Hug those close to you and reach out to those farther away. People, money and goods are taken from us before we can understand and appreciate their value. Don’t waste a single day wondering if you gave precious moments away.

The dead give us a gift. The ending of their stories open up space for our own novels to continue. Be thankful for their accomplishments and hold onto the glory of a life well lived. We are writing the next chapters, forging the new path, finding a better way. The dead have given us a gift that we take with us until we too must pass it on.

My thoughts, prayers, hopes and dearest sympathies go out to those who have died. Some of you I knew, some of you I did not. Some died suddenly while others fought for every breath. The world honors and respects you every day.

[EF, JE, ES, RK, runners at the Boston Marathon, victims of car bombers, frog along the hiking trail.]

Tuesday is already here so shake off those Monday blues. I bought a book at the library yesterday for $1 called “The Complete Guide to Blogging.” Haven’t started it yet but seeing as I would pay that much for anyone’s advice, I can only gain knowledge from a basic how to. I would assume the first thing about blogging is actually to write and while I have an extra couple of minutes I’d like to share some new found wisdom.

I have developed a preconceived notion that staying connected with people I love is a time draining, intensive process; one I need to schedule into my planner for hours at a time. Over the last week I have spoken with a number of people over the phone and via text message. Hearing from them and recounting my own life has been incredibly rewarding. Ah yes, I think, this is why we were friends in the beginning. How could I have waited this long to follow up and check in? 

It turns out I DO have enough time:

2 min- text to college roommate followed by

5 min- short e-mail to high school BFF

10 min- purchase some stationary and write a letter to your grandpa.

20 min- phone call to that close friend you never seem to talk to enough.

40 min- Grab the nail polish, hop on your bed and dive into a great conversation.

Make a list of those people you miss and begin reaching out. You’ll be glad you did. Chances are they will be as delighted as you to hear a friendly voice. Probably should put your mom on that list too.

Next Tuesday, my bedroom and I will quietly celebrate our six-month anniversary. We can’t believe how fast the times gone by. On that day, I will try to think back to that sunny afternoon in mid-August when I first committed to my new home.

Six-months…

I now have a fairly regular work routine. Monday-Friday. 9am-5pm. I have favorite grocery stores and can navigate to said grocery stores without my iPhone GPS.  I’ve experienced car problems. I have friends who invite me to drinks on Friday night and Downton Abbey on Sunday. I pay my student loans on time. I attended my first political rally. I’ve spent mornings and nights feeling utter alone. I’ve tried mixed martial arts, sweated through Bikram yoga, and attended a writing workshop. I’m afraid I’m getting fat. I feel proud to know the people in my life. I second-guess myself every day.

How do you know when you’ve “made it”?

On the weekend of March 2nd, I will be participating in a Masquerade Bowl-A-Thon. This great event raises funds for Big Brothers Big Sisters of Hampshire County, an organization in Amherst that provides one-to-one mentoring relationships to local children in Hampshire County who are in need of positive adult influence and friendship. A special person, such as a “big brother” or “big sister” can often be the one factor that can change the destiny of a child’s life, providing the resources and encouragement to become a productive and healthy adult.*

I think about my path in life that has led me to where I am today. Could I have done it alone? Absolutely not. My mother drove out to Northampton multiple times while I looked for places to live. My father took care of all my car problems, taught me to check the oil and use the heated seats. My godparents, Carol and Stan, came out to see my theatre performance as they’ve done for the past 15 years. High school friends have driven out to MA for a weekend of new food and new bars. College friends call just to check in. I’m constantly surrounded by love and warmth from other caring souls.

Our bowling team, expertly called “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gutter” has already raised $1,147.00 and we still have three weeks to go. In some small way, I am helping to support  children who weren’t as lucky as I was growing up. My six month anniversary in Northampton, MA is not a reason for a celebration but for a thank you. Thank you to all the friends and family members who have contributed to our team and to my life.You mean the world to me. 

To donate to the cause, visit:

My Page!

*Excerpt taken from bowling team website. Thanks Carlin.

I was introduced to my first workshop opportunity by a friend and mentor Peggy who acted with me in the production of Our Town a couple months ago. As she explained it, a writing workshop is facilitated by an instructor for a group of people with the sole purpose of writing, freely and without distractions. A room full of writers writing. Nurturing creativity. It sounded wonderful.

So I e-mailed Carol, one of Peggy’s close friends and writing facilitator, to gain access to this magical writing world of workshops. I learned that both Carol and her husband Robin led sessions three times a week from their home in Northampton. Each workshop begins with a meal: breakfast on Monday mornings and dinner on Wednesday and Thursday. After food, the participants retire to the living room for the reading of short prompts and the sounding of a small gong.

The collection of writers assembled on this particular Wednesday evening, curled up in arm chairs or resting on the sofas, paralleled the similarities of a box of 50 flavor jelly beans. No age, writing style or method of delivery was the same. But the group was familiar with each other, friendships had formed, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear that this was the 10th or 12th year at Carol and Robin’s home. Even as a newcomer, I felt connected by our mutual love of writing and the conscious effort to spend an uninterrupted three and a half hours to listen to good writing or sit alone, writing ourselves.

During the writing portion, I took my notepad upstairs and found a small table near the fireplace. This was my time to write anything I wanted, knowing my only obligation that night was to my creative self. Sentences bubbled forth, frothing and foaming into funny phrases and broken thoughts. No need to follow the rubric or stay within the lines. And please…leave all disclaimers and self-doubt at the door.

“The woman sitting next to me on the subway lets out a sigh. Its weight drops like dense iron balls ont the floor and rolls in all directions around the car. A younger woman with red lips picks up her feet as one of the balls rolls past. These heels cost $200 a piece and Ill’ll be damned if they get scuffed by the sighs of that maid. The heels return to the grooved metal floor of the subway car and turn away from the thick black sneakers. The young woman’s breathing is shallow and tight. She keeps her audible exhales in check-they are not suitable for public consumption.”

Apparently Katelyn writes fiction now too.

Root down. Reach up.

In vinyasa yoga, movement and breath are connected through conscious intension. The mind is aware of the body and in turn, the body is aware of movement and air flow.This morning, in the ritual of sun salutation, I became aware of my emergence into the new year. I tried to define my challenges and goals. Brandon began to speak, to relate yoga to our daily lives. My mind drifted and returned as I struggled to maintain a focused practice. Root down. 

Roots prevent trees from toppling over during harsh winds and heavy snows. They pull water and nutrients up from the ground, pry sidewalks apart and grow together in tangled balls beneath canopies of green. Roots can give humans their history or take it away. My legs become one trunk and my roots push past rubber and wood, down through the studio floor.Children without roots wander aimlessly in search of family history and a place to call home. The ceiling fan blows warm air through my branches overhead. Reach up. 

People who walk with eyes skyward often benefit from an uplifted disposition. The sail attached to a sturdy mast will always capture the wind. The whispering kite has a reliable base and taut string while individuals with continued success have built a grounded foundation. We cannot choose where our roots begin or where our stories start. But we do have the power to build our roots, strengthen our base and reach toward the heavens. Dreams are only limited by the fungal disease of our self-doubt.

I leave you with my motto for the upcoming year. I hope it provides you strength as you move forward in your own life.

“Root down through the earth. Reach up to the stars. Everything is possible.”

The World: New Year’s Resolutions for 2013

Encourage walking.

Foster long-distance relationships between forgotten friendships.

Help neighbors rebuild a sense of community. 

Inform people that the physical capacity to have children is not a good enough reason to do so.

Create the impetus for immediate action surrounding climate change.

Give all hungry children food.

Plant more trees.

Have those with plenty give to those with few. 

Nourish creativity.

Eliminate racism and hatred.

Remind those with a soft bed to be thankful. Every night.

Breed acceptance for those who are different from what we know.

Stop all weapons from hurting people. 

Eat well.

Live within the means of the Earth.

Shower one another with renewed hope. For the future and for ourselves.

Happy New Year. 

Miniature trains ran round and round peaceful villages on table displays, past ice-skating figurines and fluffy cotton snow. Adult train conductors in grey and white-stripped overalls sat nearby in preparations for prying fingers and careless gesturing. At 4pm, the doors to Look Park’s Garden House would open to welcome families into Santa’s Trains event and exhibit.

Just 93 miles south at Sandy Hook Elementary School, a devastatingly different scene was unfolding:

[Newtown, CT] “A man killed his mother at their home and then opened fire Friday inside an elementary school, massacring 26 people, including 20 children, as youngsters cowered in fear to the sound of gunshots reverberating through the building and screams echoing over the intercom. The 20-year-old killer, carrying at least two handguns, committed suicide at the school, bringing the death toll to 28 authorities said.” -John Christoffersen, Associated Press

The doors were open. Boys and girls trailed past with piping cups of hot chocolate and giant sugar cookies in each hand. Every child who wanted to see Santa had to recite his or her name for the friendly elves. Only after the children’s names were located in the “nice” book, were they allowed to scurry in line to speak with the big man himself. Santa made time for every boy and girl provided they arrived between the hours of 4pm and 8pm. The North Pole is a very long way away, after all.

“All 20 of the slain children were either 6 or 7 years old.” -CNN.com

Children, with mothers and fathers in tow, skipped aimlessly from one shiny new thing to another. They occupied a world of red and green wonderment; confident their guardians would produce hot chocolate, mittens and new bracelets at a moments notice. These mothers and fathers had expectations too. Expectations that their young child would grow up, make mistakes and eventually make them proud. And they also expect to be outlived by their toddling 6 year old as this is the natural way of things.

I stood next to the artificial white Christmas tree with pink lights and cupcake ornaments, overheating in my extra large elf costume. In this magical holiday display, children existed to be loved and to love in return. in this moment, nothing matters beyond the exit doors and cold December air.

“Staffers hailed as heroes- A worker who turned on the intercom, alerting others in the building that something was very wrong. A custodian who risked his life by running through the halls warning of danger. A clerk who led 18 children on their hands and knees to safety, then gave them paper and crayons to keep them calm and quiet.” -Associated Press

I have no answers for “why” the shooting and lives of 27 innocent souls were taken on Friday December 14^th. But I do know that these children are our children, America’s children. Sandy Hook is every school in every town. As a former child and future parent, I send my prayers to every family who must now fill a hole where a former loved one used to reside. We raise you up on our shoulders and hope you find some inner peace in the coming months and all the months after that.

This holiday season and every season, hug those closest to you and sent your warmth out to estranged family members, forgotten friends and complete strangers. At the end of the
day, we must go on living as if we have years and years to fill with happy memories. It is our responsibility to live for those who cannot and for those who have forgotten how to try. 

For more information, receive guidance or make a donation, visit Help for victims of Sandy Hook.

Strolling through Bradley International Airport gave my nostrils the same brief sensation, catching me off guard. I doubted any other security employees or fellow travelers felt a strong emotional connection to Gate 29 or the sprinkling of Dunkin’ Donut stands with sleepy-eyed baristas. But there is something about airports-about the precipice of travel- that gives me a feeling a pure bliss. Every wheely suitcase is going somewhere new. Every plane, every seat is stuffed with possibilities of the unknown. “Where are you going?” I want to stop and ask every family and businessman who shuffles by. “Do you see how beautiful it is to jump on a plane and fly?”

So as I sip my latte and look out over the Tarmac, I wish you the feeling of travel on this chilly December morning. For with travel comes the abundance of hope and possibility to challenged hidden preconceived notions about the world. Whether you’ve never flown or have visited every country, the ability to see newness and journey in life should not be overlooked. After all, life is as much about the journey as the destination isn’t it?

1. Develop creative yet plausible answers when asked by friends and family why I am still single.
2. Pick an outfit that simultaneously implies “boyfriend worthy” while incorporating an elastic waistband.
3. Spend 24-48 hours directly follow the Thanksgiving meal simultaneously impressed and mortified that my body consumed as many calories as it did. 

But I must consider another point on my list of Thanksgiving “to-do’s”– eating and celebrating sustainably. Here are 5 ways to be sustainable on November 22.

Buy local: Who doesn’t want that personal connection between farmer and consumer, smiling as loose bills and parsnips exchange hands? Participating in CSAs (Community supported agriculture), farm shares, or the occasional stop to the farmer’s market benefits the local economy and supports the agriculture in your geographic region. Or prepare now for next year and harvest carrots and potatoes from your own garden!

Eat seasonally: This is more difficult for us Northeastern folks who exhaust the ways root vegetables can be cooked, sautéed, broiled, boiled, roasted, blanched, and pureed. Increasing your awareness of growing seasons however, can make a huge impact on your carbon footprint. Brussel sprouts, served with caramelized butter and maple syrup, were picked 20 miles away and taste incredible. Compare them to store-bought berries or tomatoes and chances are they were flown to your table from Florida, picked before they were ripe in order to make the 1,150 mile journey.

Go to the Source: I am the biggest culprit when it comes to canned goods. Baking, cooking you name it. Last month, I made muffins with a can of Trader Joe’s Organic Canned Pumpkin. Organic yes, but the pumpkin I used came all the way from Willamette Valley in Oregon. Definitely NOT local. Recently my housemate Julie made a pumpkin pie with pumpkins from a nearby farm stand. She roasted them on a baking dish and scooped out the softened orange pulp. The finished product was lighter in color than traditional pumpkin pies but had the most amazing flavor. So try roasting your own pumpkin or making homemade cranberry sauce. And don’t forget to toast the leftover seeds for a delicious snack.

Mind the meat: It’s true. Raising animals for food takes an incredible amount of energy and puts a significant strain on the planet. And while I don’t expect every family to go vegetarian, consider decreasing the number of meat dishes on the table. Do you really need a turkey, ham and mini hot dog appetizer? Experiment with new, delicious veggie recipes that leave your guests feeling fully satisfied and less stuffed at the end of the meal. Still need your turkey fix? For the past two years, my mom has reserved a Thanksgiving turkey from a local organic, free-range farm near our house. The sticker price is steeper than a traditional Butterball, but the externalized impact from animal cruelty, mass production, and added preservatives makes our local bird a no-brainer. Plus, available websites like EatWild and Local Harvest now allow customers to type in their zip code and find sustainable farms locally.

Spread the love: Sustainability extends beyond our dining room table. Many food pantries and homeless shelters provide Thanksgiving meals served in-house or deliver meals to those who cannot afford the luxuries we take for granted. This season, consider purchasing produce or canned goods to donate to your local pantry. I remember in high school, my friends and I drove around the area dropping off baskets of stuffing, gravy, cans of beans, pie crush and turkeys. We gave thanks by extending our love and fortune to those who were struggling to make ends meet. 

So there you have it folks. Take a moment to consider the environment while preparing this Thanksgiving. Stuff your faces and be thankful for everything, every person, and every good thing in your life. Go forward with a loving heart, a reflective mind and full stomach.

Also check out: Vegetarian Thanksgiving, Other Thanksgiving Tips

Your cash and credit cards were gone when I found it. I hope that doesn’t make you too sad. Brush, mascara, Sears gift cards–totally intact. What an awful feeling it is to lose something…or have something stolen. A violation, that’s what it is. The young man who stole my phone right out of my hand, he never looked back. I think he knew what it felt like. Maybe he feels like that all the time. 

It’s 10:50pm. Maybe Melissa brought your purse back to you already. I sure hope so.