Pixels from the Edge

On Needing a Good Cry

2012-01-18T13:19:00.006-05:00

I need a good cry. And it seems that the universe is conspiring to ensure it happens.

Seriously. Here is my case:

• I have had a keen sense lately that I have lost my way, or at least my sense of equilibrium
• My husband of 21 years was drunk when I arrived home from work last night at 7pm
• A Facebook friend posted THIS story from CNN on her wall
• My 15 year-old named me his model of faith for the essay portion of his religion midterm exam
• I came across this Huffington Post article on child rearing and nostalgia in my email
• I accidentally found out that the father of a new friend of mine most likely went to high school with my mother (you know, the presumably living parent I have not seen or spoken to for over 10 years now. I mean how cool would it be to call her up and say, hey, guess WHAT?!?!?!)
• Let's not even mention the 20 pounds I've gained, or the last song that played on my iPod.

I'm not menstrual, or even premenstrual. I am just plain sad. And tired. And lost. And forty-fucking-five, wondering what the hell to do about it that won't involve more pain, injury, collateral damage, or isolation.

I've read through previous posts. I am not prone necessarily to self pity, and certainly not martyrdom. But I am prone to these bouts of restlessness, and they generally fade. Maybe I just need to wait it out. But I don't think so. Something feels broken. It is the slow walk home from the train. The realization that going to the gym at night and getting home at 9 or later might not be so bad after all. I always looked forward to going home. Less and less now is that the case, unless the house is either empty or my son is the only one there.

Oh, and I learned a new word: Kairos. Author Glennon Melton defines kairos as God's time. It's time outside of time. It's metaphysical time. It's those magical moments in which time stands still. In Greek mythology, Kairos, the youngest child of Zeus, was the god of opportunity. In rhetoric it is the opportune time and/or place, the right or appropriate time to say or do the right or appropriate thing. I think I like God's time best. As opposed to Chronos, ordinary time. Even in these muddled times, I have moments of Kairos. They will have to do for now.

r.

Monogamy Questioned?

2012-01-12T17:01:00.002-05:00

Two separate stories broke within the last twenty four hours that questioned the viability, or at least the definition, of monogamy. How odd, given my own recent struggles with the concept.

Whist watching Nightline last night I learned a new word: Polyamory.

Polyamory (from Greek πολύ [poly, meaning many or several] and Latin amor [love]) is the practice, desire, or acceptance of having more than one intimate relationship at a time with the knowledge and consent of everyone involved.

Huh. Never knew it had a name. Dangerous thing, this polyamory. I don't see how everyone remains happy. In the Nightline story, the threesome, a woman and her two heterosexual male lovers live in the same house north of LA. The original union was between the elder of the two men and the woman. The man didn't want children, the woman did. He suggested that he was open to her having a lover to produce said child. She did just that, and now the threesome are raising the boy. In a reversal of roles, the older guy has decide that he wants a kid, and the woman doesn't want another. There is greater intimacy between the woman and new(er) comer than the original guy, producing some understandable stress. But they say that overall they are all happy, though the men may take on additional women (wonder where they will live).

Many years ago, my husband gave permission for a friend of his to join us. There had been tension between this friend me for years before that we never acted upon. But now that we had permission, act we did. And things were never the same in my marriage bed again. Doors that I had nearly sealed shut were suddenly opened. I am sure my husband thought he could control the situation. But how do you really control another person?

Then today on Facebook, a friend posted this article: Letting Your Guy Cheat May Save Your Relationship. I am exceedingly careful about what I post as many members of my family, including spouse and child can see my entire life. But I couldn't help but react:

hmmmm. I agree that monogamy is difficult, and that the occasional fling should be allowed. By both partners. If I wanna to go off and scratch an itch outside of my marriage bed, it should be allowed, if I am making such an allowance. The real intimacy here is emotional, not physical. So, if we can all agree to be honest with each other, then if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.

Or maybe, as the article suggests, those who cheat are simply weak and selfish. They want to have their cake and eat it too. Well, who doesn't? And in this instance, why shouldn't we? My husband has said many times that we were meant for many love mates, and one life mate. Some life mates stay passionate love mates all their lives. I really do envy that. Is there something wrong with me that I have not? Now, don't get the wrong idea. I am NOT having affairs. At all. I have, however, been known to allow guys I know and really like to steal a kiss from time to time. And under the influence I am a HUGE flirt. A menace, really.

I was about to say that I don't know how I'd feel if my husband indulged in that same behavior, but realized that isn't true. He has, and I've seen it. It is a little awkward, but I get it. I have never told him I've seen what I've seen. I figure he deserves the 'privacy.' Or is it respect? Not sure. Maybe just compassion. We should all be allowed to be happy. We should all be allowed to be honest about what we want and need. My problem is that I canNOT for the life of me talk to my partner about these things. Not that he isn't open, he is. He is not at all judgmental, and he loves me more than breathing. I just cannot give voice to that part of my nature. I can act it out, but I cannot verbally communicate it. Therein lies the rub.

r.

In Your Eyes....

2012-01-10T20:42:00.007-05:00

Love I get so lost, sometimes
days pass and this emptiness fills my heart
when I want to run away
I drive off in my car
but whichever way I go
I come back to the place you are

all my instincts, they return
and the grand facade, so soon will burn
without a noise, without my pride
I reach out from the inside

in your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches

—Peter Gabriel
(photo: a restless flycatcher in flight)

I have always loved this song. Of course, the image of John Cusack holding up a boombox playing this song to Ione Skye's bedroom window to win her over is forever etched into the minds of those of us of a certain age (can this movie really be 23 years old already?). Such longing. Such vulnerability. Such certainty of his young, idealistic love.

Yet when you actually read the lyrics, the singer is a lost man. He is nowhere near as complete as he is seen to be. He is restless, searching. He seems self aware, but unfulfilled. In your eyes, I am complete...oh, I want to be that complete. It is clear he loves his woman. That she is home to him.

I understand how he feels. The need for a secure home base. The feeling that while one may be flying, it seems to be right into the sides of the jar in which one feels trapped. Do I return "home" because of the security, and truth the truth of the actual home? Or is by default? In defeat? In acknowledgement of the failure to break out of the jar?

I recognize that one cannot be made complete by any external factor, whether it be material gain, a job, a lover, a child, or a pet. That has to come from within. Yet I search and I search and I search. All of my life, there has been this undercurrent of restlessness. Emotional wanderlust. I crave, and have created, a home. A place to which I return (and thus far have been welcomed), no matter what. I would like to think there was no tether. However, that isn't true. I am a quite literally a kite on a string. The string is long, but ever present. And I tug on that string all too often.

I am not looking for a new man. Or a new life. Maybe it is a sense of affirmation that I can still hang. That I am not getting old. That I am still beautiful. That I am desirable. To cover up fear. To have someplace to hide for a while. To prove I can fly, albeit into a wall. So, after I've (mis)behaved ridiculously, I come home. I look like hell, I skirt the truth about where I was or what I was doing, I apologize, and am forgiven. So far.

r.

Under The Influence

2010-01-13T10:17:00.010-05:00

I know the second I walk in the door. It is evident in his posture, the barely perceptible slackness in his face, the slight change in speech patterns, that he is in his cups. I ask him how far in he is, he says not even close. I know better. He becomes so much more impassioned in his viewpoints, shouting over any that oppose his. Though he isn't, he seems angry, and can easily become so if the rebuttal is too persistent.

Watchmen is on HBO, a story about which he is very passionate. Among other topics, it touches upon the Vietnam War, a subject he is now expounding upon vociferously to his son, as well as other references the child is too young to fully grasp. I remind the boy that he has homework and studying to do before winding down for the night, as much to get him to do his work as to remove him from his father's crosshairs. He isn't in any danger, but I don't like him experiencing his father this way. I try to keep my efforts from being obvious. The boy finishes his work, and heads for the shower.

With me, he is overly solicitous, maudlin in his expression of affection. This makes me uncomfortable so I retreat, but not too far. To do so would fill him with a sense of rejection which would make him either morose or defensive, depends on the day. Citing office work to finish up, I head to the bedroom but leave the door open. It is important to appear accessible. He comes in the room to impart the news of the day, then goes back to his movie. I wait for him to fall asleep in front of the TV, then quietly push the door closed.

I am no tea-totaler. In fact, after I finished my dinner I poured myself a glass of wine, and enjoyed it fully. One small glass from a bottle I opened 3 days ago, and still have not finished. There was no alteration of my personality or demeanor. Nothing to cause confusion or worry or discomfiture. That is not to say I haven't had nights of binge drinking that very much did cause these things--I have. And the child has seen some of it, much to my chagrin.

There is just something about being the only sober person in the room that makes the whole spectacle so damned sad. Every nuance of drunkenness stands out in stark relief. It makes me want to protect my child from it, and run from it at the same time. For me, it makes me consider more carefully my behavior under the influence, or perhaps ensure I stay just a bit less under the influence.

I Might Still Have Something to Say...

2010-01-08T13:28:00.004-05:00

I thought that perhaps I was out of words. Or maybe the words were no longer making sense. Or maybe there were just too many other distractions. Or maybe I just got too close to something too big to face. But lately, I find that I might just have something to say. That there are now words and thoughts to commit to pixels. Stories to tell. There are still too many distractions, but I am learning to manage them better. When last I visited this place, I was writing from a ego driven place--writing for the comments that would be left for me, and feasting my ego upon them. Since I have been away a full year, my "audience" is gone. I can write from a place that is more pure.

I have bits of me scattered all over the blog-scape and now Face Book. It is a funny thought, really. At one time, those bits would have been actual pieces of paper--letters and cards sent and received or journals kept. Now they are pixels. If someone pulled the plug, any evidence of my thoughts and stories would be lost forever. Having just really committed to that thought, I am unsure how I feel about it. Maybe I will print out the stories posted here, and put them in a binder of sorts. The posts I have written about my son are stories he has heard, and I am sure he knows how much I love him, but in years ahead, when I am no longer here, it might be meaningful for him to read them. Or to read the full measure of who his mother was at one point her her life. I don't think that is ego...I would have loved to have read my mother's words at any point in her life. It would have been illuminating to say the least--a part of her that was never accessible otherwise.

So, here I tentatively stick my toe back into the writing/journaling pool. This time, I think it is an extension of my yoga practice...just off the mat. We'll see. If I come face to face with a really big truth, I hope this time I have the courage to face it, rather than retreat.

Core Strength

2009-01-22T22:29:00.002-05:00

I recently experienced a new yoga instructor. I considered not attending the Friday noon thirty class any longer, as I really enjoyed the former teacher's style. He could be tough, and he had a wicked sense of humor. But I had two sessions left on my class card. So I attended her class. Her style was vastly different than what I expected. She was a little tough. A little gentle. Encouraging. And delivered one hell of a workout.

She emphasizes core strength. Several days after class I got to thinking about her emphasis on core strength. While I work out almost daily, and do core work, I don't concentrate on my belly and back. Arms, shoulders, chest and legs are easier to work, more obvious targets and visible results.

Then I extrapolated bodily core strength to personal core strength. That part of your personhood that forms your core, your sense of identity and boundaries. And all the other forms of strength. the external, easy obvious signs of strength. A bad ass attitude. A knack of taking too much on. The warped notion that I can fix things or people. That is not real strength. That is is not a strong core. That is strong legs, strong arms and shoulders and back. But one swift punch to the gut, and I would fold in. Too soft.

This needs thought. This needs work. Maybe I can work the body and spirit together.

r.

Seriously Lacking Motivation

2008-07-10T16:09:00.003-04:00

I've done my best to live the right way
I get up every morning and go to work each day
But your eyes go blind and your blood runs cold
Sometimes I feel so weak I just want to explode
Explode and tear this town apart
Take a knife and cut this pain from my heart
Find somebody itching for something to start

--Bruce Springsteen, The Promised Land

This pretty much sums it up, more or less. But I don't think I want to pick a fight. I'd probably just sit there and cry. It's been a rough few weeks. And let's just say I need to pay better attention to my actions, and how they are intended vs how they are perceived. As my grandmother pointed out to me decades ago, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

This is one part of my current malaise. The other is that there has been news out there in blog land that shook me to my core when I read it (late of course). There is something about love not being enough to see someone through that breaks my heart. Every time. Don't get me wrong, I don't believe in happily ever after in the fairy tale sense. But maybe I have always wanted love to be a salve. The right love to help heal the hurts. But it seems that again and again that is not the case. Maybe that is just ego. I don't know. I understand better now that one has to heal the hurts of their life under their own power. And the love that provides the strength for that is truly special and rare.

I sometimes wonder what, exactly, I am holding on to. And what would happen if I let go. Or if I have already let go on some level that I haven't quite yet admitted to my conscious self, even though I just typed these words. Guilt. Fear. Self incrimination. Blame. Shame. No way at all to live. Or is it all in my head? Wouldn't be the first time I over analyzed, when I should really just go to bed. But somehow this feel just a little different.

sigh.
r.

The Day I Stood Close to the Sun

2008-06-19T13:51:00.004-04:00

A week ago today, I enjoyed a delightfully small, vigorous yoga class. At the end of savasana, I leapt up and looked out the window to see whether my friend Sue had arrived at the Starbucks across the street. There she was. Striped skirt, lemon yellow tee. I hurried to get changed, and ran downstairs, zipped across 5th Avenue to meet a woman, who until then, I had only known through her writing. Well, that and the fact that we have several other blogging buddies in common. Is it not said that we are known by the company we keep?

The funny thing is that I knew Sue was coming at a least a month before she arrived. I knew we'd meet at around 7:30 in the Chelsea/Flatiron district of Manhattan. Did I scout out a suitable spot to sit for a drink or nosh? Nope. So, as much as I think I like to have a plan, I guess I truly am a seat of the pants kind of gal.

We walked around around Madison Square Park, named for President James Madison, and the origin of Madison Avenue. I asked Sue if she had any preferences. She didn't, other then a stiff drink. Done and done! We wound up at a place called A Voce. It had a wonderful looking outdoor seating area (while I didn't plan an actual venue, I DID envision an outdoorish pub). We knew it would be expensive just by the look of it, but didn't want to wander much further. And really, in that area, it wouldn't matter...it's ALL expensive.

Upon being seated, we were presented with menus, cocktail menus and a wine list. It was absolutely huge. Sue suggested we guess what the most expensive bottle would cost. I, trying to appear as urbane as the city I was showing off, guessed around $800. Sue laughed, saying she was thinking $250 to 300. Sue has a fantastic picture of how wrong we were on her blog. You can also visit here to be regaled by their Wine Spectator rated cellars. Truly how the other half lives!

Sue ordered a Cosmo, I ordered one of their own gin creations that tasted like pink grapefruit. Very refreshing. We shared a fresh ricotta and warm bread appetizer, and set about getting to know each other better. We talked about blogging buddies we follow, and how great it would be to meet them all. Big life changes. Culture shock. Traveling, kids, marriage in general. It was a fantastic experience. We settled up, and walked across town to the 8th Avenue line. I misjudged it by a few blocks, sorry, Sue, I know you walked your feet off and didn't need that extra 3 blocks...but it allowed the conversation to continue. Sue was the smart one...she brought a camera to document the event. Here we are on the C train headed uptown. We would part at Times Square to return each to our own waiting husbands and sleeping kids.

It really is amazing to meet someone you've only read. What we write in our spaces is full of who we are as people: Our joys, our inspirations, the things with which we struggle, or maybe just news. In my virtual travels, I am reminded again and again of how similar we all are. Not nearly as disparate beings as we sometimes make ourselves out to be. It is a different sense of connectedness in this milieu than we experience with our circle of friends and family, but just as vital in some ways. This was my first experience with matching the actual to the virtual, and I sincerely hope it will not by my last.

r.

Warrior I?

2008-06-18T11:33:00.003-04:00

An angry, armed mob made two attempts to forcibly enter my home to find something or someone they thought, and indeed I was, hiding. Both times I was able to push them out. I am not sure who the would be invaders were, or what exactly I was protecting.

Upon vanquishing them the second time, I shouted, "This is my sovereign home!"

Those words seemed to either have some significance, or otherwise gave away my guilt because they caught the attention of the departing pirates, "Your WHAT?!?!"

I stood proud, victorious in my doorway. I threw down a red sheet or cloak that fluttered down the two or more story height at which I was standing. A moment later, another sheet, or was it a robe? came fluttering down from above me.

Then I awoke...bewildered.

I am Christopher's Mom

2008-06-16T11:22:00.003-04:00

Twelve years ago this moment (it is now 11:20am EDT) I was in my 11th (out of a total of 14) hour of labor with my beloved son. He was taking his time coming into the world, and let me tell you, nothing much has changed in that regard! We didn't know until around noon or so that he was actually breach, and there was no way in hell he was going to be born in the conventional way. Upon seeing my little intrauterine Buddha on the sonogram screen, my OB's words were, "Prep the OR."

To which I responded, "I can't have surgery, it's my birthday!"

Which had to do with absolutely nothing at all. The OR was prepped, the child was delivered. He was silent upon coming into the world. Since I was behind a surgical paper tent, I could not see the child, and was absolutely terrified by his silence. Essentially, I made my OB make my son cry, so that I could be assured that he was breathing. But the second the stimuli was removed, he resumed his quiet. My husband was sitting at my right shoulder, which was literally tied down. Someone handed him my newborn son. He was beautiful. His dark blue eyes were open wide as he beheld his father. His hair was matted with goo, and though blonde, appeared quite dark. His skin was peaches and cream fair. But mostly what I remember is his big, open eyes looking at his father in complete silence.

I was so very full of my new mother self, walking him through the neighborhood. He was not even a week old. My belly stitched by not yet healed. I actually walked into my parish church to present my child to the almighty saying the words, "This is my beloved son, in whom I am well pleased." Of course I prayed for his protection, as well. Now, on my yoga mat, the intention for my practice is almost always Christopher's peace and well being.

From infancy until around the time he was eighteen months old, Christopher didn't really cry much. He was a placid, happy baby. He rarely had to cry when hungry, his schedule was my sixth sense. He was, however, a picky eater. And he didn't sleep through the night until I forced the issue when he was 14 months old. By that time, I was going on 2+ years without even once sleeping through the night. It was taking a serious toll on my personality!

At around 18th months of age, we started a two year battle with ear infections. My poor baby! The fevers. The pain. The fucking medicine!! That child was miserable for such a long time. How we got through it, I'll never know. But they stopped as suddenly as they started, with no damage to his hearing, thank God. He's been really healthy ever since.

Today, he is a smart, wickedly funny kid who struggles with math. He is a little dorky and awkward, a trait from both his parents. He is empathetic. Somewhat excitable. I am so proud of the young man he is becoming. And I miss the infant that he was, when I could make everything all better with a hug, a snuggle, one more round of Goodnight Moon.

I am so grateful I share this day with him. It is almost like a secret language of twins. My son. My joy. The one and only force in this world that truly made me put someone else first, without thought or reserve. It is ironic, really, that he came into the world on my birthday. I always put so much stock in 'my' day. Don't get me wrong, I still really like my birthday. But now, I view it more as a passing of the torch. To step back, and watch him shine is truly my greatest gift both to give and receive.

I love you, my son. I am so very proud to be your mother.

r.

Winding Down

2008-06-10T11:58:00.002-04:00

The end of another school year and baseball season are near. The school year has been much more successful this year than last, but still, it will be nice for all of us to have a break from the homework wars. This summer we can just enjoy camp, some review, a couple of book reports and the beach. Thank the Maker, we've earned it.

Sadly, the baseball season is also winding down. Christopher plays his next to last game tonight, unless, of course, the threatened thunderstorms materialize. We had a make-up game last Sunday that was called in the third inning due to thunderstorms. With the heatwave we are experiencing, it will be a welcome relief, but it will wreak havoc with baseball season. His last game is scheduled for Friday the 13th, and the All Star game is Sunday, Father's day. His team is 5-3 and 1, if Sunday's game is not counted--good enough for third place. If the league considers the rain-shortened game official, then they are 5-4 and 1 with 2 games to go. A playoff berth is on the line here, and I hope they make it. His team last year missed the post season by one run.

Christopher had his first hit that wasn't a foul ball this year. It was an infield hit, and while he advanced the runner, he was thrown out at first. He received the game ball two weeks ago for the most walks on the team. His batting average is a goose egg, but his on-base percentage is phenomenal! Last year you couldn't pay him to swing at the ball. This year, he'll swing, but not at bad pitches. His fielding and throwing has also improved. He really wants to pitch at some point, so I think I'll work with him to do that. Maybe get him some lessons somewhere.

One our our biggest complaints last year and this was with the umpiring. Most games, our umpire is this old school, blind as a bat curmudgeon. If a kid says the word, "damn" he is thrown out--given how the ump calls balls and strikes, I don't see how you can fault a kid for a stray "damn!" If a player takes a leaf off the base while the pitcher is in his wind up, he is thrown out. But the man can't call balls and strikes to save his life. He also flubs calls on kids running the bases. Eagle eye Frank is his name. I think he has favorite kids, teams and coaches. I have learned to keep my mouth shut, but I do admit to harboring truly foul thoughts towards him. So, imagine my guilt when I learned on Saturday that the man is in the hospital with blood clots in his legs. This after he just buried his brother. Sheesh. Yep. I'm a heel. He's still blind, but I'm a heel!!

r.

The Best I Could?

2008-05-29T14:50:00.006-04:00

I was at my girlfriend's house, sitting around the kitchen table with a mutual friend a couple of years ago. We were enjoying some wine and cheese, and time out of our lives. I don't remember what we were talking about, or how the subject came up, but one of them said something along the lines of, "Well, she did the best she could." I have always considered that line to be a lame excuse at best, and a cop out at worst, so I proceeded to make my opinion known, in no uncertain terms. I did a pretty good job of putting a pall on the entire evening. My diatribe was perceived as an attack, and was viewed as inappropriate...out of proportion with the topic at hand, and all about me.

Recently, I thought I had reconciled myself to a kinder approach to "The Best I Could." But now I am not so sure. It seems to me one can say they did their best, but still have the effort fall far short of satisfactory. It also seems to me, on the few occasions I have allowed those words to come out of my mouth, if I really thought about it, I could have done better. I could have taken more time. Been more patient. Used a kinder tone of voice. Chosen better words. Put forth more effort. Paid more attention.

This applies to personal interactions as well as assigned tasks. Then the question becomes was it the best that could have been done at that time in space with what was available? Is one's seemingly best effort assailable only in retrospect? Do we, when in the middle of something, stop and ask ourselves is this the best I can do, then make any necessary adjustments? I know that I very often do not have the presence of mind to stop mid stream for such introspection, and adjust accordingly. So, no, I didn't do the best I could do.

Such a claim is made as a defensive posture, an attempt to deflect the slings and arrows of criticism, or a denial of responsibility. What response can be made to such a statement that isn't a direct attack on the claimant's integrity? Conversely, what hope does anyone have of ascertaining necessary answers to major questions when such a defense is mounted?

We may set the intention every day to do the best we can do. But, I believe in our rush to get though tasks big and small, we gloss over the details. We forget to slow down and pay the proper attention, or be present enough to evaluate our efforts as we are putting them forward. We then bristle at being called out on our shortcomings and play the 'best I could' card.

So. I didn't do the best I could have done. I didn't listen well enough. I put forth far less effort than I was capable of. I was rushed. I reacted before I thought or felt. I was closed off and unavailable for any number of reasons, both real and perceived. I am aware of it. I will not offer excuses. I will not take refuge in something that leaves me feeling dishonest and you feeling unsatisfied. I am learning, however, how do do better. To come closer to my best. To better align my best with the ideal best that can be done in life. It is pride that makes us proffer the shield of 'I did the best I could.' It takes humility and courage to come to terms with the fact that your best just wasn't good enough.

r.

My Favorite Flower

2008-05-16T15:10:00.003-04:00

This is one of my favorite flowers. I love it in its wild form (maianthemum canadense or Canadian Mayflower) as well as its horticultural form (convallaria majalis). The dainty white belled flowers are beautiful, and I particularly enjoy their sweet yet subtle fragrance. I don't see them that often where I live, so when I was walking home from the gym, and spotted them the other night, I could not resist picking a sprig. Both varieties bloom in early May, and last only a short time.

Wild lily of the valley with bunch berry (sometimes called dog wood)

Horticultural lily of the valley. Frequently used as ground cover.

In college, I took a plant taxonomy course as part of my Environmental Studies major. The summer before the semester began, we were sent home with flower presses. Our assignment was to go through the woods, meadows, and shorelines where ever we were and take samples of wild flowers, and preserve them using the press. It was the summer of 1986, and I was living in Machias, Maine at the time. I remember finding varieties of dandelion-like composites I didn't know existed, and flowers in the lily family that took my breath away, some of them quite rare. It was on one of my treks in the woods that I came across wild lily of the valley and bunch berry. When the fall semester began, we took our preserved flowers and by way of delicate dissections identified them. Trying to get a look at the ovaries of a tiny flower to ascertain the shape, sometimes the tie breaker in identifying one variety from another, was challenging to say the least.

As a Mother's Day gift the following May, I mounted my remaining samples of lily of the valley on acid free paper, and framed it. My mother loved it, as did I. Enough so that I have considered collecting and preserving some flowers, and mounting them for myself.

r.

I'm Workin' on It

2008-05-15T08:46:00.002-04:00

I am working on a post or three. Just needed some quiet time to sort it out.

Right now, I am off to Shea Stadium to chaperon a school trip to the ball park for a meteorological presentation and ball game. Last season before the wrecking ball takes it down, so damned skippy this born and bred Mets fan is goin'!!

r.

On How to Be a Girl

2008-05-06T09:52:00.002-04:00

For the last year and a half I have worn my hair very, very short. It is practical, minimizes the gray, and gives my face no place to hide. Until recently, I have received mostly compliments, some women saying they wish they had the nerve to cut their hair this short. Over the past 2 months, however, I have had encounters where I was told I look like a guy or a boy. Saturday afternoon, even my husband remarked that I look like a boy, but with a great ass (nice save, dear). But by far, my most interesting encounter was with a little girl in a laundromat about a week and a half ago.

While my neighborhood is experiencing a demographic shift from more traditional ethnic families to young professionals priced out of Manhattan, there are still many of the old timers that remain. These are mostly Greek, Latin, Indian, Asian and Albanian families, all of which have some very deep rooted gender roles passed from one generation to the next.

Last Sunday, I breezed into the laundromat to put in the last load of wash. A little girl was sitting on a window sill next to a pair of small load washing machines while her mother folded a freshly dry load of laundry. She was probably around 5 years old, had big brown eyes and slightly longer than shoulder length hair with bangs. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a pink shirt. As soon as she saw me, she asked me if I was a girl. I must admit, I was a little annoyed, as it was the third time in about two weeks that I had to defend my appearance. But this was a little girl, so I held my tongue and checked my tone of voice. I assured her that I was indeed a girl, removing my jacket to make myself more visible. The conversation continued...

"Well, why do you have short hair?"

"Because I chose to cut it short so that it isn't in the way when I exercise."

"But boys have short hair."

"Yes, they do. But Girls can have short hair too. There is no one or right way to be a girl. Girls can have long hair or short hair. Girls can have muscles or not have muscles. Girls can become moms or not become moms. They can go to work or they can stay home. There are many, many ways to be a girl. You get to choose what kind of girl you want to be. No one can tell you how to be a girl."

Then I asked her, "Do boys sometimes have long hair?"

"Yes."

"Does that make them girls?"

"No."

"No, it doesn't. It makes them boys with long hair. Just like I am a girl with short hair. More than one way to be a girl, and you get to choose how."

I was speaking very softly while I worked next to this girl. I didn't want to scare her, and I didn't want her called away until I was finished.

"You can do anything a boy can do, if you want to. Don't let anyone tell you you can't. I have short hair. I am a mom. I am strong. I am the kind of girl I want to be. I chose. Always remember you can choose."

Her mother was either finished folding, or had an inkling that we were talking and came to investigate. I assured her that we were fine. The child was not bothering me. Isn't it funny that as parents, we assume that our children are annoying another adult with whom they are interacting? I finished loading the machine, put in the soap and went back upstairs. The girl was gone when I returned for my clothes. I wonder if she will remember my words.

r.

One Hundred Posts Later...

2008-05-05T14:59:00.004-04:00

I just so happened to look over at the sidebar of my blog and noticed that this will be my one hundredth post. It has taken me nearly 2 full years to reach this milestone. It seems I progress in fits and starts. Since I have been feeling somewhat reflective since I awoke, I will indulge myself here.

My second post was a short missive pondering the significance of turning forty. A few weeks ago I wrote about waiting. There is a pattern here, but I think there is also some actual progress as well. I don't spend as much time waiting as I once did, but there is still some work to be done.

There is a transformation going on, I can feel it. But there are times when I feel as if I have taken two steps forward and one step back. On my darker days, I am convinced that I have taken one baby step forward and two giant steps back. I have attained a greater sense of calm. But I continue to hide from painful things rather than confront and vanquish them. It really is quite ridiculous that a fear of loss and pain compel me to hide resulting in the very loss and pain that I fear. More ridiculous still is the ability to articulate the problem, and not actually solve it in a meaningful way.

Within the past year or two, I have found myself peeling layers of stuff away, both in physical and metaphysical terms. On the physical side, I used to wear fairly dramatic eyeliner, have hair to my waist, more than a few extra pounds and three rings stacked on the third finger of my left hand. Today, a little mascara, less hair than most men, a lean physique and one thin gold band is all that is left. I hoard fewer possessions than I once did as well...no mean task when one lives with a pack rat!!

Mentally, the same sort of paring down is happening as well, but it feels somewhat superficial. Like picking away the outer edges of a week old scab...those pieces are ready to come off, and take very little effort to remove. But when you work your way toward the center of the wound, the scab is not so willing to come away...sometimes it hurts, sometimes it bleeds. So you stop picking, maybe for a day or more, until that part has healed a little more, and the painless picking can resume.

When I was a child, I picked scabs with reckless abandon, giving no thought at all to the scars I was creating as I reopened wounds again and again. But those were only my knees, not my soul. As life goes on, I have learned that I need to approach some wounds with a little more care. Perhaps some salve. Some I am afraid to touch yet. I know it will hurt, and fear the pain more than the canker itself. I am trying to move away from a fear based life, as again and again I discover that my fear of the thing is almost always bigger than the thing itself.

There are some really big things on my plate right now:

• My son is rapidly approaching adolescence. I want to walk through it with him in such a way that we come out the other side as two adults who would choose to spend time together, rather than that awkward obligatory mother/child relationship.

• I have some friendships that need some work. I am harboring some hurt and grudges to some extent. It needs to be addressed. I have to decide how I want to address it. Should fences be mended to best extent possible, recognizing that somethings you just never come all the way back from, or should I just let them go. Either way, the loss is significant.

• I need to be a better cousin, niece, sister and aunt. Call. Write. Understand that no one can read my mind to know that I am actually thinking of, caring about and loving them.

• I need to figure out how to better exist in my marriage: how to be more present, more caring, more patient. We used to walk side by side, but Brian always knew I was adjusting my pace to match his, or reminded me to do just that. Somewhere along the line, that stopped, and when we looked up, I was a quarter mile up the road. Brian feels left behind. I feel held back. This dynamic is creating feelings of resentment and jealousy. Not healthy at all.

In someways I feel like an athlete playing through an injury. Every day, I show up to the game, and some days, I make a pretty good play. While it is clear that I am not performing at a hundred percent, being sidelined is not an option. Would that it were. I'd go someplace really quiet, but not necessarily solitary. But maybe that is an illusion...that healing time has to happen outside the daily demands of life. Maybe it is through the daily demands of life, practice as it were, that we heal, grow and strengthen. But when your natural tendency is to burrow in rather than stretch out, it can be difficult to just get out of your own way!

____________

In other news:

--> Christopher's baseball team is undefeated (3 and 0) so far. His Cardinals actually mercied the Astros 13-2 (in his league, games are declared over when one team is beating the other by more than 10 runs).

--> Brian's birthday was last Tuesday. We had the party on Saturday night. A good time was had by all. We thought we'd have the weekend kid free, but alas, Christopher's Boy Scout troop canceled their camping trip.

--> Christopher brought home an absolutely stellar progress report last week. His math grade is still a little weak, but I think we can bring it up before the end of the year.

--> Brian's 42 and a half year old sister, mother to our 18 year old nephew, just gave birth to a brand new baby girl, Alexis Juliana. She is the only girl born to this generation, so nope, she's not gonna be spoiled...nahh.

r.

Let the Games Begin!

2008-04-21T08:39:00.005-04:00

The ICYP baseball season has begun! Opening day ceremonies were Saturday morning, and included a parade through the neighborhood that started and ended at the playing field. Last year we had a marching band leading the throng, and keeping some semblance of time. This year, due to some changes in the league administration, we did not. We had these instead:

Back on the field, we were led in the Pledge of Allegiance and Stars Spangled Banner by the commissioner. Local politicians speechified. Sponsors gave their commercial messages and encouragement. First pitches were thrown out. The smell of hot dogs filled the air.

It was a gorgeous day to play baseball! Not a cloud in the sky, temperatures in the mid 70s. Perfect. There were a total of 3 games going at noontime on Saturday. Most other teams begin either midweek or next Saturday. Chris was one of the lucky ones. His team, the Cardinals, played the Mets to a 11-2 victory.

In his season debut, Christopher struck out twice and drew a walk. He also was a pinch runner, coming home on a huge base hit. No one made any really awful plays on the field, and there were a couple of real gems. The rust will be completely off in the next couple of weeks. There are around 14 kids on the roster, so outfield positions, especially, are rotated throughout the game. Chris played right for the first 2 innings.

Christopher joined the team a little late this year, participating in his first practice Friday afternoon. The rest of the team had practiced about 3 times before. One of Christopher's old school buddies, Teddy, is on the team this year, and his dad, a friend of ours, is one of the coaches. He will take Christopher under his wing, and get him up to speed in a hurry. He is a middle school teacher, and loves working with this age group. We played against Ted a couple of times last year. He plays on the CYO baseball and basketball leagues as well. Needless to say, he is pretty good! His dad signed him up for pitching lessons this year.

Christopher's next game is next Saturday. I need to make a note to remember sunscreen. I remembered water, and bubble gum for the dugout Saturday, but not sunscreen. Since were were out doors from around 9:15am until around 3ish, we we all pretty red by Saturday evening, but a decent shade of tan by Sunday morning. I have a farmer tan, dammit. Now my shoulders will never catch up! Sigh.

Yep, once again, Mom's an eeejit.

r.

A New Job, Schedule Changes, Yoga and Baseball

2008-04-16T09:41:00.015-04:00

Brian started his new job Monday. He is an assistant cook for a senior citizens group run by the Hellenic Association. Originally, he was to start on April 7th. Sometime in late March, that was changed to April 21st. Last Wednesday he received a call in which the HR person said, "See you Monday." Now, I, being ever so quick on the uptake, didn't process that to mean Monday the 14th. I thought they meant Monday the 21st. Well, guess again. Ideally, I like to have a little time to process the ramifications of a change. What time do we all need to get up? What time will I need to leave the house? What time will I get to work? When will I get my yoga classes in? I had about 4 hours to figure this out on Sunday night when it hit me that Yes, Rebecca, Monday starts the new schedule.

Normally, I left the house at either 6am for yoga or 7am for work, and Brian took Christopher to school. Now, the whole house is up by 6am. Brian's work hours are 7am to 2pm. Chris school bell rings at 8:05. There is a before school program that begins at 7:30. Brian leaves the house at 6:50 to walk across the street and down the block to his new gig. Chris and I leave the house at 7:10 so that I can walk him to school while grabbing a cup of piping hot coffee from Starbucks. We then proceed another block and a half, where I get my kiss good-bye on an otherwise deserted block, and Chris goes the other half a block while I watch until the door of the school closes behind him. I then get on the train to work. I really think this walk will be a good thing for us over the long haul. We talk and laugh and occasionally complain. It may only be fifteen to twenty minutes, but as they say, quality, not quantity, and it definitely seems like quality time for us.

This is only the third day of this new schedule, but all seems to be going fairly well. I was expecting some entropy last night, as I had to switch to evening yoga, and didn't get home until around 8:15. That is normal for Monday and Friday nights, but not Tuesdays and Thursdays. But again, all was well. Brian made me a supper of chicken breast and salad that was really good. I cleaned up the dishes, Chris got in the shower. Lights out at Chez Rebecca at 10:30. Huh. THAT never happens!!

Now, a word or two about evening yoga. HOLY SHIT. Same instructor. Same studio. That's where the similarities begin and end. Morning classes are an hour and fifteen. Since I want the same instructor, I now attend the 6pm class, which is an hour and a half. The extra fifteen minutes MATTER. Just when you're ready for closing series and savasana, another whole new series of poses is struck. When the lights do go down for savasana, and the sun is on the descent, it is entirely possible to just drift off to sleep! In the morning class there were a couple of students who I thought were amazing. There were two women in the 6pm class that moved in ways I didn't think humanly possible. What is really surprising is that I didn't feel my usual sense of inferiority creep in to steal my confidence. That is huge for me. My confidence was bolstered by the fact that I accomplished two different versions of arm stand, without my shoulders sinking to the point that my head hit the ground. And I accomplished the crow pose, and nearly held the flying crow pose. So the chick with her knee behind her shoulder didn't bother me one bit :) We did joke that our husbands would enjoy a web cam of the event (my heel was behind my head at the time). And I'm two months shy of my 42nd birthday, people!! HA!! Take THAT, birthday!

Last night we got a call from the ICYP coach. We were late in registering Chris for baseball this year, and were worried that he might not be able to play. Brian told me not to worry, as he knows the commissioner, and sure enough, Chris has a spot. He begins practice on Friday, and probably has a game on Saturday. The coach wanted to talk to Brian about Christopher's strengths and weaknesses, what position he played last year and with which team/coach. Guess we are going to have to move his Saturday therapist appointment, but we don't yet know when we can schedule it. We need the rest of his practice and game schedule to make that decision. Sheesh, we don't even know which team he's on this year! Guess that will be revealed on Friday. From the sounds of it though, this team, or at least the coach, might be more competitive than that which he had last year.

I am repeatedly reminded that the only thing constant in this world is change. Thank goodness these changes are positive thus far.

r.

Springtime Splendor

2008-04-13T18:49:00.010-04:00

Saturday was our first 70 degree day since October of last year. Christopher was up at West Point with the Boy Scouts for some orienteering training.

Brian and I decided to go to The Central Park Conservatory Gardens to see what was in bloom. If you ever find yourself in Manhattan in Spring or Summertime, it is a place you should not miss. The main gate is on Fifth Avenue at around 103rd Street. Before our rather impromptu wedding at City Hall, we planned to wed here. In fact, we saw a bridal party having their pictures taken.

The forcythia was in a shadier spot, so while it should bloom first, it lagged a little behind.

The magnolias were in full glory, filling the air with their heady fragrance.

This white tree was also in full bloom. I don't know what it is. Its fragrance is much more subtle.

All manner of bulb and small flowers were up. We plan to go back next weekend with Chris. By then the azaleas should be in bloom, as well as some of the other flowering trees.

We traveled downtown to the east village for Indian foods, and a walk along St. Marks Place. We walked up to Union Square to walk off a delicious dinner to find the farmer's market closing up shop. Chris came home around the same time we did. We had a wonderful evening exchanging stories of our adventures.

r.

Anticipation

2008-04-11T10:10:00.004-04:00

Remembering. Waiting. Anticipating. None of these allow a person to be fully present for the moment in which they are living. But like any habit or behavior pattern, it is damned hard to break.

I've never been one to spend much time tromping down memory lane. I didn't have one of those childhoods that one wants to run back to. I spent that time just waiting. Waiting for it to be over. Waiting to be an adult. Waiting to be the one in control. That changed somewhat when I had my son. Over the last eleven and a half years, when I see either an expectant mother or an infant, and I remember the feeling of expecting my son, and then pride and joy borne of bringing forth this miraculous new life. I remember every expression on his tiny face, every change in breath, every stage and accomplishment. I mentally send new mothers the message not to wish time away. Trace Adkins just released a single that expresses it well:

You're gonna' miss this
You're gonna' want this back
You're gonna' wish these days
Hadn't gone by so fast
These are some good times
So take a good look around
You may not know it now
But you're gonna' miss this

It is a good reminder to live in the moment. To drink it all in, and be fully present. (And yes, I do like sappy songs.)

I admit I am not good at it. I am a waiter. An anticipater. My brain figures that if I wait long enough, what I want will happen. Or things will change. I hardly ever give up the wait, as I am convinced that if I walk away, I will have missed it. Or given up. And Lord knows I can't give up. When I first met my husband, he would go to the comic book store or where ever, and I would wait for him. And wait. And wait, long past what would be considered reasonable (or good manners, for that matter). I thought that if I didn't wait, he would walk away from me. I also thought that the moment I abandoned the wait would be the moment he showed up. So what’s 5 more minutes? 10? Maybe I also thought that he would see some virtue in me for waiting, not matter how long. Yes, I was guilty of a little bit of martyrdom, saving the reproach for some time later. What I didn't see at the time was how it devalued me. I didn’t see the part of me that I was giving up.

That is not to imply waiting it is an entirely passive thing. Seems to me there are at least two kinds of waiting. There is the waiting that is just biding one's time. I did that through my adolescence. I knew there would be a day when my sentence would be served. Nothing to be done for it but wait it out. In this form of waiting, you know the endpoint. Then there is the kind of waiting that is borne of hoping something will happen. Waiting/hoping for parental approval. Waiting/hoping that certain someone will notice you. Or miss you enough to reach out. Or remember that you are waiting for him to finish up in the comic book store. With this, you don't have any knowledge or control of the end point. This is an active kind of waiting. One can spend a lifetime in this wait. I very nearly have.

In some ways this waiting thing I do distracts me from what is happening in the now nearly to the point of not really being able to remember what happened in that moment. There is no recall because I wasn't paying enough attention. You can tell me I did or said something, and I have no memory of it at all because, at that time, I was waiting, or maybe hoping for something else. There are things for which I have waited that did happen. Those are the things I remember most vividly. When I was accepted into the college of my choice, graduated high school, left home, had my son. The first time I truly tasted desire, and had it matched. Ah, but that doesn’t count. It left me wanting and waiting for more, and that is forbidden.

There are things for which I have learned not to wait, and frankly it took a lot to get there. I used to want my husband to do things with me, and wait for him to do so. If he didn’t want to, he didn’t. Period. I remember warning him that there would come a day when I wouldn’t wait for him, or ask him along. I remember seeing that as a form of disengagement that I found frightening. Now, I do things on my own, that I wouldn’t have 15 or 20 years ago. I go to the gym or track or to see friends. Things I wanted to do with Brian years ago, but in which he had no interest, and no desire to feign it no matter how many times I went to the comic book store and waited. I still see this is a form of disengagement that scares me. I see a part of me looking for an active partner; someone with whom to share interest and excitement and ideas.

There is a certain amount of chick and egg syndrome inherent in this. Does the waiting fuel the dissatisfaction, or does the dissatisfaction fuel the waiting. That is the rub. Once I identify the origin of the cycle, maybe I can break it. But I imagine some fairly uncomfortable truths would have to rise to the surface, faced and vanquished one way or the other. What’s ironic is that I never make people wait for me, in terms of time, anyway. I’m never late. It, I have come to learn, is both because I a: respect the other person’s time, and b: somehow never feel I am worthy of the wait. But, I have made Brian wait for me to let down my defenses. While I don't spend much time remembering my past, I am bound by it. He waits. For me to let him in. And I am sure it is just as cold where he waits as where I have waited. Ah, the impasse. Maybe we are just waiting each other out. Maybe that is the uncomfortable, unspoken truth.

r.

Long Talks, Good Books and Dim Sum

2008-04-07T15:18:00.006-04:00

These are just a few of my favorite things!

Friday afternoon, I snuck out of the office a few minutes early to get to the gym. I wanted to get a full work out in before starting the evening. Then I realized that it really didn't matter--Christopher would be at Youth night at school until 9pm, and my body was determined to undermine my good intentions. Oh well, can't win them all. Still got out of work early, and that is good enough for me.

On my way home I called an old friend, with whom I hadn't connected all week. It is highly unusual for us not to talk or email at least once a week, so I wanted to make sure all was well. I had last seen him the prior Saturday at a friends bon voyage party. For the first time in years, I became that person engrossed in conversation walking down the street, then paying for a bottle of wine, etc. I don't think I have ever done that before, but I wanted some one on one time, uninterrupted by family demands. I wound up having a 3+ hour conversation. Food for the soul, I tell you!

Saturdays we take Christopher to his therapist, and afterwards, tromp around Barnes & Noble for a while. I love Saturday afternoons in the book store. Last week, I picked up my Yoga magazines. This week, a copy of Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri. I saw that it had really good reviews, so thought I'd give it a read. Christopher caught up on his graphic novel reads, and Brian held a tutorial for older kids on comic book history and lore. We grabbed some lunch, and enjoyed a nice afternoon.

Saturday night I had the unexpected pleasure of seeing someone other than the person I set out to see. We were invited to a birthday celebration for a girlfriend of ours. We decided that I'd go, and Brian would stay home with Chris. At the appointed hour, I headed to Bleecker Bar, took a look around, and not seeing the guest of honor, went back outside to call her and wait a few minutes. Much to my surprise, I see another of our friends, went back inside, had a drink as his buddies began to arrive. These people are all anywhere from 5 to 12 years younger than I. We were talking about Facebook, and what the point of the whole thing is, admitting that, yes, we both have an account with them, but still. I told him I felt sure that I was beyond the upper demographic they were trying to reach. He said, no way, I'm older than you. I laughed, and asked his age. He said he just turned 37, and was truly surprised when I told him I was about to turn 42. When I finished my drink and said my goodbyes, he said, I still think you look 35. I was tickled!!

Sunday all three of us had a dim sum brunch in Flushing in celebration of another buddy's 42nd birthday. I haven't had dim sum in ages, and forgot just how much fun it is. It was an endless parade of small yummy Chinese goodies. Dumplings of every description. Noodles. Greens I'd not heard of. And a table full of old dear friends, and a couple of new ones. I am looking forward to seeing those photos. This one was from the review on Yelp.com. Christopher and Connor sat together and kept each other entertained without requiring too much adult intervention. Chris then went over to his friend's house, allowing us to run errands, shop and do laundry. All in all it was a very nice weekend.

The forcythia is blooming with a vengeance. Some of the fruit bearing trees are bursting as well. Spring really is my favorite time of year. Watching the earth slowly rouse itself from its long slumber renews my soul. It seems every day there is something new to see or smell. Like a bride on her receiving line, nature presents us with these gifts. It is for this reason that I do not begrudge the winter. Without it, I would be the poorer. Spring reminds me of hope, of potential, of life. So all through this muddy, changeable season, you will find me smiling.

r.

My Boy is Growing Up

2008-04-01T14:43:00.003-04:00

I knew the day would come. It was inevitable, the boy's nearly 12, after all. Monday, I walked Christopher to school because my husband had to drive Nikko to the airport. We enjoyed a pretty easy morning, and the started out the door early enough that we would not be pressed for time.

Once we got to the corner of his school, Christopher said to me, "Mom, I'm going to go on up ahead."

"Well, ok, here, give me a kiss goodbye," I said, and he did. On the lips. In public. I smiled broadly inside.

"Do you want me to come to the school yard, or just leave you here?" I asked, thinking hmmm.

"Just leave me here, mom, your train is closer here than the school yard!" He started off at a quicker pace.

"OK." So, I waited until I saw him make the turn into the school yard, and went on my way to Starbucks and the train station.

Beginning on the 21st, I will take him to school every morning to the before school program. I guess I'll be leaving him at the corner, watching to see him go in the door. Fine. As long as I get my kiss.

r.

Lion? Lamb? Guess it Depends Where You Are

2008-03-31T13:37:00.007-04:00

I know that Spring officially arrives on the 20th or 21st day of March. But any date that begins with the word March doesn't really seem to count as an official spring day. Especially here in New York this year. It has been a downright chilly month. As I type this, it is 45 gray, raw, rainy degrees. The weekend was clear, chilly and windy. April will open much the same, though we might flirt with 60 degrees. I guess you could say March came and left much the same....nasty!

All that aside, yesterday was opening day for Major League Baseball, and nothing says Spring quite like those two little words bellowed for the first time, "Play Ball!" The Washington Nationals vs the Atlanta Braves in Washington's new stadium. What I really like about the stadium is that it seemingly has not (yet?) sold its naming rights. It is Nationals Park. I really hope it stays that way, though that is probably naive. An opera singer belted out the National Anthem, a capella. There were fireworks, but no flyover. I was not impressed. She was flat, her inhales were loud and raspy. And did I mention No Flyover? I felt cheated. President Bush ascended the mound to a loud, raucous chorus of boos to throw out the ceremonial first pitch. I found that somewhat surprising. The Nats won their home opener. The Yankees open their season today against Toronto at The Stadium in the rain, and my Mets kick it off in Florida against the Marlins.

My nephew, Nikko, wound up extending his stay through this morning, though we didn't see much of him from Thursday night onward. We went out for Thai food that night. Christopher loves it, and Nikko found that he could take it or leave it. He also learned the importance of actually reading menu items completely. He ordered a red curry dish with squid. He wanted it spicy, but didn't realize it contained coconut milk. He doesn't like coconut. Other than that, Nikko, how was dinner ;) He then went over to his other aunt's house for a few days. Brian picked him up last night, and took him to the airport this morning. Yep, Brian's Hotel and Airport Service, open for business.

We had Christopher's friend Connor with us Friday, and the boys worked it out that he would sleep over. Brian went to his buddy's house, so I had 2 twelve year olds to myself. Well, let me tell you, when you have 2 twelve year old boys around, it is a never ending preadolescent dick joke fest. You can't say ANYTHING about round spherical bouncy objects without them dissolving into paroxysms of giggles. Complete fascination with their genitalia. OY. Be gone, boys, and YES, for the love of GOD you can play your video games!! But really, they were great. I just laughed, poured another glass of wine, and watched Grey's Anatomy reruns.

Saturday afternoon, we took a drive out to Oyster Bay. I used to work in that hamlet from November 1999 through August 2004. It is a lovely little town, just not very accessible by public transport...a vestige of Robert Moses' planning that is very difficult to change. I took the Long Island Rail Road two hours each direction to get to work. It was a stunning train ride. It was like running away from home every day, such a different dynamic than commuting into a bustling urban megalopolis.

We visited Theodore Roosevelt Memorial Park, where I used to walk nearly every day, and drove up to Sagamore Hill. It was late in the afternoon when we arrived, so we didn't take the tour. But we did make it to his grave site at Youngs Memorial Cemetery. It is a very interesting grave yard. Some of the stones are absolutely unreadable, long lost to the unrelenting wind. The slave graves are unnamed, but marked with wooden crosses. It is a cemetery for several Oyster Bay families dating back to the 1650s, including the Youngs, Bakers, Popes, and a few others I don't recall right now. It is difficult to find information on the cemetery itself, without it being completely coopted by the fact that TR is interred there. I'd like to go back and have a more leisurely walk around, when there is less wind, and more daylight left.

We drive home, had supper and I got ready for birthday/bon voyage party for a friend of ours. This is a woman who just turned 37, and is off for a two week sojourn in Kenya. She is a very down to earth media and film studies Fordham graduate, working the last 8 years as a Web producer for a HUGE accounting services company. For a long time she worked as a film extra, model, clown and production assistant for major network series. I wonder if, when we were sitting cross legged on the floor of her student housing room 20 years ago, this was the life she imagined she'd be living. She is one of only 5 people I have known my entire adult life. I was at her house the week before for a short visit, just catching up. Though I've known her for so long, there was much I found I didn't know about her life before I met her--it was as if we met, and assumed we were hatched at that point in life, with no past at all. I think that was probably born of some not so great pasts to recall. I just recently met her mother and step brother, and felt honored to have spent some time with them, if even in a party setting (the one on the Ides).

I can't wait to see the pictures she brings back! I also can't wait to see the paparazzi shots Connor took! He did come along with his parents to the party, and was charged with taking some of the photos. I saw a few of them, and they were interesting to say the least!

Well, I've been all over the map in this post, literally and figuratively. Guess I should get my butt back to work.

r.

Running into the Sun But I'm Running Behind

2008-03-26T11:29:00.002-04:00

I am behind on blog entries, and blog visits. I'll get there, I promise. In the meantime, here are some of the goings on in my part of the world that do not center around a certain member of the feline nobility.

Good to be Back!

The Ides of March were not nearly as ummm, unfortunate for me as they were for Caesar. Quite the opposite, in fact. We attended a birthday party for the friend with whom I have had minimal contact for the last 6 months or so, and had a wonderful time. More importantly, we came a step closer to getting to bottom of the problem that has placed us in this apparent standoff. We have only emailed back and forth a few times since, which is fine. It gave me some time to think about how I would respond to this knowledge.

The crux of the issue is a blog entry I wrote in a fit of pique on the heels of a horrible experience last summer. A mutual friend at the center of the incident, to whom I had given my blog address, went looking to see if I had written anything on the event. Upon finding that I did, she became incensed and passed the entry on to my friend, who was also tremendously upset about it. Note to self: Keep thy blog address to thyself if you wish to remain able to freely express thyself. But I digress. I have since gone back to reread what I wrote, and stand by it.

Initially, I thought I'd mount a defense. I have since had time to reconsider, and don't think I will. I think I will, when the opportunity presents itself, tell my friend that I am tremendously sorry that she took offense, none was intended. I will not take responsibility for anything that I am not responsible for, but I will acknowledge that words published in a public forum such as this might be stumbled upon, characters, though names withheld, might be recognized, and as such, it would appear that I was talking out of school. Or to put it more succinctly, what I expressed was truthful and accurate as I saw it, but how I chose to express it caused pain which, in retrospect, I regret.

It was a good party. Lots of new faces...amazing how much changes in half a year! I decided to kick out my left leg while holding onto my boot heel, nearly dislocating my hip in the process. No exercise for the next week nursing THAT back to health. No one left in a huff. No arguments. The kids all behaved. And not once did I feel the urge to get involved in clean up. My job was to ensure that there were always uncorked bottles of wine available. That I can do. When I am feeling out of place or uncomfortable, I clean. So if Rebecca is not cleaning, Rebecca must be content. This is a good thing!

Kids!

Chris and his buddy have been off since the middle of last week for Spring Break. For the first time, Chris got all his assignments taken care of within the first few days, freeing up the rest of his time to just have fun. He has had sleep overs, play dates, trips to the park, all kinds of fun!

To top it off, this past Monday, our 18 year old nephew flew in from Ohio for a visit (he's on Break, too). It is his first trip to the City unaccompanied. It has been a joy having him around. He and my son play like boys...yes, my nephew is 18, has had serious love interests, is a varsity athlete in several sports, and wanted to go out on his own to tromp around Manhattan at night (which we allowed, shhhhh, don't tell his mother), but he and Christopher were still chasing each other all over the house with nerf rifles, giggling like kids. They also played a few games of chess together. It just made my heart smile, music to my ears and eyes as well. Almost enough to make me regret only having had one child, although I do recognize the harmony would be so much more short lived! The boy leaves to go home tomorrow, unless the weather is bad enough to ground his flight.

She works hard for the money, so hard for it honey!

So, all week, I have been walking on eggshells here at work. I have been nervous because I have seen my personnel file sitting on my boss's desk for WEEKS now. I figured that it was just for him to review my time off, or any other notes that might be relevant to my annual performance review. My anniversary came and went in February but zip, zilch, nada. No mention of a review. No pay increase. What I did have was a memo from the office manager informing me that my portion of my health insurance premium was going to increase by 13%. Holy moly!! So, no review, no raise, nope, a pay cut. GREAT. Just what we need in our household. Brian not working for 2 months now, and less money starting March 31st. Fantastic. Nope, no resentment here. None.

This week, my boss took off for a trip to the West Coast. Tuesday afternoon sometime around 4:30 he asked me what time I was coming in Wednesay. I told him I'd be in by 7:45, since it was not a yoga morning. I was a little leery of that, as the last time I told a boss I'd be in early, I wound up fired shortly thereafter. But, gotta let that go, right? I wound up getting here at 7:45. As sure as God made little green apples, my boss walked through the door at exactly 7:45. I was stunned. I don't think I have ever seen him in that early! After about 10 to 15 minutes, he called me into his office. I went in bringing my Venti with me. What was awaiting me was my performance review. And a nice raise--woo hooo! He was gone by 9am to catch his flight.

Man we needed that. Should more than offset my increased health insurance premium. And if Brian can't manage to keep this job without us going broke putting Chris in a summer program of some sort, fine! Now, all I need to do is interact more with my clients. Oh, and maybe not blog so much during my work day....Yeah, right!

r.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu

2008-03-26T10:53:00.004-04:00

We might have been a little premature in hailing the return of a mended Sir Jeffrey. I am not sure if he is reblocking, or perhaps suffering kidney issues, but I do know that he has picked up the pace of urinating in inappropriate places. Understandably, this is causing quite a strain in our household. It is to the point that Brian does not want us to spend any more money on treatment for the animal, as we may very well be left with intolerable behaviors, and over a thousand dollars the poorer for it. Not to mention prescription food for the rest of his life. If I insist that the cat is treated regardless, it appears as if I chose the cat over my husband. Yeah, strained is a good word here. It is a heavy burden to decide the fate of another living creature. Neither of us wants to be responsible for the ultimate decision, as it is rife with grief, and the potential for blame and resentment.

Interesting enough, I have a good friend going through something similar--her cat has something akin to irritable bowel syndrome. He poops everywhere, and there doesn't seem to be a food or treatment to make it better. Her husband is pretty tired of dealing with the issue, too. I don't think the men are unsympathetic, they just have much different attachment levels to the critters. And in our house, I had my son to consider. I explained the situation to him honestly. We agreed that Daddy needed permission to deal with the situation in any humane way he needed to, and so now has it. Sir Jeffrey Underfoot's days in residence are numbered, one way or another.

I made a promise to myself that I would treat Jeffrey more kindly, and with more patience than I did before he became ill. He should not know fear or pain at my hand, and mine is the only one I can truly control. So, he gets lots of pets, and several good brushings. Good kitty. Nice kitty. Oh, poor kitty!

r.

Strike Up the Band

2008-03-20T14:05:00.003-04:00

Sir Jeffrey Underfoot comes home today, tra la, tra la. I am so happy to have to leave the office early and pick him up. He had his catheter removed yesterday, and has since urinated on his own. That he hasn't eaten much, and ergo hasn't moved his bowels, was a source of some concern for the vet, but a final round of blood work indicates that he is free of urinary toxins. He is, however, a little anemic, but that might be due to the fact that he hasn't eaten for a week or more.

So, now we embark on a new path. We will be much gentler with our big ole kitty. He needs a new diet as well. We were told he has to slim down, lest he become diabetic. And he needs food that reduces the likelihood of new crystal formations, and future blockages.

I wonder how my other cats will receive him back home. He's going to smell bad in their opinion, so they will probably hiss at him. But they have been mighty clingy with me since Jeffrey has been gone, so I know they've missed him.

Jeffrey was the vehicle for a profound lesson for me. I really must sit with it a while. Hopefully with him on my lap, purring, kneading and shedding all over the place.

r.

Sir Jeffrey Underfoot, Lord of the Wind

2008-03-19T09:15:00.006-04:00

Near the corner of 31st Street and Ditmars Boulevard, there used to be a small family-owned pet shop. They carried the usual supplies, as well as tropical fish, small reptiles, birds and hamsters. Occasionally, they also had kittens or puppies that someone needed to give away. The deal was that the animal was free, as long as you purchased thirty dollars worth of supplies for it. Christopher loved to visit that store. For him it was a mini trip to the zoo.

One Saturday in the middle of October 2003, Christopher and I were out running errands. The sun was playing peekaboo with the clouds, and there was a chilly wind blowing. I don't remember what we had set out to accomplish, but Chris asked whether we could stop in the pet store. We we were there a few days earlier, and there was a litter of kittens cavorting in an over sized cage. When we went back that Saturday, all but one of the kittens had been adopted. The last remaining kitten was fairly large for his age, vocal and very playful. We heard him long before we saw him.

The kitten that was left was gray and white, with a half pink, half black nose, bright green eyes and a half mustache. He practically climbed through the cage to make sure our hands could reach him to pet him, and be nibbled on. Christopher immediately thought this poor guy was lonely for his buddies, as did I. He looked up at me with bright wide eyes and asked, "Mom, can we keep him?" Now, I knew that my husband would have a conniption if I brought home an animal without asking him. He had said under no uncertain terms that he did NOT want another animal in the house. We had 3 cats at that time already. So naturally, I gathered up thirty dollars worth of supplies for our new kitten and walked him home.

Brian was faced with a new adorable kitten, and a son who desperately wanted to keep him. It was an unfair situation I put him in, to be sure. Actually, it was unfair to both my son and my husband. But I am a sucker for a small, lonesome animal and large round 8 year old eyes. My son promised to not only take care of the new cat, but all 3 others as well, taking over feeding, watering and scooping the cat boxes. For the most part, Christopher has honored the deal for all 4 years that we have had this kitty.

We named the new kitten Sir Jeffrey Underfoot, Lord of the Wind. He is Jeffrey, because that is what Christopher chose. Underfoot because he has a foot fetish, and will trip you while he does figure eights between your legs as you walk down the hall. Lord of the Wind because he was a farter. We call him Jeffrey for short. Or UnderFOOT when we are nearly felled. He is a big, dumb affectionate beast. At nearly 20 pounds, he dwarfs our two remaining cats (the third one died two years ago, of old age). He wants to be a lap cat, happily kneading the flesh of anyone who pets him. He is persistent, too. It doesn't matter how many times you push him off, he will jump back up to your lap for some loving.

The one problem we encountered with Jeffrey is that he sometimes peed on the furniture. It wasn't the first time we encountered this behavior. Tilly, a cat we adopted just before Christopher was conceived, would pee on his stuff. She was really not happy to share mommy with a baby. But, eventually, she stopped. I think Jeffrey smelled Tilly's marking and wanted to make sure everyone knew HE was alpha in our household. Cats, unlike dogs, do not recognize humans as alpha. We wound up disposing of two pieces of furniture because of Jeffrey. We thought that if we removed his, and Tilly's old marking places, we would solve the problem once and for all. Apparently, we were wrong: two weeks ago, Jeffrey peed on the couch. He also peed on my bed. And Christopher's bed.

Brian has always believed that if you rub a cat's nose in his own urine while smacking his butt, you will train the animal that the behavior is unacceptable. That I disagree has always been immaterial. When Jeffrey peed on our bed, with me in it, I stopped him, and tossed him unceremoniously out of our room. I was incensed, to say the least. When Jeffrey peed on the couch, Brian was outraged, in full fury. Did you know that anger can be contagious? That you can take on and amplify your partner's anger? Or maybe it is that you become angry at the source of your partner's anger. In that instance I helped my husband capture and punish Jeffrey. Thank God this was far from my son's sight.

We, at that point, resolved to surrender the cat to a no kill shelter. We told Christopher what was happening and why, packed up the cat, and wound up driving him all over town for the entire morning. No room at any shelter for an adult male cat. We took the cat back home, purchased some keep away stuff, and decided to cover the couch with a plastic drop cloth every time we leave the house.

Last Sunday, a week later after we tried and failed to surrender him, we noticed Jeffrey wasn't moving. At all. He was breathing, but he could not move. I saw him literally drag himself out of the bathroom to the hallway just outside the bathroom door. It was heart wrenching. We were terrified that we caused Jeffrey some injury that just then became manifest. We picked Chris up from his buddy's house where he had had an overnight, and trundled off to the vet. The vet painted a very grim picture for us, without providing a definitive diagnosis. Basically told us we could spend all the money, and still wind up having to put Jeffrey to sleep. He recommended that we bring him to the Humane Society of New York for more affordable treatment. Christopher was inconsolable. He begged us not to put his cat to sleep. We promised to do whatever we could, but if Jeffrey was suffering, and that suffering could not be abated, we would have to put him down.

The vet at the Humane Society whisked Jeffrey away, saying, "He's blocked!" Urinary blockage is fairly common in male cats. I have never had a cat that suffered it, but knew several people who had cats that did, and they all had to be put to sleep. I was not overly hopeful, as the vet took blood, and told us that his blockage had damaged his kidneys, and he had built up a near fatal level of several toxins. But we did admit him, a catheter was inserted to drain his bladder, and IV inserted to rehydrate him, and flush the toxins out. We took a much relieved child out of school to visit his cat on Monday afternoon. Jeffrey purred when we pet him, curled his hands in a kneading motion. Even sat up a little for a drink of water. Today, he had his urinary catheter removed, and if he pees on his own, we can take him home to complete his convalescence. If he cannot, we face some difficult and expensive choices.

I can't begin to express my heartbreak at Jeffrey's predicament and my own appalling lack of compassion. Most likely, that last week of urinating in inappropriate places was just the symptoms of Jeffrey's impending condition. I am ashamed of myself for treating him so harshly. I truly don't like what I became in dealing with this situation. I lost my empathy. I allowed anger to feed anger. I was mean, more probably cruel. I generally don't allow such unbridled anger to overtake me to the point that I commit acts for which I am forever scarred with shame. I have lost control on a few occasions, both with my son and with my pets, and remembering any one of those occasions makes me cringe.

I truly hope that Jeffrey fully recovers, and that we have a second chance with him. He is a wonderful, loving animal. I know that he will forgive me, as his memory of the event is probably limited. It will take much more time for me to forgive myself, as well as to find and heal the place from which such poisonous anger originates.

r.

What a Week!

2008-03-13T14:51:00.002-04:00

One the one hand, it hardly seems possible that an entire week has gone by since I have last written in this space. On the other...only a week??

To begin with, Daylight Savings Time really did a number on me this year. While I remembered to reset the clocks before going to bed Saturday night, I was completely discombobulated all day Sunday. I woke up late. The sun rose too late, and set too late. I am one of those people who approximates time by the position of the sun and color of the sky. Needless to say, I was off all day. Combine that with having a cold, and forget about it. Supper was late Sunday. Bedtime was chaotic. Oh, well. I figured it wasn't the end of the world.

When I left the house Tuesday morning at 6am, it was still completely dark. When I came out of the subway at 6:40, it was still completely dark. I never gave much thought to walking the 4 blocks and one avenue from the train to the studio, but I did Tuesday. That neighborhood seems completely different, and a little seedy when unlit. We are supposed to gain about a minute of daylight each day until the equinox, or maybe the solstice, I am not sure. So, sometime in the next 2 to 3 weeks, it should be nearly daylight at that time of morning. Not a day too soon. I miss watching the sun come up. I go to class in the dark, come out to full on daylight.

Since last Thursday night I have been nursing a cold. I think it is the fourth one I've had this season. I swear the common cold is going to kill me in my old age. I cough with an intensity and frequency that is just scary. If I were hooked up to heart monitors and a blood pressure cuff, doctors would probably freak out watching the spikes. Nothing, and I do mean nothing relieves it. Some minor relief happens when I overdose on Robitussin Long Acting cough syrup. But man, that leaves you with a don't operate heavy machinery hangover that lasts deep into the day. My poor husband has been up for hours in the night along with me while I hack away.

Christopher's report card was sent home on Friday. Not only did he perform well academically, his conduct and effort grades were really good, too. No Ns (needs improvement) or Us (unsatisfactory) anywhere! Woo Hoo. He earned a Certificate of Merit this trimester, and participated in the awards ceremony. So, last weekend was a do whatever Chris wants to do weekend, pretty much. We had dinner out that night, and father and son went to the movies, while I took up residence on the couch to convalesce.

The only thing that clouded Chris' triumph was the prospect of getting rid of his kitty. Jeffrey is a 4 year old alpha male cat who decided to pee on the couch. And our bed. And Christopher's bed. Brian put the cat into his carrier, and carted him all over town looking for a no kill shelter to take him in. No dice. Every single shelter is completely booked up. Jeffrey and Chris had a reprieve. We purchased some keep away stuff for the furniture. And just to be safe, we put a drop cloth on the couch when we leave. Meanwhile Jeffrey and Brian walk wide circles around one another. Hopefully, detente can be, or has been reached.

Now, my cold is waning, the springtime is waxing. Chris is succeeding. My Mets are doing well in Spring Training. I was able to do a head stand today (harder than it sounds, believe me). Life's trials seem relatively minor these days. Or at least manageable. Or maybe I'm just too tired to overreact. Either way, fine by me!!

r.

It's All About Perspective

2008-03-06T14:15:00.005-05:00

I spoke to my brother over the weekend. He was fine, but anxious about some impending test results. Test were performed on his son who is 5 years old because his head start teachers were concerned about some behavioral difficulties. I am always leery when I hear that. I know that some teachers just cannot deal with a child that does not fit into a cookie cutter mold, or color inside the lines. I also know, as the mother of a nearly 12 year old, that time does work magic on kids. The grow into and out of behaviors their entire lives. That which you would kill (or medicate) them for today will be replaced in 6 months by something else. I told my brother this, but it did little to allay his fears.

The call came Monday. Dakota has defiant disorder, anger issues, shows signs of obsessive compulsive disorder, possibly has Aspergers Syndrome, and last, but not least, ADHD. Man, it seems everything but the kitchen sink. Needless to say, my brother was pretty freaked out. He said he felt completely unprepared, that he didn't know if he could deal with all this. It was understandably impossible for him to take a step back to gain any kind of perspective. I asked him whether a: he had confidence in the information imparted (yes) and b: whether today was really any different from yesterday in terms of the actual child that stood in before him, other than the fact that big scary names had been attached to him. I think that helped him calm himself for the moment. He will need a lot of support, as will his wife and two daughters. My brother was a behaviorally challenged child himself; I know exactly what kind of strain that puts on a family. But there is so much more information available today to help him wade through this, and be an effective advocate for his son.

Also on Monday, my husband called my office to tell me that a couple with whom we used to be very close until an unspecified event last summer was coming to dinner that night. I had seen these people only once in the intervening six months, and that was two weeks ago at a mutual friend's birthday party. Bygones were set aside, and we had a good visit, both at the party, and around my table. I still don't know what the breakdown in our friendship was, and I find myself really needing to know in order to get past it. As Alanis Morissette says:

"The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better,
Ultimately.
The only way out is through,
The sooner we're in the better,
Ultimately."

I believe this to be true (actually that whole album speaks to the theme of personal growth and recognition). My natural tendency when faced with a difficult discussion where I am even fractionally at fault is to run and hide. My fear is not of my own mistake per se, but another's judgment of it or me. In this instance, the mistake, problem or misunderstanding is six months old and I don't know what it is. That said, I really do want to face this head on. The friendship I lost hurt me to the core. If facing the truth of it can resuscitate it, I have to step up and face it, no matter how unpleasant. Likewise, she has to face my truth of it as well. It will take time and courage, but we took this first step. My prayer is that it was not in vain.

For these six months, my husband and I both absented ourselves and were excluded from activities and/or parties that involved the entire group of friends. That, too, seems to be resolving as time goes on. I want to ask what changed, but am not sure I will. Most of this group are more casual friends, only with one or two did I see myself in a rocking chair on some porch in thirty years.

Needless to say, I went into Tuesday morning's yoga class tired and spent. Naturally, it was one of the most vigorous ones I've attended thus far. I felt completely outclassed--that I had absolutely no business among such accomplished practitioners. I judged myself harshly when I could not reach poses, or fell out of them. I was in pain. My hip joint would not cooperate at all. I haven't had such negative thoughts about my physical being in a long time. My sense of post-yoga peace with which I normally face the day was shattered.

A glass of wine, and some much needed sleep brought me to a somewhat better place Wednesday, so I went to the gym to exorcise my demons. Felt good enough about it to wake up early and go back to yoga again, for which I was rewarded with a sense of accomplishment. I'm on my third Starbucks of the day, but that's just fine. I don't feel like I am going to cry, tear someone's head off or crash, so it is a good day.

And spring is coming. It is a balmy 45 degrees here in New York. Sun is shining. Daylight Savings time begins this weekend, and opening day at Shea is less than a month away. Life, while it smacks me up beside the head pretty good some times, is in fact very, very good.

r.

Yoga and Sleep Deprivation

2008-02-29T15:42:00.004-05:00

For those who are sick of hearing about me ramble on about yoga, I totally understand if you click outta here right now!

When I began my practice, I went to a large beautifully appointed studio located in a hotel spa. Because I enjoy a challenge, I attended the level 1/2 classes rather than beginner level 1 classes. The classes were fantastic, and the amenities were second to none, but the experience lacked a personal approach, even if I practiced with the same instructor each time.

The studio I have been attending of late is a small room, with 7 students at most any one time, and as few as 3 of us (I have heard stories of only 1 person present, and the class was still held). I truly do enjoy going. The instructor is the same each time, so not only am I getting to know what my body will now do, will soon be able to do, and won't for be able to even think about another year, but so does he. I am pushed both internally and externally to do more, stretch farther. I love it. I come away from the class with an enormous sense of accomplishment and calm. Calm is no small thing for me. I tend to be a bundle of nerves wound very tightly, waiting to fly apart at any moment (Whew, it took me a moment to make sure I stuck with one metaphor!). After a yoga class, I am calm for the rest of the day, and lately, part of the next. This is a good thing!

Now, I know everything in life is a trade-off. Here's mine right now: If I wish to pursue this activity, I have to get up at 5am, leave the house by 6, take a train to the 7 to 8:15 class, then walk to work and put in my day, then go home, be mom and the mrs, then crash! Right now, I am going to yoga once or twice a week and the gym 2 to 3 times a week. I'm tired!! By Friday, really just weary! I do know that there are many, many people who put in that kind of day or longer, but right now, I am a relative novice, so not only is there a level of fatigue this nigh on 42 year old hasn't known, but some pain as my body is also unaccustomed to this type of intense motion.

Then there is the fact that I am excited about what I am doing, so I talk about it...a LOT. Anyone who knows me would not be surprised to read that. I come home very animated about how I had my butt kicked in class, and either tell or show my boys what we worked on. Christopher always says I can do that, so I show him how, he then tries, and falls apart giggling. I'd like to have him take a kids' yoga class. I think he'd enjoy it. I am far too selfish, and somewhat self conscious to share my yoga class with him. Maybe I can put together a simple routine that we can do together at home. I don't know if that would give him the same benefit I experience, but it would be something we could do together, so it's worth a try. My husband says his back just would not allow that sort of activity without tremendous supervision. So, for now, he'll just ~~leer~~ watch. In the meantime, I just purchased a subscription to The Yoga Journal.

Oh, can anyone tell me WHY in the world yoga gear is so damned expensive?!?!?!

r.

Waves of Disapproval

2008-02-27T14:39:00.004-05:00

Today I made a mistake at work. Nothing earth shattering. But one of the magazines I handle mailed today, when it should have mailed Friday. The net result of this was that the few people who downloaded their publication before 2:30 pm today were unable to click through on some of the reader service numbers in the ads. And since this publication is paid by the lead, it was a pretty important mistake to them. I spoke to the client, smoothed the feathers, all ended well. The mistake was an honest one. According to the schedule, the publication was supposed to mail today. I missed the part of approval email the mentioned the revised date. I told my boss of the situation., and he immediately shut down. Absolute waves of disapproval and resentment emanating from him in my general direction.

After the situation was resolved, I had lunch with my husband. Until hat time, I was fairly calm about the whole thing. But once I sat down in the diner, I completely unloaded. I was so completely irritated at my bosses reaction. I told Brian that my boss clenched to tight that you couldn't drive a stick pin up his ass with a jack hammer. If you shoved a piece of coal up his ass, he'd shit a flawless diamond in about point thirty seven seconds. Brian was rolling at my diatribe, but did ask me to lower my voice...

We then went on to discuss other topics, one of which was our son. Of course, you say. Christopher is 11, nearly 12. He is trying on having opinions on things in the world, and expressing them. This is a good thing. The problem I am having with it is that he is repeating what he hears without educating himself, and forming his own opinion. Learn, form and espouse your opinion, fine. Repeat the latest sound bite, without solid information and then arguing when a correction is offered, not fine. In my irritation with the day, I told Brian that my son intellectually lazy. A repeater of unassimilated, spoon fed information from questionable sources. Brian knew what I was saying, but was stunned with how brutally I said it. I would never say those words to Christopher.

So what's the point. Well, the point is that I had a very visceral reaction at my boss's immediate shut down. He couldn't even look at me. Earlier in life, I would have taken this very personally. I'd have been upset with myself and everyone else for hours. Today, I actually kidded my boss about it, telling him his displeasure was palpable. He said I hate mistakes, my own most of all...I asked him how, given how he reacts to others, he hadn't jumped in front of a bus yet.

I, too, shut down when I disapprove. Waves of my (considerable) negativity are flung into the universe. When Christopher does or says something I don't like, there it is. Big, ugly, and sometimes very loud. He asked me which I hate more, press or papparatzi. I told him papparatzi because of their invasiveness, intrusiveness, their utter lack of regard for the person pursued, etc. He argued that the press is more invasive in their sometimes relentless questioning. We then went on to discuss the journalistic integrity more present in the mainstream press, and that does not include the National Inquirer. He would not hear any other point of view, would not learn the difference between the two types of reporting. I shut down. Hard. A conversation turned to an argument that bruised us both, and tainted an evening. And while I didn't say he was intellectually lazy, etc., I doubt the words were necessary. He knew exactly how I felt, even if the words were not stated.

Like my boss, I am my own harshest critic. Being so makes me less compassionate than I could be to everyone around me. I have lately been trying to find ways to be more patient with myself, and having that spill over to the rest of the world. There are some interesting meditation exercises that I just read about designed to increase what is called "loving-kindness" towards oneself. Basically, the line of thinking is if one should have loving-kindness thoughts for themselves. Then those to whom they are close, then to those for whom they have no feeling at all, and finally for those they don't care for. If one can master compassionate thoughts for all these categories of people, they will know greater inner peace, and see the world more positively. I kinda get it, but I also know I can be seriously derailed...

r.

Now For Something Different

2008-02-22T10:48:00.004-05:00

My last few posts have been full of worrying news and/or rank introspection. Today, I will change gears and share some lighter bits.

Wednesday night there was a complete lunar eclipse. According to NASA, it was visible over the Central Pacific, Europe, the Americas and Africa, and it is the last one we'll see for nearly three years. Apparently there were two last year that I somehow missed! Thankfully, the weather in the New York Metropolitan area was cooperative, and we were able to view the entire phenomenon. I am not sure why the eclipse took on a red hue, but it did, at least in our part of the world. I was able to watch this from the warmth and comfort of my house, as both my living room and bedroom windows face the full moon each month. It is one of my favorite features of my bedroom, especially.

I went to a 7am yoga class Thursday morning, which means I left my house around ten minutes before six. The first rays of the rising sun are beginning to peak over the horizon at that time of day; a ribbon of rose gold at the bottom of an ink black sky. I sat in awe watching the sun rise during my train ride into the City, joyfully thanking God for elevated subway lines! I love watching the rising sun change the color of the sky, vanquishing the night. I also love how the changing light plays on the skyline of Manhattan. I have often wondered whether architects make material decisions based on whether the building in question faces the rising or setting sun. But I digress. The final turn into the last above ground station afforded me the view of a lifetime. The sun rising behind me almost fully above the horizon, and the still bright, full moon in front of me beginning its descent over the west side of the island. The eclipse, the dawn, the setting moon and the peace of yoga stayed with me the entire day. To cap it off, when my train emerged on the Queens side of the 59th Street Tunnel, it was still light outside. The cloud bank of an impending storm were just beginning to become visible off to the southwest. Sunset equaling the splendor of its rising. It was a beautiful day, and the most serene I have felt in a long while.

Today, it was snowing when I awoke at the much more reasonable hour of six fifteen. It is supposed to be a fairly big storm. All I can say is FINALLY! I can't believe how snow free this season has been. The irony of it is that my son has been off from school all week long, and is therefore cheated out of a snow day. Oh, well. He and Dad will toss a few snowballs. Maybe Chris will get to dust off his sled.

Brian is healing well. He has a scary looking bruise from the palm of his hand midway to his elbow that will take an eon to heal. Other than that, and a possible touch a stomach flu, he is doing well: The storm clouds on our horizon have seemingly receded...

r.

I am, I Said

2008-02-20T14:17:00.012-05:00

I am stealing the idea for this post from Maria, though I am a little intimidated by her eloquence and ability to hold little (but probably more than I think) back.

I am from a hot island paradise off the coast of South Carolina. Of two lost and confused souls that found themselves in the United States Marine Corps, who then moved on to other locations on the east coast including Quantico, VA, where I was born. From a woman who was the only surviving child of aging parents, who as a young mother sent her husband off to war. From a man forever scarred by both the battles he fought in his youth in Illinois farmland and then as a young man in Vietnam jungles. Semper Fidelis.

I am from a three-story semi-detached house in a neighborhood in Queens, New York long gone. A neighborhood of 2nd generation northern European immigrants, where my mother grew up. Where word of my misdeeds reached home before I did. A house with lush, fragrant lilac and rose bushes, both a font and back yard, with a hill, where a hundred years from now, archaeologists will probably find spoons from my grandmother's silverware drawer that we used to dig holes, and make mud pies. From a huge black and white Zenith wooden console TV where we watched Lawrence Welk's Little Bubbles, Guy Lombardi usher in the new year, the Watergate hearings and the Mets winning the World Series.

I am from a day in January when my Grandfather picked us up from school looking sadder than anything I'd ever seen. He told us that Grandma died. I was 8, and morbidly curious about the dead body in the other room. My brother, who's birthday was the next day, was 6. It was the first of 2 birthdays he would lose to a poorly timed death. It was then that my mother decided that we needed to know religion, and enrolled us in the same Catholic school she attended, sent us to CCD classes to catch up and make the sacraments of initiation one right after the other.

I am from a sunny day in May of my 9th year when I stood in front of my mother in my communion dress and veil. It was the first and last time I ever heard her say that I was beautiful. I am from Easter dresses with hats, gloves, a purse and plastic jewelery, Christmas morning with lots of presents, Mercurichrome and the Good Humor Man. I, too, am from don't talk back, get out of my sight and bring me the belt.

I am from an awkward teenager with mile long legs, microscopic shorts, and a forbidden tube top who had her first real kiss, cigarette and feather roach clip at the age of 14. It was then I began to know that I inspired both lust in the boys and discomfort in the girls, and how to use it.

I am from a forbidden romp on my mother's living room floor in 1981 that resulted in a.....um...medical procedure that required me to lie about my age, and experience a pain I've not felt before or since. I stayed with Jack nearly a year after that before we grew apart. Thus began my political awareness of women's issues. I am from a Thanksgiving vacation in Rangeley, Maine, when I realized pleasure was a gift I could give myself, that Jack never could.

I am from a late night revelation that I could indeed get out of my dysfunctional household...all I needed to do was get my academic act together and go to college. I took to this with a missionary zeal. Took every elective I could, excelled in AP classes, scored well on my SATs, filed as many applications as I could for far off schools, and began the countdown.

I am from a dormitory room in Purchase, New York where I decided to lay down the bitterness I had been carrying toward my father, the consequence of which was enduring my mothers deep resentment. I think that was my very first experience actually realizing bitter-sweet. I was a waitress that July, and stayed out all night with a patron. The night before that would be the last night I spend under my mother's roof. She took my keys, gave me a suitcase and set me free.

I am from a night in August of my 22nd year spent visiting a friend. It was that night I met a man who walked me home. It was the night I allowed my fear of being alone to take over. The night I stopped allowing myself a choice. He would become my husband.

I am from a sleepless night in early October 1995 when I found out I was pregnant. I was absolutely giddy. It was the most boundless joy I had ever felt until the brutally hot, humid and magical day in June of 1996 when I delivered my long awaited son. When I looked into his serene, wide open deep blue eyes I was forever changed. It was the day I understood the booming voice from on high that said, "This is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased."

I am from the cold raw day in December 2003 when I buried my father, experiencing heretofore unknown grief, but gaining a family I have come to love and depend upon like breathing.

I am from a night when I was just shy of my 41st birthday when I realized that love could and should be expressed, shared and made regardless of the gender of the lover. And from the realization that some expressions of love come at a great sacrifice.

I am from realizing to both my delight and my despair that I can sleep peacefully all night long tangled up in a man's body, just not the body I am supposed to be tangled up in. That I can spend hours on end talking about an endless array of topics, just not with the person I should be. Because the person with whom I should be speaking has fallen asleep hours earlier. Every night. I am from the knowledge that abandonment takes on many, many forms, and I have experienced almost all of them.

I am from making my bed and lying in it. And trying everything I can to find some peace in it.

r.

All's Well That Ends Well

2008-02-19T18:41:00.002-05:00

Brian came through his angioplasty with flying colors today. They found no new arterial disease or stentosis. No intervention required at this time. Whew! This is the first time he underwent this procedure without having his arteries plumbed and stented. His heart muscle is strong, pumps well, and shows no real damage. In the short term, Brian needs to treat his arm as if it were broken [they used his radial (wrist) artery, rather than his femoral artery]. He is not to allow it to bear any weight at all, and watch for swelling or further discoloration in his hand or arm. In the long term, he needs is to adjust his diet and get some exercise. He goes back to his cardiologist in a few days for follow up.

We had a wonderful RN named Joan. She is such an interesting woman! She is a creative, caring former granola. She lived on some land in Vermont, upon which she built a teepee. She is going to Kenya for vacation where she will do some volunteer work while photographing baby elephants. She is a deeply spiritual woman who reminded Brian that perception can become reality, when it really doesn't need to: Change your perception and you change your reality. She told him that he needn't have to accept imminent demise. I think that was a very important thing for him to hear.

Chris played games of chess with me and with his dad while waiting to be discharged. We laughed, made dark inappropriate jokes, and found other ways to break the tension of the day. I am so proud of Christopher. He is such a strong kid. And wickedly funny, too!

To unwind a little, I will pour a glass of Bordeaux tonight, and to to the gym tomorrow. Until then, thank you for checking in on me, to borrow a phrase from Janelle.

r.

My Son is Blessed...

2008-02-18T23:23:00.002-05:00

My husband spoke with his sister today to let her know what is to take place tomorrow. Tonight, we were watching TV, and something inspired him to tell me that she said, "your son is blessed to have you home with him." I cannot say that is not true. My husband and his sisters were brought up with their dad as the bread winner. Brian's mother was home with him while his father worked up to 3 jobs at a time to make ends meet. His sisters, born nearly 10 years later, did know their mother to work at least part of their childhood. In our family, I am the breadwinner. Brian is home most of the time.

While I am glad that the child has a parent that can be home, I am not always glad that is not me. I especially don't like it pointed out to me. Sometimes I can take it well, but sometimes I can be a real bitch. When Brian told me what his sister said, I was the latter. I told Brian that sometimes I felt that I gave birth to my son, and handed him over to someone else to raise. That he wasn't of me at all. All I ever hear is how my son if so much like my husband and or/his family in appearance and personality that I feel completely discounted. I did my wifely duty...I gave rise to an heir. I was an incubator, and then a provider, nothing more. Do men feel like that when they go to work each day, and their wives stay home?

I didn't mean to hurt my husband, I just was venting my own feelings of loss and jealousy. Brian was laid off in November of 2001. He had a part time job once since from February 2006 until January 2008. The rest of the time, he was a stay at home dad, very involved with the goings on at school. My salary supported the house, though there weren't any extras. Brian has never failed to recognize what he has. He has always been supportive. But sometimes, I feel a little cheated. I wanted to be mom. I wanted to raise my son. I wanted the fairy tale where the man supports the household...didn't have to be a house with a picket fence or anything. Just more traditional roles, I guess. I wanted my man to be be stronger than me. That said, I know there are ways in which he is eminently stronger than I, just not in the ways I want to acknowledge when I am feeling this way.

So tonight I find myself worried about what tomorrow will bring, and somehow resentful at the same time. And guilty that in his time of worry, I am dwelling on my own petty shit. Gah. One day I will evolve. Clearly not today.

r.

The Weekend that Was

2008-02-18T12:06:00.004-05:00

Friday night, our household was reeling from the news of Brian's test results. My boss sent me home from work early Friday afternoon. I went to the gym and worked my body until every cell refused to work any more. I walked out of there literally wobbling. On my way home I picked up a bottle of really good Zinfindel. When I got home, we coordinated who needed to be notified, as well as overall logistics.

After that, however, we enjoyed a pretty normal weekend. And since it is President's Day, we still are. Starting last week sometime, Chris' buddy's mom invited Chris to spend the night at their house, so he did on Saturday evening. I fully expect to have to return the favor next weekend. I met up with a friend of mine to do some shopping and catching up in SoHo. After Chris was picked up, Brian met up with us, and we had a very nice out with another friend of ours. Sunday was a day of catching up on chores, etc. Chris came home just before supper time.

In the publishing industry, there really are very few actual holidays. Today falls into that category. So while I am home, I am actually working putting out fires spawned of negligence. Brian is enjoying an unencumbered day off. I will finish my office related duties, some chores and then head to the gym.

Tomorrow morning, we will head to the hospital early. They are saying that this might be an out patient procedure, but I am somewhat ambivalent about that. For me, given his history, it seems quite a serious procedure, with serious implications. That said, they are not going in though his femoral artery. They are using the artery in either his wrist or upper arm. I suppose since the weight of his body will not be borne by a newly incised artery, the procedure a titch less risky. I am looking forward to seeing the actual report on his coronary arteries, complete with graphics, and very glad (an odd word to use here, but I can think of none better right now) that Brian will have this procedure before it becomes an emergency situation.

r.

And The Results Are In

2008-02-15T15:06:00.000-05:00

Angioplasty 8:30 am Tuesday. Damn.

Still Waiting...

2008-02-13T13:39:00.003-05:00

Brian's appointment for his stress test was 10am today. I have been anxiously awaiting word all day. He called me around 11:45 to tell me that the first part was over. They injected him with some material, then put him on a treadmill for 6 minutes. You have to understand, my husband does not exercise. He has NEVER been able or willing to walk at my pace, so the treadmill is quite a feat for him. Apparently the speed was somewhat brisk, and there might have been an incline involved. Brian will walk 3 blocks out of his way to avoid a hill! Now we all understand the whole point is to get him huffing and puffing. Mission accomplished. He told me he felt some minor burning in his chest. Nothing huge. Now I'm no medical expert, but in my opinion, ANY burning in his chest from walking should be huge! My chest doesn't burn when I exert myself...my muscles do. My lungs might, but not my chest! He had to go back at 12 for more follow up. Another injected substance, and I'm not sure what all else. It is 1:45, and I haven't heard a word. Which is a good thing, in that he hasn't been carted off to a hospital, but still....

Once this is over, I think I am going to beat the man about the head and shoulders until he relents and agrees to go to the Cardiac Rehabilitation Center. When he underwent angioplasty and stent placement last May, a woman from the center came around, introduced herself and the program. Brian agreed it was a good idea, and since he was still in the hospital, and keenly aware of his potential mortality, he was sincere, emotional even, in his commitment. Then he recovered, and it became less fear based, more remote, until.....now. He knows that exercise will help make his heart healthier. It is a matter of committing time, effort and some money. I told him I'd buy him a gym membership so that he could just park himself on a treadmill at a slower pace, no incline, and just read for a few miles. He is afraid of hurting his back. I think that is somewhat of an excuse, another barrier thrown up.

I know that it took me 2 years to drop weight, 9 months to drop my cholesterol, a year to drop my resting heart rate and blood pressure. It takes time. And at nearly 52 years of age, time is not really his buddy any more. That said, being male, he can build stamina and muscle easier than a female of the same age can. He can drop weight faster too. But which gets tired more profoundly or more quickly, the head or the body? I think your head gives up before your body does. But I found out that letting my body take over in some ways allows me to free up my head, which allows it to become more energized, which allows the body to do even more. How can I convey that cycle without sounding preachy...the born again skinny bitch that everyone hates?

Ok. It's 2:30. He finally called. He was put in a machine that he sat on, like a sitting MRI, to measure the dye they injected into him. Then they injected more dye, put him back on the treadmill, then back to have the dye measured. Nothing definitive. They will get back to him with results once his physician has reviewed them. That's somewhat better than I feared. I truly was worried that they'd say get thee to the hospital.

I do want to say thank you to everyone who has left such supportive comments. It means a lot to me, and really does help!!

r.

Kids Ask the Darnedest Things

2008-02-08T13:24:00.000-05:00

I came home from the gym last night at about 7:30 or so. Chris had finished his homework, so was enjoying a rare hour of TV. A short time later, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my husband eating the most wonderful Greek salad ever made, talking over the last round of health related revelations. In addition to gastric distress, Brian has been feeling some chest discomfort lately, so he visited with his cardiologist yesterday. He has two new prescriptions, a refill and an appointment for a stress test next week. The results of this test could very well send him to the hospital within 24 hours. It would be his 6th or 7th trip to have his arteries plumbed and stents installed in the last 5 and a half years. News his mother took surprisingly well. Brian and I resorted to black humor to lighten the moment. Chris seems to have inherited that gene from his Irish mamma. The last time Brian was in the hospital to undergo angioplasty, Chris make some wise crack about toe tags that had us in stitches it was so dead pan and well timed. He was just shy of his 11th birthday at the time.

So, Brian and I are giggling in the kitchen, doing dishes and cleaning up when a giggling child sauntering in asking, " What is a period?" Ahhhhh shit. Where did THIS come from?

Daddy says, "The dot at the end of a sentence, Son."

"NO, not THAT period." Soooo close.

I decided to give a short clinical answer hoping his attention span would soon exhaust itself. "Women become fertile every month, if they do not become pregnant, then their bodies discard the unfertilized egg and other material. It happens to all girls and women over the age of around 14."

"Oh."

Brian helps out with some wise crack that only a man can think to make (not misogynistic at all, just cracking wise given his 20 years experience with yours truly). Giggling ensues. I respond that most women mark the day on the calendar, and that it will behoove him to pay attention as he gets older. He goes to the calendar, where only my hair appointment, his school schedule and other events are shown. So much for that. About a year ago, I bought the boy a book about his own body so that he could look up any potentially embarrassing information if he didn't want to talk about it. Girl bodies, I think, are becoming much
more interesting...he's not quite 12.

We were grateful for the levity. We haven't told Chris about next week's activities. I think we will do that this weekend. We are trying to teach him about the genetics involved in the health issues daddy is dealing with in hopes it will encourage him to be more healthy. I don't think we are succeeding. I think I need to take over making lunch for Chris. And as the weather gets warmer, I am going to have to take him down to the track to walk, then run, laps. He has to get in shape, and value it now. Heart disease is rampant in Brian's family. Diabetes and mens cancers in mine. And don't even mention arthritis! It is difficult to impress on a preteen that he is not bulletproof, that as go his ancestors, so go the progeny unless they intervene.

r.

My Mother-in-Law is A-Comin' and Other News

2008-02-05T09:16:00.000-05:00

Saturday, Christopher and Brian had a wonderful father/son day. Brian runs the chess club at school, and Chris is a member. They, and a few other kids in the club, took a field trip to Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village, near NYU. For those unfamiliar, Washington Square Park is a chess mecca: Traditional chess, speed chess, you name it. It is a where young Josh Waitzkin meets Vinnie (Laurence Fishburne) in the movie "Searching For Bobby Fischer." The chess club went to see the game played and to challenge the regulars. Chris lost 3 times, but that he played is more important. They also went to the Village Chess Shop to play and browse. After that, the other kids and their dads went back to Queens, and my two favorite geeks traversed on to St. Marks Comics. For those two city boys, it was an idyllic day.

Somewhere in their travels, they ate at a falafel joint. Both had very upset tummies Sunday, with Chris suffering a nasty bout of the the Aztec Two Step. Brian's bout of food poisoning was much more severe. In fact, he was sent to the hospital for an endoscopy to determine why there was blood in his stool, and in his um...sick. Turns out that he has a tear in his stomach lining from being forcefully sick. I'm not sure if that can be treated, but since Brian is on aspirin therapy and Plavix, it is important to identify and staunch the source of any bleeding.

Now, add to this the fact that my mother-in-law is due in town at 2-ish this afternoon. I had Brian's sister tell her what was going on, as if we didn't, we'd never hear the end of it. We discussed waiting until she lands, since it is nothing major, nothing any of us can do, and why cause her an anxious night before a flight. But, no, that would not do. And once she lands, she'd want to go directly to see her son. I can't blame her for that, I'd want to do the same thing if it were my son. But, since Brian's sister's partner is picking her up from the airport, I did ask that they pick Chris up from school, and bring him to us, too. That would be very helpful to me, to Brian, and to Christopher. He gets out at 3, she'd be at the school around then, since the airport is just 15 minutes up the road from there, and really, who lands on time these days??? Especially on American Airlines??? Nope. That wouldn't work either. I have to go to the hospital, then leave Brian to go get Chris, then come back, if he is not yet discharged. Because, of course, my in laws' right to see my husband supersedes my own. Even though they have no legal recourse if, God forbid, something should happen.

After 20 years, I should know better than to allow this to get under my skin. But like poison ivy, it is impossible to develop a resistance. Just once it would be nice to hear, "What can we do to help?" "What would make things easier for you and Brian?" "Do you have anyone who can watch your son while you tend to your husband?" I am going to have those words engraved or embroidered on to something so that I remember that there are others beside the almighty mother who might need help and support. So that I do not become so self centered in my anxiety or grief when, again, God forbid, my grown son becomes hospitalized and he has a wife and child(ren) that will need support.

It is also possible that in my own anxiety, I am blowing this out of proportion. I've been though this so many times with Brian. In 6 years, he's been hospitalized over half a dozen times. In fact, we've only gone around 18 months hospital free once in that short time. Most times, phone calls to his mom suffice, and the main argument is between me and his sister. She will not marry the man with whom she lives, so does not recognize spousal right or preference to deal with medical emergencies first before disseminating information. I prefer to hear the news from a doctor by myself. It allows me to think more clearly to not have to worry about how someone else is processing information. It allows me to ask questions, calmly and rationally, and find a course of action. I don't break down until after all is said and done.

No one seems to recognize that is my duty, my right and my preference to see my husband first and alone. That some things are private, and just between us. It isn't a matter of pushing anyone away or shutting them out. It is a matter of protecting our own boundary, the little island that is the family we chose to create and, therefore, defend. Am I wrong?

r.

Creation Explained

2008-02-01T15:44:00.001-05:00

I received this joke as an email from my former assistant:

On the first day, God created the dog and said:

'Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. For this, I will give you a life span of twenty years.'

The dog said: 'That's a long time to be barking. How about only ten years and I'll give you back the other ten?'

So God agreed.

On the second day, God created the monkey and said:

'Entertain people, do tricks, and make them laugh. For this, I'll give you a twenty-yea r life span.'

The monkey said: 'Monkey tricks for twenty years? That's a pretty long time to perform. How about I give you back ten like the dog did?'

And God agreed.

On the third day, God created the cow and said:

'You must go into the field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer's family For this, I will give you a life span of sixty
Years.'

The cow said: 'That's kind of a tough life you want me to live for sixty years. How about twenty and I'll give back the other forty?'

And God agreed again.

On the fourth day, God created man and said:

'Eat, sleep, play, marry and enjoy your life. For this, I'll give you twenty years.'

But man said: 'Only twenty years? Could you possibly give me my twenty, the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey gave back, and the ten the dog gave back; that makes eighty, okay?'

'Okay,' said God, 'You asked for it.'

So that is why for our first twenty years we eat, sleep, play and enjoy ourselves. For the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family. For the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain the grandchildren. And for the last ten years we sit on the front porch and bark at everyone...

Life has now been explained to you...

r.

She's Got Heart

2008-02-01T12:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, The World According to Me awarded me the Biggest Heart Award. I always knew I had a big mouth, but a big heart? Thank you, World, it is much appreciated, and proudly displayed in my trophy case.

So, in keeping with tradition, I will now pass this along to a few of my blogging buddies:

• Soul Survivor--She has huge heart, probably bigger than she thinks.

• Just Eat Your Cupcake--She writes from her heart, and it is sometimes just hilarious.

• Foster Communications--I've just met this blog buddy, but I really like her warmth and style.

So, again, thank you for visiting and commenting, as well as for giving me such wonderful places to lurk or visit.

r.

Harumph

2008-01-31T08:49:00.000-05:00

I love snow. Really. I know it makes getting around difficult. So what. At this point in time, the only thing that can literally stop us in our tracks is foul weather, and I'm all for it. But in the case of snow, there is an unmatched beauty. A sense of calm. People are nicer to one another, not in a shared misery kind of way, but a more buoyant spirit, genuine camaraderie.

Thus far, the winter of 2007/2008 has been very disappointing in the New York Metropolitan Area. It is the first time since the 1930s that we have not had but a trace of snow during the month of January. According to NOAA (National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration) Central Park has kept weather records for 134 years. The average annual snowfall is reported to be 28.4 inches with 7.5 in January, 8.5 in February, 5 in March, 1 in April and November and 5.5 in December. So far, we have had a trace in November, December and January. Only once, maybe twice did grassy surfaces look white. The plows have stayed safely parked. Stockpiles of salt and sand relatively untouched. No overtime for the local sanitation crews, that's for sure.

We Gothamites, whether we admit it or not, need snow. Sure, there are plenty who will complain about it...my back, the cold, the inconvenience....blah, blah, blah. But we move at the speed of light in this town. Anything, barring mass destruction, that can slow us down is a good thing. Anything that can make just a percentage of us stop and admire beauty for its own sake, smile openly at one another, take a day off cannot be bad. It is required for a healthy soul. Watching snow fall in the evening is particularly beautiful, turning the sky a gorgeous shade of periwinkle. Sunrise over a snowy street is breathtaking. The sound of children shrieking and giggling as they sail down a snowy hillside is sheer joy.

A good snowfall. Yep, that's what we need. It gives us the opportunity to reconnect with each other, and our natural world, even in the Concrete Canyons of this great City. For those of you in parts of the country that have been inundated with snow this year, send some this way, will ya?

r.

A Stolen Meme...

2008-01-30T15:51:00.000-05:00

I didn't have much to say today, so here's a meme from Soul Survivor that I liked...I edited it, though.

1. At what age do you wish to/did you marry?
I got married when I was 24. It'll be 18 years in October of this year, and it is mostly good. That said, I probably should have waited. Maybe 26?

2. If there is something you’d like to change about yourself (whether physically or emotionally), what would it be?
Well, what I wanted to change physically I have. The rest I guess I would need a money tree and a good plastic surgeon to deal with ;) . Emotionally, maybe I'd change my fear of confrontation with those I love. I worry too much about addressing real concerns for fear of losing the relationship. That and fear of abandonment.

3. If you were stranded on a desert island, who are the 3 blog buddies you would take with you? Why?
Hmmm. Probably Marty...she has such wonderful stories to tell, full history, knowledge, intelligence and warmth. Maria, because I'd like to meet her and have a glass or three of wine with her, Bing and Liv. And Kate. Funny, smart, quite a mouth on her, liberal and quite an athlete.

4. Where do you most want to travel?
I want to go to Alaska. I want to go back to Maine. I want to go to places with thick woods and beaches not too far away. It doesn't have to be tropical, it does have to be uncrowded.

5. If there is one fear inside you that you hope to be able to face and conquer, what would that be?
I know it sounds silly, but my fear of heights. There are others less silly, however....

5A. Soul's Question: what is the the riskiest/most selfless thing you have done to help a friend?
Opened my home to them and their pets for however long it took...

6. What is the best compliment you've ever received?
Best complement? Oy. Ummmm. Professionally: our largest client is still our client because my company employed me. Personally: I didn't recognize you (you should see my driver's license picture).

7. What are you most afraid to lose?
My family...my son in particular. Hands down.

8. If you won $1 million, what would you do?
Travel, buy a house or three, invest, give a bunch away to family, pay off all debt.

9. If you meet someone that you love, would you confess to him/her?
I'm married. But I have learned to let all those in my life know how I feel.

11. What are the most important qualities for you in a significant other?
He has to have a sense of humor, be intelligent and compassionate. Strong. We don't have to agree on everything, but we have to be able to talk about it. Thank you, Brian.

12. Which type of person do you hate the most?
Hate is a very strong word. The quality I most dislike in a person is hypocrisy. God, I hope that doesn't make me guilty of it...

13. What is your ambition?
To learn what really constitutes a happy life, to raise a well adjusted child. And on a lighter note, accomplish a few of the trickier yoga poses with more, um, shall we say, dignity.

14. What is the thing that will make you think he/she is bad?
No one is all bad, but again, hypocrisy or disloyalty.

16. What do you think is the most important thing in your life?
My family, friends, good health.

17. Are you a shopaholic or no?
Nope. I do enjoy shopping though. I didn't used to, but now that clothes FIT, it is much more pleasurable :) And a day spent in a book store is bliss. Or a hardware store. Or a kitchen gadget store....I don't need to buy, but I do love to browse what interests me. It was sheer brilliance to put coffee outlets in book stores :P

18. Which actress or actor would you like to be?
None. Have you seen the recent train wrecks? Damn!

20. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?
Yep. Going to work, then going home. No gym. No Yoga. No school activity. Nada. Oh, yeah, laundry.

r.

The REAL Golden Rule

2008-01-29T10:08:00.001-05:00

Both the current political debate, especially in the GOP, and events in my own little world have prompted me to think more about religion and human behavior than I ordinarily might. What has been brought to the fore is the disconnect between faith and religion as an institution. Between faith/religion and actual human behavior. In a word, hypocrisy.

Last Sunday, The Monsignor of my parish celebrated his final mass. It was a huge ceremony, complete with priests from all over, the Knights of Columbus in full regalia, Alter servers from way back, every Lector, Eucharistic Minister, usher, etc. who had ever served during Monsignor's 22 year tenure. Our Monsignor was and is a divisive character in the parish, excoriating parents who show up to meetings and mass in his anger at those who do not. He is a very conservative man, who brings his politics to the pulpit. I disagree with him vehemently, and discuss it freely with my son so that he may have a more rounded view.

Following Monsignor's final mass was a catered affair put on by his nephew. It was donated in its entirety. The nephew's catering company provided all food, soft drinks, decorations, wait staff, and serving sets. Monsignor's nephew is as gay as they come. But I know by the sincerity of the event that the nephew was loved and accepted by his uncle--I cannot believe that anyone would have put out so much for someone who mistreats him. It is the only truly Christian, meaning Christ-like, thing I have ever seen of Monsignor.

The golden rule to life, in my opinion, is "Don't be an asshole." It is one by which I try hard to live my life, and being human, it is one of which I run afoul. It is the lowest common denominator of The Ten Commandments. It is a further distillation of George Carlin's version of the commandments. If we want to clean it up a bit for the younger set we can say, "Don't be a jerk."

For those of you thinking, hmm, this sounds an awful lot like "Do unto others..." I'd have to agree. The problem I have with falling back on this version of the Golden Rule is the source. There have been, and continue to be too many wars waged and blood spilled (in and) for the Bible, and the religions that claim it wholly or in part. In order to address all those who have a stake in the Bible or disdain it utterly, we can remove that aspect of the Golden Rule. Too much left open for interpretation.

It is the interpretation where we run into trouble. Interpretation of God's thoughts or words by man is inherently impossible. There are those who believe that God spoke to various and sundry people throughout time, as do I. The problem is that we don't have their journal entries; we lack a primary source. What we do have is an abundance of second and third party documentation. That means, a third party's spin, no matter the Testament. Disagreements abound, even within the Bible.

Even if we assume that all interpretation is accurate and honest, there is the problem applying millennia old interpretation to a modern world. While the reasoning for certain behaviors or restrictions may have been valid two, three or five thousand years ago, too much has changed for full applicability in the present.

If we say, "Don't be an asshole" we can remove God from the equation, and have less to fight over. Most of us can agree on what is good and bad behavior. Most of us can get behind the importance of honesty, respect and fidelity. Coveting is a part of human nature that will probably never be fully eradicated. It is not the coveting that is the problem; it is how one deals with it. Most of us can live with the notion that it is wrong to kill someone. The argument here again is definition and degree based on interpretation of God's will or words.

Since I was raised Catholic, a sect of Christianity, I was taught the belief that Jesus Christ is the son of God, born of the sinless Virgin Mary, walked the face of this earth preaching and healing. That he was crucified, died and rose again on the third day, all of this for the redemption of all mankind. I was also taught that the preaching, healing and redeeming was irrespective of the audience's origin or predilections. That Christ healed equally the Jew, the Gentile, The Samaritan. That he forgave all manner sin committed by all manner of people. How then, can any Christian be any more discerning?

More fundamentally, how can any religion at all presume that it, and only it, is the only true path to God? Is that not the height of hubris? I am educated enough to know that the Nicene Creed is basically a mission statement of the Catholic Church. A credo set down by a bunch of men sitting in a room in Nicea who decided it was politically advantageous and financially prudent to declare Christ divine. It is no different than the mission statement of any other brand: Ours is the best, only toothpaste to prevent cavities, and get you the girl/guy of your dreams. Does that statement by, say, Proctor & Gamble incite anyone to kill anyone who uses a Colgate/Palmolive product? Is it not the same sense of hype or hyperbole? Why is it, then, glommed onto with such fervor? I understand brand loyalty. It boils down to I prefer X, not I'll kill you in the name of X for having the audacity to prefer Y.

If you prefer your religion, fine. I have no issue with that whatsoever. Just, don't be an asshole about it.

r.

A Letter to Me

2008-01-24T14:05:00.000-05:00

Along with Brad Paisley, Maria is the inspiration for this entry. I really do wish there was a way to go back and give just a little encouragement, or at least a heads up, to that person I was. I think maybe some parents perform this function, and some kids are able to hear them and steer accordingly. I did not have that parent, nor was I inclined to listen. So, here is what I would like to tell my seventeen year old self...

Dear Rebecca, aged 17,

First, let me tell you, good job turning yourself around. The last year or two have been hell, but you hung there. Good job. Now, keep your eyes on the prize. You're right, college is your ticket out. Keep plugging away.

When you get to Maine, relax. You can more than handle the workload. Concentrate on that. Your penchant for getting attention using your sexuality will backfire. Girls won't thank you for it, guys will use you for it and you'll wind up miserable.

Be sure to thank Ed for dumping you, so that you found Michael. Great guy, but probably not THE ONE. He'll graduate before you, and go back to MA. Don't fall apart. He didn't reject you, he graduated. If you know this going in, you can avoid a lot of pain and embarrassment.

Whatever you do, do NOT transfer to SUNY Purchase. Go to the moon if you have to, but stay the hell away from Purchase. Your mother will decide to attend that school, and you will share classes with her. She will be unsympathetic when your heart is broken. Even though you live on campus, you will not escape her, and wasn't that what you were looking for when you shaped up in 11 grade?

Partly due to tension between you and mom, you are going to reconnect with your father. Make it count. Forgive him and yourself for your years apart. Make the most of what time you have, he will die when you are 37. You might not think so now, but trust me, you will be devastated.

You are going to go through a doozy of a transition at the age of 22. You're going to feel scared and alone. You WILL get through it. You will discover your own strength, determination and will. Don't let your fear of being alone convince you to settle for a relationship that is not completely satisfying. Take the time you need to discover who you are as a person and as a woman. Live alone for a while. Spend some quiet time. Heal. Then you will know what you need, and go after it in a healthy way.

Your relationship with your mother will come together and fall apart several times until your 30s. Let it go. You will never measure up to what she wanted, don't try. It isn't your issue, it's hers. The effect, however, is toxic to you. And really, you always knew the day would come. The best you can do is learn from what happened, and make sure your son (yep, you'll have a son one day) never feels the way you did.

A few more notes:

• Be careful with your choice of words and tone of voice. Your command of language and inflection can be devastating. Sarcasm is a weapon, use with considerable care. It isn't cool, it's mean.

• Your appetite will outstrip your metabolism in a few short years. Save yourself some horrible self esteem and body image issues by reining it in now.

• Be sure to give as much or more than you take.

• Learn now to deal with things head on. Hiding doesn't work and you can't run forever. You will lose some of the most important relationships of your life if you don't.

• Be gentler with yourself. Quiet the critic within. If you are less harsh with yourself, then you will be less harsh with others, and they with you. It is ok not to be perfect. No one expects it, nor do they want it expected of them. A corollary: It is completely ok to ask for help if you need it. You want to be there for others, and they want to be there for you, so don't shut them out.

You're a bright, strong, lovable and loving woman. Remember that. Keep your head up. You hold the key to set yourself free any time you choose to use it. Don't wait too long.

Love,
Rebecca, aged 41

17 was really a pivotal year in my life. I think I always knew that, but it helps to actually write about it. But man, it would have been easier to have learned and employed some of the life lessons earlier than I did...

r.

My Little Brother Turned Forty!

2008-01-24T13:44:00.000-05:00

I had no issue with my fortieth birthday. But my younger brother turning forty is quite another matter. I don't think it bothers me for my own sake. I think it is more that HE'S forty, and not taking very good care of himself.

I called Charles yesterday morning to wish him a happy birthday. He sounded completely wired at 9:30am Eastern, or 8:30 Central, his time zone. He told me he called out of work for the past two days because his milestone birthday was coming up, and he wanted to party. Was nothing, he said. Just drank a bit, smoked some grass and did some drugs. Ah, shit. His drug of choice is crystal meth. Note to Charlie: you are no longer twenty. You can't party like a rock star anymore. He swears it was a one time thing to celebrate. That he has no intention of going down the addiction, sell all he has for it road again. God, I hope so. For his sake. For the sake of his three children and his wife. Lord knows I am no saint. I love a glass of wine too many on occasion. But I don't get this...

r.

Tripping Over Each Other

2008-01-22T21:04:00.000-05:00

For the past year or so, my husband has worked through the dinner hour six days a week. That left me in charge of the household in many ways. It was a challenging balancing act, but one that I managed to deal with fairly well on most occasions. I really enjoyed preparing good meals for the family, tending to the chores, helping Chris with his homework. Brian would come home to a hot meal and a clean house. It fed my ego well to pull it off every night, and manage to get to the gym and take care of myself. A regular June Cleaver.

Earlier this month, Brian quit his job. He is now home before I am in the evenings. He is also home all weekend long. This is a good thing, right? Right. Then why do I find myself a little resentful and out of sorts?

It isn't easy to give up what you've taken over. I can't ask my husband who spent years as a cook not to make supper. He has the ego, desire and time to do it. It makes no sense whatsoever to wait until I get home to start the process. Even though I am convinced I serve healthier food. And I definitely am neater in the kitchen. I think we are going to have to sit down and talk about this so that we both feel like we are moving in the same direction.

All summer long I missed having Brian around. We couldn't go on family road trips as we had every other summer. But I became accustomed to doing whatever struck my and Christopher's fancy. We fulfilled all the required duties such as grocery shopping, chores, errands and the like. Then we were free to venture into the city to browse, go to museums or Central Park. Now, I have to consider what Brian wants to do. Or, as is more the case, doesn't want to do. I could pretty much MAKE Christopher move around. I cannot do that with Brian. So, I wind up getting irritated about sitting around, and guilty doing things without him. GRRR.

I know this is not rational or healthy. I also know that I need to wrap myself around the fact that we are a family unit, with all members accounted for. I actually am glad for that. The year or more that Brian worked odd hours, there weren't that many days that we were all home together at the same time long enough to enjoy each other's company. By the time Brian came home, Christopher was either in bed or getting ready for bed. Brian would have supper, talk for a few minutes, then fall asleep. So while I ruled the roost, I was also a bit lonely. It's like when your spouse goes on a business trip or something. You stretch out and take up the entire bed. Then they come home, and you have to retreat to just your own side. Takes some getting used to, in both directions. But over time, one can't imagine how it was before. For the control freak (did I mention that is a personality quirk of mine?) the transition is never easy. Sigh.

r.

Sunset over Manhattan, and Other Tid Bits

2008-01-09T14:01:00.000-05:00

Have you noticed? The days are getting longer already! The solstice is not quite a month old, and the amount of daylight gained is already noticeable. That means I can again see the setting sun when I emerge from the East River Tunnel of the N train. The view is from the Queens side of the East River, looking at the East side of Manhattan. The sun sets behind the Empire State Building and Chrysler Building, forming a gorgeous silhouette of the still mighty skyline.

• Bill Richardson dropped out of the presidential race after a 4th place showing in both Iowa and New Hampshire. I would have liked to hear more from him, as his experience in government is vast. Along with his stint as governor of New Mexico, he was a congressman, energy secretary and ambassador to the UN. He is clearly intelligent, but in the debates in New Hampshire, he almost looked bored. Maybe that isn't the right term...not fully engaged, perhaps. I think, even if he couldn't win, he could have influenced the dialog. But I think this will be another "It's The Economy, Stupid" election that got the first Clinton in the White House. Not saying Hillary will win, but I think that the economy will be the deciding issue.

• I took a day trip with my boss up to New Hampshire to visit our biggest client. I think they are happy with us a vendor, they just wanted to pressure us on cost. So, for the second time in two years, we adjusted our pricing downward, contingent on them giving us more business. We'll see. But having your biggest client sing your praises to your boss right before review time does not suck!

And let me tell you, not all rental cars are created equal! We would up driving into a snow squall and found out that our windshield wipers were HORRIBLE. The car went from not bad to a freaking hazard in no time!

• I just read a very interesting article from a link on the msn.com site: How She Learned to Stop Hating Her Mother. Good article, though I wish it was longer. The story seemed too encapsulated to be completely satisfying. That said, it slowed me down a little. One day I will write an entry about my experience with my mother.

• A good friend of mine was scratched by his cat recently. She is a playful beastie, but she doesn't realize that her claws are rather sharp. Trav didn't think much of the scratch at the time, other than to angrily shoo the cat away. Turns out that the scratch gave him a case of sepsis. After some research, I found out that cat scratches can cause this along with meningitis and encephalitis. YIKES. I've owned cats my entire life, and like Travis, thought nothing of getting scratched. I will certainly make sure to wash up and treat any and all nicks from this point forward.

r.

The Major's Epitaph

2008-01-08T10:29:00.000-05:00

When I lost my job in October of 2005, I subscribed to the Media Bistro Web site mostly for their job listings, but also for their daily newsletter which aggregates the leading news of the media and publishing industries. I still receive and scan it every day. Yesterday's edition had this as the third item down, under NBC's snit over the Golden Globes and CBS's Morning Show revamp:

In Blog, a Military Man Writes About His Own Death (NYT)
Andrew Olmsted, a United States Army major who wrote an online blog for The Rocky Mountain News, prepared for the possibility of his death by writing a 3,000-word piece. "I'm dead," he wrote in July 2007 as he arrived in Iraq for an 18-month tour of duty. "But if you're reading this, you're not, so take a moment to enjoy that happy fact." Rocky Mountain News: "The news is devastating," said Rocky editor John Temple. "The major was a brave man who obviously thrived on sharing his experiences and thoughts on his blog. He provided a perspective on Iraq that would have been impossible for a journalist."

The headline alone is enough to stop me in my tracks. I immediately followed the link to the New York Times Web site. I have trusted this paper all of my adult life to give the news, though many will argue it has too liberal a slant, and has endured its share of controversy. So have all the other papers, so he who is without sin, cast the first stone. Then I read the blog entry. It made me want to read every word Major Olmsted ever posted. His strength, intelligence and wit are readily apparent. Though I never knew the man, I mourn his passing, and am reminded of the 3,000+ passings that have preceded his.

What strikes me most about his man is that he doesn't seem be blinded by his mission. He might have had misgivings or disagreements with the war in Iraq--I'm not sure, as I haven't yet read his other opinions. He also had an overarching sense of duty. That he is thoughtful and thought provoking is unquestionable. I am comforted by the fact that the good Major is at peace. I wish peace to his widow, friends and family. I wish peace to our nation and to our world. The poem below was left as a comment and tribute to Major Olmsted on one of the many blogs now carrying the story, and allowing comments.

"I give you this one thought to keep~
I am with you still, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not think of me as gone~
I am with you still, in each new dawn."

Native American poem

It is a beautiful remembrance. I am not evolved enough as a person to accept this as an adequate substitute for the corporeal being of a person--their face, their smell, the sound of their voice, the feel of a hug. But it does remind me to quiet myself for a moment so that I might feel my loved one's spirit surrounding me.

To Major Olmsted, my father, USMC Staff Sergeant Charles R. Shields, my cousin Mike, USMC, all those who served and continue to serve, Thank You.

r.

Must Be a New Year

2008-01-03T12:01:00.000-05:00

I just spend a blissful eight days away form the office. I slept past 6am every day. Worked only a little. Enjoyed time with my son, went to a nigh on empty gym, and did some last minute shopping. It was wonderful.

Yesterday was my first day back to reality. Seems the rest of the world is back in force, too. Gone are the short lines in Starbucks, the (relatively) uncrowded subway cars, the nearly empty gym. Sigh. My poor son went back to school, and came home inundated with assignments. He got enough of them done to allow him to go to his weekly Boy Scouts meeting, and I went to the gym. Last night, I walked into the locker room and found very few available. That should have been my first clue. I then found every single elliptical, treadmill and bike were taken. There were 2 old rickety cross-trainingesque machines available, and that's it. I hopped on one until another, more desirable machine opened up.

The power of New Year's Resolutions was very much on display. January is the time to turn over a new leaf in one's life book. Some will resolve to get in shape and/or lose a few pounds. To market to that segment, my gym is sponsoring a "Biggest Loser" competition. Others will try to quite smoking, get organized or land a new job. Maybe others will try to save some money or pay down debt. What it all boils down to is trying to curtail self defeating habits or behaviors.

I haven't made my resolutions yet. It's not for a lack of self defeating habits, it's that I worry about setting myself up for failure. I know that even if I do admit to a resolution or three, I would have to start out slow and steady, not charge from the gate. But charging from the gate is what I'm particularly good at, except in rare cases. When I quit smoking over 2 years ago, then started losing weight shortly thereafter, it was definitely not a charge but steady pace. That said, those life changes seemed to have come about nearly on their own. No actual decision, ceremony, discussion or deliberation. Last year I resolved to take better care of myself. To that end, I scheduled all medical checkups last January, and did so again just yesterday

Okay, so being doomed to failure as an argument against making New Year's resolutions doesn't seem to hold up. So, what can I decide to improve upon for 2008 and beyond? Maybe I can start by picking up the phone once a week and making one phone call to one person. Then maybe pick up the pace. That way, I will have a fuller life with those I love. Or at least they'd be aware in a concrete way that I love them. I think over the next few years I will try to resolve to unlearn some behaviors that have cost me dearly, and better learn from those that have taught me well. One at a time. Slowly. That should take some of the the pressure off to do everything right all the time. For a perfectionist like me, that is key.

r.

Double Edged Pen

2007-12-21T08:51:00.000-05:00

I have never been very good at keeping a written journal. Honestly, I've wasted enough money on Day Timers to realize that I can't even keep a date book current. I keep most things organized in my head, and it seems to work for me. The downside, of course, is that no one else knows the status of anything I am working on. So, then, it comes of somewhat of a surprise that I keep this blog going. It would seem to be somewhat out of character.

What I have found, or more accurately, rediscovered, is that I truly enjoy writing. I like the order it brings to my thought process. I am forced to consider each word...its meanings both actual and connotational. I confess to having a poor grasp on grammar, except to know that one should not begin a sentence with a conjunction or end with a preposition. My ignorance was brought home with painful clarity when my 6th grade son asked for help with his Language Arts homework. Linking verbs? Present perfect? Ummmm, don't you have any math homework you need help with? The process, however, of taking nebulous ideas and setting them down in ordered prose is tremendously satisfying.

I have also found that while I appreciate and collect pens and paper, I don't necessarily enjoy writing longhand at great length. My pen just cannot keep up with my brain when the words come spilling out. While writing in any format requires mental discipline, it requires so much more when one uses ink and paper. The editing process is much messier than when one can simply backspace to correct spelling, usage, grammar or punctuation. I suppose the downside to that is one cannot track mistakes and corrections.

Unfortunately enjoyment does not necessarily translate into ability. There is writing here in blogland that is truly spectacular. It has an expressiveness, rhythm and music to it that is just beautiful. That is what I am striving for. My speech tends to be more formal than most, and that is reflected in my prose. I think I associate formality with the notion of order and precision, or maybe just it is a tool that allows me to distance myself from the ideas I am expressing long enough to do so coherently.

It is in the distancing from an idea that I can examine it more closely. That I can see its many facets. I do not write here out of a sense of exhibitionism. I write here to purge myself of some demons. To give order to chaos. Occasionally just to vent. Even more rarely, to philosophize. And since I visit others and leave my mark around select sites, I am bound to be read myself. It has gotten me into some trouble, in fact. It may be that I will start a separate blog to write about things I do not want discovered by the casual or purposeful eye. Writing has become a need, just as exercise has become a need. There are times when the words flood my brain and demand release. There are times I work ideas through in writing, and times when the finished piece comes out nearly whole. Either way, the process is cathartic if occasionally costly.

r.

How Bizarre!

2007-12-14T15:13:00.000-05:00

This falls under the header Only in New York.

After lunch today, I ventured over to the Modell's on 33rd and Broadway to pick up a skateboard and helmet for Christopher. It is about 4 block or so from my office. This being New York, one learns to move along at a very quick pace, weaving around slow movers and scaffolding with considerable skill. So there I was, trucking along, when this woman who was walking towards me on a Christmas crowded sidewalk, to pass me on my left hand side took one big ole step to her right, directly blocking my path. She said not one word. Just stood there. I had my hands in my pants pockets, not carrying a purse, so nothing on me of any interest. She was nearly a head shorter than me. I didn't recognize her at all. I looked at her for a few moments before asking "Is there a problem?" She said "No." So I stepped around her and went about my business.

How strange! Gotta tell you I was a little nervous. Then I thought, well, maybe if I had said something else such as, "Do I know you?" or, "Can I help you?" I might have learned her intent. I mean she definitely got my attention, but is such a disquieting way, it was not my first inclination to think to be more gracious.

r.

Self Examination 1

2007-12-13T17:49:00.000-05:00

I was brought up in such a way that I learned early to live with emotionally closed doors. Open them up for a second to peak out at the world, maybe play in the dooryard for a little while and then scurry back inside before getting hurt. So afraid of being hurt that I don't think I ever realized that my running back inside in its many forms was hurting those left standing outside the door. Those people had no idea why I took flight. Why the door closed. Sometimes, and the farther I go along in life, more and more rarely, the person is still outside my door when I gather the courage to peak out again. As a result, I peak out less and less often. Hard to see an empty, desolate dooryard.

There have been only a handful of people I have ever let into my inner self. Literally 5. Those people I love fiercely. I depend on deeply. I don't think, given my tendency to live in my own head, that they know who they are or the exclusive company they keep. I really don't mean that to sound egotistical at all. I have trusted so few in my life. But those I have, I have trusted with my life, heart and soul. For the most part they have loved me stubbornly, in spite of myself. A few I have lost along the way.

Since the time I can remember I loved my father with every fiber of my being. I longed for his company. I missed him, and blamed my mother for it. She deserved some of that blame, and so did Dad. But once I became an adult, I had to shoulder my part of the blame. I wanted him to call me. To reach out to me. I wanted to be wanted and missed. I behaved emotionally like an infant who cried until someone would pick me up and tell me it would be ok. That was unfair to both of us. I waited too damned long. I wanted him to be something he could not be. He died before I could fully realize what I was doing. The grief I felt was overwhelming. I have moments when it still catches me unawares. And at moments of clarity, when I fully realize the dynamic in place, it is this side of unquenchable. Ah, so THIS is regret...

When I was in my very early 20s I met my husband. My love. My partner. My protector. My foil. My parent. My child. The one who has never left my emotional dooryard. He has sit patiently on my porch for twenty years. His steadfastness, passion, love, honor, intelligence and gentleness is more humbling than I can say. I don't know why he has hung on. I have fought him tooth and nail, and still he hangs on to me. I don't ever want him to not be there. He is home for me. He is where I am safe. He takes the blows of every fight I wage that has nothing to do with him. Talk about slings and arrows! He has always let me know I was his number one, smart, beautiful, loving, and still I sought external affirmation. But when his wellbeing is threatened, I fall apart. He is my rock. I have bared my naked soul to him like no other, and there are still such dark places he knows not of.

At that same time, late 80s, I met another man that I still know. He and my husband are best friends. He is such a good friend to us both, and someone that I also love and need in my life. He brings to me a sparing partner in a quick witted sharp banter. He is so pragmatic, but without being judgmental. He has no idea the depth of my friendship for him. It is almost as if he and my husband are the two sides of the same coin.

When I was in my mid 30s I met a person that was to be my best friend for 4 years or so. I don't think I have ever had, nor will I ever have, such a girlfriend. We understood each other on a fundamental, we don't need to say the words kind of way. We are both emotional hiders--crawl into a pit and drag a rock on top of it. That said she is much more courageous than I am. She will confront most things head on where I tend to be more oblique. I have always admired that about her. That and her willingness to look at herself, see what needs work then set out to do the work. Very few people have that strength. She is smart, beautiful, loyal and I love her deeply. The thing is that that friendship ended. I was probably to blame. Needed too much. Gave too little. Shirked blame and responsibility too much. When I understood that she was done, the grief took my breath away for weeks and weeks. My throat would ache with unshed, unshedable tears. It has been months. It still takes my breath away, just not daily. Something I see, hear or want to share brings it home with devastating clarity. I have written to her to no avail. I am terrified to pick up the phone. Do I lack the courage to hear her grievances? Do I lack the strength to redress them? Or am I just afraid that there is nothing to be done for it all? Doesn't matter, really. The result is the same. She moved on, and I am bereft.

My brother, about whom I have written here already, also possesses more courage than I. And I have treated him and my girlfriend in the same way as I did my father. I wanted to be reached for. Invited in, without inviting nearly enough. Happy to talk and visit when they call, but not picking up the phone. I told my brother that I wanted to feel like I mattered, that I was worth it. He told me point blank that I was making people feel the exact same way I didn't want to feel. In constantly having to reach out to me, they thought I felt they were not worth reaching for.

God knows I don't see myself as she who must be revered. That's not it. I love them all. Gave them parts of myself I can never take back. It's almost that I am in my own private jail. I can't get out, I can only be visited. I know on an intellectual level that I hold the key to free myself. I know that living like this is painful in the extreme. I know that once I loose those whom I do love so deeply, I will be left alone. I know I need to open myself up, not to let people in, but to get out of myself. No one wants to be trapped in my cell. I get that. I went into my 40th birthday with such brash optimism that I finally was learning what life was for and about. Seems that my proclamations were a bit premature.

I have a son who is learning how to be loved by a woman in how he sees me behave, both towards him and the rest of the world. I want him to be more courageous than I am. I think he might be learning that from Daddy. But I know I need to change myself for no other reason than to ensure that my beloved, kind, tender, smart, honorable, funny son is never left sitting on the emotional doorstep of the woman he loves, with only occasional access to her inner warmth and beauty. I am convinced that my father in law did that too, to some degree. That he was to his wife what my husband is to me. That man died 17 years ago now. It has destroyed my mother in law. Robbed her of any real joy in life, regardless of kids and grandkids. Heavy burden for her husband to have carried, though he like his son carried willingly. Not the legacy he would have wanted to leave his son. Truly sad for those left behind. Lord, I pray that I will learn how to stop making that same mistake.

r.

Introducing....The Silver Bullet!

2007-11-12T10:44:00.000-05:00

My husband really, really liked our old car. As you might remember, our little Ford Escort Wagon was wrecked on 12 September. When we had it hauled away by Kars for Kids, Brian and I were both a little weepy. We have since settled with the insurance company, and spent about a month looking for a new car. Brian wanted another 1998 Ford Escort Wagon, and got one. This one has around 81,000 miles on it, but runs as well as our first one did when it had 27,000 miles on it!

Brian brought her home yesterday afternoon. He had to travel all the way to Scranton, PA to pick her up. We know the dealer through a good friend, so trusted that the car was in fine shape, and would serve us well. In what can only have been inspired by his sense of the ironic, Brian named this car Patience. With that in mind, we decided that if this car is Patience, then surely our old one was Fortitude. Since our first car was more commonly known as the Green Machine, I nicknamed this one the Silver Bullet.

The time between cars has been valuable to us. Since we live in Queens, a car isn't an absolute necessity—we lived very will without one for 7 years. You can walk just about anywhere you need to go, or take mass transit. Heavy loads of groceries can be delivered, etc. Since September, Brian has walked the mile or so to work each day, and it has been very good for him. He now fits into those 38" trousers, and is very happy about it. He has told our son that they will continue to walk to school as well, unless the weather is particularly bad.

I am already contemplating summer beach outings. Brian is planning a trip to Ohio to visit with his mother. Boy Scout outings. Trips to Target. Oh, the places we will go!

Guess I Went Dark for a While

2007-10-30T15:20:00.000-04:00

So, where exactly did October go? Seems to have flown by while I wasn't looking! Then again, I must confess I have buried myself under the proverbial covers for a while now. When I am hurting, I don't reach out, talk or write. I retreat. But I don't want to dwell on that...Instead, a brief rundown of the month that was:

• Christopher joined the Boy Scouts. His school was visited by a local troop in late September. New member night was held 3 October, so we went. He liked it enough to stick with it. Now all we have to do is work with him to organize his priorities so that he can fit this in his schedule. His first outing was to a haunted house with his troop mates. Family night was held on the 24th, where he received his patrol patch and scout coin. His first weekend camping trip is coming up mid November.

• I was sought out by a recruiter in my industry, had several very interesting phone interviews. In the end, it came to naught, but it was a very positive experience. Still no word from Houston, so safe to say that lead is dead in the water.

• I joined a gym as an actual paying member. The facility is near Chris' scout meeting place, so I drop him off and then go sweat. It's a great thing! I love that this place is not just a meat market, full of uber fit men and women hooking up, but all shapes and sizes. These folks are serious about their workout. Plenty of equipment, no lines, no time limits. Weekend yoga classes. What's not to love. I think Brian wants to join as well, once he has a car available to him.

• I went on a one day there and back trip to Detroit to do a presentation that will hopefully not only help us retain the current business, but garner more. It was a publisher with some 50 titles, at least two thirds of which could go digital. We already handle 5 of their titles--more than any of our competitors, except their own in house solution.

• Brian is continuing to feel better about walking. Nearly fits a 38 waist pants!! Very exciting. He is also scouting out a new car, as fall has finally decided to come and stay a while in the Northeast.

• We celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary. We both took the day off from work, and then went out to a wonderful dinner, just the two of us. Chris spent the night with a friend, so we were able to have a leisurely evening.

• Ryan's relationship with Citerra seems to be getting serious. She's brought her kids over to our house. Ryan is awesome with them. My husband was completely enamored of her daughter, Ellie. She's 3 and just as cute as a button. Christopher, not knowing WHAT to make of 2 tiny kids running around, retreated to his room to read.

• First trimester progress reports came home. Chris is doing OK...needs some help with prioritizing a much heavier workload. The good news is that his math grades are much better this year. We are getting in gear for high school. Good God!

• Brian is enjoying his work with the school much more this year, as he is no longer on the executive board of the parent/teacher organization. In fact, our anniversary fell on the same night as the school's Halloween Bash, and we could just leave! Imagine that :)

I am sure my dark cloud will lift. It will just take some work. So many unresolved issues lingering from summertime. Can't believe all this time has gone by without visiting, really visiting with some of the women I was closest with. I didn't think these things happened to seemingly together adults...thought it was a thing of the adolescent past. Guess I should have known better, because I really didn't think I'd make the best friends of my life so deep into my 30s. Thought that was the province of one's adolescence and twenties. You live, you learn, yes?

r.

I Wonder...

2007-10-02T15:12:00.000-04:00

• What is it about human beings that makes them incessantly try to rank things? It seems we are nearly incapable of contemplating ideas without trying to assign some empirical or moral value to them. It is what nearly all forms bias is built upon. My things/ideas/morals are better than yours, and I'm gonna stand here and scream about WHY they are better than yours. People will find and cite references obvious and obscure. Or worse yet, simply repeat that which strikes a chord within them without any analysis. Really? Who has time for that crap? And why? Why do people not understand, with several millennia of recorded history under our collective belt, that to do so is as harmful for the judge as the judged?

• Why is it that other people perceive decisions made by one person as a judgment on their decisions? What one person decides is right for themself and their circumstances has absolutely no bearing on anyone else. Or is this all part of the ranking scheme mentioned above? Is the 'decider' doing trying to see how many chits they can pile up in their corner until they are satisfied that their pile is bigger than someone else's? Or is the person feeling judged taking stock of their pile of chits and feeling as if someone else doesn't measure up, or like they don't measure up themselves? Why is that?

• Why is it that we all talk about wanting the same things, yet most individuals do nothing to ensure those same things become universal truths? Or, even worse, stand by and do nothing to stop others from violating what we all say we want? Idealism is a wonderful thing, but ideals cannot be achieved simply by wishing them so. Those who stand for uglier causes are far more active than those who espouse more noble ideas. But wait....is that a judgment that can be rationalized?

• Why is it that while we can tell a complete stranger where to go and how EXACTLY to get there, we have serious difficulty confronting an emotional issue with someone very close to us? Flipping the bird easier than picking up the phone...now that's just wrong. And the flip side of the same issue...we are so polite to a stranger on the street, but take for granted our own kin and kith. Bump into someone on the sidewalk, and automatically we say, "Excuse me." But saying a heartfelt, "I'm sorry" to someone we've offended is far less reflexive.

I wish I could actually offer answers to these wonderings. If you can, I'm all eyes....

r.

The Weekend That Was

2007-10-01T20:28:00.000-04:00

Well, this family did everything it could to send September out in style! There was beautiful weather, baseball, a deposit into the karmic bank account, drankin', meeting, and a faire. HAH!

Friday afternoon I left the office early to take my son to out to Shea Stadium. It was the Mets' final home stand of the year against the Marlins. Well, I believe most know how THAT worked out. Dammit! I mean really, WTF?!?!?! Seems that an investigation is in order for the monumental collapse that we witnessed. I'm thinking they HAD to have thrown the season.

Saturday morning was gorgeous. We were up very early to get all the chores done. We were expecting a visit from a lady who was raised in the apartment where we now reside. She lives in Maryland, and hadn't been back to this neighborhood in over 40 years. Who can blame her? She lost both of her parents within a couple of years of each other when she lived here. Accompanying her up 4 flights of stairs, and back 40 years time was her sister-in-law, a cousin and an old friend of her parents. We set up coffee and pastry, and gave her free rein of the house. For about an hour, they reminisced, teared up and took pictures. It was really interesting to hear what the neighborhood was like back in the early to mid sixties.

As these women were coming in, Chris was leaving for a birthday party for his buddy, at whose house he wound up spending the night. A distant relative of my husband's, Ryan, lives in our spare bedroom. He had a woman spend the night with him. As long as everything is discrete, I don't mind. He is 25, as is his lover. I got to spend time with her Saturday afternoon while my son was doing his thing and my husband was at work. Nice girl. Damn, 25 is young! Ryan came home around 7 or so, Brian came home around 9 bringing with him an old friend. There was lots of wine and laughs.

Sunday morning was absolutely beautiful. Bright sunshine, clear blue sky, light breeze. I got up early and hung over. I really don't understand why I felt the need to be out of bed at 8am! That said, after Brian went to work, Chris, Citarra and I got our acts together enough to leave the house by 11:30 or so to go to the New York Renaissance Faire held every year at Fort Tryon Park. A forty minute ride on the A train to 190th Street, and you'd never know you were in Manhattan. There are high cliffs overlooking the Hudson with a view of the palisades on the New Jersey side, wooded paths and grassy clearings. The Cloisters, a castle-like branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is up there as well. Perfect location for a Medieval Festival. There were jugglers, jousters, an actual blacksmith, falconers, dueling, the whole nine yards. We had a great time.

I topped it off with a homemade lasagna for supper. Trying to top that next weekend is a tall order, but at least We'll have 3 days to give it a shot!

Update on the Houston situation: NONE. I wonder how much information one can legally glean about a prospective employee without their having given actual consent. I sent a note by email outlining questions and plans last Thursday, resent it today, and have heard butkus. Nada. Zip, Zero, Zilch. Oh well. Onward.

r.

September....Remember

2007-09-28T08:34:00.000-04:00

It has been a busy week and a half in my part of the world, leaving me with little time or energy to update my ramblings....

The school year is fully underway with regular exams, standardized exams, demerits, detention and the annual harangue by our Monsignor for being horrible, permissive, atheistic parents. Oh, joy. He just doesn't understand that the reason most of the parent population stays away from the church is because they want to stay away from HIM! This man actually put the kibosh on a lucrative event because my husband, a member of the executive board that does the planning, doesn't go to church. Let's not mention the fact that he is the most active member of the board, giving of his time and talents in a truly Christian way. He speaks ill of no one. His only faults are occasional stubbornness and, of course, the aforementioned atheistic (though really more agnostic) tendencies. My husband is incensed, and I share his indignation. I don't think I have ever known a more judgmental or bitter Catholic in all my life than our intrepid Pastor. (We won't mention some of the more conservative stances of the church that I just cannot get behind. My son is there because it is a small school.)

As mentioned in a previous post, I am unsure stability of my current employer: One source of our funding is becoming increasingly difficult to secure, reorganization is under serious consideration, and many mid to large capacity publication printers have added digital edition production and distribution to their back ends. This move makes a lot of sense. Publishers can take advantage of economy of scale, as well as save some valuable time. This piece of news came from a major client of ours who has their print contract out for bid right now. Every bid is coming in with digital edition pricing in addition to their print production and distribution pricing. Losing this client would put our company's viability in serious jeopardy.

With that in mind, I went to my favorite job boards, and submitted several resumes. Since I want to get back on the publishing side of the fence, I went after circulation director positions. On a lark, I submitted a resume to a Houston based company. That was a Wednesday the 12th. The following Monday I received a call from their CFO, with whom I met for lunch that Wednesday. Sunday, I took a call form their Director of Publishing Operations, and set up a lunch date with him for the following day, Monday. Both meetings went very well. Tuesday evening, while trying NOT to think about any of this, and just prepare supper and help my son study for 3 exams he had the following day, I received a phone call from said Director saying he wants to offer me the job. For those keeping score, submitted resume, had two interviews and a job offer within 12 days.

My head is absolutely spinning. Do we want to move to Houston? What is involved? Timing? Well, of course, they want me to start as soon as humanly possible. When to visit? How to negotiate such a huge thing? I think the only thing I know for sure is that I am prepared to refuse any offer that is not completely advantageous to my family. Hell, I don't have the means to pull up stakes and move down the block, much less to Houston! How will my husband adjust? My son? Well, his latest question was do they have rodeos? I said, "Duh, it's TEXAS!" He just laughed.

I sent an email to the Director of Publishing Operations outlining a few questions and concerns yesterday the 27th. I am literally sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for a response. This man is a new hire at the company, recruited from Chicago. If anyone would understand the magnitude of the change, it would be him. His wife is high on the food chain for a major business to business publishing house with a toddler, and another on the way.

We are adjusting to being carless for the moment. The weather, thankfully, has held. We donated the carcass to a charity benefiting kids. My husband cried when they towed it away. Negotiations with the insurance company continue. Given the current situation, we haven't made any decisions on what to do about a car yet. We will probably wait until all the Texas dust settles. Then, I think I will get my driver's license, at long last.

r.

Baseball Home Run Record

2007-09-19T17:59:00.000-04:00

Just one girl's opinion. I love baseball. I do not like Barry Bonds. I don't believe he didn't use any enhancement substances. He call the guy who purchased the ball an idiot. So, no honor, no grace, no class. Blech. The record should be asterisk just as Roger Maris' was for so long.

If you have an opinion on the matter, go vote!

r.

Requiem for the Little Green Machine

2007-09-19T08:21:00.000-04:00

Total Loss. That is what the other driver's insurance adjuster said after visiting my crumpled little buggy. All I can do now is wait for the check, according to him. My husband never did follow up with our insurance company to see if that was the final word. I just left them a message telling them where the car is. Hopefully the adjuster will return the call. I doubt, however, that the verdict will be much different. The Kelly Blue Book value of a 1998 Ford Escort Wagon SE with nearly 95,000 miles on it is next to nothing, so my fear that the damage far exceeds the value of the car has been realized.

On the upside, my husband now has to walk EVERYWHERE! This is the most exercise he has gotten in a long while, and he needs it. He had his first heart attack at 46. Thankfully, it was minor and caught early. Since then, he has had several other blockages treated, the latest in May of this year. He was supposed to submit to a cardiac rehabilitation program, but never did citing time pressures. The lack of the car forces the issue.

While I am very happy that no one was hurt, and do recognize that that is the most important thing, I am still very angry and sad that my husband wrecked the car. She was a good buggy, that's for sure.

r.

More Random Information About Me.

2007-09-14T09:22:00.000-04:00

A few others in Blogland have done the exercise below. Since I have nothing particulaly interesting or creative to post today, I defaulted to this:

What were you doing 10 years ago?
10 years ago my son had just been walking for a couple of months, so now he was off to the races. I was a red head with long hair. My husband's aunt lived with us, so we had live in babysitting. Day care was still a year away.

What were you doing 1 year ago?
One year ago it was just past my 40th birthday. Weight loss was really beginning to show. I was dancing at a friend's wedding reception :)

Five snacks you enjoy:

• Cashews
• Dates
• Chocolate
• Ice cream
• Cheese

Five songs that you know all the lyrics to: (You can't say I'm not well rounded!)

• Mercedes Benz (Janis Joplin)
• Comfortably Numb (Pink Floyd)
• Evergreen (Theme song from the Streisand/Kristofferson version of A Star is Born)
• Red Neck Woman (Gretchen Wilson)
• Piano Man (Billy Joel)

Five things you would do if you were a millionaire:

• Buy a house and serious acreage in Southern Illinois so the land stays in the family.
• Put money aside for my son's education and our retirement
• Make sure my brother's kids are taken care of
• Pay my mother in law's heating bills and property taxes forever. Repair her pool and have central air installed!
• Travel

Five bad habits:

• Avoidance. If it is unpleasant, I'll avoid it like the plague.
• I'm a wicked critic, especially of myself. Goes along side-by-side with my perfectionism.
• Impatience with those who either a: should know better or b: are able to determine their own fate. I'm very patient with the elderly, babies and animals.
• I can get stuck in ruts!
• Boy, can I swear. Right up there with truckers and career NCOs

Five things you like doing:

• Cooking
• Walking in the woods (But, really, I'll walk anywhere)
• Listening to music
• Writing
• Love a good debate!

Five things you would never wear again:

• Bikini
• Tube Top
• Platform shoes
• Pleated skirts
• Anything with words running across my ass!

Five favorite toys:

• iPod
• Laptop
• Teddy Bears (I still have a few)
• Raggedy Ann type dolls
• My son's light sabres. We have a great time dueling with them.

My Little Green Machine

2007-09-13T08:58:00.000-04:00

By the beginning 1999, the company I was working for was in its death throes. Every employee knew it. By mid year, we all had our exit options and the financial ramifications of each spelled out. Being in no hurry, and seeing a larger payout if I stayed, I was one of the last employees to leave on 15 November 1999. I had secured a new job with a start date of 29 November.

In February of 2000, I took a chunk of my severance and put a large down payment on my first car, a certified pre-owned forest green 1998 Ford Escort wagon. The whole transaction was conducted online--selected, financed, insured, all of it. It was one of those autocratic decisions on my part, as I didn't (and still don't) have a drivers license. We went down to the dealership to sign the paperwork and pick up the vehicle. I envisioned road trips, vacations, trips to the grocery that didn't require delivery. Ahhhh, freedom.

The first time we dinged her up was during what can only described as a pissing contest between my husband and the driver of an SUV, while jockeying for position in a car-wash line. The car was in our possession for a month. We were all unhurt, but my son saw both of his parents at less than their finest. Since then, a friend riding in the backseat inadvertently opened up the car door into oncoming traffic, my husband misjudged a pickup on 21st Street in Astoria, we were rear ended on the Clearview expressway, and Brian dozed behind the wheel on the BQE. At no time was anyone hurt, but the front driver's side of the car has taken some damage!

My husband can be an impatient driver. He hates getting stuck at a red light when the car in front of him goes just slowly enough to make it through, but he can't. He is also convinced that those who drive larger vehicles hold his in contempt. While he is not reckless per se, he is adamant that he not be taken advantage of on the road. He will NOT cede the right of way unless other drivers are polite or he is in peril. He said that I should have his epitaph read "I was in my lane."

Yesterday, while driving from his job to pick up our son from school, my husband was proceeding through a fairly busy intersection. He crested a hill as the traffic light turned yellow. He still had the right of way. Already in the intersection was a 1978 Cadillac waiting to make a left turn. He was supposed to wait. He didn't. My husband hit the brakes, steered towards the right so as to not hit him head on. The Green Machine driver's side quarter panel, wheel well and tire are severely damaged. Thankfully my husband is fine. The driver of the Cadillac is fine. The Cadillac, aka a TANK, sustained a broken headlight. The drivers exchanged information, the Caddy drive off, our Escort was moved to the curb, where we were written a ticket for not feeding the meter enough.

Since the Caddy violated the right of way, the accident is his fault. His insurance company, Allstate, is in no hurry to settle the claim. In fact, they told Brian they want to settle, to which he responded, sure, for the price of repairing my car. I told him to go file a police report. Not sure there were any witnesses that will be any help. By the time people saw what was going on I am sure the light had changed to red, and people might very well say Brian ran the light.

I saw the car loaded up on a flat bed. From the running lights to the drivers side door, wheel to hood, the car is crunched. I held up traffic taking pictures with my camera phone. Now all I need is the cable to download them. In the meantime, we are without a car for at least a week, if not two. We may even be faced with the prospect of taking any insurance money we get and putting it down for a new car. With a new school year and increased tuition upon us, the last thing we need is a car payment and the higher insurance rates that go with it.

r.

Much Better, Now!

2007-09-12T14:58:00.000-04:00

Ok. I've had my cup and half of coffee, and feel much better about life, the universe and everything. Especially since I was finally able to have a conversation with my coworker regarding the financial health of the company. Before I went on vacation, I heard the dreaded word 'reorg' and thought "uh-oh!" As suspected, it isn't good. However, from what we can gather, the danger isn't imminent. But enough for me to dust off my resume and send it to 3 potential employers within 15 minutes. The last thing I need is to be caught unawares like I was the last time.

October 26th, 2005 was a very pretty day. Leaves were changing color, the sun was shining, and it was day in the upper 60s, if I remember correctly. And it was also my 15th wedding anniversary. My husband and I could not linger over coffee and breakfast, as I had to be out of the house by 5am to make it to work by 7am for a 7:30 am meeting. By 7:35, I found out that my position had been eliminated, I had thirty minutes to empty my office, and a limousine was waiting downstairs to drive me home. I was unemployed for the first time in my life, and scared to death. It took until February 2006 to secure a new job. Not that long by most standards, but when you are responsible for supporting the family, it is an eternity.

I don't normally leave a job unless there is a very compelling reason. I am a security NUT. From the time I was 24 until now, I've had only 3 jobs. The first one I kept for nearly 10 years--the company was sold and shut down. The position that was eliminated I held for nearly 6 years. This one I have held for a little over a year and a half. Seems strange to actively seek new employment after so short a tenure. That said, I am no longer working in the suburbs, but in Manhattan. I can get around so much more easily. Seems silly not to take a long lunch or come home a little late in order to better secure my family's future.

r.

Starbucks PSA

2007-09-12T08:44:00.000-04:00

Just a short rant to begin the day:

Note to Starbucks Employees, 35th Street and 7th Avenue:

It is inadvisable to install a completely new crew in one of your busiest locations during morning rush hour. If the guy taking money does not know the touch screen, or cannot count money, open up another register. It is not in any way, shape or form acceptable to wait over 10 minutes with only 2 people in front of you at 7:35am for a simple Grande Drip! Seriously, when the line starts creeping out the door, it is time to relieve the poor bastard! When your regular customers are having strokes, it is time to relieve THEM.

Rant over. More later.

r.

Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

2007-09-07T15:20:00.000-04:00

Where Have All the Flowers Gone is a folk song written by Pete Seeger around 1961. The inspiration for the song came from a Ukrainian folk song referenced in a novel by Mikhail Sholokhov, And Quiet Flows the Don. Seeger wrote three verses, and adapted it to a tune. Some time later, Joe Hickerson wrote two more verses. I remember hearing several versions of the song when I was a little kid: one by the incomparable Joan Baez, and one by Peter Paul and Mary. What I remember most, however, is my mother's virulent hatred of the song.

Joan Baez' rendition of Where Have All the Flowers Gone was released in 1967. My father was a 23 year old infantry Marine in Vietnam at the time. Given that Baez spent years and her considerable energy protesting that War, I can almost understand why my mother felt as she did. I also think she was fearful of the line "Where have all the soldiers gone? Gone to graveyards, every one," as so many Marines, Sailors, Airmen and Soldiers did.

Every year I go to my family reunion, one of my Aunts, Uncles, or Cousins bring me a piece of my father. These memories, artifacts and photos are treasures to me. They are also exquisitely painful. This year, Dad's next eldest and closest sister brought me photos taken when he was in the Marine Corps. The first was his recruit photo. It was taken in 1961 when he was just 17 years old. The Vietnam War was underway, but there were only about 3,200 military advisers on the ground. Kennedy was still alive, and commitment to American combat troops was still about 4 years away.

The other photo was taken in January of 1968. Dad was nearly 24 years old, serving in Vietnam. His wife was in New York ready to give birth to my brother. At the time, there were nearly half a million troops on the ground. The total would reach its peak of 543,000 by April of 1969.

On the reverse of this photo is a handwritten note to my Aunt. He was due to come home soon, and was understandably happy about it. I will always be grateful to my Aunt for giving me these pictures. She says next year she will bring the photo of Dad in his dress blues. I'm sure it is something to see!

The song, the photos and the Vietnam war bring to mind what is now going on in Iraq and, to a lesser extent, Afghanistan. Not that the paths to war are similar or any of the politics, per se, but war and its aftermath in general. Just as in the '60s, our young men, boys really, go overseas in uniform to execute the policies created far from the front. The average age of a Vietnam soldier was 19. I am sure the age is similar for those going to Iraq, whereas in WWII, the average age was 26. That my mother, most likely in support of her husband, could not protest the war he fought, and also vilified those who did, is an attitude that is visible today. It is an attitude that frequently only changes once husbands, fathers, brothers, wives, sisters, and mothers come home to Arlington.

I have always been proud of my father's service. I have always opposed the war he was sent to fight. I have always mourned the damage to his soul. I have always wondered how our lives would have been different if he hadn't gone to Vietnam. I read an article recently that stated only 15% of Vietnam veterans suffered long term psychological problems as a result of their service. I think that number is grossly understated. Given the revisionist history witnessed by that remark, one can only shutter at what the reported long term effects on Iraq and Afghanistan veterans will be.

r.

Time to Again Gather the Clan

2007-08-29T09:28:00.000-04:00

Every year, Labor Day weekend, is the Shields Family Reunion. It is held near the original farmstead where my father and his 9 surviving siblings were born and raised. Though the original dwelling is in ruins, I have visited the old graveyard, the family church and the high school in town that bears my maiden name. It is the bosom of my family to which I have returned faithfully since the death of my father in 2003.

The first year I went, Labor Day 2004, no one knew me, but everyone knew who I was: Charlie's daughter. I am his spitting image, and was welcomed warmly, as the pain of Dad's death was still very raw. I went with my husband and son, and was reintroduced to everyone. I had only met most of these people at my Dad's funeral the prior December. Brian and I stayed in a hotel in town, so we had an out if we needed one. While nerve wracking, it was a wonderful experience.

In the years since, I have earned my place as Rebecca. Still Charlie's daughter, to be sure, but an individual, known in my own right. We no longer stay in town when we visit, we stay with Dad's younger brother Lyndel, right down the road from his older brother, Marvin. I have learned what life was like from their perspectives growing up dirt-floor poor. Through them, I am getting to know and better understand the man that was my father.

I also spend time with 3 of Dad's older sisters: Dorris (whom I most resemble), Joyce and Mary. I met his oldest sister, Reba, on my first visit, but she has not been back since. While I love them dearly, I find them less approachable and more critical than my uncles. They also forget that I am a 40+ year old woman, not a teenager in search or need of a maternal figure.

My son is getting to know his cousins, aunts and uncles, too. When we are at home, we are a small family of 3, with only my husband's youngest sister near enough to visit. It is easy to forget that we are part of something larger. I didn't have extended family growing up, as my mother was an only child, and we were completely cut off from my father's family. It is very important that Christopher knows that he has many, many relatives near and far.

This weekend, the Shields clan will again commandeer the property now owned by my grandfather's brother's grandson, Jerry. There will be nightly cookouts, a live band, karaoke, and way too much to drink. Aunt Dorris will give the evening meal blessing and cry. We will cook and catch up on family news and gossip. We will celebrate my cousin Lisa, who has come though breast cancer treatment bald and bruised, but unbowed. Christopher will learn how to shoot a .22 shotgun, and search for deer and coyote tracks and turkey feathers with his cousins. For the first time since 2004, my husband will join us.

Our gathering together is salve to our souls. Leaving is always hard. Anticipation for the next years' event begins when I step on to the plane bound for New York.

r.

June 16th

2007-08-23T10:41:00.001-04:00

I have visited several blogs recently that have posts regarding events that occurred on their birthday throughout history. So, I went to Wikipedia, typed in June 16, and holy moly, a whole lot has gone down on that day!

Events:

1487 - Battle of Stoke Field, the last dying breath of the Wars of the Roses.

1755 - French and Indian War: French surrender Fort Beauséjour to the British, leading to the expulsion of the Acadians.

1911 - A 772 gram stony meteorite struck earth near Kilbourn, Columbia County, Wisconsin damaging a barn. (Hence the Superman myth?)

1967 - Monterey Pop Festival begins; Monterey, California.

Births:

1723 - Adam Smith, Scottish philosopher and economist

1829 - Geronimo, Apache leader (d. 1909)

1917 - Katherine Graham, American publisher (d. 2001). She was at the helm of the Washington Post during the Watergate coverage that lead to Nixon's resignation. You go girl!!

1971 - Tupac Shakur, aka 2Pac, American rapper (d. 1996)

1996 - My beloved son, Christopher

Holiday/Observance:

Bloomsday, in honor of Leopold Bloom, the hero of James Joyce's Ulysses set on 16 June, 1904.

Exhale!

2007-08-20T08:50:00.000-04:00

Until last Friday, I didn't think it was possible to hold my breath for an entire week, much less six months. Funny thing is that until I received a letter from a radiology facility, I didn't fully realize that I was holding it.

As part of my 2007 New Years Resolution to take better care of myself, I scheduled an appointment with both my OB/GYN and GP on January 31st. I hadn't been to see either in about 3 years, so I figured I'd knock both appointments out in one day. Since it was 6 months past my 40th birthday, my GYN ordered me to submit to a mammogram. I scheduled the appointment as soon as I left his office. It was set for the sixth of February. I finished my day feeling quite virtuous.

Less than a week after my mammography appointment, I received a phone call from my GYN telling me to schedule a follow up sonogram ASAP. I was terrified! My cousin who is only 2 years younger than I was just diagnosed with breast cancer, involving her lymph nodes, stage 3 or so. I scheduled and kept the appointment within the week. My doctor called a week or so later giving me a provisional all-clear. I was to schedule a 6 month follow up exam in August. While I was somewhat relieved, I still had a heightened sense of anxiety. There were some pretty big words hurled at me, of which I understood only 2: No Cancer. When I hung up the phone, I immediately picked it back up and scheduled my next appointment for 13 August, 9am. Best to just get it over with!

Monday, thirteen August dawned bright and beautiful. I headed to the Grammarcy Park area for my visit with the Breast Crushing machine and the sonographer, and when finished, went about my day. The rest of the week I waited for a phone call that never came. I tried to reassure myself that if there were anything really wrong, the phone would ring. I checked my message light on my home, work and cell phones constantly. Finally, Friday evening, when I came home from work and the gym, there was a envelope from the radiology facility. All clear. Schedule your next appointment for a bilateral exam in February 2008. It is now three days later. I have the letter with me to schedule the appointment.

I didn't spend a whole lot of time talking about my increasing level of anxiety. Neither did my husband, and I know he was just as nervous as I was. When he realized what was in the mail, he nearly tore it out of my hands once I had read it! The relief was palpable. Looking back, it was almost a state of suspended animation that we were living with. I am fine, but the prospect of not being fine was daunting to say the least. Maybe that explains the slightly reckless streak I have been on lately. Now that I can breathe more freely, I think I will take some time out and just be.

r.

A Quintessential New York Moment

2007-08-17T12:06:00.000-04:00

Yesterday's evening commute started out quite ordinary. I narrowly missed the Astoria-bound N train at 34th Street. A few minutes later, the W arrived in the station which I boarded and got a seat. At Times Square a tall, slender man in paint splotched clothes boarded and sat perpendicular to me. Two stops later at 57th Street, a tall thin woman in a striped shirt got on and sat next to me. Nothing at all unusual. I took notice the man only because he had a small Band-Aid box that he kept clicking open and shut. The woman caught my attention because the volume on her iPod was turned up high. But no matter, I was absorbed in a book.

Somewhere around Lexington Avenue, the woman asks the man whether he was a painter. He responded no, he just left the operating room--brain surgeon. She seemed to enjoy his smart ass answer, and the conversation continued. He is a house painter. She is a packaging designer for cosmetic companies. He owns his own business with his dad, has a wide and varied clientèle and "is very good at" what he does. She is bored with her job. He is Queens born and raised, she moved to Astoria a year or so ago, and loves it.

"Do you want to go and have a drink?" he asks the woman.

"You buyin'?"

"Sure," he shrugs.

They formally introduce themselves: His name is John, her's is Maria. A short conversation about where to go leads to this exchange:

"Do you know Sparrow?"

"No."

"It's on 29th Ave. and Astoria Blvd.," she says.

At this point I reveal that I have been eaves dropping on the conversation the entire time by saying, "Sparrow is on 29th Street and 24th Avenue, across from the Beer Garden."

"Oh, oh, right, right. I always get the Avenues and Streets confused! Thanks."

They agreed they'd meet at 6:30 that evening. Both got off at the 30th Avenue stop. We all bid each other a good night, and I smiled the rest of the way home.

r.

The Most Annoying People Ever

2007-08-14T11:05:00.000-04:00

I have long held that some of the most annoying people are the recently converted. It really doesn't matter what form the conversion takes. Former smokers, born again Christians, formerly overweight people all fit this category. What is most annoying is their seemingly constant need to proselytize. If you ask anyone I know, I think they will report I have joined the ranks of those whom I so disdain.

I quit smoking in the middle of October 2005 cold turkey. I quit because it was becoming increasingly more difficult to breathe doing ordinary things. A four or five block walk left me panting before I got to my front door. Did I mention that I live on the fourth floor of a walk-up? In the dozen or so years before that time, I had never been winded climbing those stairs, even when carrying a sleeping 5 year old. I didn't find it particularly difficult to quit, as mine was a sub-pack a day habit (unless I was drinking). Besides the fear of emphysema, or any other chronic pulmonary disease is a powerful incentive.

I never went out of my way to talk about the fact that I quit. I didn't make any announcements or pronouncements at all. On occasion someone would notice that I hadn't lit up on a while, and would ask me about it and I'd tell them. The discussion begins with every new person who notices: "When did you quit?" followed closely by "How did you DO it?" They ask, I answer, and those who had a harder time kicking the habit become really sick of hearing it.

Beginning in around March of 2006, I noticed I was beginning to loose weight. I had just started a new job that took me from a 4 hour daily commute to a sub 2 hour daily commute. I had much less sitting around time. Also around then, I took over cooking duties from my husband who also started a new job. In the beginning, I shrugged it off, as incidental. That, and I was scared that it wouldn't last. I was also worried that I might have developed a medical condition that was making the weight come off (that idea has been soundly rejected).

That said, I was pleased that I finally didn't have to buy bigger clothes! I went to the track an average of 3 times a week, and made a much more conscious effort to monitor what I ate. More weight came off. In November of 2006, a good friend of mine was given access to a fitness room that she shared with me an another friend. So, now I went to the gym a couple of times a week, the track once a week, and took mile-long walks at lunchtime. More weight came off.

Fast forward to present. I have shed a total of 80 to 85 pounds. I worked hard to do it. Nothing magic about it. I did the research and the math to figure out how much I can eat, and how much I burn. I never allow myself to feel denied or hungry, nor do I turn away a cookie, pasta, ice cream or bottle of wine. I do, however, think about what and how much I eat in conjunction with the the amount exercise I get, constantly. I am justifiably afraid of becoming that overweight person again. My family tends to the arthritic and the round.

This isn't something I want to spend a whole lot of time talking about anymore. But here again, if someone hasn't seen me in 6 months or a year, the change they see is pretty dramatic, and they definitely comment on it. "Wow! You look great! How much did you loose?" "How did you do it?" "Wow, you must feel so much better!" Comments along that line, that are made, and to which I respond. In so doing, I try to be honest (assuming that if you ask how, you really want to know), gracious, modest, or deflect kudos, or say well, I'm still having a problem with...I can tell you everyone I know is sick and tired of hearing it.

I guess people think that since I am now a thinner person, that all other problems are non existent. I shouldn't still worry about that one area of my body that I cannot reshape no matter how hard I try. I had one woman tell me that talking about my weight was hurtful to every single person on a daily basis. That my weight loss was unhealthy. That I am looking gaunt and unattractive. I would never have expected such an attack from her. While everyone watched me gain weight and vocalize my despair, I was heard with much more patience and encouragement. No one told me to put the damned cookie down, move my ass and quit feeling sorry for myself. While that would have been hurtful too, it might have also been a little motivational.

I have changed my opinion of those who have made life altering conversions. I no longer think they are pompous, insensitive or evangelistic. I was a smoker. I can tell you a smoker doesn't want to hear from a former smoker. Sometimes it is a matter of being defensive about a habit that meets with perceived disapproval. Maybe they are trying to quit, or have tried unsuccessfully and feel judged. But I can tell you that a smoker has never been made to feel uncomfortable in my home or in my presence. Maybe the person who doesn't want to hear about weight loss or related topics is someone who is also struggling with the issue. They'd like to be happy for your success, but can't as it is perceived as an indictment against them. In the meantime, perhaps all that is needed is some time and space away. Maybe I have offended my friends irreparably, and that truly grieves me. But I have to believe the problem is shared at least fifty/fifty.

r.

The List

2007-08-10T10:56:00.000-04:00

I found this list on several blogs lately, and thought it an interesting idea. Almost as much fun as Eight Random Facts, but a lot more thought provoking. So, without further ado:

I know ~ that life is good.

I believe ~ that I will continue to evolve.

I fought ~ bitterly with my mother.

I am angered ~ by dishonesty or deception.

I love ~ my family and friends.

I need ~ to run like hell sometimes.

I take ~ most things in stride.

I hear ~ music and it carries me to a different place.

I drink ~ a lot of red wine and whiskey.

I hate ~ monotony.

I use ~ nothing harmful.

I want ~ to see where my spirit can take me.

I decided ~ I would not be a fat immobile old lady.

I’m entirely ~ too defensive.

I like ~ walking in the rain with no umbrella.

I am ~ responsible.

I feel ~ very alone sometimes.

I left ~ a corrosive relationship with my mother behind.

I do ~ have really good intentions.

I hope ~ to sit and have a drink with my son when he is 25 and hear his take on life the universe and everything.

I dream ~ of that which haunts me.

I drive ~ some people up the wall!

I listen ~ to what is NOT said.

I type ~ sloppily.

I think ~ way to damned much.

I wish ~ I could see how it all turns out.

I compensate ~ my occasional lack of substance with style.

I regret ~ not seeing my father before he died.

I care ~ about the world I am leaving behind for my children and grandchildren.

I should ~ know better.

I said ~ I would do it, and so I did or will. Almost always.

I wonder ~ if I am good enough.

I changed ~ my outer appearance.

I am not always ~ strong.

I cry ~ when faced with any strong emotion or loss.

I am ~ unabashedly myself.

I am not ~ mean spirited.

I lose ~ my nerve too easily.

I leave ~ an impression, one way or the other!

r.

Mid-Life Crisis?

2007-08-07T12:08:00.000-04:00

Mid-life Crisis. Usually said with a measure of derision, the words alone conjure images of the absurd. How often have we snickered about someone acting impetuously in an attempt to prove they are not yet old, or to keep them from getting old. Now that I have reached that time of life, I think that might be a little harsh. Once I hit 38 or 39, I began reevaluating many things. I just wasn't really conscious of it at the time. And while I will not color my graying hair, or undergo plastic surgery to staunch the march of time, I will spend a buck or three on good moisturizer.

I was thinking about this on Saturday while sipping my morning coffee, wishing it was a Bloody Mary. Friday night I was out with a bunch of my girlfriends. We enjoyed a wonderful dinner at a somewhat fashionable restaurant in the City, then picked up a couple of bottles of good wine, and hung out at a friend's house. It's not that I want to be 25 again: hell, at 25 I wouldn't have been able to afford or appreciate such 'grown up' tastes.

After the original crowd of 9 women dwindled down to 4, we decided to go over to a local Irish Pub. It was 2am. I walked into the place with greater confidence than I ever would have 15 years ago. I ordered a Jamison's on the rocks, went over to the juke box and put on what I wanted to dance to. Didn't leave until well after last call for alcohol. What struck me while reliving a fun night was that in another few years it might....will...seem ridiculous to do that. To some people reading this now, it might seem ridiculous to do it, or still WANT to do it at the age of 41.

Is it about propriety? A sense that one should, by a certain age, give up such rowdy behaviors, just as a child gives up his toys. That would seem to me a case of sour grapes on the part of those casting such judgment. Is it about looks? You don't look all that different when you are in your mid thirties than you do in your early forties. But a 45 to 50 year old does begin to show some wear and tear. Then it seems more creepy to hang out at a bar, or drive a powerful sports car, or wear certain kinds of clothes.

Even older athletes are looked at differently, especially if they can perform the same feats as their younger teammates or competitors. It's as if once a person reaches a certain age, a shift should occur, not unlike a gear change in an automatic transmission.

I don't think people my age want to hang out with twenty-somethings. Lord knows I don't wish to relive my own misspent youth. Many of us in our early to mid 40s and beyond think we can still raise some hell. We don't want to go gently into that good night. I, for one, still rage against the dying of the light, and will for some time to come, God willing.

r.

A Six Year Reprieve

2007-08-01T10:25:00.000-04:00

As long as I don't move out of Queens County, I am free from Jury Duty for the next 6 years. Until fairly recently, the exemption was 4 years if you served, but since the Empire State widened the jury pool by eliminating most vocational exclusions, the exemption was extended.

I was prepared for the worst, but all in all, it was not a bad experience. As intimated in the post below, my first experience with Jury Duty soured me a little. In 1989 or so, the jury room in the Manhattan Supreme Courthouse down on Church Street was very dirty, uncomfortable with wooden pew-like seating and ancient phone booths. The coup de grace was a rather elderly gentleman dressed in a ill fitting navy sports jacket covered with dandruff who had a 'pet' cockroach crawling around on him. I swear to God!

Fast forward to 2007. I arrived around 8:10am, sailed through a metal detector (damned underwire bras!!). The jury room was well lit and spacious with comfortable seats and a nice array of amenities. There were a dozen or so internet ready computers, vending machines, clean bathrooms, reading material and a few tables on which one could work or eat. The Jury Clerk (a NYPD officer) played movies on the large flat screen TVs at a moderate volume. He even cracked a few jokes.

The only bump in the road was when the Clerk told me I couldn't use the computer at 8:20ish...they were not to be used until after 8:30 or 9am. WHATEVER! I asked why not. He refused to elaborate. I copped an attitude. So did he. Yep, I reverted to my 16 year-old problem with authority self in a New York heartbeat. To complete my humiliation, I had to go back to him and ask if I could use the machines, as the posted signs said I wasn't allowed to power them up. The signed lied. He told me to turn them on. Ah, bureaucracy!

I was never called. Left the courthouse by 4pm, with several hundred pages of The Half Blood Prince under my belt (which I stayed up until 1am to finish so I could begin Deathly Hallows today). My husband and son picked me up at our subway stop, and we headed down to the Astoria Park pool. Collected a full day's pay, too. What's better than that!

r.

Jury Duty!!

2007-07-30T20:53:00.000-04:00

In Queens, one is served their Jury Summons in the mail with instructions to call in to see if your designated code number has been selected. Every night beginning on an assigned date, you call a toll free number to see if you have been summoned to report to a dank, depressing court house in the middle of nowhere. I was instructed to begin calling Friday, 27 July. I did, and was not so summoned, but I had to call again tonight. My luck just ran out. I am to report tomorrow by 8:30. I have managed to dodge this bullet for many years, this time I must bite it.

The first time I was summoned to Jury Duty, I was in my mid 20s. I made past the exhaustive voir dire and all the way into the jury box before being dismissed by one of the attorneys. I went into it feeling proud to be part of the system. I envisioned the process as being somewhat regal. Maybe too many episodes of LA Law, but I expected intelligent attorneys, a somber learned judge, crisp bailiffs, and an interested jury pool. I came out of it very disillusioned. Even in the late 80s early 90s people went into the jury room dressed like they were going to to pick their kids up from school. The attorneys were disheveled, and that is being kind. The judge consistently dropped twenty five cent words that he used incorrectly. He was so in love with the sound of his voice that he blessed us with his fractured oratory for 40 minutes!

Oh well, that was nearly 20 years ago in Manhattan. Maybe Queens County Courthouse will be different. I will let you know in a future post...

r.

My Mini Vacation

2007-07-30T10:08:00.000-04:00

There are few things better than taking a couple of days off from work, and all associated computer endeavors! It isn't quite as relaxing as a full blown vacation, but definitely required every so often.

Thursday, my girlfriend and I went out to Shea Stadium to watch the Mets play a very sloppy game against the Pirates, and loose 8-4. Seats on the first base line in the Loge section. Great for foul balls and the tee shirt grab.

Friday, I took Christopher all over the city. We had to drop his buddy, Connor, off at day camp on Houston and the Bowery. We grabbed a cup of coffee and walked up to the Trader Joe's in Union Square (needed some 2 Buck Chuck for later in the evening). From there we took the subway up to Times Square. Chris just HAD to go to the Toys R Us flagship store to peruse their Star Wars action figure section. From there we walked up to 58th and Park to the Borders store to purchase the Harry Potter book. The nice man at the checkout counter saw me with a child in tow, and gave us a poster of the cover art. Then walked over to Columbus Circle to grab some lunch from Whole Foods, and had ourselves a picnic in Central Park. Chris started reading HP and The Deathly Hallows, and was as absorbed as if he just picked up a new Spidey comic! Returned home around 4 or so. Friday night was wine and girlfriends.

Saturday, Chris and I went to see the Mets play a much better game against the Nationals. They won 3-1. A friend of ours gets tickets all the time from various business associates. This time we were just behind home plate, very front row of the Mezzanine section. Definitely NOT the seats you want if you are trying to shag a foul ball. Chris brought his mitt, but came away disappointed. We watched the second game of the double header at home....they lost.

Alas, Sunday was dedicated to getting the chores done. But I can't complain. We had a great extended weekend. The only downer was that my husband was working all 4 days. But It was really a nice treat to spend some time with my son, one on one.

And here we are Monday morning. Back to the grind, but much more prepared to handle whatever comes my way.

r.

I'm Outta Sorts!

2007-07-24T14:19:00.001-04:00

It's only Wednesday, and I feel like I've been run over by a freight train! I'm just exhausted in every way imaginable, so my patience level is down around zero. So, today, I think I'm gonna indulge myself and rant about the idiocy of the general public, myself included.

Idiotic Incident The First

I absolutely HATE littering. Completely unnecessary, gross, ignorant, inconsiderate and beyond all excuse. I don't think it has ever occurred to me to leave my detritus in the world. My son certainly knows better. This morning I ran into a bunch of twenty something year old idiots who decided that they should unwrap their breakfast sandwich on 35th Street, and toss the wrapper and the bag it came in on the sidewalk! Seeing as how I am in such a FINE mood this morning, I said out loud, "Why the FUCK would you DO that?!?!?!" All 4 or 5 of them turned around to gawk at the crazy beotch who addressed them in this manner. Did I leave it alone? NOOOOOOOO. Went on to call them fucking pigs. They probably had themselves a good chuckle, or hurled an insult or two in my direction. I couldn't hear them, as I was jamming to Montgomery Gentry on my iPod.

I am sooooo not going to tell my husband about this little drama, as he is convinced that I'm going to get myself killed one of these days mouthing off to the wrong crowd. But really, I'd be willing to bet their mammas taught them better than that!

Idiotic Incident The Second

When I was a child, and became frustrated trying to do something, my grandmother would tell me, "Rebecca, there is always more than one way to skin a cat." While a gross visual, the concept is an important one. If you are trying to accomplish something and your first method doesn't work, try another method!! The guy who does the billing for my company about blew a freaking gasket when his first choice report didn't yield the results he expected. Rather than choosing to look at a different report that actually gave the same information, albeit in a slightly different format, he chose to butt heads with absent data. Even AFTER being presented with a workaround! I gave him the figures from an alternate source, then queried the tech staff as to why the preferred report wasn't functioning properly. They corrected the mistake, problem solved. But only after frustration level was ramped up to a ridiculous level.

To compound matters, he he couldn't seem to stop trying to look down my shirt the entire time he was having his hissy fit!!!

Idiotic Incident The Third

This should be filed under Reading is Fundamental. A new client of mine just received her first invoice. She, very reasonably, got out her contract Schedule A and compared it to said invoice. She then picked up the phone and called me with her questions. Which she then proceeded to answer on her own while reading her contract to me. This is by far the most benign idiotic incident, as it really didn't arouse my ire in any way, it just made her feel silly. Eh, her dime!

Thank God I am taking the next two days off from work! Maybe I'm just hormonal, but I need some extra sleep and some stress relief. I am envisioning a bottle of vin rouge, a mani/pedi and a hot tub. Two out of three's gonna have to do, as there is no hot tub in sight!

r.

I Am Charlie's Sister

2007-07-23T13:52:00.000-04:00

Funny where one can take inspiration. I have been reading several blogs lately with a family theme. It got me thinking of my own family of origin. A couple of months ago, I wrote about my father, I write frequently of my son, occasionally of my husband. Now, it is my brother's turn.

My brother, Charlie, is 18 months younger than me, almost to the day. As is often the case in wartime, the child was conceived just before Dad shipped out to Vietnam, and born before the end of his first tour. His father's namesake, Charles was an absolutely adorable baby, with a elfin face. Growing up, I was completely convinced that he was my mother's favorite, since he was both the baby of the family and a boy. In hindsight, I really don't think she had a favorite.

As far back in our childhood as I can remember, Charles was irritated with me for being the older sibling. His resentment was fueled by the fact I always had slightly more privileges than he did: I could stay up a little later, had a bigger allowance, etc. What he didn't realize was that I was also held more accountable both for my own behavior and his (since I was older, I set the example), and I always had a few more chores than he did. Charles always thought he'd catch up to me both in age and size. Since he is approaching 40, he is no longer as eager to surpass me in age. He had only to wait until his mid teens to become taller than me. We fought bitterly, probably for dominance, and probably because each was convinced the other was favored.

Even in his very early years, that boy was always in trouble. He was a smart kid, but performed poorly in school. He was mischievous when he was very young, borderline criminal when he was older. Before he even hit his teens my mother had him sent to a boys correctional type facility. I was really too young to fully understand the ramifications at the time. All I knew was that my brother seemed to be the cause of a great deal of tension, and now he was going to not be there anymore. I have a much different understanding now, both as an adult and as a parent. It has haunted me for years.

Charles was always more courageous than me. Growing up in a strict household, my acts of defiance were quiet and small (a form of passive aggressive behavior I learned to perfect, and have since disavowed). His were much more overt. I admired him for that, and I still do. He can confront things head on, and straight away that it takes me weeks to build up the stomach for. Until his early 30s, he thought nothing of pulling up stakes and moving on. When he was done with a place, either because there was no work for him, or he just became restless, he packed his car and went. I have 3 pages in my phone book with addresses in Texas, California, Colorado, Georgia and Arkansas!

Charles has since settled down. He has been married for about 10 years, and has 3 kids of his own. His eldest daughter looks just like him! Charles named her for me, an honor that I will never fully deserve.

While we stay in touch, it can be a little strained. Our frames of reference are out of kilter all together. Our family history isn't really a shared one, since he was out of the house basically since he was 9 or 10, with only brief intervals of being home. We both grew up as de facto only children, in parallel universes, it seemed, his universe being a type of bizarro world. He never blamed me for it, and it wasn't my fault. Neither of us had much control over the situation. But I think we both learned a great deal from it.

r.

Thank You, She Says Creatively

2007-07-20T11:25:00.000-04:00

The other day, Epimenides bestowed upon me the Creative Blogger Award. Thank you very much, Epi. One of these days, I might actually post a piece of fiction or philosophy here so that I can be more deserving of his esteem.

Below is a list of blogs that I keep up with that truly are creative. I am one short of the requisite five nominations, but quality is aways better than quantity. Without further ado...

Random Magus' blog is always well written and topics deeply thought out. It is always a treat to read.

Flying Pink Elephants. This blog has the most beautiful and widely varied photographs. A fellow publishing maven, her posts are a joy to read.

My Bucket of Parts. Uncle Phatato can write, draw and takes great pictures. He is truly creative, and a lot of fun to read.

Three Beautiful Things (3BT). The author lists 3 things every day in which she finds beauty. Some are very minor, indeed, but the way in which she describes them reminds us all to see the joy in our daily lives.

Of course, there are rules....
1) If you have received an award simply choose either the dark or light background image and save it to your files, then post it proudly on your blog!
2) Pass the award on to five other people, you can choose any of the awards from the series, you do not have to pass out the exact award you received. Choose whichever of the awards below that you'd like to give out. You can give out one of each or five of the same one, whatever you prefer.
3) You can change the size and color of awards to suit your blog, that's up to you, it's your blog, just leave the titles the same.
4) Please link back to this post so that people can read these rules and so that the meanings of the awards will not be lost.

r.

Going to Extremes

2007-07-19T12:50:00.000-04:00

There is a family here in the City that has turned back the clock about a hundred and twenty five years in their household. It is a one-year experiment to create as little waste as humanly possible. He dubs himself the No Impact Man. Anyone who stayed up late enough to watch Nightline last night will know what I am talking about. Another family I heard about in the news recently decided to try to remove all products made in China from their lives. While that is next to impossible, I am not sure that No Impact Man has it any easier.

The Beaven family decided to eat only locally grown unpackaged food, reuse everything they possibly can, compost in their kitchen (odorless, for the most part), not use any form of transportation, and, for the coup de grace, shut off their electricity. They have, therefore, eschewed all prepared foods, travel over scooterable distances and, heaven forbid, television.

I have to admit, I am intrigued. I am not sure I want to go without electricity or any extended travel, but the rest of it I have given more than just passing thought. Who doesn't remember all the food scares coming out of China. The head of that country's Food and Drug Administration was executed for taking bribes in exchange for looking the other way. Also in the news recently was the fact that of all the tons of food imported by the US, none is tested, and only a few containers inspected to see if they contain what the documentation says they should contain. WHAT? That's absurd! Here we are worried about who might bomb us to kingdom come, and all a terrorist really has to do is poison the unguarded, imported food supply!

All of this has made me take a much closer look at what my family consumes. My husband likes to shop the sales. If apple juice is $1.29 a bottle, he will buy 4 of them. If I buy the juice, I buy the organic Motts. We were talking about this the other night while preparing dinner. Brian was sipping 'generic' apple juice out of the bottle (yeah, we do that in our house...). It had stamped on the bottle "made from concentrate in China." What? Why? There are several states including my own that are big apple growers. Why on earth are we importing THAT? Does it have to do with immigration legislation? If so, pass the laws, make the illegals legal, and let's eat the apples they pick! I am admittedly somewhat oversimplifying here, but my dander is up.

I have decided that I will now be much more conscientious about purchasing locally produced food. It will require some research, but I think my family will be better for it. The Union Square farmer's market is a great place to shop. If I save my pennies now, I can buy into an organic produce cooperative that has a drop off right across the street from my son's school. All that produce comes from New York State. I can also purchase meat, dairy and poultry from upstate farms.

If I want to go to a grocery, I go to Whole Foods. With four locations in my neck of the woods, it is the most sane place to buy organic foods, packaged or unpackaged. That store also lets me know what products are grown or manufactured locally. We have one local Trader Joe's. While that store is cheaper, it is so unbelievably crowded, I cannot abide shopping there.

My husband shakes his head and says to me that "regular old food" was good enough for me for the last 40 years. But I remind him that much has changed over the past 30, especially. Farmland used to begin a mere 45 miles away from city limits, in the eastern parts of Nassau County, and western Suffolk. Cabbage, potatoes, broccoli, etc. as far as the eye could see. No more. A few smaller family farms here and there in Suffolk County, sod farms, and vineyards. I'd rather do without takeout food, and reduce restaurant dining than put food on my table the quality of which I cannot know.

r.

Not Your Usual Rush Hour!

2007-07-18T22:05:00.000-04:00

It was a horrendous commute for a huge number of New Yorkers tonight. There was a huge steam pipe explosion on 41st Street between Lexington and Third Avenues. Apparently it was installed in 1924, and was 24 inches in diameter.

You can view the story here: http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory?id=3391889. No one was killed in the accident, but one poor guy died of cardiac arrest.

My girlfriend's law office is right at the intersection of 41st and Lex. She saw a huge plume of steam, then mud rising up, and she's on the 19th floor! She, and everyone else, was evacuated from every building for several surrounding blocks. Many were covered with the debris that was shot heavenward, then fell back to earth.

Only one entrance to Grand Central Terminal was open, and the Metro North rail road was running close to schedule. Subway service was a mess: much of the Lexington Avenue line was suspended from 86th Street to the Brooklyn Bridge. Engineers are now assessing the soundness of all surrounding structures, and the Department of Environmental Protection is testing for asbestos contamination. Residents were told they could not return home until later tonight. We'll see about that. If asbestos is present, a haz-mat team will have to be brought in.

This whole event scared the bejezus out of all of us! New Yorkers are always hypersensitive to this kind of disturbance. I am very grateful that everyone I know that was near the disaster site is safe. One good thing came of it. We decided that The Subway Inn at the corner of 60th and Lex would serve as a meeting place in the event of a disaster. We can have a pint, then walk across the 59th Street Bridge if we need to.

r.

The Day My Husband Became the Right Reverend Brian

2007-07-17T15:21:00.000-04:00

In April of 2005 my good friend attended her father's wedding in Las Vegas. After a night of partying at the reception and beyond, her long time boyfriend popped the proverbial question. She, of course, accepted. The drunken phonecalls began at oh, about 3am Vegas time, so let's call it 5 or 6am on the East Coast. I can't for the life of me remember what I was doing that night two and a half years ago, but I would imagine it involved a bottle of wine. I missed the call. Voice mail captured the happy unintelligible rejoicing.

One of the first stops they made upon their return to New York was to our house, where we celebrated the occasion in style. The wedding was to be in September of the same year. Niether of them are religious, though the groom was brought up Catholic. They decided they wanted a simple outdoor ceremony. Problem was neither of them knew anyone who could officiate, and unless you travel to City Hall, you cannot be married by a Justice of the Peace in the City of New York. They decided my husband should officiate. He, of course, humbly accepted, assuming it could be done.

Now, how to get my gnostic Greek husband ordained. Ah, of course. The Internet. Genious! They Googled "How to become ordained online." This search yielded a surprising number of results. They, over a tumbler or two of whiskey, selected a 'church' with which they felt they could be affiliated. With their payment of $14.95, they hit the "Ordain Me Now" button. Brian is now a card carrying minister, legally able to perform marriages, funerals, naming ceremonies, and other rites. He may not, however, perfom exorcisms, circumcisions, or animal sacrifices.

On September 10, 2005 The Honorable Reverend Brian P. officated the wedding of our two dear friends. It was a gorgeous day in Astoria Park. The bride was beautiful. The groom handsome. There were 75 or so people in attendance. The reception was held at the Bohemia Beer Garden, to which they all paraded with noisemakers, and general rowdiness. Beer Garden personnel roped off an area and erected a canopy. We had beer, wine, schnitzel, and red velvet cake. The general public did their usual thing along our perimeter. It was grand!

Who says you have to spend 20 grand on a wedding. I think they got it all done for decently under 5.

r.

Oh, My Aching Body

2007-07-16T15:56:00.001-04:00

This weekend we, or more accurately, I, decided to move furniture around. An entire hotel full of Crate and Barrel furniture that was being liquidated, so a few friends and I decided to rent a U-Haul and have a look-see. I told my husband about it, including the fact that for 100 bucks I could score a 27" TV with a DVD, VCR built in. He handed me his wallet, and said have at it! Off we went. Where was my husband? He was at work, missing out on ALL the fun.

My one buddy picked up a bed frame, 2 nightstands, and a few other things. My other buddy picked up a really pretty mirror, mini stereo, and assorted other appliances. I got the aforementioned TV. Paid the lady, loaded the truck and headed back to Queens. Once back home, Joan decided she was getting rid of her couch. Great! Chez RP needed a new couch. Since we had the truck, we decided to do the move. We maneuvered the beast out of the house, down the stairs, onto the truck, off the truck, up FOUR flights of stairs to my apartment. Pant, heave, curse, sweat. Then we had to get the TV up the stairs. Oh, my God was that thing heavy, and very awkward to carry. It required several pauses, and changing of the carrying guard to accomplish. Fine, put it all down, eat, shower, bring Christopher to his buddy's birthday party.

Then my little angel begged to spend the night at his friend Connor's house. Who am I to thwart him. With an unexpected night off, Brian and I went down to 6th street in the City with another couple with whom we spend the day moving. For those who don't know, 6th Street between 1st and 2nd Avenues is THE place for Indian food in Manhattan. The entire block is one kitchy Indian restaurant after another, each with a guy out front trying to convince passers-by that HIS is THE place to eat. We had a great dinner, and a mediocre bottle of wine. Poor Shelby fell asleep in the car on the way home!

Now, if I was smart, I would have taken some Advil BEFORE the muscles started screaming. But, I hate medicine of any kind, so I didn't. Sunday rolled around and we picked up both kids and took them to the Harry Potter movie (awesome, btw). Brian then took the kids at the park, while I caught up on chores and rearranged what was newly acquired--still unmedicated. So here I sit two full days later with sore bicepts, forearms shoulders and back.

r.

Summer School Update

2007-07-15T22:09:00.000-04:00

Last month I was concerned that my son was having trouble with math. He wound up failing the subject in 5th grade, and was sentenced to summer school. Though he was promoted to 6th grade, it was with the caveat that he pass summer school math. We decided to get him a one-one-tutor, rather than place him in a more school-like situation. He goes 3 days a week for an hour at a time. He brings home a ton of home work. At the risk of jinxing things, he is doing GREAT!

Friday evening, I had an opportunity to talk to his tutor. She said that based on the material she received from his teacher, she had very low expectations for him. Then she started working with him. He is not only getting the material, but acing it. Scores between 95 and 100 on his tests. I grade his homework each night with similar results. It is to the point where she is no longer just giving him 5th grade material, she is giving him 6th grade material. The test he took Friday morning was from the 6th grade book and he got a 100!!!!!! HA! I knew he could do it! More importantly, now HE knows he can do it.

While I am estatic with his progress, for me it still begs the question why. Why did he not master this material from September to June, but does in such a condensed program? Was it that his plate was so full that math was the thing he chose to let go? On several occasions, I studied with him, he seemed to get the material, then took the test and either failed or eeked out a high D, low C. It was frustrating for everyone. He became so frustrated that he just shut down, and could no longer let knowledge in. What a difference a month makes!

How will we get through 6th grade? I will be sure to avail him of a tutor at the first sign of distress. I will work harder at keeping my cool, and helping him keep his. I will do all I can to bolster his confidence and motivation. He is a very bright, funny, sensitive kid. Reminds me of the lyrics of P!ink tune: "Don't let me get me." Guess that's what we have to figure out how to do. Oh, and that therapist who suggested that perhaps he has a learning disability that caused him to do poorly in math? Pshaw. I don't freaking THINK so! Damn, vindication feels good.

r.

My Inner Hedonist

2007-07-13T15:20:00.000-04:00

Most of the time, I am a very responsible person. I take care of my family, do well at work, I am considerate of my friends, and generally stay inside the lines. Most days, this is not difficult at all. I was raised to just get on with it, and I do. Lately, however, I feel very, very restless.

There is a part of me that wants to hang out like I did when I was in my twenties all over again, especially since I now actually LOOK BETTER than I ever did then. It's not like I missed my twenties. I definitely HAD them. I got married at 24, but didn't have Christopher until I was 30. There were many late nights. But I want to do it with my 41 year old head. In my twenties especially, I was defensive, very self conscious and afraid of being by myself. I'd never dance in public. I'd cling to whoever I was with for dear life. Now, on the few occasions I do get out, I march myself up to the jukebox, play my favorite (and usually OLD) songs and have a blast. I go places by myself without being panic stricken.

Maybe it is the stage of life I find myself in. Maybe it is the Gemini in me. I want to be social. Go out. Travel. Flirt and be flirted with. Dance. See things. Talk to people about new ideas. I've done several of these things in the last month or two and found myself in some very, ahem, interesting situations. But I felt alive! Don't get me wrong, I don't want to leave home or anything. I can just feel myself straining against invisible reins and, right now, it is driving me nuts.

r.

I'd Like to Thank the Academy....

2007-07-10T13:59:00.000-04:00

But seriously folks, thank you for nominating me for the Schmoozer and Thinking Blogs Awards. I appreciate the kind honor.

Below are blogs that I have frequented for some time now, commenting on most, lurking on some...They all offer unique and often funny opinions, stories or perspectives. For the most part, I ran into them quite by accident. Without further ado here are my 5....well, 6:

1. The Center For Improved Living. I came upon this one day under Blogs of Note and was intrigued. Since then, I have visited daily and responded to just about every call to action. It is also where I met several other blogs. I love people's answers to the questions posed. And the questions, though sometimes silly, are almost always very thought provoking.

2. Traveling Oma. This is the first entry I ever read on her blog: I'd Like to Recommend. It is a list of 100 things to do before one shuffles off this mortal coil. She just posted an entry on editing that I really enjoyed as well.

3. Foul Bastard. Though David has already been nominated, I second the motion. His writing is witty, friendly and accessible. His comments on my blog always kind and thoughtful.

4. Analysing It. Epimenides is the person who nominated me, and has already received the award himself, but still. Reading the thoughts of my counterpart halfway around the world is always interesting.

5. A Day in a Life. I really enjoy this blog of family life. My favorite entry was her anniversary list. It is warm, with a wonderful sense of humor.

6. Revelations For Life. Dwight always opens quite a can of worms, and most comments are very interesting and well thought out. His comments to my blog reflect that as well.

Now for the fine print:

Here are the rules:
1. If, and only if, you get the Thinking Blogger Award or The Power of Schmooze Award, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think, or have schmoozed you into submission.
2. Link to this post and Mike so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the ‘Thinking Blogger Award’ with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn’t fit your blog).

There are more I could name, but it says 5.....thanks again

r.

Sweet Summertime, Summertime

2007-07-09T15:42:00.000-04:00

Once, and only once in my entire career, I had summer hours. It was the last year I worked for a company that knew it would not last the year, so what the hay. Every Friday we were allowed to leave the office at 1pm, provided we arrived by 8am Monday through Friday so that the actual work week was the same 40hours. Having half a day Friday meant that you could get all your chores and errands done Friday. You had all of Saturday and Sunday to play. What's not to love??

Alas, I no longer have that privilege. I must toil until 5 pm on Fridays, go home make supper, maybe get to the track, and that's about it. To make matters more constraining, my husband works at least one day of the weekend, but we never know which in advance, and my son has summer school homework to complete. This past weekend, Brian's work day was Saturday. I was on a mission to get all our chores, errands done Saturday, and I did. I even got Christopher to get all his homework done. That left Sunday to go to the beach.

We decided to go to Long Beach, as it is closest, and reachable by Long Island Rail Road. It was our first trip this year, and it was fantastic. Daytime highs were in the upper 80s, bright sunshine, no humidity, with a nice breeze on the south shore of Long Island. The water was like the cool side of the pillow.

My son who vowed never to enter the ocean ever again in this lifetime due to jellyfish sightings two years ago was an absolute selkie. I still have to have my husband take him to the waterside. I am a strong swimmer, and have lived along the ocean my entire life, but I cannot transfer my courage and respect of the ocean to my son. I am a complete worry wart where he is concerned, and would have him no deeper than his knees for the ridiculous fear the ocean would sweep him away from me. Daddy has much more confidence, and no such fear...off they go. I put on a little more sunscreen, and successfully coax a little more melanin to show through this Irish skin.

I love these days, when the sun takes forever to set. The day dawns early. And on the hottest afternoon, a thunderstorm pops up, breaking the heat. We don't have to rush, we can just be. At least until the alarm goes off on Monday morning.

r.

4th of July Party

2007-07-05T11:33:00.000-04:00

I hate when the 4th of July falls on a Wednesday! Any other day is fine...If a Tuesday, or Thursday, many of us working in corporate America can eek out a 4 day weekend. If it is on a Friday or Monday, or even over the weekend, a 3 day weekend is du rigeur. But WEDNESDAY?!?!?! If you didn't have the foresight to schedule Thursday off (and I didn't), you're stuck!!

My girlfriend, Joan, and her husband hosted a kick-ass 4th of July party yesterday. They held it out on their patio, which thankfully has a roof. It was a cool, gray, rainy day in Queens. She lives right near Astoria Park, so the police were out in force.

To celebrate American Independence, they decided to have the party catered--from a Mexican Restaurant. A funny twist. There was gazpacho, tamales, rice, black beans, guacamole, chips, the WORKS. It was fantastic fare, but I still have a hankering for a burger from the grill.

There was also some yummy sangria, tequila and a keg of beer. As discussed in this space before, I am a wine and whiskey kind of girl, so the keg, not so much. But man, I am still tasting the tequila this morning! Thank the Maker that the party started early in the day, so that by bedtime, we were all ready to go home and sleep it off.

My husband wanted to drive, but was prevailed upon to call a car service (another thing you gotta love about living in an urban center--absolutely NO excuse for drunk driving). Brian feels like he had his tail stepped on, as our friends told him in no uncertain terms that he was NOT going to drive, thank you very much. I hate tension, especially when I am less than sober. My answer to that sort of thing is to remove myself entirely. Perhaps not the smartest thing to do, but I really didn't want to be dragged into the middle of their argument, so I decided to gather my son, and walk home. Brian's penance? He had to walk over to Joan's house to retrieve said car at 6am.

r.

Ladies Who Lunch

2007-07-02T16:07:00.000-04:00

Friday afternoon, I had lunch with a few of my girlfriends. Now this would not ordinarily be remarkable, but it is for me. For 6 years, Nov. of 1999 through Oct. of 2005, I worked in Nassau and Suffolk Counties, commuting 2 hours each way to work. My friends and my husband thought I was nuts to keep the job. But it offered some very interesting challenges, and a director level title...Then the company decided it was going in a different direction and my position was eliminated. Fired with 30 minutes to vacate the building. I spend quite some time very, very bitter about it. I didn't realize it, but I am DONE with that, and it is a huge weight off my shoulders.

For the past 16 months, I have been working in the City. It takes 35 minutes to get to work, including my Starbucks stop. I can walk EVERYWHERE, even walk home should the need arise. I can have lunch with my buddies, go out after work, work out, shop....wow. It is terrific. I now talk to my old boss on occasion. He is very connected in our industry, and recently praised me to the stars to someone looking to recruit me.

I know it is cliche, but sometimes getting fired is the best thing that can happen. It was! It didn't feel like it at the time, but is was truly a life changing event. And after 16 months here, it is time to move on again....This time, on my terms.

r.

8 Random Facts About RP

2007-06-27T10:39:00.000-04:00

So, I've been tagged by Epimenides to provide 8 random facts. Since both Epimenides and Foul Bastard are such witty writers, I feel a bit intimidated.....but here it goes.

1. Timeliness. I am obsessively punctual. I hate being late, I hate when someone else is late. Just bad form, in my opinion. I know that makes me sound uptight, but really, I'm not...only about this.

2. The Whole Age Thing. Upon approaching, turning, and passing 40 years of age, life really changed. I started writing, stopped smoking, lost weight and began enjoying myself. Quite a relief, since I was a complete nerd in high school and college :)

3. Balance. For the most part, I am an optimist. Things will always get better. There is always something good to come out of every bad thing. That said, I also believe that everything in life is a trade off. In every bit of joy, there is either a titch of pain, or there will be. Must be my pagan tendencies.

4. My Aching Feet. I have NEVER worn a pair of shoes that didn't give me huge blisters the first time I wore them. Ever. Including today, when I was going to wear a stunning pair to an interview lunch. I wore them around the house, the shoe store, etc., and all was well. Wore them to work today, and blisters!!! Glad I had the sense to bring a back up pair! OUCH, dammit!!!

5. Work/Life. I work because I have to. No overarching passion to do what I do, or anything else for that matter, just recognition that I need to have an income to get along...I ditch work at every possible opportunity. I NEVER stay past 5pm, unless I am meeting someone after work to do something fun--gym, belly dance class, yoga, kid's ballgame, upper East Side pub crawl....you get the idea.

6. Winning attitude. I am, I have discovered, one hell of a competitor. Had I a healthy self esteem as a kid, I would have gone out for sports, but I was afraid of failing. I like to compete physically and/or vicariously through others. So, I will play with all I've got, and root for my team with all I've got. My neighbors have definitely heard me screaming at my TV when watching a Mets game. Or an Ohio State game. Or a Jets game. Or the Olympics. There is usually swearing involved.

7. Mmmmm Chrome. I really, really like big trucks. I have been known to really dig Trick My Truck on CMT. Love 'em. Peterbilts are my favorite. And I like motorcycles (won't ride, just drool). You gotta know that Harley'd be my fave...

8. Loves Music, Loves to Dance. I am not a club chick at all!! I like shit kickin' cowboy bars or Irish pubs with kick ass jukeboxes. Play me some rock-n-roll, old disco, or a little country, and I'm gonna dance. How can you keep still listening to the Talking Heads? Why would you want to????? Love my husband, but if he won't dance, I will find me someone who will. He, thankfully, understands, and is happy to be excused. One of the freest forms of self expression is to just get out there and shamelessly shake your moneymaker. Love it. Someone, get me a Jamies rocks while I put another dime in the jukebox, baybay.

There it is folks...8 random facts.

r.

There is No Joy in Astoria...

2007-06-22T10:52:00.000-04:00

...For the mighty Orioles have been eliminated from the playoffs.

r.

Great Night for Baseball!

2007-06-18T23:27:00.000-04:00

Post season little league ROCKS! Christopher's team, the Orioles, won their first round game. It is a single elimination tournament, so it's win or go home. They beat the Yankees 3-2. Chris struck out twice, but took a sweet swing. Timing and mechanics all good--he just missed. He got a slew of hits during practice though, so he knows he can do it. All our big hitters came through, and the kids turned in some defensive gems.

Since it is a win or go home situation, I think it puts a lot of stress on some of these kids. Our third baseman, a wiry kid named Keith had a Yankee caught in a rundown between home and third. Now, the longer these things go on, the greater the probability it won't end well. It didn't. Keith made an errant throw, the tying run scored. He came back to the dugout crushed. The O's came up to bat, staged a rally, and got a run across. 2 out. Keith comes up to bat. Struck out. That poor kid was devastated. Just in tears. Our coaches are great guys, and did all they could to build this kid back up. He got back out on the field, played a mean rest of the game.

Next round is Thursday against the ICYP Mets. I am so proud of every one of these kids.

Oh, and the New York Mets won tonight. I went out to Shea after Chris' game with a girlfriend of mine. They kicked the snot out of the Twins.

r.

A Shared Birthday

2007-06-18T11:02:00.000-04:00

Saturday was my son's 11th birthday. We had breakfast, and gave Chris his presents and card. Then we got right down to business with readying the house for an onslaught of 11 year-olds. It took a couple of hours to get the house and party food ready. It took 5 kids all of 5 seconds to completely decimate it!

Since it was also MY birthday, once all the kids arrived, I had my husband take them to the park for a much anticipated water balloon/water gun fight. They came home soaked, filthy and hungry. Except my husband who came home perfectly dry--he was armed to the teeth, should anyone think of dousing him. Change of clothes, food, and cake all around. It was a hoot! Parents came around 7 to collect their children.

Now, it's time for Mommy's party :) I donned my little party dress, turned up the music, and had at it! We had some unexpected guests, LOTS of really good wine and great laughs. Gotta tell you, I love dancing around my living room with good friends. Chris visited with the adults for a while, and happily played video games until he fell asleep.

We have finally learned how to share this day well. For years, I felt like I had to cede my birthday to my son, and he happily let me. Now that he is older, he makes it as special for me as I try to for him. I know that in a few years, it will just be a phone call that connects us on this day of days. I am very, very happy we have some time before then to fully enjoy the strange coincidence of our birthday.

r.

They Won!

2007-06-14T22:51:00.000-04:00

Christopher's final make up game was tonight. It was a quick game. His team, The Orioles, beat the Reds in convincing fashion--7-2. Chris played right field. He struck out looking twice. The umpire was a crotchety old fart. C'est les vie. Coaches bought victory hot dogs at the field house. Playoffs begin either Monday or Tuesday, they'll let us know. He can now savor his end of school and birthday parties.

r.

The Past 36 hours...

2007-06-14T12:40:00.000-04:00

...have sucked!! Just ass kicking in every conceivable way.

Yesterday was going along swimmingly. I was in a great mood. Called my husband to see when he'd like to meet to take Chris to his therapist appointment. The rant began...He wasn't yelling at me, just to me. I tell you, it was like being hit by a truck! So we figured out what the problem was, I gave suggestions. He seemed comforted. OK. Breathe...

Get to the school, pick up said child, no husband. He's running late, and irritated about it.

Get to the therapist's office. Chris goes in, meets with his talking doctor, and his boss. Then it's our turn. They say well, maybe he has a learning disability, and maybe that is why he a: hates school, b: failed math. A WHAT?!??! While my husband and I have both heard throughout our academic careers "he/she doesn't perform up to his/her potential," it never occurred to me that he could have a learning problem. For me it was a motivational issue, and I thought that is what it was for Chris. So they will perform some testing through the summer. Oh, and he's depressed. So THIS is what getting hit by a truck feels like. Got it.

We're home now. It's late. In the mail are two birthday cards--one for Chris and one for me...from my father's widow. Wasn't expecting THAT. A momentary wave of grief..."mom, what's the matter? Don't cry." Sorry, honey, just miss my dad. "oh, I'm sorry, mom."

My husband's sister called. She wanted to catch up, and wish us a happy birthday (Chris was born on my 30th birthday :)) Turns out she just had a miscarriage a week ago.

Any body get the number of the damned convoy that just ground me into the pavement? That bottle of Petite Syrah is going down...right after Christopher's ballgame.

r.

Rained Out!

2007-06-13T08:22:00.000-04:00

Last night was my son's final (barring post season) baseball game. They HAD to win in order to advance to the playoffs--the 11 year old boy equivalent of the promised land. The stage was set: they were to play the Reds, their teammates in the All Star game, their opponents twice before. They had a 1 and 1 record, so this was the rubber game. Did I mention that I love baseball?

Yesterday, the weather report called for scattered showers, high of 82 degrees. We reached the day's high pretty early, and by 3:30 the thunder storms started popping up over Westchester, the Bronx, Jersey, Staten Island, Brooklyn and Manhattan. Miraculously Queens in general, and the ICYP fields in particular stayed dry. I called the field house, and was told they would play. I headed to the ballpark directly from work.

Game gets under way. We scored 2 in the first, and 1 in the second. We kept the Reds scoreless through 3. All we needed was to get to the end of the 4th inning for the game to be official. Everyone had their eye to the increasingly threatening sky. Few drops in the top of the 4th--eh, who cares--we played on. Chris struck out looking, as did Daniel. A scoreless fourth. Umbrellas started popping up in the bleachers.

Bottom of the 4th. Reds up to bat. John walks 1, stolen base, 1 out. Reds definitely threatening. Rained a little harder, Orioles fans hoping it'll pass over, Reds fans praying for a rain out. The deluge began and play was suspended. Five minutes later, lightening, game called. Kids, parents, coaches, umpire all scatter from the far back field to the shelter of either their cars or the field house. We drove a dejected teammate and his mom home. Before we got there, the rain stopped, the skies began to clear. And we have to play FROM SCRATCH on Thursday. ARGH!!!!

r.

Summer School!

2007-06-11T10:36:00.000-04:00

We just learned that our son must attend summer school. He has been flirting with flunking math all year. He might not actually fail, but he is borderline enough that he has to take and pass 5th grade math in summer school before he can enter 6th grade. As is par for the course, Mom and Dad have very different approaches to this, and very different backgrounds.

As a life long A/B student (unless you count all the classes I cut in high school and college), I can't imagine coming close to failing a subject in grammar or middle school. It would never have been tolerated by my family (my mother having been a valedictorian). Part of me wants to scream, "where is your motivation?!?" Another part of me sees that he really didn't think this would be the consequence of his mediocre effort, and maybe this in and of itself will be punishment enough.

My husband, who I am convinced is smarter than I am by a mile, was definitely NOT the student I was. He was also not encumbered with the expectations that I was. What he is reacting to, as much as the poor performance, is the expense and scheduling hassles. Since Christopher attends Catholic school, summer school is not free, unless you enroll in a public school program in MAY, before you actually know you will NEED summer school.

What is ironic is that while I was brought up to be a high achiever, as an adult I am not nearly as ambitious as you'd think. From a young age, I knew that I would never live up to my mother's expectations. Sometime around 10th grade, I stopped trying. I decided to live up to my own expectations. When my mother asked me in complete frustration what I wanted out of life, I told her I wanted to be happy. She asked me if that was enough. I told her it was more that I could hope for. And in my angst ridden teenage years, that was absolutely no exaggeration. As an adult, I am fine--I am a professional woman, and support my family.

So, how to approach my beloved son. This is a child that I absolutely adore. I don't mean to be trite. Of course I love him, but more importantly, I LIKE him. This is a person I want to hang out with. Such a wonderful spirit. Honest heart. He is kind, sensitive, loving, smart, sarcastic and funny. And completely un-freaking-motivated when it comes to school, or many other things that take actual effort. Do I accept this trait, and trust that down the line, a switch will be thrown, and he will begin to see that effort is both required and rewarded? Do I try every motivational trick in the book, and invent a few, in the hope that something will take root and grow?

I don't want to harangue or belittle him. I don't want him saddled with my disapproval, or set off in him a disastrous strain of self loathing. He hated failing math tests. Maybe I should have gotten a tutor earlier. Getting him to study is pulling teeth, even when he sees the fruits of his labor. English, vocabulary, reading, no problem! Social studies, he can also perform well, when he pays attention. Science is ok for now, but math, not so much. Ok I guess that is perspective.

So, for the month of July, we found Christopher an accredited math tutor. He will have one-on-one sessions, and hopefully benefit both academically and emotionally. Maybe it will be just the boost in self esteem he needs to tackle 6th grade, and beat it into submission.

r.

The Crone

2007-06-07T10:09:00.000-04:00

One of my closest friends went to Ireland about a year or two ago, and brought me back a wonderful triskel pendant (similar, but not identical, to the one pictured here). I wear it almost like a talisman. At the time, I had just finished reading Princes of Ireland, by Edward Rutherfurd. This is a wonderful book about Ireland from the time of the Celts. The more I read of pagan peoples, the more I come to think they get it mostly right. There seems to be more balance in that world.

(An aside: Please don't think I overlook or romanticize the brutality present in Celtic Ireland. There were blood sacrifices and the like. But, really, was brutality quelled in any way by the introduction of a monotheistic religion? Then as now, blood is shed in the name of god and gods. Only now is Christianity beginning to respect the environment, but I suspect that is for political gain, at least in the US.)

Take, for example the triskel. It is a three pronged conjoined spiral, that is, according to Celtic lore a symbol of the female divinity. It represents her three stages of being: Maiden, Motherhood and Crone. At the age of 40, nearly 41, I have been the Maiden, I am the Mother, and will be the Crone. What I find most interesting is that there doesn't seem to be a particular stage that is more revered than any other. It also seems to me that the final stage, the crone, is really the hardest to fully realize.

The word Crone connotates a shriveled old woman, hooked nosed and mean. When I was young, my mind's eye conjured up the evil old woman in the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale. But really, a Crone is a post-menopausal woman full of wisdom, and willing to impart it. A fully self-realized woman. She is wise in the ways of the world, at peace with it, and herself. Able to teach without bitterness. I strive to be this woman. To shed the failings of my youth, find contentedness, and show, if only by example, how to reach it.

r.

I Got Hosed

2007-06-04T22:23:00.000-04:00

My son just lost 2 teeth recently--bottom canine and first bicuspid. For the most part Daddy plays the tooth fairy, since he is generally up later than I am. Last night, he forgot. When my son got up this morning, he came to our room and said, "guess what I got from the tooth fairy?"

Knowing he gets a buck or two for incisors, and a few more for a molar, I jokingly said, "what? A quarter?"

"Nope."

"Nickel?"

"Nope."

"Well, what?"

With a look of complete disbelief he said, "Hosed, I got hosed." Then he turned on his heel and went into the shower. His delivery was spectacular. Jaded. Funny. The look I shot my husband should have left him dead in his tracks.

r.

Bow to the Instructor Within

2007-05-29T21:34:00.000-04:00

Or, I have begun my practice

Last Saturday, I went with my girlfriend to my first Yoga class. It was much more challenging than I thought it would be. I am accustomed to a hard workout in a noisy overbright gym: 40 minutes of cardio, then another 30 or so with the weights. Hard work, burning muscles and a whole lot of sweat! I never did enjoy aerobics class, I prefer the solitary workout.

I must admit, I went into the class a little intimidated. I needn't have been. First of all, the environment itself is just soothing. Soft light, unobtrusive music, gentle voice of the instructor. Oh, and bare feet and candlelight! It is about flow, breathing, balance and a still mind. And I was able to do it! I made the poses, mostly, and held them. It isn't at all easy! My muscles, especially my quads, were screaming, sweat was pouring off of me. I did have a couple of sore muscles a day or two later, but not too many.

I love how yoga is considered a practice, an ongoing experience. Seems a very good metaphor for life. If we keep working at it, we will attain a deeper understanding of it. We will be better able to move from one pose to another, move through life with greater fluidity. We will learn from others the basics, we will learn for ourselves what is comfortable, we will come to understand how to live within ourselves, yet constantly reach deeper. While limbs are reaching outward, the mind focuses inward: Balance.

At the end of the session, the room dimly lit, we returned to our lotus position, held our hands together in prayer, lifted our hearts to our prayer. We were positioned around the room, backs to the wall. We were to bow, not only to the instructor, but the instructor in each one of our classmates for what they offer, and bow to the instructor within. That's what got me. We were to honor ourselves as we honor our instructor. May we always remember to continue the practice, and bow to the instructor within.

r.