I was sitting at my desk at 9:44 this morning, wondering where in the world my son, Nathan, was. I had installed Skype on my Blackberry this morning, and I was waiting eagerly for Nathan to “Skype” me; is “Skype” a verb and can your son “Skype” you legally? Anyway, just as I was pondering those silly thoughts, I saw my Blackberry blinking.
I saw I had a text message. It was from a number I didn’t recognize. I opened the message and it said, “It’s Nathan. Just saying I’m here and the Internet does not work for now.”
I was so excited to hear from him. I said, “Hi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!* Are you in Hungary or the Czech Republic now? xoxoxxo**” He answered, “Hung over, I mean Hungary.” It was good to know that he still had his wise ass attitude even several thousand miles away.
*Excitement for Me = Excessive Use of the Exclamation Point **Love for Me = Redundant Use of “x” and “o”
I told him that I just downloaded Skype to my phone, and then I asked if he was going to sleep soon. I didn’t hear anything, so I wrote, “Just added you as a Skype contact, and I’m awaiting your approval.” He had deleted me as a Facebook friend (yes, really) a month ago; however, I knew I’d be a dear Skype friend for the next nine days, especially if he ran out of forints, korunas, or zlotnys!
I got one last message. He was signing off. Hopefully, he was going to bed in Hungary but not hungry, and he would not be hung over in the morning.
For lack of any other young man to mother, I took it upon myself to take Connor under my now momentarily vacant wing. I went through Connor’s line at the super market. He’s a cashier.
Connor said, “Hi, Jean.” He paused. Then he said, “Did you dye your hair?”
I said, “Connor, let me give you a little advice about what to say to a woman about her hair. You either like a woman’s hair and tell her you like it or you don’t, and you say nothing. You never ask her, ‘Did you dye your hair.” He said, “Oh, well, it looked darker.” I said, “Well, I went out in the sun, and it got darker!”
He laughed. He paused. Then he said, “I like your hair, Jean.” ***
***Funny, but I don’t think Nathan would have ever understood this point immediately like Connor did. They are two wonderful yet different young men. Besides, Connor had a girlfriend; Nathan had a friend who was girl who, well, never mind; it’s complicated!
I laughed and thanked him. I hoped that someday, when his girlfriend showed up with blonde hair instead of her usual brown, he would say, “I like your hair.” She would then bestow upon him much adoration, and Connor would think to himself, “Thank you, Jean." ♥
Interesting Blog Stalker Note: As you all know, sometimes I stalk my readers. After I wrote a particular blog, which mentioned Dell, I noticed that Dell (Austin, TX) had visited my blog. I wrote another blog, which mentioned Dell, and I noticed that Dell had visited my blog again. So, tonight, even though this blog has nothing to do with Dell technical support, Michael Dell, or my XPS M1330, which is pink and not relevant to this note at all, I just wanted to say Dell, Dell, Dell, Dell, and Dell to see if they’d end up here again. Sorry. Just screwin’ with you Dell guys, and it makes for an interesting experiment in my Internet blog stalking world. ♥
I was sitting at my desk at 8am this morning booting my laptop. As always, my IM opened and told me who was on. Ironically, my first day of work, I found out that my company never deleted my account, so when I opened my email and IM, both application populated with emails and contacts from long ago.
One of my IM contacts happened to be Nathan. When I was working, I used IM to contact co-workers. Nathan only used it when I was working at home, while he was only 5 feet away from me in his bedroom, to ask me what was for dinner.
I saw his light was green; however, I knew that Nathan could not possibly be up. The computer in his room at Quinn’s was on, and being 17, he was always logged into IM. Not wanting to delve right into work and seeing that his light was green, I wrote “49lkdfjsdkj fiddkfsjlkmklr94lkmvd” whatever that meant.
As expected, I didn’t get any response from Nathan. Nathan was leaving today for his trip, and I knew that, as his Mom, I needed to maintain communication with him until the last possible minute. I knew he was still fast asleep despite IM telling me that he wasn't, so I delved into a challenged outsourced user guide I was rewriting; it was so off the mark that it referred to “career” instead of “carrier.”
At 9:30, my IM blinked. It was Nathan. He said, “Huuuuuh?”
I asked him if he was all set for his trip; he said he was. I told him that I’d miss him and that I loved him. He responded, most empathetically, that he needed to go make a bagel with cream cheese.
At 11:30, my IM blinked again. Nathan said he was off. I wrote, “Good bye. Be safe. I love you,” and as I hit Enter I saw that his light had already gone dim.
I picked up my cell phone and called him. He answered and I asked, “Are you off then?” He said, “In a few minutes.”
I repeated my IM message to him over the phone, added “Don’t forget your Mom,” and began to get choked up. He seemed distracted, which I could totally understand. Then he said, “Yeah, you, too,” as he was walking out the front door of Quinn’s house.
I was in my office and tried not to cry in front of the straight-laced auditor, who moved into the cube across from me last week. While Nathan had traveled before, it had always been with me or with Quinn. This was his maiden voyage across the Atlantic on his own.
Not expecting to hear from Nathan until he needed more money while in Europe or a ride home from somebody’s house on the day he arrived home, I received a text message at 4:47 this afternoon. It simply said, “Am I allowed to drink alcoholic beverages in Europe?”
I remembered Nathan telling me a few weeks ago that the drinking age in the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland was 16. I was surprised that he made that point to me. Two months earlier, he had told me that he really didn’t like the taste of beer or wine; I thought, “Good! I wish you had inherited that from me!”
I responded, “Err, what did your Dad say? Do I need to give some sort of approval?” Then, I quickly said, “I thought you didn’t like wine or beer?!?!” And, before Nathan could get a text in edge-wise, I wrote, “I wish we had discussed this with your Dad before you were about to get on the plane!”
Of course, I sat there and said to myself, “Duh, Jean.” Nathan responded with the answer that reinforced my previous “Duh.” He said, “My Dad probably says Ok. Hurry. Time is of the essence. Just say yes or no.”
I know I mentioned previously that I was the good cop parent; Quinn was the bad cop parent. Nathan probably knew he needed to answer this question long before it was 5 minutes until departure. I was once again painted into a parental corner.
I tried to call Quinn. He didn’t answer his cell phone. I had to punt and said, “Yes, but only one beer each night. Please don’t abuse it.” Yes, when I reread that, I laughed also!
Then I decided to use a lifeline. I asked Nathan, “What did other parents say?” Nathan responded, “Everyone is a yes. Mom, you’re overreacting!”
I thought, “Aha, he’s lying and playing the Mother Doubt Thyself card!” I asked, “What time is your plane leaving?” He said, “Fifteen minutes.”
I had to make a firm decision on my own. I hated doing that. When it came to these kinds of things, I so missed having someone to make a decision with.
I said, “Wow! I am going to miss you so much. Okay, yes to having a beer. Be careful…people will take advantage of drunk teens! I love you!!!!” Nathan said, “Bye!!!! I’ll call you tonight hopefully on Skype.” I wasn’t going to hold my breath, because I knew that he’d be over the Atlantic Ocean most of the night.
I reached Quinn after the fact and told him what I told Nathan. He said, “Oh, sure. Let him puke his brains out if he wants, but I doubt he will.” He told me that for the last year, Nathan was offered a beer on most holidays yet he always declined. I told Quinn that I didn’t think the permission was about drinking for Nathan; it was only about being able to do what everyone else was doing if he wanted to.
Quinn said, “Gee, I noticed he didn’t call me about this.” Quinn had never gotten the memo about me being the good cop parent obviously. I said, “Hello, Quinn?! I will always know about anything that is everything before you will.”
And, in the talk about timing department, when I got home from work tonight, I saw an envelope from Nathan’s high school. It was his report card, and upon opening it, I saw that once again he had wonderful grades in the subjects he loved (Biology and History) and marginal grade in the subjects he could care less about like English. (He didn’t get that from me!)
I thought, “Jeez, not only had he timed that drinking-in-Europe question right, but he had conveniently escaped the country the day his report card arrived.” How did he do it? I wished I had his finesse when I was 17!
Anyway, Nathan is safely on the plane now. He’s probably dreaming about the possibility of drinking beer legally and not about his C in English. Sleep tight, Nathan, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. ♥
Nathan is leaving tomorrow for nine days in Europe. It’s not his first time abroad, so I’m not that worried. He traveled to Italy when he was 9 and to the UK when he was 10.
Of course, Iz is still trying to understand why Nathan gets to go on a trip and she doesn’t; she knew that she went to Italy in my tummy, yet she can’t help feel ripped off that she actually didn’t get to enjoy the trip as an out of body experience. This morning, she asked if she could go to Paris soon “outside my tummy,” and I said, “Hey, what about those horseback riding lessons, Iz?”
Nathan was prepared for his trip. He packed, he had his Hungarian forints, and most importantly, he was ready to leave home and his dishwashing job behind. I could see when he left last night, he was only looking forward and not back at his X-box, his kitten, Plume, or at his bowl of M&Ms in his new glass swan bowl.
I had installed Skype, so we could chat; however, the only thing that bothered me was that the wireless on his laptop was not working. This occurred shortly after Dell replaced his LCD. Since I spent about 40 minutes on the phone the last time, I figured that Nathan should do the time to get his wireless fixed, which he did.
I came home one night, and he said, “That woman was great!” I said, “Excuse me?” He said, “The woman at Dell tech support helped me fix my wireless,” though within days, like most new and sudden relationships, his adoration faded and plummeted when he said, “My wireless doesn’t work anymore.”
Knowing that I now had a job and that Nathan was 17, I said, “Call Dell technical support again.” He said he would, and when I came home from work last week, I practically killed myself almost tripping over the Ethernet cable strewn between Nathan’s room and the router under my desk in the hallway. Peeved, I asked, “Did you call Dell?”
He said, “I spent like 5 hours on hold.” Thank goodness, parenthood gives you subtitles. I read, “I spent 5 hours playing X-box, so I didn’t call.”
This morning, while at work, my IM blinked. It was Nathan saying, “Merf” whatever that meant; I responded with the obligatory, “Blarg” whatever that meant. After silliness, my parent side kicked in and said, “Call Dell tech support.” Nathan responded with “Ultimate Frisbee> Dell tech support.”
Tonight, I called Nathan to give him my Skype username. I heard all this yelling in the background; he was at his friend's house. I ended the conversation by saying, "I'll miss you, and I love you." Just then I heard several young male voices saying, "Ohhhhhhh. Ahhhhhh." Note to Nathan: Never put your Mom on speaker phone when you're with your friends!
When you’re a parent, you reach a point when you have to let go in certain respects. I knew Nathan was responsible and level-headed, and he’d do fine traveling on this trip. But, I also knew he needed to take control of things that I couldn’t do for him anymore; I couldn’t always be there to fix his wireless connection, wash his work shorts and shirt, or change his sheets. He’d learn this someday, but no matter what, I’d always love him, worry about him, be there for him, and miss him for the next 9 days. “Go on and go free,” Baby. ♥
I thought this was an original spin on "I like Ike." Who would have thought that someone came up with it before me, and here's the bumper sticker to prove it? Gasp!
I saw an interesting bike outside the local wine store tonight. Some of us bike for exercise, speed, and socks that say "Try and keep up!" Some of us bike to reduce our carbon footprint and carry a cute little stuffed animal. ♥
When I arrived home after running errands today, I saw my neighbor, Susan, in her yard tending to her flower bed. Usually, I’d wave, enter the driveway, and then go inside to address my indoor errands. But for some reason, I knew that I needed to go over and say “Hi” after I got out of my car.
Susan had lived next door to me for 10 years. While we never became as close and Ellen and I did, we were close enough to rely on each other every now and then. I went with her when she went to put her cat, Pumpkin, to sleep and I’d occasionally travel over to hold something for a minute while she hammered it or push something out of the way while she ripped something else off the wall.
A few weeks ago, Nathan and I bumped into Susan at the local greasy spoon restaurant. In one of those how-could-I-have-known-but-I-still-wish-I-didn’t-quite-say-it-that-way moments, I asked her, “What are you doing here? Playing hookey from work?” She said, “No, my Mom just died. I’m having breakfast with my brother and his wife.” Oh, shit.
I told her how sorry I was; she began to get teary-eyed. I said, “If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.” She thanked me and left; I knew Susan was very quiet, independent, and that she wouldn't contact me, especially if it was about something emotional.
I didn’t know her that well, but, I thought I knew her pretty well. It had been a few weeks since her mother had passed away. She didn’t reach out a lot, so when I saw her today, I knew it was time to reach out to her.
I walked over to her hedge and said, “Hi, Suzie-Q. How are you?” The minute she turned her face away from the rhododendron bush, I could see her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glassy not from the morning dew on her flowers but from the solitary tears that had traveled down over each iris. She said, “I’m having a bad day,” but I knew that before she said, “I’m.”
In an instant, I knew her cat had not coughed up a fur ball on her throw rug, her cable remote wasn’t broken, and she had not recently been convicted of a felony. All of that was not her bad day. Her bad day was that she was grieving the loss of her mother.
While Susan and I didn’t talk frequently or at the level that Ellen and I did, I felt compelled to speak to her like Ellen and I did so often. I said, “Susan, one thing I’ve learned is that grief has no expiration date.” It's okay to cry and to feel sad.
She said on the verge of tears, “I said to myself today, it’s been three weeks.” I said, “Three weeks is nothing, Susan.” I told her that not only had she lost her mother, but she was now an “orphan.”
I told Susan that when I lost my Dad, it was tremendous, but there was another feeling that lingered and took me a while to identify. At the worst moments in my life, I always thought, “If my whole life goes to shit, my parents will always be there.” When both my parents suddenly weren’t there, I realized that I had not only lost my father, I had lost a lifeline, too.
Susan said, “That’s exactly what I’ve been feeling today.” I said, “I don’t know exactly what you’re feeling, but I do know what it’s like feeling as you do today.” Even though you’ve been supporting yourself for years and maybe only talked to your Mom once a week, she was still your Mom. She was the half that made your parents your whole life.
I told her that some people wouldn't understand how she felt. She said that she mentioned something to her manager at work. He responded to her with, “You’re still dealing with that?”
But I told her for every one person who didn’t get it, there were nine others who did. No one ever would understand exactly how she felt, but she was walking in the footsteps of many others who traveled this seemingly lonely path before her. And, those of us who had been there before heard the voices.
They were not the voices of the dead. They were the voices of those who lost and were struggling to live with their loss. We'd be there for her when she needed us.
I told Susan that the most important thing she could do was not beat herself up for still grieving after the funeral. It was okay to feel the pain, as long as the pain didn’t make it impossible for her to get up every day. She didn’t have to get over it and move on; she owed it to herself to cry, to feel whatever she wanted to for as long as she wanted to, and to move slowly through it all.
I said, “In 37.4 weeks, you can be taking a walk, see something by the side of the road that will remind you of your Mom, and you will just start to cry.” You’ll feel silly, because you’ll be thinking, “Why am I crying for no reason?” But, there is a reason to that, and it’s totally okay; you lost someone you loved, and just because she doesn't continue doesn’t mean that your love for her doesn’t continue on and on and on.
She said that July 18th was her Mom’s birthday. Before I could say anything she said, “I have a friend coming to spend the day with me.” I told her that was a good idea, because every April 30th (my Mom’s birthday) was a hard day for me even almost 18 years later.
Many times during our conversation, I wanted to jump the hedge and give her a big hug; however, I knew this wouldn’t be my last conversation with her and there would probably needed hugs along the way. I knew that I’d watch over her, because though I didn’t know exactly how she felt, I knew how it all felt for her.
Before I left, I told her again that if she needed me, she should call me. I knew already though that I’d be over during the week to check on her. I said, “If you ever start crying, don’t feel badly. If you need someone to listen, I will come over. I won’t tell you to get over it. I will only tell you that your tears are not over yet.”
Susan stood there, immobilized in what I knew she felt was her own world. I hoped that by tomorrow what I said made her feel like she had landed on a Planet, albeit a momentarily sad one, that was well occupied and welcomed her with open and loving arms and a secret handshake to boot. As I went to leave, she said, “Thank you. That’s the best thing anyone has said to me yet.”
Do you know what’s really good about going through something bad in your own life? It’s when you’re able to make someone who is going through something just as bad in their life feel better due to what you learned from the bad thing in your life. It doesn’t erase the bad thing in your life, nor in the other person’s life, but it reaffirms that there are many more people out there who understand what you're going through than don’t. ♥
Communication and attitude were definitely the words for the week. Fortunately, they weren’t the words for my work week. Unfortunately, they were the words for my parenting week.
When I picked up Iz today at her Summer camp (the Summer Camp formerly known as the After-School program), she ran over to me with her forehead ever so sweaty from running around and said in her best angry whine, “Mommy, I didn’t need my car seat today.” She told me last night that they were going to Knuckle Bones, so when Nathan dropped her off this morning, I had him leave her car seat. I said, “But, I thought you said you were going to Knuckle Bones in the van?”
She said quite perturbed, “Nooooooo.” I asked, “Then what was the field trip today?” She said sighing, as if I didn’t know how to spell my own name, but to her credit, she saved me the eye roll, “The Knuckle Bone guy came here.” I said, “That must have been fun.” She said, “Oh. Yeah. Fun,” and then came the big finish, the eye roll.
It sounded like a good time to me given that she wasn’t reading through a User Guide most of the day trying to make sense of VoIP network security like I was. It seemed that Iz was really peeved because she didn’t get to go in the van. In fact, I think it didn’t matter where she went today, she just wanted to ride in the van somewhere!
As we headed down the stairs, I could sense her disappointment. Well, I didn’t sense it. She verbalized it, especially after she picked up her car seat by the doorway and sighed as we headed out the door.
Once we got in the car, I thought, “Okay, this van ride disappointment too shall pass,” especially if I offer her a Happy Meal for dinner. Of course, I counted on my Happy Meal being the answer to her contentedness before the Happy Meal toy was even opened. I hate it when I do that!
As we drove to McDonald’s, Iz said, “Mom, Miss Leola said that you can’t play games outside unless your forms are in.” I said, “All your forms are in.” She said, “No, Mom. Miss Leola said you can’t play games outside unless your forms are in.”
Again, I said, “Iz, all your forms are in, so you can play games outside.” She said, “No, Mom. Listen to me.” I said, “Iz, tell Miss Leola that you can play games outside, because your forms are in.”
She began to get upset. I had no idea why; her forms had been submitted. Iz had the green light on outdoor activities that I would not sue the school over. So, why was she bothered by what I said?
Again, she said, “No. Mommy. Listen to me.” Totally frustrated I said, “But, Iz….” She said, “Mommy, listen!”
I found it hard to believe I was missing something. I thought I had solved her problem by reassuring her that her forms were in. She could tell Miss Leola that she could play kickball outside tomorrow, and I would not sue the school if she fell down and scraped her knee.
Finally, I said, “Okay. Tell me again.” She said, “Miss Leola said that you couldn’t play games outside if your forms aren’t in. But, it’s outside. Isn’t that dumb?” I finally realized what she was trying to say, even though I thought that I knew what she was trying to say five minutes ago.
All she wanted to say was that she thought it was silly that kids needed forms to play games outside; I had to agree with her. I said, “Well, Iz, schools have to make sure that parents know what’s going on and approve of it.” I couldn’t help but travel back to when I was a kid; we had no helmets, there was only one form to sign, if any, and we used our imaginations instead of a Nintendo DS or an X-box.
So, after twenty minutes, I had finally understood what Iz was trying to say. After a day, I was still trying to understand what Nathan was trying to say to me most of the time. Some days, after such parent-child communications, I really wanted to give up, not pass Go, and head directly back to work.
Did that make me a bad parent? No. Today, I think it made me a perfectly normal parent. ♥
On my way home from work yesterday, I had to pick up Nathan at his Dad's house. When I arrived, he lumbered out the front door with his backpack slung over his right shoulder. He opened the car door, plopped himself down, listened to the CD that I was playing, and then he sighed, rolled his eyes, and frowned.
“Hi, Nathan. It’s nice to see you, too,” I said knowing that he wished that he was in his own car and listening to his music. Unfortunately for Nathan, he was at his parent’s mercy when it came to cars; though, I noticed that he had no problem making our cars his own by the amount of personal belongings that he kept in each. Within minutes of Nathan entering either car, the Toyota RAV or the GMC Suburban (a.k.a., Big Red) became a slightly different version of what I’m sure his high school locker looked like most days.
If there weren’t stinky soccer clothes in the back seat, there were Subway wrappers in the front seat. I had also determined that Subway was to Nathan what Sephora was to me. I wanted to give Nathan a quick economics lesson and explain that he might have more spending money for his European trip at the end of the month if he chose to spend less money at Subway; however, I feared great retribution (in the form of Sephora and Zappos), because as of late, Nathan had changed somewhat.
It wasn’t a bad change; it even seemed like there was a higher level of confidence exuding from him, a level that I still hadn’t atttained. He just seemed to be different in a way that I felt in my heart but couldn’t quite verbalize with words. He didn’t suddenly sell all of his Magic cards, tell me that dogs were superior to cats, or give up on Marine Biology for college study in order to be a sushi chef; there was something else going on.
Yesterday, I tried to think about exactly when this change occurred. I think it began the day he wanted to drive on the highway by himself shortly after he had gotten his driver’s license. In the last month, this change had become more obvious to me during our conversations.
It seemed he knew everything; everything I knew was met with eye rolling, sighs, and exasperation. At this point, even though he knew everything, he certainly didn’t have everything, because he had already asked me three times if I would be contributing to his Spending Money for Europe Fund. I knew my money wouldn’t be going toward food; most likely, I’d be paying for Polish magic cards and a few Hungarian Dungeons and Dragons books!
During two conversations yesterday, the change in him was more apparent than ever to me. He was the adult; I was the child; And, doesn’t that usually happen when you’re pushing 80 or 90 not 50? I had at least 32 years until he could officially roll his eyes and get impatient with me!
In the car, I started a conversation about his trip by asking, “So, do you have the $50 in Lithuanian currency that you need?” I received a sigh, an eye roll, and then he said, “Mom, I’m not going to Lithuanian!” I said, “Oh. I forgot. Where are you going again?”
He rattled off “Hungary, the Czech Republic, and Poland!” in a “Please, write this down for once and for all, Mom.” tone. I then asked, “Would you like to get a new pair of sneakers for the trip?” thinking he might like a pair of running sneakers for all the walking he was going to do. I received a sigh, an eye roll, and then he answered, “I have sneakers, Mom.”
We drove into the parking lot of the supermarket, so I thought it was best to change the subject. I used what I thought was non-eye roll and non-sigh question and asked, “Do you want to come in?” As he opened the door and got up to get out, he said smiling wickedly, “And, by the way, Mom, Munch is not the capitol of Hungary, although we will be stopping in Munich on the way to Hungary!”
When we were in the store, Nathan picked up a jug of iced tea. I said, “Ugh.” Nathan I had often battled over whose iced tea choice was superior; his was sugar-filled and mine was artificial sweetener-filled. As we walked through the store, he picked up several other items that were on his internal shopping list but were definitely not the external one I carried in my hand.
As we checked out, something went flying onto the conveyor belt as Nathan walked by me. I looked down and saw a package of sugar-free gum. I said half kiddingly, “Anything else, Nathan?” He said his usual, “No. I’m good.”
When we walked out, he offered me a piece of gum. I said, “No, thanks. I don’t like that mint-flavored sugar-free stuff. Just then we passed the gumball machines, and I said, “This is what I like, the sugar-filled ones that taste like bubble gum.”
Of course, this statement was met with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, and then I heard, “Mom. I just don’t get you.” Inside my head, I said, “Well, that makes two of us. Sometimes I don’t get you either!” Nathan said, “You like diet iced tea but yet you don't like sugar-free gum?!”
At that moment, I knew this was not a battle between him and me nor was it him being disrespectful to me. I decided to say something insightful and compelling just then instead of trying to defend my likes and dislikes in under 10 seconds to him. I said, “Oh, we’re having kielbasa for dinner.”
When driving home, I thought about it more. I bravely asked, “Nathan, what’s up with you lately? You seem a bit different in your attitude towards things.” Before I could say anymore, he said without even thinking, “You mean why am I a bitter angry teenager?”
I laughed out loud. Then, I thought about my new and different Nathan again. And, I said, “Gee, I hope we have hot dog rolls for the kielbasa.”
In retrospect, while Nathan seemed different in some subtle yet obvious ways, I didn’t really think there was anything to worry about. He was at a juncture in his life, having some freedom but not having complete freedom; he had the car keys but they weren’t to his car. The change I saw was only due to the fact that he was temporarily caught in between the world of being a boy and the world in which he would become a man. ♥
It’s really good to have a job. Yes, I know that seems obvious. But, since I’ve had my job back with my old company, I’ve been more productive (as far as tasks go, but not as far as writing goes as evidenced by this blog) in the last 48 hours than I have ever been before in the last year.
I was really nervous as I drove the familiar route back to work this morning. When I had interviews, I’d drive to the company, sit there for 30 minutes in the parking lot, be totally nervous, and then want to throw up. As I said to a friend, I had the advantage; I didn’t have to sit in the parking lot, because, today, I could go right into the corporate office, be nervous, and throw up!
As I walked the hallways at my old place of work, I saw many people I knew; and, it all came back to me. Well, the biggest part, the people I worked with, that didn’t come back to me at all. But today, most of them were with me by way of email.
When I bumped into yet another former co-worker, he said, “Welcome home!” I was stunned by what he said, but at the same time, I did feel like I was home again. It was a home I had lived in and loved for only a few years, but it had felt like a lifetime.
I had no real home to go to, given that both my Mom and Dad had died several years ago. I hadn’t been “home” in years. Yet today, when I was in my cubicle, I felt like I had clicked my heels, and I could finally say, “There’s no place like home.” ♥
Given that it was Father’s day and threatening to rain, I decided to again take my chances on the rail trail for a ride today. With thoughts of yesterday’s rail trail accident still fresh in my head, though the engineer I met yesterday was probably still mapping the whole collision out on the whiteboard in his head, I needed an accident-free ride today to feel less guilty. And, like some manufacturing plants, I needed to boast once again, even if it was my own invisible sign, “Jean has gone one day without an accident!”
As I passed the 5-mile mark, I had seen very few riders. Thankfully, the ones I did see were not riding side-by-side; most were single riders or families riding single file like they were ducklings just about to cross Embankment Road. I knew then that the odds were in my favor; the coast was clear, and this would be a day of no riding mishaps or further job opportunities!
While I was on the lookout for any cyclist who might cause me potential problems, I began to fall deeper into thought about my “new” but “old” job tomorrow. It felt like the first day of school as I thought, “What should I wear?”, “Should I bring or buy?”, and “When’s recess?” More realistically, I then thought, “Do I remember how to build a book in FrameMaker?”, “What’s VoIP again?”, and “Gosh, I can’t wait to hit that salad bar for lunch!”
When I was at the 7-mile mark, I saw an older gentleman riding toward me, which gave me cause to be concerned. While I knew he wasn’t one of those squirrely child riders, who at any minute might veer into me, he was wildly waving his arms; I thought, “Oh, no! The rail trail police! I’m being cited for yesterday’s accident.” As he whizzed by me, I saw that he wasn’t wearing a DCR uniform; however, as he passed me, he shouted, “Turtle!!!!”
Having been temporarily lost in my own little VoIP-Salad Bar world, I had to think a few times about what he said. Turtle? What turtle? Well, that was exactly it; when I finally came to, back into the Rail Trail world, I saw a huge snapping turtle in the middle of the trail.
I said, “Oh, jeez!” I swerved to miss him, narrowly avoiding the sandy wet shoulder, which surely would have sent me flying off my bike. Yesterday, it was engineers; today, it was turtles.
As I made my way further up the trail, I saw two riders ahead of me. It was a couple riding side-by-side as couples usually do, and as I approached, I said, “Passing on your left.” When I saw him go to jerk his bike to the right, I then quickly said, “But, take your time! Don’t bump into her! I’m not in a hurry!”
He almost hit her anyway. As I passed them, he said, “Sorry,” and I assumed this was because he thought he didn’t get out of my way fast enough. I said, “Oh, no! Thank you for moving over.”
When I neared the 25-mile mark (a.k.a., home), I thanked the Great Cat Goddess for no accidents. I was able to display my invisible sign again lauding myself for not being in or causing any accidents. I was still in a fog about everything though.
I hoped that by the time I arrived at “work” tomorrow that the fog would disperse, and it’d all come back to me -- the knowledge, the confidence, and those great hard-boiled eggs at the salad bar! But, I knew there would be no one to say, “Turtle!” to me to remove me from the Rail Trail World and put me back into the VoIP-Salad Bar world. Instead, I was pretty sure it would be the Program Manager saying, “July 30th,” which I knew was my first deadline. Eeek! Turtle! Turtle! Turtle! ♥
I went out for a ride on the rail trail today. I was solo, because Bill was at Fenway Park for a PMC-related event. If yesterday was a beautiful day for the beach, today was a beautiful day for a ride.
I made my way down the trail. As I rode, I listened to my “Rockin’” playlist on my iPod. As I approached two men riding side-by-side, “Animal Bar” blared in my ears.
I said “Passing on your left.” Some people know how to ride a bike, and some people don’t. I have been known to get frustrated by riders on the trail trail; however, I don’t think I’ve ever been obnoxious when it comes to slowing down for little kids on training wheels or giving side-by-side riders plenty of time to pull off to the right.
As soon as I said, “Passing on your left,” I knew there was going to be a problem. The rider was startled by my words. Judging by his actions, jerking his bike suddenly to the right and getting too close for biking comfort to his friend, I knew he heard, “Get the heck out of my way!” instead of, as I always meant it, “Passing on your left. No need to make a sudden quick move to the right and crash into your partner. Really, there is no hurry. I’m just letting you know that I’d like pass you.”
They both crashed into the grassy shoulder. I immediately stopped and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry.” I knew I hadn’t done a thing to cause the accident, but I felt that I should check to make sure they were both okay.
They both got up, and I said, “I’m so sorry” again. The younger rider said, “I’m okay.” The older rider got up and said, “What happened?”
The younger rider said to me, “You got too close.” Of course, I said, “No. I just said I was going to pass you.” They were going very slowly; I was only doing 10 m.p.h. as I followed a bike-length behind them.
The older rider then said quite calmly and authoritatively, “Let’s go over what happened.” I then immediately asked, “You’re an engineer, aren’t you?” He was stunned by my profiler abilities (thank you, Criminal Minds) and said, “Yes. I am.”
I said, “I’m a technical writer. I know these things.” He laughed. He then said, “I’ve been looking for you.”
Of course, I could count on no fingers the number of times a man had said, “I’ve been looking for you” in my lifetime. I asked, “You have?” I told him that I was no longer available, because I had just accepted a job.
I then asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?” The younger rider said, “I’m fine.” The older rider said, “We’re fine, thanks. Go, and good luck!”
After looking for a job for over a year, I found it ironic that there was job opportunity staring me in the face, albeit a bit shaken up, on the rail trail. I guess I could have said, “I’ll send you my resume,” but I didn’t. The grass was always greener, but sometimes you just had to stay in and run through your own lawn for a bit longer to see what would happen. ♥
End blog soundtrack, because I love this song:
A Blog from Jean on a Saturday Night Note: Before I begin my job on Monday, I'm trying to master the short but entertaining blog post. Did I succeed tonight? Only you know for sure. ♥
Of course, I knew that there would be a downside to employment. It was the same downside that unemployment had. You had to leave people you loved.
I knew one person would be definitely be upset about my return to work. Iz said, “No. I don’t want to spend the Summer at the after-school program,” as if she was just given a three-month sentence at Sing Sing. I did my best to reassure her, and I’m afraid, feeling a tad guilty, I immediately played the But Now You Can Take Horseback Riding Lessons card.
I didn’t realize how much someone else might miss me until I received an email from my friend, Chris, the other day. I told him I was off to BWB (i.e., Bike with Bill). He responded, “Enjoy your bike. I bet Bill will miss you.” I then thought, “Jeez. The two people I will miss the most will be Iz and Bill.”
I knew all along that Bill was rooting for me; however, for the last six months, I think he was rooting for my bike and not for my resume. I could totally understand his feelings though. It seemed that on any given day, I waffled between “I could really get used to this” and “I’ve got to get out of this.”
After the job dust settled on Tuesday, I wrote all my friends to let them know that I was off the job market and off the rail trail. Bill was one of the first people I emailed. While Bill and I “just” biked together, our miles on the rail trail had become more about friendship than exercise after our first bike ride together.
Bill said, “So, you start work on Monday. My brain is such a collage of emotions that I don't really know how to respond to your new found employment. I guess I'm happy if it makes you happy!” My life had become this wonderful thing this last year due to my time spent with Iz and Nathan and my time spent biking my brains out and my butt off with Bill; my miles with Bill had become some of the greatest miles and moments of my life.
It wasn’t like I got on my bike every day and said, “I need to ride 30 miles today in order to meeting my training requirements.” I waited for a text message from Bill every morning asking me, “Ride today?” And, I got on my bike every day thinking, “What will Bill and I talk about today?” and never about the miles biked or the calories burned.
I reread Bill’s email again; I knew, like me, he was happy, yet somewhat disappointed with the job prospect. Bill had become one of my dearest friends this last year. He wasn’t a Lovely, and he wasn’t a co-worker; however, he was the friend who handed me his handkerchief when I sobbed at the bridge one cold and rainy morning when I was upset about just about everything.
When Bill and I rode the other day, he asked me if I was going to sell my bike. I laughed out loud, and I wondered if this was his way of getting in a jab, not at me, but with my employment. The following day, he asked me if our potential ride might be to my new job, so we could see how far it was.
I knew then that he was gradually coming over to my employed side. I didn't like it any better than he did, but I think we both knew it was inevitable. Regardless, I was so glad that he was there by my side whether it be on a bike or by text message.
Today, Iz and I went to Crane Beach; as we left the beach, I knew I’d miss the ability to head off to the beach, to Cambridge, or anywhere else on a week day. I, too, felt a collage of emotions on my last day of freedom; however, I knew I’d make it all work again. I’d write my documentation, I’d see Iz and Nate, and I still ride with Bill whenever I could; this was yet another new beginning in my old life. ♥
It’s amazing how life can go from zero to 60 miles an hour when you feel like you never even stepped on the gas pedal. Earlier this week, I had a three month contract job opportunity with my ex-employer, the company that laid me off over a year ago, and I had a full-time opportunity at a data warehousing company. So, I had possibilities in my scale, but one was an apple and the other was an orange.
Some might not even consider an offer from their ex-employer. While I was devastated when I got laid off and went through a rainbow of emotions, I found my pot of gold at the end of that rainbow, and it was time spent with the people I love or doing things I had never had much time to do when I was employed. At the end of the day, I reasoned that my company had to do what they did to survive the economy, and that they had done me the biggest favor of my life in some ways by giving me a year to spend exactly as I wanted.
And, it was hard not to still like them, because I had liked my job so much and all the people I worked with. After I got laid off, I even continued to go back to run at lunch with my friends; sometimes, after running, I’d even park myself in a cubicle with my laptop and silently sit there applying for jobs or writing my blog in the company of all my still-employed co-workers. I knew people who just couldn’t go back, but for some reason, I wanted to go back.
Sometimes when I ran with my friends, I’d pass someone from the company that I hadn’t known very well who was still employed and also out running. A look of recognition would slowly wash over the face almost as if saying, “Hey, she doesn’t work here anymore! What’s she doing running around here?” In an instant, that look would fade and a huge smile would form and I’d see a “Hi” escape from the smiling lips.
Instead of "Wow, she's a weirdo," though there could have been a few of those, it almost felt like each person thought as they passed me, “Wow. They let her go, but she’s not going to let them get her down.” At one point, I went back so frequently that I felt like the Red Stapler guy (Milton Waddams) in “Office Space.” I was just waiting for someone in HR to come up to me, tap me on the shoulder, and say, “Excuse me, Jean, but you don’t work here anymore, remember?!”
My other job opportunity was with a great company, but it was an hour away versus twenty minutes away like my old company; however, I did go for an interview. While the product was interesting and the people were lovely, I began to do the commuting math on the way home. I concluded that the round-trip was 2 hours with no traffic, and that this job would mean that I’d only live to go to work during the week; worse, I’d probably get to see Iz and Nathan only for about an hour a day.
So, what did I decide? I thought Fate might make the decision for me; however, I was then asked for a second interview at the hour-commute company to meet the CEO and the third co-founder. After over a year of rejection, it was really a "You like me, you really like me” Sally Field moment when it came to pondering both opportunities. After much thinking, fretting, and numerous consultations with friends, I declined the second interview and signed on with my old company; they wanted me back, and I wanted to be “back.”
Ironically, the company that laid me off had taught me the greatest lesson when it came to decisions like this. When I declined the second interview, I wrote, “One thing I've learned this last unemployed year is how important the time I spend with my children is, especially my 7-year-old.” While coming to a decision was difficult with the “what ifs,” the “maybes,” and the “My old company really has a kick-ass salad bar,” ultimately, deciding what to do was really easy; by way of letting me go, my old company had made me realize that coming back to them was not only good for me but good for Iz, too, even without the lure of horseback riding lessons. ♥
I consider Steve my good friend, too. We don’t see each other a lot. But, I think our friendship is always there in spirit; this I know and always feel.
Anyway, Steve is a terrific saxophone player. He went to Berklee College of Music on a full scholarship, which I’ve boasted about before here. This is what we mothers do, even when we’re not your mother.
So, this is today’s birthday math…
Super Duper Guy + Super Duper Saxophone Player = Steve.
I wanted to share his music with you. I have it all on my iPod, and, I’ve always wanted to have one of his songs on my blog; this song always gives me goose bumps when I listen to it. Crank it up and enjoy!
Happy Birthday, Steve!!!! You rock when you’re not a totally cool cat. ♥
Who Invented the Saxophone Note: Like I said once upon another blog, I like to think my blog can be educational, err, sometimes. So, until today, I didn’t know who invented the saxophone. I guess I thought it was the same person who invented the chicken and the egg. But, it was Albert Sax, which when you think about makes total sense, um, I think. (And, if there is ever a movie about Albert Sax, don’t you think Russell Crowe should play him?!)
Believe it or not, there are certain benefits to unemployment. What is the biggest benefit? It’s the ability to do things that most mere employed mortals can’t do.
I’m not Sabrina of Bewitched. Though, after kissing Liam most days, I do wriggle my nose due to the fur that lingers on my nose or gets stuck to my lip gloss. Anyway, it’s magical to be able to do what I did today.
I went into Cambridge to see my friend, Dee. I know that doesn’t sound magical in the least; in fact, we didn’t even have lunch together. The magical thing about it was that I traveled there only to walk 30 minutes along the Charles River with her during her lunch break.
Crazy, huh? When I proposed a meet and walk, she said, “Ok. We'll plan on noon time and talk again.” I replied with “Roger wilco.” She answered with “You’re crazy!”
Yes, I was crazy, because I said, “Roger wilco.” I would have thought I was crazy for traveling all the way to Cambridge* just to spend 30 minutes walking with her. But, no, I was crazy, because I liked to talk like a radio operator!
*A 45-minute car ride to Alewife and a 30-minute subway journey, well, approximately
Before I left this morning, Dee, like a good hostess, said, “And did you know that the Galleria mall has a Sephora, in case you want to stop in before departing for home?” I laughed out loud. You have to love someone who thinks you’re crazy but who also supports and feeds your passion.
Before any major journey, especially one that’s prefaced with “Roger wilco,” it is important to chose the right footwear. Okay, maybe it’s not for you; however, it is for me. I had to choose Nike or Chuck.
Of course, fortunately, I didn’t have to think too long. Well, I did initially, because I have four pairs of Chuck Taylor sneakers. In the end, the decision was made in the state of New Hampshire; “Wear Chucks or Die!”
Dee was going to eat at her desk at 11:30. So, I made a tuna fish sandwich that I knew I’d have to enjoy somewhere between the Harvard and Park Street stops on the red line. Note: Always bring a napkin. You’re a peasant if you eat your tuna fish sandwich on the T without one.
After a 45-minute car ride, I arrived at Alewife station. I had a CharlieCard from my last trip to Cambridge to see Lovely Laura; however, I was sure it only had one more fare left, and I needed two for the entire journey. I popped it into the CharlieCard machine, added $5, and then I paid with a $20.
My energized card popped out of the machine. I glanced toward what I thought was the bill change slot. Just then I heard kla-klunk, kla-klunk, kla-klunk, kla-klunk, and it went on until $15 one dollar coins had been spit out.
I was horrified by this handful of change. I was glad I got the right change; however, my coin purse shouted, “Nooooo!” as I dumped all the coins in it. Even the Amtrak parking machine can dispense bills for change, why couldn’t the MBTA fare machine?!
I left the MBTA machine a pound heavier in my purse. No woman likes to leave anywhere a pound heavier, unless it’s due to cheesecake or chocolate! The MBTA should really work on that one.
It’s a good thing I know where I’m going.
Lunch between the Harvard and Park Street stations.
When I got on the train, I heaved a sigh of relief. I was contained, and I could think, and given all the job thoughts swirling in my head, I needed the time alone with myself. In about two minutes, I was reading the signs on the train.
One caught my eye. It asked, “Have you experienced a traumatic event (i.e., combat, physical assault, motor vehicle accident, sexual assault, or marital disaster)?” Initially, I wondered why unemployment wasn’t listed; then I thought, “marital disaster?” Is that the new term for divorce?
When I got up to get out of the car, I read the sign again; okay, someone needs to wear her glasses more often. It said “natural disaster” not marital disaster. It was too bad, because I had become so fond of marital disaster!
I walked up the stairs to the Park Street station. Do you think when my blog becomes famous that the woman in this picture will be like the woman wearing the white scarf and cat glasses in the Mary Tyler Moore opening theme? Yeah, I think so!
Once I had arrived at the Green line via the Red line, I stood there waiting for a Lechmere train. Two Government Center trains came in; I looked at my phone, and I was now late. Who knew that there were two Government Center trains for every Lechmere train?
When I was on the train, my cell phone rang. I looked at the number, and it was Dee. I answered and said, “I’m two stops away. I’ll call you when I’m at Lechmere.”
Once I got to Lechmere, I called Dee; she asked, “Where are you?” I said, “I’m, well….” Just then a friendly T passenger told me where I was; I knew where I was, but I didn’t really know where I was going. He said, “Go down this street; that’s one of the new buildings.”
As I traveled down the street, I got the sense that I wasn’t going in the right direction. I called Dee again and we tried to describe to each other exactly where we were. When I was at an intersection, Dee said, “Let me get to the lights, and I’ll wave.”
I was standing at the intersection, and then I saw her approaching. It was as if we were playing Hide and Seek via cell phone; I called her cell and said, “Oh, I see you.” I started to jump up and down, and then I saw her look at me and wave.
It took me about 10 minutes to get through the intersection. When I finally saw Dee, we hugged, and she said, “I wondered if you were biking in. I kept looking for you on a bike!” I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy, Dee.
Once found, we began to walk along the beautiful Charles River. We caught up while we walked. We shared job search horror stories; it was lovely and consoling just the same.
When I left Dee, I was thirsty. So, I went to the Galleria Mall, but I totally ignored the Sephora; yes, I did! I got a Caramel Light Frappuccino.
Note: While I do not endorse Starbucks products, I do drink them occasionally.
I walked a mile or so to the Lechmere stop. I stood there for 10 minutes, until the T driver, who had just dropped off a slew of people asked me, “Are you waiting for someone?” I answered, “No. I’m trying to get an inbound train,” and he said, “You need to cross under the bridge!”
I crossed under the bridge, put my CharlieCard in the machine, and within 2 minutes, I was on a train back to Park Street. As I was jostled to and fro, I thought, “I just spent almost two hours to walk 30 minutes with my friend.” By the time I arrived at Park Street, I thought, “That was so worth it!”
When I arrived back at Alewife, I was sad the journey was over. As you know, I could have spent more time on the train. If I did, there would have been that much more to write about!
Once I arrived at Alewife, I was thirsty again. After I went through the gate, I saw a Dunkin’ Donuts. I thought, “Iced tea with lemon, Iced tea with lemon,” and so it was.
Note: While I do not endorse Dunkin' Donuts products, I do drink them occasionally.
As I contemplated the job opportunities I had before me, I realized that, despite everything, it had been a very good year. I will not look back fondly on unemployment and all the feelings it brought. Though, I will look back fondly upon the time spent with Iz and Nate, on my bike with Bill, at the beach, and with my friends this past year. In retrospect, this had been and will always be the best year of my life. ♥
The Seven Stages of Broken: This morning, I arrived in the kitchen to find Iz wiping the ledge of the bay window with a spray bottle of carpet cleaner. I asked, “Iz, what are you doing?” She said, “Liam barfed.” I said, “Oh, where’s the barf.” She answered, “In the trash can.” I thanked her for cleaning it up, and then I said, “Oh, we want to use the wood cleaner.” I opened the cabinet, pulled out the bottle of Murhpy’s Oil Soap, and I squirted it on the ledge. I said, “Go eat your breakfast. I’ll do this.” She said, “No, Mommy. I’ll do it. I need to do this to buy Nathan’s swan bowl,” which was said with no animosity whatsoever and with the utmost determination. And, we have the seventh stage – Responsibility.
Last Saturday morning, Iz and I were in the family room watching America’s Next Top Model together. Iz is usually more into the show than I am, telling me that she’ll “pause” it every time I get up to do something. Believe it or not, I usually say, “Nah. Don’t bother.”
At one point, she lost her zealousness. I turned to look at her. She was in a headstand on the couch, and then she began to bang her feet against the window.
I said, “Iz, please do not do that. Sit up, and stop banging your feet against the window. That’s the way people get hurt and things get broken.” I thought then how much I sounded like my mother; but it was so good to hear my Mom's voice again. Iz said defiantly, “Well, I’m not bothering you!” Ironically, I knew I had said that to my mom's voice before.
I said, “Iz!!!!!” I would have ended that exclamatory statement with, “Period,” but sadly it didn’t fit! She righted herself, got off the couch, and then trotted upstairs.
Just as Jay Manuel told one model that she needed to take more direction from her photographer, I heard a HUGE crash from upstairs. I got up and did the fastest 15-yard dash of my life while thinking and wondering “That was glass! Is Iz hurt?” As I approached the stairs, I heard Iz’s footsteps traveling South; she said, “Mommy, I didn't do anything! I don’t know what happened!”
Immediately, Babel Fish, located in the parental lobe of my brain (they don’t advertise it, but it’s there!), kicked in. I heard what Iz said; however, my brain began to translate her words. Suddenly, “Mommy, I didn't do anything! I don’t know what happened!” translated into “Mommy, I did it. I know exactly what happened.”
Seeing Iz was intact with no scrapes, bruises, or missing limbs, I rushed up the stairs with her following closely behind. She said, “Mommy, I just heard this loud noise! I didn't do anything!” My instinct was to pop my head into Nathan’s room; and, my instinct was right.
Denial
I saw Nathan's beautiful blue art glass swan bowl in about 147 pieces on his bedroom floor. I yelled, “Oh, no!” I looked back at Iz, and as she said, “Really, Mommy, I don’t know what happened,” she started to cry. Sensing she knew exactly what happened, I looked back and said, “Iz, now’s the time to tell the truth.”
It wasn’t a very expensive bowl; however, Nathan had bought it at the flea market a few years ago and paid for it himself. It had cost him $25, which was a lot to him then. It was near and dear to his heart, especially since he kept his supply of M&Ms in it!
Truth
Iz, sensing my distinct disappointment and sadness, began to sob so badly that she began to gulp for air. I scooped her up in my arms and sat down with her on her bed. She said, “I was on Nathan’s bed, and then I hit the bowl with my hand.”
Again, Babel Fish kicked in. I heard, “I was on Nathan’s bed doing cartwheels, and I knocked the bowl off his bureau.” I told her that it was okay, but I reminded her about what I had said earlier; it wasn't okay to do gymnastics in the house.
Hysterics
Iz began sob more, even after I reassured her. Ironically and happily, she was more concerned about Nathan than what I thought about the incident. She became inconsolable.
I remember a lot of good things about my Mom. One of the best things, which has consoled my children more times than I can remember, was her “Take a deep breath” theory when we were sobbing uncontrollably.
Once you say it, they think about it. They take one or two deep breaths while you rub their backs. Finally, they can actually speak a word without gasping for air.
Guilt
Once Iz was able to speak, she said, “Nathan’s going to hate me. He won’t be my brother anymore!” She began to sob a bit again. I said, “No. He will always be your brother. He will not hate you, Iz.”
I told her that she would have to replace Nathan’s bowl. She said while totally weepy, “Fine. I will give him my $17!” I told her that perhaps she could do extra chores instead of giving up her cash; in that moment, she accepted the plea bargain.
I then explained to her how it was important to listen. She had broken Nathan’s favorite bowl, but she could have been seriously injured from the broken glass. Even if she felt she knew best all the time, most of the time, I knew better.
Compensation (Google)
Nathan was at work while all of this happened. I texted him to tell him, and I tried to ask him to be lenient with his sister. Shortly after Iz went to bed, I googled, “glass swan bowl.” Amazingly, I saw a picture of the exact bowl Nathan had, though it was green and not blue.
A small antiques store in Vermont was selling the bowl for $35. I bought it. I sent the picture to Nathan to let him know that I didn’t take his bowl lightly.
In this situation, some parents might have asked the older sibling to “forget” it. I knew they both should “remember” it. Nathan should know that I respected his belonging; Iz should know that she was responsible for her actions and for replacing Nathan’s belonging.
The next morning, Iz kept asking, “Is Nathan up yet?” She knew that she had to apologize. Once Nathan was up, I called her upstairs; though, I had to call her a few times.
She plodded up the stairs and ever so slowly walked the five feet to Nathan's room. She popped her head half-heartedly in the door. She mumbled in a whisper as she hung her head low and said, “Nathan, I’m sorry I broke your bowl.”
Nathan, who had been somewhat pre-programmed said, “I’m disappointed you broke my bowl, but I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” In that moment, Iz was redeemed. And she walked off, as if all was forgotten, well, even the extra chores she was supposed to do to make amends for Nathan’s bowl.
I didn’t demand her $17. I only asked that she do a few extra chores, which would amount to far less than I spent on Nathan's new bowl which cost $40 by the time shipping from VT was added in. They involved walking Monty around the house two or three times, helping to vacuum, which she loved anyway, and carrying in grocery bags.
Indignation
On Sunday, I asked, “Will you walk Monty around the house three times, Iz?” She frowned, started to pout, and then began to whimper. She said, “I might as well have wasted my $17 on Nathan!”
I tried to explain to her that she didn’t “waste” her money. I never asked for her money. I asked for her to do chores to earn money, and it was not a waste to replace an item she ruined.
We wrestled over this for most of the weekend. While she admitted to breaking the bowl and feeling badly about it, she didn’t really want to do “the time” for it. Understandably so, but in our family, she would do the time and buy a new bowl.
Today, we're still struggling with this; I think it’s less about the compensation part and more about the guilt she feels. She doesn’t want to walk away from the compensation, but she can’t get over the guilt. I’ve tried hard not to make her feel guilty; I’ve only tried to make her understand that she needs to make it right, and that Nathan and I love her no less because of it.
Nathan’s bowl arrived in the mail today. I didn’t point it out to Iz, because I didn’t want to make her feel guilty. She said to me, “Mom, did you see Nathan’s new bowl?”
I said I did, but that was all I said. While Iz was perfect in my eyes, she had much more to learn, and, come to think of it, so did I. At 48, I knew I had learned many things, but there were plenty of things I had to learn again, too. Thankfully, Iz can learn from me, I can learn from her, and we can hold hands as we learn together. ♥
As mentioned in my yesterday’s blog, Iz lost her third baby tooth. Of course, as always with kids, there was always a major issue surrounding any event. Iz’s was that she had lost her tooth somewhere at school; when I picked her up at the after school program, she began to fret about not having a tooth to put under pillow that night.
Quick-thinking is definitely a needed parental attribute. I said, “Oh, that’s not a problem.” She looked at me hopefully.
I told her that it was perfectly okay to put a picture of a tooth under your pillow. Teeth were so small, especially baby teeth, that the Tooth Fairy expected such mishaps like losing or even swallowing one. I was spinning such a good tale, I felt like I had the Tooth Fairy on my speed dial due to our daily conversations in which she divulged all of Tooth Fairy, Inc.’s operating procedures to me.
When Iz and I got home, it was clear to see what was on her agenda; it was replacing her lost tooth. In about 5 minutes, we were on my laptop googling for “tooth” pictures. Of course, Iz’s reaction to each one was “Ewwwww.”
After viewing incisors, canines, premolars, and molars, we selected a very nice canine. I think it was a canine, though I’m better with the canines that live in a house and not in one’s mouth. After printing out our canine, Iz took the picture and a pair of scissors and went into her room.
After hearing silence for 5 minutes, which could potentially mean trouble when you have a 7-year-old, I said, “Iz?” She said, “Whaaaaaat?” I asked her what she was doing, and she said, like I was quite stupid, “I’m writing my letter to the Tooth Fairy, Mom!”
I told her to continue, and after another 5 minutes of silence, she came out of her room empty-handed. I asked, “Where’s your letter?” She said, “Under my pillow with my tooth.”
I asked, “Can I read it?” She glared at me and said, “No! I asked for something, and if you read it, it won’t come true.” I said, “Okay,” knowing, like any other parent, I’d sneak a peek after she fell asleep!
And so I did…
Dear Tooth Fairy,
I wish by tomow I could have powers like you if you don’t that’s ok because I don’t want mony instead of mony I want powers.
After I read it, I was thinking, “Powers?” Did she want to be able to change Plume into a real-life sister, or did she want to make Nathan’s X-box malfunction when he refused her admittance into his room. As the Tooth Fairy, I could empower Iz, and so I did.
Of course, I was not any Tooth Fairy. I wrote letters and was somewhat creative about it. I downloaded a tooth font, and in a few minutes, I had my letter to Iz.
Dear Iz, Thank you for your tooth. I will find the real one at school. You already have special powers. They are kindness and love. I love you, Iz.
Of course, I got up at 5:30 this morning to prepare for my interview. Iz woke up at 5:30 to see what the Tooth Fairy had left her. My nervous stomach wished for a moment that I was Iz.
The door to her room opened with a bang. “Mommy, look what the Tooth Fairy left me.” The Tooth Fairy had been quite generous; it wasn’t a pony, but it was $10 and a Sephora gift card, which I think is a close second to a pony when you are a 7-year-old.
I asked, “Do you think she found your tooth at school?” Iz said, “She said she did in the letter. And, um, she woke me up and talked to me, too!” Iz then paused and decided to go with a good story saying, “When she woke me up, she was wearing a pink-gold dress. She had blonde curly hair. Then I met all her friends. Oh, no, I just met Crystal. But she told me about her other friends, Chloe, Jade, Sasha, and Jasmine. [ed., I don’t think it was a coincidence that those all sounded like the names of potential competitors on America’s Next Top Model.] One girl didn’t have a name, so they named her Jean. There was a boy named Nathan and another named Eric, and they were all going to a party. Isn’t that cool?” I agreed, and I knew that besides being kind, my daughter was also a born story teller.
I asked, “So, what did her letter say?” She said, “I really shouldn’t tell you,” and then looked at me like telling me would breach the non-disclosure agreement she had signed with the Tooth Fairy. Then, deciding that perhaps I had the appropriate security clearance, she said in just above a whisper, “I have powers.”
I said, “You do? What kind?” Again, she hesitated and said, “I have the power to make people happy, because I’m kind!” I said, “You do. You are a very powerful and wonderful girl, Iz, and that’s the truth.” ♥
Wisdom Without the Teeth
After my interview today, which I thought went well, I picked up Nathan at school. Out of the blue, he asked, “Mom, were you there when I fell asleep in the oral surgeon’s office?” “No. I left, remember?” “I only remember the doctor telling me I’d begin to feel drunk.” “I kissed you on the forehead and then left to go to the waiting room.” “I don’t remember any of that!” “Oh, good, because when I left, the doctor slipped me $500 for all those scientific experiments that he was going to perform on you while you were unconscious. Nathan groaned. “Seriously, when I say the magic word, you should start to furiously itch your entire body!” Just then I shouted “Maximilian! Maximilian! Maximilian!” at him. Nathan rolled his eyes. I said, “Not even a scratch?” Nathan sighed. I said, “Oops. I see that experiment didn’t work.” Not wanting me to get the better of him, Nathan pulled out his “Remind Mom She Doesn’t Have a Job” card by saying, “Mom, when I’m rich and famous, you can work for me, okay?” Before I could say anything and perhaps sensing the look forming on my face, Nathan caught himself and said, “Oh, yeah. You already do a lot for me.” I said, “That’s what parenthood is all about, Maximilian! Anything? A little itch on your nose perhaps?” And, we both laughed. ♥
For Lynda, a dear friend and my favorite dog whisperer...
When having breakfast this morning with my friend, Lynda, I told her it was time for me to take a trip, however, it was not to New York City or to Crane Beach. I had to climb the attic stairs to retrieve my black suit. I explained that I had an interview tomorrow morning.
Lynda exclaimed, “What?! You’re wearing a monkey suit.” I laughed. I had always thought of it as my "boring black interview" suit.
It had a jacket and then for some mix-it-up excitement, I could wear either the boring black pants or the boring black skirt. Of course, wearing the skirt depended largely on the time of year and whether or not I had recently shaved my legs. Being me though, I jazzed the outfit up with violet sweater and the always-make-you-look-classy pearls; and, by now, we all know that things look classier with pearls.
Unfortunately, it was too warm to wear my vintage wool houndstooth suit with my matching housetooth stilettos. That outfit was definitely my “power” suit. When wearing it, I couldn’t veto any bills nor could I karate chop a board in half with my bare hand; however, that suit did make me feeling like I could leap tall interviews in a single bound.
Lynda asked, “Do you really have to wear a suit? Don’t you have something else just as classy?” Of course, Lynda was preaching to the Always Dare to Dress Differently Fashion choir. I would love to wear one of my fabulous dresses from the 40s (perhaps the multi-colored one with my two-tone pink pumps); however, I felt that the boring black interview suit from Ann Taylor came before the vintage dress, even if in reality the vintage dress came first chronologically and, for me, emotionally.
No matter what I wear, I'm sure I will dazzle them, despite the boring black interview suit. I will do my card tricks, juggle, and read their minds. Oh, right, I can't do any of that; damn, I'll just have to dazzle them with me! ♥
I’m off to study for my interview now. I'm a little rusty, but I'm sure I'll do fine. Once again, I’ve gone over the usual questions and devised my usual answers for them. ♥
What are your pet peeves? Monty’s incessant barking.
What’s your greatest weakness? Shoes and Sephora.
Tell me about yourself. RMB (read my blog); I’m all there in black and white when I’m not there wearing pink or pearls. Are you willing to travel? Yes, but only to New York City and Crane Beach, and I might consider biking to Austin, Texas.
What have you been doing since your last job? RMB; it’s a travel log through full-time motherhood and unemployment when it’s not creative zaniness or makes some of my friends teary-eyed.
How do you handle stress and pressure? Biking and chardonnay, but I never mix them, because that's how bones get broken!
What do people most often criticize about you? I’m not outgoing, and I don't talk much. Okay, okay, okay. I'm too outgoing, and I talk too much!
What is your greatest strength? Duh. My vintage houndstooth suit with my matching housetooth stilettos.
How do you evaluate success? When Iz and Nate tell me that they love me.
What are you passionate about? Everything, except Monty’s barking!
What were your starting and final levels of compensation at your last job? My co-workers and my co-workers……………………………and the salad bar in the cafeteria when it wasn't running at lunch with……………………………my co-workers.
What will you do if you don't get this position? Move to Bolivia and grow soy beans or, most likely, spend an absolutely fabulous Summer at Crane Beach with my daughter.
End blog picture:
More Exciting Than the Job Interview Note: Iz lost her third tooth.
Actually, she lost it at "circle time," and then she lost the actual tooth somewhere in between the classroom, the playground, and the bus ride to the after-school program. I reassured her that the tooth fairy accepted tooth facsimilies; that is, she could put a picture of a tooth under her pillow and still reap the same reward. She said, "I got $5, then I got $10. Do you think I can get a pony now?" ♥
Something really unusual happened this past week. Unfortunately, no, Monty had not stopped barking nor had Iz stopped asking me 146 questions every day. It was that I had two potential job opportunities.
This last year, I had looked high and low for a job. Well, I looked hard when I wasn’t writing my blog, searching for a big lipstick, dressing up my animals, making movies with Iz, or soaking up the rays at Crane Beach. Interviews, every two months or so, dotted the year; however, it seemed like the last year had been, borrowing one of my friend’s expressions, a 50-plus week job interview.
Some days it was hard not to feel like Goldilocks. You’re too hard; you’re too soft. I had hoped for a “just right” sooner rather than later; and, this past week, it became sooner though much later than I ever expected.
I was excited; however, there were definitely people around me who hoped that my “just right” would be continued unemployment. Their hope wasn't selfish. It was because they loved me and had grown accustomed to my face in this place.
I made the mistake one afternoon of mentioning one job opportunity within earshot of Iz. I didn’t think it would bother her in the least. In the past, she was always the one asking me, “When are you going to get a job, Mommy?” which I know was fueled by my “When I get a job, you can take horseback riding lessons” statement to her.
When she heard “job” that afternoon, it was as if I had said, “I’m moving to Bolivia to grow soybeans.” She said, “No, Mommy, noooooooo!” I told her there was nothing definite yet, and she said, “I don’t want to go to the after school program every day.”
After my major guilt feelings passed, I assured her that it was only a possibility. Given the way things had gone, I morphed into Negative Nancy and said, “Iz, I bet I don’t even get the job.” She seemed satisfied with what Negative Nancy had to say and went off to read a book to one of the cats in her bedroom.
In the same week, Negative Nancy had received a membership renewal for Crane Beach. For an instant, Positive Patty spoke up and said, “Pitch this. You’re going to get a job soon.” Just then Negative Nancy elbowed Positive Patty in the gut, rendering Positive Patty speechless, and Negative Nancy said, “Renew it! You know you’re not going to get a job anytime soon.”
Then I went riding with Bill one morning, and I mentioned one of the job possibilities. (I know Bill wants me to get a job, but then I know he doesn’t want me to get a job; if there were some way Bill could make me 65 and retired, I’m sure he’d do it!) He asked, “If you get a job, what do you think will happen to your blog?”
I thought for a moment and said, “I guess I wouldn’t write as much, maybe just every now and then.” I knew I had a small but very devoted audience, because I have visitor tracking software on my blog. Don’t be alarmed; it only gives me vague details and does not tell me if you are sitting at your computer in your underwear eating a frozen Milky Way while you are reading my blog.
This past year, I've found most of my solace in my kids and my friends. I've also found it in this blog, even though it's been challenging to write as much as I do. The kids, my friends, and this blog have been life lines.
After I got Iz on the school bus this morning, I walked through the front lawn; it was still soggy from the movie Iz and I made yesterday. I thought about my potential job opportunities, and I got a bit sad at the thought of leaving this place. Sometimes it was a sad place; however, most of the time, it was place filled with some of the best Mom stuff I had ever done in my life.
I thought about the possibilities; I’d get one of the jobs, I wouldn’t get either job, or Iz and I would spend another Summer on Crane Beach. Just then Negative Nancy went down the drain.* Whatever happens, spewed the fountain, it’s all good, really, it is. ♥
*I am still holding onto my Sephora application; that’s not negative. It’s just me thinking, if I had to do it over, I might really enjoy a job in that industry when I wouldn’t enjoy being the owner of my own vintage clothing store, the writer of a weekly newspaper column, a producer of short films, or a forest ranger. Don’t laugh; forest ranger was my dream job when I was 11 years old, and to think, I hated camping then though I've had a life-long crush on Smokey Bear.
Nathan texted me last night at 10:37. He said, “Mom, I need the biggest favor from you ever ever ever.” “Hmmm,” I thought, “I sense he needs money or an excuse to get out of school early.”
Note to Self: Send Quinn the “It’s your turn to be the good-cop parent!”memo.
I replied to Nathan with my eye-rolling and sigh-laden, “What?!?!?” I tried to avoid the whole text message back-and-forth by doing something novel; I actually called Nathan. When he didn’t pick up, I hung up and within seconds received a “Hold on a sec” text message.
It was late at night and my gut told me that I would be cancelling my lunch plans for Tuesday. Nathan texted me with, “Alright, so my laptop sh*t the bed which had my Bio essay on it. The laptop I borrowed from Matt doesn’t have Word, which I just found out, so I need to get out of school tomorrow ASAP to finish it at home.” We were playing Nathanopoly; Nathan had just thrown his Get Out of School Early and I Need Your Laptop for the Day cards onto the playing board.
I sensed that perhaps Nathan might belong in jail due to his “I forgot to do an assignment, so now I’m knee deep in it” card. Wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, I asked him if he had told his teacher about the mishap; he said he did and that she had given him until today to pass in the assignment. Uncharacteristically, Nathan said, “I’ll do anything. I’m desperate,” and then I wondered how many dog walks equaled “desperate.”
I told him that I’d fetch him at 9:15, and then I cancelled my lunch plans. I figured that while Nathan was madly working on his Biology paper on Evolution (and I really wanted to read what Nathan had to say about that), I would spend a most likely frustrating morning on the phone with Dell technical support, trying to get his laptop fixed. It turned out to be a somewhat frustrating hour.
I know we all have our technical support horror stories. When my laptop had issues last month, I was quite happy with the Dell technical support provided. It was quite another experience today.
I wondered with today’s technology why I had to give the same information to three different representatives. Shouldn’t my name, address, and the service tag of the laptop be in some database that each representative could access? We can’t seem to survive without it, but sometimes the “knowledge” seems to be missing from “technology.”
Numerous times I was put on hold, which was understandable given that the representative had to troubleshoot or fill out online forms to make sure someone arrived at my house with a new LCD for Nathan’s laptop. After coming back onto the call, the representative would say, “Hello? Are you there?” I’d say, “Yes. I am.” Then he’d say, “Hello? Hello?”
This happened about five times during the course of our conversation. I was beginning to feel like an Apollo 13 astronaut. I had lost contact with NASA, and I wondered I’d ever find my way back to the representative, who could provide the on-site tech bearing the LCD needed to propel Nathan back into his laptop space and out out my laptop’s orbit.
I got a confirmation email for the on-site tech while on hold, so I knew the system, whatever it happened to be, was working. The representative then asked if there was anything he could do, and I felt like asking, “Can you rub my feet for me now?” Behaving myself, I said, “No,” and then he asked if his manager could speak to me, and I said that was fine.
Again, I was put on hold. I started to get anxious, but before I could shoot off “Hello?” after “Hello?” I heard a voice say, “Hi.” He verbally summarized my whole hour on the phone, and I acknowledge his summary stating the representative had done a good job; he had despite the technical difficulties.
He asked if there was anything else he could do for me and, again, I resisted the foot rub comment; I said there wasn’t. He said, “Thank you, Sir.” I laughed to myself and thanked him.
As Nathan worked on his essay, I periodically check in on him. When he wasn’t on Facebook or IM, I did see a Word file that looked like it contained many paragraphs. When I went to leave his room the last time I check on him, he asked, “Mom, do you know where I can get some Hungarian forints*?” See, I knew all along it was just about money! ♥
* He’s going to Europe for seven days at the end of the month.
Anyway, I thought tonight that I might lose my laptop shortly after Nathan arrived home from soccer practice. But, while he was gone I pulled out my 2005 HP laptop, fired it up, and it worked. I put Nathan's documents on it, and he's been working on it since he came home.
I thought I might have to have a short blog tonight, but it turns out, it isn't, is it? Iz wanted to make a movie today, so, I thought, "Great. A short movie for a short blog." Anyway, now this is a long blog with an associated short movie. ♥
Yesterday, with my trusty pocket book-sized umbrella, I made my way from my home to Harvard Square to attend a concert performed by Voices Rising, a women’s chorus. Believe it or not, I do travel for things other than vintage clothes and to locations other than New York City; it doesn’t happen a lot, but I do! Anyway, there was a strong attraction to this event besides the music; one of the Lovelies was a member of the group.
Last week, she sent an email telling us about her concerts. I asked around to see if any of the other Lovelies wanted to go with me; however, the weekend was one of high school graduations and other obligations for all. Not to be one to shy away from going to an event by myself (because I am f*cking awesome for going to New York City by myself, so says Marcia), I went online and purchased my premium ticket for their Sunday performance at a church on the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and Waterhouse Street. I didn’t have to buy a premium ticket, but when it came to the music of someone I adore, I wanted to be right there in the front row, so I wouldn’t miss a thing.
I emailed her and told her that I was coming to see her sing; she responded with, “Thank you, honey, you are the best!” This sounds kind of silly, but I love the way she calls me “Honey.” It’s so good to be someone’s “Honey,” especially when for so long, I had only felt like someone’s Honey placeholder.
Quite unlike my usual modus operandi, which is the one where I always seem to be running late, I left promptly at 12:30. The concert wasn’t until 2:30; however, for music events, err, unlike work, I don’t want to miss a thing. I took the T to the Harvard Square stop and got off; I was quite disappointed, because the ride was so short.
Like riding the Amtrak train, the T has the same effect on me. There’s nothing better than being forced to do nothing but relax in a small enclosed space while being gently rocked. It’s like a Valium, not that I’ve ever had one, on wheels. The next time I’m having a bad day, I think I shall hop on the T for an hour and see if that helps matters any; yes, I’m serious, and, yes, I probably will write a blog about that!
I made my way up to the street. When I reached the pre-street level, I had to laugh when I saw two young men sitting on the floor of the station, putting the world to rights while they both hovered over their laptops, which were plugged into the station’s wall. I should try that, and, yes, it could be another blog. I went up the escalator, whipped out my map, and within 10 minutes, I was at the church, albeit 45 minutes early.
I saw a few people at the door, and as I crossed the street, I tried to notice if anyone was entering for the concert. I didn’t see anyone, and as I approached the church, I heard singing voices. No doubt, they were squeezing in a quick practice; not wanting to be early, I had to regroup in order to achieve “just right” timing said Goldilocks.
I walked past the church and quickly looked for a Sephora or a Bath & Body Works on Mass Ave; however, there wasn’t a store in sight, only Harvard Law School, ho-hum. I saw a set of steps which led to the church’s side entrance. I decided that when life gives me extra time, it’s time to park my bottom on the nearest steps and pull out my notebook, in case anything intriguing should come to my overly prompt presence.
I sat down and blew air out of my mouth in the direction of my forehead, hoping to evaporate the literal sweatband that formed around my forehead. Feeling no coolness whatsoever from my do-it-yourself air conditioning efforts, I pulled out my notebook. I turned to a blank page, and just then, I realized that while I was on a trip doing something I loved to do, I was here alone yet again.
In the past, I had been both scrutinized (a tad) and lauded for my solo trips New York City by friends. As I sat on the steps biding my time until 2pm, which was the time I deemed “just right” for entering the concert, I could only write in my notebook, “Alone.” I loved my trips, but every once in a while, it was difficult not to feel alone I must admit.
Then, I scribbled down thought after thought. Of course, none of it was story material; however, it was all me material. I never thought of writing what I was thinking, but in about 20 minutes, I put my pen down, and I felt a bit better. As I sat there, a man walked by and said to the woman he was with, “Oh, this is it.”
I looked at my phone; it was 1:58. It wasn’t “just right,” time, but it was close enough. I shoved my pen and notebook back in my purse, got up, and walked down the steps. I followed the couple into the church, and I wasn’t alone anymore.
Once inside, I went to the ticket desk. I said, “I bought a ticket online,” and the woman behind the desk asked, “What’s your name?” I told her my name, and she dragged her finger down the handwritten list of names in front of her. She said, “Oh, a premium ticket!”
There was an extra emphasis on “premium.” I spent $30 on my ticket, which didn’t seem like a lot to me. In the scheme of things, I’d rather pay $30 to see the women’s chorus that featured my friend than to pay $330 to see Madonna.
I asked if I could seat myself in the church. The woman behind the desk said, “They’re still practicing.” Just then, I heard my Mom’s voice asking, as she usually did before a long car trip, “Do you have to go?” I then asked, “Where’s the ladies' room?”
She pointed to a door across the hallway; of course, someone had just opened and closed its door then. The woman behind the desk was aware of my bad ladies' room karma and said, “There’s also one upstairs, too.” I headed upstairs.
While in the bathroom stall, I heard the door to the bathroom open. Two women came in, and I instantly recognized one of the voices. I opened the stall door, and my friend was standing by the sink with her back toward me.
I instinctively poked my finger in her side, and she squeaked. Actually, it was really more of an “Eeeek!” She turned around, recognized me, and gave me a big hug.
The other woman said something like, “Oh, at least, you know her.” My friend thanked me for coming. Then she turned to the woman and said, “Who cares if I didn’t! She’s cute!” I laughed, and I smiled inside, because I was not only “Honey,” I was “Cute” now.
She mentioned that there were plans for dinner after the show and asked me if I wanted to join her and the group. I had made dinner plans with myself to go to my favorite place, the North End, in Boston for lobster ravioli. Though within a second, I said to her, “Sure!” because just then, it seemed like much more fun to be with her than to be alone.
I left and went down to find my seat. I gave my ticket to a woman standing by the door. She said, “Oh, a premium ticket. You can sit in the reserved area,” and then she handed me a wicker fan.
While old churches are beautiful, most of them don’t come equipped with air conditioning. It was about 90 degrees inside the church, and whatever makeup I had put on at noon had melted off and was now in a puddle on the set of steps to the church’s side entrance. Ironically, this house of worship was as hot as Hades.
I gladly took my fan and walked off to find the reserved area. When I got to the third row of pews from the the pulpit, I saw a sign that said, “Reserved ticket holders seating.” I sat down noting that while it was still early, I was the only one seated in the third row.
I thought the reserved area would be quite crowded. If you’re going to a show to see a loved one, wouldn’t you want to sit in the front row and pay $30 for it? Apparently, my thinking was a bit off.
By the time the show started, I knew I was going to be the only person in the third row. I don’t like to stand out in a crowd; okay, it really only depended on what the crowd was about. But, while loving the fact that I was right in the front row and could hear and see perfectly, I felt a bit vulnerable; it was only thoughts of “Perhaps everyone will think I’m the music critic for the Boston Globe” that made me feel less obvious.
When the concert started, the singers ran down the aisle and took their places on the risers in the pulpit. I felt badly about any “I’m so frickin’ hot” feelings I was having earlier when I saw that all the singers were dressed in black pants and long-sleeved shirts. My friend was near the end the line of singers when they entered, and her place was at the top of the risers; I had a great view even if I wasn’t a music critic from the Boston Globe!
The program was title “Shall We Dance? Songs with Swing and Spirit.” They opened with “Shall We Dance?” and were only accompanied by a pianist and a drummer. It doesn’t take much to move me, but when I heard them sing their opening number, “Shall We Dance?,” I wanted to cry; it was so beautiful.
Later my friend would apologize profusely to me because of the length of the performance. It was only two hours, and I was in heaven the whole time, which I told her. If only they piped in the Voices Rising chorus on the T and the Amtrak train; I’m sure Charlie would never get off because of the music not because of any fare increase.
Anyway, I was so pleased with myself earlier in the day because I had a) brought an umbrella due to intermittent thunder storms and b) was early to the concert. Ironically, as the concert went on, the length of the concert was not painful; it was really the church pews. Does anyone make a comfortable wooden pew?! Note to anyone attending a church concert: Bring a pillow for your bottom. Believe me, it’s much more important than an umbrella even if you're expecting torrential downpours.
At one point during the concert, the chorus sang “Rain Dance” by Karl Jenkins. They also sang La La La Koora and Dos a Dos; if you don’t have this CD, I highly recommend it. As they were singing the "Rain Dance," it thundered, the sky grew dark, the rain gushed down in buckets, and then the lights in the church flickered; I’m not a religious person, but God was definitely in the house then.
When the concert was over, I was walked out to the reception. My friend thanked me for coming and told me that there’d be a bit of clean up time before we could depart for dinner. Somewhere along the way, I revealed to her that I intended to ask her to go to dinner in the North End after, but I thought she’d most likely have plans that I didn't want to disturb.
When I said, “North End,” to her, her eyes were like the headlights on a car in high beam mode. She said that she’d much rather to do that than go to the group dinner. I asked her if she was sure, because I didn’t mind having dinner with her and the rest of the group; she told me that she’d really love to do the North End.
I had to laugh. In my quest to enjoy what I loved, I was so not alone today in her company. She had to help clean up, and I walked with her to her car, which was parked nearby, to put a few things in it. Once again, I said that I had no problem going to the group dinner; however, she was “North End or Bust!” just like I had been when I started my trip.
As we walked back to the church, she again thanked me for coming to hear her sing. She told me that I was the only person who had come to hear her. God does work in mysterious ways, and perhaps that day, she knew we would both be elated in the company of each other.
I wondered if in her quest to do what she loved, she had somehow felt alone, too, at times. Were we two people who had filled a gap for each other? Whatever, it was, we hopped on the T and ended up in the North End at a wonderful restaurant 30 minutes later.
We ordered food, a bottle of wine, and chatted. She talked about a failed marriage; I talked about a failing marriage. And, we both agreed that the heart goes where it wants to no matter what.
As we talked, it became ever so clear to me that no matter who you chose to love, we all have the same issues. My friend loved women; I loved men. Any relationship formed out of love, respect, and commitment was a relationship; and every relationship had its challenges.
Love is all around us. Yesterday, I found it with her at the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and Waterhouse Street when it wasn’t on Hanover Street in the North End. I love you, Honey. ♥
This morning, I received a text message from Nathan. It said, “I offended a conservative Christian. If I’m crucified tomorrow, I’ll miss you.” I was concerned yet I couldn’t help but laugh; sometimes, I never know with Nathan. While he was shy, he had strong convictions when it came to politics, religion, social issues, and his root beer (i.e., there must always be some in the refrigerator). I wrote back, “What? You really have to be careful about what you say and to whom. Does this require some kind of apology without you backing down on your beliefs?” Having no idea what it was about, I found it hard to know what to say. Nathan responded, “Pshhh f*ck that. I’m gonna fight this one out. I’m sick of this crap.” I wrote back, “You will have to tell me about it later.” He said, “Fine. Sorry but I don’t like homophobes.” I responded with, “I’m with you there.” I always knew I taught my son well, but today, I felt I had taught him extra well. Always fight the good fight, Nathan.
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.
