I was in a mood this morning. I don’t know if it was strictly a woman mood or if it was something else. I do think, and I’m sure it’s scientifically proven, that women tend to have more moods than men.
Lately, my mood had been pretty upbeat. But, I was having these dreams and thoughts that had me feeling a bit unsettled. If my life wasn’t unsettled enough, my sleep had been haunting me like my hometown had suddenly become Amityville.
I had been pretty good lately about not turning on the TV the past few weeks. Though in my defense, the rain had me a bit blue as well as the water + kitty litter that was leaving small cement clumps all over the house.
So, this morning, I thought, “A second cup of coffee with the news; that’s okay.” As it turned out, it was a second cup of coffee; however, channel surfing got the best of me. Law & Order wasn’t on, but, I found Yentl. I had never seen the whole movie, but when I saw Avigdor, I thought, “Oh. I always thought that guy was so cute!”
I had always heard the movie was bad and quite sappy; however, I’m not one to listen to critics. As I sat there on the couch, I thought “This is Barbra Streisand and a wonderful story. How bad could it be?”
In about five minutes, Barbra was singing a song at the top of her lungs. I then thought, “I like musical theater, but this doesn't seem to be as good as the "The Sound of Music.” Although maybe my opinion was tainted since "The Sound of Music" was the only musical I ever really watched. So, I continued to watch.
Hadass loves Avigdor. Avigdor loves Hadass. Anshel marries Hadass. Hadass begins to love Anshel. Anshel loves Avigdor. Anshel tells Avigdor she is a woman. Avigdor loves Anshel, but Yentl (Anshel) will not settle for being a “wife” who cannot study the Talmud.
When Anshel (Yentl) confessed her love to Avigdor, I began to feel all of her emotion. Nathan had a half day and when he came into the kitchen, I was sitting there weeping on the couch. All I could say was, “It’s Yentl!”
He rolled his eyes promptly left. I sat there, and as tears rolled down my cheek, I suddenly felt better than I had in the last month. While Mandy Patinkin caressed Barbra Streisand’s face, whatever I had been feeling previously was gone; thus proving, there's nothing like a good cry to get you out of a mood!
And in the last scene where Yentl was singing on a ship headed to America, I got even more emotional and thought, "I do think I like this movie!" The last scene reminded me of my passionate acting days. Okay, it was really only a passionate acting day.
I thought about being an actress, and it wasn’t just because my Dad always used to say to me “Stop being an actress, Jean Marie!” I took an English class my Junior year of high school with Virginia Kirshner. I remember being in the Little Theater, and we were acting out The Glass Menagerie. You thought I was Laura Wingfield, didn’t you? I wasn’t; I was Tom Wingfield.
I can’t remember now who played Laura; however, I do remember getting up on stage and reciting my lines reluctantly at first. And once up there in front of 25 classmates, I thought, “What the hell?” It was probably the first time in my life I thought “What the hell?”
I read Tom like the person I wanted to be at the time, a person who had things to say but was afraid to do so. After uttering a few lines, a few of the popular girls in class snickered. I heard them laugh.
I stood there, looked out at the crowd, and swallowed myself and Tom. Just then Virginia Kirshner looked sternly at the snickering girls and said, “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
They stopped laughing immediately. And then she shouted to me from the audience, “Continue!” And, I did.
I wondered in that moment if I should be an actress. I enjoyed it, and most importantly, the head of the drama department had cheered me on. It was only later I realized what a great teacher she was. But then, I didn’t know if I really wanted to be an actress, because I loved writing so much.
But, I did know at that time and in that place, Virginia emotionally rescued me. Years later, I'd be thankful for that, being able to feel my emotion no matter what the situation and regardless of who was there.
Today, after Yentl ended, I gathered up my things for the gym. I got into the car with my sneakers and iPod. On my way there, I heard “Silly Love Songs.”
It’s a song I would normally hear and think, "What was Sir Paul thinking?!" Yet today, like Yentl, I tuned in, turned the volume up, and enjoyed it for everything it was. And, I drove to the gym happily singing a silly love song.
Today, I didn’t need to buy a lipstick, purchase shoes, or do any other shopping to feel better. Had this change in my life come with maturity, or could it be that a musical and a song put my world back in tune? Today, my money was on Yentl and a silly love song. ♥
Many days, especially the days when it wasn’t raining, windy, or cold, this last year, I was out biking many miles along the rail trail and on the roads. Last Summer, I made the acquaintance of Bill, the founding member of Fabulous and Fifty-Plus Cycling Dudes, Ltd. With them, I spent more time on my Lemond Buenos Aires than I did driving in my Saab 9-3!
Anyway, Bill became a “snowbird” over a week ago. He told me about it in advance saying he and his wife, Gail, were off to enjoy some time at his niece’s condo. I knew he would be gone for a little over two weeks, but little did I know that that two weeks would feel like two months.
The Thursday before Bill left, we rode together. He mentioned that a Friday ride wasn’t possible. The next morning (Friday!), Bill texted me saying “I know I said I wouldn’t be riding today, but I could be up for a truncated version of our normal ride if you’re interested. Whaddaya say?” I said, “Yes.”
We rode up the rail trail, bumped into Jim, and made Jim part of our posse. After checking out the bridge, we rode through downtown Pepperell, I sniffed, and I said, “Oh, that smells good, like greasy fried seafood!” Bill said, “I know. Let’s go to Johnson’s in Groton and split some fried clams!” In that moment, it sounded like a good idea, but then I remembered that unlike Bill and Jim, I wasn’t retired.
I had laundry to wash, I had a house to keep clean, and I had a potential job to look for. Bill asked if I was interested. I was, but I had to say, “No. I really need to get home.”
As usual when we ride, some of us end up together and then some of us end up ahead of the rest of us. Bill rode off at a fast pace, later saying that he needed to build up a sweat before the end of the ride, which I totally understood since it was his last “team” ride for a while. Jim and I stayed on the trail riding side-by-side.
I asked Jim if he had any interest in Florida. He said that he had been there two or three times, but he had no desire to go back. I said that I’d rather go to California if given a choice.
I then asked if he had any sort of Winter vacation planned. He told me that his wife was off shortly on “her” vacation, which was a bus tour of Yosemite. And, I gathered that was a vacation for the two of them given that they would be apart!
After a few miles, we caught up with Bill, and I said, “If I was really old and retired, I think I should be going to Florida, too.” But, I wasn’t. Somehow, I was so bonded to these wonderful men, yet at the same time, I had to be reminded that I still lived a different life; I was NOT going to Florida.
I was not retired. I needed to work. But, I so wished that I would always have these men in my life, even though I knew I wouldn’t for long.
After Bill left for Florida, I rode the rail trail two times on my own. It wasn’t the same. While I was able to listen to my iPod, I missed Bill’s stories about his life, the Pan Mass Challenge, or his general musings of life in general of which I was a devoted subscriber.
Upon arriving home after a lonely ride one day, I knew that if it hadn’t been for Bill, I wouldn’t have ridden my bike as much as I did last Summer. Bill was my bike muse. And I realized this last week and a half, that it’s good to have a friend who kicks your butt physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
After running at the gym today, I didn’t go directly home like I usually do. With all the rain, I instantly became Helen Hunt and went into Flood Hunter mode. I drove to a few places where I knew the roads would be challenged, looked upon them, and then I thought, “I’m missing Bill.”
Though sometimes I have to remember that I’m not retired yet, I have Bill to remind me of all that comes with it. It’s not just a large amount of time. It’s time allotted to appreciating the little things like cycling, watching a beautiful and simple bridge be constructed, and seeing Nature, even if evil, make amazing things appear before your eyes.
While Bill is in Florida, the thrill of my day-to-day seems to be gone somewhat. But, he’s made me see so much from the parking lot at the rail trail to the bridge in Pepperell. And, when I am employed again, I will thank Bill every day for making me see life in a way I never saw it before. ♥
Last Saturday night, I was sitting in front of my laptop minding my own business. Okay, I really wasn’t. I was being a Social Networker, which I think is 2010’s version of the “Social Butterfly.”
As I was catching up on all the latest news on Facebook, I saw an incoming email from my friend, Helen, who is mother to twins, Abby and Will, who are a year younger than Iz. She had just read my blog about the magic meatball. You all know how much I love that meatball and how I would never part with it.
She said, “That thing is all the rage at our kindergarten! We weren't lucky enough to get one, but the kids all talk about it.” In under one minute, I replied to Helen and said, “I thought everyone got one at McDonald’s. I’ll send you ours!” After Iz used the meatball against me, I was looking to relocate it to Phoenix; however, 30 minutes South would do!
Actually, so I don’t sound unfeeling, Iz hadn’t looked at the meatball in many days. And, as I said previously, I think she’s at the age where the McDonald’s Happy Meal toys were losing their appeal. I knew this firsthand, because she kept asking me when she could have her own cell phone; so, it was time to pass the meatball!
Helen responded and said that it would be a great surprise for her children. I asked her if I should send it with a letter from iCarly, because that was the sitcom in which the magic meatball starred. She told me to send it from McDonald’s, and then asked if I could put in a note about sharing it.
Wow, sharing! Growing up with a brother who was just two years old and a sister who was sixteen months younger, I understood that whole "sharing" concept. Though, it was unfortunate that I only grasped the concept years after my Mom had locked herself in the bathroom to escape our non-sharing behavior in addition to our other bad behavior!*
*For example, I once told Julie it was okay to run through the sprinkler with the cat. She still has the scar on her chest. But, in my 8-year-old's defense, it was most likely payback for stealing my Barbie's maxi dress!
I decided to send the letter from Ronald McDonald. As I began to write the letter to Abby and Will, I began to feel three parts undercover agent (good thing I watch Law & Order!) and one part clown. Whatever the feeling was, it felt so very good.
I wrote my letter to Abby and Will.
Dear Abby and Will,
In this box, you will find a magic meatball. I heard you didn’t have one, so I sent you the only one I have left.
You must share it; otherwise, it will lose all of its power. So take turns asking the meatball questions, don’t forget to brush your teeth every morning and night, and keep your rooms clean! Have fun!
Love, Ronald McDonald
Of course, thinking back on my own youth, I used my temporary clown state to Helen’s advantage. Actually, I felt like the Queen of Clowns, both funny and powerful; and, it doesn’t get any better that that! Regardless, we Moms need all the help we can get in the tooth brushing and room cleaning departments.
I found a box and decorated it appropriately.
I wrapped the meatball in tissue paper and announced its amazing powers.
I sent a copy of my letter to Helen. She responded with “I ♥ you.” It’s good to be hearted in general, but it’s even better to be “hearted” when you’re doing what you do best.
“By blood a king, in heart a clown.” ~Lord Tennyson
The best gifts are truly the ones you give of yourself, and I should really be in pictures, shouldn’t I?! Nah, I shouldn’t. But, after my brief clown stint, I do believe that someday my creative job will come, although I’m beginning to think that I’m going to have to invent it myself! ♥
As most everyone knows, I’m a typical girl. I like shoes, clothes, cosmetics, and perfume. Though, I can also go out and bike 40 miles, walk a marathon, and survive teaching my son how to drive; I’m still working on changing my bicycle tire, trying to conquer my aversion to grease, both the lubricant and the musical.
Yesterday, I went to get my hair cut. I always find it a rejuvenating experience, because my hair becomes a bit different, and whatever the transition, it always makes me feel a bit brighter. Also, I’ve known my hair stylist for over 20 years now, so there’s the added aspect of spending an hour with an old friend every five weeks.
When I arrived, my hairdresser greeted me as well as Diva, her cat, and Kimchi, her dog, who was sitting in the lap of an older woman. I recognized the older woman, Sally. I had bumped into her there once before, and I tried to remember when.
Oh, it was when my stylist, Donna, was having trouble with a male client who was very fond of her. What was the problem? She was married and not interested, and he was married and interested.
I remembered her telling me about it. My stylist is a very lovely person, and she didn’t know how to tell this man that she wasn’t interested yet wanted to keep him as a client. So, she decided that whenever he came in, she would have Sally there for protection.
I greeted Sally, and I tried to say “Hello” to Kimchi; however, when I got close to Kimchi, he growled. My stylist laughed and said that Kimchi was very protective of Sally. Oh, no kidding!
I sat down and Donna began to do her magic on my hair. But, all the while, there sat Sally with Kimchi. I assumed that Sally was visiting, and Donna began to barrage me with questions.
I didn’t know Sally well, but I knew her well enough to know that my answers to Donna’s questions were safe with her. After two minutes, it became clear to me that this visit was more than about my hair. Sally chimed in on several things, and after five minutes, it felt more like a slumber party.
Sally talked about the challenges of living in elderly housing. I talked about the challenges of finding a job. Donna talked about the challenge she faced because Kimchi had not eaten , defecated, or urinated in the last 24 hours. Major girl talk!
Actually, we discussed menopause. When, where, how, and why? We compared war stories; of course, I hadn’t experienced anything thus far, and, quite frankly, I was pissed off about it!
We discussed gray hair. Sally had a lovely head of gray hair, and I told Donna that when I was all gray, I would remain so. This was never a popular topic with Donna or most of my girlfriends who always said, “No!!!!!!!!”
It was nice being there. It felt like a safe haven from the dark cave of employment scrutiny and uncertainty. We laughed, we talked, and we shared.
Once my hair was done, Donna said to Sally and I, “I have something to show you.” As Donna said, “James picked it up in New York City at a show,” Sally and I both looked at each other somewhat suspect. James was a hair stylist also.
Donna said, “It can make your wrinkles disappear in an instant. You use it when you’re going out, because it only lasts 8 hours, and it's $79.95 a bottle.” I was beginning to feel very Cinderella as Fairy Godmother Donna explained how this wrinkle cream worked. At midnight, my wrinkle-free face would crumble and then become like the skin of a pumpkin!
Donna left to go retrieve her bottle of wrinkle remover. Sally and I looked at each other; we were skeptical. But, because we both had nothing better to do, we were open to whatever Donna had in her bottle.
About five minutes later, Donna came back carrying a very small bottle of white cream. She handed it to me. I read the bottle out loud saying “Instantly Ageless. Face Lift in a Bottle.”
She pumped up my seat so I was now looking at the ceiling instead of at the mirror. She said to Sally, “I just need to dab a bit under each eye.” I started to laugh, and Donna said to me, “Don’t move! It says not to move on the instructions!”
I complied as I felt her dab the cream under both my eyes. She said, “It must dry now.” Suddenly, I felt her waving a paper fan over me. She asked, “What do you feel?”
I said, “I feel like my skin is drying up.” She said, “Oh, that’s good.” I asked, “It is?” She said, “Just don’t laugh.”
When I was little, my Mom made us homemade paste. It was flour mixed with water. Was it as good as Elmer’s? No, but it worked, and it was a “green” glue!
As the cream dried under my eyes, I felt like I had flour and water paste there instead of a $79.95 cream. Donna asked me how I felt, I said, “Well, it feels like my face is going to crack.” I heard Sally start to laugh, and Donna said most sternly, “Don’t laugh!”
I lied there drying. Then Donna said, “Okay, Sally. I’m going to do you now.” Sally said, “I think I’m going to need a bucket of that to sit in!”
I said, "Hey, Donna. After this, I can pick up young men, right?" Sally laughed hyserically. Donna said to her sternly, "Don't laugh, Sally!"
Sally said, "I'm sorry, but that was funny!" Donna grumbled. I said, "I'm sorry. I'll be quiet. I promise!"
Donna was not deterred. As I remained in the chair, I heard Donna telling Sally about the benefits of this amazing cream. I think both Sally and I had already become BFFs with our wrinkles, but we loved Donna, so we let her love our wrinkles.
After Sally and I were dry, Donna said, “See the difference.” Sally and I both said, “Yes!” But, I don’t think either of us saw much difference.
I looked in the mirror, and I only felt that my skin was now as tight as the casing that was on the keilbasa I had the other night. Perhaps it was because I already knew I had wrinkles, accepted them, and that they had become part of the family that was my face. They were my second lines two times removed.
Did Sally or I opt to buy the face lift in a bottle? Donna asked us if we would like James to get us each a bottle. I said that I'd have to think about it, and Sally said, "Maybe if I win the lottery."
When with Donna and Sally, I realized I acknowledged my age, but I didn’t let it define me. I think that’s why Iz likes me. I’m not only her mother, but I have still having fun dressing up, running around in the yard, and I like Hello Kitty.
Yesterday, one of the tasks on my List of Things to Do When Not Doing Much of Anything Else list was “Clean Iz’s room.” She had cleaned her room on Saturday; however, her definition of “clean” and mine were pages apart in the dictionary. Actually, her definition of clean was really “orderly disorder.”
She had cleaned enough, so I could see most of the floor. Clothes were no longer strewn over the floor, her night table chair, and bed. Now they were shoved into the drawers of her bureau with a pant leg hanging out the corner of one drawer and the sleeve of a shirt hanging out the corner of another drawer.
Piles of toys were pushed into all the corners of her room. A small velour blanket was spread over the unmade bed. I was told that “Liam likes this blanket” on the bed, which was Iz’s way of playing the feline card, which always beats Mom’s Clean House hand, to avoid making the bed.
Anyway, Iz cleaned her room, but for all intents and purposes, it was not done with the word “clean” in mind. It was done with the thought “Must do the minimal to get Mommy off my case!” Of course, I did approved her “clean” room; I knew that it was “as good as it gets” until she cared about a clean room, which probably wouldn’t occur until she was 30.
At 10am, armed with a trash can and a vacuum cleaner, I entered her room. I looked around. Then I immediately wanted to leave her room and retreat to Law & Order!
I began in one corner. Amidst the stuffed animals, tubes of lip gloss, and Polly Pocket clothing, there was always a petrified balled-up sock or two or three. It was always one which I thought had succumbed to Bermuda Triangle in the dryer. Of course, I had always pitched the odd sock that was presumed missing in the dryer, and once again, I was left with more odd socks.
I have a love-dislike relationship with Polly Pocket dolls. When I was little I had a similar doll, a Dawn doll. She was small like Polly, but her clothes were not made out of plastic. I really liked her because she was so tiny.
I guess since I had always been taller than average growing up, Dawn’s petite stature intrigued me. Oddly, it would appear this fascination with petite would follow me in friendship as most of my friends are much shorter than I am. And, Cathy, I’m 5’10”; you are 5’9”!
Anyway, I disliked Polly at the same time, because her accessories were so tiny. These little pieces of plastic got lost easily, and Iz wasn’t one for keeping her things “together.” When I was little, I could account for every outfit and pair of shoes that my Barbie owned. I kept a mental inventor; however, perhaps this was due to having a younger sister, which often had me thinking that at any time my things could disappear with a simple “No. I didn’t take your Barbie’s maxi dress!”
The only person in the house who seemed to thoroughly enjoy Polly Pocket was the kitten, Plume. She liked to jump up on Iz’s bureau, grab a plastic dress in her mouth, jump down, drop it on the floor, and then bat it around the house. When Iz and I were out shopping last weekend, she pointed to some cat toy and said, “We should get this for Plume” to which I said, “I think she’s doing just fine with Polly Pocket’s clothes.”
So, the vacuum was an obvious cleaning tool once I uncovered more of the floor. But, what about the wastebasket? The reason for that was, one, Iz’s love of paper, particularly post-it notes, two, her love of cutting paper, three, her love of printing out tons of things off of the Disney and Nickelodeon websites, and, lastly, Happy Meal toys.
I could deal with the discarded post-it notes that said, “No boys alawed,” the little bits of paper from her snowflake-making period, and the print outs of Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers. Most of the paper got thrown away. I figured if it was rolled up in a ball, buried under a pile of stuffed animals on the floor, or a post-it note stuck to Liam’s fluffy rear-end, it could be discard without any parental guilt.
I try to feed Iz a good dinner most nights of the week. But on those frantic nights or for a “treat,” I do end up taking her to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal every now and then. The tough thing about Happy Meals is not that they’re not particularly “healthy,” it’s that those darn toys seem to multiply like rabbits if you’re not careful!
Every six months or so, I go through Iz’s toy box and bedroom, and I try to weed them all out. Some Iz discards the moment she opens them with a “Aw, I already have this one” or “I don’t like this.” But, it appeared from Iz’s room yesterday that Happy Meal toys breed all year long, and their favorite hiding spot is under piles of stuffed animals using the petrified balled up socks as camouflage!
Lately, it seemed that Iz was actually getting to the age where the Happy Meal toy was losing some of its appeal. Last month, sensing herself that her desire for the toy had lessened, she tried mixing things up a bit by saying to me one night, “Mommy, tell them I’m a boy.” She wanted “boy toy,” and I hope her only “boy toy” remains the one in the Happy Meal for quite some time.
As we went through the drive-thru, she’d sink down in the backseat. I think she was fearful that they’d figure out they were giving a girl a “boy toy,” and then somehow she’d be banished from McDonald’s for life. That night, she ripped open the plastic bag, pulled out some kind of techo gizmo, and then uttered a disappointed, “Oh.” That was the end of her “boy toy” phase.
As I was cleaning her room, I found the last toy she had received. This one I particularly disliked, because the night she got it, my parental authority came into question. I was temporarily overthrown and replaced by a magic meatball, the iCarly magic meatball.
I had to laugh, because it was not unlike the Magic 8-Ball I had when I was young. I remember asking the 8-Ball, “Will school be cancelled tomorrow?”, “Does Chris Trimper like me?”, and “Is Mom making lamb chops for dinner tonight?” By the way, Chris Trimper did like me until I ran up to him on the playground and kissed him; I was never shy, but we already knew that, didn’t we?!
Anyway, that night I said to Iz, “It’s time for a bath.” She responded like always, “No!!!!” Then she quickly said, “Let’s ask the magic meatball!”
I said, “The what?” She ran into the family room, grabbed something, and came back into the kitchen. She held this red plastic meatball like she was holding an ancient Egyptian artifact. She then asked, “Magic meatball, do I have to take a bath now?”
She pressed and button and it spoke. “The meatball says no.” She looked at me and said, “See. I don’t have to!”
In two minutes, I had gone from Mother to Less Than Meatball. She turned around and went to back into the family room. I said, “Wait a minute! You’re taking a bath now.”
I had to give her an A for effort in trying to get me to believe that the Meatball was now Mom. She said, “Mom, but the meatball said….” I said, “It’s time for a bath,” in my “I am more powerful than a magic meatball” voice.
She sighed, made a face, and then she headed upstairs. I picked up the meatball and pressed the button a few times. The meatball’s repertoire was limited to “The answer is yes,” “Ask again later,” and “The meatball says no” all said as if Peter Lorre had been reincarnated as a red plastic meatball.
When I found the meatball yesterday, I asked it, “Magic meatball, should I throw you away?” I pressed the button. The magic meatball said, “Ask again later.” I said, “The answer is yes,” and threw it in the trash can!
After two hours in Iz’s room (and that was without even venturing into her closet), I left with a basket full of trash and a vacuum cleaner bag that contained 15 more lady bug carcasses. The stuffed animals were stuffed in the closet, the lip glosses were sorted in a basket, the pencils and pens were in her desk, and the bureau no longer reminded me of Steven King’s short story, “The Mangler.”
I was exhausted just looking at all the stuff I pulled out of her room. I then remembered that I hadn’t run or biked in two days, so I wanted to go to the gym. If I did, I knew I’d miss spending the afternoon with Iz; I was ball of indecision.
Iz had been asking me over and over when we could dye Easter eggs. (Of course, “When can we dye Easter eggs?” was totally lost on that magic meatball!) I glanced at the meatball in the trash can, reached out and picked it up, and then asked, “Magic meatball, should I forget about the gym and dye Easter eggs with Iz?” I pressed the button, and Peter Lorre said, “The answer is yes.”
I got up, threw my sneakers back under my bureau, and put the magic meatball back on top of Iz’s bureau. I decided I could live with the meatball, as long as it knew its place, which was under a pile of stuff animals or on top of a plate of plastic spaghetti. Ten yellow, blue, green and red fingers and a dozen multi-colored hard-boiled eggs later, I knew that sometimes the meatball could be right. ♥
In addition to volunteering and cycling, I figured that my life was missing something else; yes, it was a paying job. I knew it had to be one that financially kept me within unemployment benefit limits. But after my rejection by Macy’s, I was a bit hesitant; however, like they say (sort of) , when a window closes, your front door opens and in walks your neighbor with your next part-time job opportunity!
About a week and a half ago, my neighbor, Ellen, came by to either pick up a child, borrow something, or just say “Hi.” We do one or more of these activities between the two of us so often that I lose track of what's going on when exactly. That afternoon, she was waving some white papers when she entered.
She asked, “Are you still looking for some part-time work?” I said that I was. She then handed me the white papers and said, “We were thinking this would be a good job for Zach, but it will conflict with his other job.” I looked at the top sheet that said, “CENSUS JOBS $18.50/ hr. Take the Basic Skills Test.”
A test?! I had flashbacks to my Macy’s “questionnaire,” which was really a psychological test masquerading as a questionnaire. I then had a flashback to the SATs. At that moment, I thought, “I should really start that dog walking business. Its only test was being able to survive picking up dog droppings, and I already had mastered that!”
I thanked Ellen for the information. She said, “It’d be good for you; you like walking around and talking to people.” She was right; that was me, always moving and always talking.
She mentioned that a test was being held that night; unfortunately, I couldn’t attend. (And most importantly, I hadn’t taken Stanley Kaplan Census Test Prep Class yet!) There was another test being offered on the 22nd.
I told myself I might go then. It was “might,” because I’m always optimistic that soon I will have a “real” job. This will be a job that does not require an intimidating psychological or basic skills test!
When today came around, there was no “real” job in sight. I thought $18.50 an hour was pretty good pay for walking and talking; I walk and talk most days for free, so why not get paid for it. And, Macy’s and Sephora weren’t paying that much nor had they shown great interest in employing me so far!
This afternoon, I took out the practice “field test.” I got nauseated as visions of number 2 pencils danced in my gut. I sat up straight and looked around for the proctor; the only nearby life form was Liam, who was alternately chewing on and then licking his front right paw. I thought, “I sure hope he’s not getting paid $18.50 an hour for this!”
I read the general instructions. I was supposed to time myself (30 minutes), make sure I understood all the instructions and try to answer every item. I was told I could do any “figuring” in the booklet and all my answers should be dark and stay within the circle. The number 2 pencils were now kicking me in my gut.
I looked at the two sample items. I successfully multiplied 1.5 and 6.3. The second sample question was no problem. But, it did prove to me that what you learn on Sesame Street stays with you for life.
It was a “one of these numbers does not belong with the others” (e.g., 40, 140, 239, 340) type of questions. I scanned A, B, C, and D looking for the answer. When I couldn’t find “Me want cookie!” I knew the answer must be C, which was 239 and after all “C” is for cookie!
After the sample items, I read “DO NOT OPEN THIS BOOKLET UNTIL YOU ARE READY TO SET YOUR TIMER.” I opened the booklet. Amazingly, a loud buzzer didn’t go off.
Also, I was not struck by a lightning nor was I subjected to Charlie Brown’s teacher saying “Wah-wah-who-wah-wah didn’t wah-wah-who-wah-wah turn wah-wah-who-wah-wah on the wah-wah-who-wah-wah timer!” I didn’t need the stress of a timer; and this is why I’ll probably always be a rebel without a government job.
I breezed through clerical skills, reading, and number skills. I was able to interpret information and evaluate alternatives, and it appeared I had organizational skills. But, I seemed to have a problem with “boundaries” or understanding what they were anyway.
When you become a census taker (an "enumerator"), you are assigned an area in which to enumerate. It is marked by boundaries. This is your census turf; you mark it by hanging your number 2 pencils from the telephone pole lines. In my census taking world, I pictured myself roaming around my turf wearing a black leather jacket that said “Enumerators” on it in red letters.
Anyway, I didn’t do well on the three questions about boundaries. How many houses would I visit on Decatur Avenue in block 3? I had the wrong number of houses, because I was a tad confused by “Where the boundary is the road, the boundary line runs down the center of it.”
I was going to visit eight houses when only five were in my turf. So, I’d make some new friends along the way. And, where was the harm in that I ask you?!
After reviewing the directions a few more times, I finally understood why I would only be visiting five houses instead of eight. Happily, I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t confused. The directions were confusing!
At 5:15, I headed off to the Town Hall. I entered and saw the sign that stated “2010 Census Testing, Grand Room” on the door. I climbed the stairs, and when I walked into the Grand Room, a lone man greeted me by asking “Census?”
I said, “Yes.” He looked excited to see me, as if he had been thinking “No one’s coming!” the entire 15-minutes prior to my entrance into the Grand Room. He told me to sign in and “Go behind there” as he pointed to a partitioned area to the left.
As I turned to enter the partitioned area, I saw an elderly man outside the Grand Room. Dressed in a L.L. Bean windbreaker, black sweatpants that were a bit too short, and black sneakers with Velcro straps, he entered. The man asked, “Census?” to which the elderly man responded, “Yes.” I knew I had found my job, as it appeared this was the occupation of the elderly and retired folk, my current tribe.
I walked in, sat down at a table, and the census guy came in and handed me some paperwork I had to fill out. He asked to see my ID in order to fill out my proof of citizenship form. When completed, he said the test would start at 6pm.
I said, “I feel like I’m taking the SATs again. Do you think I’ll get into Harvard?” He said, “Well, it is the town next door.” He was right; theoretically, I could get into Harvard anytime I wanted to!
A few more people wandered in, were handed folders, and sat down at the table to fill them out. One woman said, “I brought my resume.” The census guy said, “Oh. Well, you can put that in your folder.” I thought, “Unemployed brown noser!”
When it was 6pm, he handed out the tests and the number 2 pencils. He asked everyone to put their pencils down if they hadn’t already. I was now having flashbacks to third grade and those Iowa tests. He read the test directions to us, and then he said, “Pick up your pencils and begin.”
I opened my test, and I stared at it. Read…think…think…read…read…think…my mind was trying to do both of those things but apparently not simultaneously. I sat there for a minute totally flatlined being unable to either read, think, or both.
Thank goodness I talk to myself when I’m home and only the animals are around. Because just then, I had to talk to myself, but it was not out loud to any small furry creatures. I said, “Take a deep breath. Relax. You can do this.”
Suddenly, my eyes started to focus on the black and white print. I got a good grip on my pencil. I started to read the first question and actually heard my brain turning round, though there were a few squeaks. Note to Self: Indulge in tests more often and always self-medicate brain with WD-40 before!
“Fifteen minutes left” said the proctor. It would have been funny if his name was Liam and he clipped his nails while we took the test; however, his name was David, and he just sat there rifling through papers while we took the test. I got flustered by two questions, and when I heard “Five minutes left,” I went back to reread them.
“Put your pencils down now,” said David. Most had already done so. David collected the tests, and then he had to give us the “What Will Happen Next” speech, which really ended up being more of a disclaimer.
We were told that we could stay and get our test grade or call the Census office in two days and get it then. Regardless of our test grade, we might not be chosen based on the need of census takers in the area; we’d be notified by May if we were going to be employed. Finally, census takers were most often needed in the evening and on the weekends; this made me doubtful, because I knew I didn’t really want to work then.
After his disclaimer, most people left opting not to get their test scores. I decided to go, too. I felt like Goldilocks; this job is just not right.
This last year, I had been trying to make sense of my life. Everything I had taken from it so far had made a lot of sense to me. And today, it seemed that my life wouldn’t be about taking the census.
If anything, this sense made for a good story. In my book, that was all that really mattered. And, it made census, even if I would not in May. ♥
Way back when I started my blog, I installed some software called Sitemeter, a “counter and statistics tracker,” which let me display a counter at the bottom of my blog. (Scroll down now and look. Go ahead. I’ll wait for you while you do so. Go. Shooo!) Anyway, along with the counter, the software could give you all sorts of statistic about each individual who visited your site by details, by referrals, by Search Words, by world map, by location, by out clicks, by entry pages, and by exit pages.
So, you ask, “What does all this mean?” To tell you the truth, I guess it would mean more to me if I had a site on which I had a business attached to it; however, having a site that only documented my flurry of ideas, it really didn’t mean a whole hell of a lot to me. But, honestly, just the idea of seeing the location of visitors and especially how they ended up on my blog totally intrigued me in that Law & Order and CSI kind of way.
Some nights, when I’m sitting in front on my laptop, Nathan comes by to give me a hug and a smooch on the cheek. Actually, most nights he does this and then he glances at my laptop screen. When he sees that I’m looking at my counter and statistics tracker software, he says, “Mom, are you stalking your blog readers again?!”
Of course, I always answer, “No!!!!” Then I quickly click on the X in the right-hand corner of my browser window. I get defensive, and I say to Nathan, “Well, even if I was, stores and restaurants have guest books. It’s sort of the same thing.” I like to write in guest books; as I write in them, I also like to read who has been there before me and where they are from.
I don’t think this makes me a stalker. I think it make me “inquisitive,” “curious,” and guilty of watching and enjoying many crime-solving shows. Okay, I was a mystery junkie and seeing where everyone came from and how they got there solved a blog mystery of sorts for me. Guilty!
I know you’re dying to know what I uncovered. And, if you, like Nathan, think I’m a stalker, read no further. But with magazines like the National Enquirer and the Globe still going strong, I think most of the general population is as curious as I am about everything!
The thing that intrigues me most is the images and keywords that lead people to my site. I’ve been keeping track of them. Well, like any good writer, I thought it would make a good story today. (You be the judge of that after you read this.)
In general, you can enter any of the following at end up at my blog. Don’t laugh too hard. But, I did.
goddess stuff all things lovely bloggoddess.com things that goddesses did comic books wow magic cards cases things that cost $2.99 lindt's truffles lahaina maui jane frizzell lovely things to say to your boyfriend that he won’t think of
As you can see, Nathan is well represented with the magic cards. Things that cost $$2.99?! I hope that person wasn’t Christmas shopping. In regard to the last one, I almost felt like Elizabeth Barrett Browning when I saw that.
Anyway, after stalk, err…reviewing all the statistics, it would appear that most people come to my blog when they’re interested in lipstick, thumb sucking, vacuuming, and ripped dresses. I should clarify that. I know most of come here because you think I’m witty and charming; however, it would appear most who happen by via search engine only care about the topics mentioned above.
Since I took the time to examine, not stalk, the statistics, I wanted to share the results of the tracking. After having this blog for over a year now, it’s interesting (to me, at least) to see what photos and blogs are viewed the most. Ironically, the two most popular blogs talk about things that somewhat epitomize me. But, like any good mystery, you’re going to have to wait to the end to find out what they are!
"Motherhood sainthood" was googled three times. Apparently, it’s a hot topic. As I suspected, mothers really need another holiday in addition to Mother’s Day!
I’m not the only one feeling out of my element lately. I should probably start a Michael Keaton fan club, too. Because “mr. mom and unemployment,” and “mr. mom movie” lead you to me.
I had mentioned that Bill was a PMC rider in my blog yesterday; however, it’s not the first time I mentioned it. Someone was looking for "pmc anniversary jacket." They found a blog about my cycling adventures on the rail trail.
As most of you know, I have a very interesting maiden name. Most people don’t know how to spell it or pronounce it; I remember having more problems getting the “J” in “Jean” to go left instead of right. But some still wonder “how do I pronounce szymczak.”
When you go along it life, it’s nice to know that others feel your pain. When you’re a cat owner, you can have a whole world of hurt just due to litter boxes. If you search for “I had a flood in my basement with litter boxes,” you totally feel my pain.
Sometimes you have to be the one to tell your friend honestly that something she hoped to attain may be beyond her grasp. Someone might have beaten you to the punch. So, Suze, if you ever hoped to have the domain “http://www.suzebabe.com/,” I think this person beat you to it after ending up at my Suzebabe blog.
My favorite dessert is cake. It’s not a chocolate torte or German chocolate. It’s run-of-the-mill grocery store cake with “sicky sweet” (my Mom’s expression) frosting on it. If you seek to find “cake frosting,” I hope you always fought with your siblings over the roses, too.
I read Cosmopolitan magazine religiously until I was 24 or so. When I picked up a copy last year, I was really appalled by it. Today, I’m appalled by how many people googled its articles, like "hung" "a real guy's story. yup, it's that big," but I’m glad they read this.
I really love shopping at the grocery store. I always loved going with my Mom. Sometimes she went after we all went to bed to a big discount supermarket with a neighbor.
I remember hating going to bed without my Mom being there. And, if you search for “weight watchers chocolate cake" or “meatcutters,” you won’t know that my Mom always brought home a treat from her late-night shopping and left it in my bedroom. But, you will find out that I profile shoppers.
I used to have to get up very early some mornings to drive Nathan to school. I’d always bring Nathan to Dunkin’ Donuts for his ham and cheese croissant with no egg; however, I always brought my own coffee, because I thought it was so much better. I struggled finding the perfect travel mug for those mornings, and I realized that when people look for “short travel mug,” “dunkin donuts caramel coffee,” “dunkin donuts travel mug,” “how many travel mug are purchased in a year,” and especially “microwavable travel mugs,” I am so not alone!
Nothing means more to me than my Dad’s house in Nantucket; however, I’ve had to think a lot less of it recently. I will always love the island. And, when you look for “dr. healy, Nantucket,” “nantucket cemetery,” “tabitha krauthoff,” “photo of tibs turner krauthoff of nantucket, ma,” “naming on headstones,” and “bed headstone,” you will always find my love of names.
Both my children are/were finger suckers. Nathan sucked his middle and ring finger; Iz sucks her thumb. I never knew it was such a hot topic in one post I wrote, which was found by looking for “potty hole beach,” “teen sucking thumb,” “mommy I have to go potty,” “girl gotta go potty,” “thumb sucking blanket,” “little girl gotta go potty,” “sucking of thumb,” “still sucks thumb,” “things you don’t want to see on the beach,” "suck her thumb", “sucking thumb,” “suck thumb teen,” “started sucking thumb again,” and amazingly “water collection.”
As pictures go, this is the most popular. Go figure. I’m not provocatively posed; I just have a rip in my dress!
Many people have come to my vintage dress blog based on this picture. They’ve also arrived because they’ve searched for "I hate coach bags", “vacuuming in heels,” “beautiful vacuuming,” “vacuuming girl,” “dress ripped,” “ripped dress,” “aunt glasses,” “tree ripped dress,” “where can I buy a lovely sundress?,” “woman in 40's wearing glasses,” “vintage photo woman vacuuming,” “vintage picker jobs,” “eBay full slip lovely,” “ripped sleeve,” and “baby vacuuming.”
What is my most popular blog? Anticipation. It’s making you wait, isn’t it?! It only proves to me that I was meant to be in cosmetics! Everyone might think that nowadays people care most about the economy, the ozone layer, and the fact that Jesse James cheated on Sandra Bullock. Nope.
Most people who search for “goddess lipstick tube,” “pop art sculptures,” ”grape vine stencil,” “claes Oldenburg a tube of lipstick,” “lipstick tube,” “dior lipstick archive images,” “stencil for lipstick,” “3 lipsticks,” “giant dr. pepper lip smackers,” “claes oldenburg make up,” “sealed with a kiss, “artist giant lipstick,” “pop art sculpture,” “dior vintage lipstick adverts,” “small lipstick tube,” “lipsticks images,” “pop art sculptures,” “lipstick for mature lips,” “break up picking up my stuff,” “lipstick vine picture,” “wife put on lipstick,” “up note lipstick,” “lipstick stencil,” Emily deschanel- chapstick,” “pictures of lipstick vines,” “swallow stencil,” “blue based lipsticks,” and “creative art, lipstick” want to know about lipstick or extensions thereof. Anyway, if you happen on that blog, you must read the follow-up blog.
Apparently, no one has googled “corgi wearing pearls” yet. But, that’s okay. There’s always tomorrow. And, the wonderful thing is that whatever I find in life or in my statistical tracking will always entice, amaze, and embrace me. ♥
I hear birds chirping outside now. It’s a beautiful sound. Happy Spring and happy weekend everyone!
Since the weather was lovely here today, it was a day to, as one of my friends defines it, BWB (Bike with Bill). As usual, our plan to ride started out with a text message from Bill asking “Ride today?” I responded in the affirmative, and then I was asked, “Tights?”
I wrote back saying I would be wearing tights. I then received a text message implying that I was a wimp. I’m a wimp when it comes to seeing my own blood, being cold, and changing my own bike tire.
But, I didn’t take the Percocet after either of my two c-sections. So, I still think I’m a pretty tough “broad!” Don’t let the pink and the Hello Kitty fool you!
I met Bill in the rail trail parking lot, and we headed down the trail. When you spend a significant amount of time with someone, I think you can almost sense what they might say in certain situation. When we were nearing an intersection of the trail and a road, Bill asked, “Want to take the road?” I thought, “Wow, I so knew he was going to ask that!” But then again, I guess that not ESP; it’s just friendship.
As Bill and I rode along the roads, we talked about life as we usually do. Today, we talked about our fellow quirky riders, the weather, a job that Bill thought I should apply for with the Pan-Mass Challenge, and then we talked about my blog. I said, “I have no idea what I’m going to write about today.”
Someone once asked me when I know exactly what I’ll write about. I basically said, “It just happens.” Sometimes I have an idea based on something that happened the day before, but most of the time, I’m like Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams; I’ve built the blog, and I’m waiting for the idea to come!
At one point today, we were riding up a steep hill in Pepperell. I disliked this hill immensely, but it always brought us by a lovely old home that was being restored. As I biked by and saw how lovingly and painstakingly (there’s always pain involved in old homes!) the owners were restoring it, the house gave me that extra motivation to “work my glutes” (Bill’s fight phrase when we go up any hill) and get to the top of the hill.
As I was working my glutes and 2% of me was wishing I was on the couch watching Law & Order, I heard a loud BANG! It was so pronounced that I thought it was a gun shot. I said, “Oh, jeez! There’s a perp in the wooded area to our left. We’re going to be bike jacked!”
As quickly as I turned the TV on, I turned it off. I looked down and saw Bill’s back tire looking as flat as a pancake. We had just rode over a good deal of gravel, and I then knew the “perp” was probably a sharp stone.
We got off our bikes, and wheeled them over to the side of the road, which happened to be right in front of the old home that I loved. Unlike me, Bill is great about changing his own tire. He glanced down at his back tire, and then he pointed to a one inch slash and said, “I think this is it.”
I said, “Wow. That’s the biggest slash I’ve ever seen in a tire.” Bill said, “Me, too!” He flipped his bike over onto its seat and began to take out his tools.
I plunked myself down on the ground next to my bike. I was hungry, so I wolfed down a Luna Bar while I watched Bill begin the tire changing process. He was hesitant about getting the tire changed due to the gash, but he told me that a one dollar bill stuffed into the tire might let him make it home. (By the way, if you don’t have a one dollar bill, you can substitute with a business card like Bill did.)
Meanwhile, I took out my paper and pen and started to work on a cover letter for the job Bill thought I should apply for. Bill got the new tube in, he put in his business card, and then he told me, as he had told me one flat before, how he hated blowing up his tire with the cartridge, because couldn’t control how the air flowed in.
BANG! His tube blew again. The slash in his tire would not be tamed by his business card. At that point, we both knew we were somewhat stuck.
I said, “I can bike home, get the car, and come back to pick you up.” Bill said, “No. Let me think.” We pondered different ideas like calling fellow cyclists who we knew would be out to see if they could bring a new tire by.
About a minute later, we heard a voice say, “Do you need some help?” It was obvious that she had walked down the driveway from the lovely old house. She then said, “My husband’s a biker.”
Bill explained the situation. She walked closer to us. Then she saw Bill’s PMC jacket and said, “Oh, PMC! I’m a 17 year volunteer; I’m pizza! My husband was a rider, but he hasn’t been able to raise enough money recently to ride.”
Bill then told her how long he had been doing the PMC. She then pondered if her husband had any bike tires and said, “I don’t think he does, but I may be able to give you a bike.” I then said out loud, “Jeez, It’s a small world, and I just love that it is!”
She then added that she thought she heard gunshots. Bill told her I thought that’s what it was at first. She went on to tell us that behind her were several hundred acres of land, so she was used to hearing gun shots. Then she added, “Well, the Chief of Police lives right over there, so I wondered.” I think she remained in her home for a bit, and I don’t blame her, but when she saw us, she knew, like me, it was not a Lenny Briscoe event!
Anyway, here we were stuck by the side of the road next to a house I loved, and because of the PMC, this woman knew Bill like he was her brother. It was really incredible. As she walked off to her barn to see about a tire or a bike, Bill looked at me and said, “Jean, do you have a story now?” I had to laugh; that’s friendship.
Bill and I walked up the driveway. He said, “It’s most likely I will make a new friend and be thankful this happened.” I had to agree that a bad thing can become a very good thing.
As we made our way up the driveway, she came out walking a mountain bike. She said, “Here. This is the best I can do. It was my brother’s. And I lost him 13 years ago to cancer.” I wanted to hug her; I knew what that was like. Bill gratefully accept the bike, adjusted the seat stem, and we were off once again.
As we rode off, I was mesmerized by what a small world it was, the kindness of strangers, and the whole six degrees of separation concept. Who hasn’t been touched by cancer? It took so much away from many of us, but it gave us friends, especially today, in a place where we never expected it to.
We headed up the hill. Bill had to stop to adjust the seat a few times. That bike gave Bill a run for his knees, too, as we had to stop and rest a few times.
As we biked back, Bill struggled with the mountian bike. I said, “Hey, I would have biked home, gotten the car, and come back to get you.” He knew I could have done that, but he didn’t want me biking back by myself, and then he said, “Maybe that’s my Saving Private Ryan attitude!”
I admired Bill. There was no way a car would bring him home. He and I would bike home together no matter what. By then, it seemed that it was more than leaving anyone behind; most importantly, it was about completing a mission together.
We rode along the trail slowly. Bill asked, “How fast are we going?” I told him that we were going 12 miles per hour.
He told me I could ride ahead if I wanted to. I couldn’t. One great thing I learned from Bill was that you can never leave anyone behind. Never.
I could tell that this mountain bike was giving Bill a hard time, as he referred to it as a “boneshaker.” His knees were killing him, yet he pressed on. And when we were about to pass the part of the rail trail that intersected with the bridge, he said, “Given the circumstances, Jean, let’s not go visit the bridge.”
I laughed out loud. I said, “Okay, you had me fooled. I wasn’t sure which way you’d go here!” And, we biked on.
Most people aren’t fortunate enough to have the freedom that I currently do. Today, I had an adventure; I experienced it’s a small world, the kindness of strangers, and camaraderie all in under three hours. I love my life, well, I especially did today. ♥
As I watched large puddles form on my basement floor on Sunday, I knew I was in for a bit of work on Monday. Of course, I prayed to the Goddess that my basement would host no more than large puddles while it rained and rained and rained. By the way, I wasn’t calling on the Great Cat Goddess for this favor; well, we all know how much cats hate water.
I consulted with Demeter, the Greek Goddess of Earth, Agriculture and Fertility, and, for good measure, I also chatted up Latis, the Celtic Goddess of Water and Beer. I thought that was an interesting Goddess combination; although when you think about it, it seemed like a natural progression, especially if barley and hops were sandwiched between them.
Anyway, by Monday morning, I knew I’d better begin Phase 1 of Flood Preparedness, which was Find the Shop Vacuum. I sensed I’d be vacuuming up water and not dust kitties for once. I had also better figure out how it worked again, because I’d last used it 9 years ago when my basement flooded pre-sump pump.
I ventured downstairs. I gave the expanding puddles a dirty look, and then I said to myself, “Ring Demeter and Latis again. Obviously, they weren't listening the last time I spoke to them!”
I found the vacuum in the deepest and darkest corner of the basement. It was covered in cob webs, and it was missing one of its three wheels. I tried to put the wheel back on, but it looked like a job for when I had more patience.
I lifted it up and moved it into the light. I started to have flashbacks to the last time the basement flooded. There wasn’t a pump left in town, and the young man at the hardware store said, “You could always use a wet/dry vacuum. We should have pumps coming in later this afternoon.”
Needless to say, during the flood of ’01, I spent the whole day in the basement vacuuming to keep the water at bay. I finally went back to store later, and I was able to get a small pump. By that time, the rain had stopped but since my lower back was just about broken from dumping the contents of the vacuum into the sink, I was willing to let something else work for me.
This morning, I switched the nozzle on the vacuum from the dry to the wet port. If truth be told, I did that later after vacuuming up two puddles, because I assumed it was still set to vacuum wet. So, I ended up with a bit of wet in the dry, and then I feared that if I didn’t electrocute myself somehow while using this vacuum, I would count myself fortunate that I didn’t become one of those “most accidents occur at home” statistics!
I began Phase 2, Prepare for the Worst, by gathering up two of everything. Uh-oh, one cat wouldn’t make it. How would I choose between them?! Okay, I didn’t do that, but the way it was raining, I figured an ark and all my possessions might be the better strategy at this point.
As I was moving boxes off the floor, Liam wandered by to visit the litter box. He said, “Don’t you dare move these boxes!” I told him I wouldn’t, though after a later discovery, I wished I had moved them to a drier part of the basement.
Guess what happens when you mix kitty litter and water? The answer is cats with dried cement on their paws. They then proceed to track it all over the house!
I then began Phase 3, Think of Past Floods in Hopes That This One Won’t Be as Bad as Any of the Previous Ones. My parent’s basement always used to flood. The unfortunate thing was that my Dad had a postal stationery business and kept all his stationery in boxes in the basement; there were hundreds of boxes.
I remember spending countless hours lugging boxes of wet paper up from the basement. I was then given a towel with which I began to press each envelope. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. It was just incredibly boring.
The worst thing about the basement flooding was my Dad’s anticipation the night before it happened. He’d be up all night pacing, which was intermingled with a thud-thud-thud as he went down the basement stairs to check if there was any water. When the first sign of water was detected, my Dad shouted, “We're taking on water now!” as if our house was the Titanic.
At that point, I’d hear him thud-thud-thud up the basement stairs, and then thud-thud-thud up the stairs to the second floor. I’d hear the bedroom door to my parent’s room open and then close. The wait was over, the water was inevitable, and my Dad gave in to Mother Nature and went to bed. I think it was almost a relief at that point for my Dad.
My parent’s finally installed a sump pump years later. I don’t know why it took them so long to do that; however, I did have those bad flood memories. And, they were the ones I held onto when I said to myself yesterday, “There’s no way my basement will be as bad as theirs was,” and I had myself feeling a bit better.
All in all, it wasn’t too bad. As with my father, the anticipation was always the worst no matter what the water level was. I went down to the basement once every hour yesterday, vacuumed my three major puddles, and dumped out the vacuum in the backyard. I knew I was only taking out what would eventually come back in, but at least I felt like I was controlling it somehow.
Anyway, I was lucky, because streets were closed, buildings were totally flooded, and all I had was a sore lower back from dumping the vacuum out. Later in the day, I got a message from Bill saying, “How about a field trip tomorrow morning –either by bike or car – should be some interesting sights around here!” When I replied with “Yes,” I felt like Helen Hunt responding to Bill Paxton in the movie Twister. Let’s go hunt down some floods!
When Bill picked me up, as usual, my cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee was there to greet me when I climbed inside the truck. Bill headed toward Main Street, and he began to tell me about everything I had missed overnight due to the fact that I had been drowning in my own puddles of sorrow. Apparently, I had missed a lot!
Main Street was closed. In the 22 years I’ve lived in the area, I’d never seen it that bad. Of course, Bill knew the detour to get around the flooded area. I do believe he began flood hunting without me earlier in the morning. But being Helen Hunt, I had to dust off and stare at my Academy Award for an hour before leaving the house!
We drove by a business that was right on the Nashua River. They had done a wonderful job of restoring the old brick building that stood there for many years, and it was sad to see it being engulfed by the raging river.
We walked over a rope that had the sign “Do Not Enter” hanging from it. We’re profession flood hunters. The rules so don’t apply to us!
Bill pointed off to the right and said, “Hey, that’s the road we used to bike down. That’s Walker Road.” For a moment, I thought Bill was losing his flood hunting edge, because I saw no road. All I saw was the river, which was now as wide as three football fields.
Bill said, “Up there.” I took another look. (Note to Self: Wear your glasses when flood hunting!) I saw the road sloping down from the hill, and then I saw nothing but water. I think he could tell I was amazed, and then he said, “Look over there. There’s the rest of the road.” It was pretty wild, just like the water rushing by in front of us.
After we had our fill, it was time to head over to West Groton. Bill said that after West Groton, we’d make our way to Pepperell. As we walked back to Bill’s truck, he said, “This is what we old retired people do!” And, in that moment, I was really liking being old and retired even if I still wasn’t eligible to join AARP.
Of course, flood hunters have a plan of action; however, because of the nature of our business, we had to expect the unexpected. As it turned out, many routes to the flooded areas were marked with “Road Closed” signs. It seemed like we turned around and went back as much as we went forward striving to get orchestra seats to Mother Nature’s aqua symphony.
Again, this doesn’t apply to us!
This is what I like to call flooding irony.
And, this was also a road we once biked down.
Before we went to the covered bridge, we stopped at the bridge that was about a mile upstream from it. Everyone was out on the bridge. Like us, everyone seemed to think the flooding was a far better way to be entertained than by spending $8 at the movie theater.
The water was so high that it was flowing over the road; it definitely had a mind of its own.
I loved the way the water danced over this grate.
And, there’s nothing like playing in the puddles even when you’re old and retired. Of course, there’s nothing worse than cold wet feet, but it was worth. Even when you’re old and retired, you still want to feel like a kid again!
This is more flood irony. No swimming. Are you kidding me?!
This captivated me. When you think of power, you often think of powerful people. I do believe that I often forget how powerful nature can be, even when it’s in my own backyard.
Eventually, Bill and I tore ourselves away from the bridge. It was hard to leave all the excitement. But, we had a date with the covered bridge!
When we arrived, we passed a condominium complex that look like it was totally flooded out. I felt really badly complaining about my puddles then. At least, I did not have to leave my home; as we walked by, I could see a couple packing up all their belongs in their car.
As I walked toward the bridge, I could see that the crane was still there and that the thingies that comprised the “covered” in “covered bridge” all appeared to be on now. There didn’t seem to be too much going on; however, it was really starting to look like a bridge. To me, it was beautiful, and I do believe it was almost like an architectural Picasso in some ways.
As we walked over the bridge, I anticipated what the flood had done to the water level. Usually, there is 25 feet between the bridge and the river running underneath it. When I looked down today, there was 4 feet of clearance, if that.
As Bill and I stood there amazed at the construction and now with the water level, a man came up next to us toting a camera. He wondered out loud to Bill about this “fake” bridge they were putting up. Bill said, sounding a bit perturbed, “What do you mean by fake?” The man went onto explain that he didn’t think the bridge looked like a covered bridge. Bill explained to him that it would when it was finished.
It’s funny, because when Bill used to take me by the bridge, I was very “Ho-hum” about it. As it took shape, I became just as excited about it as Bill. When Bill spoke today with authority to this man about how the bridge would look and about the bridge’s history, I said to myself, “You tell him, Bill! Our bridge is no fake!”
Many “Road Closed” signs and a “fake” bridge discussion later, Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt headed for home. In addition to cyclist, Mom, baker, cat whisperer, vintage fashionista and Sephora addict, I could now label myself a flood hunter. After Bill dropped me off, he sent me a text message that said, “We should have checked the Ayer fire station this morning – the back and the apt building next door are all flooded.”
I had to laugh. I was really beginning to love being Helen Hunt when I wasn’t being old and retired. Most importantly, I was in such very good and like-minded company. ♥
In order to keep myself busy and afloat in this Sea of Uncertainty I had been traveling through lately, I developed a daily plan. In addition to busy tasks, my plan also contained a physical task in the form cycling or running. Due to monotony and the need to be outside, even if the weather was cool and a tad bit wet, I decided to try power walking again.
I was a runner in high school. Well, I began to run when I joined the track team my freshman year of high school. While my events (discus and shot put) were not “running events,” I ran every day because, quite frankly, everyone else did. The running also came in handy when I was asked by my track coach, Bob Haworth, a wonderful man, to do an event like the high jump, the hurdles, the mile, or a relay when we were a person short or I was guaranteed a third place just by completing the event.
I ran the mile one Winter track season. Since it was Winter and it was New England, the track meets were held at an indoor track nearby. The unfortunate thing was that the indoor track was a lot smaller than the outdoor four-laps-equals-a-mile track; thus, I think it took about 16 laps to make a mile inside. Back then running a mile seemed like a lot to me, and it seemed even longer when I had to loop around that small track 16 times!
I gave running up for the most part when I finally figured out how much fun it was riding a bike. After Nathan came along, I gave up riding a bike, because Nathan seemed to take a lot more of my time. When I realized I needed to lose the 60 pounds I gained during pregnancy, I got interested in power walking.
I walked 5 miles every day at lunch with a co-worker, Cheryle. She and I were even in a racewalking competitions. I aspired to compete more, but I could never quite get over how goofy I thought the racewalking stride looked; give me the runway walk any day!
Lately, I’ve been trying to mix things up athletically and in general to keep myself overly occupied because I’m so generally unoccupied. Anyway, I think the few cycling trips I had outside this year spoiled me; thus, when the weather was no longer friendly toward cycling, I couldn’t drag myself to the gym no matter how hard I tried.
I wanted to be outside, but I knew I didn’t want to be biking down Route 111 when the temperature was only 40 degrees either. It occurred to me then that I still knew how to walk, and it was something I could very well do outside. I put on my leggings, my Littleton Hockey sweatshirt, my sneakers and grabbed my iPod, and I was off walking like Naomi Campbell and so not like Volodymyr Holubnychy.
The unique thing about power walking is that you notice more than you do when you are cycling, running, or racewalking. That is, you notice more of what is around you. When biking, things flash by. When running, things have a way of blurring into the background while you avoid cars, potholes, and dogs that bark and look like they might break free at any moment and chew your butt off. When racewalking, you’re too busy trying to keep one foot in contact with the ground at all times to even care about the sale going on at your favorite boutique that you just passed by.
The great thing about powerwalking (hereafter known as walking) is that it makes you A.B.N. Always Be Noticing. This is not to be confused with TMI (Too Much Information), TMS (Too Many Shoes), SASMO (Should Avoid Sephora More Often) or I ♥ MTM (I Love My Travel Mug).
As I walked along, I couldn’t help but notice all the discarded trash on the side of the road. Of course, the most popular discarded item is the beer can followed closely by the nip bottle and then followed by the fast foot cups, wrappers, and bags. I don’t know about you, but all my discarded wine bottles go into my recycle bin. Sad to say, it would appear that for many, drinking and driving is still a popular pastime.
I will never understand the concept of throwing trash out the window, even though as I walked along, the things that people threw out their car windows intrigued me. It appeared from most of the debris that the littering crowd is between the ages of 17 and 23. Okay, I saw a box of Dentu-Crème, so there is an error of margin, unless this box was a “fly-away;” this is a box that escapes from a green hefty trash bag in the back of a pickup on a dump run.
I found a cell phone. I even picked it up to see if it would work. It didn’t; obviously, it had been through a few snow and rain storms.
It had me wondering why anyone would throw a cell phone out the window. Why not save it as a backup or recycle it? It reminded me of another cast off item I never understood. Why is it you always see shoes on the side of the highway? It's as if a certain segment of the American population buys shoes at the mall and then says, "Jeez. I don't need these anymore. So, I'm gonna pitch 'em out the window!"
I found a cardboard box. It had a legible label on it. I won’t disclose the person’s name and address here, but I thought about writing this person a note. (It would be an intriguing human experiment and less so a littering issue.) My note would say, “You left some trash on the side of the road. You might want to fetch it and dispose of it properly.” I'd wonder if they'd go and fetch it!
I then saw a discarded CD. While I was walking, I happened to be talking to my friend, Melissa. I asked her, “Did you ever wonder about the trash you see on the side of the road? I see a CD now. I feel like picking it up, bringing it home, and listening to it.”
She then told me how she wondered if I took the CD home, I might end up being whisked away by Matt Damon on a Harley in the middle of the night while being chased by an unruly bunch of zombie 10th graders. What did I have to lose? It was much more exciting than my life now!
I picked up the CD, wipe it off, and I popped it into my jacket pocket. As I continued to walk, I saw another CD. It was wedged deep into the dirt; I wandered off the sidewalk, bent over, reached down, and flipped it over.
It was Kidz Bop CD. I thought for a millisecond. I flipped it back over; it belonged on the side of the road. Good parents don’t let their kids listen to Kidz Bop; good parents play Billie Holliday, Peter, Paul, and Mary, the Beatles, and even Metallic for their kids!
As I walked back, I realized how much I had missed by not walking. Apparently, littering, not baseball, was America’s current pastime. Trash had become a new mystery to me like people watching had always invented mystery for me; I see a happily married couple in their 80s, and I wonder, are they still having sex?! Now, I was wondering “What is on that CD I picked up? The DaVinci Code? The meaning of life? The winning numbers for Megabucks this Friday night? Or, was it the real Mrs. Fields’ cookie recipe?”
Too bad for you that I have to digress now. You are so dying to know what’s on that CD, aren’t you? If it helps you any, Matt Damon has not stopped by yet!
As Iz and I stood at the bus stop this morning, we saw an unfamiliar black dog trotting up the side of the road. Iz said, “Who is that?” I replied, “I don’t know.”
The dog came up to us and was quite friendly. Before it could run off, I grabbed its collar and saw a dog tag that said, “Leominster 2745.” Leominister was a few towns away. Then, the bus came up the road, and the dog ran off.
Iz said, “Is that dog lost?” I told her I wasn’t sure, but I assured her I would find out. As Iz got on the bus, I called to the dog who was a few yards down the street, and the dog ran back to me.
I grabbed the dog by the collar and brought it home. I opened the front door, but not before Monty realized that a foe/friend was lurking outside, and he decided to clam up. No, Monty barked furiously, of course.
I reached inside to grab Monty’s leash while the unknown canine was trying to make his way inside. Monty started to charge the front door. But, I grabbed the leash just before there was a huge canine collision in which I’m sure I would have lost my arm or a few digits off of my left hand.
I attached the leash to the unknown canine. He seemed to be foaming a bit at the mouth, and I thought, “Oh, sh*t. I’ve found a rabid dog.” Though, he really wanted inside, so I thought (bright side) that he may have gotten lost and been extremely dehydrated and hungry.
Due to my Law & Order and CSI training, I thought it was time to canvass the neighborhood. I walked down the street thinking, “Crap. It’s cold. It’s rainy, and I was feeling a tad under the weather. I should just let the dog loose and let him fend for himself.” But, I couldn’t.
I went to the house of a neighbor who lived near where I first saw the dog. I knocked on the door, and she answered. She saw me and then the dog, and she smiled. I thought this was good and visions of a nap at home in 30 minutes sounded, oh, so good in my head!
She opened the door, and I asked, “Do you know this dog?” She said, “Oh, that’s Mrs. Egan’s dog, Luna.” She said, “Sometimes they let him run. Go to their backdoor, open it, and put him inside.”
I walked over to the house. I rang the front door, because I was shy about just opening their backdoor and shoving the dog onto their porch. No one answered the front door, so I ventured around the back.
As I walked up to the backdoor, the backdoor opened. Out walked an older woman with her hair half curled. I asked, “Is this your dog?” She said, “Yes, it is. Thank you. He ran off, and we couldn’t catch him.”
I let him off the leash, and she took Luna inside. It was still pouring, and I walked off in the rain thinking that you should always be noticing every small thing by the side of the road and wondering why it is there.
You should wonder about a child who is left alone at the bus stop. You should wonder about a dog who looks unfamiliar. And most importantly, you should wonder about a little old lady in the cracker aisle at the grocery store who is eyeing a package of Ritz crackers, which she obviously can’t reach, and you should offer to get them for her.
I don’t feel like I’m on the road today; however, I do feel like I’m on the side making sure that things are discovered, noted, and processed. And today, I put the Luna back where he belonged, which was all but appropriate on Moon’s Day. ♥
What was on the CD? Ah. Well, Matt Damon still isn’t here, but I’m sure that somewhere Nate is laughing. Most of the CD wouldn’t play, but this is one song that would. It’s called Icky Thump. WARNING: Ears may bleed whilst listening!
(Play the song while you read! This guy is great.)
I don’t know about you, but I feel better already. Today felt different to me than many of my other previous days that were “today.” I took a right onto Positive Attitude Avenue and avoided the Melancholy Rotary, and it was all because I had a simple plan.
How did my plan go? I will tell you; however, first, I will tell you all the other things I need to tell you. Yes, I’m a story tease!
After securing employment with the local food pantry, I heard back from Iz’s teacher. She told me that she could always use extra help especially when it came to guided reading time and writing. (“Guided” reading time? I think I could figure out what this meant, but the last time I probably experienced it was when I was reading “Dick and Jane!”) I replied and told her that I’d be willing to help out with anything.
I added that I, and I don’t know how many of my friends know this, was certified in Elementary Education in addition to getting a degree in English and American Literature. I mentioned that event occurred back in the oldenest of olden days; actually, my exact quote was “a billion years ago.” Yeah, I know, why didn’t I just go all out and say “When dinosaurs roamed the Earth….”
I told her I was rusty. I then mentioned that things had probably changed a lot since then, for example, like how “reading with the teacher” became “guided reading” and how “Write a few subtraction and addition equations that will equal 9” became “Write the fact family for 9.” I didn’t give the teacher those examples.
I think I was just trying to be honest with myself about this endeavor. To tell you the truth, Iz had a polygon, hexagon, rhombus, and trapezoid worksheet last night. And, I needed to Google to remember exactly what they all were!
Iz’s teacher responded to my TMIBIUADGTTAM (Too Much Information Because I’m Unemployed and Don’t Get to Talk to Adults Much) email with “That’s fabulous!” Wow, fabulous! And, she seemed just as excited to have me as Iz was when I told her this morning that I might be helping out in class.
Yesterday, after my volunteer epiphanies, another thought came to me. I can’t take complete credit for it; I must give credit where credit is due. It was Google’s idea.
I happened to go to Google to find something, and I saw a little note under the search box that said, “Bicycling directions.” I thought how terrific that was given that I’ll probably never see my car again due to giving birth to a son 17 years ago. I would bike when needed, and now I could bike anywhere I wanted to with directions.
Of course, some of you might be asking your computer screen now, pretending you’re talking to me (so, clearly, I’m not the only one who’s quirky, eh?!), “Couldn’t you have figured out how to bike somewhere before Google maps gave bicycling directions?” I answer you with a loud “No!” I can’t bake or cook without a recipe; I need documentation whether it be from http://www.allrecipes.com/ or from Google maps!
I immediately clicked on “bicycling directions,” and I enter my home address and, without thinking for a second, George’s address in Austin, Texas. Google chugged and chugged and chugged. After a full minute, I thought, “I just brought down Google; I’m sure of it! Little girls trying to find the Jonas Brothers will never locate them; oh, that could be a very good thing!”
Anyway, I impatiently clicked and saw a “Javascript error.” I thought, “Oh, great. Now I’ve done it!” But, in another two minutes, my Google map browser populated with directions, err, 1617 of them to be exact. The biking time was listed as 7 days and 19 hours.
Seven days and 19 hours? Even Lance Armstrong couldn’t do it in that amount of time, could he? I surmised that Google hadn’t equated average cycling speeds with their bicycling maps yet. I was thinking it would take me a month at least to ride to Austin.
I thought I could pitch my cycling trip to Google or bike manufacturers. I’d use the green/unemployment angle and ask them to pay for food/hotel. In exchange, I’d blog about it. What a great idea, huh? Well, in the moment, it was the most exciting job opportunity I had, and, even better, I created it!
Just think about it. I could be what the gecko is to Geico and what the Orbit Gum girl is to, well, of course, Orbit Gum! I could be the Google Bicycling Map Chick!
I sent my directions to George. Of course, I didn’t realize that they comprised 50 pages; yes, I did apologize to George for sending such a large email. His response to my email and directions? “The route is a bit complex :-)”
This morning, I saw my biking buddy, Bill. He came by to fix Iz’s bike after she requested his help last night when she was in with her Dad buying a bottle of wine where Bill worked. After Bill fixed her bike and attained hero status in Iz's life, I blurted out to Bill, “Hey, do you want to ride to Austin, Texas with me?”
Of course, this is what I love about most of my friends. He didn’t respond with “Are you crazy?” or “You’re kidding, right?” He said, “I’m not saying yes, but….” I then explained my plan to him.
Again, he didn’t say, “No. That’s something I would never consider,” though he didn’t say, “I’d seriously consider that.” He then said, “I couldn’t bike 100 miles every day.” I told him that I was thinking we’d take a month; it wouldn’t be like the Race Across America or anything like that!
The amazing thing to me was that I potentially had a partner in my crazy crime. Well, it wasn’t crazy, though it wasn’t a trip most people would take. Most people think a "trip" constitutes a week on a beach drinking cocktails with little umbrellas in them. Okay, so do I. So, I was glad I potentially had a partner in not a vacation but in an adventure!
My plan next week is to write various companies and “pitch” the idea. Do I think anyone will sponsor me? Nah, but I can look forward to the chance that someone might.
It’s nice to have normalcy in your life. But, after this last year, I realized that you also have to give yourself something to always look forward to no matter what the outcome. And, today, my cycling plan may be a bit out of the ordinary, but like Seal says, “I’m never gonna survive unless I get a little crazy.” ♥
What did you say, Anne? I said I want to know if you succeeded in executing the simple plan. I did, Anne. Well, plans are plans, and they can change just like life so often does. So, what did you do? I’m so glad you asked; and you so know I’m dying to tell you, Girl! ♥
I turned on the TV but just so Iz and I could watch 20 minutes of “Sister, Sister” before she left for school I didn’t go to the gym; I walked 5 miles outside. I took Monty for a walk. I read a chapter in Screenwriting for Dummies. I cleaned off my desk. I returned Iz’s clothes. And, I got Iz off the bus. Hermes perfume, here I come! ♥
I am a devoted mother of two wonderful children, a writer (technical by day and creative by night), an avid baker and crock pot goddess (♥ Sucra), a runner and a cyclist, a rescuer of pets, a vintage fashionista, and a dispenser of social glue.
