When I started cycling with Bill, Bob, Jeff, and Jim last Summer, one the first things I found interesting about it was being treated like I was one of the boys. It was a bit of an adjustment the first time Bob stopped his bike abruptly, hopped off, and then headed into the woods to go to the bathroom. Actually, whenever this occurred during any ride, I really wished I was one of the boys if only so going to the bathroom in the woods could be that easy for me!
As time passed, Bill and I ended up riding together more often, which was the obvious cycling conclusion given that we both lived in the same town. At a certain point, it appeared that our rides were not only about cycling. As we rode, we talked a lot and covered as many topics as we did miles.
Among other things, we chatted about the PMC (by the way, you can still donate to Bill’s ride if you’d like to!), unemployment, kids, our quirky cycling friends, and relationships, which Bill referred to as “emotional entanglements” today. Some days, it seemed like our rides were much less about cycling and much more about socializing. A 35-mile bike ride for us was like the lunch that two old friends arranged when they hadn’t talked to each other in while.
This seemed especially true on days when Bill prefaced a conversation with, “Well, just between us girls.” The first time he said that, I laughed out loud. I knew then that while I was one of the boys, Bill was also one of the girls.
I have a lot of lovely friends; they are all unique and special, much like my vintage finds. Friends are the perfect accessory. Your you wardrobe is not complete without one of them dangling from your arm (i.e., being together), occupying a place at the top of your head (i.e., thinking about them), planted firmly in your ear lobe (i.e., talking to them), or pinned to your chest (i.e., loving them).
As I rode down the rail trail with Bill today, he was my cloisonné bracelet when he wasn’t my rhinestone clip-on earrings. I had been fretting about something for a while, which I shared with him. He simply said, “Just think about the statistics.”
I never thought about statistics; I always thought with my heart. Just then, I saw percentages on each and every tree that dotted the side of the trail. I thought for a moment and then said, “You know, you’re right!”
Suddenly, my fretting was over; when faced with statistics, it was easier to remove the emotion that had been haunting me for too long. I learned the truth at 48; indeed, some of life was just really about statistics. Thanks, Bill. ♥
At 7:15 this morning, Iz and I both headed downstairs for our morning pre-school ritual. My duties were taking Monty out to “hurry up,” feeding the cats and the dog, making Iz breakfast, and drinking a cup of coffee; Iz’s duties were getting dressed, brushing her hair, turning on the TV, eating breakfast, and brushing her teeth. Iz could always manage TV and breakfast; however, I had to really motivate her (read “raise my voice) to get her to get dressed and brush her hair and her teeth.
After I had a few sips of coffee this morning, Iz came into the kitchen. I knew there was a question coming, because it took a lot to pry her away from the TV and her chocolate-chip muffin that she enjoyed each morning on the couch; though, I appreciated the fact that she respected my right to have coffee this morning before asking me any questions. She asked, “Mommy, is today the day that Nathan’s going to dream about butterflies and fairies?”
When we went to see the oral surgeon for a consultation in regard to Nathan’s wisdom teeth last month, Iz came with us. Of course, during the consultation, she had more questions for the doctor than Nathan did. At one point, the doctor described the anesthesia to Nathan by saying that Nathan would drift off to sleep and dream about “butterflies and fairies.”
Sometimes I think Iz might know more about what’s going on in the lives of others than they might know themselves. I had briefly mentioned Nathan’s surgery last night.; however, Iz “revembers” everything. And, yes, I do have to be very careful about what I say around her.
This morning, I realized that Iz viewed Nathan’s surgery like a field trip to the movies. I answered with, “Yes. Today is the day Nathan has his wisdom teeth out.” Then I said, thinking that this was more for my knowledge than for Iz’s, “And, I think that he might dream about killer clowns from outer space rather than butterflies and fairies.”
Iz seemed satisfied with my answer and headed back into the family room to devour what was left of her chocolate-chip muffin. After I drove her to school, I had to roust Nathan out of bed. I said, “We have to leave at 9am, “ to which he responded with an unenthusiastic, “Oh,” remembering that this morning he would dream of killer clowns from outer space rather than butterflies and fairies.
Once at the oral surgeon’s office, I checked in with the receptionist. We sat down, and Nathan donned his iPod. I pulled out Philippa Gregory’s “The White Queen,” but it was useless; I was too nervous to read.
As we sat in the waiting room, I looked around at the other patients in waiting room. I noticed a boy, much younger than Nathan, to our right. I thought that he must be having teeth removed in order to install braces.
He was with his Dad. His Dad had the same post-op instructions that we were given. Just then the door opened, and the waiting room immediately became silent in anticipation; a woman wearing a blue smock announced “Adam.”
Adam, formerly known as the boy to our right, and his Dad got up and headed toward the door. As Adam and his Dad walked toward the door, Nathan began to hum, “Dah-dah-dah-dah, dah-dah, dah-dah-dah-dah-dum,” which was his interpretation of the “Funeral March” by Chopin. I was comforted by the fact that Nathan was smiling while he was humming.
The office door swung wide open, and two elderly women walked in. One of them limped toward the receptionist’s desk while talking rather loudly as she approached it. Just then, I noticed that one receptionist said in a hushed voice to the another named Nikki, “I’ll let you take her.”
When the woman arrived at the desk, Nikki asked, “Angela?” Before Angela could acknowledge who she was, she said very loudly, “I’ve been up since 4am!” Nikki got up and came out the door from the receptionist's bull pen.
She hugged Angela. (Hey, I didn’t get a hug!) Angela said, “A raccoon came down my chimney this morning. The police came; they couldn’t get it out. Then animal control came but they couldn’t get it with a dart!”
Nikki said, “Oh, dear.” And Angela said, “That raccoon pooped all over my living room!” To add raccoon insult to oral surgery injury, Angela then said, “My sister was supposed to bring me today, but she went to help a friend who tripped and she fell down too, so now she’s in the hospital.”
Angela then said, “If I can take all this, I won’t worry about having these teeth taken out!” Nikki said, “You’ve had quite the morning. I have some paperwork you need to fill out.” Angela responded, “I’ll do my best, even though I have my spare glasses. When I rushed to the phone this morning after I found the raccoon, I stepped on my glasses!”
Nikki said, “You should write a book!” The older woman accompanying Angela said, “She should!” I knew Angela would never write a book, so I thought the least I could do was write about May 27th for her.
Nikki asked, “So, you didn’t get the paperwork at 10 Maple Street?” Angela said, “No I haven’t had that address in 20 years.” Nikki said, “Well, you need to update your records.”
After Angela’s excitement, I pulled out my phone to check the time. Nathan moved closer to me to look. 9:53. I looked at him; he then looked at me, and then he smiled nervously at me. We didn’t say it, but we both knew that killer clowns from outer space were only 7 minutes away.
In about 10 minutes, the door opened, and the waiting room immediately became silent in anticipation; a woman wearing a blue smock announced, “Nathan.” Nathan got up and said to me, “Well, it’s been nice knowing you.” I got up and followed him through the door.
The blue smock led us into a room; when we entered, she said the lounge chair was for Nathan and the chair by the window was for me. I noticed all the implements on the table over the lounge chair, and I tried not to get woozie. Sometimes I can’t believe my Mom was a nurse, because I lose my composure when I see a pair of nail clippers!
The blue smock left, and then the purple smock, who introduced herself as Rita, came in. She asked Nathan if he had any questions to which he said, “No.” She said, “Well, I have some questions for you.”
Rita asked, “Do you smoke?” Nathan answered, but not before looking at her like she was crazy, and said “No!” Rita then asked, “Do you use recreational drugs?” Nathan now glared at me like Rita was the one on drugs and answered, “No!” Finally, Rita asked looking at me while she spoke and asked, “Have you ever been treated with methadone or opiates?” Nathan said, “No!!!!!”
Rita sensed Nathan’s ire. I quickly said, “Nathan, they need to ask all these questions just to be sure there will be no complications with the anesthesia.” Rita, who obviously had a great sense of humor, said, “Well, just to be fair, are you pregnant?”
Nathan laughed and said, “Dammit. You’ve got me.” Rita said, “Well, if you’re pregnant, I want to be your manager. I can retire early then!” Rita then said, “Relax. By the time this is over, we’ll be your best friends.”
Nathan asked, “How can that be when you’re going to rip my teeth out?” I laughed. Rita, not missing a beat, said, “We are gently extracting your teeth.”
The doctor entered the room and began to get Nathan ready for his IV. He tried Nathan’s left arm with no luck. The nice thing about this process was the cool little gadget the doctor had that numbed the arm before he tried to put the needle in.
After having no luck with Nathan’s left arm, he switched to Nathan’s right arm. It was obvious to me then that Nathan didn’t inherit my veins. The people at the Red Cross loved me and the huge bulging veins in my arms.
To take the pressure off of Nathan’s arm veins, the doctor asked him what he was doing this Summer. Nathan said he had a job washing dishes at a local country club; as it turns out, the doctor had golfed there. He said, “Hey, it would be horrible to wash dishes this weekend, so it’s good you’re having this done now.” I liked this doctor a lot.
The doctor tried Nathan’s right arm; Nathan said, “Oh, all these wires.” The doctor said, “Believe me, when they invent wireless monitoring devices, I’ll be the first person to get them!” After he finally got the IV in Nathan’s right arm, I heaved a huge sigh of motherly relief.
The doctor turned around and asked me, “Mom, how are you doing?” I realized that I had been rapidly twisting around the handles of my purse in my hands; I had been doing that for the last 10 minutes. I said, “Oh. I’m fine…now.”
He then asked Nathan, “Do you want to gently fade out or go right to sleep?” Nathan looked perplexed and nervously responded, “I’m not following.” The doctor said, “You’re nervous. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Nathan looked at me, and then he started mouthing the words to “Don't You Worry 'bout A Thing” while the doctor and nurse were busy elsewhere. I knew he was nervous. But, he still had his sense of humor; thus, I knew he wasn’t terrified.
The doctor then asked “Haven’t you ever seen drunk people in movies?” Rita quickly said, “He has no experience with that.” I then nervously said, “But, he is pregnant,” and we all laughed.
The doctor then said to me, “Okay. Come around here now” and motioned me up out of my chair toward the door. I stopped at Nathan’s left side. The doctor said, “Kiss him good night.”
I kissed Nathan on the forehead. It was the hardest thing I had to do in years. I had kissed people good-bye before; however, it was knowing that they were going to sleep in a far better place and leaving their cancer-ridden bodies behind.
I walked out of the room and headed down the long hallway trying not to cry. I felt foolish that I wanted to cry. But, this was my baby, and I had just said “Good-bye” to him.
When I arrived back in the waiting room, I sat down. I noticed that Angela was at the receptionist’s desk. Thank goodness, because she was the comic relief in the waiting room today.
Nikki still needed Angela’s list of medications, two of her signatures, and to see her license. Angela pulled out her license. When Angela handed Nikki her license, she giggled and said, “Now you can see me when me when I was young and beautiful!”
While Angela was standing there, she pulled out a photo from her wallet. She asked Nikki, “Do you know who this is?’ Nikki said, “That’s Julia Child.”
Angela said, “I was a cook. We were good friends.” Nikki said, “My Mom and I loved watching her show. You’ve led an exciting life.” Angela responded, “You don’t know the half of it!”
While still trying to sign things, Angela blurted out, “I bowed to the King of England when he was just a prince. You don’t know the trouble I got into!” I laughed to myself. I didn’t know whether this woman was crazy or a kindred spirit.
Angela said, “I hope I have these teeth out today.” Nikki said, “Well, the doctor will look and decide.” Angela said, “Did you know that none of my neighbors checked on me today?”
Angela said, “In the older days, we all helped each other. Not one of my neighbors came out to check on me when they saw the police cars because of the raccoon.” Nikki asked, “Really?” Angela said, “Later, I asked Gary why he didn’t stop. He said police scare him.”
Last night, Nathan had to work late. I asked Ellen if she’d take me by the country club to drop the car off, so Nathan could drive himself home; she said, “Sure.” When we drove home, I thanked her, and she responsed, “It’s just like you said in your blog. I’m glad we’ve got each other.”
Angela left the desk and sat down next to her friend; they began to chat. Angela said, “For the last 60 years, I’ve collected religious books. I’ve studied all religions.” Her friend replied, “That’s certainly not a bad thing.” Angela then bumped up against her friend’s shoulder and said, “You think I’m nuts,” and they both giggled.
In five minutes, the door opened, and the waiting room immediately became silent in anticipation; the woman wearing the blue smock announced, “Angela.” Angela said to her friend, “Say a prayer for me.” Her friend laughed, and as Angela traveled down the hallway, the blue smock asked “How are you?” As she traveled off in the distance, I heard Angela say, “You don’t want to know about it!”
Thirty minutes later, I heard, “Jean,” from the recovery room door. I got up and the recovery nurse said, “He did fine.” I went into the recovery room, and I saw Nathan lying there half asleep.
The nurse told me that I wanted to keep him awake. She’d come back in a few minutes and talk to me about post-op issues. When she came back, she showed me how to change his gauze; as she took the bloody cotton out of his mouth, I had to look away.
She said, “You don’t have to look.” But, I knew I needed to in order to know how to change his dressings. Then I wondered how I could be the daughter of a nurse who had seen everything, and I said to myself, “Mom, give me strength!” And she did.
Nathan said, “Fwuuckkk.” I whispered, “Did you just say the f-word?” He mumbled, “Ugrhhhghgh, fwuuckkk, Fwuuckkk.” Not being one who swore much, I was hoping that this was just Nathan's one-time general comment on his condition and not Turrets brought on by his first-time experience with anesthesia.
In 15 minutes, they deemed him good to go home. He fell asleep as soon as I put car in drive. As I drove down Route 2, I felt horribly guilty.
I felt like I had when I talked with Iz the other night about our cat, Belle. I was to blame for the pain. Though, this time, it was Jean in the oral surgeon’s office with a screwdriver” or attempted murder if we had been talking Law & Order instead of Clue!
Once we got home, Nate collapsed into his bed. Before he could take his pain med, he needed to eat. And before he could eat, we needed to remove the gauze from his mouth.
I said, “Take the gauze out.” He could barely move, so I touched his jaw gently, and pushed my fingers inside. I grabbed the gauze on his right and pulled it out; I dropped it in the trash can trying not to faint at the sight of the bloody gob of cotton. I then did the same on the left side.
I got him some soupy ice cream. He ate it, along with a few of the meds he couldn’t yet swallow. And, then he fell fast asleep.
Parenthood is challenging. I think the most difficult thing about it is when you see your child in pain and you know you can't do a thing about it. Hopefully, when Nathan is in Europe next month, he'll thank me for this.
He’ll think, “Mom, it was a good idea having my wisdom teeth out before they got any worse.” Who am I kidding? I’ll be lucky if I get one phone call or a postcard while he’s gone, but I can dream [about butterflies and fairies] if I want to. ♥
When Iz and I were running around doing errands yesterday, we saw a flyer on the door of a local store. It said, “Lost Cat.” Before I opened the door, I said to Iz, “Wait a minute. I want to read this.”
As it turns out, there was a lovely white kitty missing from Park Street. Of course, Park Street was a terribly busy street, so I was somewhat miffed at the owners for having an “outdoor” cat. But, since I had been through the “missing cat” experience myself, I then immediately sympathized with the owners.
Iz asked, “Mommy, what does it say?” I told her that a cat was missing. She said, “Awwwww.”
When we left the store and were driving home, Iz asked, “How will we find it?” I asked, “How will we find what?” It appeared the last 10 minutes had been light years to me; however, Iz was still in the present that was 10 minutes ago when she said, “The house.”
I asked, “What house?” She said, “If we find the kitty, how will we find the house it lives in?!” I said, “Oh. Well, there’s a phone number. We’d just call the phone number and ask.”
Then she asked, “Mom, where did Belle go?” Belle was a gray and white cat I had that never came home one day. Iz was an infant when Belle was living in the house; the funny thing was that Iz always acts as if she and Belle were BFFs at the time of Belle’s mysterious departure.
I said that I wasn’t sure where Belle had gone. Iz, as any good CSI does, asked more questions. “What time did she go out?” “Did she tell you where she was going” “Did you see her leave the premises with any other cat?” “Did you have a surveillance camera on the porch, Mommy?”
Okay, she wasn’t that zealous; however, by the time we reached Pearl Street, she had grilled me thoroughly. She was so thorough in her questioning that she had me convinced that Jean did it in the Ballroom with a candlestick!
There was an entire minute of silence in the car. This is when I know Iz is reloading questions like Dirty Harry reloads bullets in his Magnum. She asked, “Mommy, would you rather lose a cat or lose me?”
I was rather shocked at the question. Age seven must be the age of reasoning when it isn’t the age of a million and one questions. I said, “Iz, I don’t want to lose anything, but I’d rather lose a cat than you.”
She then asked, “Liam or Plume?” I laughed. I said, “Iz, I don’t really want to have to make that decision if I don’t have to.”
Within 10 seconds, the topic changed as fast as Iz changed her wardrobe on a Saturday afternoon. She said, “Mommy, you said that when Monty goes, no more dogs.” I said, “Well, dogs are a lot of work.”
She asked, “Well, can we get a gerbil instead?” I said, “No.” She asked, “A fish?” I said, “No. She asked, “A turtle?” I said, “No. Just cats. Period!”
Just then, it was quiet in the back seat. She was reloading once again. She asked, “Mommy, would you rather lose me or a house?” I said, “A house.”
Like the rat-tat-tat of an Uzi, she asked, “Would you rather lose me or Nathan?” Again, I was surprised by this, but I figured that she was now at the Age of Sibling Rivalry when not at the Age of Innocence. And, surely there would be trouble tomorrow when Nathan drank ginger ale like it was water and ate ice cream like it was broccoli for the next two days after having his four wisdom teeth removed in the morning.
I said, “Iz!!!!! I couldn’t lose you or Nathan. I would die before I’d let anything happen to either of you.” She didn’t say anything. Just then, I felt a bit like Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice.
I wondered why she had been so inquisitive about my choices, especially in regard to her importance in my life. Though, I was sure this probably wouldn’t be the first time she’d examine and scrutinize my choices. Anyway, I hadn’t rented out her room nor had I asked the Gypsies to come and collect her; thus, I asked, “Why are you asking all these questions?”
She said, “I’m just checking!” I was then reminded that we’re all vulnerable sometimes, especially where it concerns love. Ultimately, you do know who loves you, but every now and then, no matter how much you know, you still just need to check. ♥
A few days ago, I heard those three little words. Unfortunately, I said them to myself. And, more unfortunately, the words I said were, “I am lonely.”
I know I’m not really alone; I’m far from it when I look back at last week, especially last Friday. It was a different kind of alone. In this case, the answer was not a phone call or a lunch date away; the answer seemed like it was hiking Mount Everest away.
Most of the time, I find that when I need to really think about things, I need to do it on my own and in my own time. Most of my friends know this about me. When I need to dwell on something that’s bothering me, I don’t hang out in the Mall of America.
I hole myself up in a studio apartment on Pitcairn Island. No one is an island. But, sometimes I need to live like a Survivor on an island for a bit in order in order rescue myself and land back on the shores of the continent once again.
I decided that I need to beach. I probably needed to bitch, too, but I usually beach before I bitch. A trip to Crane Beach was in order.
Like me, Iz loves the beach. Okay, there are many things my daughter loves just as much as I do like shoes, clothes, Sephora, small furry animals, and office supplies. God, I love her.
Anyway, for about 5 seconds this morning, I thought, “Oh, I should let Iz skip school and go to the beach with me.” I heard a voice; no, it wasn’t Sarah Jessica Parker this time. It was my voice, and I said, “Nah. You need to beach. Take her on the weekend.”
I felt a bit guilty this morning when she asked me if I was going to bike with Bill. I responded, “Um, maybe.” While she ate her cereal and watched a movie on her DVD player, I wanted to pack the cooler with Fresca, make my tuna fish sandwich, and find the sunscreen; however, I knew those actions would lead to “Mommy, are you going to the beach……..without me?!?!?!?”
I kept my cool, though I was furiously making a mental Things I Need to Do Before Leaving for the Beach checklist. After I dropped Iz off at school, I opened the front door of the house, and I sprinted down to the basement (cooler), upstairs (beach bag, bathing suit, towel, and beach mat) and then back downstairs to the kitchen (Fresca, tuna fish sandwich, and sun screen). In under 20 minutes, I had everything I needed to beach.
After an hour and twenty minute trip, I arrived at my favorite beach. Okay, I did love a few beaches in Hawaii; however, Crane was my favorite beach in my own backyard. Actually, I think my favorite beach is the Cape Cod National Seashore, but it wasn’t in realistic driving distance; well, it might have been if picking up Iz at 5:30 was not on my agenda!
When I arrived at Crane, I realized that I was not the only person who thought it was a beach day.
I first thought, “Wow, it must be Unemployed Persons Day to Bitch at the Beach Day!” Once on the beach, I realized that every senior, both those over 65 and those who had just graduated from high school or college, had the same idea as me. In that moment, I wished it was 1984 or 2029, because I wanted to be a Senior and not unemployed.
As I sat there waiting to pay my admission, I looked closer at the car ahead of me. Do you see the left hand and foot out the window?
Who drives a car like this? Obviously, it must be an automatic. And I really wanted to meet the driver!
Once I had paid my admission, I walked to the far end of the beach to be alone. At 1pm, people started to plunk down their towels, coolers, and boom boxes near me. I sat up and looked around; most of those around me, were under 25, and just then, I wished that the beach had a “quiet” car.
The group to the left of me blared Eminen and chain smoked. One of the individuals in the group to the right of me said, “He’s a scumbag if you don’t know him. When he’s your friend, he’d do anything for you.” I won’t even tell you about the tampon comment; after that, I thought that the beach definitely needed zones like the Acela.
Actually, when I plunked myself down initially, I made sure no one was around, because I hadn’t shaved my legs in a week. I knew I need the Somewhat Hairy Leg Zone. When I thought about it, the guys I cycled with shaved their legs more than I did!
After three hours of just being, I packed up my things. As I trudged up the walkway, I was reminded of something one of my friends had said to me recently. She said, “Snap out of it.”
By the time my feet hit the hot sand by the walkway, I think I had. I was planning my evening with Iz; when she and I were together, she called it “girl time.” I didn’t want to be late for our “girl time.”
When I got into the car, I played my Earth, Wind and Fire CD; I hadn’t listened to it in ages. When “Sing a Song” came on, I was on Route 128 South with all four windows and the sunroof open; I turned up the volume and sang at the top of my lungs. I wasn’t alone then; I was only reminded that the best thing about being lonely is finding the best friend in yourself.
“Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections.”
When I pulled up at Iz’s after school program, she was running around on the lawn. She saw me and went to gather all her things. As she approached, she carried her backpack, an arts and crafts project, and a plant; when she climbed inside, she handed me her plant and said, “I love you.” And those were the three little words that I longed to hear the most today. ♥
Besides searching for jobs today, I knew I was having lunch at India Palace with three of my former co-workers, Brenda, Nancy, and Sarah. I was really looking forward to seeing them; as I previously mentioned, I think that the people I worked with at that company had been the best I had ever worked with in my entire career. When I arrived, I was totally surprised to see Jeff, Gil, and Chuck; and about 15 minutes later, Tom arrived.
It was a wonderful birthday surprise. I asked everyone how they were, and then I heard a minute later, "We don’t have to ask how you are." Of course, everyone read about my life here on a day-to-day basis. I then picked up my foot and said, “Yeah, I know. So, does anyone want to see my toes?”
It was good food, laughter, and there were presents, too. Brenda gave me a Hello Kitty case and inside were a pair of beautiful pink earrings; Nancy gave me a Marilyn Monroe shirt from Delia’s. Jeff gave me a huge pink orchid; the one he gave me last year had just bloomed this week.
Usually, I have a brown thumb. I can nurture children, feral cats, and herbs without thinking about it; however, regular house plants cringe when they see me. Jeff’s orchid was the first plant that I kept alive for over a year; so, when it budded and then bloomed this week, I took it as a sign that I might add “orchids” to my list of nurtured things.
Gil pointed to a lovely small vase on the table and said, ‘I bought you flowers.” He said, “I know you like old things, so I found the oldest vase I had.” In the beautiful square green glass vase were eight perfect peach tea roses.
I asked, “Where did you get it?” He said, “From the basement. The vase must be 40 years old.” I remember thinking just then, “Wow. He knows I like old things.”
When I drove home, I thought how wonderful they were for taking time out of their busy schedules with some driving many miles to gather for my birthday. As I pulled off of Route 495, I thought about the presents; it wasn’t really about the presents as things. It was that each gift was truly a reflection of who I was; and, can there be any greater gift that having friends who know you so well and love you for who you are for better and for worse?
After I got home, I got on my bike and rode 35 miles with Bill (a.k.a., Batman). Yes, I am Batgirl. Hey, we old retired people like nicknames, okay?
Once I got home, there was some confusion about exactly where Iz was going. John was taking her somewhere, he wasn’t taking her somewhere, and then he was. He seemed to be a bit peeved when I insisted that Iz stay with me since she seemed to be upset over going off with him; something seemed off, but I didn’t know what it was.
It only got more confusing when Melissa called me and said, “I’m coming up there right now to take you out to dinner.” I had been out to lunch and had been out for a long bike ride, and I said, “Oh, well, thanks. But, John’s off with Iz, and I was going to go get some salmon and some wine and just relax at home.”
She was very insistent. So insistent that I had flashbacks to the 70s in which the woman in the Yuban commercial says, “Jim never has a second cup of coffee.” Though I was saying to myself, “Melissa never does anything spontaneous.”
Well, I still didn’t believe she was in her car and on her way to my house. I said, “You’re really at home, right?” She said, “No. I’m on my way up there to take you for dinner.” Again, queue Yuban commercial.
She sounded a tad exasperated by then. I didn’t think I was being difficult. I knew how busy she was with her job and her two kids, and part of me didn’t want her driving all the way up just to take me out for dinner when I thought she should be chilling at home in front of a “West Wing” marathon.
Finally, she said, “Look. All the Lovelies are meeting at O’Hanlon’s for dinner. I’m getting you and then we’re going there.” I think my mouth dropped open. Previously, everyone had emailed that they were much too busy to gather in May; little did I know then that it was part of their master plan.
I said, “Really?!?!?!?! God, that’s so nice.” Melissa said, “Now get in the shower. I’ll be there soon.” Again, like my friends from “work,” I knew all the Lovelies led busy lives, yet they were all driving to my favorite pub in town to celebrate my birthday.
At one point during dinner, Melissa said, “Jeez, I thought you watched CSI.” I guess she meant she was surprised that I didn’t figure any of it out. The only thing I figured out this afternoon was that it must be a full moon tonight as everyone seemed a bit out of character!
When I arrived at the pub with Melissa, they were all seated. There were lilacs and irises from Laura’s garden in a vase; Laura said, “I knew lilacs were your favorite.” There was a balloon tied to my chair and a lovely hanging plant on the table; they immediately began to sing "Happy Birthday."
Today, a wonderful lunch was followed by a terrific bike ride and was finished off with a Lovelies dinner. I said last night that I thought cats knew when you needed their affection most. Ironically, it seemed that my friends knew I needed affection, too, and, today, they all got close to me and purred just like Plume did yesterday.
There was Gil, who after reading my blog for the first time, told me that my talents were wasted on writing the release notes when I worked for him. Today, he told me that even if I got another technical writing job, it wouldn’t seem right like the job for me; where would my creativity go?
Then there was Marcia, who wanted a detailed description of my trip to New York City. Before I could begin with “I got the 3:30 train,” she asked, “Did you really go by yourself?” I said that I did; she said, “Really? You’re so f*cking awesome! I don’t think I could do that.”
Presents are wonderful. They usually come in boxes with bows. But, today, I realized that gifts also come wrapped in oxford shirts and jeans, too.
People say good-bye in your life. Sometimes they leave too soon, sometimes they don’t leave soon enough, and sometimes they leave before you even get a chance to know them. As one friend said to me today, everything you need is right here.
He was right, because regardless of a few of the things I felt like I was missing in my life right now, I could have not felt more loved today by my friends. Thank you, Nancy, Brenda, Sarah, Jeff, Tom, Chuck, Gil, TomS, Melissa, Cathy, Anne, Marcia, and Laura for loving me as you do and showing me that most everything I could ever want is truly right here with all of you. ♥
Happy Weekend, Everyone.
And, remember, no matter what age you are, always think in cat years. So, I’m only 7, even if my driver's license begs to differ with 48.
I think the hardest thing about moving yourself from your known element to a different element is trying to fit yourself back into your old and familiar element. This always seems to happen to me after I go to New York City. It’s a bit like post-partum travel depression.
This morning, I woke up, saw my bookshelf under the window, which I noticed needs dusting badly, and I said, “Oh, yeah. I’m here again.” It was like waking up after having a really good dream in which you won American Idol, scored the point that made your team win the State Championships, or had your Tweets surpass Ashton Kutcher’s and then realized, “Damn. That didn’t really happen.” Pick your fantasized passion; we all have those dreams.
After wiping the sleep out of my eyes, I realized that no matter how wonderful my New York trip was, I was back home facing all the same issues again. It was as if I thought all my problems would disperse while I was away. Where would they go? Well, they might catch a flight to Vegas, Plume might rip them to shreds like she has done with the boxes holding all the items from my office when I had a job, or they might spontaneously combust, leaving a huge ash cloud over my town making it impossible for flights to get in or out; we had no major airport, so no worries there!
When I went downstairs this morning, I poured my coffee. Iz was already dressed, and she said, “Hi, Momma!” I said, “Hi, Baby. I missed you when I was gone,” and she said, “I missed you, too.”
My children are something I always love coming home to, though at times they can be problematic especially when they don’t want you taking pictures of them at the prom! I like a trip every now and then, but I love being in my home again with the kids and the cats. And, yes, last night, I was even glad to have Monty barking at me!
After Iz went off to school, I tried to counter whatever feelings I was having by searching high and low for new job opportunities. I applied for a few jobs, two of which sounded really interesting; one was with the Department of Transportation and the other was to be the Editor of the Tufts Veterinary Medicine Magazine. After the general job description, Tufts said, “The ideal candidate will be an exceptionally creative writer and story-teller, preferably with experience in a veterinary or other health sciences environment.”
I read that, and I said to myself, “Can you say Jean?” Okay, I did not have experience in a veterinary or health science environment, but I had three cats and a dog and contributed at least $1000 every year to the veterinary environment. I sent them a cover letter, my resume, and the titles of all my pet-related blogs.
Even though the Tufts job was part time, I liked that the job description said, “Ability to move around a rural campus with working farm components as well as the stalls, clinics, labs and other facilities of the on-campus animal hospitals and research centers.” It was an interactive job; I was not only “creative” and a “story-teller” but “interactive” was my middle name when it was not “Marie.”
While searching Monster and Craigslist, Plume jumped in my lap. During the course of the morning, she was in and out of my lap about five times. Each time she jumped up, she rubbed against me, curled up, and then fell asleep; I believe that cats, despite spending most of their time sleeping, eating, and using the litter box, truly know when you’re in need of affection the most and they provide it accordingly.
It was a beautiful day here, so after I felt I had done my due diligence on the job search, I ventured out onto the rail trail. I had missed Batman (a.k.a. Bill), so I brought my iPod along. Sometimes the best medicine is riding solo with Bruce Cockburn’s “Night Train” playing as you rock on down the rail trail.
I hadn’t seen her in a few years, though we had tried to reconnect in the last few months; she had a client with her, a beautiful retriever. We chatted, got caught up, and we both realized that we had much more in common than we knew; my conversation was peppered with "I should do this" or "I should have done that." At one point, she said, “Don’t should on yourself.”
She was right. I had been “shoulding” all over myself for the last 24 hours. We vowed to get together soon. Then I rode off.
Earlier in the morning, I had spent time on the phone with a friend. I “should” all over myself to her in under 10 minutes. When I got home, I read the following email her:
Hey, It is a beautiful day, you are healthy, you have beautiful children, you have friends who love you, you have a roof over your head, and good food on your table, you have your sight, your hearing, the ability to move your legs, you have beautiful vintage clothes and lovely perfumes and pretty jewelry, you have cats you adore, a dog you secretly love, a fabulous front porch that we should paint and put a porch swing and beautiful flower boxes on, you have a great computer, pink phone, electricity to watch your favorite shows and movies, a great love of music (which also means you have an iPod) you can dance or cry or sing to, you have appointments to meet your friends for lunch with next week, people you can email anytime you are blue, sweet cinnamon tea, gumdrops and jelly beans are only a short car drive away, you have a car you can drive off in (with gas!), a bike you can drive off in, you have a vacuum cleaner that you love, a house that is warm and welcoming, neighbors you can borrow sugar or tomato sauce from, a cool new sleep shirt with silly cats all over it and maybe even you have some bubble gum left, so maybe just for today you leave the sad stuff alone and give your poor sad heart a break. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all go away for you.
She was right; some might read this post and think, “Jeez, what is Jean's problem?” But, I know that many more will read it and say, “I totally understand. I’ve been there before.” And just then, I said to myself, “I am lucky because I have ten fingers and ten toes.”
A wand was waved. I looked at my toes, and, besides being ugly (toes my brother and I had always referred to as “crow toes”), my big toenail was broken and my polish was chipped; I had the ability, as my friend said, to “move my legs”, and so I did to get a pedicure. My toes are all better now, and so I am, well, I should be soon. ♥
My Get Out of Massachusetts for Not-So-Free Card has expired once again. How was my trip to see James and the American Woman clothing exhibit at the Met? It was wonderful and then there was the “then some” part; I never go expecting what it will be like, because I always expect I’ll be pleasantly surprised.
When I arrived arrived at the Metropolitan Museum at noon today, I finally realized just how busy New York City is every single day. It took 20 minutes to get from my hotel to the museum, even though the way the cab driver drove made me think we’d be there in five minutes as my right hand clutched the door handle tightly. When I arrived at the museum, the steps, like the honeycombs in a beehive, were swarming with people sitting and chatting, making goofy faces while posing for pictures, eating really bad-for-you-but-tastes-so-good sausages, and dancing; I hadn’t even made it through the front door, and I knew it was my kind of place.
I joined many others who were walking up the stairs to enter. School children, people who were getting the senior citizen discount, and the occasional New York City tourists like me stood in the queue. I hadn’t seen so many people in one place since I attended the Police Concert at the Boston Garden in 1982 except no one was throwing tampons.
When I finally got to the admissions desk, I was told that a “donation of $20 was suggested.” Before I could say anything, the woman behind the desk asked, “Is that okay with you?” I didn’t know if this was their usual policy regarding admission, asking the patron if the fee was acceptable, or if it was something that was the sign of the dismal economic times.
I said, “Yes,” thinking surely this was a better bang for my buck than the price of a movie ticket; floors and floors of beautiful objects for only $20, deal schmeal! Then I thought, what if more businesses did this; would they do more business or lose more money? (Someone research that and get back to me!) Seriously, when was the last time you bought a gallon of milk and the cashier said, “The recommended price for that gallon of milk is $2.99. Is that okay with you?”
Anyway, I told the woman that $20 was fine by me. Then excitement got the better of me and I babbled quickly, “Where is the clothing exhibit and is there an audio tape for that?” She said, ‘Second floor, and yes,” and in two minutes I was “traveling straight down the hallway to Ancient Greece” and taking a “right at the column” to go up the stairs.
If I thought the outside of the museum was mobbed, it seemed even more crowded inside. In each hallway, there was a maze of people to “excuse me” by or to dart behind in order to move out of the way of someone’s photo op. The museum’s American Woman exhibit signs were sprinkled here and there along the hallway like bread crumbs; after following them for what seemed too long, I began to walk like my cab driver drove. “Get out of my way; there are clothes here that are waiting to see me!”
I put my headphones on, typed in 700 on the keypad, and like music to my ears, Sarah Jessica Parker began to speak. I could have sworn she said, “Ah, Jean. We built it, so you would come.” As the tape played, I was welcomed to Washington Square and entered the period of “The Heiress.”
The dresses were stunning, captivating, and, my, how we women have grown larger over the years. What intrigued me the most were the tiny waists on all the dresses; women were smaller then, but then I remembered that evil little bit of lingerie, even though most men probably don’t think there is such a thing as evil lingerie -- the corset!
After the Heiress came the Gibson Girl, and then I walked into the Bohemian. The Bohemian was the fashionable, independent, self-confident woman who was into the arts. I was one quality shy of being a Bohemian; well, let’s just say I needed to work on the self-confidence. Sarah Jessica Parker then interjected that if there was a society poster girl for the Bohemian, it was Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney.
Here she is on the cover of Vogue in 1917. Can you say “fierce?” Well, I’m sure she was fierce for 1917. An artist of the day stated that Whitney did not even need to pursue art because “She was art.”
The Patriot and the Suffragette followed the Bohemian, and then came the Flapper. Flappers had long legs and flat chests so said Sarah Jessica Parker. I then had a think and reassessed my exhibit clothing persona; I deemed myself a Flapper Bohemian when I wasn’t a Gibson Girl, or, what followed after the Flapper, the Screen Siren!
Once upon a time a few paragraphs ago, I mentioned that the dresses were waiting to see me instead of me waiting to see them; I sensed a few might have missed me. If I didn’t believe in it before I saw the exhibit, I believed in reincarnation after I saw the exhibit, which prompted one of my friends, who I practically took through the museum with me via text messages, to ask, “Do you feel like some of those belonged to your ‘20s former self?” I had to wonder; had I worn a flapper dress before or was it just that my desire to wear such a dress was so strong?
The only thing wrong with the exhibit was that there were not enough clothes. I’m sure for your average non-vintage-clothes-loving person there were certainly enough dresses. But, I was not satiated at all; I wanted more.
Unfortunately and fortunately, there was the rest of the museum to investigate. I spent another hour walking around wondering what Jackson Pollock was thinking when he painted and if Matisse was an overrated painter. And since I collect names (and now titles), I could not stop in front of these paintings without jotting down their titles because I found them so amusing: A View of Paris with Furtive Pedestrians and One Who Understands.
James was wonderful at the Rockwood last night. I got to visit with him and some of his friends after the show. And, as usual, I made some new friends.
I do love my trips New York City, because they take me outside the four corners that define my little square in the Rubix cube that currently seems to be my life. Upon my return, it always seems like I can flip another cube into the right place based on a feeling or an experience I’ve had there. It reassures me that eventually all the pieces will fall into place, making my life less of the puzzle it seems to be sometimes.
I know I said I usually only go to NYC for James and the Manhattan vintage clothing show. I had a think. Next time, it would be nice if it were for some other significant reason; I can only wonder and hope once again for the unexpected.
When I went to the café car of the train to get some water for the trip home, the woman ahead of me in line turned around and said, “Oh, my God. I love your top and your sweater. I was wearing my pink 70s embroidered Mexican top and a 60s cream mohair sweater embroidered with flowers.
She asked me where I got my “lovely” items. I said, always feeling as if it somehow lessened the treasure, “eBay!” She said, “I’ll have to go look there," and as I walked off I heard Sarah Jessica Parker say, “She was art.” ♥
Contrary to Popular Opinion The Goddess Doesn’t Control the Red Sox Note: I was told “I think you should also get some credit for the Red Sox teaching those sassy NY Yankees a damn good lesson in the Bronx last night!!” I doth protest! He said, “I know you don't control baseball but I'm certain that as a Goddess, your presence/influence extends further and into more areas than you realize!! I say take a little credit wherever you can get it!” Okay, I admit it then. I am the Goddess of All Things Lovely and of the Red Sox; however, I’m pretty sure that the Red Sox superpowers expire once I admit this to the general public.
My Friend is a Fortune Cookie When He’s Not a Rocket Scientist, Cowboy, or Race Car Driver Note: “Your open heart is a blessing, but it brings complications with it.” Hmm. Can I trade that one for "A closed mouth gathers no feet" or "A conclusion is simply the place where you got tired of thinking?!" ♥
About 20 years ago, “Young Americans” became my birthday anthem. I know, seriously, who has a birthday anthem? Well, knowing me, I’m sure you’re not surprised that I have one!
Usually, “Young Americans” gets played several times (read “over and over again”) on May 18th. One year, I even replaced my answering machine message with the song; I think that was for my 40th. Anyway, while listening to the song, I dance around the house singing loudly; pity the cat that saunters into the room I’m in when the song is playing (read "instant feline dance partner"), and, no, there will never be a video of that!
When I arrived in the kitchen this morning, I uttered my usual question to the family room. “Pukamunga?” “Hi, Mommy. Happy Birthday! You have to see this!”
Not having had any coffee yet, the rest of her words and her excitement were lost on me. As she talked, I only heard the sound that is emitted whenever there is a test of the Emergency Broadcasting system on TV. I said, “Wait, Iz. Let me get some coffee.”
Just then, my phone buzzed; it was a text message from Nathan that said, “Happy Smurfday.” I thanked him and, in under a minute, I had another text message from him asking if he could again use my PayPal account for nefarious purposes (read "purpose magic cards online"). Note to Self: Tell Nathan that it’s not good form to wish a girl “Happy Birthday” and then ask to borrow money from her!
After adding a teaspoon of sugar and a dribble of half and half to my coffee, I took a sip and suddenly I began to hear what Iz was saying. “Mommy, you must see what’s outside. Seriously! Close your eyes.” Still not completely aware of my surroundings, she took my hand and began to lead me down the hallway toward the front door.
I thought for a moment, “Oh, yes! Someone has finally delivered that vintage Alfa Romeo spider convertible to my front door!” Iz commanded, “Mommy, close your eyes.” I closed one, squinted the other, and then Iz banged into the bathroom door saying “Ow” as she continued to walk backwards.
She said, “Mommy, close your eyes, seriously!” Iz knows I mean business when I said, “Period.” I know Iz means business when she said, “Seriously.” We don’t speak the same language, but it’s a good thing we both can read each other’s subtitles.
Given that we had celebrated my birthday last night, I couldn’t really think of what might be outside. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a car. Knowing Iz, I was thinking that our neighbor’s dog was rolling around in the front yard; that's excitement for the two of us when it isn't watching real live Barbie dolls going to the prom!
Iz opened the front door, and she led me onto the porch. I lacked only about 50% of my vision. After she banged into the door, I thought it would be a shame to miss my trip to New York if I should happen to trip on her sneakers, back pack, and rollerblades, all obstacles in front of the door, and broke my ankle!
Then she said, “Look, Mommy!” I laughed out loud. On my front lawn were 10 pink plastic flamingos. There was a huge sign that said, “You have been flocked!” and one of the flamingos sported a "Happy Birthday" sign.
Upon further investigation, it appeared that the flock was a fundraiser for a town “Relay for Life” team. To remove the flamingos, I had to make a donation to the American Cancer Society. I was kind of hoping that they were there to stay.
It was the funniest thing I had seen in a while. Of course, Iz had already picked out her favorite flamingo and went over to pat it on its beak. She asked, “Mom, do we get to keep them?”
I told her that they were just on loan. I then went into CSI-Law & Order mode and picked two suspects during my mental line-up. I grabbed my phone and emailed and texted both “persons of interest.”
I wrote to the first person of interest asking, “Did you flock me?” Of course, after I sent the email, I thought, “What a crazy email to send someone." Within a few minutes, I received a response that said, “Did I what you?!?! Is that a new spelling?!?!?”
While I was laughing at my friend’s response, I received a text message from the other suspect, my neighbor, Ellen. She asked me if I was upset about it. I responded and said that I was anything but upset!
In retrospect, a gift of jewelry, a car, or even a job wouldn’t have given me that much joy. The “it” gift this year was definitely a flock of pink flamingos on my front lawn. And, it’s entirely better than the alternative, a flock of State Troopers on my lawn with loaded weapons; um, did I ever tell you about the time I flashed an ATM camera? (In my defense, it was a sake-induced state of inhibition.)
Upon leaving the house, I tucked a check into an envelope that one of the birds was wearing. I was still laughing. It was sad to think that by the time I returned my pink flock would have flown the coop!
Before I went to the train station, I had lunch with Lovely Melissa. We split a “tuniefish” sandwich at this really great bistro near her house. Here we are. and note that even though we look “polluted,” we’re not; we’re just high on caffeine, oh, and on life!
Melissa had mentioned my birthday in conversation while we were ordering lunch. A few minutes later, our server handed me our iced coffees. It wasn’t until I got to the table that I realized my cup had a personalized message!
It’s funny, but as I’ve gotten older, plastic pink birds in my yard and plastic cups with birthday wishes written on them seem to be the only thing I need. Maybe I am getting older and wiser? Or, maybe I’m just getting eccentric!
If there is one thing I do know, it’s that the best things in my life aren’t things; they're people, especially my friends and family. I received many wonderful birthday wishes today from near and from far. I was told “Don’t ever stop being YOU!!!!”
I don't think I would be me without all of you. Today, I don't celebrate myself. I celebrate having each and every one of you in my life on this birthday, and I hope that most of you will be with me untilmy 90th birthday when, if all goes according to my plan, I die peacefully in my sleep with a cat sleeping on my pillow. ♥
The time has come. Did you notice that your Swatch was reading quarter to Times Square? Did you hear that Chrysler is going back to making buildings instead of cars? Yes. I’m going to New York City tomorrow.
I’m finally going to buy that damn Brooklyn Bridge for once and for all. I have a 20% off coupon and the asking price is only $29, 999,999! Where did I get the cash? Well, I picked up a lot of deposit bottles on those bike rides I’m always going on!
Actually, tomorrow is my birthday. No, I’m not 29 or 39 again; I’m going to be 48, and I’m proud of it. Plus, I only look like I’m 7 when I pretend I’m a cat, which is something I do quite often between you and me; sleeping in the sun is one of my favorite cat pastimes when it isn’t chasing a moth around the kitchen.
I’m taking the train to Penn Station tomorrow. As I mentioned previously, I love being on the train. I still believe if you really care about someone, nothing says “I love you” like a round trip Amtrak ticket; you don’t really even have to have a destination!
The mere pleasure of the trip is being confined to a small space for 3-4 hours. It’s a space you share only with yourself in which you are forced to listen to music, read, meditate, or balance your checkbook. These are things most people don't get to do a lot, especially when there are children around!
Anyway, I’m going to see one of my favorite musician, James. I really only go to New York City for two things. I go for James and vintage clothing.
I was supposed to go see James last Friday; however, I thought the prom was on Saturday not Friday, or was it that I thought James’ show was on Saturday and not on Friday? Of course, Nathan’s prom won out over a trip to New York City.
I had paid for two tickets to James’ show. Being newly frugal, given I was just accepting I was going to be unemployed longer than I expected, I didn’t want the tickets to go unused. James told me to post them on his Facebook page, which seemed like a good idea, and the ticket agency was willing to let someone else pick up the tickets if I gave them a new name by noon on Friday.
On Thursday night, I posted a note about my tickets. I said that I really wanted to give them to someone who was "unemployed or underpaid" like moi! In five minutes, a woman named Beth posted a response indicating she had sent me email.
She was a single Mom and was planning on going to the show with her boyfriend. It was her first time seeing James play. I didn’t have to read the rest of the email to know that these were her tickets; I emailed the ticket agency her name.
She sounded like a lovely person. She thanked me profusely and told me that my kind gesture would come back to me. After I emailed her the ticket agency’s confirmation, she told that she told her co-workers what I had done, and she told me that they all agreed I should buy a lottery ticket.
I was never one to gamble; I spent three days in Las Vegas without touching a slot machine, but I was at a trade show and on my feet from 9-5, even if my fellow co-workers thought I was drinking unbrella libations by the pool! I think I purchased only five lottery tickets in my lifetime. But, on Friday night, after buying Iz an ice cream treat at Cumberland Farms, I said to the cashier, “Two $5 scratch tickets, please.”
I felt guilty. I knew I was probably throwing away $10, but I liked the fact that a woman I had only met the night before suggested it. As Melissa once said, when I didn’t pick up a CD I saw by the side of the road, “You should have picked it up. Something really interesting might have been on the CD and something cool might have happened as a result!”
Of course, I could see the headlines of Saturday’s Lowell Sun: “Unemployed Woman Gives Away $20 tickets and Wins Two Million Dollars on a Scratch Card!” Hey, I could dream and make up my own headlines. I waited for a quiet moment on Friday night (i.e., after Iz went to bed), then I scratch furiously.
I scratched the first ticket, and it yielded nothing other than me saying to myself, “Damn. That was a bag of cat food!” I scratched the second ticket; I saw one of my numbers, and then there was another! I won twice.
What did I win? I won my $10 back! I think it was the Great Cat Goddess’s way of saying to me, “Don’t gamble again. I’ve given you your money back; so, go buy cat food with it now, you silly woman, you!”
Beth subsequently became my friend on Facebook. I didn’t get to see James, but she did, and she told me all about her wonderful evening. In the end, I gained a great new friend and some essential lottery wisdom.
As it turns out, on Friday night, I checked when James would be playing next. Here’s where you should queue your internal Twilight Zone theme. Beth was right because in that moment, my kind gesture came back to me; James was playing on my birthday at the same venue.
It would get even better. The Met had a new vintage clothing exhibit that I was dying to see. I planned my birthday trip; it was about music and vintage clothes. Could it get any better than that?! (Okay, it could only get better if I got a job offer from someone while I was balancing my checkbook!)
I know that some of my friends think my trips to New York City are unusual. One of my friends once tried to map my junkets to NYC to hormones, but when I took a trip that didn’t map to any hormones he could think of, he gave up. I have come to the conclusion that my trips are about me; for most of my life, I never really thought about me, because I was too busy thinking about everyone else or what everyone else was thinking about me.
At a certain point in my life, I gave up thinking about everyone else, well, to a certain extent. I love New York City, live music, and the Manhattan Vintage Clothing show. I’ve yet to find anyone who likes exactly what I like. So am I to sit at home and wish I were somewhere else or should I ride a train and be exactly who I am? Tomorrow, it’s about me and who I am; happy birthday, Jean. ♥
After twenty text messages this morning, I had finally convinced Nathan that taking a picture of him on his prom night was allowed and mandatory. At 2pm, Ethan Hunt texted me “Fay Park, 5pm.” Elated, I did a little “I get to take pictures of Nathan” jig and ran upstairs to charge my camera battery!
At 4:30, Iz and I headed over to the park where all the Junior Prom attendees went to take pictures. Parents, younger siblings, grandparents, and friends invaded the park by 4:45. All the young men looked handsome; and as the young women in their prom dresses filtered by, it was as if a human rainbow had illuminated the park.
Iz pointed to a dress and said, “Wow, look at that one, Mommy!” I pointed to another and said, “Isn’t that beautiful, Iz?” I was 47 going on 7 when I said to Iz, “It’s just like getting to see real-life Barbie dolls, huh?!”
Each couple looked like they should be on top of some prom cake. Aided by hair gel, every hair in every young man’s mane was in place, replacing the Monday through Friday bedhead. Every young woman sported an up-do that no mere mortal could construct on their own, replacing the Monday through Friday pony tail, baseball cap, or 10 strokes of a brush.
Quinn and I took the few pictures we felt we could; it reminded me of America’s Next Top Model somewhat. Models are given so many frames at each photo shoot. Thought he didn’t explicity say it, it seemed that Nathan had given us only 10 frames, and that was it!
Iz asked impatiently, “When do I get to meet Kelsey?!” I told her that Nathan and Kelsey were too busy to chat at that moment. Knowing that Nathan and Kelsey were just friends, I didn’t want to set any expectations; though later, Iz yanked at my blouse and said, “Mommy, I heard Kelsey say to Nathan that I was cute!”
Nathan
Nathan and Kelsey
Iz and Connor (Ellen’s son)
Nathan and Me
When I first saw him in his tux, I got choked up; however, I remembered that, tonight, I had to be a different Mom than the one I was when he and I laughed together imagining what the cat’s were saying to each other if they really could talk. I had to be a bit more reserved; that’s the Mom Nathan needed tonight in the park.
It all came and went in an instant. It seemed that the same was true of the last 17 years. Nathan looked so handsome and so grown up; I texted him and said, “You were the best looking guy there,” and he always will be. ♥
Tomorrow!* Tomorrow is Nathan’s Junior Prom. Quite frankly, I never thought the day would come when Nathan would say to me, “Mom, I’m going to the Junior Prom.” Nathan declaring that he was going to wear a uniform and spend several hours at a social event that involved a girl was really surprising to me but in a good way.
Considering all his interests and his activities, the prom never seemed a likely one for Nathan. Playing soccer and hockey were organized school events with uniforms thrown in every now and then; however, I just couldn’t quite get my head around the tuxedo and girl part. The last time Nathan wore a suit was in 2002, and it seemed to me, given his “I will never get married or have kids” stance and his introverted nature that girls were definitely on his back burner.
But, there it was, a public statement declaring a commitment to an event I never expected Nathan to attend. In fact, I didn’t expect Nathan to wear a tuxedo in his lifetime given his previously mentioned opposition to marriage. You think you know your kids, but every now and then, they do surprise you or you're surprised by the fact that you really didn’t know them as well as you thought.
Of course, upon being told about his participation in the Junior Prom, I had a million questions. Who? When? Where? Nathan responded with, “Kelsey. I don’t know. I don’t know.”
So, I went with my only tidbit of information and asked, “Who’s Kelsey?” Not missing a beat Nathan smiled and answered, “A girl.” "Well, yes, I figured that Nathan," I said.
I could only get a little more information out of him, and it probably didn’t help that I got all goofy when asking about Kelsey. He would only reveal that he known her as a "friend" for 10 years, as they played in the same town soccer league, she attended one of the local private high schools, and that she was a great soccer player. I didn’t question further, even though I wanted to; I went into actress mode walking off pretending I was satisfied with those few tidbits, though I knew I would slowly extract more facts, statistic, and perhaps even find out her shoe size over the coming months!
All in all, I was very happy that Nathan was going to his prom. It even made me hopeful that I might get a grandchild somewhere down the line; however, I didn’t even begin to think about whether I wanted to be called “Granny,” “Grams,” or “LadyWhoIsWayTooYoungLookingToBeAGrandmother.” And, secretly, I was pleased that he was going with a “friend.”
The days following, I must admit that I did have some conflicting feelings. Somehow, having a son going to the prom made me feel old, probably because I remembered going to my Senior Prom so clearly that it felt like it was only yesterday. After the elderly notion passed, I began to go into Mother Bear mode and asked, after growling and baring my claws, “Who is this girl who has captivated my son? Is she good enough for him? Will she hurt him? Has he told her that I'm crazy?!?!”
I have a friend, and his daughter began going to dances with young gentlemen a year or so ago. I heard all of his concerns about his daughter’s suitors and watched him scrutinize each one of them. I kept thinking "Phew! At least, I don’t have to worry about this with Nathan for a long time,” and then BAM!
I had to laugh when he called his daughter’s suitors, “Meathead,” because I could understand the whole parental angst of doubting that your child’s love interest was as wonderful as your child. Earlier in the week, I requested that he call his daughter’s current suitor by his real name. He responded, “That’s what we fathers must call all boyfriends. You know, there's a father out there calling Nathan Meathead.” He had a point, because, until then, I had never thought of the situation in reverse!
Anyway, it was an emotional few days after “The Declaration of Junior Prom,” but I quickly snapped out of it and verbally smacked myself by saying, “He’s growing up. It’s going to be hard to get over it, but you have to!” I tried to ask him questions, but I limited myself to one a week. I was only given the prom’s exact location and date about two weeks ago.
Sometimes Nathan treated the prom like a covert operation, but I knew I could try to outwit him with my CSI and Law & Order tactics. Did I? No, not really.
Nathan had the upper-hand. Every once in a while, he threw me a bone like “I have to buy prom tickets tomorrow,” or “We’re all pitching in for a limo.” Then there was “Oh, here’s the prom invitation.” Lastly, there was “I’m going to get a tux with my Dad this Tuesday.”
If I couldn’t ask questions and get answers, then I knew the next best thing was volunteering…cash! I offered to rent his tux, but he said his Dad was going to do that. I then proposed that I buy his boutonnière and Kelsey’s corsage.
Nathan accepted my offer. I asked what her dress looked like and was promptly sent a picture of her dress, which he had obviously had a for a while, the scoundrel, but didn’t voluntarily share! I told him her dress was lovely and asked where she had gotten it; he said, “I don’t know,” and I wasn’t surprised at all by that answer.
Anyway, assuming the position of Flower Girl, I got all excited and began to chatter to myself. “Does she want a wrist corsage or one that pins onto her dress? Does she like roses or orchids? Does she prefer one color over another?” I said, “Nathan, you need to ask her all this, okay?” He nodded.
Late last week, I had no flower updates from Nathan. I texted him and told him to ask Kelsey about her corsage. He replied and said, “What exactly am I asking her again?” Obviously, flowers were the furthest prom thing from Nathan’s mind.
I texted him my three major questions. The next day, I still hadn’t had an update. So, I texted him to ask if he had any more info, and he responded only with “She doesn’t care.”
I didn’t know if that was Nathan’s opinion of the matter or her preference, so I punted; I liked the wrist corsage idea. I didn’t tell Nathan this because he already doubts my sanity, but I did Google “unique prom corsages” and spent about 30 minutes one morning trying to find the loveliest corsage on the Internet. Kelsey’s credentials were impressive from the start, but she really had me at her prom dress, which was unique, colorful, and not low-cut!
On Tuesday, I went to a nearby florist with the picture of Kelsey’s dress. I felt like I was 17 when I said to the florist, “I need a boutonnière and corsage for a prom. Here’s what her dress looks like.” The florist took one look and said, “What a lovely dress!” to which I answered, “Isn’t it?!?!” And, I tried so hard not to giggle when I said that.
She said, “I love the empire waist and the colors are so different.” I asked, “So, what do you suggest?” She paused for two long serious seconds and then she said, as if stating the theory of relatively for the very first time, “Yellow spray roses with delphinium.” I said, “That sounds wonderful. Err, what exactly are delphinium?” She showed me, and then I knew that this was going to be the “unique prom corsage” I had hoped for.
When I left the florist’s I had an overwhelming feeling of something; I don’t think there’s a word for it. I felt giddy, sentimental, sad, hyper, hopeful, anxious, and I really had to pee. My emotional hot flash aside, I climbed into the car and thought, “I better not cry when I see Nathan all dressed up. He’ll definitely delete me as a Facebook friend if I do that.”
Excited, I called him to tell him I had ordered the flowers. He said, “Oh, okay. I just got my tux.” I won’t tell you that statement sent me into another emotional hot flash. I said to myself, “This is a good time to practice not crying, Jean.”
When he got home Tuesday night, I said, “So, what time should I be at your Dad’s to take pictures?” He said, “What?” I said, “Pictures!” and he said, “Mom, there’s going to be no time for pictures.”
By now, I was used to these emotional hot flashes when they snuck up on me. I thought, “My son is going to be in a tux for the first time in his life, standing next to a beautiful girl, and I can’t take any pictures?!” It was time to call my lawyer; I’m your Mom, and I have a right to take pictures on this milestone occasion.
Last night, I was suddenly informed by Nathan that perhaps I could come to the park where they were all meeting and take pictures. I could even bring Iz, who wanted to ask if Kelsey could come over for dinner soon. Later in the evening, I heard Nathan’s IM go “bonk-bonk” for about twenty minutes, I then I heard Nathan say out-of-the-blue, “Yeah, Kelsey really wants to meet you.”
Hah! Just then, I felt like I had cracked a safe, Nathan’s “safe,” though maybe Kelsey was really the safecracker; thank you, Kelsey. I wanted to know her, and she wanted to know me. I thought we were off to a good start, and it appeared Nathan was willing to join us rather than to try and avoid the inevitable.
At 9 this morning, Nathan texted me. He asked me if I’d call school to dismiss him at 11am tomorrow. I did as asked, though I wondered why he didn’t ask the Bad Cop parent to do this; but it was the prom, so I didn’t think about it too much. I texted him with “Done,” he responded with “Love ya,” and I responded with my usual, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”
In the last ten years, the most difficult thing for me had been my father’s death. I now add to that having to say “good bye” to Nathan when he goes off to college next year. I know he’s not going to leave my life; however, my life will change incredibly. And, yet again, I’m so glad that I have Iz, who continues to tell me that she’s never leaving me, not even to go to college. Yeah, yeah, yeah! ♥
*By the way, “Tomorrow!” is Nathan’s Facebook status. I was not stalking; it just happened to pop up when I logged in this afternoon, really. He’s excited about the tux, the night, and, most importantly, the girl; he really is growing up, and that, though it gave me yet another emotional hot flash, is fine by me. Yeah, yeah, yeah!
When I got up this morning, I was inspired. It wasn’t because I had an interview with Alicia Keys for the position of Head Blogger (a position that I had applied for) or because I got a spot on the Metromint cycling team nor was it because I had just been hired by The New Yorker to write a monthly column. I was inspired by something or someone I couldn’t even put a noun or a proper name to.
After my English muffin and coffee and a few minutes of news, I turned off the TV, left the couch, and I immediately sought out my cookbook. It was, I think, unusually cold for May today; it felt like a Fall day actually. A Fall Day + Temperatures Below 50 Degrees = Crock Pot!
My Mom was a major crock pot cooker in the 70s; and, sadly, I used to look down on the crock pot then, which was odd given that everything that came out of it was great and super easy for my Mom. And, what’s not to love about the crock pot? Fix it and forget it!
Within 10 minutes of perusing the cookbook, I decided it was a chili day, because it was a chilly day. I made a grocery list. And, I was off to shop.
When I came back from shopping, I unpacked my groceries. I set up my Bose iPod dock. And, I began to play chili-makin’ music.
While I was frying hamburger and chopping onions, my cell phone rang; it was Melissa. I answered and she asked, “How are you?” I said, even surprising myself, “Fabulous!”
After ranting to her for an hour on Monday, she said, as expected, “Really? What happened?” I said, “I’m cooking. I’m making chili.” She said, as expected, “Are you cooking with wine perhaps?!?!”
I laughed, because I wasn’t cooking with wine. For some reason, I just willed myself to be ebullient. Amazingly, to myself mostly, I don’t think I ever realized that I had the power to make myself be so.
After our conversation ended, I went back to adding a bit of this and a bit of that to my crock pot. As I went down my recipe list, I came across “8 ounces of tomato sauce.” Somehow, I had forgotten to shop for this.
I panicked for a second, and then I thought differently. I thought, “Ellen.” Ellen is my neighbor.
I rang her cell phone. She answered, and I asked, “Ellen, do you have tomato sauce? I'm making chili.” She said, “Do you need kitchen-ready tomatoes?”
I answered, “No. I need tomato sauce. Is that the same as spaghetti sauce?” She answered, “No. But, I have kitchen-ready tomatoes.” I said, “No. I don’t need tomato paste either. I need tomato sauce.”
She told me she was having breakfast at the local greasy spoon. Then she offered to go to the local market and pick up tomato sauce. I hesitated; I didn’t want her to bother, but then she made the decision for me by saying, “I’ll get it at Hannaford’s. I’ll be home in 15 minutes.”
I had known Ellen for 10 years. As I said in previous blogs, we had shared a lot. We shared good times, bad times, parenting, and then, on some level, tranquil domestic partnership while being married to other domestic partners. We called each other at least once a month to ask “Do you have any butter?” or “Do you have any sugar?”
If I didn’t know any better, when I moved into my house 10 years ago, I married Ellen in a quickie ceremony that took place midway between my yard and her yard. We were always a phone call or a child away from each other. She had saved me many times, merely by handing me my house key when I had locked myself out or by taking Iz off my hands for an hour to attend Noah’s football or baseball game when I was frazzled.
About 30 minutes later, I had all my chili ingredients in the crock pot. I went into the bathroom to wash my garlic and onion-soaked hands; they smelled good to me, and I wondered if to some men, this might be a very alluring perfume! I bathed them in soap, and I thought, “Yeah, probably not!”
Just then I heard the front screen door open. I wasn’t alarmed as I heard footsteps make their way down the hallway; I knew it was Ellen. I then heard, “Jean?”
I came out of the bathroom. Ellen handed me a plastic bag heavy with cans. She said, “I got you two in case!”
I thanked her profusely for the tomato sauce. She said, “Don’t worry. If you hadn’t called me, I never would have remembered that I needed sugar for my tea!” God works in mysterious ways, and so do neighbors.
Ellen paused and asked, “So, does your recipe book have any chicken recipes?” I said it did. And in five minutes, she left with my recipe book; tonight, it appeared that the block would rockin’, because the crock pot would be knockin’ em dead at more than one house on the street.
When I got home from my bike ride later in the afternoon, the house reeked of chili. I loved that, because it reminded me of the days when I arrived home from school to my parent’s house. There’s no scent like what's cooking at home.
I checked my voicemail; Melissa had called. She wondered if I was at the gym or on my bike. (Am I that predictable?) Then she said, "I still wonder why you were that happy this morning. I still think you were drinking!"
In a way, I’m glad that I sounded so happy that I might be drunk. I was happy, and if you ask me now why I was so happy, I couldn’t really tell you why. But, I can tell you that I was saved by the “Ell” today, and that I’m so very fortunate to have her in my cell phone contacts, in my neighborhood, and in my life. ♥
I never had in an inkling to join Facebook. I was on MySpace, I had a blog, and I figured it was yet another social networking thingy to which I didn’t have more time to devote. When Nathan said, “Even my stepmother is on Facebook,” well, I had to join; I felt I had been challenged in some way!
Of course, before I signed up, I asked Nathan, “You will be my friend, right?” He said he would. I didn’t realize then how special that was in that moment.
After I got my account, Nathan became my friend. I searched around for other people I knew from MySpace, work, high school, and college. I owe my Lovely once-a-month gatherings to Facebook; I probably never would have connected with them in such a big way if it hadn’t been for the grace of Unemployment and Social Networking.
I became friends with my neighbor’s two sons. When I told her they were my friends, she said, “Really?!” They won’t let me be their friends!” I had to laugh.
I read articles about parents and children co-existing on Facebook. It seemed like a “yes” or “no” situation. Parents were allowed to be friends or they weren’t!
I have to say that I didn't really look at Nathan’s page much; I felt I knew his thoughts and what was going on in his world. But, one night a week or so ago, he posted some sad song lyrics and then there were a few self-chastising statements sprinkled in between those lyrics. So, I called him, said I noticed he seemed down because of his posts on Facebook, and then I asked him if everything was okay.
By his reaction, you’d think that I had called him “Bear” (childhood nickname) in front of his soccer buddies! “Mom, everything is fine. Why are you asking me that?!” I told him I saw a few of his posts, and I just wanted to make sure he was okay.
He reassured me that everything was just fine. He also said that the lyrics to “Everybody Hurts” were nothing to be concerned about. I said, “Okay. I just wanted to check,” and then felt like I had committed some major parental sin by checking on his mental well-being.
Minutes later, I received an email that stated “Nathan posted a comment on your wall.” Oh, jeez, I thought; now I’ve done it. Nathan said, “Please stop facebook stalking me. I'll be fine. Love your son.”
I guess he had told me. Of course, when I thought about it again, I remembered my own teen angst. It seemed like the number in “seventeen” could have been easily replaced during years thirteen through seventeen with “self-doubt-teen,” “I-don’t-fit-in-teen,” “I’m-not-good-enough-teen,” “I-hate-my-zits-teen,” and so on.
Somehow I still felt guilty for being concerned, so I texted Nathan.
"This sounds corny, but if anything ever happened to you or Iz, I would probably curl up in a ball and die. I’m your Mom; it’s my job to be concerned. Someday, you will understand that. You are not a pain in my ass. You ARE my life, Nathan.”
Within 5 minutes, my cell phone rang; it was Nathan. Before he could say anything, I somewhat apologized for being overly concerned about his posts. But, then I had to tell him why I might have been more sensitive about his thoughts; he was old enough to try to understand me as I tried to understand him.
The day before Quinn, Nathan’s Dad, and I got married, a Friday, we found out that Quinn's brother had committed suicide on Wednesday of the same week. He was only 23, engaged to a lovely woman, and was teaching shop at the high school level. I had developed a very close relationship with him, and we shared a love of “Wiseguy.”
Quinn and I got married as planned; and the next week, we were attending his brother's memorial service. After Quinn's brother died, I didn’t get on my bike for an entire year. When I look back now, I think it was the way I grieved; considering I was biking 20 miles a day then and racing, it was a huge loss to my life that reflected the huge loss that occurred in my life.
Anyway, when I had Nathan on the phone I said, “I know it might be hard for you to understand this now, but when your Uncle died, it was devastating for your Dad, me, and your grandparents. I loved your Uncle so much. This makes me very sensitive to depression now, and I guess, even if you’re not depressed, you need to understand where I’m coming from. I’d never ever want to have anything happen to you, especially if you needed help but were afraid to reach out to your Dad or to me. This is why I asked.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Nathan said, “I understand, Mom.” I said, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, think you aren’t a great kid, or think you are “Mostly Likely to Commit a Felony Before The Junior Prom,” it’s because I care about you." The conversation ended with a "Good night," and an "I love you."
Once again, we both understood each other yet on a different level. I was still parent, and he was still child. But, this time, I was reminded of my own teen angst, and Nathan was reminded that his Mom, despite being his Mom, had her own angst, too.
On Mother’s Day, I got an email. “Nathan posted a comment on your wall.” It said, “Happy Mother's day. I love you even though you think I’m depressed and occasionally FB stalk me. ♥ ♥ ♥"
Today, I don't think I would have done anything differently with Nathan. Even if Nathan threatens to delete me one of these days, which he hasn’t yet, I would still make the call asking, "Are you all right?" In my Facebook, it’s better to be safe and stalk than to be sorry for a lifetime. ♥
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.
