Catootes

Unspoken

2016-05-24T15:15:00.000-04:00

There was a tremor in the force on the day Craig died. A tremor that will reverberate across the Universe unending. When a man such as Craig passes, the time space continuum warps violently and attempts to self-correct the grievous wound from such a loss of generosity, humility and kindness. The truth is that it can never be healed.

Craig and I met in the bookstore where we worked together in 1992. There he was - a tall balding man with ruddy cheeks wearing a sweater vest and a Star Trek pin above his name tag. We became friends over the course of days, talking about books and customers who wanted that new book with the blue cover, but didn't know the title. We survived the Madonna Sex book, Private Parts and the Celestine Prophecy fads. Despite our very different stances on politics and religion, of which we viciously argued, we came to love each other. Here was the Brother of my heart I didn't know I was looking for and I became the sister of an only child whose heart was as big as the sky.

My husband met Craig and we became a family. Craig was at the hospital the same day our son was born to cuddle his new nephew. It was the same when his niece was born a few years later. Uncle Craig was loved whole heartedly by our kids and when we had to tell them he died unexpectedly it was devastating. They looked up to Craig, knew he loved them and they could call him to chat or text about the serious and the silly. One of our favorite memories is Craig sitting in our living room, with nine border collie/lab mix puppies crawl over his broad chest and lap, laughing like a loon the whole time. Soft heart, big laugh - that was our Craig.

We insulted each other. It's what we did, part of what made us...well, US. We shared a mutual love of geekery: Star Trek, Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica, Dr. Who. He was the only one I knew who remembered the name of the Japanese Anime show from the 80's I used to watch. I've forgotten the name again and not being able to call him and say "Hey, what was the name of that show again?" is just one of the small simple ways he will be missed. That intimacy of years. I'll never understand his love of all the Zombie things though.

When he met his future wife and introduced her to us, it was one of my greatest joys seeing that she loved him as deeply as he loved her, that they had just been waiting to find each other and were perfectly suited together. Because she loved him, we loved her. She is another gift in our lives from Craig, this new sister.

Words are inadequate to express the true grandness of his heart, the joyousness of his humor, the depth if his generosity. How much we will miss him cannot be defined.

Craig's passing leaves behind memories - of love and laughter, of awesome calorie laden meals, epic weekend games of Risk or Catan, hours of movies and bourbon tasting. These are the true gifts Craig gave to us - Love, Family, Fun and the deepest Friendship. He made us better people.

May you find wondrous adventures in the Final Frontier of the Heavens, my dearest brother. You will always be at home in our hearts.

You Jerk.

Keeping the Peace

2013-10-29T07:36:00.004-04:00

Some items travel with us through time. We keep these items that link us to past iterations of ourselves, of special times in our lives and as tokens that bind us to the people that moved through our space and left imprints that whisper of past times and places. We cherish these items, these totems, and in doing so imbue them with a supernatural that call to us on many levels. Each item has its own spirit, formed from the life events they traveled with us.

These items are lovingly tucked away in jewelry boxes, bottom drawers or closets. Seen fleetingly as we dig through these places for other every day things that we need and use with thoughtless connection. We smile on these totems as we see them, sometimes touching them with gentle finger strokes, as memories flit through our mind on butterfly wings or fell us with the hammer of grief and loss.

My memory boxes and closets harbour many such totems. The ring my father received as a baby. My mother's wedding ring. The matchsticks that my husband used to spell out "I Love You" on my front porch when we were dating. Locks of hair from my children's first hair cuts. A blanket my grandmother crocheted and many of my grandfather's and father's woodworking tools. A decanter set from my grandparent's bar. A pair of favorite sweats from my high school days. An odd assortment of Christmas ornaments from every vacation my family has taken. I collect totems, the physical manifestations of memory and times captured. These are my links.

Some totems are often meant to be passed on to the next generation. Stories shared of their beginnings and what they represent. The passing of a totem bond can be as easy as the giving of a hug and some items have only one connection, the sentimentality a one way bond.

In previous times, in different cultures, the passing of an important totem would have been a grand ceremony for a family or a tribe. In others it's as simple and as meaningful as opening a closet door and taking a jacket off a coat hanger.

Last night I was rooting through the coat closet for a jacket to wear on a walk with the dogs. My fingers brushed over a black denim jacket tucked far back in the closet. I smiled as I recalled buying it at a flea market that no longer exists, the many hikes I took wearing it, and what it meant to the teenage me wearing it most days. I took it off the hanger, touching the metal buttons with gentle fingers, feeling the worn softness of the denim, fixing the collar. And then I turned it around. There it was. The artwork of a friend, a design he made for me and painted on my jacket. We're still friends, not nearly as close as when this jacket received it's markings, because life choices took us in different directions, but friends none the less. This jacket, those memories, link us.

But as I held that jacket, standing in the hallway, smiling as the memories danced in my mind's eye like fireflies on a summer night, I also knew the time was right.

I called for my daughter, this wonderful girl who listens to the Beatles, wants to save the planet and recently called herself a modern day flower child.

When she came to see what I wanted, I showed her the front of this plain black Lee denim jacket, circa 1983, and asked if she wanted it. She looked at it, frowned a bit. I could see she was unimpressed and about to politely decline my offer so I wordlessly turned it around. She gasped and rushed over to touch it, laughing and asking where I got it. I shared the back story as stroked the paint, looked over the denim and straightened the collar.

She put that jacket on and all those wonderful memories of mine wrapped around my daughter and became hers to build upon.

Totem passed.

With Love.

Do we have enough gas to get there?

2013-01-04T12:42:00.001-05:00

If there’s one thing I can probably bank on it's that my son will never run out of gas.

He watches his fuel gauge like a mother frets over a new baby that first night home. As a matter of fact, it’s a sure bet that he checks the fuel gauge of any car he gets into within moments of entering the vehicle.

This obsession with proper fuel levels is a result of one of those parenting fuck-ups that traumatize your kid FOREVER.

About ten years ago we were on vacation in a small Adirondack mountain town. Toward the end of the trip our 4-year-old daughter got really sick with fevers spiking to 104 and copious vomiting. We took her to one of those little mountain clinics to have her checked over and this very young, very nice doctor scared the living hell out of us.

After examining Giggles, this very nice, very young doctor told us that there had been several recent cases of meningitis in the area and she recommended we immediately take ourselves off to the local hospital, over an hour away, to have our daughter tested for meningitis.

We all know that the test for meningitis is a spinal tap? This very young doctor was telling us to go to an unfamiliar New York Mountain hospital to have some unknown doctor/facility perform a spinal tap on our little 4-year-old baby.

A SPINAL TAP. 4 Years old. Let’s let that sink in for a few moments.

We did what all rational parents do in these situations. We panicked, called our parents for advice and made the decision. We thanked her profusely and said we were going to drive home right away and bring her to the doctors we knew. She was very frowny at this idea, sternly telling us what a mistake this was as our daughter’s high fevers could cause seizures and she was at risk of dehydration. I’m sure she was thinking we were total buttheads and possibly unfit parents. She was not entirely wrong, but for other reasons.

In what had to be speediest pack up and vacate EVER, we headed south as fast as possible. The trip was fraught with high anxiety - were we doing the right thing, Giggles periodic vomiting fits required a few brief stops for clean up and to coax her into small sips to keep her hydrated and cooled down, and easing our son’s anxiety because he was feeding off of our angst.

You know where this is going, right?

We ran out of gas around midnight. On a very dark NY Thruway. Far from ANYTHING. Because when you run out of gas in these situations, it is always far from exits, rest stops, HUMANITY. Also, 10 years ago = no cell phone.

Look, when you’re really concerned that your 4 year old could have meningitis, it’s amazingly easy to forget to check the gas when stopping to clean up puke and keep the feverish child cool. Also, our seven year old had to eat and pee occasionally.

As the car sputtered to a halt on the side of the road, my husband and I looked at each other. We were both thinking the same thing, OH HELL NO and WHAT THE FUCK NOW. Both kids were asleep thankfully, Giggle’s fever was down a bit and she had not puked in over an hour. This was a good sign we thought. We also knew that getting help was going to take some time and a minor miracle. SuperHubby grabbed a flashlight and said he was going to walk a little ways down the road to try flagging down a truck or something.

I did not like this idea. But you know, NO GAS. My brain continued to short circuit from anxiety while my head swiveled between watching my daughter to watching my husband. Let me tell you that it is dark as the deepest depths of hell on the NY Thruway at midnight far away from civilization. The only lights were our flashlight, the blinking hazards and the rarely seen passing car or truck. To this day I hate that clicking sound Hazard Lights make when they are used in a silent car. Tick…tick…tick…tick

And did you know that when a large truck soars by at over 70 mph an SUV at rest will shake like hell? Well, that very wind driven rattling is what woke the 7 year old from his slumber to discover himself stranded on a dark road with no gas and his father NOT IN THE TRUCK. He handled it very well for the first ½ hour as Hey! New Adventure! By the end of the first hour he was getting on the anxiety train. When my husband got back in the car and said he was thinking of walking to the next exit, Ace went full on frantic about being left alone without his Dad. We ditched that idea because I agreed with Ace. Dark roads, no knowledge of how far next exit even was, and sick baby in car. We went back to the flashlight alert signal and hoping for the kindness of passing strangers to stop and save our asses.

Thankfully as we were about to head into hour three and rethinking the walk to the next exit, a service vehicle came rolling up behind us. It seems a concerned truck driver had called in a stranded vehicle emergency and they had gotten to us as quickly as possible. A little gas and cash later sent us back on our way. I have never been so happy to see anyone as I was that night. By the time he arrived, Ace was afraid we were going to be stuck there until dawn and that Giggles was never going to get help. It was not our finest moment.

In the first two years after that episode, Ace checked the gas gauge EVERY TIME he got in the car and asked if we have enough gas. Even if we were only going to the supermarket in town. If we took a trip any longer that that, he checked the gas level and asked regularly. If we stopped to pee, he asked about gas. If we switched roads, he asked about gas. EVERY TIME. He has his own car now and barely lets the gas gauge slip below half full before refilling. It’s his very special paranoia.

He’s looking forward to discussing this phobia in his Psych class this semester. And blaming it on his parents.

Giggles did not need a spinal tap or have meningitis, just the flu. She doesn't remember anything but I'm sure we've traumatized her in a million different ways.

This, That and the other Thing

2012-11-13T23:26:00.000-05:00

In case you've been living under a rock, THIS happened:

That bitch of a storm Sandy spanked New Jersey leaving us in the dark and chill for four days, of which I’m not complaining since our house is still standing and we have not been displaced like so many others. Nor were we without power for over two weeks as so many others are and uncertain if they will ever be back in their homes. One of our friends had to evacuate his home in Ortley Beach and has not been able to even go back into the town.The damage in some areas here is unimaginable.

My guy and I ran around helping family & friends with issues like heat, firewood, generators, gas, roof leaks, etc etc as YOU DO in these circumstances. Watching people just dive in helping friends and strangers has been an incredible uplifting experience. We were all affected in different ways and knowing the human spirit can just rally to help each other, well, it made me feel grateful. Grateful to witness it, to be part of it and to know that people are still connected and not as apathetic as it seems sometimes.

This storm wiped out swathes of the town where I lived for the first 13 years of my life and my husband and I lived the year we got married. it just broke my heart to see those images and hear from people who are devastated by this mess. A good friend's parents watched as flood waters devoured their entire first floor. Over 100 homes destroyed and more damaged. Lives totally disrupted.

Say a prayer for Union Beach please, they need all the help they can get as they rebuild. This is a small working class community on the shore that does not bring in tourist trade and seems to be largely ignored by the general media except as a footnote. They need help just as much as Seaside or other places. So please, if you are interested in donating, please read here for more info and where donations can be sent.

The K-8 school that serves the town was entirely flooded by over two feet of water and lost just about everything. There is an Amazon wishlist that ships the supplies directly. Please consider helping. This community is devastated.

Then THAT happened:

I’m thrilled that this team gets another four years. He’s cleaning up a mess that was precipitated by eight years of clusterfuckery by incompetents and it takes some time to fix that shit. Four years is barely a dent. I truly believe that following the ideology the other guy was trying to sell would have been a very bad decision.

And on that very same night there was this other thing:

Member of the Board of Ed. J n Twp

Votes Processed - Polling Place/Percent : 34/34 100.00%


	Vote Count	Percent
- A n	12,023	25.97%
- M r	11,102	23.98%
- T a	13,767	29.74%
- Tracey	9,280	20.05%
Write-In	117	0.25%
Total	46,289	100.00%

I got my ass handed to me in the Board of Education reelection. It happens because that is the Democratic process. Someone usually has to lose. It was me this time. Am I disappointed? Sure. I think my time there has been productive and I've added value. There is always more to do when it comes to education. Over the past three years I’ve learned a hell of a lot, met some incredibly wonderful, smart, and dedicated people and had to deal with some asshats. No different than anywhere else actually. I’ve also learned that until a person gets involved and becomes part of the educational process, we are all just making assumptions on how it truly works. The bureaucracy of the NJ education system is…complicated.

Campaigning, asking people to vote for me, going out to meet people at markets/convenience stores/events is...awkward. So while I hoped the networking I had done and the work I had put in would be enough, it clearly wasn’t, so I’ll be that involved parent that annoys everyone from the sidelines. Maybe I’ll try again next year, maybe not. That’s a question for later.

But you know my name was on the same ballot as President Obama in my town so that’s a whole lot of awesome all by itself! Or it is to my nerdy brain and that’s all that matters.

There was also this other little nor'easter:

A foot of snow not two weeks after Sandy ran amuck. Bitch slapped by Mother Nature. HARD. No power again for days as heavy snow broke weakened trees and undid all the power line fixes. If winter keeps going on like this the kids will be in school until August. And the cold. It was 32 degrees the night after the snow storm and the marble tile in the not warm bathroom was like ice blocks on my toes in the morning. Who let me do THAT??

The dogs liked it while it lasted because two days later is was 63 degrees outside!

Mother Nature needs some mood stabilizers.

Guys, someone should have warned me about the marble.

Druids are sexy

2012-10-14T05:30:00.000-04:00

Sometime last year I stumbled across an audiobook called Hounded: The Iron Druid Chronicles.

I am an unabashed fantasy geek and once upon a time wished with all my tweenager heart that I could be Druid. Travel the lands adventuring while weilding a magical staff and save the world from evil dominion. And of course talk to trees and earth elementals. Pure escapism fiction. Bring it on.

So this looked right up my alley. I am also a sucker for covers, because sometimes you can totally judge a book by its cover.
Here let me show you:

Cover courtesy of Kevin Hearne's website. I think you should buy his books.

See? Cute guy weilding big sword amidst misty backdrop...I had no chance.

Plus there's this:
Atticus O’Sullivan has been running for two thousand years and he’s a bit tired of it. After he stole a magical sword from the Tuatha Dé Danann (those who became the Sidhe or the Fae) in a first century battle, some of them were furious and gave chase, and some were secretly amused that a Druid had the cheek to defy them. As the centuries passed and Atticus remained an annoyingly long-lived fugitive, those who were furious only grew more so, while others began to aid him in secret. Now he’s living in Tempe, Arizona, the very last of the Druids, far from where the Fae can easily find him. It’s a place where many paranormals have decided to hide from the troubles of the Old World—from an Icelandic vampire holding a grudge against Thor to a coven of Polish witches who ran from the German BlitzkriegUnfortunately, the very angry Celtic god who wants that sword has tracked him down, and Atticus will need all his power, plus the help of a seductive goddess of death, a sexy bartender possessed by a Hindu witch, and some good, old-fashioned luck of the Irish to kick some arse and deliver himself from evil.

Atticus is a smart long-lived Druid making his way in today's world. He loves his rare book/tea shop and his dog Oberon, who has a smart mouth and a liking for French Poodles and sausage. Atticus has a fondness for his whiskey tibbling senior neighbor whom he looks after to keep safe.

Mr. Hearne has crafted a fun series with likeable characters, entertaining adventures, interesting conflicts and fast paced action. I immediately went out and got the next three audiobooks in the series. I passed these onto my son because I knew he would enjoy Atticus and friends. He devoured the stories and we're both waiting impatiently for book five, Trapped, to arrive.

The Iron Druid Chronicle books - Hounded, Hexed, Hammered, Tricked - are sit back and enjoy romps. Mr. Hearne tells a great story and makes me wish that I could sit and have a few beers with Atticus to hear his tales. And of course bring some sausage for Oberon.

We've since introduced these books to a number of Ace's friends and I think they're currently making their rounds on the Rowan Univeristy campus since one of his friends took the books with him to college.

After passing my audiobooks onto my sister, she would randomly text me quotes she found particularly amusing. Most of the them were from Oberon but she's partial to big goofy dogs.

Flea Circus

2012-10-12T13:54:00.005-04:00

I’m typing this while enjoying a world class headache. Fucker. I’m blaming the headache on the very reason for this post.

Shelter puppies (yes, this is another post about the new puppy. Because I can, that’s why) come with the occasional baggage. Ours came with fleas. Not such a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Unless the treatment ends up poisoning the very rescued dog in question.

There is nothing quite like realizing you are the reason your new cute faced puppy is sick as two hells.

We discovered fleas on the dogs shortly after bringing the puppy home last month. We’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, to get rid of them ever since. Baths, garlic in the food, sprayed the house, etc etc.

On Tuesday night, we sprayed the Dasher with Adam’s Flea & Tick Mist as my husband had found a few fleas on her when he was combing her. He had just bought this stuff the day before because he had seen fleabites on her and our other dog was going bat shit bonkers from the dermatitis she gets whenever she’s bitten by fleas. Scratchscratchscratchbitebitebite and rash breaking out all over the poor thing. The older dog has some issues.

We used less than the suggested amount because PUPPY and icky chemical sprays that we hate to use but since we were losing the flea infestation battle decided must be tried.

The next day SuperHubby and Ace saw a couple more fleas on her and sprayed a little more on her thinking that we had not used enough.

That night she was not herself. I got home from work and she was retching and the kids said she had vomited earlier and was peeing a lot. Her energy level was nil and she just wanted to curl up on the couch in someone’s lap.

I checked her ears, which were cold and pale. Her gums were pale and slightly dry.

I called the vet and we both agreed that the spray was probably making her ill. The plan was to bathe off the nasty crap, keep her warm and get fluids into her to flush the toxins from her system.

After the bath, we bundled her into blankets and she cuddled with my husband and the kids, wrapped up in a down quilt. I made ground beef and rice and mixed it liberally with water. Luckily her appetite was not affected and the prospect of people food was more than enough to have her cobble up the well watered meal.

The puppy that had housetrained in less than a week, has gone without an accident for almost a month, was having some incontinence issues and peed on the floor several times. I began to panic. Another call to the vet who felt that if we kept her hydrated and she peed frequently the flush of the toxins would fix that in a day or so but to watch her closely over night. We did, sleeping on the sofa in turns, cuddling the very sleepy puppy and taking her out whenever she stirred. We fed her frequent small serving of the beef/rice mixture with lots of water to keep fluids running.

The next morning she was still having bladder control issues but showed a little more energy. She was eager for her morning meal as in HURRY UP AND FEED ME THE GOOD SHIT WOMAN what are you standing around for?? While I was getting her bowl, the Most Royal Demanding Imperiousness barked at me several times in impatience YOU ARE TAKING TOO LONG. I know she would trade me in for paid help any minute.
She continued to have mild lethargy and incontinence issues Wednesday and on Thursday morning. By the time I got home yesterday, she was back to normal energy levels, hadn’t had an accident in hours and was bright eyed and eager to play and go for her nightly walk. During her walk all she wanted to do was play tug of war with the leash and bite our older dog's tail in an effort to get a rumble started.

There were no accidents over night and she woke me up demanding to go out. While I stumbled around getting my caffeine fix going, she sat in front of her bowl looking from it, to me, and back again with increasingly accusing eyes. THE YUMMY FOOD NOW

By the time I got it warmed up enough – oh please like you wouldn’t warm up the cold food/water before feeding it to a just recovering from poison puppy- she was dancing in place and practically eviscerating me with her intent little eyeballs.

So that’s how we poisoned our puppy and she is better now and I will never forgive myself and if anyone ever suggests that we should use one of those flea spray chemicals again I may hurt them. Adams Flea & Tick Mist nearly killed my dog.

If anyone has successful natural flea treatment/repellent ideas please share.

Just Because

2012-10-05T07:18:00.000-04:00

There can never be enough cute puppy photos whilefinishing this interminable week of work, crazy situations, and meetings that must be attended.

So in lieu of the college search post that is drafted and waiting to have the brain dump organized into something moderately cohesive to share, here's some puppies. Puppies make the college bound process more tolerable when one has to confront the reality that their first born will be in COLLEGE next year. I still don't know how that happened.

Arrggg! FACE CHEWING.

This face chewing is exhausting. You eat the toy while I rest.

What? I was so not going to steal that toy right out of her mouth. I SWEAR.

Why yes, I did destroy the tennis ball. And No, you can't have it.

And a random waterfall picture because imma gonna hold onto the tranquility of this place in my head all day.

random vacation pix

2012-09-25T07:20:00.001-04:00

An attempt at public shaming

2012-09-24T16:06:00.000-04:00

Hhhmmm, to post or not to post.

Since I’m still tapping at the keypad, the answer appears to be “to post.”

On Sunday it was brought to my notice that a local online news site had an anonymous opinion up that said I was “undeserving of representing my children or my neighbors children” because I write expletive laden blog posts that are critical and rude. This individual then goes on to post a google search link that filters only the posts where I use the word fuck. And there are plenty of those because well...there just are.

There are excerpts of a few posts, deliberately chosen for their verbal impact, splashed up on this editorial that show my less than polite side.

This editorial gave me a few moments pause. And also prompted me to go back and reread the majority of this blog. And you know what? I’ll stand behind each and every one of my posts and say, Yes, I did write that. So What? I show, through my writing, the myriad sides of who I am. Do you do the same?

Here’s the thing. I’m up for re-election on the School Board in my town. I’m actively seeking re-election to the Board because I feel that I do a good job and there is work that needs to be done. Work that I know I can help facilitate.

The timing of this editorial is purely due to the upcoming election and the fact is the news site owner supports other candidates. My blog is not a secret as it’s linked to my facebook account and I’ve shared it with local friends. And I know for certain that the owner of this online news site has previously provided a link to my blog to other people in the hopes that it will cause them to gasp in outrage over perceived perfidies in an effort to plot my downfall. To which I say, Really? You need a new hobby.

Here are more of the reasons I’m a terrible person:
“This woman’s blog site is very full of colorful language, self-righteous nagging, complaining about everything from neighbors, to kids crying in her ears to people riding their motorcycles down her beloved road and even some harsh criticism of children and parents alike.
Is this really the person you want representing our children? She spends a lot of time criticizing the people of Jackson for their actions in this blog, especially parents who break her social rules, but perhaps she needs to be a better role model herself. As a publicly elected representative of the people of Jackson, she needs to bring herself above the boil and I find this entire blog immature, foul mouthed, critical and condescending to everyone in this town.
I urge anyone who votes this November to take a look at the link: http://bit.ly/QsJNj8, and read a few passages from this woman before voting for her to represent YOUR child.
Can you imagine if any other candidate in any other election had publicly stated and said such horrible things about the people they purport to represent?
No thank you Ms. Murnane, you have no business near our children and I hope children in Jackson don’t stumble across this board member’s blog accidentally.”

People are going to be offended by any number of things; probably some of those things will be words that I write. I won’t filter my thoughts, feelings or my writing in fear that someone will take offense. This is my space. You’re invited to come into it with a hearty welcome and post your comments, agree, disagree, tell me I’m an ass. I’m okay with that, sometimes I AM an ass. Trolls are not welcome. I’d have the same policy if we met in person.

On the flip side of that, what I put out there is fodder to anyone who doesn't like it and chooses to use it as a tool for their own gain. That's the risk of exposing oneself publicly and I'll roll with whatever happens.

There were two aspects of this opinion piece that did ruffle my feathers. The link with the filtered posts? That’s just a little National Inquirer sleaze right there.

The anonymous resident looking to lambaste me for putting myself out there publicly, stink bugs and all, have the balls to add your name to the letter. I showed mine. Where are yours?

No Willpower

2012-09-24T12:29:00.000-04:00

This face?
The cuteness just slays me.

This is the result of viewing available dogs on the local Humane Society facebook page.

Meet Dasher. 4.5 months old of we-don't-have-a-clue breed. She already thinks she owns the sofa, your lap, your food, and has completely stolen the hearts of the entire household. Even the old dog had no defenses against that level of cute.

It's her priviledge, thank you very much, to drape herself across your body to take a much needed snooze. If you're not comfortable enough, she'll move on to the next lap.

This may be a problem later when she outgrows the availabel lap space.

Those ears? Just completely win.

Beware: Gratuitous Puppy Photos ahead

All but the willow

2012-07-13T06:00:00.000-04:00

The house sagged at the roof line showing aged shingles curling off or simply lost years before. Paint peeled along windows clouded with dust and time. Cement was crumbling from the eight stairs leading to the broken screen door. She remembered jumping from the side of those stairs when she was nine, spraining her ankle on the landing. The pain in her ankle hadn’t stopped her from achieving the sanctuary of the willow tree. That too was now decayed, the husk of it the only vestiges of a once mighty tree. In the dimming light of dusk, the deadened limbs looked like skeletal fingers seeking prey.

Her mind’s eye traveled through the barren house, details as vivid as the sun flashing in her head. There was no need to enter and view it up close. The deep porcelain double sink under the small kitchen window where her hands spent innumerable hours washing dishes. The smell of damp that emanated from under the cellar door where the spider’s webs dangled under the frame of the house. Around the corner to the narrow door that opened to the even narrower creaky steps that lead to the attic. The smell of dust and sweat and fear clinging to the care wood of the roof joists.

Scent memory lingers the longest she mused. And wondered if out of sight, out of mind was really true.

Turning her back on the house she had lived in for so many years, she strode away. When she reached her car at the end of the drive, she tossed her bag through the open window and turned for one long last look.

Still staring at the house, she opened the car door, got behind the wheel and the engine rumbled to life. She finally looked away and put the car in gear. Just before turning out of the drive, she waved a hand out the window back toward the house.
Whoosh!

Bright burning flames engulfed the house.

Months later the local news was still speculating on the intensity of the unknown fire that destroyed the house and property so swiftly and completely.

Except for the remains of the willow tree.

Just when I think there's nothing happening here

2012-07-10T20:50:00.003-04:00

Days go by and I stare at a blank white screen thinking there’s nothing to say. And then more days go by and sometimes by the time I ponder on the entertainment value of an incident, the time to write about it drifts away because there’s other crap that needs my attention, like work and feeding the family.

So Internet, How are you? It’s been awhile. While we enjoyed this little break from one another life has moved along at a rapid pace, filled with changes and obstacles and inconveniences and some good times.

Let’s see if I can catch you up on what’s been happening in Catootesville, shall I? Because it is exhilarating stuff.

Ace had surgery on his shoulder the first week of June. Due to a shoulder dislocation that happened FOUR years ago, there’d been a weakening in the shoulder which was further exacerbated by two more years of baseball and three years of swimming. By the end of this swim season, his shoulder hurt constantly and was unstable in the joint. We didn’t know that last bit until Ace came to us one day and asked “Is this supposed to happen?” while lifting his arm to illustrate the shoulder slide right out of the socket. “Well, No” we replied and called the orthopedist. Ten weeks of physical therapy did naught to alleviate the problem and only seemed to increase Ace’s now constant pain level. A new orthopedic surgeon and an MRI revealed a severely stretched shoulder capsule which was promptly repaired with four bone anchors -doesn’t that just sound ridiculously painful? Ace assures us all that IT IS INDEED painful- and recovery is commencing.

No swimming in senior year for my boy, a reality that is sad and horrible and unfair and sucky and all other degrees of miserable a pissed off sixteen year old can drum up when confronted with his favorite activity being yanked out from under him. I can’t really disagree because I would be pissed off if I were in his shoes. But YAY! Surly restless uncomfortable teenager in residence. Our defense to that phenomenon is suggesting that he study more for his upcoming finals –tests he was unable to take at the end of the school year due to unavoidable surgery- his next round of SAT’s, and do college research. Of course we are horrible slave-driving demanding parents for making him research colleges and scholarships now, while he is broken and not even in school. YES, YES WE ARE rotten mean parents for thinking of his future like that. I think the only thing that could make this entire shoulder issue worse for him is if we had taken away his ability to play Minecraft on his Xbox. Given the amount of time he’s logged on this game since March, he should be a certified Minecraft champion by now and XBOX should be paying me.

There’s a constant running battle in my house between my husband, who is firmly in the YOU PLAY TO MUCH XBOX camp and Ace, who is entrenched in the NO I DON’T IT’S MY ONLY FORM OF ENTERTAINMENT RIGHT NOW field. I get sucked in the middle of this thing regularly and it makes me want to bash both of their heads together and have done with it. But since that option has legal consequences, I’m left with negotiating irritated men into a compromise neither of them like. And somehow, they both end up mad at me. Because clearly the stubborn testosterone personality conflict is ALL MY FAULT. Maybe I’ll play on the Xbox all day. A little Kinect Boxing might make me feel better, especially after imagining their heads as my opponent.

Giggles graduated 8th grade! You know what made this awesomeness squared? I was able to present her with her diploma and give her a great big hug in front of the entire graduating class. (It was just as awesome when I was able to do the same for Ace.) With Honors and an academic scholar award! My little baby girl. How the hell did this happen? I swear she was screaming in a two year old snit yesterday and now she’s a high school freshman. At the eighth grade dance she won the class award for Most Individual and was skipping on clouds of happiness with that accolade. It was the perfect award for her. I think she appreciates that one more than the High Honors award. She deserves to be proud of herself for believing in herself, remaining true to who she is and not letting other people influence her. It’s not easy standing up to the gauntlet of middle school mean girls who don’t appreciate the strength in being different. My Most Individual Girl rocks!

She’s getting ready to test for her Black Belt, something she’s been working toward since she was six. A major milestone, yet she’s a little trepidacious about the six plus hour test itself. The test consists of a mile run, innumerable push-ups, sparring with black belts of all levels, giving a speech on what the study of karate has meant to her, performing the multiple level kata’s and exhibition fluid knowledge of all the defensive moves. Now that I’ve put all that out there I completely understand why she’s having some anxiety about this test. I know she’ll do just fine but she has to believe it as well.

We went on a lovely vacation, which I’ll post separately because we did cool stuff at a new place and it deserves its very own post with pictures!

We came back from this lovely vacation to discover the dishwasher felt neglected so it went on strike and refuses to drain all the water after the rinse cycle. I dismantled the guts of it and plucked some paper substance out of its innards in the hopes that would achieve maximum drainage and put the thing through a cycle all the while praying to the dishwasher gods, who were obviously unappeased by my salutations since there is still water in the bottom of my dishwasher. Which is only two ½ years old and I didn’t purchase the extended warranty because WHO EVER NEEDS THOSE THINGS ANYWAY. Apparently I do. Perhaps I should have performed a dance of supplication to the dishwasher gods, naked, in my back yard. Would that have been enough?

While the dishwasher was having its snit, the tiles from the bathroom wall also decided to revolt and fling themselves to the floor. Now in all honesty there have been signs of rebellion from this sector for quite some time. A shift in tile alignment here, broken grout there, adhesive failure resulting in random tile escape. This was too much for my husband to take, this blatant disobedience to the laws of structural integrity and three days after we got back from vacation he was in the trenches waging a war with the tiles while wielding a pry bar, hammer and many power tools. The result is that my bathroom is now stripped to the framing timbers, the toilet is currently sitting outside the back door (if it stays there too long I’m going CLASSY and planting flowers in it), there is no sink or running water. Last night saw the replacement of the subfloor (Thank you to whatever gods are listening) and I no longer have to look into our crawlspace from the bathroom. Mind you, this is the ONLY BATHROOM we have. We can only be super thankful that my in-laws live in town and our neighbors are friendly.

There is much to be done. Finish insulating, put up WALLS, set the new tub surround, install the marble tile, paint, and replace all necessary appliances. Yes Toilet, I’m looking at you!

While we were unloading many large pieces of sheetrock from the car on Saturday, a vicious storm front came rolling through town. We were about to haul a piece inside and looked up to see the two weather fronts collide, creating amazingly beautiful cloud formations (you’ll have to take my word on this as I couldn’t get my camera due to the aforementioned piece of sheetrock in my hands) and then the wind arrived. Above the roof I could see the trees in the backyard start whipping around and I stood there amazed at the sudden intensity of it. And then one of the trees disappeared. Just dropped out of sight. Fell right over. By some miracle it missed landing on the deck and the shed. But you know, BIG ASS TREE DOWN.

My son has to take his Junior year finals now that he’s no longer drugged with painkillers and can use his writing hand. My daughter has swim practice three days a week, ½ hour away from home. My dishwasher is broken. My bathroom is not really a bathroom at this time. I haven’t done laundry since Friday. There’s a downed tree lying across the backyard. My lawn hasn’t been mowed in two weeks. And we’re leaving for vacation in four weeks.

All of this? In the past four weeks. I know. You can’t make this shit up.

And I keep thinking there’s nothing much going on in my life worth writing about.

Transitions & Transmissions

2012-04-03T18:36:00.002-04:00

A few weeks ago my friend Karen posted on Facebook that despite the craziness of running her two boys from one sport/activity to another, she knows there will come a time that she will miss that scheduling insanity.

When I read her comment, my initial response was OH HELL NO! I won’t miss that. I mean really, the constant schedule shuffling, eating on the run while trying to break any number of land speed records to be in as many places as possible with little time to get there. Several days a week I trek a 35 mile one way trip from work to pick up my son to drop him at swim practice, drive twenty minutes back the other way to pick up my daughter to drop her off at karate and then drive the twenty minutes back to pick up the swimmer and then dash back to pick up the almost black belt with seconds to spare. We’d finally, maybe, eat dinner around eight, and I’d fall asleep on the couch by ten. Those commutes are exhausting. Miss that? Not a chance.

And then I thought about it. She’s right.

In that hectic to and fro schedule, you grab quality time with your kids where you can get it. Even if it’s in a car going 65 mph.

It occurs to me that some of the best, and most interesting conversations, I’ve had with my kids have been in the car, on our way from one place to another.

It’s usually in the car, in between texts with their friends, that I get a completely relaxed rundown of their day. The topics bounce and grow from moment to moment These car rides provide an opportunity for me to hear them, unfiltered, as they randomly share jokes, snippets of daily life outside of home, and the discussions are usually relaxed and organic, so no topic is off limits. Music, current events, fashion, girls, boys, teachers, injustices and funny shit they found on the Internet. I’m grateful my kids know they can share these things with me and are willing to do so. I have friends that are in constant battle with their teens and the communication paths are choked.

With the little kids sometimes it’s difficult to get them to shut up for JUST A FEW MINUTES FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! but the breed known as teenagers are often reticent as hell because they think we don’t know anything at all. Despite that lack of respect for my vast experience, I don’t take for granted the access my kids give me to the details of their lives. I cherish it and enjoy those car rides probably more than they do and will miss those moments tucked away in the confines of my car, listening to my children’s voices ebb and flow with conversation around me.

Our son begins his mandatory six hours of instructional driving next week and his safety will be in the hands of a stranger as he takes yet another step toward independence. As with most teenage boys, driving is ever present on his mind and he’s been nagging us to get this scheduled for weeks now. I think I’ve been delaying because you know, CARS! THOSE CRAZY OTHER DRIVERS! MAH BABY!!!

This week we went car shopping for this boy. By the time the leaves turn on the trees, he’ll be driving himself to most places, happily leaving his parents home as he travels his own roads. The opportunity to drive him to wherever and have his attention to myself for an hour lessens with every tick of the clock and signing those papers for the vehicle that will let him drive further away felt like a physical punch to the chest. My breath caught, my heart stuttered and images of my little boy flashed like fire through my brain. Wait, how did we get here? I’m not ready for that angel faced toddler to drive away.

I can only hope that he drives back just as often as he drives away. In the meantime, I’ll absorb those moments with him as we drive back and forth to this thing or another and hold them precious in my heart.

The Swim Factor

2012-02-23T07:38:00.000-05:00

Ace has been swimming on his High School team since freshman year. Since then we spend a lot of time sitting poolside during practices and swim meets. Let me tell you, it gets pretty damn hot & humid sitting around for an hour or so at the pool and then WHAM! your out in the cold going to the car.

And oh my gods, the scent of chlorine! The school swim season is officially over, but practice never ends and the smell of chlorine permeates EVERYTHING. I think my nose hairs are permantly bleached just from the fumes.

When he started swimming, I thought the swim meets were going to be somewhat bland and made sure my trusty magic bag of holding (heh!) contained my Nook or my laptop and any number of assorted amusements. Who knew that swim meets are exciting? I'm sure all the other swim parents knew but they didn't tell me. I didn't ask, but that's not the point here, they should share this stuff. The meets are pretty exhiliarating. There's plenty of yelling as parent and kids alike cheer for and encourage ALL of the swimmers, not just their own kid. As the different events go on, parents socialize with old friends and establish new friendships. I've met some wonderful people these past couple of years and look forward to seeing them regularly now.

Sitting in the bleachers and watching the different events, amazed at the strength, endurance and intensity these kids exude, the atmosphere is jubilant as each kid touches the wall. There's no parents yelling at coaches, or bad mouthing an opposing team player or team. There is community and support and team encouragement. Those are excellent traits for teenagers to see.

On the deck, the kids are pushing each other to do their best, to beat their previous best time, and of couse their competitors. But even in that competition, the kids are all intermingling on the deck, the different teams, laughing, shaking hands and playing minor pranks.The kids shake hands with their competitors at the end of each event, while still in the pool, gamesmanship always displayed, winners and losers.

Next year my daughter will be swimming for the girl's team while her brother finishes his last season on the boy's team.

Tuesday Tidings

2012-02-21T07:08:00.001-05:00

I haven’t had time to formulate a coherent blog post of anything worthy in weeks so a Tuesday Tidings will have to suffice.

I read this great article recently and it certainly makes me rethink the information I give out to companies as I shop in stores and online because big brother IS watching. It also manages to remind me that I need to stop eating M&M’s at my desk every day. Two very good messages in one article, I love convenience.
One of those CiCi’s Pizza places opened near us and I took my daughter and her friend there last week and while there I was enlightened by these very pertinent facts - their pizza sucks, their salad selection is pitiful and their target market is teenagers and young children. And gluttons.

Why do Republicans constantly refer to Ronald Reagan as their ideal president? I wish I understood. Yes, he was a good president but does he deserve that kind of genuflection from the masses? Seriously, it’s time to find a new idol, not the aging actor turned president. It is not the 1980’s anymore and they really need to catch up.

I miss winter snowstorms. Winter 2012 on the east coast has been depressingly warm. Mama needs a snow day or two. Hear that Mother Nature? Blizzard me, please.

My husband and son went off for a long weekend to ski on REAL SNOW on REAL Mountains. I swear my son grew three inches and his voice deepened even more over those brief days. It was like sending off a boy and getting a doppelganger in return, except he then dropped all his crap on the floor, ate everything in sight and sat in front of his XBox. Same kid, just bigger.

Doppelganger is a new favorite word and I’m trying to find ways to use it daily. Not as easy as one would think.

It’s only February and I’m ridiculously worn by the media coverage of the election. By November I might be brain dead. And you know what happens when you put a brain dead person in front of a voting booth? Suddenly Santorum is in the White House. Frankly, if I were a conspiracy theorist, I would be scared. But I have faith in the intelligent populace who would rise up in revolution before that zealot misogynist windbag became president.

Last week I spent two days at a trade show for work. I walked around and introduced myself to well over a hundred people. As someone who suffers from low level social anxiety and shyness, and could willingly forgo talking to anyone for days at a time, this was an exercise of inner fortitude and patience, because Holy Hell, there are bored people at trade shows and they want to talk and talk and talk. I didn't want to talk to anyone for the next three days.

I’m of two minds on the days the kids have off from school. One mind says Great! I get mornings to myself. The other mind says If I’m up this early, they damn well better be too. Caffeine usually quiets both minds.

I spent most of Sunday in a baking frenzy, which is my go-to activity when I’m avoiding something that requires my attention that I’d rather not do. So instead of progress on the important project, my pantry now contains Gluten Free Chocolate Chip Cookies, Gluten Free Chocolate Chip Cake, Vanilla/Brownie marbled cake, and a pan of brownies. My husband and kids will be on a sugar high for days.

SuperHubby keeps showing me pictures of available dogs on the Rhodesian Ridgeback Rescue sites. I keep telling him to pick one. He keeps saying not yet. Anyone know of a young Rhodesian Ridgeback in need of a good home? A female is best as I want to keep the ratio of females to males in my house tilted in my favor.

I am addicted to Scramble with Friends and may need intervention.

What the hell is Pinterest and why is everybody talking about it?

A Day Worth Celebrating

2012-02-04T17:11:00.000-05:00

My brother in law Joe has a birthday coming up tomnorrow. He’s a special guy and I wish you all could meet him.

He’s a jokester and love to play pranks on his family. He delights in teasing my daughter, mostly I think because he gets to go home after he instigates her

He’s generous. His hobby is cars and he’ll willingly spend his spare time doing changing oil or replacing brakes not just for family but friends and his kid’s friends. My son gets his license this August and he’s already scouting our cars that will be safe and cost efficient.

He’s kind. He always has a kind word for someone, an ear for them and offers his time without a moments hesitation.

He’s funny. He likes to laugh and gets a kick out of jokes and gags and comedy. He always seems to find the lighter side of a situation.

He’s a dedicated family man. There is nothing more important to him that his family. He loves his wife and two sons and that slobbery goofball St. Bernard they have.

He's friendly and will happily engage in conversation with strangers where ever here goes. This is a trait that completely befuddles my sister and I as random discussions with strangers is not our forte.

He's handsome. He has these incredible soft chocolate brown eyes with long girly lashes and when I was very young, I had a little crush on him. See the he's a jokester section for why that was a brief infatuation.

He puts more into the world than he takes from it.

I’ve known him for what seems my whole life and continue to discover new interesting things about him.

His birthday is worth celebrating. Without this day, he wouldn’t be part of my life. He wouldn’t have fathered two wonderful young men. Without this day, he wouldn’t be married to my sister.

His birthday is worth cake and candles and confetti and laughter and love. I want him to remember that without his birthday the world would be missing a very very special man.

He finds it very difficult to celebrate birthday these days.

There’s no getting around the fact that every birthday that approaches is followed by the date his oldest son died of cancer. And even though I see the pain and loss he bears, I can’t imagine the emotional struggle these two days bring. He was always a Celebrator of Birthdays, making sure there was cake and a famly gathering. Since that awful time, he's wanted this day to pass as much quickly as possible. Can't fault him for that.

But what I hope he remembers is that his birthday is also a celebration and tribute of his son. Without his day, there would have been no Joey or Brian, those two wonderful boys he loves so much.

When I see Joe, I remember that it’s his sly humor that Joey shared.

I see the depth of love for his family that Joey learned from his parents and gave back to his own wife and children.

I see Joe’s commitment to others in Joey’s decision to join the Navy and Brian's choice of career.

I see Joe’s compassion reflected in the faces of both of his sons and know that he is an integral reason those angel faced boys grew into solid men who could and do stand for what they believe and live their lives giving back to the world.

Happy Birthday Joe, you are a prince among men. Never doubt that.

The Gingrich Doppelganger

2012-01-20T22:44:00.001-05:00

It's been bugging me for weeks now, but I finally figured it out.
Newt Gingrich is really THE BRAIN and he's preparing to take over the world!

Images courtesy of Warner Brothers and the World Wide Web!

Thievery

2012-01-19T19:10:00.003-05:00

The new year started off with our house being robbed on the 2nd. I keep telling myself it could have been worse. Thieves broke in through the back door, which might have been unlocked since we’ve always felt rather safe in our neighborhood and weren’t always vigilant about that, so “broke in” may not be totally accurate. It appears they used an old street sign we had in the carport to keep the dog at bay, and given her recent behavior, it’s probable they smacked her with it and scared her silly, something that’s not that hard to do. For that alone I’d stick a fork in their eye.

I found the street sign on my bed. Which, you know, seemed just a little WRONG.

Once we realized the house had been robbed, we discovered they had stolen all the gold jewelry we had, the entire jug of change we’d been collecting, and some medication. It was obvious to see after finding those things missing that the thieves had riffled through a few drawers in each of the rooms. What confused me was they left all of the electronics that were lying out in plain sight, which is why it took me a little while to realize the house had actually been robbed. I mean I don’t check my jewelry boxes each time I come home to make sure the gold is still there and the house hadn’t been ransacked. And we’re not exactly Martha Stewart organized so clutter is everywhere.

We called the police. They showed up quickly and explained that our community has had a dramatic increase of home invasions and ours fits the pattern. The scumsucker thieves choose back doors or obscured entries after knocking on doors to see if anyone is home. They grab jewelry that’s easily convertible into cash, any money they can find, gift cards and any narcotics. Electronics take too long to liquidate and too many have GPS tracking in them nowadays. They are in and out within fifteen minutes. They try to target houses that have high fences and lots of trees so visibility is limited. The police believe that there is usually someone in a car around a corner, or down the street, waiting to pick up and drive away. Another robbery in town noted that the bastards had used a box from the basement to keep their dog contained, so having a dog isn’t the deterrent it used to be against thievery.

I’ve been trying to maintain that Could Have Been Worse state of mind since it happened, but it’s hard to hold onto. Yeah, we only lost a couple of thousand in jewelry that had belonged to my deceased mother so there’s that pang, a couple of hundred in loose change, medication that my husband needed and which I hope some asshole thief overdoses on now. So yes, it could have been worse, but the after effects continue to ripple through the house in ways large and small.

The dog’s more clingy and skittish then she used to be.

My daughter no longer feels safe at home by herself. That fucking sucks. She was home alone for a few hours the other night and the longer she was alone, the more anxious she felt. By the time we got home, she had worked herself into a tangle of nerves.

I’m concerned that the bastards now know what’s in our house and that they might make a return trip for the stuff they didn’t take the first time.

My son had a switchblade knife that had been his Grandfather’s. Not something used every day, but an item that holds special meaning to my son. He just discovered it was gone last night. It is irreplaceable and he’s very upset at its loss and the futility of the theft. I am too, for him, as I know he treasured that piece and its connection to his Grandfather.

I imagine we’re going to find little things missing that went unnoticed immediately after for a few months. And doesn’t that just suck hairy moose balls?

My husband is rethinking our policy on firearms in the house.

The sense of security one should feel in one’s own home has now been shredded beyond repair. For someone who was relatively cavalier about locking the back door, now I check it several times a day. We’ve thought about a security system. Replacing the back door. We lock every window. We bought a new dead bolt for the back door. We bought a hefty ass safe for important stuff. Maybe two would be better?

I’m contemplating motion activated lights and motion activated video cameras with remote viewing capabilities. This one I would so put on the house tomorrow.

I’m also thinking that a fortified electrical barrier I can control from a remote location is not a complete overreaction.

We’re probably going to get another dog. Okay, so this idea isn’t so bad actually.

why the postman should always ring twice

2011-12-21T23:50:00.000-05:00

The pile of crap mail taking up most of the kitchen table space finally got my attention while I was home sick Monday with the sinus infection from hell that will not go away. You know what I think will add revenue to the Postal coffers? Increase the rates for junk mail by 40% and the postal service will be solvent. Or companies will finally stop sending out the equivalent of a small forest every day in mail that NOBODY WANTS or reads.

There were a few gems that I found among the dirt though.

An insurance check for storm damage that was waaay overdue. Just the day before we had called four different people at the insurance company and complained with some acrimony that the check they swore they were going to send had yet to arrive. They weren't lying when they told us the check was in the mail after all.

The rebate check from Behr paints that I bought THREE months ago. Last week I called the Home Depot rebate center asking why it hadn't arrived yet. They weren't lying either.

A Famous Footwear reward gift card that was just a pleasant bonus and a nice thanks from them for spending a small fortune keeping up with my kid's growing feet.

The moral here is I really should pay more attention to the mail brought into the house.

Oh! Christmas Tree!

2011-12-01T06:30:00.001-05:00

We’ve been in our house 18 years this past week. That’s 18 Christmases under our roof this year. Over a long Thanksgiving weekend I hauled out the Christmas tree, set it up and watched as my daughter, who loves all things Christmas, picked just the right spot for each and every ornament we have, talking about the history of this one or that one. And while I watched her, I remembered the very first Christmas tree in this house.

A story that begins, like all good stories should, in a book store.

In the early summer of 1993 a 16 year old high school student came to work in the bookstore I managed. She exuded sunshine and smiles with her long brown hair and bright blue eyes. She dressed like a hippy in long flowing skirts, chiming bracelets and tie dye. I liked her immediately, because really, it was impossible not to. Every shift working with Jilly was bound to be full of fun new stories of family and friends, boys and music. And laughter. Five minutes with Jilly and there was laughter. She was patient with customers, loved books and worked hard. Some of the best moments of working with Jilly came after closing when she would kick off her shoes and gloriously sing out loud while vacuuming the store.

She became the little sister I never had, minus all that sibling baggage.

I got married a few months after we started working together and during Thanksgiving week my husband and I moved into the house we had just purchased.

Our house was - is - modest, and at the time we moved in, we barely had two extra dimes to rub together so it was furnished with second hand furniture and hand me downs from friends and relatives. Still it was ours, plus the banks, and we happily began turning this little house into a home.

While closing up one day after the hoard of Christmas shoppers left the store, Jilly asked me what kind of tree we were going to get for the house and how we were going to decorate for the holidays. I told her we weren’t bothering with a Christmas tree or decorations since we were both working most days leading up to Christmas and would be at his parents for Christmas Eve and my folks for Christmas day. Telling that to the girl who wore a Santa hat for much of her work shift and sang Christmas carols every night from Thanksgiving to Christmas was like telling her I’d kicked Santa in the balls and then choked him with this toy sack. She gaped at me in horror, eyes wide and astonished. “You HAVE TO HAVE A TREE!!” she wailed and wagged her finger in my face, her many silver bracelets jangling an admonishing tune. “It’s your first Christmas in the house and it would be wrong not to put one up! HOW WILL SANTA KNOW WHERE TO BRING YOUR GIFTS?”

“Not happening.” I said, laughing. And then she continued to nag me mercilessly until I shoved her out the door to go home.

A few days later as I was heading to my car in the parking lot after my shift, a car pulled up behind mine and out jumps Jilly with a wide grin on her face, long hair flowing in the winter wind, blue eyes sparkling with laughter. She tells me to shut up and just open my trunk. When I did, she and her friend pulled a small Christmas tree from the car, along with a box, stuffed it into my trunk and quickly got back in their car. As they pulled away, Jilly stuck her head out the window and yelled out to me, “Told you that you had to have a Christmas Tree this year!” And they sped off, two young girls laughing like loons, full of themselves for what they had just pulled off on an unsuspecting friend.

When I got home, I unloaded our new tree, set it up in a corner and went through the box. Jilly, and her friend, as I discovered when I saw Jilly next, had made ornaments and garland from colored construction paper and yarn. I spent a touched and smiling hour decorating that tree with each item . And then another hour or so just watching colored lights twinkle amid homemade ornaments and grinning like a fool. Damn kid, she was right. It would have been wrong not to have a Christmas tree that first year. And every time I set up a Christmas tree in the house, I think of Jilly, construction paper garland and smile.

No other Christmas tree since then has meant as much to me as that small one still does. It was only last year that the remaining construction paper ornament, so cheerfully made many years ago by a young girl with big heart, was no longer fit to be used. Even though it can’t go up on the tree anymore for fear it will disintegrate, it stays in the ornament box, nestled among the others, as a tangible memory of friendship, love and beginnings.

gettin' it on, or not

2011-11-20T09:14:00.000-05:00

The other night while I was wasting time in front of the television I counted five commercials (it's obvious I watch way too much TV) in a two hour period for erectile dysfunction drugs.

It was a HEY GUYS YOU CAN GET IT ON! advertisement night.

You know what commercials I dn't see?

The HEY LADIES PEP UP THAT SEX DRIVE! ones.

There's obviously an inequality in the amount of research done to help give a guy some wood versus the amount of support for women whose sex drive is compromised from various hormone related issues.

Why is this?

A preponderance of men in the pharmaceutical research industry?

The fact that there's some serious money to made by making certain men can't get it up definitely factors, I'm sure.

What would the world be without an erect penis? It must be fixed! At least that's the message the Viagra and Cyalis people want you to believe.

I'm not bashing the EDS issue as invalid or unworthy of research or pharmaceuticals, because you know, sex is natural, sex is fun, but let's face it, the research and results here is decidely ONE SIDED. If I guy can't get a boner with regularity, does this diminish the male self-esteem to such an extent that it warrants gobs of research money? Maybe I'm underestimating the lack of an erection, since my plumbing is of the female type, but I bet dollar to donuts if you asked some guy with cancer or another life threatening disease, he'd do withouth the hard on for some research funds that could give him a cure. And if you ask any of the women who've come through the other side of menopause about their sex drive, they might just be interested in a some extra research thrown to their corner of the sexual dysfuntion lab.

Thanks to all the hyper-advertising about meds to correct erective dysfunctin syndrome, just about everyone with access to TV and the internet knows about EDS. I'd be interested to know how many people know what HDSS is and what is out there.

I've recently seen the occassional commercial for Zestra and Trojan's line of personal massagers but those usually air later at night on cable channels and certainly not during prime time like the Viagra and Cyalis commercials.

Last year the FDA ditched a medication that supposedly could help as inconclusive but at some point approved a vaccum style apparatus that pulled blood to the clitoris. Uh, folks, not the same as penis. Not at all.

How about a little more attention to the female side of things?

if a tree falls in the forest...

2011-11-04T00:07:00.000-04:00

Time I would have spent blogging the past two months has been absorbed by cleaning up the debris of twelve 75 – 80 feet high black locust trees that were, in no particular order, shattered by lightning, toppled by freak winds, taken down for fear of them falling on my house, or the neighbor’s, because suddenly they were leaning precariously as the ground was so wet the roots weren’t holding anymore, blown over by Hurricane Irene, or toppled by the drunken moron my neighbor hired to clear their similarly affected trees and he forgot where one yard merged into another and pushed them over with a backhoe. It’s moments like that that I wish I had the conscious of a sociopath so I could run him over with his own backhoe and not feel any remorse. Alas, I am not a sociopath and would feel bad. But he would deserve it. Just sayin’.

Fighting with the insurance company to fix the custom built bench that one of the trees crushed, pay for the removal of trees that were hit by lightning, a point on which we disagree, though how they look at tree trunks that have clearly been blasted into pieces, have visible scorched marks and say it was wind damage I will never know, cover the cost of the half pallet of now crushed landscaping pavers in our yard that were to be used in a yard beautification project before the blasted tree parts landed on them, pay for the awning that was ripped off the back of the house by the same freak winds that toppled five trees, and cover the cost of the fence section that another tree landed on.

Building pallets of firewood that can be sold to recoup some of the costs of this chaos, such as the tree service guy who charged a small fortune to take down one tree because he’s a scumsucker before we found an honest tree guy not looking to rape people in an emergency, and the cost of tools needed to cut all the damn wood into firewood. There are 23 pallets and at least 10 more based on the piles of logs waiting to be chopped. Our son is getting quite the workout chopping all that firewood. The teenage girls I catch gawking at his well-muscled arms and chest can thank me later.

My husband broke my finger. Well, not on purpose and he felt REALLY bad about it when my finger got crushed between the piece of wood I was settling on a pallet and the piece he tossed onto the pallet. My dominant hand index finger. It’s really hard to type with an index finger with many stitches in a splint. It bled. A lot. When people ask what happened I tell them my husband broke it. It’s fun. It would have been funnier had it been my middle finger. Now I just have a weird scar running between knuckles.

My daughter broke her finger three weeks later when she got kicked in the hand by some kid in Gym while playing dodge ball. Who the hell kicks the ball in dodge ball? Seriously.

Swimming is taking over my free time and I never dip a toe in a pool. There was a swim meet a couple weeks ago and the parents (me) had to volunteer BOTH days. After two six-hour days on my feet I almost think it’s worth letting them keep the work bond check. Almost.

In between appointments with the hand doctor, who looks at my husband suspiciously, the kid's swim practice and karate, this stuff seems to multiple when I'm not looking:

Just one of many log piles.

We say lightning, insurance company says wind.

I can see for miles and miles

2011-10-21T07:32:00.000-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I went to Reno for work. I'm an East Coast gal, and ALL of my travel to this point has been up & down that same East Coast, with excursions to New Orleans and the Caribbean.

And while there are so many places I've wanted to visit, Nevada was never on that list. Nor did I think I'd ever get to the other side of the country, since airfare is an absurd cost and well, it's the other side of the country. Miles and miles away.

After a day in the office, and adjusting to the brown, it became pretty hard to resist the appeal of this.

Or this.

My guys are salivating about the slopes.

The windy mountain roads and views took my breath away.

I drove to California!

And really, there's nothing like one stop shopping!

I'm trying to figure out how soon I can get my boss to send me back.

I think I'd like our next family vacation to be a two week driving trek across the country, with as few miles done on major highways as possible.

There are so many incredible sights, small and large, across the country that should be seen. Travel, explore, become adventurers. Discover the world you live in. I can't wait to see more.

The fight against cancer, one lap, or frosted cupcake, at a time

2011-10-03T21:09:00.000-04:00

Back in June, the summer swim team my son was on held a Swim Against Cancer Marathon. They do it every year, sponsored by the American Cancer Society. Donations could be made on a swimmer’s per lap goal or as a dollar value donation.

No question, good cause. Despite the unholy start time of 7:00 am, Ace gamely dove into the chilly water half asleep so he could swim as many laps as possible before he needed to refuel and head off to work for the day.

In the days leading up to the event, we did our parenting duty and nagged him mercilessly to make phone calls to as many people as he could to garner donations. Getting a teenage boy on the phone to ask people for money, even money for a cause near and dear to his heart, is no easy task. For days we asked how his fundraising calls were going and he shrugged and said he left some messages. “Left some messages” was clearly a euphemism for I haven’t made any calls yet because I don’t want to ask anyone for money. I wish he had the same reservation in asking for money when it comes to me and his Dad, but alas that is not the case. Since he seemed inclined to postpone making these calls until oh, say forever, I did what any rational mom would do and while holding him hostage in my car traveling to and from work and swim practices I made him dial number after number and ask for donations. I do believe texting has robbed out children of the ability to hold normal phone conversations because those calls were some of the most awkward dialogues I’ve ever had the misfortune to overhear.

But those stilted explanations and awkward requests produced some dough.

In the midst of all this encouraging (nagging) our son to reach out for a good cause, our daughter decided she too was going to have some hand in this raising money to fight cancer deal.

Hauling out boxes of cake mix, cupcake pans and enough frosting to rot your teeth out of your head, she cooked up a couple dozen cupcakes and set off with a friend to roam the neighborhood and sell cupcakes for cancer. She and her friend spent a few hot summer weekend hours knocking on doors and reminding people that giving a donation to fight cancer can be a sweet deal. She sold all of her cupcakes, except the few they ate on their travels, and gave it all over to her brother’s swim marathon.

Our kids have intimate knowledge of the devastation cancer can wage in a family. They know the benefits that research can have in pushing back on the disease and the support that the medical personnel can provide the patient and family members.

They watched as their grandfather bravely battled two bouts of an aggressive skin cancer and bladder cancer for almost two years before the disease took its toll and his life. Less than a year after that loss, their 25 year old cousin Joey was diagnosed with bone cancer that no amount of research and treatment could turn aside. In less than a year after being diagnosed, Joey died before his baby daughter was old enough to say DaDa.

We KNOW.

Ace wasn’t able to attend the end of the summer party at the swim club due to his job so it was only just a few days ago that one of his teammate’s parents dropped off his ribbons, the participation giveaways from the Swim Against Cancer, and his swimming awards. As he examined what he had, one item clearly overshadowed all the rest, because one he discovered it, he dropped the handful of ribbons that logged his meet times as if they were packing material. This award, of gently curved clear lucite, etched with the American Cancer Society logo, and the event details contained the words Highest Fundraiser under his name. The man-child that never puts anything away without being nagged beyond measure, after showing it off to me and his Dad, immediately placed this award on the shelves in his room that hold his favorite things. This award claims center position, standing out from everything else. With this he realizes that he did something really good, for a wonderful cause, and made a small but significant impact in the fight against cancer.

Giggles also took pride in her brother’s award. She was so proud and hugged him unabashedly when he showed her the award. She also knows she contributed to that honor, by her own efforts and time, with a frosted sucker punch to cancer’s balls. And looks forward to doing it again.

Our kids know too well that the only way to stop the loss of loved ones to cancer is to keep fighting, and donating to fund vital research, with one lap, or cupcake, at a time.

By the way, Ace swam 162 laps that morning.

Waterfall Falls

2011-08-19T09:51:00.000-04:00

It's not so bad sitting on the balcony and seeing nothing but trees. I've been out here for an hour and the only noise so far has been my daughter coming out of the condo to join me for a few minutes before she slipped back inside in search of breakfast. I'm not cooking this morning. It's my vacation too.

The guys are all still sleeping, exhausted from a full day of paintball and two hours of racquetball. I imagine my husband is going to wake up feeling several years older than his actual self this morning since his body was riddled with paintball welts when he got back yesterday. The boys say he gave as good as he got though. They all counted their paintball welts to see who had the most. Like counting battle scars. I might never understand the male mentality.

Despite coming back from the paintball odyssey grimy, tired and achy, the boys agreed that as much fun as that was, they would prefer to spend another day at the waterfall jumping into the river. Who knew it would be so easy to please and exhaust three sixteen year old boys by providing a waterfall and some cliff jumping?

We hiked out to this waterfall called Hawk Falls the other day. A beautiful two tiered waterfall with deep pools at the base of each level. The recent rains in the area had the falls flowing nicely. I don't know if it was because we got there early in the afternoon but we had the falls to ourselves for well over two hours. That gave the boys time to jump from every available ledge they could reach. Each time higher and higher up the falls.

Ace was the first to go and the look on his face when he emerged from the water was priceless. That water was cold cold cold and he wasn't anticpating that level of mountain stream chilly. Despite that discovery, he immediately clamored up the rocks for another dive. His two buddies followed suit, taking the jump and coming up gasping at the impact of the cold water. They loved every minute of it.

Giggles jumped in from the lower ledges but the cold was a little much for her and she decided to explore the river and surrounding area rather than jump in again.

I took pictures and videos for everyone while the boys found higher points to jump from the face of the waterfalls. I'm estimating that the highest jump point for them was about 20 feet. There was no way I was going to jump from that height ever, into water I knew was frigid but there was also no way I was leaving without at least jumping in from the lower levels. That jump was about 6 feet. Just my limit. Despite that it looked awfully far down into the water from the top of that ledge and it took me a good five minutes of contemplating before stepping off the ledge.

Holy hell the water hits you like a brain freeze on steroids! For a moment you don't really feel anything but then it's like this smacking impact of frigid and then your lungs contract and your heart pounds from the shock of cold. The only think I could think off was get the hell out now nownownow..... But it was such a cool experience, I did it again.

The boys, and I include my husband in that group, jumped from the watrefalls for a good three hours. They were exhausted driving back to the resort, flat out worn out from the thrill, the cold, the physical effort of climbing the rocks time and again. When we hauled our tired selves inside, and they collapsed on the first handy surface, the boys wanted to know when we could go back to the falls and do it all again.

Probably today. If the weather holds.