Nani's and Michael's toast

As I did for Sara's and Jeff's wedding, I'm publishing the written version of my toast from the wedding.  Per usual, the version I delivered was slightly altered and adlibbed, so that I could be in the moment instead of my head.

As I said on Saturday night, I love, adore, and treasure you both, Michael and Nina.

Be well and tremendous love,

Nish 

Good evening, everyone.  For those who don’t know me, I’m Manisha, Nina’s oldest sister.  Except, Nina is not what typically I call her.  I call her Naniben.  Nani - baby.  Ben - sister.  Naniben. Baby sister.

 

Tonight, I see her sitting there, a grown person who just married her best friend a couple of hours ago, a strong, smart, sassy, gorgeous woman, but even still, the fact remains, she’ll always be my baby sister.  

 

Nina and I have a solid sisterhood, and very close friendship.  We have always confided in each other and asked for advice.  So, I knew something in Nina’s world had shifted very shortly after she came home from her first break in college.  She had a long distance suitor at the time, but all of her stories revolved strangely around this boy from Long Island, a charming, funny, bookworm with the surname: Mogavero.  Sara and I teased our 18 year old sister about her “boyfriend Michael.”  “My best friend,” she would quickly correct.  Sara and I would glance at each other as if to say “yeah right, just a friend.” 

 

Except now, all these years later, it’s clear to me that in those moments, all three of us were all right.  Michael is her best friend, yes, but never “just a friend.”  As I’ve watched these two come into their own, I see a steady partnership has emerged - a strong, responsible, and steadfast partnership.

 

You know what else  I see when I watch them, though?  I see a funny, solid, fulfilling friendship. Michael and Nina live for adventure, and know how to find, make, and have fun.  They are playful together, often affectionally and gently teasing the other.  They make each other laugh all the time.  They listen, and take each other’s concerns seriously.  Every chance they have, they find things to do together  - and most importantly, they enjoy each other while they do it - kayaking, spearfishing, traveling.  As any pair of good friends should, the two of them continuously remember, explore, and identify with the things that made them even like each other in the first place.   

 

To Nina - Nani, I love, adore and treasure you.  I look up to you as much as I look out for you, and I am so happy to see you married to your best friend.

 

To Michael - Brother, I love, adore and treasure you.  If I could have designed a partner for Nina, it would have been you.  

 

To both of them - Michael and Nina, love, adore and treasure each other.  Protect each other from the world, but protect your friendship above all us.

 

So now, if everyone could please raise their glasses, a toast - to Nina and Michael.  May you remain fabulous friends forever.  Congratulations.

 

 

C'est fini

If you're friends with me on facebook, you haven't escaped knowing that, over the last year, I've worked on an ocean themed ceramic set to be displayed at Nani's and Michael's wedding.  The wedding came and all twelve pieces made it unscathed!  :)  The set up turned out phenomenonly. 

A thirteenth last minute item, a write up about the project and me (written by me), was printed and framed to be displayed with the pieces.

For anyone who is interested in that writing:

​The dusty, messy, unmanageable earth has an unlimited capacity to fascinate me.  In my life, I’ve felt perpetually compelled to touch muck: silt at the bottom of a pond, broken shells mixed into wet sand on the shoreline, or mud that forms in the divots of front yards after summer rain.  It’s not surprising then, that my love affair with ceramics is unrelenting.

 

​I returned to the studio about eighteen months ago; six months into my return, Michael and Nina were engaged.  Shortly after their engagement was announced, they asked me to incorporate my work into their wedding reception.   At the time of the request, Michael and Nina had few specifications, and any time I asked them for guidance, they assured me: “We trust your vision.  Do it how you see it, and it will be exactly what we want.”

 

        How’s that for pressure? 

 

​After considering the options, I set out to design a new series for them that would encompass a celebration of the love affair these two have with each other and life; a love affair, it seems, that is not unlike mine with the earth. In preparation, I spent several months thinking about the two of them, and not about the series.  What do I know about them?  What do they love about each other?  How do they live their lives?  After searching, I realized the answer was always the same; they adore adventure.  

 

​Their newest adventure before the engagement was a recent relocation to Miami, and the most consistent part of their lives after that move was a tremendous amount of time spent on the water.  It seemed my baby sister and Her Love found peace kayaking, sailing, spearfishing, and snorkeling; the two were clearly drawn to the ocean.  

 

​Therefore, this series came into existence as a nod to their seafaring; it is twelve structures depicting a coral reef, complete with the fish that swim through them.  The vagueness of form is intentional, a gentle acknowledgment of the ocean rather than a realistic replica of their Miami sea.   As we celebrate the beginning of Michael’s and Nina’s new life, their willingness to take risks, and their ability to move through the world on their own terms, I invite you to explore these pieces as you wish; please find the wonders of the ocean as they emerge from the muck.

 

​Michael and Nina, I thank you for trusting me with this project.  Congratulations, and may the Gods and Goddesses of the sea always bless you.

 

With tremendous love,

Manisha

Congrats, Nina and Michael!

My best girl

I had no idea when I brought this little 8 lb furball home just how drastically my life would change.  A brindle baby girl, a puppy my boyfriend finally conceded to, reminding me often "you're the one who wanted her."  I did.  I did want her.  But I had no idea why.  Now humbled, grateful, and wiser---I can see all the reasons so clearly.

We bonded fast.  I spend hours training her.  Not just in puppy class, but all the time.  For treats, for food, for anything, we trained.  And we walked.  And we drove.  And when I was overwhelmed with love for her, I'd ask "who's my best girl?"  With her head cocked to the side, she knew the answer was her.

I'd never had a pup before.  I didn't know if I was doing it right, so I read about crate training and alpha status.  I'm grateful my sweet girl was patient with me learning how to raise her.  I messed up a lot.

But she and I had, and still have, this sort of intuition.  I could teach her things like "excise me", or "people [upstairs] first".  She learned that upstairs and downstairs are directions, not places.  She can tell her left paw from her right.  She decided cookies were magic.  

She got sick a few months after we brought her home and I didn't know what I was supposed to do.  So I laid on the hard wood floor next to her and listened to her whimper.  She must have known to be grateful, even though she didn't have to be.

Then a couple years later, she had knee surgery.  We moved into the basement together.  We slept in a pile.  My boyfriend didn't seem to worry about it, but for a few weeks I stayed with her.  Then we rehabbed that knee and she learned "put your foot down."  Why?  Because I needed her to walk.

She returned the favors.  Broken. Battered.  Relationship in shambles with no one to really talk to about it, she stayed with me, night after night, as I slept far away on another floor.  Her daddy upstairs, but she stayed always with me.  

When we finally broke up, so many years later, she joined me upstairs, a privelege she wasn't allowed to have before.  And she's slept with me almost every night since July 2, 2011 when he moved out.  

Straight away, she slept at my side.  On me.  Touching me.  I think she was trying to say "it's ok mommy; I'm still here."  When I didn't want to get out of bed for so many months, she just sort of patiently waited. When someone else joined in the bed, she slept in between us.  For awhile I thought she couldn't decide, but I think now I know she wanted to be sure I was safe.  She knows a lot if I'd just listen.

And now it's my turn again, to remain steadfast and strong, as her body gets weaker and she grows old.  So I reach over to scratch her hips at night and she rolls as far as she can muster energy for, so I can get to her chest.  She grows impatient with waiting, and walking, and camping, and driving....and with all things except sleeping next to me in bed.  So I have to remember that intuition, that bond, and rely on what's she's telling me about what she can do today --- or not do.

And why does it matter today?  I'm not sure, except I was struck with love and madness and appreciation for this brindle old girl who has captivated my heart.  I started thinking that someday she'll be gone from me, and I'll have to be strong and steadfast one last time.  I'll have to hold her paws and whisper in her ears . I know I'll find the power to do it when it has to be done.  But tonight as I listen to her breathing rhythmically next to me, I wonder how I could ever do that.

And so for tonight, she just lays here and I wrap around her and remind her "you're my best girl."

#100happydays volume 3

As I've settled in to wrap up the 100 happy days series, I've been looking back at the last 34 days; I noticed a really important trend had occurred, and without planning it, I found myself thinking, saying and texting "I got a piece of myself back." And so it seems a fitting way to end this exercise---ending with a little more me than I started with. 

I should explain, of course, what getting a piece of me even means. It's all manner of things, and it happened with all manner of people. First and foremost, it means I went back to my past to resolve something unsettled. A Facebook conversation with a young woman I knew in another life, reconciling a confusing evening and establishing some new connections. A short afternoon with an old friend, someone with whom I always felt a tad shy and awkward. After both casual but important interactions, I felt like all these unsaid or uncertain things were closed. There was nothing more to fret about. There was no more reasons to feel guilty. There was nothing to be shy about. The healing, it appears, was  already finished.

Secondly, I took time to reconnect with people I haven't talked to in years. Some of them I have seen, but we didn't have an opportunity to really catch up about life. Karen, SA, cwcaldon, jbrown, Arthur...all different people I deeply care about but lost.  They became lost out of circumstance, out of fear, or out of life events. The revitalized relationships secured a sense of self, of belonging, even after so many years of feeling alone.

But this exercise wasn't only 34 days, and so I must look to 66 before it - and when I do, I'm reminded of a sweet little indigo girls lyric "don't forget where you come from, baby, 'cause there's truth in it."

Ah, yes.  Truth.  This whole experience considering happy things became, for me, about the truth.  It became about my truths, my realities that I've ignored for so long, and the beauty in little moments that are my building blocks of joy.  

And so, it turns out, I'm not anymore me than I was before, even if it feels that way.  The truth is, I've always been here; I just needed to make time to see it, to enjoy it, and to take it back.

I don't do very many things consistently.  I struggle with getting into habits because I can't seem to keep myself focused on the task.  Maybe it's because I hate convention, especially self imposed convention.  Except as I conclude this I series, I realize this was an exception to my consistent inconsistency.  Without fail,  I found something, I photographed it, and I posted.  When I string it altogether, not just in some of it, but in all of it, I find that maybe I could keep doing it because everything I've ever wanted is already in front of me; the parts I thought I was missing were simply waiting for me to find them. That, my friends, is what makes something a proper happy day.

Cheers!

#100happydays Volume 2

If you want to read Volume 1, you can find it here.
If you like to see my #100happydays album, you can find it here.

Thursday of last week was Day 66 of my 100 Happy Days challenge. That makes it 2/3 of the way complete, which means I owe everyone a blog entry.

I didn't mean for the the timing to work out this way, but it so happens this is an exceptionally fitting week for me to be reflective about my life - this week is the 3rd anniversary of a good friend's death.  It also happens to be the 3rd anniversary of someone else's decision, which kickstarted my whole new, pretty great life.  Both of those events are weighing heavily on my mind this week.

I think of Toni often.  In fact, nearly every time I walk into my local coffee shop, I remember how we used to meet for breakfast - the four usual suspects plus my little buddy TF (who was young, and quiet, and at that time, not my little buddy, but I digress).  I think of her fierceness, and how she owned not just her thoughts but her space.  I think about how she could say something that made the rest of us fall out laughing, and all she would do is flash us an impish grin while we struggled to breathe.  I think of her strength, her will, her drive to beat the cancer that ultimately won.  That the anniversary of her death happens to coincide with this 100 happy days, I find myself occasionally wondering:

Which ones would she "like" on fb?

Which ones would she be with me for?

I hope the answer is a lot of them.

A mere 38 hours after Toni's funeral, The Breakup occurred.   TxB's departure from my life was and is undoubtedly the right thing for me, but in times of anniversaries both good and bad, I find myself stealing moments to remember some of the ways in which he will always be part of me.   There are some really great memories of late night Nintendo challenges and coke bottle fights.  There are times when I felt safer with him than with anyone else.  Then I find myself remembering some other really tragic times, times of loss and struggle, times when I couldn't tell my dreams from his, times when I felt lost unless I got to be Band Girlfriend - because that was the only person I knew how to be.  To tell you the truth, I hate to remember the good stuff and the bad stuff - but they are real parts of who have turned out to be, real parts of the wars I still wage with myself. So this week, I remember it all with just a little more reflection and a lot more melancholy.  Afterall, I grew up with him. 

Needless to say, focusing on happy days lately has been a good exercise for me.  It's not that I'm struggling to find joy these days; actually it's pretty opposite.  Instead, it's just that looking to find happiness in small moments. and even in moments of great sadness or regret, is what makes my bittersweet life worth having.

All those thoughts above aren't really what I intended to focus this entry on, but I shared it because it's important for me to chronicle the space this occupies in my brain.  Happy days, on their own and without context, are merely opportunities for you to look through jagged glass.  It's what's on the other side of the glass, where all the moments are actually happening, that make them worth documenting.  At least, I find that true for me.

Maybe I should boil this all down, shouldn't I?  I think what I'm trying to put into words today is that the last 33 days were a series of tragically frustrating or totally fantastic hours and days and weeks that impacted my mood, my behavior, and my heart. A lot.  The way I felt about things swayed a lot, or a little, in mere seconds.  Fabulously happy events turned me inside out before I even know what was happening.  Challenging co-workers made it extremely hard for me to put work aside after the day was over.  Arguing and defending everything I am exhausted me, more than once.  Past losses completely overshadowed my heart.   Yet, everyday, I thought: 

This is the best life I could ever ask for.

And its true.  You'd only need to glimpse at what I've posted to believe me.  If you did, I know that you'd find a smattering of the best love I could ever have.  If you read the words, you'd understand that it's people like my UnlikelyFriend, TF, Roomie, and Spunk that take really rough days and turn them into merely rough hours.  You'd see that even in hard manual labor, I can find joy sorting through old cardboard boxes full of dust covered finger paintings and childhood memories.  You'd understand how ecstatic I am to have a new little person in my life, someone to love and watch grow up, while I get to watch my little sister navigate into this new role of parent. Lastly, you'd see that the beasts who take up residence in my home take up even more residence in my heart.  What you'd see, my friends, is my life.

It's the very same life I had 66 days ago.  It's the very same life I'll have when 100 days have come and gone.   In a rough 33 day period, I found myself so incredibly grateful that there are people who love me not just in spite of my shortcomings, but perhaps because they are just part of what you get when you get me.  In my good days, and in my really ugly bad days, it's clear to me that finding happiness is really about finding love and laughter without being anyone other who i Am.

#100happydays Volume 1

If you like to see my #100happydays album, you can find it here.

33 days ago, on what amounts to a whim, I decided to join the #100happydays challenge.  The reason?  I don't have one.  It's kinda unlike me.  Normally I think and I brood and I agonize.  I guess maybe I was watching WonderPup recovering from surgery thinking "I'm so grateful today" and before I knew it, Day 1 was born.

I'm committed to the idea now though.  It's not that I think we have to be happy all the time.  It's unrealistic to expect something like that.  There were times in my life when I would have been ill-equipped at finding anything to be happy about.  There were other times in my life I would have agonized over whether I was happy enough.  Lastly, there may have been times I'd have had a full throttle anxiety attack every time I tried to take a picture of something.  Somehow, it's not any of those things today.

With the first 1/3 of the challenge completed, I'd like to share just a couple of thoughts with you about why I like this, what it means to me, and what I've learned.

1. If I could rename this, I'd call it #100gratefulmoments.  As I mentioned before, its not realistic to always be happy.  Life is a series of ups and downs - hell, even days can be that way.  It's easy to get sucked into the violence and brutality of your day, even if you genuinely lead a happy life.  But this is, for me, an exercise in finding gratitude and joy in relatively small moments.  After all, the biggest moments of our lives are made up of all the small things we had to do just to get there.

2. It's empowering to be free.  I try not to prescribe the moment.  In fact, many of my pictures aren't even very good; they are often blurry, uncentered, or not entirely related to the text in the update.  But too much emphasis on snapshot of the moment means you lose it.  Too much orchestration of the people and places and it sullies the joy.  I love being present and suddenly deciding "this is my happy day today."  There's a coke picture that says "friend" and "bff" from Day 31 that maybe is my favorite.  I hadn't considered that could ever be a happy day, particularly not when I thought it would be a boring picture of the TEDx sign.  Instead this awesome organic thing happened, and I got to tag my UnlikelyFriend and HumanM instead.  100happydays - 0: Indian Mushroom - 1.

3. Hard days are hard.  Really hard.  In 33 days, I had more of them than you'd expect from what I posted.  Those of us who battle Depression and Anxiety or have loved ones who do understand that sometimes it's just a struggle to simply get up.  And yet, I found something to post everyday.  Three times I wondered "well what could be a happy one today in this shitty endless day?"  But then something struck me and even in those days I had something to reframe into joy: fresh coffee in a favorite mug, finding a misplaced remote in a silly place, and last night - a picture of me getting ready to go out, feeling good about myself, because I had the courage to ask for what I needed --- and people came through.

4. My happy day are probably predictable now.  Nearly all of them acknowledged these fantastic humans I have in my life.  I'm eternally thankful for all of these people, but to see them posted one after another, in different variations, in different situations, for different reasons, I am no longer simply thankful; I am humbled.  What a tremendous reminder to me that even the hardest of days are made easier by people who love me.  How lucky I am to spend my life with these dear friends, the very people who prove to me that opening my heart is a risk worth taking, an irrefutable decision that connects me to friends I can't live without.

I leave you with those 4 things for now.  There are 67 more days to go, with another entry in 33.  I'm not sure what else I will find in the next 1/3 of the challenge, but I sincerely appreciate your patience and support as I participate.  Thank you for seeing the updates, liking the pictures, and reading this entry.  Cheers my friends, and may you have InfiniteHappyDays.

Forgiveness

Today's topic is forgiveness.  Why today?  Why now?   Simply stated, I'm grappling with how to grant forgiveness when someone doesn't ask for it - and worse - when they don't really deserve it.

Sometimes we are hurt deeply by those we love, and they will never know, see, or understand it.  It's not that they were accidentally insensitive; instead, they refuse to believe that they could ever be wrong.  In their steadfast trek on the path of "rightness", they don't see that words and actions can pull apart a relationship with even the strongest foundation.

With that in mind, I've started searching for what I think forgiveness really is, and who it is for.  There are a lot of really wise words out there about how forgiveness is really about the forgiver.  It's about making peace with someone who has wronged you.  It's about moving forward with your life, and maybe your relationship.

I buy that.  I can get there.  But isn't it really something more?  Isn't it a gift?  Isn't it possible that granting forgiveness is an act of love?

When I have done something so terribly atrocious to someone I love, I don't simply apologize.  Apologies are for spilled milk or losing someone's casserole dish.  They are for forgetting to run the errand you promised.  They are for thoughtless decisions that spiral slightly out of control. But that's not where we ask for forgiveness, is it?

Forgiveness, true forgiveness, shouldn't be asked for lightly; being truly sorry is perhaps the most tragic experience we face as humans.  It's for those times when you've done something that hurts someone deeply, and in such a heartless way, that you fiercely regret your actions.  It reserved for those times when you fear the end of your relationship is near, knowing you no longer deserve it. When you find someone willing to grant you forgiveness in these moments, it's special and rare.  He or she isn't just accepting your request, but is accepting you when you have been the worst you can be - and he or she still wants to love you anyway.  How humbling that moment becomes.

So in this separation of apologies versus forgiveness, where does that leave us when there are people who don't even understand the magnitude of their impact?  How many times should we be required to open our hearts to love, only to be torn apart again?  Of course, there isn't one answer for everyone.  And yet, I wonder, can we truly live with such inequitable relationships?  Can one person continue forgiving out of love when the other isn't willing to humble himself even enough to see the damage it's causing?

Sometimes maybe we can, but in those times, our relationships morph into something else.  Maybe they are a little less close, a little less honest, or a little more guarded - but still existing.  Expectations are different, more appropriate, and it becomes easier to protect ourselves from continuous injury.  There are other times, especially with archetypal relationships, that that transition is simply impossible.  We become caught up in what it should be, and how someone should feel about their transgressions.  The opportunity for love simply diminishes.

I guess that can be a healthy transition; after all, someone who can't ever see your perspective is at worse, abusive, and at a best, a likely narcissist.  But even still, it is easy to feel like you've failed, that you could have done better, that you can still do better to save it.  I suppose in those moments, we fall on our knees to beg forgiveness of ourselves; to grant it then may actually be the ultimate act of love.