Lion? Lamb? Guess it Depends Where You Are

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

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.

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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!

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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.

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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

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

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

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!

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

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 headstart 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

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

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

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

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, whose 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, purse and plastic jewelry, Christmas morning with lots of presents, Mercurochrome 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, which 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 mother’s deep resentment. I think that was my very first experience actually realizing bittersweet. 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 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.

r.

All's Well That Ends Well

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...

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

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.

Still Waiting...

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

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

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

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.

Harumph

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...

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.

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 use to, but now that clothes FIT, it is much more pleasurable :) And a day spent in a bookstore 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 bookstores :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.