“The purpose of life, after all, is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experiences.” -Eleanor Roosevelt

Here's the thing:  I love the infinite possibility of life.  I have an actual list of things I want to do before I die, and the items range from learning to drive a stick shift, to rock climbing, to kissing Dave Grohl (even the cheek will do).  Right now, my passions include writing, studying my genealogy, learning Polish, and running.  This, in addition to having several jobs.  And it keeps me occupied and engaged.

But sometimes I worry that I want to do too many things, and I want to do them all now.  If I sit down with that book, I can't go for a run.  I don't have time to re-connect with the piano and learn to speak Polish.  I've been planning my move to Poland, reading about the different regions, so I can decide where to apply for jobs, and I've left off on my genealogy research.  Which I'd like to keep up, not only because it's interesting, but because it may mean EU citizenship for me if I can prove I'm really Polish.  I want to read all the books I've got lying around here, because I can't take them all with me in my luggage.  But I want to sit up all night watching movies with my little brother before I go, too. 

I like having options, I like jumping from one thing to the next.  But am I preventing myself from ever doing anything fully?  I guess it's irrelevant.  I don't think that's ever going to completely change about me.  I'm always miserable when I try to confine myself.  Maybe a bit more discipline and dedication is needed, but if I beat my interests down until they become something other than the thing I started out loving, what was the point?

Drip, Drip, Splash

At the club today, we played a game that - in my opinion - is just as well suited to adults as it is to children.  I had a blast playing it anyway.  Drip, drip, splash is just like duck, duck goose.  Only you have a cup of water.  You can figure out the rules, right?  In what I can only assume to be a particularly touching demonstration of their affection for me, the kids drenched me to the core.  This led to pitchers of water being dumped on the kids, then on me (by staff), and to all of us chasing Andrew around the building in an attempt (1) to get him wet, and (2) to get ourselves a bit dryer.  I am going to miss those kids so much.

We were inside cleaning up, and one of our little girls was trying to steal an apple out of my hand.  She had the meanest case of the giggles anybody has ever heard.  Andrew looked at her and said, "hearing you laugh like that is the best part of my day." 

Do you ever wonder why we can't all be as honest as that, all the time?  At least about the good stuff?  It's like we're all just a little too afraid of being the least bit soft.  You know what, though?  I'm starting to think that the cynics are the real suckers.  They're taking the easy way out, but telling themselves it's hard.

The Good Land

Part One.

Oh, Milwaukee.  Why did I leave you?  You are full of good friends, fun times, fond memories, and cute babies I'm related to.  Obviously it was a well-spent weekend.  I saw a lot of people I love and I had more fun than I've had in quite a while.  For those of you who want the short version, I can sum my weekend up in the following photographs:

**Photo credit for the picture of me and Hudson goes to Natalie.

On top of all the fun, though, after the baseball game, I went out for ice cream with a group of friends.  Some of them the faithful familiars who are always up for a good time when I'm around, and others who haven't seen me in so long that they didn't even know I didn't live in Milwaukee anymore.  And there was no booze, no band playing, none of the usual social lubricant usually involved with seeing old friends.  But we all slipped so easily into hilarious stories, filthy jokes, and poking fun at one another that it felt like none of us had ever drifted apart at all.  And I realized that your real friends are your friends no matter what you've been doing or how old you get or where you live.  Looking back on younger years, it's easy to miss the carefree days, the ridiculous antics, and mostly, the old friends.  But it's cool to realize that the friends, at least, are still there.

Part Two.

So I've been thinking a lot about the distinctions between family and friends.  Often the really good friends feel just as much like family as the one you're born into.  But there are some very obvious differences.  Case in point: I've seen a lot of different reactions to my "big" life decisions the last few years, and I've been wondering why, when my family has known me for so much longer and in such closer quarters than my friends, they always seem more taken aback by my choices.  I always get the most questions, the most cautions, the most (what seems to me) reticence from those who supposedly know me best.  Why?

Here's why: family is full of hierarchies.  Parent, child.  Youngest, oldest, middle.  Brother, sister.  There's a lot of push and pull, give and take, responsibility and power.  Your family is structured to take care of one another.  So when you announce something like, "I'm going to move to Poland this summer and become an English teacher!" your family goes into protective mode.  I hope she's not going to get hurt.  Let's make sure she's thought of everything.  What if this doesn't work out?  Your family wants to try to prevent you from doing anything stupid, if possible.

Friends, on the other hand, generally view one another more or less as equals.  They've seen you pick yourself up off the floor after some big spills.  Hell, they probably got you drunk to numb the pain of the fall.  They've let you help them when they took a hit.  And if your relationship with your friends is anything like mine, they've definitely seen you do many stupider things than your family can ever hope to - and they've seen you live to tell (and laugh) about it.  So when you announce something like, "I think maybe I'd be ok with a life as crazy Auntie Rachel who is always flying in from random countries with ponchos and necklaces and exotic liquors for everybody!" your friends go into a completely different mode.  They're much more laissez-faire.  How can I help?  Let's have a huge farewell party!  I'm going to come on some of those trips with you!  Your friends not only don't want to prevent you from doing anything stupid, they kind of want you to do stupid things.  Just for the sake of doing them.  Because you can.

But you know what?  Both responses come from a good place.  They come from people caring about you.  So I guess I can stop obsessing about what it all means, and just remember that I'm awfully lucky to have people to care about me in all of these ways.

Oh!  And on a much less sappy note, read this blog. And die laughing.  Good work, Evie.

Welcome!

Welcome to my blog. First entry, coming up.  But I guess first thing's first: if you don't get why I'm looking for Maude, you'd better get your hands on a copy of the movie ASAP.  It's near-absolute perfection.  I do take minor exception with one particular plot point, but I'll forgive it as necessary to make the movie what it is.  And I still love Jamie Baird for introducing me to it back when I was 20. 

What did I do today?  I took a break from all of the worries about work visas, ESL training, housing, and money for my impending move to Poland(!!!), and I went to visit my grandparents.  Since I was headed out to their area, I thought I'd stop at St. Mary's in Fancher to stroll through the cemetery to look for my great great grandparents' grave.  Since I first thought about the possibility of moving to Poland, I've developed a fascination with finding out where I come from.  I'm hoping to trace my family back to the point where I can go visit the towns, cities and villages where
                                    my ancestors come from.

On this search, I've stumbled upon a bit of a mystery.  My family has always assumed that my great great grandfather, George Betro, was from Italy.  Someone who knew him told my grandmother that George grew up somewhere in the south of Italy, near the crossing to Sicily.  When I look him up on ancestry.com, I find that he (and his wife Pauline and several sons and daughters) are all recorded in several censuses.  But each one lists a different place of birth for him, and a different place of birth for his parents.  Wisconsin, Philadelphia, Italy, Syria, Prussia, France...I have no idea where he comes from!  I do, however, know where he's buried.  I thought that maybe the cemetery might give me clues.  Maybe his parent's names, a place of birth, something.

After wandering for ten or fifteen minutes, I finally found it:

Alas, it really offered me no information I didn't have already.  But it was pretty cool to stand there anyway, and to pay my respects to people who made their way over here (on ships!) to start a new life, and ended up creating my family.

Because it was a beautiful day, I was driving through the country, and I had my camera, I began seeing delicious photo ops everywhere I looked.  I firmly believe that, when you're holding a camera, everything starts to look more compelling. So I passed a lovely afternoon being enchanted by everything I saw.  Here's an abandoned farm house that caught my fancy:

Yes, those trees are really growing right out of the house.

Finally, since I was visiting long-gone family, I stopped by my Grandpa Irv's grave just to say hi on my way home.  The sun was shining, but as soon as I reached his grave, it started raining.  If you know me, you know I love rain.  Especially warm rain.  So I said thanks to Grandpa and went home, where I saw...

A double freaking rainbow!  Right over my house.  My mom says that means someone from the beyond is trying to contact you.  Hmm...