Back to School…but not for me

August 29, 2014annegribbins 1 Comment

It’s the end of August, that time of year where the light starts to change just a little bit, there’s not quite a fall chill in the air yet, but you can sense the waning of summer, and you hang on to every “last” summer thing as long as you are able to. The last trip to the pool, the last trip to the beach, the last summer bike ride, the last lazy days of doing absolutely nothing, and the kids know their nights of staying up late are coming to an end.

The travel soccer practices have started, the school supply lists are out, and the closet cleaning has begun. Change is definitely in the air.

Usually at this time of year I am also preparing for my own new school year, pulling out my ballet attire, cleaning out my ballet bag, checking out my teaching shoes and finding my favorite comfortable socks. I’m making sure I’ve got my syllabus cleaned up and unwrinkled, anticipating meeting all those cute kids in their maroon leotards for my first class. Only for the first time in over 25 years, I am not getting ready to start teaching this fall. I “retired” last spring. (And yes, it still sounds really weird to say that.) I admit at this point that I am a little at loose ends over this development, though I know this is an absolutely perfect decision for me.

Many people have asked me in recent months why I stopped teaching at Princeton Ballet School. I hope I can answer some of those questions, though as with many things in life, there are many layers to the decision. My “retirement” from teaching last spring was quiet and uneventful, and I am grateful for that. Since I began working a kind of insane job (no, actually it can be really insane) as the Director of Marketing at McCarter Theatre Center about 5 years ago, I had pulled back at various times in my level of commitment to Princeton Ballet. But I wasn’t ever ready to let go quite yet, so I kept it, kind of like a little nugget of myself that reminded me of where I’d come from.

Then, as some things happen in life, one day, last year on a cold January day while driving over to the studio to teach (after eight hours of exhausting work on McCarter’s marketing budget), it suddenly hit me. I didn’t really need to do this anymore. Not that I didn’t enjoy teaching, not that I didn’t appreciate the ability to work with young dancers, but honestly, I didn’t need it any longer. The late hours each week were knocking me for a loop, (not to mention my aches and pains…) my kids have gotten older and now need me in different, sometimes more demanding ways, and I suddenly realized I wasn’t adjusting. I was just doing the same thing I had always done because, well, frankly, I didn’t even know I could stop.

I let the idea roll around in my head for awhile – of course the doubts began to creep in – this is my vacation money, I love the people at the ballet school, I enjoy nurturing young students, could I really give it up? I had fostered meaningful friendships with many people involved with ARB/Princeton Ballet over the years, could I give THEM up? And then, as I thought deeper and longer about the possibility of NOT teaching, relief began to wash over me. I could imagine letting go of the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I realized that I had a conflict, which included but was not limited to: Back to School night, school concerts, soccer practice, basketball practice/games, church activities, Board meetings at work, you name it. Not to mention having a child who plays a travel sport is not for the weak.

We made the schedule work, and my husband Joe and I would have phone conversations along the lines of, “Well, can you take off early? Can you get Joseph to soccer/basketball/cub scouts/dentist/friends house?” As a fireman, Joe does NOT have a flexible schedule, he works until his shift is over, or he has to move heaven and earth to find someone to cover him so he can leave. He was doing that consistently without complaining about it, (one year he even took off every other Monday evening so he could get Joseph to indoor soccer practice) – but I realized that maybe I shouldn’t be asking him to anymore. I wasn’t saving lives, I was only teaching ballet.

So, what began as a mere thought bubble in my car became a real life decision. I told Mary Pat, the Director at the Ballet school, (and also my dear friend) – in February, so she would have plenty of time to cover my classes, and so that I would not be able to have a change of heart. I made it through the spring school show, I quietly let people know I was leaving, and then the year was over, kind of like sliding into lake water off a dock. Very gentle.

Now that it’s August, it’s more of a harsh reality that I am not going to be greeting any maroon leotards this year, I am not cleaning out my ballet bag, and I am not going to get to see my cool ballet friends every Monday night and tell jokes and laugh with them in the faculty room. This all makes me a little wistful. But, I will also be able to less stressed about the fact that my kids are each changing schools this year (going to high school and middle school respectively) – and I will have more energy and time to devote to whatever they need of me, whenever they may need it.

I have always let change guide me through my work, in fact, it must, because if you don’t change you fall behind, and I tell my kids all the time that change is good, and the possibility of change is what moves us forward. Sometimes it’s easier to be comfortable doing something you’ve always done, and I reach for the somewhat clichéd saying: “If it ain’t broke, break it.”

I know with complete certainty that life will naturally lead me to more possibilities, and now I have the space and time to be open to them, I just had to let something else go. But just because the time has come doesn’t make it less hard. As my mom always said to me: “Nothing hard is ever easy.”

I’ll be thinking of all my wildly talented Princeton Ballet friends and colleagues as they start this year off with the new crop of shiny lovely students who are so eager to meet them, and then I will giggle later in the year when they lament about how half the kids don’t have their hair up, are forgetting their ballet slippers, and they start asking them things like: “Do you really think that combination goes with the music?” Or, “Why are we running in a circle?”

Yes indeed, change is good.

Life imitating TV? Why I Love The Middle….

August 4, 2014annegribbins 1 Comment

We have all heard the expression – “life imitating art” or “art imitating life” – well, sometimes my life is like a TV show. My hands down favorite show, maybe of all time, starring the amazingly talented Patricia Heaton as the mom (Frankie). This is the kind of show that I will stop everything I am doing to grab my wine, sink down in my couch cushions and watch because I can’t wait to see what element of my life they will exploit next.

The Middle is a show about the Heck’s, a middle class family with three kids, living in the middle of the country, the parents approaching middle age. So, we don’t live in the middle of the country, but the rest of it…if the shoe fits.

Let me first say that if I had ever watched this show at any other point earlier in my life, I would have waved my hand dismissively at it and scoffed that it was clearly over dramatized comedy, exaggerated, made only for TV, as no mother would ever do any of the things Frankie does, kids don’t act that way, and good lord, why can’t they clean up all of that LAUNDRY?

Well, now, in my forties with two “middle aged” kids myself, I precariously teeter on the edge of laughing and crying at the same time while I watch, because I have had many Frankie moments. My husband has actually said some of the things the Dad says to their fictional kids. Our house (while perhaps a bit cleaner than theirs…) has as many broken appliances, piles of stuff, and mismatched chairs as their dining room table has. (But OK, we don’t use lawn chairs inside the house.)

Case in point: One episode features their ailing dishwasher. In order to make the dishwasher work, they have to simultaneously run the hair dryer, turn on the microwave, shove a broom into the door, (after duct taping it closed) then leave the room because of the deafening noise. They wait until the piles of dishes in the sink approach monumental proportions because it’s so labor intensive. Crazy, you think?

Well, my washing machine has a malfunctioning dial, (yup, my machine is from the late 90’s…) which makes the load of laundry get stuck at various points in the cycle. I have to set the kitchen timer, and go down to the basement to actually move the dial to the next stage of the cycle. If I forget, the clothes will soak endlessly, (one day I turned a dress from white to blue…) or worse yet, the clothes spin for all eternity until there is not a drop of water left in them. I actually ruined one of my bathroom rugs which ended up being shredded to pieces because I forgot all about it and went to the grocery store. The rug was a shell of its former self with tufts of green fuzz and chunks of the rubber backing all over the washing machine.

I know. Why don’t we fix it? How could I possibly live like that? In the year 2014, washing machines should be able to finish a load of laundry on their OWN! Well, I’ll tell you why. I have a husband who works long hours, when I remember to tell him (read: nag him) about things like this, it falls into a certain priority, usually low on the list, behind things like fixing other broken appliances, driving our children around, or sleeping – not to mention that would require him to have the time to figure out what was wrong, find the part, go to the store and buy said part, replace the part, troubleshoot if it doesn’t work, etc. etc. – and so we simply keep existing.

One episode featured Frankie frantically cleaning the house for an upcoming event. She was standing on the kitchen countertops brandishing a broom and yelling at all of her kids and her husband that they were of no help to her. (I may have done this once or twice. I may or may not have stood on the countertop.) She then leans over the kitchen window and asks in irritation: “My god, who would leave a BAND AID on the window?” She proceeds to angrily pull it off, and the window falls out of the frame onto the grass. Now, thank the dear lord, this has NOT happened to me, but you want to know what? It could. It is not out of the realm of possibility.

Another episode featured her two sons attempting to make dinner, so naturally they turned on the oven. When she comes home and sees smoke pouring out of it, she yells: ” OH my GOD! Did you turn on the OVEN?” They say: “YES!” She shouts: “OH NO! Aunt Edie’s QUILT is in there! Don’t you know the OVEN is for quilt storage? NOT FOR COOKING!” Of course it is!

Her kids alternate between telling her they need poster board for a project at 11 PM the night before it is due, and asking her to help them make a giant brownie in the shape of Texas for their social studies project. (Insert large glass of your favorite alcoholic beverage here.) My personal favorite was when Frankie discovered that her youngest son Brick was supposed to have kept a journal for the entire school year, but naturally, he didn’t. Called in by the teacher two days before school ends, she then keeps Brick up late at night trying to recreate what happened the day after Halloween so he can move on to the 5^th grade. These things are not actually all that funny to me, they’re horrifying, because they HAPPEN to parents like us. We have LIVED THIS. Maybe not in those exact iterations, but close enough to hit home. My kids howl and laugh while they watch the show, but they know. They know.

Don’t get me wrong, I am immensely grateful for my house, my kids, my husband, and my (upper?) middle class life. I am happy to laugh along with the Heck family, relish the victories, conquer the set backs, shove the quilt in the oven and peel the band aids off the window. What makes it so real, so funny, and so watchable, is that Frankie is human, and it reminds me that I am human too. The message comes across loud and clear that we have each other, one way or another we’ll muddle through. Just don’t forget about your rug in the spin cycle.

COMIC CON 101

July 6, 2014annegribbins Leave a comment

About three months ago, my 14 year old daughter Shannon came to me and said: “Evan Peters is going to be at Comic Con in Philadelphia in June. I want to go there so I can meet him.” I responded immediately: “So….who is Evan Peters?”

This elicited the textbook teenager response of simultaneous eye rolling, disbelief, annoyance, “How could you not know, Mom?” look, followed by a loud sigh of frustration. Of course, aside from the obvious crime of not knowing who Evan Peters was, I didn’t really know a thing about Comic Con either. Wasn’t it just a big trade show for comic books? With people dressed as Superman and Spiderman walking around? What on earth would Shannon want with that? And why would I have to take her? I was totally intimidated.

So, I did what all smart moms do in this situation, which is stall until you can gather more information. I said, “Well, let’s see what date it is, to be sure there’s nothing else going on.” Then, I set about doing some research.

First, I went straight to my sources – my friends and colleagues Ed and Matt, who I knew would be able to fill me in on everything about Comic Con (Matt even works in a Comic book store on his day “off”…) I got the scoop from them that it’s much more than comic books, it’s also celebrities promoting movies or cult TV shows (lots of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” actors attend) – as well as booths selling merchandise and comics. People dress up because….well, they just dress up. But you don’t have to dress up, I was assured. They also said the Philadelphia “con” would be not as crazy as some of the other ones around the country. That settled, I set about finding out who this Evan Peters was.

Shannon got hooked early this year on the first season of American Horror Story. Evan Peters is an actor who plays the character of Tate Langdon, a complicated, very disturbed, but cute boy who falls in love with the teenage daughter in the show. In case you plan to watch it but don’t know anything about it, I won’t spoil anything, but let’s just say he is the ultimate “bad boy.” This ain’t Beverly Hills, 90210 teenage fare, folks. He is also in season 2 and 3 of AHS playing different characters, so he’s got a bit of a following there.

But, Evan also has a role in the latest X-Men movie, playing Quicksilver, so bingo, that’s why he would be appearing at Comic Con – to promote the movie, but also in the process scoop up all the teenage fans of AHS who would gladly pay for a photo op and autograph with their beloved Tate.

So, now that I understood the “who”, the “what” and the “why”, I thought to myself, wow, if I had been able to meet say, Tom Cruise at Comic Con when I was age 14 or 15, I would have wanted to go too. So we got the tickets, and Shannon happily handed over her hard earned money saved up from babysitting to pay for the photo op and autograph.

The day we went to Philadelphia was a typical hot, June summer day – and there was a girl dressed as Captain America waiting for the train with us. The convention center was filled with families, kids, some dressed up, some not, all very friendly and having a great time. Our first order of business was to “redeem” our online purchase for the photo op. The guy working behind the counter took my paper and said: “Oh, wow, Evan Peters. Have you guys seen the new X-men movie? “No not yet”, I reply, “But I’m sure we will!” His eyes got big and round. He leaned forward in his seat. “He is AWESOME. He has the most AWESOME scene in the movie. It’s incredible. You’ve gotta go see it – totally awesome.” “OK,” I reply. Super fan. He hands over our little red card with “Evan Peters” written on it, and we go on our merry way.

“Hey Shan” I laugh, “there is a guy over there dressed as a bowling pin!” This was bound to be a fun day.

We started to roam the floor, looking for the booth with the big “EVAN PETERS” sign and photo above it so we’d know where to go for the autograph signing. But we did even better, because he was already AT THE BOOTH, and when I gestured over to it and said casually, “Oh, there he is..” – Shannon practically fainted – I mean full teenage fan girl completely took over her body like she was possessed. Fighting the urge not to giggle, but I think I did just a little bit… (just give me the horrible mother award) – I said: “Breathe, Shannon, collect yourself. You don’t want to start crying when you meet him. Guys don’t know what to do when you cry.” She composed herself, and since the line was short we seized the opportunity – despite her emotional state – to get the autograph. I hoped that he would be nice, because well, frankly you just never know.

Evan Peters signing autographs

I snagged a photo of her in line with Evan in the backround despite the Comic Con “guards” in front of the booth waving their arms at us yelling: “NO PHOTOS! Move along!” Yeah, well I’m likely not to get this opportunity again any time soon, so just try and stop me. She came out of the line with her signed photo, and was practically hyperventilating. We stopped to get some water, and I asked, “So, what did you say to him?” She responded, “I couldn’t even speak! He asked me if I was having a wonderful day, and I said, YES, I’M HAVING A WONDERFUL DAY! I asked if he was having a wonderful day and he said, ‘Yeah, I am’. And he touched my hand!!!!!” OK, so Comic Con mission part 1 accomplished and it sounded like this Evan guy was OK.

Continuing on with the wonderful day, we made our way over to the line for the Photo Op, across the floor from the autograph booths, (and as we walked along I oogled, look, there is Christopher Lloyd! Ralph Macchio, the Karate Kid! Right THERE!) I took photos. We were directed to the taped lines that said, “Evan Peters.” There was a teenaged girl and her mom in front of us, behind us, well, pretty much everywhere – all brushing their hair. The line moved pretty quickly, and as we approached the front of it, I moved to wait with Shannon’s stuff at the exit to the little curtained area that they were all funneling into. Two girls came out with big smiles. Two more came out fanning themselves. Another girl promptly laid down on the floor and her friend covered her with a pre-made Duct tape “cape” of sorts to take a photo. (See the X-men movie and this will make sense). I just chalked it up to another phenomenon of Comic Con – soaking it up and not really questioning too much.

Shannon came out from the curtain like she was going to pop up through the roof of the building. I thought for a moment she might have actually cried while she was in there, but no, I could then see she had held it together. She asked me for more water, and I tenuously asked her: “Well, was he…nice?” She said, “I hugged him. I think my photo may look like a stalker fan. But I DON’T CARE!” OK. “I told him I loved him, and he said, “I LOVE YOU TOO! Evan Peters told ME THAT HE LOVED ME!”

Out of the photo op

Well, the day clearly could not get more wonderful than that, so onward we went to eat some lunch while we waited for the photos to come out. A girl dressed as Poison Ivy came over and talked to us and the family sitting at the table with us. We marveled at the line of people waiting to see WWE Monday Night Raw wrestler star John Cena. (Most wearing bright green shirts with his signature phrase: YOU CAN’T SEE ME!) I saw numerous tiny kids with superhero capes on and big smiles, all clearly having a wonderful day themselves. Someone dressed up as a Transformer walked by to get a taco from the Mexican food place. Other AHS fans smiled at Shannon and told her they loved her “Normal People Scare Me” T-shirt. She was thrilled. Though I couldn’t find the guy dressed as a bowling pin from earlier, my day was pretty wonderful too.

As we looked over the photos that other girls took with Evan, (yes, we’re now on a first name basis) – Shannon’s looked pretty tame. Yes, she hugged him, but with fourteen year old happiness. It was cool. She of course immediately texted her friends with her news. The response (with all good girlfriend love I’m sure) – “I HATE YOU”. Followed up by: ‘I HATE YOU SO MUCH.” Hey, their moms could have brought them to Comic Con too.

We now have two framed photos of Evan Peters that I’m sure Shannon will keep for the rest of her life. I have since seen the X-men movie and can concur with the Comic Con guy that it was pretty darn awesome. I am now in the midst of watching the first season of AHS (with my eyes closed half the time), but I am impressed with the acting and the story is compelling. More importantly I can now have informed conversations with Shannon about it and not be the clueless mother. Will there be more Comic Cons in my future? Well, if Evan Peters is there, I assure you the answer is yes. He was nice to my daughter, and in the end that’s all you really need to do to be wonderful in my book. Thanks Evan, for the wonderful day.

Happiness.

The Real Soccer Stats

June 15, 2014annegribbins Leave a comment

I’m still a relative newbie in the world of travel soccer. My son Joseph joined the Hopewell Windstorm soccer team only two years ago, and I’ve been to about 5 tournaments, which I recognize makes me a parent rookie of epic proportions in the scheme of things. But, in this short time, I have discovered that the parents are the real secret weapons to success. And I don’t mean success in the game, I mean success in preparedness, (both clothing and snacks), forethought, and general demeanor. Windstorm may rack up the stats for the game, but I have calculated my own personal stats as a parent.

This spring at the annual Memorial Day tournament, (a local one) we he had some typical spring New Jersey weather, as in, unpredictable. Within minutes of arriving for our first game on the fields while the sun was shining, thunderstorms came rolling in, resulting in a 10 minute downpour. The boys were already practicing, therefore they (and all of their belongings) got wet. Well, not just wet, actually soaked to the bone, hair flopping around, water squirting out of their cleats. My 14 year old daughter Shannon who had accompanied me, had already made her “camp” under her fort between the chairs before the rain came, and then wasn’t able to squeeze under the tent with the rest of the people who ran for cover. So, she threw herself on her ipad to protect it, and solely it – sacrificing everything else – the blanket, my sweatshirt, and both chairs. At the time of the storm, I was on my way back from the car with the umbrella and hunkered down in the doorway of the school, where I remained relatively dry until I walked the 1/2 mile back to the field in the mud.

So, now here we are 20 minutes into the tournament, and everyone (including me) already needs a change of clothes and new footwear. I am regretting leaving my fleece jacket at home, and I’m quickly realizing I did not actually prepare properly. Maybe the local nature of the tournament threw me off my game. I assess the clothing situation after they finish playing. Luckily 11 year old boys and their soccer uniforms are drip dry, plus they were already covered in mud, so that wasn’t a problem. Everything else in Joseph’s backpack was soaked – so much for dry socks. Word spreads like the earlier storm clouds that our second game is going to be delayed at least an hour. It is also being played on a field that is another 1/2 mile AWAY from where I had parked my car. Of course. Another calculated error. Look at the fields ahead of time! Proximity to the vehicle is important! So I decide to move the car, which means another trek through the now lake-like fields and mud (carrying the soaking wet blanket).

In the meantime, the Windstorm team spreads out into small packs, some split up to watch their siblings games, some go to get food. By the time I move the car and hike back up the muddy parking lot to the fields, I have lost my own soccer player. But I’ve somehow picked up two other boys from the team. We wander the fields like nomads looking for a home. Holly, another mom, has set up camp in the back of her SUV, and this seems to be working well, so Shannon, the other boys and I hang there, and we see that some parents are now returning after going home and drying out clothing. What a novel idea. I am making mental notes to myself, seize the opportunity to LEAVE. We then receive a text alert (gotta love the 21st century) that our game is delayed even later, and the clouds are looking ominous again.

Another one of the moms pulls up in her car as I’m standing in the parking lot, and leans out to ask me if I could deliver dry shorts, sandals, and one soccer sock to her son. I don’t dare ask about the one sock, but I must have looked at her oddly, as she assures me he already has the other one. She says she’ll be back after dropping off her older son somewhere, I say OK, and then we head back to Camp Holly with the shorts, sandals and sock in tow.

I think at this point I was becoming delusional, so I decide that I have enough time to go home and dry everything. Let’s face it, my other alternative was to hang around these fields in the rain for another hour. I miraculously find Joseph and we roar out of the parking lot towards home. I leap into action, throwing everything into the dryer, pealing Joseph’s wet shin guards off of him, locating dry socks for myself, barking orders. A half hour later, he is dry and we are back into the car and careening back to the fields, and it starts to pour rain again. By the time I pull into the parking lot, I can see enough through my quickly moving windshield wipers to tell there is not a soul on the fields. When the rain lets up, we venture out of the car and try to find the rest of the Windstorm boys and the coaches. I meet Holly running back to her car – she has to go back as they need their white shirts for the game and she left her son Alex’s back at her house soaking in bleach. I wish her luck, then after a short time we find at least half of the Windstorm team (and coaches too) hunkered down in an equipment shed, all the boys look bedraggled with their mud caked shoes and their jacket hoods up. Good lord, I think, no one could have prepared for this! Not unless we had a camper with a washing machine and a hot shower in it!

In another five minutes we find out that our game has been canceled and we will have to report back the next morning at 7AM for 7:30 game. No amount of coffee will help me through that. But believe me, I will not come unprepared for the next day. And it will start with a vat size mug of coffee, just in case the food stands are not open at 7AM. By my mental calculation I will just be able to get all of the laundry done before we have to leave the house.

So, there you have it – my REAL parent soccer stats for just DAY 1 of this tournament were:

# of times driven in and out of parking lot: 4

# of times moving my car: 2

# of clothing changes: 4

# of jackets needed: 2

# of loads of laundry: 3

# of cleats dried out with a hairdryer: 2

# of boys in my house who love to play soccer and are unfazed by any of this: 1

Tournament MVP – my washing machine and dryer

So, I may still be a rookie, but I am learning! Travel soccer parents everywhere, remember that we rock it – we are the MVP’s (Most Valuable Parents) of every tournament. Through rain, and mud, and early morning light, we will soak your uniforms in bleach and deliver your one sock to you whenever you need it.

Liz

June 7, 2014annegribbins 5 Comments

I wrote this blog post a year ago, and as hard as it is to read again, I think it still holds up. I still miss Liz in a very raw and emotional way, but I can say that in the past year I have thought each and everyday about how to live generously, fill a room with warmth and energy, be present in the moment, and smile when I think about her. This still seems to be the right tone, the right words, the right story – a year later.

I first met Liz in second grade in Miss Lydon’s class at Riverside Elementary School, and though she always said that I was the one who was friendly to her and made her feel welcome, I think it was actually the other way around. I was blessed to maintain this easy, beautiful friendship with her for 40 years. Dancing together at Princeton Ballet, through many years of Nutcracker performances, countless sleepovers at one another’s houses, the awkward years of middle school, and high school, when I kept dancing and she didn’t, and then the college years and after, when she moved to Japan while I pursued a career in ballet. There aren’t many people who remained as close to me. Even when we were apart, we were connected.

Liz was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. But yet, when you were with her she made you feel like you were the smartest person she had ever met. I wasn’t. But she had the capacity to champion everything I did, and she always made me feel accomplished, even when I felt like I was floundering. In the years after we had children, she would not only be able to sympathize with the challenges of motherhood, she would take the time to tell me I was doing a great job. That was Liz.

She had recently joined the board of trustees at McCarter Theatre, where I’ve worked for over 16 years. She knew the challenges I faced working in the non profit sector, we had always shared the love of the arts, theater and dance. I don’t know all of the reasons behind why she decided to become a part of McCarter’s board, but she told me that she couldn’t wait to roll up her sleeves and really help. And in the few months she was at McCarter, she did just that. At opening night of the play Proof in September of last year, we chatted at the post-performance party, and continued our conversation outside as we left late into the evening, (we were good at talking…) and as we lingered by our cars parked near the Princeton University campus, we giggled like we were back in high school at the rousing party going on in a dorm room 3 stories above us. When beer cans began flying out of the window, we decided maybe it was time to call it a night.

It was not uncommon for her to leave me 6 minute long voice mails; I loved listening to them. We texted or emailed each other two or three times a week. We worked on several projects together to distribute McCarter marketing materials into the local schools, and she was a rock star in following through and knowing what we needed. In these last couple of months when I knew she wasn’t well, I would check in with her and she would always respond, but then turn the conversation around to… “so how are you doing?” I saw her about 10 days before she passed away. She was at the Princeton Ballet School when I was coming in to teach and she was waiting for her son Ned to finish class. She looked tired, sad, but she was smiling at me through her tired eyes. I worried, and she was on the top of my mind.

What I’m left with now is a deep sadness that we had just started working together for a passion we both cared deeply about, and I’m selfishly missing her. I am left with an emptiness without this easy friendship that was like breathing air. But I’m also filled with renewed hope and thanks that because of who she was, she made me a more generous, focused person. I will continually strive to live up to her humility, her kind spirit, her warmth, her personal generosity. As women, as mothers, we often try to assume a larger load than we can carry. Let’s be generous towards one another. Let’s champion one another, our causes and our passions. Let’s look out for each other. Let’s be present for our families. Let’s tell each other we’re doing a great job. Because that will honor Liz.

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Author: annegribbins

Back to School…but not for me

Life imitating TV? Why I Love The Middle….

COMIC CON 101

The Real Soccer Stats

Liz