by Ari Dinerman
Sometimes you really wish that someone could have told you something would happen in the future. Like if you were going to be sent to the principal’s office, or your relative were going to get sick And if you do know about that before it happens, you could prevent being sent to the principal’s office or you could find a cure for your relative’s sickness. Sometimes time is your best friend or your worst enemy.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Imagine...
by Ari Dinerman, contributing writer
In the perfect town of Learn-a-lot, everything is so peaceful, so calm, so happy. In a town like this, you have learned so much that by the end of your life, you’ve learned too much. Your answer to a question would be as logical as it could be. There are no crimes, nothing. What is the point of living this life if there is no responsibility, and no more lessons to learn.
In the perfect town of Learn-a-lot, everything is so peaceful, so calm, so happy. In a town like this, you have learned so much that by the end of your life, you’ve learned too much. Your answer to a question would be as logical as it could be. There are no crimes, nothing. What is the point of living this life if there is no responsibility, and no more lessons to learn.
Monday, March 19, 2012
At the great ballpark
by Ari Dinerman, contributing writer
At the great ballpark, I see the ground balls being hit to all the positions on the field. While hearing all different fans begging for a comeback. In this stadium, you can hear that a lot. I can briefly taste the sand dry cigarette smoke streaming out from one’s filthy mouth. I am touching the armrests of my chair, feeling the rumbles of the stadium in disbelief. This makes me smell the salty French fries being carried by sellers walking up and down the aisles of the stadium, just like pacing back and forth, thinking what to do next.
At the great ballpark, I see the ground balls being hit to all the positions on the field. While hearing all different fans begging for a comeback. In this stadium, you can hear that a lot. I can briefly taste the sand dry cigarette smoke streaming out from one’s filthy mouth. I am touching the armrests of my chair, feeling the rumbles of the stadium in disbelief. This makes me smell the salty French fries being carried by sellers walking up and down the aisles of the stadium, just like pacing back and forth, thinking what to do next.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Not Just Another Number
I realize that there is war and disease and other devastation going on around the world, but I must admit I was sad about something entirely off-beat today. I had to replace my very first license plate, 345 ASA. That was my traveling companion for more than 25 years.
We all are associated with numbers. Our first home phone number, home address, Social Security number, college ID number, first apartment number, first boyfriend’s (or girlfriend’s) phone number, first house with spouse number. The list is endless. As we transition to different parts of our lives, we leave behind one number and take on another. But for some reason, giving up my 345 ASA was harder, as if I were giving up a friend - someone who has been there for me through many of my growing up stages.
Why did I need to turn in my good ‘ole companion? Apparently, its façade became too cracked and the dulled sheen wasn’t able to reflect well in the dark. There’s no escape. I could go a lot of ways with this. When Brad gets older, much older, and he begins to crack and wrinkle, will I replace him with a newer model? Hmm…
In 1986, when I graduated from Dartmouth, this plate held on for dear life to the back of my first car, a Ford Escort. This was a used car which needed oil every other day. In fact, it ran so badly that I had to take the license plate off... the car couldn’t pull that kind of load (ba dum bum). When I went to for grad school in 1990, it then graduated to an early model of a charcoal gray, boxy Toyota Corolla. It later knew the streets of Waltham and Framingham, when I was living in an apartment in Framingham and dating Brad, who lived in Waltham. In 1996-ish, when we were first married and started at the then , it was pleased to be toted on a newer taupe Corolla model. For the past five years, it has logged in more than 118,000 miles on my Toyota Sienna. My children could identify my car among others in a parking lot. 345 ASA has seen all of New England several times over and is intimately familiar with Ashland.
When I was at the Milford RMV, I asked the nice lady behind the counter if I could keep 345 ASA, she looked at me with a surprised and somewhat puzzled look and said, “Oh no!” I actually had to hand my metal pal over to a stranger in order to be (gasp!) recycled. I hope the next owners appreciate it.
So long 345 ASA. Welcome 919 LV5. Enjoy the ride.
We all are associated with numbers. Our first home phone number, home address, Social Security number, college ID number, first apartment number, first boyfriend’s (or girlfriend’s) phone number, first house with spouse number. The list is endless. As we transition to different parts of our lives, we leave behind one number and take on another. But for some reason, giving up my 345 ASA was harder, as if I were giving up a friend - someone who has been there for me through many of my growing up stages.
Why did I need to turn in my good ‘ole companion? Apparently, its façade became too cracked and the dulled sheen wasn’t able to reflect well in the dark. There’s no escape. I could go a lot of ways with this. When Brad gets older, much older, and he begins to crack and wrinkle, will I replace him with a newer model? Hmm…
In 1986, when I graduated from Dartmouth, this plate held on for dear life to the back of my first car, a Ford Escort. This was a used car which needed oil every other day. In fact, it ran so badly that I had to take the license plate off... the car couldn’t pull that kind of load (ba dum bum). When I went to for grad school in 1990, it then graduated to an early model of a charcoal gray, boxy Toyota Corolla. It later knew the streets of Waltham and Framingham, when I was living in an apartment in Framingham and dating Brad, who lived in Waltham. In 1996-ish, when we were first married and started at the then , it was pleased to be toted on a newer taupe Corolla model. For the past five years, it has logged in more than 118,000 miles on my Toyota Sienna. My children could identify my car among others in a parking lot. 345 ASA has seen all of New England several times over and is intimately familiar with Ashland.
When I was at the Milford RMV, I asked the nice lady behind the counter if I could keep 345 ASA, she looked at me with a surprised and somewhat puzzled look and said, “Oh no!” I actually had to hand my metal pal over to a stranger in order to be (gasp!) recycled. I hope the next owners appreciate it.
So long 345 ASA. Welcome 919 LV5. Enjoy the ride.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
My New Tennis Buddy
One of my favorite things to do is to spend time with my family. One of my other favorite things to do is play tennis. When I can put those two favorite things together, I’m in heaven.
Over the summer, my daughter decided she wanted to play tennis. I didn’t push her, but she came to that decision on her own. When she was younger, she had participated in a clinic or two, but it really didn’t seem to stick. She dabbled at camp, but there was no real love there. One of her best friends plays, so that certainly helped move the needle a little bit. I was happy to take them both out to our local school courts and hit the ball. Little by little, Abby could keep the ball in play and have a rally. That motivated her to play more. We’ve moved on to serves and volleys, which really legitimizes her game.
All of the logistical details will fall into place soon enough. But the other side of this is being able to share something I love with my teenage daughter, and have her love it back. Over the years, she has played softball, which I also enjoy. But she put that aside. She enjoys dancing, but even that hasn’t been high on her list. So I was facing two things: getting her involved in something worthwhile, and finding a physical activity to keep her in shape. Checking off both of these items, plus including myself in the mix—priceless.
She not only looks forward to playing, but she looks forward to playing with me. As she moves more deeply into the teenage years (she’ll be 14 in three months), I want to savor these times together – just the two of us. We try to play at least once during the week, usually a Tuesday, and once on the weekend. Before she leaves for school, she might ask, “Can we play tennis today?” Music to my ears. I smile and say, “I’ll call for a court!” Then, after school and work, we both look forward to putting on our tennis clothes and sneakers, grabbing our racquets and hitting the fuzzy yellow ball over the unwavering net as many times as we can.
Today, we played a fun baseline game with another parent and his daughter, and she played very well. This was a huge step for both of us. She can hold her own on the court and has the confidence to face opponents she doesn’t know.
My daughter and I do many things together. She loves going to the mall, an activity which wasn’t always high on my list, but which I can stomach better with her by my side. She enjoys playing board games like Yahtzee! And now I feel fortunate that we share the same passion of tennis. She recently announced to me that she wants to play on the high school tennis team. I smiled and said, “Well, we have some work to do, but I am happy to help you get there.”
Over the summer, my daughter decided she wanted to play tennis. I didn’t push her, but she came to that decision on her own. When she was younger, she had participated in a clinic or two, but it really didn’t seem to stick. She dabbled at camp, but there was no real love there. One of her best friends plays, so that certainly helped move the needle a little bit. I was happy to take them both out to our local school courts and hit the ball. Little by little, Abby could keep the ball in play and have a rally. That motivated her to play more. We’ve moved on to serves and volleys, which really legitimizes her game.
All of the logistical details will fall into place soon enough. But the other side of this is being able to share something I love with my teenage daughter, and have her love it back. Over the years, she has played softball, which I also enjoy. But she put that aside. She enjoys dancing, but even that hasn’t been high on her list. So I was facing two things: getting her involved in something worthwhile, and finding a physical activity to keep her in shape. Checking off both of these items, plus including myself in the mix—priceless.
She not only looks forward to playing, but she looks forward to playing with me. As she moves more deeply into the teenage years (she’ll be 14 in three months), I want to savor these times together – just the two of us. We try to play at least once during the week, usually a Tuesday, and once on the weekend. Before she leaves for school, she might ask, “Can we play tennis today?” Music to my ears. I smile and say, “I’ll call for a court!” Then, after school and work, we both look forward to putting on our tennis clothes and sneakers, grabbing our racquets and hitting the fuzzy yellow ball over the unwavering net as many times as we can.
Today, we played a fun baseline game with another parent and his daughter, and she played very well. This was a huge step for both of us. She can hold her own on the court and has the confidence to face opponents she doesn’t know.
My daughter and I do many things together. She loves going to the mall, an activity which wasn’t always high on my list, but which I can stomach better with her by my side. She enjoys playing board games like Yahtzee! And now I feel fortunate that we share the same passion of tennis. She recently announced to me that she wants to play on the high school tennis team. I smiled and said, “Well, we have some work to do, but I am happy to help you get there.”
Thursday, September 22, 2011
I am Davida. And I like Words with Friends
Am I addicted? That’s debatable. I don’t shirk my responsibilities as a wife, mother, daughter, employee, volunteer, tennis partner or any other primary areas of my life. I don’t stay up to play until all hours of the night. I don’t do it at the dinner table. I also don’t play other apps, such as Angry Birds or or Solitaire.
I do like to play when I get a rare free moment during the day, or in the evening when I’m winding down from a hectic day. Does this sound defensive? Maybe a little.
I feel slightly guilty that I am not using my 20 or so minute of free time at night reading a book. I really should read more. But I have always loved Scrabble, and more recently Bananagrams, but we don’t play it very much at home. I have always loved the challenge of putting words together, particularly along a DW (double word) or most especially along TW (triple word) square. And if one of the letters is worth 5 to 10 points, woo hoo!
Right now, I am involved with nine simultaneous games going with a cousin from Florida, who beats me every time, and several friends from Massachusetts, Georgia and Texas. I can even send people little messages – like instant Chat with Friends.
Really, there could be worse things, like drinking, smoking or gambling. I don’t pig out on donuts or drink huge quantities of diet soda. Lately, my kids have wanted some of the Words action. Hey, it’s educational right? They said, we should play Scrabble more. That would be fine with me.
p.s. This week, my iPhone seemed to play possum. I learned how to reboot it, and it was fine. The first thing I thought of was, “Oh no! My games!” Not… “Oh no, my email! “Since they are in a cloud with my account, I really wouldn’t have lost them, but I guess it says something about this new little hobby of mine.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
I wanna hold your hand
I do not mind showing affection to my husband in public. I’m not over-the-top with it, but I have no problem giving him a kiss or a hug, holding hands, or putting my arm around him if we’re walking somewhere. Heck, he’s my husband, I love him, and I’ll kiss him if I want to.
I also get the biggest warm-and-fuzzy feeling seeing other people, particularly those of the senior generation, show affection. I was driving in Framingham the other day. The temperature outside was about 75 degrees, so there were many people out walking. I saw two women on their power walk, a couple of teenagers strolling with a purpose, probably meeting another buddy or two, and then a few singles here and there. A normal summer day.
Then I saw a couple, probably in their mid- to late-60s (young by today’s standards, I know), walking at a decent clip and holding hands. They looked like they were involved in a good conversation. I couldn’t help but smile. My mind wandered to how they got to this point. Perhaps they’ve been married for 30 years or more, raised a couple of children and are maybe even enjoying grandchildren. They looked like they were enjoying each other’s company. They are in the empty nest phase of their lives.
Brad and I are in this temporary empty nest time while the kids are at camp.
Although we don’t spend every waking moment together, it’s nice to focus just on us. Typically, our lives and schedules are focused around the children and their activities. But even for a brief time, we can recharge and enjoy each other’s company without guilt. Our children are safe and having a wonderful time as they learn and grow in a community without their parents.
Three words came to mind when I saw the couple holding hands. I hadn’t ever described Brad and my relationship in this way, but I feel we can:
Communicate. Connect. Life partners.
I will wanna hold his hand for a very long time.
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