kellementology

life according to me

Category: Smiling

  • Last minute details and queasiness…

    I thought I was done.  Well, as done as someone like me can be when planning; I’m compulsive when it comes to organizing events.  And to make matters worse, the planning is done to make it appear as if no planning went into the event.

    This is Martha’s fault.

    Okay, so I guess it’s my fault, too.  It’s the result of my being able to see how things should be, and years and years of long and short range planning for a living.

    Planning.  Lots of it.

    It’s why I’m so horrible at it when it comes to day to day things.  You know, like cleaning, running errands, paying bills.  I avoid those details like the plague.  I procrastinate.  I rebel.  I rage.  Then I do it.  On.  Time.

    The histrionics are just for effect.

    So doesn’t it seem a bit odd that for a few days now, I’ve had a sort of uncomfortable feeling in my abdomen.  It’s somewhat like the feeling I get when I’m in line to ride a roller coaster.  I know what those plunges, dips, and twists are like.

    Scary.

    I couldn’t figure it out.  I even had a bit of reminescence about the MoH and I and how I felt when I met him — all sappy and gooey and madly in love.  You know — sick to my stomach.  Sounds romantic, doesn’t it?  I was writing about the first time we’d had gelato on our honeymoon and how I can’t wait to taste the gelato in Italy.  Although I’m a sucker for the MoH and can say I’m pretty sappy over us, I thankfully don’t have to endure that feeling in my stomach.  Well, I didn’t think I did.

    It wouldn’t go away.

    And then it hit me.  I hadn’t booked a room for our last night in Italy.  The don’t worry about it, just get a room somewhere near the airport so you can wax over the vacation you’ve just enjoyed before you get on the 99 hour flight back to reality in Paradise.  That room.

    Oops.

    You’d think this was no big deal.  But no.  I have to think about how to squeeze a few more unexpectedly wonderful moments into our vacation.  I wallow in all things Google Maps, clicking on every single picture that has been posted by others just to get a sense of the place.  I scan the reviews of each hotel, looking not for the 237 favorable comments, but the five that say things like:

    The hotel is being very slowly renovated, probably on an inadequate budget, so, for instance, the hallway leading to our room had no ceiling and was a tangle of exposed electrical wires and pipes.

    Okay, so this would be the reason I immediately looked at another hotel.  The MoH said we’d be on an adventure, but this is more like a safari to me.  Thanks for the review!

    Or:

    If this hotel is 10 minutes from the Airport (as advertised), I will eat my shoe.  Seriously.

    Dude.  Have you ever heard of Google maps?  And I’d recommend eating your hat.  It would taste much better than your stinky shoe.  Seriously.

    And then:

    We arrived at the Rome airport on a Sunday afternoon.  We booked the hotel because they advertised a shuttle to and from the airport.  When we called them, they informed us that their driver does not work on Sunday afternoons and it was up to us to find a way to get to the hotel…

    Okay, so this would piss me off, too.  Especially when you’ve just arrived, are bright-eyed and and have TOURIST plastered across your foreheads for all the world to see.  But I have read extensively that on Sunday, this is more the norm than the rare occasion, so you’re supposed to expect it and go with the flow.  Now, this is something I’m not always very good at, so I’ve been practicing.  A lot.  Quello e giusto.  Sara fine.  Tutto si distende. Respiri profondamente. Ahhhh….

    And crabs like this:

    Accommodations for heavy sleepers.  The hotel is close to the airport, which is good AND bad.  Good for the convenient location near the airport, bad because it is in the flight path of many planes.  Thin walls inside the hotel don’t help.  A free shuttle bus runs to/from the airport and hotel.  Missed the shuttle to the hotel and had to take a 20 euro taxi ride…

    Erm.  The last time I checked, airports do have planes that take off and land.  It works nicely.  And if you’re not a punctual person, you deserve to pay for a taxi ride.  Dude.  You chose the hotel.  Remember?

    But sometimes, you have to read these less than stellar reviews carefully:

    Swallowed hard as we pulled in to this property; never could figure out the neighborhood.  Nevertheless, room was nice, quiet. (Overall, price pretty steep for location & quality…) Walking distance to marina or riverside dining choices, most of which offered local fish — a welcome change form the three weeks of Tuscan delights…

    Yah, this is the part that I’m having to suck up, too.  That it doesn’t always get to look like Gina Lolabrigida or Marcello Mastroianni are just around the corner near the Italian cypresses, lounging on the terazzo with a limoncello.  Life sucks like that sometimes. But thanks, dude, for the positive spin on the local fish.  I’ll look for that.

    It pays to be a compulsively dreaming, obsessively constructive pessimistic planner like me.  If anything can go wrong, it will, so I plan for how to avoid it.  Or in this case, practice how to grin and bear it.

    I found the hotel and we’re booked.  Now, how to get there from the train.

    Between the Trenitalia schedules and Google maps, I’ll figure it out.

    At least my stomach doesn’t hurt any more.

  • Solsticeness

    I know the rest of the world seems to believe that Memorial Day is the kick off for summer, but somehow, the whole idea of that particular holiday kicking off anything has never quite sat right with me.

    Call me a party poopah, but there’s something way wrong about all those furniture sales, and car sales, and well, just any sale to get people up and out to slap them back into a consumer spending stupor.  On Memorial Day?  Okay, so the sales do help with all the purchasing that goes on for school promotions, and graduations, and weddings, you know, in case someone needs a futon or something.  OMG, Dubyah!  What in hell would we have done without your economic stimulus check?

    It’s all nonsense, because today is our favorite day of the year.  Party, anyone?

    bougainvilla

    (more…)

  • That Summer Feeling

    Pelicans

    It’s the last day of school and because 99.9% of us have spent time in a seat in a classroom counting the days and minutes and seconds until we could say, “It’s the last day of school!” we know it’s a special day.

    And then there’s another portion of us who stood in that classroom in front of those kids, and later, in front of those teachers, and thought the very same thing. This particular experience gave new meaning to the phrase, barely contain my glee…

    Okay, so for some — those of us who still have children at home — this day conjures conflicting emotions:

    A. You’re ecstatic that you no longer have to get up at 6:30 (or even 6:57) for your 7am car pool responsibilities.

    B. You’re in a quandry because your almost 16-year-old son will be home every single day for 10 weeks (too old for camp, not able to attend summer school to make up crappy grades in Spanish and Algebra II because his perfectly delightful and generous but most likely too indulgent parents are taking him to Italy) attempting to put a pet rock to shame with inactivity and behaving quite charmingly the entire time. Lifeguard Tower

    A. You’re seriously glad that you no longer have even more children — little ones — at home who now need you to be the summer tour director, organize appropriate television viewing time, snack time, nap time, play group time, reading time, craft time, and errand-running-time with said children in tow which was always so much fun.

    B. There’s no B on this one. Trust me. Ice Cream Stand

    A. You no longer have to ask (prod, cajole, encourage, motivate, hold a mirror under his nose to see if he’s breathing…) aforementioned teenager if he has homework to do, classwork to finish, quizzes or tests to study for, papers to sign, grades to keep an eye on, or projects to complete, and compose yourself long enough to stimulate chronic eye twitching.

    B. You no longer have time to do all of the above because it’s the last day of school and all of the above didn’t exactly work, so you’ve resorted to Plan Z in preparation for the next school year. Already.

    A. Even though you’re a million years older than you once were when you couldn’t wait for the Last Day of School, you still remember that the Day After the Last Day of School was a very special day that meant you’d lay in bed as long as you possibly could waiting to feel that feeling you’d waited for all year. You know. The, “IT’S SUMMER AND YOU DON’T HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL!” feeling. The one where your days stretch in front of you, yawning with possibility. Evening Boardwalk

    B. Since The Day After the Last Day of School is Tuesday this year, and that’s normally a car pool morning for me, see the first “A” above.

    A. You’ll finally, finally get to see your wannabe artist son’s art portfolio knowing it will make you smile, appreciating his ability even though the world wants to browbeat artists, guilting them into thinking that begging on a street corner spouting formulas and quadratic equations in Spanish will gain them more handouts than painting or playing a violin. Okay, so an electric guitar maybe?

    B. I’ll finally get to maybe think about possibly considering looking in his backpack, hoping against hope that there are no apples in the bottom, left to ferment for weeks. But if there are apples, I’ll be reminded that sometimes apples do fall far from the tree, and that is fortunate.

    Happy Last Day of School!

  • Through my new lens…

    Garden Mirror

    It’s interesting, this new writing venue of mine, no longer in our office since my mother’s taken up residence there. My used to be vanity is now my desk, positioned in front of one of my bedroom windows, allowing me a gauzy view of the palms outside, and my neighbors, an unearthly glow sometimes after twilight.

    Today, the palm fronds are damp and tossing about in the stiff breeze that Mother Nature has put upon us, taking the June Gloom we’re accustomed to in Paradise to a new level. It’s cold and grey, the street is actually wet, and I’ve had to shut all my windows or freeze my ass off while sitting here, pretending to be pithy.

    (more…)

  • Swooning in FoodLand

    It’s May 28th…the end of the month. And you know what that means, right? I made dessert to match my blog. Nice, huh? Sort of glows?

    I’m in Foodland, and we’re all woozy on Opera cake right now. I haven’t quite drooled on my keyboard yet, but there are some incredibly amazing flavor combos out there, and quite polished presentations, so it’s only a matter of time. Seriously. I’m always left inspired by the talent.

    I went for the lava look myself. Dessert tonight after our salad dinner. Small pieces. Very. There’s TWO CUPS of buttah in ONE aspect of this creation and I lost count on the eggs. Yes, there’s sugar. Jeez. Does it count that I purchased one ingredient at our farmer’s market?

    Wanna lick? No pushing.

    Just didn’t want you to think I was flaking around on you. This one took all of yesterday, and was finished this morning.

    My back’s feeling it, but I got in my three miles this morning.

    And then I had two pieces for breakfast.

    Tiny ones.

    Taste testing, okay?

    Jeez. How many calories could there possibly be in two tiny pieces? Eight-thousand? Feh.

    But you can lurk if you’d like some calorie-less viewing privileges. You know. Because we’re friends.

    Okay, and I have absolutely NO idea why that link looks like that. I’ve done it five times, exactly the way I always do it, and hell. I just guess it wants some notice.

    Whatever.

    If it looks normal to you right now, it’s because I persisted and well, it finally paid off.  And if it still looks strange, trust me.  I tried.  So just go click on Sass & Veracity in the blogroll and cut to the chase.

    Clearly, my brain has been rotted by the sugar and fat.

    What a way to go.

  • Friday in my world.

    Welcome to my Friday Follies. I figured it was a great way to cover what competes for attention in my brain. You know. In case anyone is actually interested. And since Friday is only so long, I can’t exactly include my entire list.

    Question of the Day/Week/Month/Lifetime: Would any of the unthinkably serious crap that is taking place in the world right now be happening if women ruled? Seriously. Clearly, I’m not opposed to men in general. I’m quite fond of four of my own, all of whom are quite pleasant humans. But I will never, ever understand what possesses some to be so consumed with a desire for power, that they destroy what and whomever lies in their path. It makes absolutely no sense.  I would say, “Nuke ’em ’till they glow,” but Greenpeace would revoke my membership and I’d have to take my sticker off my Mac.

    Now I’ve heard everything: BBC News is reporting today that we can now blame the obese for the planet’s energy woes. I can officially expect the BBC to pick up some of the crap I write since they have decided to bring attention to this illustrious study and call it news.

    For the shopper who has everything and can’t resist yet another… um…thing: The ultimate cake server. My VBF handed it to me unopened the other day on our morning walk saying she didn’t want it. I think it was something she received at a dinner party? Lo and behold, a wonder of design revealed itself after I was done fighting with the packaging. Just chuck the magnetized heel, and you’ve got a swanky brushed stainless cake server that may or may not fit in your utensil drawer. My VBF is sooooo getting this back.

    For summer travel plans: Consider Paradise your destination. Palm trees, fish tacos, an excellent ball park with a less than stellar ball team, and no more spine-wrenching plunges into bathtub-sized potholes! An end to days of signs warning of sewage spills at the bay? Standard & Poor has finally given our fair city an acceptable bond rating again. We will now get to use plastic to pay for street repairs, faulty sewer lines and broken water mains. Party on! Maybe they can also do something about our pump prices?

    My gentle menfolk: I am willing to act like I’m somewhat interested in anyone who can convince me that a person interested in the arts needs to take advanced mathematics. But I think I’ve heard it all before. The RTR will be bypassing pre-calculus for statistics as a junior next year since it’s the lesser of two evils and he has to take a third year of math. The MoH has concocted a bribe — monetary — if the RTR can squeak by with a “C” in Algebra II and Spanish. He does have an “A” in PE, however, which is huge when one considers that actually moving his now more than 6′-tall lankiness is not something he enjoys. And that he has a swim coach who makes the entire class do 45 laps — yes, that would be 45 — to compensate for kids caught sneaking into the locker room early. Maybe the RTR needs to swim with me this summer. And pigs will fly.

    My Tiny Paradise:

    I saw this guy early this morning when I should have been sleeping in. My VBF had an early appointment so I didn’t have to stumble out of bed at dawn’s crack to walk. Do you think I could actually sleep? Um. No. So of course I got up and thought…Hell. I can take macro snail shots while enjoying my coffee! He looked so cute, I couldn’t bring myself to chuck him over the wall into the early morning traffic. Which probably saved me a law suit now that I think of it. Gawd forbid that I hit someone’s Maserati with snail guts.

    On the menu? Feh. I never have a menu. But my friend Gina always does. *sigh* In my next life, I’ll be as organized. Our meals are all mushed around in my head with all this other crap I think about. But I have finally edited the photos from our latest dinner party featuring Rick Bayless’s Mexican cuisine and will be getting around to doing that mammoth post today. And I’m thinking next week is going to be Indian…Tiki Masala, anyone?

    Me & my mom: Things are great! We’ve only had 3 arguments, 5 disagreements, uttered 49 sighs of exasperation, clucked our tongues 89 times, and been disgusted with one another once or twice. Don’t get me wrong — that’s all normal — at least it has been since I was In High School. We have our laughs and snorts, too. We’ve been on a few field trips, (Wally World, Target…) have drunk umpteen gazillion pots of coffee, analyzed the state of the human condition at least 14 times, moved my bedroom around, and jeered each other’s candidates with gusto. Her cat finally ventured down the stairs by herself today to be greeted by my hissing pretentious attack cat, and the doggo has stopped following my mom up and down the stairs, realizing her favorite person isn’t going anywhere. Her hips thank her. The dog’s. Not my mom’s.

    I’d say that’s enough folly for a Friday.

    Don’t you?

    I feel so much better now.

  • Perfect Days & Apologies

    I think this is the longest I haven’t written since beginning this place I miss so much when I don’t write. And the only legitimate explanation I have for not writing may not make much sense to most.

    I can remember living in a dreary apartment when I was finishing my degree. It was brown. Regardless of how much I enjoy that particular color at this point in my life, somehow, brown then seemed dreary. And it was. It was a means to an end, and I tolerated it because I had to.

    Well, I’ve been having trouble tolerating the orange. I know brown isn’t orange, but still. Surely you must have an inkling of an idea of why this is a problem. Let’s just say my house isn’t in order. Or my blog, in this case. It makes me sad.

    I actually like the layout. I really do. But I spent quite a bit of time on thinking about changing out the orange and switching the font, and all that sort of thing, and when I looked in my files, I saw strange things.

    Can someone please tell me why, oh, why do designers have to subject the rest of us to their particular style of code? I understand creative license, and all, but man.

    I can figure it all out. Really I can. I just don’t want to. I want to download a theme, plug in my widgets, make minor adjustments, maybe have some fun designing a header or two, and then think about writing. Because that’s the whole point of a blog, isn’t it?

    So in fewer words, I’m working on this theme, but not since Thursday, which was days and days ago.

    I guess I just become disgusted, and avoid the problem. And that causes yet another problem because I truly enjoy being here and taking the time to spread my particular style of propaganda. Except I haven’t.

    (more…)

  • Blog Wraps & Ballsy Mothers

    Clearly, my blog is having an identity crisis. A few days ago, my aunt who lives in New York emailed and said my blog wasn’t loading. Outside of that sounding like some strange kind of medical condition, I cringed knowing that things didn’t bode well for my new theme.

    I put a message up at MyBlogLog to see if I could get some responses and people were kind enough to let me know whether they could open my site or not.

    It turns out that Internet Explorer and the Evil Empire *just kidding Bill* was somehow connected to the problem. No comment on that one other than I routinely encourage everyone to download Firefox every time I get a chance, which works just fine. Scott of My Thermos offered to take a look and also pointed out that ads running on my site might also be contributing to the problem. It was pretty cool. His help. Not the problem with the ads. I had downloaded Skype some time ago so that I could IM with my baking friends, so he suggested we use that to try and figure out what the problem was. Like I said. Cool.

    In the meantime, I’ve taken everything out of my sidebars, reported the problem with the ads to BlogHer who quickly responded and guess what?

    It still doesn’t work.

    And the reason everything is purple is because I was trying out different themes this morning and then got sidetracked with my mom (which is normal because we’re sort of unfocused when we’re around each other…) and then I forgot the purple thing was up. I’m trying to find something that will work. You know, because I don’t have anything else to do but play with this ridiculous thing.

    She made it back to Paradise in one piece...catbox and all. But my mom! She made it! w00t! And our doggo has been beside herself with delirious happiness since my mom arrived. My mother is her favorite human in the world. She’s worn herself out following my mother up and down the stairs as her things have been unpacked and now she’s limping pretty badly. The doggo. Not my mother.

    She rolled in at about 3PM Sunday after leaving New York on Wednesday morning. She drove over 700 miles on Saturday alone. Amazing, huh?

    Remember those tornado warnings she drove through? The ones she was supposed to stop and find shelter from? Yes, those. She said it was like the sky just opened up, with blackness on both sides of the I-40 as it angles in a northwesterly path through Little Rock, AK. We later heard that six people died very near there in that storm.

    But she is here safe and sound. We stuffed her full of Huevos Rancheros a la MoH and some wine.

    Stay tuned for more adventures with mom.

    So for those of you who are sick of seeing those books in the background of my photos, you’ll have a change of pace since I’ve moved my Mac from the office to put together a bedroom for my mom. She’s up there fluffing her nest right now going through the things she’s managed to hang on to after moving three times in less than a year. New digs for my Mac.

    It makes me tired just thinking of it. Seriously.

    Thanks for your tolerance with my blog wrap. I’ll get situated.

    And you know about flying pigs, right?

    Um-Hmmm.

  • Open up that golden gate…

    Some time last summer, my mother decided she needed an adventure. A permanent one. She figured that before she was too old to actually do something about it, she would relocate to the East Coast. Maybe that doesn’t sound like an adventure to some, but when you’ve lived in one place for over 40 years, and you’re not planning on returning, it’s an adventure. She’s always had wanderlust, and if someone asked me to sum her up in one rich word, I’d say she’s a dreamer. And that’s not anything to be ashamed of.

    I am, too.

    How does one live any time on this earth without dreams? Without wonderings and urges or hopes to go places different than what she knows best, or become someone other than who she is now?

    I can’t imagine.

    But I’ve also learned that most often, dreams require work, and sometimes, the timing of all that’s necessary to make them come true is wrong. It takes amazing strength to admit that maybe, you’re just not strong enough to make it work. You’re tired.

    Lonely.

    My mother, who turned 70 late last year, has, with the help of her sister, once again packed up her little white car, bundled up her cat, Emily, and yesterday set out for home from upstate New York.

    She’s outfitted with a trip itinerary courtesy of her brother-in-law, a cell phone, and two daughters and a sister who are at computers, keeping watch of weather, and looking for motels along the way.

    Amazing, isn’t it?

    I think she is.

    Anyone who likes to wander,

    ought to keep this saying in his mind:

    “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”

    of the good old place you leave behind.

    When you’ve hit the trail a while

    seems you rarely see a smile;

    that’s why I must fly out yonder,

    where a frown is mighty hard to find!

    California here I come,

    right back where I started from.

    Where bowers of flowers bloom in the sun,

    Each morning at dawning

    birdies sing an’ ev’rything:

    A sun-kiss’d miss said, “don’t be late,”

    That’s why I can hardly wait,

    Open up that golden gate,

    California here I come.

    You go, Mom.

    Escape

  • Theme switching in progress…

    Hi All — I’m working on my theme today, so things will be a bit strange. So what else is new, right? You just never know around here.

    I’m probably not off to a great start when you consider that I couldn’t figure out why, when I opened a new page, it would automatically scroll to the very bottom. No matter what I did, I couldn’t figure it out.

    Until I realized my plate was sitting on my space bar — and maybe the control key, the alt key, and a few others just for good measure.

    What a dork.

    Plus, ever since I uploaded WordPress 2.5, some strange things have been happening to my widgets. Like. They’re missing. I load the code, move them where I want them, save, refresh, and huh? They’re gone.

    So enough of this nonsense.

    And you’ll be glad to know I’m multi-tasking. Cleaning the RTR’s bathroom in between loading, deleting, and just for an occasional break. Sounds efficient, doesn’t it?

    I had to do something. My mom’s expected at our house within a week and will be needing to share his bathroom. I should probably bring in the garden hose with the power nozzle.

    News at eleven on that.

    Thanks for your patience!