sara mcguyer

Today I was tasked with asking someone else about their favorite moment of the year. In the spirit of Think Kit, I decided I wanted to ask someone I met in 2013. I met Kirsten through work, when her company became a client of SmallBox.

Here are a few things to picture about Kirsten, if you don’t know her: She brings a lot of energy to everything she does. She talks with her hands expressively and a lot. When she tells stories, she’s detailed, animated. But I don’t really have to tell you that – you can read for yourself in her account of her favorite 2013 memory.

A City That Holds Onto the Past by Kirsten Cuniffe

Remember that project we all had in 6th grade? The one where you have to ask your grandparents where they were, what they were doing and how they felt when various major historical events occurred? Most times when I remember that project I find myself wishing I’d asked my grandparents more questions, that I’d listened with greater intent as they answered. One of my favorite moments of 2013 was having my parents join me in New Orleans after a conference I attended concluded.

As we walked down Frenchman Street, drank Abitas on a porch in Uptown and gazed out trolley windows I had the chance to soak in my parents’ recounting of their last trip to New Orleans – as twenty-somethings 50 years ago. They talked about the days when their favorite thing to do was find a hole-in-the wall with great jazz music. Ah! So my love of music is genetic.

My mom talked about being a young girl who had just received her associates degree, ready to take a career and travel with her other single girlfriends. They were so proud to be paying their own way – buying Hurricanes at O’Brien’s in the very same spot where we stood this year. My dad spent most of the trip lamenting the fact that his favorite musician of all-time, Fats Domino, whom he’d sought out on his last trip to NOLA, had now quit playing shows in public.

As it happened, Smokey Johnson, Fats’ drummer, wandered out of his house just as we passed it during our Tour of Musician’s Village. Most of the group was staring at Smokey. I looked to my dad, wondering how he would react. He looked at Smokey and then his gaze slowly went somewhere else, back to the last time he saw Fats and his group play. A one-sided smile made its way across his face. As he tuned back to the present moment, he turned to look around at our tour group, beginning to realize he was the only one in the group old enough to have truly seen Smokey’s talent at its peak. He then refocused on Smokey, made eye contact and just barely whispered, “You guys were the best.” Smokey smiled and looked down. I like to think he let his mind flash back to the past, just as my dad had. Smokey never said a word. He just shuffled off, hollering and entertaining our group as he made his exit.

I’m not sure what it was about that trip. Maybe just the amazing way that city holds on to the past. Or maybe it’s the way my parents were talking about their single days before my brothers and I were born. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’re 75-years old and I realize that our time together might be limited. But ever since that trip I’ve been taking the time to ask my parents about their lives. Asking them to recount stories so that I’m positive memories are filed in my mind in just the right order. Whatever it was, I’m so thankful for that trip. And I encourage you to sit down with some folks who helped raise you and just listen as they talk about their lives.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “Interview at least one other person about their favorite moments of the year. Share what you heard.”

A random sample* of some decisions I made this year, and the lessons I learned from them:

Pretty Good
Took more walks during the day, especially to the record store. Getting a break from both the screen time and sitting is great, and how else would I have uncovered this Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam gem? (I’m slowly re-collecting vinyl I had as a kid, but foolishly gave up).

Not So Wise
Let my personal correspondence pile up. I didn’t mean to, but I let it wait long enough that it became overwhelming. Things I’d long held sacred, like organizing a monthly supper club and knitting group, faltered. I took too long to call a friend. I learned that the ones we love can be very patient, but why test it? Note to self: put this in the do better category.
Questionable, but turned out okay
Tried Kool-Aid jalapeños at Musical Family Tree’s Listen Local series. There are, as it turns out, lessons to be learned even in sweet pickled peppers. They may sound gross, or amazing, depending on your particular slant on the world, but I will say this: it’s an experience, and I’m glad I was open to it.

Which brings me to the Very Wise
I chose openness. I wasn’t always so good at it, but I’ve been practicing. This, I know, will be a life long pursuit.

Looking at this random sample of decisions (and thinking of a few others I won’t go into here), I see a dividing line. Where I made a thoughtful decision, things worked out in the end. When I chose a default by lack of decision, that’s where I got into trouble.

I’ll lay claim to this one bit of wisdom: with each life lesson learned, each period of growth, there’s more. Always more.

In a year, I’ll think “If I’d only understood this sooner!” and laugh about what I thought I knew before. It’s been so each year since I began to think about such things, and will go on each year hereafter. I love this cycle, those moments. To be humbled by all of the unknown/knowable.

I’m open, world. Teach me your secrets.

*Random, as in, what I could recall at 11:01 p.m., less than an hour before deadline.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “Decisions, decisions…
What was the wisest decision you made this year? Did it change your “everyday”, move something from Point A to Point B, or involve others?”

Ah, the selfie. A great divide of our times.

I’ve taken a handful or two. Six or seven of them have even made it onto the internet. Nearly every time I’ve posted one, it’s been like ripping off a band-aid while getting caught talking to myself.

Number of selfies I posted online in 2013: three. Unless this counts as a selfie? You can see my hand there, holding onto the corndog:

Why are some people so cool with them? And others, like me, find them painful, awkward, bloated with ego. It’s been hard for me to see selfies any other way. A recent post by Leilan McNalley gave me a glimpse into how the other half see the world. I’d never really considered these self-portraits as a higher form of self expression.

I mean, let’s face it. They’re everywhere. I’m surrounded by amazing people who post them all the time. I work in marketing, mostly on the web. It’s about time I made as much peace as I can with these.

Watching this phenomenon unfurl to all corners of the internet (Selfie managed to edge out twerk as the word of the year in 2013), I really thought there were two kinds of personas – selfie-takers and selfie-haters. But when I asked the question: To selfie, or not to selfie, I found a lot of us living somewhere in the middle.

Some outtakes from my quick survey:

Selfie expression.

“My audience expects it. I like the ribbing and I honestly enjoy the attention. I’m a highly social person, and selfies are just one more way of engaging.” – Craig Dodge Lile

“I think selfies are a form of expressing yourself and capturing the way you look/feel in a certain time/place.” – Rita Troyer

“The funnier and more creative, the better. Aside from that, who am I to judge anyone for taking a selfie?” – Jason

“I don’t take them seriously. My friends and I send them constantly through SnapChat, it’s a fun way to stay connected throughout the day.” – Ashley Mennel

This isn’t ‘Nam. This is selfie. There are rules.

“I take them sparingly, basically if I need a new profile picture. Otherwise, selfies seem indulgent.” – Louis Meyer

“I mean, if you’re in need of a new profile pic I don’t see anything wrong with it. Maybe you look funny – that’s cool too. Otherwise, I’m not in to it.” – Kasey Bradley

“I wish you had to be a certain age before you could selfie. None taken before the age of 21” – Meggie Dials

“In general, I feel that no more than like 1/10 photos should be a selfie.” – Dan Dark

Rules, part deux: Duck lips. Just no.

“Neutral ….. unless duck lips. I mean come on.” – April Duncanson

“I don’t mind them a bit. Granted, I’m 43 and not 18, so I’m not friends with people taking pic after pic of themselves with duck lips in a teeny bikini. But sometimes it’s a fun way to capture myself and kids at a fun place or for my friends to show themselves finishing their first marathon or on a mountaintop or lovely vacation spot. Maybe middle-aged and old-folk selfies are the ones I appreciate most.” – Tracy

What have you done for me lately? No seriously. Should a selfie provide value to others?

“I feel…ummmmmm…about selfies. Like most anything, the selfie can be used for good or evil–it can be a moment of thoughtful self-expression, self-composition, in a way, or it can be gratuitous and yuck. Maybe that’s the thing of it for me: if the selfie (which is by definition of and for the self) seems to somehow transcend that and actually OFFER something to the non-self viewer, that’s when it becomes worthwhile. So maybe the selfie is like anything–but I question that, that I seem to want to require substance or value of a selfie, because again, by definition it seems to be excluded from the task of universalizing value.” – Jackie Lutzke

“Selfies come in a wide variety, and the quality and sense of expression matters. Goofy shot that includes half your arm – lame. Great picture that shares information, like my friend’s selfies of her baby bump – priceless.” – Kathy Slaughter

People might think you’re just that into you.

“Sometimes selfies are warranted or funny but mostly I feel bad for the person on the other end like everyone’s in on the joke but them.” – Abby Schoonveld

“Narcissistic and conceited. It’s bad enough we have to deal with constant status updates about what you’re eating for breakfast. We certainly don’t need an unflattering, ill-lit picture of you doing it.” – Whitney

(Aside: I’m so guilty of food pics… let me just hang my head in shame right now. But really, I think one of the most engaged tweets I ever sent was about meat loaf.)

 In closing, wise words from anonymous:
“If every picture you post is of just you, you might want to reconsider a few things.”

So, what say you:
To selfie, or not to selfie?

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “December 2: Take a poll and share the results. Is there something you’ve been curious about? A decision you’re struggling with? Ask the crowd, and report back on what the results might mean.”

Most of the people I know have some sort of crisis over time. Chronically late. Overcommitted. Frantic. Just typing these words makes me feel anxious. I have reminded myself more times than I care to admit to stop answering the question. “How’s life?” with “BUSY.”

A new normal.
I have only me to blame. I’m the one who said yes to things when I ought to have said no. I’ve allowed this new normal to settle in my bones – one of busyness, semi-exhaustion and half-finished things. Long ago I accepted the reality that I can certainly try, but I won’t be able to do it all. That there isn’t a magic trick up my sleeve that will expand the hours in the day.

But I haven’t and can’t seem to find peace with the quickening march of time.

This year was a flash in the pan. A blur.

I’ve heard this before, that times does fly by more quickly as you age. Words of warning I assumed I understood. Until this year.

Unexpected depths of nostalgia.
On a quick run through my neighborhood this summer I spotted a jug of tea, steeping in the sun on someone’s front porch. Unearthed from decades before, an image of sweet amber tea, hot rays of sun and black ants scurrying on a slab of concrete. I haven’t had sun tea since my age was a single digit. But why was the mere sight of it such a punch to the gut? I nearly cried jogging past it.

Another moment: a trip to visit my grandmother in her old bungalow. She had the perfect climbing tree in her front yard. It seems so much smaller now, but back then, a whole world came to life under those limbs. A world that now seemed closed off to the adult version of me, the one who has not climbed trees for far too long.

Fueling the fire.
The raw balance of joy and sorrow from this nostalgia is just another weight. More fuel on the fire. Time will go even faster next year, and the year after.

In the face of this, I’ve grown incredibly stubborn about the spare time I do have for relaxing at home and being with my small family. These are the moments of which I can’t let go. The ones that are teaching me to sometimes, just sometimes, say no.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox
Today’s prompt: “December 1: Your Year in Photos
Document your year in photos. Did one photo encapsulate your year? Maybe it takes a gallery. And don’t forget to caption, describe, or or document what made an image so important. Let’s see those photos!”

A few days ago, the first snow of the year fell over Indy. It seemed a clash of seasons, a battle between leaves and snow.

I wasn’t ready for this. This small bit of snow, lovely as it seemed, was insult added to injury. If you’ve watched any television or shopped at all, you too have suffered the holiday onslaught which began in September. It was near Labor Day when I first saw the trim and tinsel at a hardware store. The faux trees and yard ornaments teased from the racks, “Ready or not, here we come.”

My husband is offended by any signs of Christmas before Thanksgiving. I’m not nearly so strict, at least not until after Halloween. Even my unabashed love of holiday music can’t abide Christmas in September.

Maybe I am more sensitive about it all this year. I got busy, having spent my autumn training for a marathon, with most spare time dedicated to running or recovering from a run. I never could find the alignment of free time and energy for the annual jack o’ lantern carving. The plain pumpkins remain on the porch, a reminder of a holiday less celebrated. They’re uncarved, save a hunk clawed out by a hungry squirrel.

For the first time I noticed the commercials with twinkle lights and jingle bells started even before Halloween. The grocery store across the street from my office offered snowman figurines for sale next to ceramic pumpkins. Around the neighborhood, others seem confused too. One nearby house dons a wreath made of wheat, decorative gourds on the porch, and a Christmas tree all lit up in the window. I’ve seen a few other households who have visibly declared they’ll live in both seasons at once.

Meanwhile, it has warmed back up, and today brought storms rivaling anything we saw during the spring. From my back door, this:

Add this reverb into spring to the disorienting task of adjusting to daylight savings and early dark evenings. Torn between forces of nature and big box retail, between snow and thunderstorms — I couldn’t possibly be more seasonally confused. Is it Flag Day yet?

I’m strangely bothered that I can’t remember how long it’s been since my last Elvis sighting. Was is a few weeks ago? Longer? How many times have I passed by since the sign went down? All I know is this – Elvis no longer lives at the tan bungalow along the trail. The trampoline, the patio table and toys, the sign at the back of the yard, all gone.

Elvis must be some kind of mutt. He’s got a short, squat body like a Corgi or a Basset Hound, but he’s furrier like a Shelty, with black and white patches. He’s not the sort of dog you’d think would get a lot of height, but if you ever saw him jump, you’d understand why his owners crafted and hung a sign that read: “Elvis the Jumping Dog.”

Walking our own dogs passed Elvis’ house nearly every day, my husband and I would always keep an eye out for him. There was a small clearing in the vine-covered, chain-link fence that backed up to the Monon Trail. Elvis would run right to that spot as we passed, jump until his little snoot just cleared the top of the fence, then spin into a fancy pirouette. Some days, he’d give a repeat performance – two, or even three pirouettes. Elvis seemed to be quite literally jumping for joy.

We had noticed him before his family put the sign up, but after, it was different. Knowing his name added a sense of intimacy to it. Elvis. A perfect name for such a star performer. His family must have understood that people liked seeing the show. They were willing to keep a space clear, to create the handmade sign, to share Elvis with anyone walking by who cared to notice.

The former site of Elvis the Jumping Dog:

Walking by the other day, I noticed the sign wasn’t there anymore, and all other signs of life – gone. This family of accidental place-makers have packed up the show, and didn’t leave a forwarding address. Now that he’s gone, I wonder, am I the only one mourning the loss of this neighborhood fixture? Or are there others quietly wondering about Elvis’ disappearance?

It’s funny how such small things can weave themselves into the fabric of our daily life. It’s somewhat awkward to admit as I reminisce about a dog I never met, but my neighborhood feels a little less complete.

Keep an eye out for him, Indy. If you can find Elvis, I promise one glimpse of his spin moves will make your day.