Time and the Family Calendar

In December 2006 I created a custom calendar for 2007 full of family photos and gave copies to my immediate family members for Christmas. My brother Jeremy had died earlier in the year and our family was living in disparate locations across the globe. I thought it would be a good way for us to remember him and remain connected to each other. The calendar didn't feature stellar artistic design but it was fun to look at the photos and be reminded of each other every month.

Amateurish as that calendar was, it was a major hit in the family. In the run-up to Christmas 2007, I was told in no uncertain terms by parents and siblings alike that I "had to" make a family calendar for 2008. What had started as a one-off Christmas gift had, rather surprisingly to me, become a non-negotiable tradition.

I upped my game with the 2008 calendar, choosing better backgrounds and layouts and using many more photos than I had the previous year. I like to think that each successive calendar is a bit better than the previous year's as I get more creative and Shutterfly offers better and more options for layout and design. I collect the photos from family members, combine them with my own, then carefully select those that are calendar-worthy. Each year’s new calendar is a tightly guarded secret not revealed until Christmas day, when children and adults alike eagerly go through the pages trying to spot their own faces and smiling at the memories represented there.

2011 calendar; I have loads of fun coming up with a title and special cover for each calendar

Over time, the calendar has also acquired a particular format. Each month is dedicated to photos of the family member(s) born that month, and December is a mash-up of all of us. Because we have no birthdays in January, one nephew born in May is now featured in January while his brother, also born in May, gets the bulk of that month's pictures. Photos are generally only of immediate family members--my parents, siblings, and their offspring--but occasionally I'll include pictures of an extended family member, such as a grandparent or favorite aunt or uncle.
 

2013 calendar

Another important element of the calendar is that the photos must be from the previous year only (thus, the 2008 calendar featured photos from 2007), unless I decide to mix in some childhood photos. Both of my parents have, at one time or another, tried to slip in flattering photos of themselves taken several years earlier--my dad submitted a photo once that appeared to have been taken circa 1987!--but I have caught these attempts at sabotage and thwarted them every time. Yes, choosing which photos to include in the family calendar does give me a lot of power, but don't worry, I always use it for good. 

2014 calendar

The (self-imposed) requirement to use only photos from the previous year has had an unexpected outcome, however. Year after year, everyone in the family has new photos: photos of trips, birthday celebrations, dance performances, the first day of school, random ice cream and nature outings together. But year after year, I can choose from only the same limited stock of photos of my two brothers, both of whom have passed away. My brother Jeremy died in 2006 at the age of 30 and my brother Marshall in 2008 at the age of 25.

Jeremy, probably taken about a year before he died

My brothers’ lives are frozen in time. They never age nor do they send us evidence of their recent experiences. The calendar doesn’t document changes in their hair or clothing styles, doesn’t show expanding waistlines or new laugh lines around their eyes. The calendar will never feature photos of Marshall's college graduation or Jeremy trouncing his son, now age 14, in a video game competition.

Marshall, taken about eight months before he died

It's important to me to give each brother his birthday month in the calendar just like I do for all the other family members, because it helps us remember them and because, even dead, they are still part of our family. But putting together those months in the calendar always makes me a little bit sad. It is a reminder of the passage of time and of two vibrant lives who will never have any new photos to share.

Since that first awkward effort in 2006, the family calendar has become a chronicle of my family member’s lives, documenting our comings and goings and keeping us updated on each other’s activities, even while we live far apart and don't see each other as often as we'd like. "That one's going in the family calendar!" and "Come on, we need a photo for the calendar" are commonly heard phrases when family members get together, even for something as mundane as a weekend hike or ice cream outing. Like a museum curator, I construct these annual family photo exhibitions that remind us of both the lives we are living and the lives we have lost. 

Next year's calendar, hot off the press

People Who Will Love Me Forever

Sometimes when I'm feeling stressed or in the emotional doldrums, I look at pictures of family, friends, and past adventures. It is helpful to be reminded not only of happy moments in my life but of the wonderful people in my life who will love me forever, no matter what. Some are more-or-less obligated to do so (family) while others have chosen it willingly, in spite of my quirks and flaws. XOXO to all of you who answer to that description, whether your photo is here or not.

These guys

(wonderful sister, brother-in-law, dad, sister-in-law, 

nieces and nephews; they have my heart forever)

 

My beautiful mom

My amazing grandma

(87 years old and going strong!)

 My aunts (Janice, you are missing from this picture!)

 

 Uncle Bob

Amy

 

 Gerdy Baby

(who isn't normally this bundled)

Rachel

(who doesn't normally look this blurry)

 

 Paula and her clan

(terrible photo, sorry)

 

 

Angie

 

The Award You Pay for Yourself

"We're introducing a new team award today," Chris said enthusiastically. "It's called the Candy Jar Award."  

He held up a medium-sized clear plastic container with a blue lid. It looked like it originally held a Kirkland fancy nut mix. Now it was full of Halloween-sized Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, M&M's, Kit Kat, and the like.

Chris explained that the award would be given by one teammate to another at the bi-weekly team meetings, the criteria being a rather ambiguous "doing a good job." He then added that whoever got the award each time would be responsible for keeping the candy jar full before passing it along to the next winner. 

Wait, what? I had to pipe up.

"So you actually have to pay for your own award then?" I asked, trying not to sound contrary.

Nervous chuckles rippled around the table. 

"Ah, well, you have to fill it up for the next person, yes," replied Chris.

Awkward silence.

I'm sure the new award seemed like a good idea in theory. Boost morale and team solidarity by giving someone a cask of candy to recognize his or her hard work. It would be like a big, sugary high five. But how to do it without having to ask the boss for some extra funds from the company till?  Oh, I know: have the team members pay for their own award!

Let's see how this concept would apply to other situations.

"Congratulations on winning that gold medal!  Now take us out to dinner."

"This is a fantastic report card! As a reward for your straight As, I'm going to let you buy yourself a new pair of shoes with your own money." 

 "You did such a good job with with your chores this week that you get to treat the whole family to ice cream."



"I'd like to take you to a movie to thank you for bringing me dinner last week. Can you give me $15 for the ticket?"

Team meetings are a bit perilous now that the Candy Jar Award is in circulation. When it's mentioned, I slump in my seat, hoping not to be noticed, praying not to receive this costly award. I've also thought of ways to sabotage it if I am every unlucky enough to get it, such as putting a $10 bill in the jar instead of candy (too expensive), filling the jar with salad before handing it off to the next person (healthier than candy), or simply stashing it in a desk drawer so nothing will get eaten before I hand it off. This award gives new meaning to the phrase "victim of one's own success." While I've never been one to settle for mediocrity, I now hope I never do well enough to merit the candy jar.

Giving In to Social Media... Sort of

My desire to stay away from that frenzied, time-sucking world of social media has weakened. Don’t get your hopes up to see me on Facebook anytime soon; I haven’t gone that soft. I have, however, given in to Twitter (@DCMarni) and, a couple of weeks ago, Instagram. I’ve been on Pinterest for a long time now and fall more in-love with it every day, but it’s less social network than entertaining reference library. I’m still uncertain about the value of these other two in my life, but we’ll see.

I admit, it has been nice to connect with people that I otherwise don’t see or talk to frequently—especially widely dispersed cousins and a few friends from various stages of my life—however brief those interactions may be. Part of me thinks that, if we were really, truly friends, we would be calling each other or texting or emailing to keep in-touch instead of relying on the lazy, semi-superficial medium of tweets and photos to track what’s happening in each other’s lives. Does that even count as “keeping in-touch?” I’m still just as likely to end up with no plans on a Saturday night as I was before.

On the other hand, if this sort of sporadic, soundbite blast-updating is how friendship is done these days, I suppose it’s necessary to overcome my inhibitions and join in, rather than face social isolation. It does feel almost voyeuristic sometimes to read about the lives of people I don’t actually talk to—and I’m not talking about celebrities here, but people I know, or knew. I can watch their kids grow up and see where they go on vacation and what they had for lunch. Conversations consist of “likes” and brief comments, a perpetual small talk of sorts that feels kind of forced but can also be fun and even boost the ego.

One thing I don’t understand about the social media phenomenon in general is how on earth people have so much to say or share, and why they think others are so interested. I frankly don’t have that much to share from day to day and even less to share that I think would interest anyone who’s not related to me. Now that I have social media accounts, I feel pressured to use them, to come up with things to share, which actually goes against my normal introverted tendencies to listen more than I talk. It’s the pressure of should and the pressure to fit in: I should be doing this because it’s what normal people do these days. I should voluntarily put out news of my activities because I live in a push-information society where that’s expected. Since signing up for Instagram, I’ve found myself taking photos expressly so I can post them, not necessarily because I think the subject matter is fascinating or because I really want to capture that moment or view for myself. And once I put this blog post up, I’ll send out the link via Twitter just for the sake of, well, sending something out via Twitter. I think that’s kind of strange.

Regardless of my internal philosophical debate on the topic, I’ve started down this social media path and hope it will be a positive journey. I’d love to connect with any and all of you on Twitter, Instagram, or Pinterest. Send me an email if you can’t find me on them. Meanwhile, the writer in me will continue to lay out my thoughts and experiences in blog posts.

Paddling the Potomac

“Who can do 500 pull-ups?” our guide asked, holding up his hand.

The group laughed uncertainly and no one responded.

“If you want to do the equivalent of 500 pull-ups tonight, go ahead and paddle with your arms. If you don’t want sore arms at the end, paddle using your torso.” He then demonstrated the proper technique with his kayak paddle, rotating his middle section with each paddle stroke through the air. Since no one wanted sore arms, we all diligently copied his movements sitting in a circle on the grassy field.

Such was the instruction I received last Friday before launching onto the Potomac River for a sunset kayaking tour. The tour, provided by REI, included all the gear we’d need, two excellent guides, and a picnic dinner plus superb weather.

We donned life vests, ran through a safety briefing and paddling practice, and then helped each other carry the kayaks down to the sloped concrete ramp that lead into the river inlet across from National Airport. Planes took off in a steady stream overhead, roaring as they soared from the runway into the sky.  At the ramp, I slid into my kayak and wriggled my hips to scoot it forward into the water. To my left, my friend Sultana did the same until we were both afloat.

 

Sultana gets ready to launch

 

It was incredibly peaceful on the river. Even while we were trying to steer clear of motor boats, birds, and those funny-looking Duck Boat tours, there was a sense of calm and tranquility that is seldom found on land in the middle of a major metropolitan area. The cars zooming past on the adjacent George Washington Parkway seemed to be in another dimension. The Zen factor was further increased by my focus on using my core, not my arms, to push the paddle through the water and propel my little kayak along. (It worked! No sore arms!)

Heading up-river

Paddling near the Pentagon

We paddled up-river toward the Pentagon and the sheltered marina on its east side, where we stopped for a picnic dinner (on land). After eating, we continued north under the Memorial Bridge and paused at the base of a set of wide, shallow steps near the Lincoln Memorial. In years gone by, public concerts were held at that spot on the river. The orchestra sat atop a floating platform of sorts while spectators perched on the marble steps, amphitheater-style, to listen to the music. We heard no music save the sirens of police boats speeding past—four boats in five minutes!—and helicopters buzzing in the darkening sky, apparently looking for something or someone.

We took advantage of the location by snapping pictures of the sun setting behind the high-rises on the Virginia side of the river. We then paddled across and took in the view from the opposite shore of the moon reflected on the water and the Lincoln Memorial and Washington Monument lit up against the indigo sky.

Sunset and moonrise

 

We headed back to our starting point in relative darkness. Each person had a headlamp looped onto the strap of his or her life jacket for safety, but these didn’t provide enough light to see by. I was surprised there wasn’t more ambient light from the surrounding city. It was particularly dark where we paddled near the tree-lined shore, heightening the sense of separation from the rest of the world.

At a little after 10pm, we pulled our kayaks out of the water and onto the concrete ramp at our launch point, then carried them up to the field. Life vests in one pile, paddles in the other, and don’t forget your water bottles. Overhead, planes shouted their noisy greetings as they swooped down to land.

Psst! It's a Peep(s) Show!

A few weeks ago, my team of creative coworkers (writers, graphic designers, etc.) held a contest/team event called the PEEPStacular. This excuse to use lots of hot glue and geek out at Michael's was modeled after the Washington Post's annual Peeps Show and involved arranging marshmallow bunnies and ducks in a themed diorama--the more elaborate, the better.

My coworker Jenn and I decided to do an Oscars-themed diorama wherein celebripeeps trailed past the peeparazzi on the red carpet, hostess Ellen DePeeperes posed for a spontaneous selfie with several other star Peeps, and an unsuspecting peepza delivery guy brought fresh, hot peepza for the hungry crowd.

Celebripeeps walk the red carpet in front of the peeparazzi while Beyonce and Jay-Peep get interviewed by Ryan Peepcrest (front right)

Martin Scorpeepse and Samuel L. Peepson discuss an upcoming project

Larger-than-life Oscars statues mark the entrance to the theater

Jenn and I spent a few evenings and the better part of a Sunday afternoon outfitting our Peeps and assembling the diorama.  By the end, Jenn's dining room table was a hot mess of craft supplies and our fingers were dusted with sticky candy sugar from handling the Peeps.

Fresh, hot peepza, anyone?

Celebripeeps pose for a selfie, with Bradley Peeper holding the camera phone

The finished diorama, with a backdrop of crafting detritus and discarded Peeps

As clever and delightful as our diorama was, it didn't win either the judges' prize or the Peeples choice award on the night of the contest. Two of the three awards went to the team whose incredibly detailed diorama depicted a zombie apocalypse at the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA, or Peeps Intelligence Agency--PIA for the diorama).  I had to admit, their entry--which used plexiglass, original graphics, and tiny clay donuts and was spread over multiple levels--was pretty amazing.

Zombies attack the PIA

Guards (in green camouflage), zombies, and civilian workers get attacked by zombie Peeps while the portraits of past PIA directors look on

Zombie apocalypse or no, you can still buy a donut

In addition to being a terrific creative change of pace (from the written word to the 3D visual arts), this contest got me thinking about next year's Washington Post competition and what type of entry might get me a spot in the finals. So heat up the glue gun, prep the X-acto knife, and assemble the paints: it's time to get ready for the Peeps Show!