Notes From Home Plate

#1 Basically, The Shape

Published on by Lisa

Let’s start with some basics about Ohio. (By the way, this is in no particular order.) You gotta love this time of year when the map of America is shown all over TV to explain the electoral map of the US. My favorite is whenever the anchor person talks about how Ohio is the heart of America and it’s quite clear that our state boundaries reflect that responsibility. We are a heart. Isn’t that warm?

Then the anchor goes on to talk about how Ohio is the reflection of America. So goes Ohio, so goes the nation.

Translation: it’s a place of power.

And I like power.

Not only that, but the heart shaped edges are a unique little factoid about our great state. Sometimes, when perusing the kitchen utensil aisles in the store, I wonder why someone hasn’t made an Ohio cookie cutter. Who wouldn’t love to take a great big bite out of Cincinnati and Dayton?

And so begins the list of Why Ohio Gets to Keep Us.

The Best of Ohio

Published on by Lisa

So, Ohio –

How ya doin’?

You and I have had a long road together. Like a dysfunctional relationship, I keep coming back to you. I leave, but I keep coming back with a belief that I will find a new part of you that fits me.

You may win me over in the end. Maybe.

It’s not that I don’t want to be won over. I just need to be convinced. So, let’s work together.

I’m beginning a new series on this blog that gives evidence of Ohio love; things that surprise me about you. (I really hope there’s a lot.)

So, here’s our deal: you keep revealing your coolness to me here in Cleveland and I’ll keep record on this blog of how rad you really can be. Let’s start there.

It’s all about reframing. It’s all about reframing. I’ll reframe my experiences and fall in love with you, hopefully, by the end of my life. Right now, I’d say you’re my really good friend that I go with to see the new James Bond movies. No hand holding, no funny business. We’re just good friends.

You give me the O-H.
I’ll document the I-O.
The series will be called: Why Ohio Gets to Keep Us

Let’s get going.

Step Away

Published on by Lisa

I just downloaded an obscene amount of holiday songs from iTunes.

I’m kind of disgusted with myself.

As punishment, I won’t allow myself to listen to what I just purchased.

Because THAT makes sense.

With Your Mouth Open

Published on by Lisa

I used to be a horrible daughter that nudged my brother, Fran, for laughs when our Dad fell asleep with his mouth open. I would shake my head in wonder, Are you THAT tired, Dad, that you can’t close your mouth?

Apparently yes.

Apparently that also runs in the family.

In an uber-productive weekend where we took to the leaves the way soldiers took to Normandy, and I tackled my closet and *finally* unpacked from a 4 weekend trip October, Nick and I accomplished much this weekend, domestically speaking. We cooked dinner, celebrated Books’ 30th birthday with the loyal Tom Ward from the ‘Nati, and even squeaked in an early 9am mass on Sunday morning. We rock like that.

After all that activity, I crawled to the sofa and sank into a poetry book, ready to be taken into a deliriously gorgeous Nikki Giavonni world, and then fell asleep, books on the floor, limbs sprawled like I’d been drugged, mouth gaping open. I was exhausted. Nick read Time magazine and covered me with a blanket. He’s kind like that.

Life is so much easier when you’re organized and wake up early. It’s so much easier to decide what to wear when your clothes are actually hanging on hangers and not crumbled up like leaf piles on your bedroom rug. I may be converted to Nick’s style of living – uncluttered and happy.

In other non-exciting details that we love to talk about, I continue to lament the lable of True Adult which Nick and I have humbly accepted. WIthout alarms, I wake up at 6:45am. Now for those of you out there who think that is not a big deal, remember two things:
1) I used to have nearly all evening classes at Xavier because I couldn’t wake up before 11am and 2) I am unemployed

I suppose it’s the rigor of raking leaves and rearranging my magnetic poetry that drains me and I need a fitful 8 hours to be productive. This transition is quite shocking, to say the least. Nick, in his balanced life patterns of wake, shower, work, eat, read, sleep gets routinely heavy lidded at 10:30pm (how embarassing) and rises to the world like clockwork at 7:30am. We don’t even have kids to blame for our lameness. We are Adults.

November Cleaning

Published on by Lisa

It’s been a long week.

Beginning November is a weird transition.

In one moment, you are contemplating what kind of monster or rock star you will grace Halloween parties with and the next moment, your sister-in-law is asking whether you’ll make the Turkey this year while you suddenly see a commercial that has jingle bells in the background with the new store hours to accommodate your shopping needs. Yeah, November’s weird.

And then there’s this historic election we just lived through. I can’t even begin to write how glad I am it is over. It’s a constant negotiation at social gatherings over what and how much you can talk about when it comes to politics. Never a fan of labels, I hate when people ask if I’m a Democrat or push the Palin love. I just want to talk about issues, not the blame, and I’m relieved that – finally – I can watch Grey’s Anatomy without political ads bothering me.

It’s raining yellow leaves in our backyard and our neighbors have probably pegged us the laziest Clevelanders in the history of yard raking. Yesterday, though, Nick took the day off (a nice benefit from working so many evenings and every weekend) and we took on the third floor of our house. It looked like our moving truck had vomited whatever was left in its belly onto the hard wooden floors. It’s been a little over two months since I’ve been back and yet, I confess, there is not one thing hung on our walls or box unpacked.

There is no appropriate measuring stick to adequately communicate how much I loathe packing and unpacking. I HATE MOVING THINGS. I hate the concept of it. I hate doing it. I hate it so much, I want to crawl into a fetal position and whine in a dark corner. Everything that goes into moving, I detest. The sifting through of all your junk and realizing you should drop off 1/2 of your life at a salvation army, the dust from boxes that I am allergic, the polite questions from Nick asking if I going as fast as I can – I HATE MOVING AND ALL THAT COMES WITH IT.

But, what must be done must be done. So, we tackled the third floor with a vengeance and I must say, it looks pretty darn good. It is a guest suite/Lisa’s gallery and writing floor/future children romping room. The greatest feeling was finally seeing all of my art supplies – canvas, brushes, paints, drop sheets, cleaner, paints, crayons, clear glue, adhesives, buttons, leftover denim, s/crap-booking materials, rocks, sand, rafia, paper, bows, old cards, and gift wrapping paper – in an enormous closet. For approximately 11 years, i have carted my crafty tools in beat up cardboard boxes. Much to Nick’s dismay, I have a hard time putting those things away. Since I derive much inspiration in simply looking at the vast array of my creative guns, I leave most of it out in the open, waiting for lightning to strike.

I shrieked, “LOOK NICK! I ACTUALLY HAVE A SPACE TO PUT AWAY ALL MY ART SUPPLIES! I LOVE HAVING A HOUSE! I FINALLY CAN THROW THOSE OLD BOXES AWAY AND KEEP MY ART SUPPLIES IN A CORNER OF MY OWN!”

Nick hugged me, “That’s great babe!”

But I could have sworn as he jogged down the steps, I heard him mutter under his breath, “…great for all of us…”

Letter #1

Published on by Lisa

Dear Veronica,

Someday you’ll read this and I hope that when you do, my words will make no sense at all. I hope that you actually throw your head back in such laughter that I even got emotionally invested in this moment because in the time that you absorb my words, that period will have come to pass a mentality of such openness and progression, this letter is filed archaic.
You’re only an image in my mind, a daughter who I hope to meet in the future. I think of you often in when I am working for a better place or even making a lousy choice. In either instance, I wonder how my actions will affect you.
Today is November 4, 2008 and these hours rest on the anxious ballots across the United States as we elect a new leader of our nation. You’ll read in history books that all sorts of records were broken – even now, before I know who has won the general election – so much has transpired that has changed the face of this nation and so much is still going to change in the years before you and I officially meet.
You come from a family who supports two parties – Republicans and Democrats – which is why Sunday dinners always last too long with your cousins and Titas and Titos. We have much to discuss.
It’s important to me for you to know why this day is so important. For eight years, I’ve been changing my mind. I’ve been looking for the best and ideal political environment and I now realize that not only is that never going to happen, but that’s not what I should be living for. It’s not the end result of perfection or the ideal outcome I’m looking for, what matters most is what I did in these years to make this place better for you.
I want you to know that I voted today. I voted for a presidential candidate for my third election and I voted Democrat. I’ve voted Republican before, even identified as such. Voting Democratic, however, is not as significant as the lessons I’ve learned about laws, infrastructure and the reality of how the system works in this country and around the world. If you are my daughter, most likely, you will be a daughter of privilege. You will be a person of education, services, healthcare, and choices. With these options, you must apply yourself and learn for yourself how this world will work for those around you. Learning for myself of how this world works changed the way I live, the way I vote, the way I love.
This day, I witnessed an excitement in every kind of person imaginable. I witnessed a respect between folks of difference, across race and party lines. It was the first day of a political event that I felt a part of, not a spectator. Of every ethnicity, religion, ability, I saw people working the voting booths. Pregnant women, men in business suits, the elderly in wheelchairs, families with strollers – nearly everyone showed up today.
And so, my dear, you continue to remain a dream for me. A bright dream which keeps me walking and serving those around me, hoping someday, that you will do the same. And you will tell me funny stories of the people you met on election day. I will tell you the day I worked for the first black president of the Unites States of America and by then you will wonder what the hell the big damn deal was in 2008.
Your father and I bought a bottle of champagne and splurged on a package of gourmet cheese. Your father loves George Stephanopoulos and I love anyone but the Fox anchors. We hope that is one of those nights we’ll remember the rest of our lives and bore you to tears about what we witnessed and lived through.
Love,
Mom