"In Search Of A Better Life"

With Spring arriving and bearing all its glorious pageantry of colors, smells, and sounds, I could not resist taking a walk through Old Salem today during my lunch hour.

Old Salem is a historic village with original buildings dating back to its earlier days in the 1700's and 1800's. (Think Williamsburg, VA) It was founded by the Moravians, a group of settlers who left Moravia (modern-day Czech Republic) in search of religious freedom. Many settlled in Pennsylvania and a years later some of them once again pulled up stakes and migrated South, settling on a tract of land they named "Wachovia" which is in present-day Winston-Salem, North Carolina. It's been declared a national historic site is a great place to see a slice of life from centuries earlier.

Old Salem is fascinating and enjoyable to most folks that stop to visit but it's particularly special to me since many of my ancestors were Moravian. From my most recent genealogical research I have not been able find ancestors who actually lived in the village of Salem but those whom I have researched did reside nearby. Therefore I'm fairly confident that I probably do have some ancestors who did actually reside in Salem or nearby on the Wachovia tract of land.

Some of you might be aware that I'm weighing some serious options these days. The types of decisions that are never easy or fun to make. These kind of dilemmas justify what my parents always said when they affirmed that life isn't always easy nor is it always fun once you become an adult.

Walking down the cobblestone streets of Old Salem today I tried to imagine what it must have been like for my female ancestors some 200+ years ago. I imagined the streets filled with women on their way to market, or merchants leaning out their windows, waiting for customers. The clanging of the blacksmith's tools as he made a new set of horseshoes. The clippety-clop of horses' hooves on cobblestone. The smell of leather, sweat, animals and even freshly baked Moravian pastries. Maybe even the snort of a pig in a neighbor's pen or the clucking of a chicken. These sounds no longer exist in present-day Old Salem. Yet what do still exist are the chirping of birds who have returned following a long winter; freshly plowed soil awaiting drops of seed for a crop of cabbage, corn, and onions; violets peeping through the tall blades of small green patches of grass; and just the plain ole smell of Spring!

That's when it occurred to me. I realized that while centuries may separate me and my Moravian ancestors, we share some commonalities. I may not have had to endure truly hard, physical labor, a strict religious upbringing, or bearing children at a young age. Yet like those before me, I have now some difficult decisions to make. Life-altering decisions. Just as they and their families pondered whether to move across the ocean and later down the Great Wagon Trail to North Carolina, so too do I contemplate traveling across borders or state lines and whether or not it's the right choice to make. Just as they grappled with the dilemma, fearing a new culture, climate change, leaving all that was familiar and comfortable for them, so too do I.

They contemplated and followed through with the brave move because they were in search of a better life. A life where not only their religious freedoms would not be violated but a new life in a land full of opportunity. To finally have the house and land they had always dreamed of. Starting a family, perhaps, and learning a new trade. Isn't this also what I'm searching for to some extent? Better opportunities for Nelson and me--allowing us the chance to one day be financially sound and independent? An avenue--that if followed--would allow us to start a family? An avenue that if sought and followed--would allow us a better life?

My grandmothers made many sacrifices. It's the reason I always admired them so much during there lifetime and continue to (though they are no longer living). They both learned at a very young age that sacrifices must be made in order to persevere and move forward. They received the harsh lesson early in life that no, life is not fair and it can be quite difficult, testing one's faith. That sometimes risks must be taken, though not without much thought and discussion. Even my own parents made sacrifices for my siblings and me--most notably when they relocated to a tiny town in rural Appalachia in the 1970's.

So as I stood on sidewalk near Old Salem's square, my foot resting shakily on a buckled cobblestone, I realized that I may very well have to make a similar decision. The question is, am I willing to make sacrifices? Am I willing to make sacrifices for the sake of a better life? Am I?

"If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking...."

On a cold, dreary day in January of this year my life changed, and not for the good. It wasn't as life-altering an event as, say, the events of July 14, February 23 or January 18. Yet it was nevertheless important and will impact the path that my life continues to follow.

For fear that some who might read this will balk or snicker, I won't go into details. Those of you who know the deeper side of me will know of whom I speak. My friends and I lost a person very influential in our lives. One could say he was, in some ways, a friend. He was someone who gave us hope; who dared us to dream big; to not fear being a hopeless romantic; to celebrate individuality and creativity. He was a bright shining light. A true inspiration to Nelson, to Nicole, to many of my friends. He was an inspiration to me.

Nelson and my friends have been there for me as I've struggled to understand and rationalize this loss. I hope that I have been there for them as well. We have laughed, cried, and pondered many things during the past month and a half. We have reflected on who we all were eight years ago before knowing each other and how we have struggled--yet grown--as human beings since those early days.

I could try to write the most eloquent and heartfelt words about him, what he meant (and still means) to me. However, I just don't feel I could ever truly capture in words the impact my life has had because of his all too short time here on Earth. I have been blessed with friends I once thought I could never have. A soul mate that at one time I was convinced did not exist, leaving the future of my life cloudy and uncertain.

And so, rather than struggle to find just the right words, I shall refrain for the most part. He is gone, but will never ever be forgotten. Physically no longer here but still alive! Alive in his child's precocious smile and in the countless lives he touched. He lives on each time Nelson smiles at me, tells me numerous times that he loves me, and every time one of my dear friends gives me that much needed laugh. Each time I find the courage to write a few words, no matter how poorly written or misspelled they might be, he is there in that effort.

In pondering this dear one's passing and regretfully thinking of all that could have been, I will stop, and simply let the words of Miss Emily Dickinson close this entry. The poem popped into my head today while reflecting on this loss. Many of you know the one thing I will always be most grateful to him for is my dear Nelson. To "my girls," you have spoken to me of the friendships found as well because of him. So I find that Miss Emily's words are....apropos.

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

Thank You, Johnny Weir

To those who know me well it is no new revelation that figure skating is the one passion in my life that has never really never waned. Yet last week when I tuned the television to NBC for the 2008 U.S. Figure Skating Championships, I must admit that I was not bubbling with my usual excitement and intensity. It was more as if I was dutifully going through the motions, unwilling to let go of an important part of who I am--or how I identify myself.

One might ask why my mood and feelings had changed so drastically. Well, for the past few seasons I've been witnessing a major shift in the sport of figure skating. A change in the quality of skating, the personalities of the skaters themselves, and a drop in its mass public appeal. And it's been something very disappointing to witness.

A Bit Of Background Info....

During the peak of skating's appeal, which I believe to have been from 1988-2002, the sport of skating saw a large rise in its fan base. The rivalries of Brian Boitano and Bryan Orser in 1988, the Katarina Witt & Debi Thomas "battle of the Carmen's" in '88 were the first two occurrences that helped propel skating into the limelight. Calgary's electric spirit and intensity certainly took my interest of skating to a new, obsessed level.

No doubt the Tonya Harding-Nancy Kerrigan duel in 1994 that truly catapulted skating forward into prime-time television slots and the front pages of numerous periodicals. Yet there were other reasons that skating was becoming increasingly more popular. Skaters were just better. They were training more and thus more physically fit, working longer hours. They were completing jumps and moves that were unheard of in Dorothy Hamill's time. Thanks to the feats of Kurt Browning (Budapest,1988) and Midori Ito (Paris, 1989) skaters were inspired to push the technical envelope. If people weren't clamoring to get a ringside seat to witness rivalries then they were there to enjoy the high quality of skating.


With new interest in skating and its stars, exhibition tours began adding new cities to their list, moving from the small-town arenas to larger facilities which sold out. Professionals, whose careers and fame were once short-lived following retirement from amateur competition, now had a future as professional skaters. The were no longer limited to Cinderella On Ice, Ice Capades, or coaching at the local rink as a means of income.


Finally, women's skating witnessed an era of domination by a skater--something that really had not occurred since Sonja Henie sat atop the rankings in the late 1920's and 1930's: America's skating darling, Michele Kwan. As she burst on to the scene at the young age of thirteen, her innocence and love for skating was a breath of fresh air following the ugly, albeit interesting soap opera between Kerrigan and Harding. She enjoyed a longevity in the sport that few others bothered to embrace, winning nine national championships and five world championships. While she medaled in two Olympic Games the one prize that evaded her grasp was the Olympic Gold Medal. Relying more on her natural gift of artistry and musical interpretation than jumping ability, she awed audiences with an edging quality and connection to the music not seen since the days of Janet Lynn. The reign of Kwan began to wind down in the mid-2000's. (She's not competed since 2006 when an injury forced the aged 26 year-old to withdraw from competition during the Olympic Games in Torino, Italy.) It seems that as the lights were dimming on Kwan's brilliant career, so too, dimmed the lights on skating's moment in the spotlight.


Why, you ask?

• The dismantling of the Soviet Union and thus its domination of skating at the competitive international level? No. This only created new stars from other countries, breaking up the monotony, particularly in the pairs and dance disciplines.
• Overexposure? Were we given an overdose of professional, pro-am, and amateur competitions on the tube, along with numerous exhibitions? (I still miss Robin Cousins' "Improvice".) Perhaps.
• Was it just an inevitable occurrence, like everything in life--cyclical? Probably.
• Yet I also found that skaters just weren't interesting to watch anymore. The level of difficulty had plateaued. Skaters, particularly in pairs, were also not exhibiting enough artistry, which is one of the two essential components upon which a performance is judged. Certainly Stefan Lambiel was a bright spot who cam on to the scene a couple of years ago showing off an incredible spinning ability that seems to be present only in Swiss genes. But something was missing. The spark that had been there just a few years earlier had been extinguished. What I observed as a fan was a lack of personality in the athletes which carried over into their skating. There was a lack of new music. If you've watched skating as much as I have, having to endure a program skated to "Nessum Dorma," "Carmen," "Malaguena," or "Swan Lake," was trying--even if the skating was on par.

So it was all of these reasons that when I sat down to watch the competition last weekend my expectations were low. However, I was was unaware of the forthcoming birth of a new rivalry in the men's competition between reigning national champion Evan Lysacek and former champion Johnny Weir.

The two gentlemen make no attempt to hide their dislike for one another or their hunger to destroy the other in competition. The two skaters could not be more diametrical opposites, either--both on and off the ice. Lycasek is tall, lanky, and quiet, possessing an icy cool confidence evident in his piercing brown eyes. Though Evan is affable and cordial, he's not always verbose and it times reporters or even I find myself wishing he's be a bit more expressive in his interviews. Weir, however, is short in stature, flamboyant and never afraid of speaking his mind. He also makes no attempt to hide his sexual orientation and embraces his femininity, as if to say, "This is me--deal with it, world!" Interviewers are never prepared for what he'll say when asked about his skating, his rivalry, or his personal life. And while some conservative folks might find Weir abrasive and repulsive, I find him amusing; interesting. One never knows what they're going to get with Johnny. While Lysacek has stayed with his longtime coach extraordinaire, Frank Carroll, Johnny has made several coaching changes, embraced the Russian culture, and settling with Galina Zmievskaya and Viktor Petrenko, often conversing with them in Russian. Evan's style focuses on quick, catlike jumps and footwork, attacking every note in his programs. Johnny embraces his gift of artistic talent, skating with a lyrical quality rarely seen in men's skating.

Following the short program, Lysacek was just behind Weir in the rankings. Both men had skated wonderfully and showed off their contrasting styles--both of which are appealing in their own unique way. Yet while the same calm and focused Lysacek appeared on the ice, a new Weir stepped out on to the ice. Following a dismal competition last year that left him off the podium, Johnny's latest coaching change seems a perfect fit. In the past year he had buckled down, changing his work ethic and training harder--no doubt an influence from his Russian mentors. And so last week in St. Paul Weir showed up for competition in fighting shape, ready to reclaim his title.

Lysacek came out in the short program attacking as usual, landing the quad-toe and all other jumps, wowing the crowds with his ferocious straight-line footwork. Lysacek had set the tone. It was up to Weir to deliver an equally impressive program. And that he did. Not only was his artistry top notch, he landed his first-ever quadruple toe-loop in competition. At the end of his program Weir clasped his hands together, overcome with emotion. The desire and hunger he had seemed to apathetically lack in the previous season had returned. He was back! It was in the judges hands and the judges were really undecided--almost. The marks left the two skaters tied in total points from both skates. Yet the judges chose Lysacek's long program to be the winning program in the long skate which by rules, gave him the overall edge and thus the title. Why? Two words: footwork sequence.

So as the evening events came to a close, I had found myself feeling a tinge of that old excitement I remember feeling that cold February evening in 1988, when, sitting in front of our 19-inch color television I watched Brian Boitano skate his way to victory. Or the happiness I felt when I was able to watch in person Michelle Kwan skate an exhibition program to East of Eden, which gave me chills and left me awestruck. A new rivalry had been born. It will continue at Worlds and hopefully it will knock some life into competition on the international scene. If what I commented on earlier is true--that everything in life is cyclical--then I can only patiently wait until the sport I so passionately adore with all my being will once again shine brilliantly. And if the new rivalry between Weir and Lysacek is any indicator, I have much to look forward to yet again. Thank you, Evan, and most of all, thank you, Johnny. Welcome back to skating. Welcome back to both of us!