An open letter to my dad on his 60th birthday

Today is my dad's 60th birthday. So, I decided to write an open letter to him. Mainly, I just want to share with the world how incredibly awesome he is. And to be fair, I think my mom also deserves some recognition here for handling all that awesome every day. I know. I'm being very demanding today. Oh, and by awesome, I may or may not mean crazy.

Dear Dad,

As a young Colleen with curly bangs and giant, doofy glasses, I required a lot of guidance. Somehow you summoned enough patience to tolerate my over-abundance of awkward and my smart-aleck remarks (wonder where I get that from?). Thanks for that.

The same person I couldn't stand being in the same room with in high school has become one of my favorite people. I guess that's what growing up and gaining perspective does to you. I love when we talk about "worldly things," as you call them, or in my case, the latest provocative story captured by the HBO series Vice. Your joy of music significantly influenced my love for Eric Clapton and rock and roll. I never shared this with you, but I wax nostalgic about it here. Quick with a joke and even quicker to crack open a beer on any given morning of vacation, you swell with an easygoing happiness I can only hope to emulate. Even when faced with adversity, you overcame your obstacles and are now doing what you love most. I'm so proud of you for this. Whenever I get too far into my head and overthink things, you are there to remind me my understanding and logic are best leveraged when I allow myself to appreciate the beauty of life. The clarity of your guidance still sometimes surprises me, but I'm always very thankful for all your advice.

Whether you're adding pepper to perfectly good pancakes, examining the leaf margins of a mysterious plant, jamming to Neil Young, enjoying The Lord of the Rings marathons or calling me up for beer advice, you continue to fill my heart and mind with great memories and laughter. And on your 60th birthday, I am reminded how very blessed I am to have you in my life.

Happy birthday, Dad! Thanks for being you.

All of my love,

Colleen

Sandy brings unity to Long Beach Island

It was like Waterworld, but much much worse (if you can imagine that). Image after image of devastation. The New York and New Jersey coasts were annihilated. But nothing compared to watching clips of Long Beach Island. After countless summers and long winter weekends on the island, half of my heart is buried in its sands. Paralyzed by the b-roll, I couldn't help but cry.

Maybe it had a bit to do with four canceled flights and my rattling displacement in North Carolina. Try watching nothing but decimated homes and interviews of people without a place to sleep. Even the Shack was destroyed. After that, pretty much anything would've made me weepy.

No dunes :(

The moment I could, I scrambled to donate money to Red Cross. Still feeling helpless and determined to DO something, I discovered a beach-wide community clean up effort. I rallied my dad and Katie, my co-worker, rounded up a few of her friends. Next thing I knew, we were raking yards full of pine needles, tearing down water-logged, moldy wood paneling and hugging strangers (well, I did some stranger-hugging at least).

Saturday's effort on Long Beach Island drew about 1,000 people and raised money for the firefighters of Beach Haven who haven't left the island since the storm hit. While my efforts might be only a small dent in a long road to recovery, it was great to see people come together and witness flickers of hope for an island that feels more like home than my real home.

Swelling up to the meet the ocean before the brunt of the storm hit, the surge from the bay seemed to cause the worst of the damage. North Beach took a hard hit and Holgate was still closed on Saturday. Other parts of the island with more substantial dune systems fared better, but a lot of people are still displaced and without power. And trust me, you don't even want to hear about the scary 30-foot pile of trash outside of the Acme.

LBI Barnegat Beach Walkway

The infrastructure of the New Jersey barrier islands needs some significant changes. Here's hoping Hurricane Sandy is a wakeup call.

Oh yeah. And long live the Shack.

Being grateful for the little moments

Envision the things you're most grateful for. Your mind instantly hurdles toward certain steadfast gratitudes, right? For me, it's easy to be bowled over with appreciation for my family, wonderful friends, my job and the enormous amount of love and support in my life. I'm already enveloped by the knee-jerk warm fuzzies as we speak.

But what about the often forgot little moments?

These sneaking moments get swallowed up by our more grandiose appreciations. The little moments of gratitude are the first things we discard on days when we can barely find anything to be grateful for. To counter some of these lower days, I actually have an erratic habit of jotting down the little moments I am most grateful for. Reading them over serves as panacea, crusading against feelings of anger, discouragement or sadness.

The little moments I'm most grateful for

I remember the moment my heart sang with delight when I stumbled on a man playing the saxophone in The Gallery at Market East in Philly. Or after my feeble attempts to teach my nephew to say "dog," the moment my brother told me Jace pointed to the Target dog and rapid-fire proclaimed "Dah! Dah!" Or even the moment I received an unsuspecting compliment from a stranger on a particularly bad day.

When you think about what you're most grateful for this year, force your mind to acknowledge the little moments too. What little moments are you most grateful for?

A thing of beauty

I vividly remember receiving my cousin Becky's high school graduation announcement in the mail. Her picture sat on my grandmother's forest green Wurlitzer piano for at least four years. Natural enemies of photographs like sunlight, sulfur compounds and high humidity never managed to degrade her spirited smile. Even with an aggressive case of metastatic melanoma, the most dangerous type of skin cancer, biting at her ankles, she continued to  radiate strength and positivity. Recently, Becky received news that the cancer had spread to her brain. Her resolve is astonishing. To be faced with such adversity only to strike back with even more strength is downright inspiring. Her Facebook updates always include phrases equivalent to "but I'll keep fighting" - squashing any lingering notion of surrender. It certainly makes me take a step back and treasure life a little more.

I might not know her favorite flavor of ice cream. I might also live 2,784 miles away. But that's the thing about family. Those small details are insignificant. We share a familial connection - our paterfamilias. Two of the truest and most intelligent men I know. Plus, our moms? Together, they have a knack for beer pong. All of this is more than enough for me to support her as best as I can - through this post or simple encouraging comments on Facebook. We're family.

Do yourself a favor. Don't use tanning beds. Wear sunscreen. The nebulous threat of cancer isn't worth it. Seriously. Please send whatever positives thoughts and prayers you have to Becky and her family. We all appreciate it.