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What to do when you disagree with a performer’s work

It’s happened to most of us at one time or another. Your favorite performer releases their long-awaited new song, but instead of being elated, you find yourself feeling disappointed. Perhaps the song is a departure from their previous work and you just don’t care for the sound. Or maybe their new concept presents an image that’s a drastic change from how they previously presented themselves—from innocent to sexy, for example, or from cute to dark—and it makes you uncomfortable.

An internal conflict results. You still enjoy this performer and you’re looking forward to their future releases, but you don’t like their current work. What now? Continue reading

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Tete-a-tete: Say it with flowers – just don’t say where you got them

Recycling is a way of life here in New England, and it goes beyond separating out your paper and plastic. We pick up used CDs and DVDs at the flea market, buy dishes and furniture from secondhand shops and antique stores, and scour the giveaway table at the transfer station for anything else that might come in handy.

Yankee thrift can get a trifle odd, however, when you’re dealing with non-New Englanders who do not necessarily take this concept of reuse to the extremes that we do—a discovery Mom and I made while visiting family in upstate New York.

During the coffee hour following the service at my grandfather’s church, the pastor mentioned to my mother that there were several floral arrangements left over from a funeral held earlier that weekend. The gentleman who had passed away had been quite well known in the community, and there had been a plethora of flowers to decorate the altar and the church hall.

Even after the church had distributed flowers to the local nursing homes and group homes, there were still half a dozen arrangements remaining. Due to an upcoming holiday, there wouldn’t be anyone at the church to take care of the flowers, so they would most likely perish in the interim. Since the family did not want the remaining arrangements, the pastor asked if Mom would please take them.

Pleased at the prospect of having fresh flowers at my grandfather’s apartment—though somewhat apprehensive as to how we would accommodate all of the arrangements—Mom acquiesced to the pastor’s request.

Lest you start to think this is a bit creepy, permit me to offer a description of the flowers in question. In my experience, which is fairly considerable in this matter, funeral flowers typically look like, well, funeral flowers. They have an expansive look about them, with lots of ferns and a bow of some kind and maybe a plastic sign that says something like “With Deepest Sympathies.”

These flowers looked nothing like that. They were gorgeous, fragrant arrangements such as you might see as a centerpiece at a fancy dinner party or on the bedside table of a woman whose husband initially forgot her birthday. Taking them home and giving them new life was a no-brainer.

I should also mention that my family is far from squeamish when it comes to funerals. Though we love and miss those who have died and we grieve their passing, we also know that they have gone home to be with the Lord. Having this perspective enables us to treat funerals as celebrations of life rather than as sad and solemn occasions.

So really, in our book, it made perfect sense to bring one of these floral arrangements to the family party for our cousin’s 18th birthday. After all, we were only taking them from one celebration of life to another.

The flowers, I should clarify, were a supplementary gift, not a substitute one. Because our cousin loves flowers and is an avid gardener, we wanted to share our bounty with her. Even though she is not a New Englander, we were confident she would appreciate the opportunity to participate in the rescue and recycling of an otherwise doomed floral arrangement.

In retrospect, we probably shouldn’t have told her so readily how we acquired the flowers, but we wanted to explain why we had brought such a lush (and expensive-looking) arrangement when others had brought wildflower bouquets. Besides, that’s part of the Yankee thrift experience—there’s no such thing as a good find without a good story.

And once our cousin had heard the entire story—how the flowers would have perished without our intervention and were now instead on her family’s dining room table, awaiting her loving care—her poorly camouflaged expression of shock faded and she was able to enjoy the flowers’ beauty.

After the party, Mom admitted to me that, now that she thought about it, bringing a floral arrangement that had been used in a funeral service to a teenager’s birthday party was a little odd. I reassured her that it was the thought that counted.

The intense New England proclivity towards recycling may not always translate well outside of the region, but its heart is in the right place. If there’s still some use—or in the case of the flowers, some life—left in something, why throw it away? Making it available to others as a gift or a giveaway or at a reduced price reduces clutter in our landfills and strain on our wallets.

In order for those who are benefiting from this recycling process to fully enjoy their repurposed items, however, it may sometimes be best to spare them a detailed account of the items’ backstory.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published July 3, 2014.

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Quotes about writing – by writers, for writers

Nothing encourages a writer quite like words from another writer, a fellow warrior in the trenches of wordsmithery. If you’re not fortunate enough to have access to other writers in the form of a writers group or a writing partner, there are plenty of quotes about writing from fellow writers out there to help you keep your motivation and your sanity on what is often lightly referred to as “the writing journey.”

@AdviceToWriters on Twitter is an excellent resource for such quotes. Here are a few of my favorites that I’ve jotted down over the past year, organized into handy categories for ease of perusal. Continue reading

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Tete-a-tete: Shockingly true tales of my Herculean, heroic great-grandpa

There’s a nigh-mythic quality to the stories that family members tell of days gone by. Whether it’s a clever prank a relative pulled on one of their professors that went down in college history or the tired tale of walking to school in the snow — uphill, both ways — that gets trotted out every time you ask for a ride to the bus stop, the accounts of yesteryear seem a little more vibrant, a little more epic than the goings-on of today.

Even though I greatly enjoy hearing these stories, I tend to take them with a grain of salt. As someone who has been unintentionally guilty of revisionist childhood (to use my father’s turn of phrase), I understand that the passage of time and the differing perspective of our younger selves can paint the past with more majestic strokes than were initially laid on the canvas.

And then, just recently, my grandfather on my mother’s side unexpectedly came across a treasure trove of newspaper articles about his father that not only back up the family stories, but flesh out details that make my great-grandfather the real-life equivalent of folk heroes like Paul Bunyan and John Henry.

Great-Grandpa Batty, or “Raging Reg” as he was referred to in the headlines, stood nearly six and a half feet tall, tipped the scales at 260 pounds and wore a size 17 shoe. He served in the Army during World War I and went to college after he was discharged from the military, so he was 22 or 23 years old when he enrolled as a freshman at Yale University. This age gap of a few years between Great-Grandpa and his collegiate peers, in combination with his enormous stature, led his fellow students to nickname him “Pop Batty.”

While Pop earned his bachelor’s in mechanical engineering, he wrestled and played football for Yale. As the captain of the wrestling team, his stature landed him in what was then known as the unlimited class. Based on the newspaper articles we have, it seems as though the numbered weight classes ended with 175 pounds, meaning Pop wrestled opponents ranging from 176 pounds to behemoths even larger than himself.

He was named the Eastern Intercollegiate Wrestling champion in his class after winning a grueling 14 minute and 40 second match, and he always insisted that his fellow wrestlers play by the rules. He once threw his opponent out of the ring — as in, heaved him bodily — for biting his ear during a match. And if Pop threw you, you stayed thrown.

Speaking of throwing people, collegiate football had to introduce a rule specifically to keep Yale from having a consistent advantage over the other teams. The rule? You cannot score by throwing your teammate, who is holding the ball, into the end zone.

Until that time, one of the Yale football team’s favorite plays had been to get the ball to the one of the lighter players and steer that player toward Pop. The player would step into Pop’s waiting hands and Pop would launch him up into the air, over the heads of the opposing team and right into the end zone. For variation, one player ran up Pop’s back and leapt into the end zone.

Pop’s unique grasp of football strategy came in extremely handy, however, when the Rialto Theater in New Haven, Conn. caught fire in November 1921. He rescued five women from the burning building in quite an interesting fashion.

To quote the newspaper article, “He seized a woman in each hand and succeeding in getting them to the door, at the same time pushing another one before him. Returning, he dragged out the fourth by the leg, and the fifth by the collar of her coat.”

Pop himself escaped without any injuries, which was a miracle and a mercy. He had assisted in putting out another fire during his time in the military, but had fallen through the roof and had had to be rescued. It took two men to drag Pop out of the burning building, one of whom Pop reconnected with later in life. Pop’s rescuer remembered him as “the man who almost gave me a heart attack,” because it had been such a struggle to carry someone of Pop’s stature.

Researching Pop has been quite an adventure. The newspaper articles my great-grandmother saved and passed down to my grandfather have provided a real-life foundation for a larger-than-life relative whose epic accomplishments could have been written off as mere family folklore, like the labors of a modern-day Hercules. Nothing makes a story better than finding out it’s really true.

I am concerned, however, that this could be the start of a worrying trend in which other relatives start digging up news coverage to support their own stories. Should Dad ever produce rock-solid evidence that he did indeed walk to school in the snow — uphill, both ways — it will be much harder for my youngest siblings to negotiate for a ride to the bus stop on drizzly days.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published June 5, 2014.

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Why it matters how performers use social media

South Korea experienced a national tragedy last month when the Sewol ferry sank. Of the 476 people who were on board the ferry, 276 have been confirmed dead. The majority of the passengers were students and teachers from Danwon High School in Ansan.

Performers in the South Korean entertainment industry took to their social media accounts, asking their fans to pray for those affected by the disaster and for the nation as a whole. As a result, thousands, if not millions, of people prayed. Continue reading

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Tete-a-tete: For goodness ‘sakes – generational namesakes can confuse

In many families, it is traditional to pass down names from one generation to the next. Among other things, this practice perpetuates the memory of those who have passed away by preserving their names for the future.

Unfortunately, this practice can also tax your memory, which leads to phone conversations like this between Grandma (Dad’s mom) and me.

Grandma: “So, John said to Joe – ”

Me: “Is John in this case Grandpa, your brother or my uncle?”

Grandma: “This would be your grandfather.”

Me: “OK. Is he talking to his brother Joe, your brother Joe or one of my cousins named Joe?”

Grandma: “His brother Joe.”

Me: “OK. Continue.”

Grandma: “So, John told Joe to get Paul – ”

Me: “Which Paul is this? Hold on, let me get a pen. Wait, is there going to be a Larry involved? Let me get a pencil instead.”

On Dad’s side of the family, counting everyone from in-laws to cousins, those four names belong to roughly two dozen individuals. According to Dad’s estimates, there are nine Johns, six Joes, five Pauls and four Larrys. Understanding who’s who in a family anecdote often involves interruptions for clarification and the occasional diagram.

Even after sitting down with Grandma and putting together a simple family tree of the last three generations, I still have trouble keeping everyone straight.

I am, however, one step ahead of Younger Sister, who only recently realized that Grandma’s youngest brother and Grandma’s son (our uncle) were both named Paul. Grandma’s stories about having adventures with Paul when she was a little girl now make a lot more sense.

Mom’s side of the family passes down names a bit differently. An individual’s first name is the handed-down family name, and their middle name is the name that their parents really wanted to give them and the name they actually go by.

Grandpa, my uncle and my cousin, for example, all have the first name Harold, but you’d never know unless you looked at their address labels — all of them go by their middle names. They all have the same middle name as well, but each of them goes by a different shortened version of it.

I have never been confused as to who’s who when listening to stories about Mom’s side of the family, but this method of passing down names does pose its own unique challenge, which Mom discovered when she attempted to help Grandpa get all of his paperwork in order.

Every official bit of paper has a different name on it. A credit card might be under his first and middle name, an insurance policy might be under his first initial and his middle name and a bank account might be under the shortened version of his middle name. It took months to get everything straightened out and filed under a single version of Grandpa’s name.

It seems as though Mom and Dad have both learned from the naming traditions of the previous generations, as my siblings and I were successfully named after relatives in ways that will (most likely) not cause confusion in the future.

Oldest Younger Brother and Youngest Brother both have first names that do not belong to any other relatives and middle names that are family names, so they’re all set. Younger Sister’s first and middle names are both family names, but they haven’t been used in that combination before, making her distinctive as well.

I like to think that the way in which my parents chose to name me was a particular coup. I was named after a specific relative, but instead of giving me the exact same name, they switched the order. Her middle name is therefore my first name, and her first name is my middle name. Sneaky, huh?

I fear, however, that Mom and Dad’s efforts to make our names stand out may be for naught, since, like most parents with multiple children, they have a hard time keeping us straight anyway. My favorite instance of name confusion was when Dad nearly tripped over the cat and, in frustration, yelled Younger Sister’s name instead of the cat’s.

In spite of the confusion they can cause, I do like the concept of family names. They give you a stronger sense of belonging and connect you to the previous generations. For the sake of future generations, however, I suggest you get creative with nicknames and name order to minimize confusion within the family, and to always file your paperwork under the same version of your name to minimize confusion for the rest of the world.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published May 1, 2014.

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A special prayer for healing and hope

The past year has been particularly rough for my community. More than a dozen people of all ages have passed away, many of them due to car accidents and unexpected medical events. There are about five thousand people in my small New Hampshire town, so everyone has been touched in some way by these deaths. If you didn’t know someone who died, you knew someone who was close to them.

Last Saturday, the community church held a special service for healing and reflection. I was asked to write and read a prayer focused on hope and healing, and I wanted to share it here for anyone else who is in need of comfort and the reassurance of God’s love and presence. Continue reading

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Tete-a-tete: Confused by the weather? Signs spring has almost sprung

To make the understatement of the year, this winter was a teensy bit on the brutal side.

I’m no greenhorn when it comes to New Hampshire’s snowiest season; I weathered the blizzards of 1996 and 2008 and their subsequent power outages without (too much) complaining. But with the combination of below-freezing temperatures, weird weather fluctuations and heavy snowstorms we had this winter, there were moments when I forgot spring even existed.

Now that the weather is starting to change for the warmer and those changes are being reflected in the landscape, I find myself a stranger in a strange land. Where have all the icicles gone? Why is there now daylight after 4 p.m.?

I imagine I’m not the only one who’s a little disoriented, so I’ve compiled a list of indications that spring is on its way. I recommend posting it in an accessible location and checking it whenever you find yourself scraping an iceless windshield out of habit.

• You switch from your heavy winter coat (the one that makes you look like you’re wearing a sleeping bag) to your lightweight winter coat (a polar fleece). You accidentally collide with the person you’re trying to hug, because you’re both wearing your lightweight winter coats and are accustomed to having the extra girth provided by your heavy winter coats.

• Likewise, you get into the driver’s seat of your car for the first time after switching to your lightweight winter coat and find that you can no longer reach the steering wheel. That heavy winter coat added at least three inches to your body all the way around, so now you have to adjust your seat.

• There is something white on your windshield, and it’s not snow. It’s droppings from a flock of migratory birds that managed to fly through now that there’s less danger of their wings icing up.

• Your car thermometer is not broken. There really are temperatures higher than 30 degrees.

• The road is suddenly a lot wider than you remember, and it’s covered with sand and salt.

• You wonder why you keep pulling out so far before making a turn, and realize that the snowbanks you’ve been struggling to see around for the past few months have either disappeared completely or dwindled to a more manageable size.

• There used to be so many signs that said “Frost Heaves,” you thought they changed the name of your town. Those signs have decreased in number, but the frost heaves have not.

• The police have set up their radar speed signs again, because it is now possible to drive faster than 30 miles per hour without skidding off an icy road and into a snowbank. Granted, driving faster than 30 miles per hour is still pretty tricky because of all the frost heaves and potholes, but you could probably get up to 35 if you wanted to live dangerously – and without your teeth.

• Because of a combination of snow melt and ground thaw, the town church can finally put away its Nativity set. Just in time for Easter.

• Instead of it taking an hour to reach the nearest grocery store, it only takes the usual 30 minutes.

• At the grocery store, you fill your cart with items other than milk, bread, eggs and bottled water, and successfully resist the urge to race your fellow shoppers to the battery display.

• You pick up a copy of your local newspaper. Instead of articles and editorials debating how the state, city and town governments will be able to afford additional plowing and sanding services, all the coverage deals with how much it’s going to cost to repair all those mini chasms in the roadway.

• You remember that the sun is not only bright, it’s also warm. It’s easy to forget – for the past few months, all the sun has really done for you is create glare while you’re attempting to drive safely in bad weather.

• Encouraged, you fill your bird feeder with seeds for the birds who are slowly but surely returning to the area. Your bird feeder is promptly stolen and dragged off into the woods for snack time by a hungry bear just out of hibernation.

If the preceding list reflects anything you’ve been experiencing, congratulations. Spring is definitely in the air.

Feel free to move your ice scraper to the backseat of your car. If all goes well, in another few months you can confidently stow your ice scraper in the trunk.

I wouldn’t take it out of the car, though. Spring or not, this is still New Hampshire.

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published April 3, 2014.

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Tete-a-tete: Seeking the Holy Grail of a universal bridesmaid dress

For many women, being asked to be a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding stirs up a bipolar cocktail of emotions. Joy over your friend’s happiness and excitement at participating in her special day mingle with the dread of shopping for bridesmaid dresses, especially if the bride wants everyone to wear the same dress.

This sense of dread is from the nigh-irrevocable Murphy’s Law of Bridesmaid Dresses: If it has to look good on everyone, it’s not going to look good on anyone.

My best friend chose to let each member of her bridal party select whichever style dress was the most comfortable for them, provided that the dresses were long. Having this degree of fashion autonomy, however, produced a most surprising result.

During our fitting, I gravitated toward dresses with lots of embellishments; Sister of Best Friend – who is the maid of honor – searched for styles with a Greek goddess-inspired feel; and first-time bridesmaid Younger Sister stuck close to my side, asking me what on earth she should be looking for.

I admitted that I had no clue. My last bridesmaid experience was in college, with all of us clad in stiff, unyielding satin dresses. I remember the seamstress who did my alterations informing me that I could be comfortable or I could look nice – she couldn’t do both.

Having previously chosen the “look nice” option and spending the wedding feeling like an overstuffed sausage, I was determined to find a more comfortable style this time. Younger Sister, however, just turned 15, and doesn’t mind suffering for the sake of fashion.

Spaghetti straps and strapless styles seemed to suit Younger Sister best, but every dress we found was of the shorter variety. The long dresses that Sister of Best Friend and I had selected for ourselves all had thicker straps that didn’t look quite right on Younger Sister.

We enlisted the aid of a consultant, who found several long dresses for Younger Sister to try. And we hit the jackpot with a strapless chiffon number.

The dress boasted a ruched, drop waist bodice with a sweetheart neckline. A gathered ruffle, adorned with the occasional rose, trailed down the front of the bodice to the hem of the mermaid skirt.

It was, we all agreed, breathtaking, and Best Friend pronounced it absolutely perfect for Younger Sister.

On a whim, I decided to try on the dress as well. I had initially balked at the prospect of anything strapless – why invite the possibility of a wardrobe malfunction? – but the dress looked so pretty, I couldn’t resist.

To say I was pleased with the results would be an understatement. This dress single-handedly restored my faith in formal attire – it fit, it flattered, it had optional straps, and best of all, I could actually move in it.

While I was looking at the dress in the full-length mirror, Younger Sister asked me if I thought the style made her hips look too big.

Younger Sister is a multi-sport athlete with well-balanced proportions and legs that go on for days. She has no need to have body image issues, and I was determined to nip anything even remotely like that in the bud.

So I asked her, “Does the dress make my hips look big?” because I could see that it didn’t. My intention was to follow up with, if the dress didn’t make my hips look big, it certainly didn’t make her hips look big and that she should have confidence in her body.

Younger Sister’s reply? A very appreciative, “No, and your butt looks amazing. You’re smokin’.”

Her comments were received with general amusement and agreement from Best Friend, Mother of Best Friend and Sister of Best Friend. And now that I had taken the plunge, Sister of Best Friend decided to try on the dress as well, with similarly smokin’ results.

Though we had permission to choose whichever dress we found the most appealing, all three of us ended up buying that same dress. It was youthful enough to suit Younger Sister, it had the Greek goddess flair that Sister of Best Friend was seeking and the embellishments and freedom of movement that I found so desirable.

I believe this is the key to finding a single bridesmaid dress that really does flatter everybody (and every body, for that matter). Just like Shangri-La or El Dorado, you can’t set out to find it intentionally; you have to stumble upon it. If you don’t put too much pressure on yourself and you’re open to the unexpected, you may just happen across the dress equivalent of paradise.

And as for Murphy’s Law of Bridesmaid Dresses – well, some rules were meant to be broken, don’t you think?

– Teresa Santoski

www.teresasantoski.com

Originally published March 6, 2014.

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Need a break from love songs? Try Atom and His Package

Whether it’s a Mozart aria or the latest chart-topping single, the vast majority of songs are about love in some capacity. Every once in a while, it’s refreshing to listen to a song that isn’t about romance or heartbreak.

On those occasions, I turn to the synthpunk mayhem of Atom and His Package. Continue reading

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