life according to me

Tag: Family

Vacation to Italy: Four days in Rome
I’ve been sitting here most of the day, clicking through the 750 photos I took while in Italy, and it’s been a pleasant way to replay our time there which now, seems a million miles away. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

I took an old-fashioned journal with me, thinking I’d write since I wouldn’t have access to a computer for any real time. And although I did write, I’m so out of practice doing so with a pen and paper, that my thoughts left me before I could finish sentences. We were so busy, packing much into each day, it was challenging to find time to sit and write anything, and when I did, I wanted to close my eyes for just a bit to catch my breath. Stare at the ceiling in our room and wonder who had lived there (and it’s a very old ceiling…)

When I travel, I long to know what it’s like to live where I’m staying. It matters. I enjoy walking through streets that are off the regular path, and shops that aren’t on anyone’s recommended list. In fact, I enjoy this sort of time spent in a place more than seeing attractions most of the time. It gives me a better sense of who the people are, and what it might be like to be one of them even though I know that it will never be quite right. To some extent, this was possible for us in Rome, Sorrento, and Galluzzo, the small town we stayed in outside Florence. And it must have worked, because I now know that people from each of these areas are distinctly different, and fiercely proud of it.

In Rome, we stayed in a very small apartment a short walk from the Campo di Fiori on Via dei Cappellari. The streets everywhere are paved with small square, black cobblestones planted in an arching pattern. Buildings plastered in muted, warm colors rise three or four stories across passageways sometimes only wide enough for a tiny car to pass by. Windows are shuttered against the heat, which at times, is oppressive, and others, interrupted by breeze from a cross street. Via dei Cappellari is such a street.

A variety of tiny shops that don’t quite make sense together line the way past our apartment: furniture makers sand and varnish chairs and tables, a spotless motorbike repair shop takes in customers, a dress boutique waits for shoppers, and an antiques dealer fans himself in the dim lighting of his shop. We wondered each day how any of them could keep afloat tucked away as they were, with so many others hid in their own tiny areas of such a huge city.

Our apartment was three flights of stairs up through a tiny door that was nearly impossible to open with the skeleton key we were given. Thankfully, we never did see the person whose apartment we tried to get in at first, thinking it was ours. And it wasn’t so bad after we did get into our apartment to find that an air conditioner was available as long as we were willing to pay 5 Euros a day. But there were no clean sheets or towels, and when the MoH tried to use the telephone to call the rental company, it didn’t work. No surprise since it looked like a relic from the ’50’s. At least there was a large plasma screen — until I blew a circuit breaker with my flat iron the next morning. So much for our converter, hmmm?

So much for anything remotely close to what I’d consider a “good” hair day for the next couple of weeks. Note to self: Tell Dan the Man haircut dood that I will not be having a cut this short again no matter how thrilled he is with the way it looks. The hat came in VERY handy.

The MoH and I left the RTR & his big brother in the apartment under the AC — literally — while we ventured out to find a phone and food. We found the phone, but figuring out how to use it was another story all together. Yes, it’s explained in tourist books. Embarrassing, but true. So the rental company was contacted about the linens and they were promptly delivered. Woo-Hoo!

Rome is a gritty place. There are scooters everywhere, and the traffic even in tiny streets, is something you have to keep an eye on. Once you realize that the key is to step into the street, make and keep eye contact with the driver, and move quickly across the street, you’re fine. Unfortunately, that only seems to work for the cars. The scooters are not as trustworthy.

There are cafes everywhere. Cafes and bars and gelato shops line nearly every street, and deciding which one to go into doesn’t have to be a science. We never did figure out exactly what “tourist food” was because every meal we had in Rome was exceptional whether it was pizza near the Pantheon, or clams and mussels in wine and garlic in Trastavere across the Tiber. And the pasta? Mmmm…who knew that Carbonara could be made so many different ways.

We walked everywhere in Rome. We walked until our feet ached and our knees weren’t sure how to act when we finally were able to sit. We walked and sweat more than I thought it possible to sweat. No wonder the Romans wore togas. Or was that the Greeks? A nice breeze ruffling a skirt would have been quite nice as long as a puff of Gold’s powder was available. More than once I noticed Italian men and women on their way to work; the men in beautifully cut suits of rich fabric and the women in smart linen trousers and stylish tops. Not a drop of sweat on any of them. How do they do it? That could never be me, wrinkled damp human that I am. Thank goodness for the cool quiet, shaded streets we often found on our way to one place or another.

Often when we travel, we’ll mark a map just to see how much ground we’ve covered. It would have been too challenging in Rome because we often wandered. Sometimes on purpose, and sometimes because we were lost. The MoH and I rarely agreed that we were where we thought we were or supposed to be, so bitching and moaning ensued. Not him. Me. But that’s what happens when you put two strong-willed people together in a strange place with two large young men in tow. I know I tested his patience this vacation more than I usually do, but there wasn’t a cork large enough in Rome for my mouth or my opinions. I’ve never been very good at following.

So what did I truly enjoy?
- Walking around the corner of a tiny street shrouded in the shade that early evening imposes on the city and seeing the Pantheon amongst the buildings that have grown around it over the past 2,000 years. It was beautiful, and early in the week, not as crowded as it would become by the weekend. I had my first taste of Italian gelato sitting on the wall next to the Pantheon, trying desperately to keep the deep, dark chocolate from dripping down my arm and onto my white bermudas. My camera wasn’t so lucky.
- Seeing the cat hospice at the Largo Argentina Ruins. It was twilight, which in Rome is about 9PM, and since the city has physically risen over the past few thousand years, the ancient area is at least a couple of stories lower than street level. We never quite figured it out, but someone was setting up a show of sorts, displaying edgy contemporary art with music and a light show. But as we looked more closely, we noticed cats. Scores of cats in the shadows. All colors and sizes. On one corner of the square, you can venture down a flight of stairs to talk to them, give them a few pets, and marvel that in a city the size of Rome, someone would provide such a place for them. Amazing.
- Sitting in the Campo di Fiori with the MoH the first night in Rome. We watched a talented street entertainer mimmicking passers by, the armed Carbonieri, and the young people they were keeping an eye on. A guitarist’s quiet music was a perfect accompaniment to the show seen satisfyingly from our tiny cafe table. The evening was warm, and a breeze across the square made everything just right.
- The walk through the Borghese Gardens after we saw the gallery. Sure we were hot, thirsty, and hungry. Okay, so starving. And sure, we had a detour caused by some construction going on. But it was beautiful, and I thought that it would have been a perfect place to sit and nap or picnic, if figuring out how to get the whole picnic thing right could have been a possibility. But no one complained. The grounds are completely shaded and there’s a large wading pool of sorts. People wearing bathing suits were sunning on towels. It was quiet. Fountains appeared here and there, and it was all I could do NOT to sit on the edge of one and dip my feet in since diving was not an option. As we finished our trek through the grounds, my favorite view of Rome was there, right above the Piazza del Popolo all spread out in front of us.
- The wine and the espresso. Neither was as expensive as the Coke the boys drank or the birra the MoH ordered. Of course, the ground espresso I purchased to make in the apartment each morning ended up opening in my suitcase during our travels, and for the remainder of our vacation, I sported dark smudges on my undies and smelled like coffee, but who’s complaining?
- The spigots that can be found throughout Rome. All you need is a bottle. The water is ice cold and free. I don’t know where we would have been without it because it wasn’t as plentiful in Sorrento or Florence and we missed it.
- The ORANGE purse and wallet I purchased. I guess I like orange after all.
The low points?
- Begrudgingly, the throngs of people at Trevi fountain. I suppose in thinking about it now that we could have stayed up later and then ventured to see it, but everyone is up until the wee hours of the night anyway, and transitioning to Rome time, we were lagging. On second thought, getting up very early would work best. Everyone is asleep after a night full of revelry, right? It could be magical.
- My older son admitting that he was not impressed by the Colosseum. He told us he was really looking forward to seeing it, too. I’m sad for him because a life spent building up expectations and nothing being able to meet them is a tough life indeed. He does tend to have a half empty cup about life at times. It breaks my heart.
- Tour groups. They were like a virus. They took up vast quantities of space everywhere forcing everyone off the sidewalks and up against the walls of any space they oozed in to. They arrived, they armed their point-n-shoots, they shot, they left. One after the other. Hoards. It was beyond annoying.
- The Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo’s jaw droppingly beautiful ceiling was actually reduced to a room full of people standing shoulder to shoulder with a grouchy guard incessantly hissing, “Silence!” to the noisy masses who seemed to be there only to try and sneak a photo of something they wanted to be able to say they saw, instead of think about how it was painted and by whom, or why. Very sad.
And something unexpectedly lovely to end on a positive note…
- St. Paul’s Basilica in the very late afternoon. No lines, unearthly light streaming through the windows, voices from the mass taking place echoing through the building…Breath-takingly beautiful. And Michelangelo’s Pieta? Oh. My. It brought tears. Maybe I was just tired, but still.
Cost so far minus airfare?

Private Shuttle to Apartment: $120 (Okay, so this was convenience just because we had to stop by the rental office, then get to the apartment. The airport is not close to the city and the office not close to the apartment. I was at the “whatever” stage of booking.)

Accommodations: $650 (Not bad for 4 people for 4 days…)

Food: $475 (No junk food. Yes, they have Mickey D’s. Some cooking in the apartment, fruit, wine, gelato, salami & cheese, and some very nice dinners. Did I say wine?)

Attractions: $300 (The Colosseum, The Forum, Palatine HillThe Borghese, The Vatican…I forget what else…)

Train to Sorrento: $120 (Inter-City train)

Orange Purse & Wallet: Priceless (Okay, so it wasn’t, but it was in my suitcase when we left, so I didn’t get to collect on the tax that I was charged. What. Ever.)
July 15, 2008
The family that views together?

My mother loves watching television. Loves. It. So it’s been a challenge for her since arriving back in Paradise to adjust to our television viewing habits. Um, we don’t exactly have any?

She’s got to feel like she’s in TV Hell.

We do have shows we enjoy, but from my perspective, it’s more about being with my menfolk in the evening after dinner than the show itself. Sappy, but true. Now, the MoH would probably say, “Whatever,” to my response being the avid one-who-looks-forward-to-his-three-shows-that-aren’t-sports type person that he is, but you do get the idea, right?

Outside of those few shows on our highly intellectual viewing agenda (American Noodle, Bones, House, Top Chef…), we surf. Someone grabs the clicker while I’m putting the finishing touches on the latest recipe I’m subjecting my family to and their job is to find something we’ll all enjoy while we’re eating — nothing anyone really cares about. You know, like Dirty Jobs, which is great viewing while eating. Have you seen the one about the clean up after the toilets exploded? Nice.

This isn’t always as easy as it sounds since we’re usually ready to park our butts on the couch with food and beverage in hand around 7PM most nights. There’s never really anything on. One-hundred-fifty channels, not counting choices for the On-Demand channels or pay-per-view options and there’s nothing on. If you have a closet full of clothes and often feel as if you have nothing to wear, it would be similar to that feeling. Completely hopeless.

Like I said. We surf. It doesn’t matter that it’s 6:50 or 7:12, the one with the clicker stops at whatever looks good — erm, that would so not be Cash Cab, okay? Who thinks of that crap? We settle in while we eat, try to ignore the Doggo who waits patiently for any finished plate to lick, never blinking lest she miss that opportunity, and like the relatively content saps we are, watch whatever is semi-interesting. Sometimes, that means staring at the pretty pictures on one of the HD channels.

This is all very contrary to what my mom is accustomed to. She is a stalwart TV Guide person, planning her television viewing time meticulously. In fact, she enjoys reading said TV Guide aloud to others so that they, too, can know what is on and marvel at all the possibilities. So I’ve explained the on-line Guide to her. You know. That place that lists all shows on all channels across all hours of the next few centuries? Yes. That one. I’ve also shown her how the DVR works. That way she can record her favorites, then watch them while I’m wasting the prime years of my life *snort* sitting at my Mac every freaking morning of the week. Okay, so maybe not weekends. But still.

So she’s adjusting, but it’s got to be strange. Annoying? Probably downright aggravating. I know we can be that way. So I also encourage her to watch television in our bedroom when we’re downstairs. Warm the bed up, blow the cobwebs off the Sony and fire up the engine to see if it still runs. And she has. Once.

We have been enjoying American Noodle together, and that’s been fun, but I’m sure she’d like to hunker down with her own schedule, with her own television, which, by the way, is sitting in the garage with the rest of her Earthly possessions and is just about as big as the little bedroom I wedged her into. In fact, now that I think of it, that television is so enormous, I wonder if it will fit through the door.

Okay, so maybe not that big. But I don’t want to think about trying to carry it up the stairs. Besides, we don’t have cable active in that part of the house. Gawd forbid giving the RTR another reason to hole up in his cave. Besides, can TVs actually pick up stations without being hooked up anymore?

So this morning, after diligently recording Boston Legal and Grey’s Anatomy, do you think she’d actually be able to sit down and enjoy them? One would think so. But for some reason, the sound wasn’t working on the television. One of us must have pushed a mysterious button on the clicker and it’s hopeless to try and figure out which one it is without dorking the entire operation up beyond all repair. So I clicked off the power surge for a few minutes and let the whole thing reboot.

It works now.

But she’s upstairs messing around with her laptop which was freezing up every time she had more than a couple of windows open.

I have my fingers crossed that it’s fixed now, too.

Because, like I said, I’m in the prime of my life and have so many swell things to get on with.

Like vacation plans.

I finally found a cute little place in Sorrento for the second leg of our trip to Italy (I booked an apartment in Rome for the first leg) which is happening in less than six weeks and I am sooooooooo not ready…The Hotel del Mare sits nearly at the Marina Grande and is a winding, hilly walk to the center of Sorrento. A great way to work off the breakfast that comes with the room! It sounds like the four of us will be shoulder-to-shoulder and have some family bonding time.

But I am starting to get pretty excited about the whole thing.

It’s finally beginning to feel real!

May 23, 2008
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.

May 16, 2008
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…)

May 11, 2008
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.

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.

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.

May 5, 2008
Dorothy, you’re sort of in Kansas.

This morning before leaving for work, the MoH told me that my mother was headed into some very severe weather. Right before heading upstairs to see for myself, I heard that storms had gone through in the night and that someone had died in Missouri.

Glancing at the clock, thinking of the two hour time difference, and knowing my mother’s Emily most likely woke her up at the crack of dawn, and that she’d been driving for a few hours already, I knew my mother was probably not in a great place.

“Where are you?” I began as I have for the past few days.

“Headed into Little Rock, AK,” she responded as I stared at the weather map opening up on my monitor covered with huge yellow and red sections punctuated with exclamation marks indicating tornado watches.

“Mom, there’s an enormous storm headed right for Little Rock. You have to stop. Go into a coffee shop or something.”

“Well, it’s strange, because there isn’t anybody on the road this morning.” She’s been traveling on the I-40 with lots of big rigs. “But my sister called a while ago and told me to turn on the radio and listen. I heard about last night.”

“There’s nobody on the road because they know about the weather, Mom. You have to stop. You might have to leave Emily in the car.”

“Okay, don’t worry about me too much.”

About 45 minutes or so have gone by as I continue to watch the weather and I finally decided to call her again.

Do you think she stopped? No. She drove right through it saying “it got really dark for a while, but the sun’s out now so I’m going to stop for lunch.”

Unbelievable.

May 2, 2008
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.

May 1, 2008
Horoscopes and Fairy Godmothers

When I actually think to read my horror-scope, I like to read it at the end of the day. Somehow, it’s all so much more mysterious when given the day’s events, I’m able to analyze the extent to which the stars have been correct. Or at least that Holiday Mathis, who happens to write the horoscopes our daily paper prints, is correct.

Today, mine stated, “Neither here nor there is a good place to be. It’s not that you’re undecided or wishy-washy. You’re thinking is flexible, open — just in case a better idea comes along. It will tonight.”

It’s amazing how that works. I know it’s all about interpretation, but still. “Neither here nor there” has to do with my opinion on whether my mother should move back to California or Virginia. She drove across the country to Virginia seeking adventure last summer. She sold her casita, gave away almost all of her possessions, packed her car and left. Why Virginia? Because my sister and her family recently moved there and it makes sense that when you’re 70 years old and you want to relocate on limited resources, you might feel more confident if you know someone once you arrive. I know I would.

But things didn’t go quite the way my mother expected and when she couldn’t face the challenges that kind of a move forces on everyone, after a few months, she drove to New York to stay with her sister. There has been no adventure. Zero. I was hoping there might be, because my mother can have quite a spirit, but I was wrong.

I’ve been wrong before.

Mom, you know it’s true. But wouldn’t you have rather had me encourage you than tell you you couldn’t do it? That it wouldn’t work? That you’d never stick it out? That you’re not strong enough, or too old? If I’d believed any of that, I would have told you. I actually believe people can do things they don’t realize they’re capable of. I’ve seen it. I’ve also seen what happens when they’re suffocated by someone who thinks they can’t do anything. Can’t meet expectations. Won’t fit into whatever box has their name on it. It makes me sick.

I’m a Pollyanna. When I believe in something, I really believe it. I believe it so much that I’m convinced that being positive can influence even the most negative circumstances. I think people struggle with this idea when they really know me, because I’m also very blunt. I haven’t seen a rule that suggests that if I’m an optimist, that I must also be coy. Or “wishy-washy.”

I suppose some may consider that being wishy-washy is one of my characteristics because I choose not to say exactly what I believe is best at a particular moment in time with five seconds of thought on the situation. Call it the effect of working with and caring for over 1,000 students in my career, each of whom was very different from another. I’d say that being “undecided” about something is more about “flexibility” because the very best decisions are made after time spent measuring and thinking, stewing and talking.

But that’s difficult for some. Sitting down, making eye contact, and actually talking in a constructive fashion is daunting. I’m supposed to be understanding about this, and I can when I have to, but I’m just not feeling the love right now. What could possibly happen? People might actually understand how one another feels?

It’s annoying.

If I was a calm person, I’d be able to shake it off. People often tell me that. But I’m incapable of shaking anything off. If I was a dog, I’d be a flea bus. Things sit with me, or on me, nudging and poking me to pay attention to them. To argue, to fight, to figure them out…yesterday. Isn’t that ironic? You’d think I wanted to get them over with. But I can’t, because they require time, and what I’ve learned is that with time comes reason.

Think about all the great aspects of life and living that come with time: babies are born, seeds sprout and blossom, a roast braises, a plot unfolds, wine ferments, love deepens.

I’ve started this three times and have deleted all that I’ve written. I won’t this time because I’m tired. I shouldn’t be, but I am.

Going back to the horoscope, as far as a “better idea coming along tonight” is concerned, I’d say yes. I vote for my Fairy Godmother to tap my head with her wand and grant me any wish to come true.

I’d wish that you were free of worry, Mom. That you could be happy. That you could laugh and enjoy life. That you felt you deserved things…

…for starters.

What do you want, Mom? Do you know?

Have you ever known?

I can’t imagine.

April 8, 2008
Wild Mustard & Spanish Tests

Ahhh…the delightfulness of a Friday yawning ahead of me with nary a plan in sight. My favorite sort of day.

I should have known that it might not be so when I forced myself to get up at a minute before eight because at least I could have bragging rights to it. Not that there would be anyone who cared, of course. Most people I know would have lounged in bed after getting up at 5am for the past three mornings to walk a few miles before starting the day. My feet hurt. My ankles hurt. My back hurts in a place I didn’t even know existed. It is so true about what they say about using it or losing it. I’d like to lose it, because at least then it wouldn’t hurt.

I valiantly edged out from underneath the rising garage door to retrieve the paper, averting my eyes from anyone on the block who might see me in my tacky sleepwear of wrinkly lime green tee and wadded up brown and pink polka dot bottoms. What might they think?

That I’m a blogger?

I was determined to straighten up the kitchen, and then relax with my coffee. I’d read the local paper, which hasn’t been removed from its bag in quite some time, building up in the garage after being kicked in each day to collide with the others in a move one might execute in a lawn game involving colorful balls.

I did get the kitchen cleaned, but I never made it to the paper.

And somehow it was suddenly 11:40. And then it was 1:55. How does that happen? I knew I had to pick up the my son at school and drive him to spend the weekend with his cousin who is also sort of like an only child. They have quite a bit of fun together laughing about things I can barely understand. It’s fun to watch them and it’s important that they spend time together.

But my son had a Spanish test today, and I made the grave error of asking him about it after we were involved in the kind of talk we both enjoy while on the way to his cousin’s house. Like smacking each other when we see a Prius and yelling, “LunchBox!”

I know. But we think it’s hilarious. If we see a red one, it’s worth three. I’ll get around to explaining how it came to be some day when I’m not wallowing yet again in self loathing.

At some point, after I’ve explained my frustration with his chosen inability to learn enough Spanish vocabulary to understand the questions he’s expected to answer on exams, when he can memorize entire lines of dialogue and recite them ad nauseum, he does direct my attention to the hills that edge the freeway.

They’re ablaze with wild mustard. You know it’s spring in Paradise when the wild mustard blooms alongside the golden poppies, and it is quite beautiful when you take the time to notice.

He is doing more than trying to change the subject.

He’s trying to make me feel better because he knows I love pleasant distractions. He also knows that I am so tired of anything that has to do with school I can’t see straight. I have spent only four years of my entire life without being involved in school at some level and those years were the first four of my life.

I’m so fried, I’m crispy around the edges. Done.

I dropped him off, telling him to apologize for me about not going in to say hello to my sister-in-law. After removing his bag, guitar, and box of models, he shut the car door and bent over to look through the window at me. Smiling.

Nice kid. Really.

Too bad his mom’s a pain in the ass. And my state only deteriorated after dealing with Friday traffic in Paradise which isn’t nearly as bad as that of L.A., but bad enough. The trip took nearly three hours. Three.

And so I’m sitting here sifting through the remnants of this day, looking at a card I found shoved in a drawer I was looking for batteries in earlier today. My mouse finally died, and when I pushed through the clutter, I found the card. It was given to me by two people whom I once knew. The inside message was hand-written and I think it’s apropos:

I am still determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may be in, for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our misery or happiness depends upon our own disposition and not on our circumstances.

— Tehmina Qureshi

So true. So very true.

Good to think about on a Friday.

March 28, 2008
Spring Break, The Fed, & Bracketology

It’s Spring Break here.

That means that at least in Paradise, the clear blue sky and brilliant sunshine will coax you outside after you’ve donned your tee-shirt and shorts only to find that the air is less than warm. Chilly, in fact. It’s rude.

What’s even more rude is having to look at winter legs that need lotion, a good shave, and some color.

Whatever.

Spring Break is also a time for the RTR to engage in some serious house potato-ing. Yesterday he saturated himself with shows he DVR’d in preparation for this week. Today, he’s mid-gorge session, loading the second of three Pirates of the Caribbean DVD’s. The blinds are closed and the sensurround is turned up enough to cause the floor to vibrate on the good parts.

Arg, mateys.

(more…)

March 18, 2008