I do things like this.  Example:  Jodi Picoult signed my copy of The Pact during three consecutive years.

Highlights of the show included:

1.  Garrison's red sneakers and red socks.
2.  Seeing everything up close and personal style from my second row center floor seat.
3.  Garrison singing "April Come She Will," which is one of my Top Five Fave Simon & Garfunkel Songs.



Brad Paisley was there, rocking songs about the importance of putting the toilet seat down and how he doesn't highlight his hair because he still has a pair.  Tell it, brother.  Here's Brad with my friend and pal John Mayer performing "Why Georgia."  Also, poet Ron Padgett read some of his awesome poems from How to Be Perfect.  I like "Medical Crush."

I had some rules for re-meeting Garrison after the show, like:


and


I tend to get all hufuffled when I meet my most cherished authors.  But Garrison was totally sweet and signed my book again.  I gave him a copy of When It Happens for his daughter and he was all interested, asking lots of questions.  I'm looking forward to our next reunion in 2019.

At first I was like, There's no way I'm doing LiveJournal or Facebook or MySpace.  They're evil time suckage, all of them.  But I sort of have to.  Because I live in the world and all. 

So I've succumbed.  I'm on Facebook.  And guess what?  Facebook is fun!  Between FunWall sketches and being green and everyone's books and music, it's just too fun.  So stop by and write on my Wall (or FunWall or Super Wall, although I wasn't sure what to do with the Advanced Wall so I removed it).

As we all know, it's entirely possible to spend your whole day on all of these sites and get absolutely zero work done.  Which is why I must learn moderation.  As in:  I can eat just one cookie.  I mean, not if they're freshly baked, but you know.  In general.  Or:  I can watch The Office without inhaling five episodes in a row.  I could maybe just watch one ep.  Or two.  Maybe.  And now I must learn this one:  I can be on all of these different sites and still get work done.  Because other people do it.  It's what they do.

Oh, and my college friend Erik Burns pointed out on my Wall that I invented the original wall.  I wrote on my wall in my college apartment (with charcoal sticks, and I sadly washed it all off when I moved).  Exhibit A:

In any given sad situation, you can choose to deal in one of two ways.  You can get all twarked up in a big ball of snit over it.  Or you can accept the things you cannot change and focus on the positive side.  Because no matter how atrocious the situation seems, there is always a positive side.  You just have to look harder to find it sometimes, is all.

Daylight hours are a huge deal for me.  They increase by about two minutes per day from the winter solstice until the summer solstice.  Lots of people don't realize that the day after summer begins, daylight hours actually start to decrease.  Sad, but true.  Less daylight hours make me feel all wilted and foggy.  In the winter, Seasonal Affective Disorder causes some people to feel depressed.  This is because the amount of light you're exposed to affects your mood and sleep patterns.  That's why SAD patients sit in front of light boxes (which emit full-spectrum white light to simulate sunlight) for a certain amount of time each day to improve their depression.  This happens in places that experience lots of rainy days, like Seattle (which would explain most of the Grey's Anatomy Season Three craziness, but that's another entry) or locations in polar regions (which experience three months of living in almost total darkness every year).  That's OD.

But that's not the point.  The point is this:  Instead of being bummed about decreasing daylight hours, I'm going to focus on sweet summer memories and palm trees.  Palm trees always make me feel peaceful.  Palm trees say, "Hi.  Why not kick back with a tall glass of watermelon juice (with those paper umbrellas sticking out of it) and enjoy this perfect 73-degree day?  More fruit salad?"  So I think of palm trees.  Like these, brought to you by the most extraordinary photographer ever, Alan Maltz.  Check out his website for many more.

It's weird how people change. 

Example:  I always used to wear a watch.  From middle school until after college, I couldn't imagine not wearing a watch.  I was always like, Who does that?

But then I got into yoga and meditation and living in the moment, and things changed.  Suddenly, my watch was repulsive.  Not because it didn't look good.  I've always had Swatches because they are a beautiful thing.  I had the clear one where you can see all the gears.  I had one with little orange fishies.  I had one with a big, black X.  Only, now it felt like there was always this huge clock over my head, all impatient like tick-tock!  Counting out the limited time I have left, demanding attention.  Totally stressing me out.

Now that I'm tutoring, I have to wear a watch.  When I was a teacher, it was way easier to look at the clock.  Because when I started teaching and didn't know how to time lessons yet and I'd be checking my watch every five minutes, the kids would get restless.  To them, glance at timepiece = time to go.  I have to know what time it is now, though.

So of course I went to the Swatch store in SoHo.  Duh!  They have so many awesome designs right now I can't even tell you.  I have no idea how I narrowed my choices down to two.  But I did.  And now I have them.   I went retro with the transparent one and then I got this other one called Color the Sky, with gorgeous  stripes:


I have to get used to that ticking again.  But it's all good.  Jack Bauer would be proud.

My Ma came by today with a pile of old photos. She was like, "I don't have room for these anymore. Take them."

That's cool. Except...who's that in the one of me at the hot-air balloon landing? And whose dog am I hugging there? And did I really wear floaties in my grandparent's portable pool?

I don't remember any of this.

Which is normal. You can't remember everything, especially from when you were young. But it feels like these whole sections of my life are missing and I'll never get them back. I played with friends and went hiking and fed animals at petting zoos, and all of these experiences add up to the person I am today. So it's all good. I just wish I could remember.

The thing is, I don't have much family to ask. So there's no way to find out about all of this mystery info. Like, here's a photo of my Gramp in World War II with a big gun strapped across his back and I don't even know any of his stories. It's just not the kind of thing I thought about asking when he was alive. And I really regret that now. Or the photo of my Gram from a long time ago, probably in the 1930's, but I'll never know why she was wearing that uniform. All of this history is just...lost. Forever.

This is why I'm into archival scrapbooking. I want to remember my life and the lives of everyone important to me. I don't want any of this to fade. Just like Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends":

Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories; they're all that's left you