Category Archives: Nostalgia

I Love Inexpressibly These Streets of Boston

Wendall Phillips monument

116th Boston Marathon Finish line ”I’ve run the Boston Marathon 6 times before. I think the best aspects of the marathon are the beautiful changes of the scenery along the route and the warmth of the people’s support. I feel happier every time I enter this marathon.”-Haruki Murakami
MA State House“Boston State-house is the hub of the solar system. You couldn’t pry that out of a Boston man if you had the tire of all creation straightened out for a crow-bar.”-Oliver Wendell Holmes
Holocaust Memorial
 ”Boston is a tough and resilient town. So are its people. I’m supremely confident that Bostonians will pull together, take care of each other, and move forward as one proud city. And as they do, the American people will be with them every single step of the way.” -President Barack ObamaBoston skyline

“The sea returning day by day/ Restores the world-wide mart;/ So let each dweller on the Bay/ Fold Boston in his heart,/ Till these echoes be choked with snows,/ Or over the town blue ocean flows.”-From “Boston” by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Fenway Park

“When we lose at Fenway, we lose the sense that somebody sat here and watched Ted Williams hit.”- Bob Costas

Cambridge Harvard

“Harvard Square could feel like a party on a warm night, full of energy and privilege and promise.”-Geraldine Brooks in People of the Book

public gardenNorth End

“I love inexpressibly these streets of Boston over whose pavements my mother held up tenderly my baby feet.”-Wendall Phillips

Make Way For Ducklings

10 Things Someone Can Expect To Learn In the First Year Living In NYC

20130208-023409.jpg On Tuesday, I celebrated one year of living in New York with my two dearest New York friends in the comfort of my Manhattan apartment. Moving to New York City was such a great decision that I decided to honor February 7th, the day I moved to New York, the same way as I do New Year’s. It just so happens that my one friend moved here on the same exact day, so this gives the day added meaning. I couldn’t imagine my New York life without these two friends, so it was only fitting that they came over for dinner. Seasoned New Yorker brought over his cheese biscuits and Fellow Newbie brought this amazing list written on loose leaf paper entitled, “What Someone Can Expect to Learn in the First Year Living in NYC.” Without further adieu, here are 10 things someone can expect to learn in first year living in New York, as told by Fellow Newbie:

train10. The most disgusting things in the whole word can be found on the trains of the NYC subway system.

9. It is inevitable that within your first NYC year you will scream, not yell, not talk loudly, but scream profanities such as “F*ck you!” and “You’re an a**hole!” to a taxi driver.

8. You will realize that hell actually does exist on Earth and it is located on 3rd Avenue between 76th and 77th streets.

7. It is a guarantee that on a day you are walking the city streets with a slight smile on your face, appreciating its greatness, feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride that you actually live here in the amazing city of New York, a semi-truck, cab, or local driver will honk their horn with such a loud prolonged persistence that you will contemplate murdering them.

Times Square6. By the end of your first year, if not by the end of your first month in NYC, the mere thought of having to go anywhere near Times Square makes you want to kill yourself.

5. You will learn that the appropriate and only acceptable attire for women of the Upper East Side is as follows: yoga pants, oversized sweatshirt and/or t-shirt that droops exposing shoulder, unbrushed bed head looking ponytail, aviator sunglasses, a stroller, a coffee, a nanny, and a fake, half-assed man-eating grin that screams, “I’m a rigid c***.”

4. It will become apparent that those women who trudge around the city in heels are nothing more than mere masochists. You will learn that flats are not only appropriate but less of a health hazard. Wearing heels, you are destined to fall on your ass if you hit the wrong pothole, step on a grate, or get shoved by a fellow passerby.

3. The phrase, “Ugh, I need a drink!” will be spoken daily, often before 11 am.

2. You will being to truly contemplate if you can be in a relationship with a gay man. The only men in the city are homosexual and you will inevitably find yourself lusting after one, mentally envisioning your life together regardless of your lack of desired gender.

1. The desire to shoulder check, shove, or hit people with your bag will become an ever-growing rage as people enter and exit the subway.

More importantly, in our first year, hopefully you have the luck to land a truly amazing friendship. One that can withstand the trials and tribulations of the city that will bring you up when you are down, that will laugh with you until you cry and one that will always remind you are not alone in this big city, that will walk or run through this adventure with you, never letting you feel defeated.

Hopefully you find a Sonja.

Happy Blogiversary To Me!

cheersToday marks my three-year blogiversary. Quite a milestone, if I may say so! I’d actually forgotten the exact date I took the plunge into the blogosphere until today when my WordPress account prompted to renew my expiring domain name (something I have to do annually).

Three years ago today, I bought my own Tweetupdomain name and started a blog so that I would have writing samples for potential employers. Little did I know that blogging would catapult me into a completely new career path and take me into the uncharted waters of tweet-ups and other social media/blogging-related meetups. Not to mention the countless people I’ve met virtually and in real life thanks to this medium.

I don’t think I ever thought about where blogging would lead me or what would actually become of this blog. I simply just wrote in hopes that someone, at least–if not solely–my parents, would read, enjoy, be entertained, and be challenged by what I wrote.

breakfast sandwichMy first blog post was about a sandwich. I’m a woman of many words when it comes to the foods I enjoy, so it’s no surprise that food posts have made many appearances on this blog. I’ve shared family cooking traditions, expounded upon my own food obsessions, and even passed along a recipe or two.

classroomAnother thing I’ve loved about having this blog is that it’s been a great forum for creating dialogue on social issues that are important to me such as education, health care, and the latest happenings in local government. Facebook and Twitter rants don’t quite do it for me.

I raise my glass to you, Prince William!

Then of course, there’s the lighter side. That’s the great thing about having a blog called Ramblings, I can write about whatever I want. Conversation starters for the socially challenged, gushing over my literary crushes, reflecting on an old celebrity crush, requesting to work for Saturday Night Live in a cheeky cover letter, lamenting the death of romance, ranting about Comic Sans. One of my greatest joys came from solving the age-old mystery from my youth about the disappearance of the other Cinnamon Toast Crunch bakers.

Perhaps the biggest laugh for me is in realizing that Snooki has provided my blog with the most traffic. Thanks to the post I wrote about her publishing a novel, there was always a spike in traffic to my blog on Thursdays just before Jersey Shore aired. Thank you, Google image search!

So, what’s next? What will the next three years bring? More of everything, I hope! For starters, it’s time to get back to a more frequent blogging schedule. Second, it’s time to get more personal. Perhaps throw in a bit more about my own life, only the interesting parts of course! Lastly, I really want to take a look at how I can engage foreign readers. Within the last year, WordPress started keeping stats on clicks by country. It’s really cool to look at the map of top views by country for my blog:

Screen shot 2013-01-25 at 9.47.56 PM

People from Myanmar have visited my blog? Not to mention Albania, Egypt, Mauritius, Australia, and India. It blows my mind! If only I could get this visitors to speak to me and share their stories. The possibilities would be endless. I would love to find a way to foster an international conversation.

We’ll see what’s happen. Here’s to the next three years and beyond!

Champagne toast!

Champagne toast!

Kill Them With Kindness

“Manners are the happy ways of doing things; each one a stroke of genius or of love, now repeated and hardened into usage. They form at least a rich varnish with which the routine of life is washed, and its details adorned.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve always been a huge proponent of good manners because I find that politeness comes easy for me. Why wouldn’t I be anything but cordial to my fellow human beings? It just doesn’t make sense to me. Now that I live in a city that isn’t known for its outward friendliness, I realize that there are several things that I took for granted in the friendly Midwest. Here are some of the things I took for granted:

  • People saying “excuse me” after they accidentally step on your foot.
  • Sales people who look you in the eye, smile, and say, “Thank you for shopping at the Gap. Did anyone help you today?”
  • Being greeted with a warm smile when entering a store.
  • Sales people who look you in the eye in general when helping you make a transaction.
  • Strangers on the street who smile and say hello.
  • Any level of customer service at Starbucks.
  • The “no, after you” mentality when getting on public transportation.

While outward friendliness isn’t always a strong suit of every person I’ve met on the streets of New York, I do believe that everyone is inherently friendly. Some people just don’t choose to show their friendly side. That’s why I kill everyone with kindness. I find that outward friendliness often brings out the friendliness in the other person. If it does not, than I know that the other person is truly made of stone, thus undeserving of my attention and affections. But even with these outwardly grumpy people, such as the checker at the grocery store who never makes eye contact when scanning my food items, I still can’t help but offer a smile and a “have a wonderful day.” No use in stooping to their level.

Even on the subway, when shoved into the car like sardines, I try to show a little politeness by always reaching for the highest point on the pole to make room for those who aren’t as tall as I am and need something to hold on to as the subway lurches forward. I even say “excuse me” as I push my way through the door.

I find that the majority of people are actually nice and respond well to politeness. You just have a dig a little deeper to find it in some people.

Write Me When You Get To Liverpool

At the end of a visit with my grandma, just before we’d go our separate ways, she’d shower me with affection and leave me with a few words of wisdom. One of her favorite things to say before parting was “Skriv till mig när du kommer till Liverpool.” This phrase was Swedish for “Write me when you get to Liverpool.” It was something her mother, who emigrated from Sweden to Wisconsin at age 15, always said to her and in fact, it was what her mother urged her when she set off for America. At the time my great-grandmother set sail for America, the major hub for ships was Liverpool. Liverpool would have been the last city where she could have written home to alert her family of her whereabouts and general state of things before heading to America. “Write me when you get to Liverpool” was their way of saying, “Call me when you get there.” My grandma often used it in a “don’t be a stranger” kind of way. It’s stuck and I often say to people in my family, “Write me when you get to Liverpool” whenever they go on a trip.

As I’ve been preparing to move to New York City and saying goodbye to friends, I find myself using archaic sayings to people when we part. I don’t really like to say things like, “Goodbye, I’ll miss you” or “stay in touch.” At this point in my life, I am surrounded by people who I will always remain close with, so I don’t need to remind them to stay in touch, as we always will. I also don’t like sentimental goodbyes around the time of an exciting move. Sentimental goodbyes imply that something sad is happening and actually, this move is quite the opposite. Instead of sappy goodbyes, I find myself saying, “If you’re ever in Manhattan, look me up.” Like someone could grab a White Pages in Manhattan and be able to find me listed there. It’s also my way of reminding people, “Hey! You now have a friend in New York! Use that to your advantage.”

Similar to “look me up,” I also enjoy saying, “Drop me a line.” These days it’s fairly easy to drop someone a line via text message, Facebook, Twitter, and [insert your favorite social network here], but I envision the line to be dropped in the form of a hand written note. As if a friend in town would write me a note (preferably on parchment paper with the help of a quill) alerting them of their whereabouts and I would then meet them at some dark bistro in Manhattan for a drink and a meeting of the minds.

I’m not one for sappy, dramatic goodbyes. Instead, I prefer a simple “see you later” or “look me up” to remind my loved ones that really, nothing’s going to change except the distance between our respective houses. However, I do promise that I will write when I get to Liverpool.

5 Christmas Presents I’d Ask For If It Was Still 1985

The holidays always make me feel nostalgic for the days of yore, when things felt simpler and Fisher Price reigned supreme as the creator of all of my favorite things. As Christmas and New Year’s roll around, I find myself taking stock in the things I’ve done and the things I would like to do in the coming year. I also find myself buying myself Christmas presents when really, I should be buying presents for other people. I don’t consider myself to be a good gift giver, I prefer to give non-tangible items such as laughter and joy. When it comes to receiving gifts, I’ve always subscribed to the “it’s the thought that counts” mentality. This year, instead of making a Christmas wish list and distributing it to all interested parties, I’ve decided instead to make a list of Christmas presents I’d ask for if it was still 1985 because 1980s nostalgia is the gift that keeps on giving. Here are 5 Christmas presents I’d ask for if it were 1985:

1) Fisher Price Roller Skates

These things were amazing because you didn’t even have to take off your shoes in order to enjoy the benefits of roller skating. Already wearing shoes? Just tighten the Velcro and you are all set to go skating around town. Or at the roller rink. Perfect for someone who doesn’t like to waste her time on mundane tasks such as taking off her shoes or tying shoelaces. Plus, they come with Velcro.

2) Jem & The Holograms Cassette Tape

Jem & The Holograms personified what it meant to be 80′s girl rockers. Their music, their makeup, Jem’s earrings that transformed her from a normal person into a superstar rocker; perfection. I want[ed] to be Jem. I would also love a pair of those earrings.

3) Fisher Price Walkie-Talkies

These should really replace cell phones. They are just as convenient, as long as your friend has one too. You don’t even have to communicate with real words, morse code will take care of that for you. Don’t know morse code? No problem, it’s printed on the front of your walkie-talkie. Roger that. Ten four.

4) Teddy Ruxpin

A talking bear. Is having a companion stuffed animal that talks too much to ask for? I didn’t think so.

5) This Volvo.

I’m about to get my driver’s license and this is the car I want. A 1985 Volvo 740 Turbo. I have so many fond memories from my family’s 1980 Volvo sitting in the backseat squished between my two siblings while swinging along the open road on various road trips, most memorably through the Smoky Mountains.

Though I won’t hold my breath for any of these items to appear under the Christmas tree or in my stocking, it was nice to take a little trip down memory lane. And that is a gift in and of itself.


I Love It When You Retweet Me

“Will our tales of digital courtship capture the imaginations of our daughters? Will they be impressed when we tell them about that time the text message was misinterpreted, or how the cute boy re-tweeted our Vampire Weekend reference? Will they care?”–Charlotte Alter, “Guns, Ammo, Romance?” Published November 17th in the New York Times.

Romance in the digital age.

When I was small, I never imagined that my heart would palpitate at the sight of an instant message from my real life crush’s screenname, an unexpected text message from a beau, or a retweet. Sometimes it creeps me out how much of a thrill I get from connections in the digital world while ignoring what is lacking in the actual world. A retweet? That’s all I get? No handwritten letter? No surprise visit? No stroll down the lane? No reading sonnets aloud by the fire? No fortepiano duets? No froggy went a-courtin’? Sometimes, I think I was born in the wrong era.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t think any of this is any one particular person’s fault, it’s just a sign of our times. Things progress as they always do, but I’m just a little disappointed that my stories of romance will never rival the ones my grandma told. I can just picture the tales of romance I’ll recount to my grandchildren some day:

“Hey kids, you want to hear about romance? Let me show you my gchat history! You’ll read some very romantic exchanges in there!”
“Grandma, why is there a 30 minute time-lapse between responses?”
“Oh never you mind. Want to read some of my old text messages? See there was this boy and he texted me to ask me how my day was going and…”
“Let it rest, Grandma.”
“I think I have one love letter somewhere…”
“We’ll take your word for it.”

No, I imagined my stories of romance would be more like my grandma’s. Tales of being escorted home from school by a handsome boy; letters from the WWII front; a man who demanded to paint her portrait, a portrait which hung in her house for 50 years; the man she met at a church fair who later became my grandpa.

While all of these things are all still possible, technology has taken away the urgency of face-to-face contact. As an obsessed avid iPhone user, I definitely enjoy a surprise text or tweet, but it doesn’t really make for a great story. I don’t quite know what the answer is, except that I want stories that could at least be in the same category as those tales of romance my grandma once told me.  In the meantime, I guess I’ll settle for a retweet.

A Letter From Anne Lindbergh

Recently, I came across an interesting blog called Letters of Note. The premise of the blog is simple–each post is a letter deemed worthy of a larger audience than just the initial recipient. I found the blog through a tweet mentioning a post with a letter written by Charles Bukowski on censorship. Naturally, I couldn’t resist as I like all things Charles Bukowski. I nosed through more of the letters and became instantly entranced with what I found. There’s a letter from survivors of the Titanic, a letter from a World War II Japanese suicide bomber to his children, and a letter from Conan O’Brien, respectfully turning down an invitation to the prom from one of his fans.

I have always been a sucker for letters. There is something so personal about someone expressing their thoughts to you in writing. If it weren’t for the advent of email, I’d still be writing letters. I spent a large portion of my childhood writing and receiving letters from various pen pals around the country. Summer afternoons, I’d stake out a spot in the living room and wait in great anticipation for the mailman. A good day meant receiving three letters at a time, a bad day meant no letters. I’d pretend not to be disappointed, but really I yearned to tear open envelopes and gush over juicy letters.

Although email and AOL instant messenger ended my serious letter writing days, I did keep all of the letters that I received. I could never bring myself to throw anything away that was handwritten. Letters were sacred texts.

I’m not sure if many (or any) of my letters could be deemed noteworthy or worthy of a larger audience, however, I did receive a letter back from my favorite author Anne Lindbergh, daughter of the famous Charles Lindbergh. I wrote her a letter when I was in the fourth grade and had just finished her book, The People of Pineapple Place. I read the book as a part of a Battle of the Books competition I was participating in and I wanted to tell her how much I enjoyed her book. She wrote me the following letter which I taped up in my bedroom and kept on the wall forever:

Barnet, Vermont
February 17th, 1993

Dear Sonja,
How nice of you to write and say that you liked The People of Pineapple Place enough to get a friend to read it too. Authors are happy to get letters like yours, because it proves that here are readers out there. Sometimes we wonder! If you think about it, writing is kind of a puzzle: we do it in order to communicate with our readers, but the harder we work, the more we shut ourselves away from them.

Your Battle of the Books sounds like fun. I bet you discovered some good stories that way! I’m not at school anymore, but I have an ongoing, friendly battle of books with my cousin Faith to see who can list the most good “rereads” for the other. Lots of Faith’s favorites are out of print so I have to hunt them down in libraries or even used book stores. The used books often cost only a dollar or two, so I usually buy them and now have quite a collection. You should keep a list of your own favorites so that if you want to reread them in the future, you’ll remember the titles and authors.

Thanks for writing!

Sincerely,
Anne Lindbergh

As an aspiring writer, I was especially pleased to get such a personal response from my favorite author. In the years after I had received her letter, I often thought about what she had said about how we write to communicate with our readers but the solitary act of writing shuts us away from them. I even contemplated writing to her as an adult, but sadly I found out that Anne Lindbergh died of cancer ten months after I had received her letter. I’ll always remember the excitement I felt from receiving such a letter and for that reason, I will always hold on to it.

Letter from Anne Lindbergh. February 17th, 1993.

Pearl Jam and the Passing of Time

I went and saw Pearl Jam at Alpine Valley the other weekend as a part of their 20th anniversary weekend tour extravaganza event. I’ve always liked Pearl Jam and so I was excited that their only set of US shows was a half an hour away from my house. Of course, since the shows were the first weekend of September, the weather decided to stop cooperating and it returned to its previous state of awfulness; rainy and cold. That didn’t stop my friend and I from tailgating, it just caused us to tailgate out of the trunk of the car.

There are 2 errors on this sweatshirt.

It was there in the parking lot of Alpine Valley while munching on gluten-free pasta and sipping on white wine that it occurred to me: I’ve actually liked something, the same thing, continually, for 20 years. I can’t believe I’ve actually liked something for that amount of time. Not only have I liked the same band for 20 years, but I actually still like the same kind of music as I did when I was 8. I certainly don’t like the same clothes or TV shows that I did at age 8, but music tastes are pretty similar (gave or take a few bands).

Then I thought to myself, I can’t believe Pearl Jam’s been around for 20 years. Where did all of that time go? I mean, I still think of Pearl Jam as that cool band who like wore flannel and sang rockin’ tunes that I could like relate to and were sometimes like political. How has it been 20 years already? Twenty years? I guess the ’90s weren’t just a few years ago and I’m really not  a “recent college grad” anymore. It crazy because sometimes I still feel like that girl clad in overalls and a flannel shirt listening to Pearl Jam on the radio hoping that I won’t fall asleep in the middle of my homework with all the lights on. I don’t feel so far from those days.

Tailgate food.

On the other hand, we were sitting in the parking lot sipping white wine and eating a variety cured meats from an Italian specialty shop and salads prepared from the leftover of a shared farm basket. That’s a far cry from my college days when I probably would have taken food from the dining hall for the tailgate and warm cans of beer that didn’t fit in the tiny dorm refrigerator. Though I mostly feel as youthful as I always have, it’s nice to be able to bring cured meats to the table instead of having to scrap together enough laundry coins to buy a six-pack.