thing 4: make something (i would wear)

i have never made anything. oh sure, i’ve made a mess, a friend, some bad decisions, a bed, a fire, a date, a killer apple pie, but i’ve never made anything i would wear. i don’t sew (anything other than a button), can’t use a glue gun to save my life, and seemingly don’t have that “craft” gene like the other women in my family. my grandmother was a phenomenal knitter. she could modify patterns or create new patterns based on what we liked, and every sweater she made -- from the watermelon poncho and matching purse from my childhood to the fisherman sweaters that surrounded me with love -- were works of art. my grandmother had the patience to teach her four granddaughters the basics of knitting, and each time we insisted on using new hanks of yarn, which had to have driven her mad. she proudly wore the chain link necklaces and belts we made -- and even wore them outside of the house, which, really, was love because she had to look ridiculous. i remember my grandmother spending afternoons outside, chatting with her friends, teaching the kids to knit, and all the while knitting at remarkable speeds. if i close my eyes, i can still hear the click/clacking of the metal needles touching each other in rhythmic patterns as stitches were made. how she could multi-task (although that word wasn’t used then) while creating works of art was always a mystery to me. there wasn’t a day i don’t recall her knitting until finally arthritis made her fingers gnarled, and she could no longer hold the needles. the fact she was not able to do what she loved, as well as what she did to show her love to her family, was heartbreaking.

unfortunately for me, i really didn’t pick up knitting despite my grandmother’s valiant efforts. i’ve always loved the idea of knitting, which i attribute to my grandmother and the things it represents – time spent with my grandmother, peaceful afternoons, and the “hand made with love by anne” tags she sewed into every sweater. my mother is also a fabulous knitter, but she doesn’t live near me, and i couldn’t torment her by having her teach me over weekends home or over the phone. left to my own devices, i found an incredible knitting store in my town and signed up for a beginner’s knitter class. the shop is in an old home downtown, is perfectly quaint, and has the feel of being in my grandmother’s house. the class was taught in what used to be a diningroom around a big, old country table with mismatching (yet matching) chairs. the teacher had an inordinate amount of patience and taught me all of the basics i needed to know. i left my half-day lesson armed with needles, yarn, and a hefty amount of optimism. i was surprised to see what came back to me after all those years, but still, nothing felt relaxed about the process. what had come so naturally for my grandmother was forced and an effort for me. i couldn’t watch tv or talk while knitting, and i needed to write down where i left off at every row. still, i was determined to make something i would wear, and even though it was a challenge, i somehow found it relaxing. the scarf pattern i chose -- the one when i showed my mom, elicited a one-word response of, “STOP” (literally in all caps because she thought it would be too monotonous and prone to me dropping stitches based on the pattern) -- said i only needed to master four knitting concepts, and it was supposed to take six hours. well, there were only four things to know, but you can triple the length of time it took for me to complete, and that’s not counting the multiple visits back to the knitting store to correct mistakes or to ask questions. (while knitting the first two rows, when i made a mistake, i would just rip out the stitches and start over. after completing 400 stitches though, i was no longer willing to scrap my time investment.)

my whimsical, ruffled scarf (the name of the pattern, not mine) is now complete. i was fairly certain that once it was done, i would tear it out and use the beautiful, organic, berry-dyed yarn for another project, but i actually surprised myself and like the scarf -- and i would even wear it . . . out in public, too. after lovingly knitting every single one of the 1600 hundred total stitches, i appreciate my grandmother’s sweaters even more. i still have two of her fisherman sweaters, which were made well over 20 years ago, and even though they have seen better days, the “hand made with love by anne” labels are still there, and i am wrapped in a hug each time i wear them. knitting this scarf has made me think about my grandmother even more than i usually do, which is quite a bit considering i think of her every single day when i look in the mirror and see the diamond from her engagement ring in a necklace around my neck or when i find myself holding the pendant in my fingers when i’m stressed or deep in some thought or another. i hope she knew (and knows) how much she was truly loved.



my whimsical, ruffled scarf

on to thing 5 (i decided i’m counting up) . . .



thing 3: ski (down the mountain)

i never had a desire to ski. as i got older, my rationale for not learning to ski had something to do with understanding the concept of death and not wanting to tempt the fates. let’s face it, i am not what you call athletic, a quick learner, or adventurous (as noted in my first post), and, really, why would you want to take a chair lift up a mountain only to point yourself down and go? whenever we’re away and someone asks where i live, the conversation typically goes something like:

stranger:  “where do you live”?
me:  “colorado.”
stranger:  “oh, so you ski”?
me:   “no.”
stranger:  “really . . . . hmmmmm. . .”

and the conversation comes to an end – as if there is nothing else to do in colorado except ski. is it that difficult to believe someone could live in colorado and not ski?

my thinking about skiing changed one particular weekend (actually, one particular day) last year. our son, jack, wanted to learn how to snowboard, and we went to the mountains for the weekend. despite the fact my husband is an excellent skier, while jack was in his lesson, john spent the first day with me wandering around town and having a leisurely lunch. i still had no interest in skiing, and john said it wouldn’t be fun to ski on his own. jack was beaming when we picked him up, and the next day couldn’t come fast enough for him. on day two, we spent the majority of the day in the lodge, and from where we sat, we could watch jack. it was incredible to see how much he had learned in such a short time and how happy he was even when he took a tumble. i suddenly had the sharpest thought that i was going to miss out on doing something with jack because i was afraid. i realized that i was going to be forever on the inside looking out if i didn’t do something. that single realization pushed me to suggest coming back and sign up for lessons.

my two-day class was with an instructor from the town over from where i grew up, and he used to go to walter’s hot dogs, which was where my grandparents had their very first date (and one of my absolute favorite places). surely, this was serendipitous, i thought, because what are the chances my teacher would be from ny and end up in colorado helping me conquer a fear? frank was an interesting instructor, who used analogies like “you should bend your knees as if you’re wearing a short skirt and have to pick something up off the floor, and you don’t want people seeing your underwear.” while it sounded odd, it was a good visual. day one was a success, and, admittedly, i was a tad full of myself. i conquered panda peak, the flippin’ pony pull, and could move on since i could link my turns (albeit, not gracefully). day two started out fine. despite having too much time to think while riding the chair lift (because, honestly, how many stories do you read where someone falls off?), i was with my classmates and frank, and we were going to do this together. every now and then, i would see john and noticed he looked so proud of me, and it was that look that kept me going despite falls, fogged up glasses, and trying to get my skis back on after a mishap. we skied the upper part of the mountain, had a late lunch, and then the plan was to ski down the mountain, so off we went. i was getting tired, the weather turned as a storm was moving in, and i took a nasty fall. i had simply had it for the day and admitted defeat by riding the chair lift of shame back down the mountain. despite not knowing anyone at the resort and knowing john and jack wouldn’t care how i got down just that i got down safely, i was totally mortified, but i knew i was not going to ski down the mountain that late afternoon. sadly, for me, that was the end of last year’s ski season, and i spent quite a bit of time last summer, thinking about that last fall, what i needed to improve, and wishing that was not my finale of the season.

fast forward to this season . . . if i was going to learn how to ski better and get down the mountain, i needed to suck it up and hire a private instructor. i am certain that when i met mike that fateful morning, he did not realize he would need the patience of job to work with me. the first hour or so was rough, but slowly, the lessons i learned last season came back, and things were starting to click. i was extraordinarily hard on myself, which frustrated mike. it’s difficult to learn something new when you’re older, and then to have it come so slowly is hard to swallow. over lunch, i found out mike learned to ski when he was about my age (and then i spent the rest of our break trying to determine how old he was – and since i’m not good at math, this took a while), so he did understand what i was going through. mike listened to my failed attempt last year and told me i was ready to go down the mountain. we mapped out our route, which was a mix of green and blue trails, met up with john, who decided to go with us, and we headed out. i am not going to lie and say i wasn’t scared. to put it simply, i was terrified, but i had mike in front of me, and john behind me, so i knew no matter what, i would be fine. i realize this sounds beyond dramatic to anyone who skis, but for me, this was huge. i, lynne marsala basche, was not going to take the chair lift of shame down the mountain.

down, down, down i went . . . linking my turns, getting a bit cocky at times, falling once or twice, being thoroughly in awe of the views (when i stopped to actually breathe). i am positive i was not poetry in motion on the slopes, but i did it. once at the bottom, mike had me turn around and face the mountain. he then said, “honor what you did.” i swear, gazing up at the mountain, lindsey vonn couldn’t have been prouder after winning the super-g than i was at that moment.

the next day, we skied as a family for the first time. after four amazing runs together, it dawned on me that jack had already surpassed me – not necessarily in skills, although he was faster, but his need to move on to something more challenging was clear. i was thinking about this while taking a break and letting john and jack ski together after jack wandered on to a black trail and was doing just fine with not a single fear . . . and then john negotiated him back on to the blue trail. whereas i was content to stay on the green trails with some blue mixed in, jack was not. clearly, fear holds people back from doing things, and jack has none. i’m not sure if this is true of all children, but it’s pretty incredible (and scary) to watch. i don’t want to be the person who squashes jack’s curiosity and fearlessness, so i will continue to take lessons and get better. it will be a long time before i go down a black trail . . . and i wonder if i ever will . . . but hopefully, jack will want to ski with me at whatever my level . . . well, as long as he thinks i’m cool for learning something new, which has to last at least another season . . . right?

what did i learn from trying this new thing? well, i learned that you’re never too old to try something new, my sore muscles take longer to recover than they used to, beer tastes sublime after a day of skiing, and that when i say it’s the last run, i should already be on my way and at least half way down the mountain.

on to thing 4 (or 41) . . . gotta figure out the count up or down thing . . .

thing 2: go snowshoeing

i suppose whoever said, “if you can walk, you can snowshoe” was technically right. i feel the need to point out though that they never mentioned anything about doing it with any semblance of grace and style. let’s travel back to the day before . . .

two of my wonderful friends had agreed to help me with my quest to go snowshoeing, so for my birthday, my husband planned a weekend away for us. (while i’m almost certain his motives were sincere, it didn’t hurt that he had absolutely no desire to try this with me.) bright and early saturday morning, we piled into the car – three pairs of snowshoes, three sets of poles, three overnight bags, one big box of snacks and liquor (because, well, that’s really an essential for an overnight), one cup of coffee, one giant soda, two cameras, one blank notebook to fill with my 44 things ideas, and three very excited women dressed for our guided snowshoe tour. a bit into the ride came a text, saying that the tour was cancelled due to the fact a foot of snow had fallen. really? my thinking turns to “what’s snowshoeing without snow”? well, it would then just be “shoeing,” and seriously, isn’t more snow better than the alternative, which would then just be hiking? faced with needing a plan b, we decided to wander around boulder. we had such a fun time going in and out of stores, having lunch, and people watching – all on a beautiful warm day while we sweated and looked ridiculous in our clothes for snowshoeing. but, hey, it’s boulder, and they’re eclectic there, right (or so we told ourselves)? (we are three intelligent women, so why we didn’t think to remove some layers while in starbucks is beyond me.)


we made our way to the stanley hotel, which was built in 1909 and was stephen king’s inspiration for “the shining” while he and his wife were the only two guests there. the stanley is an old, elegant hotel, and its charm comes from the fact it’s not new, creaks, and has its own permanent residents in the form of ghosts and hauntings. i am petrified of things along this line, but, really, how bad could it be? we had drinks, took a ghost tour, had more drinks and dinner, and went to our room, which was directly under one of the known haunted rooms. we learned the ghosts at the stanley were not mean spirited. apparently, they were just loud (moving furniture, wandering through the halls), nurturing (tucking guest’s covers around them during the night), and fresh (pinching women’s bottoms and stealing their jewelry). i am not exaggerating when i say i was up most of the night and literally jumped out of bed when my friend got up to get something. i heard all sorts of noises – whether human or otherwise is still up for debate – but i did not get my bottom pinched. in the morning – while watching “the shining,” (yes, in daylight), we decided to go snowshoeing on our own because, darn it, that’s what we came up to accomplish. so, dragging our sorry, mildly hung-over heads out the door, that’s what we did . . .


if putting on the snowshoes was any indication of how this was going to play out for me, i thought i was in trouble – especially because the ranger’s conversation with us about avalanches and well marked trails was looping through my head. i am an admitted baby at times. it’s part of my charm (or so i tell myself.) one last text to my husband to tell him where we were just in case we didn’t come home that night, and we were off . . . like a herd of turtles. swishy, swashy, thwank, thwonk . . . this is what i heard for the next few hours . . . swishy, swashy, thwank, thwonk. (the swishy, swashy for the snowpants, and the thwank, thwonk from the snowshoes and boots.) another thing our snowshoe quote guy from above failed to mention was that this was quite a workout. short of finding the breath to plea for a break, i found myself huffing and puffing, and i don’t consider myself necessarily out of shape. i was so grateful (and not in a mean way) when one friend’s shoe holder thingy (yes, that’s the official name) would fall off since that meant a few minutes of not moving. once fixed, off we went like ducklings again. snowshoeing did get easier as we fell into a rhythm and got used to having awkward things on our feet, and, of course, we managed to laugh, stumble, and have an incredible time, appreciating our surroundings. it sounds clichéd, but it’s amazing the beauty around you that you don’t always get to see or absorb. i tried my hardest not to be my annoying, fretting self – even when it was pointed out to me that i shouldn’t poke my poles towards the undersides of rocks because of snakes or i when i swore i could see ice melting over a lake we had to get across. (i did laugh so hard when one of my friends imitated shelley duvall’s spastic running in “the shining” while trying to get across said lake that she lost her shoes, which caused me to almost wet my pants. this lead to another conversation about learning how to go to the bathroom outside, which is not going on my 44 things list. so there.)


where does snowshoeing leave me on my list? well, it is one adventure down the list, but, more important, i learned how much more fun it is to try something new with friends. i’m fairly certain that if i tried snowshoeing with my 8-year old, i would have abandoned the trek (and, “yes,” it was a trek) twenty steps in when he started moaning, “this is hard” and began using his poles as weapons against imaginary beasts and pokemons. not only were my friends there for this adventure, they were there for me -- supporting and encouraging me and giving me such an incredible gift. i am so very fortunate.


because it makes me laugh and was part of the weekend, i need to add the top three quotes of the trip: “if you were a real friend, you’d sleep with me,” “you think that’s a water stain on the ceiling, but it’s not -- it’s from a dead body,” and while snowshoeing, “you know, we’re only as strong as our weakest link, and we know who that is.”


now to decipher the ideas we compiled – and, “yes,” vegas was included. . . on to the 42nd thing . . .

thing 1: create a blog

i don’t have a story. you know, something you’ve done that pops into your head and makes you smile, blush, sigh about a time or a person from long ago, or gives you goose bumps. oh, sure, i can relay other people’s stories, but i don’t have one really good story of my own -- and, seriously, like an incredible little black dress, every woman needs at least one good story. this has been a frequent topic between my friends because they all have stories. there’s the friend who got drunk and tried out a stripper pole. the friend who can tell countless stories about her time in california; taking off in a helicopter from coronado bay or telling tales about the sex clubs she wandered past in san francisco. one friend was told she and her husband would never be able to have children, so they spent a year planning a trip around the world and quit their jobs to go on this adventure. low and behold, while in prague, they learned they got pregnant while in italy. one of my favorite stories is when a friend went to alaska on a kayaking trip that ended up being more harrowing than i could ever imagine – and yet he would tell the events over and over again and laugh just as heartily as the first time. i think my bravest friends -- and the ones with the most fascinating stories -- are the ones who stepped away from their traditional 9 to 5 jobs and opted, instead, to follow their passions.

i’m not sure how exactly it is that i got to be almost 44 and not have a story. my guess is because i was never really encouraged to be adventurous. i went to school, played sports, and had after school and summer jobs. i was surrounded by family and knew i was loved, but it was drilled into my head at a very young age that i was not to embarrass my family – and, as far as i can recall, i never did. there were no high school exploits that warranted any sort of intervention. i simply never had a rebellious side or, if i did, i suppressed it. in college, the only two reprimands i ever received were when my roommate and i put a “for sale” sign in our dorm window and made margaritas on the lawn in front of our dorm. oh, sure, i went out drinking, had a fake id, got my heart broken, and did a handful of foolish things i'd like to forget, but never anything that equates to that one story i want to recall into my old age. i had opportunities, but, looking back, i did not seize them. i did not really stretch and go to a college that was out of my comfort zone. i did not apply for any semesters overseas. i did not run for any elective offices. i did not move into manhattan after college, which is something i wanted to do. (although, at a starting salary of $15,500 in publishing, i would have been be living in a studio apartment with six other people, rotating sleeping arrangements.) i could argue that i wasn’t ready, but, the flip side is to say, “ready for what”? while at the drop of a hat, i can tell my husband “i left all that i knew and loved to come across the country to be with you,” i don’t know that that’s my story (although, it is a good one).

i’ve been known to say on more than one occasion that i’d like to go back to high school and college as the person i am now. i’ve got more confidence. i am more comfortable in my own skin and in my abilities. i am happy with the person i am becoming. i can tell a joke (but, mainly to the under eight set), and i can laugh at myself. i cannot hold a tune, and i botch lyrics, but i can sing with heart – and when alcohol is involved, just try and stop me. so, with the approach of my 44th year, i have decided that it is time for my story. i have no idea what it will be, but i can count on the fact i will be enlisting my friends in these adventures. this year, i will try 44 new things – things i’ve never done before. these things don’t have to be crazy and death defying – just new things that will lead to new stories. i’ve never had a dirty martini, graduated from the driving range, tried zip lining, gone camping (real camping, as opposed to car camping with shower and bathroom, etc), climbed a 14er, snow shoed, been away for a weekend by myself, written anything for anyone else to read . . . i guess i am now down to 43 things . . .