June 28, 2009
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June 12, 2009
Second, after more than 5 years - this blog will be closing down. The reasons are many, and I will write about them soon. I will be porting many of the archives over to a new site that we're launching so please stay tuned
Last, and most importantly, I DO micro-post both on Facebook and Twitter and hope you'll join me there. I miss you, too...
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your FAApril 17, 2009
Yeah. Stupid plan. Especially? Since there ISN'T A BUDGET SHORTFALL in the district - just the fear of one.
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April 13, 2009
The paternalistic, 6-figure and car-allowanced, condescending School Board President of my friend's town is shutting down the academy for the gifted kids. Almost 60 kids are being sent into mainstream classes.
Two beloved teachers are losing their jobs, and being replaced by an administrator that will... well, not teach. But will be paid more than either of the teachers ever were.
Because of a budget shortfall? No.
Because of a better solution? No.
Will he accept corporate grants, parental assistance, or listen to the questions of the hurt and confused parents? No.
The program was put in by his predecessor and he's using the threat of the recession to shut it down.
ARG!!
I was one of those that thought having special programs for the top 3% was elitist. A luxury item.
Until I watched my little friend try to slow down his mind for "regular" first grade. And fail. And be called a problem by his teacher. And unable to socially integrate.
Dammit.
More info at Chicago Moms.
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April 06, 2009
Hurricane Ike sucked eggs for most folks in its path, including us. It ripped off pieces of our roof like it was playing "52 pick-up" with the tiles. As the storm raged, CD did his best to tarp off the holes but the winds were evil and against us. It rained in our dining room, destroying a wall and a bookcase. By the time the sun came back, there was mold, dust, and grime everywhere.
Allstate's disaster team showed up, looked at our old house, and wrote us a $962 check. You ever try to fix a roof with $962? Can't be done. Not without a superhero cape, industrial strength duct tape, and the ability to fly.
"It's not intended to fix your roof," said Allstate. "Your roof was old. Old roofs are excluded."
"Our roof was on top of our house," I reminded them. "And kept out the elements. Now the elements are coming and going and asking for their eggs sunny-side up."
Allstate shrugged, and left.
Allstate? Sucks.
We hired a handyman to do what he could, which wasn't much. The past 18 months have been insane. CD finally folded a kiddie paddling pool like a taco in order to get it up into the attic and placed it strategically under the patch. Then he tossed a beach ball in it.
When it's rained, he's stuck his head up into the attic. If he could see the beach ball bobbing, then it's been time to get the contraption. A strange beast CD has created from a wet/dry vac and a garden house.
No, I'm not making this up.
Bear and I have become great contraption-wranglers. This had become and official event in our home. Grabbing the vac, the big step ladder, unraveling the hose into the toilet... oh yeah, good times. Good times.
Despite our joy with the situation, we went to Home Depot last spring and got a line of credit for a new roof. All we needed to do was choose the one we wanted, and the joys of a an actual cover on the top of our house would be all ours...
Then the bad thing happened.
No, really.
We dithered.
We thought we had all summer to decide - and it seemed like a big decision. We have long thought we would someday dormer up. So buy the best quality tiles to maybe turn around and pull them off someday? But they seemed so much BETTER than the cheapest option. Oh, we went back and forth.
Here's my advice: Be ye not so stupid. Dithering is for fools! Would a PIRATE have dithered? I think not.
Because we all know what happened while we were ruminating, don't we? Banks tumbled. The housing market crashed. Then the credit crunch started.
We got a letter from Home Depot - "Dear Dithering Homeowners; you snooze, you lose. We're taking back our credit line. So there." It was signed by Dasterdly and Muttley, esq et al.
Could we have re-applied? Sure. But the new terms were North of crazy.
Home Depot? Sucks.
It was a long, wet Autumn. It's been a wet, long Winter. The moment Spring showed its face, CD headed up the extension ladder with a "Roofing for Dummies" book, tiles, roof paper, and determination.
For the past 6 weeks, this is what he has been dealing with. Dead tiles have rained down on the driveway. He's emerged each Saturday with grit on his skin and a sore back.
But for Easter? For Easter - he says we have a patched roof. He's down to the last bit. And even as it rained the other night, the inside of our house stayed dry!
Da roof, da roof ... it's a wondrous thing.
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April 01, 2009
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March 31, 2009
"What is your favorite soda?"
"Have you ever..."
"Do you like Steve? Rate Steve 1-10 for cuteness."
These used to be fun. Perhaps because I didn't give up my adolescence until, hmm, last December?
I have now, however, reached my fill. Past my eyeballs and all the way to my hairline. While I am happy to read others, there is no way God or the devils could drag me to fill another one out.
Maybe it's because I'm still in recovery. Maybe it's because I get distracted by the opening licks to "Slippery When Wet". Maybe it's because there's other things to be written - bodacious, velvety words to be romanced onto a page.
Maybe it's because I never did pass those football-shaped rule-lined notes way back then.
I didn't peak in high school. Hell, I didn't even get started in high school. I ripped off my training wheels in my mid-20's. Roared up the stairs of Piper Hall with my backpack swinging off my shoulder. Jumped over a pond with God at my back and no limits before me.
We may be older now, wiser, fettered by Roth IRA's and term life insurance - but are we even remotely there yet?
I strongly suspect my life hasn't peaked. Hope so. Hope the same is true for you.
So, no. I don't know how much I like Steve. Today, I'm not even sure I like my dog. So, with your forgiveness, I'll love the you-you... but I'm done with the meme.
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March 23, 2009
Once upon a time, I was a nut for Mother Earth. I built recycling programs, and championed re-use/reduce schemes at work, and rinsed out my plastics before carefully tucking them into my green box.
Then came motherhood.
Oh, I am sooooo ashamed.
I used disposable diapers. I DID. I have a very low "ick" factor and about 5 seconds of dry heaves were all that was needed to send my arms around a massive Costco crate of Huggies.
I would wince, thinking of them piling up in landfills. But convenience and comfort and cooties won out over my better demons.
...And then came my plastics addiction.
It started simply enough. No dishwasher. Newborn. Muck. Mess. The need for cost-cutting measures.
I was carrying plastic freezer bags on me to dispose of the disposable diapers and wipes when I was out with my baby. I was chopping up salads and packing up leftovers for my husband's lunch in those little plastic containers. I was portioning out carrot sticks and teething biscuits for Bear.
With all the best intentions of cleaning everything out and re-using them, I would end up with stacks of foul-smelling baggies and incomprehensible pile of square lids and round containers. And back to the store I would go.
The bad habits followed me even into recent years, even after I had a dishwasher to help keep things clean and get several uses out of them.
I know, I know...I was saving the planet with one lo-water showerhead and bashing it with a stack of binned bags and lids.
My son recently called me one it. As his teacher, it was important to share with him the state of the environment. As his parent, I reaped that whirlwind.
"Mom!" he bellowed Saturday, tapping his foot as he looked into the cabinet stuffed with mismatched plastics.
"Um, yeah?"
"You're killing the environment! Remember that picture? Piles and piles of garbage and chemicals in the air?!"
"Yes, but -"
"Mom!! Seriously?"
"Look, it saves money for us to use-"
He raised his copper eyebrows at me and I admit it, I caved. Big strong momma bear went....mush. I imagined a mountain of odd-shaped lids and seas of baggies. *sigh*
"Why don't you help me clean this cabinet out and come up with a better system?"
"Wait a minute, you want ME to do the work of helping fix it?"
"Yes, dear. It's a little something called passing the buck. Er, sharing the responsibility."
He gave me a dirty look as he dug up a cloth bag to put the lids into. A slow smile spread across my face, as we got down to work.
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March 11, 2009
These two positions were natural to me and my world viewpoint. Until I move to the Midwest and discovered - I'm a spotted tiger.
First time I heard Mark 12 (The commandment of Jesus is Love) in Sunday School at St. John's), I flipped. Revelatory moment.
So I've been a Christian since I was 10.
When I moved to the Chicago area at 18, I discovered that there was a political agenda attached to being Christian.
And I don't agree with it.
This was profoundly confusing. How can I be of such like minds with a congregation in so many ways and SO split in others?
One of the key reasons I have remained a staunch Episcopalian is because it is a church that seeks inclusiveness. Does it often fail? Um, yup. But the seeking is important. The seeking is what resonates with me.
I spend much of my days with people who live their Christianity out loud. As someone prays fervently and often, studies the Bible, and looks for God's guidance in my choices - it can be really comfortable to be around others who don't freak when I bow my head in Thanks before I dig into my orange chicken.
But I love agnostics, atheists, Buddhists, Jews, and everyone else, too... I've even broken bread with the Krishnas and not once did I fear for my soul. In fact, we had a pretty cool time.
Then election season comes along. Signs start popping up on the lawns of those folks I hang with. Conservative signs.
And our lawn? Stays empty.
I sometimes vote conservative.
I usually don't.
Does this make me less "Christian"? Sometimes, it feels that way.
Living in the "Bible Belt" there seems to be a standardized definition of what Christians should vote. But what if you disagree (sometimes violently) with the popular opinion? How much faith is needed to outweigh societal norms?
This is what is bedeviling my mind this morning.
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March 09, 2009
I am often inspired by the amazing pictures of Angela Giles Klocke, Tyler Knott Gregson, and Helen Adelaide (Everyday Stranger). Especially by their abilities to take pictures of themselves - honest, playful, clear-eyed, smiling.
I? Am neither photogenic nor particularly talented with a camera. I finally figured out (8 years later) the self-timer on the Canon but no clue on how to put myself (instead of my monitor) into focus.
Behind me is the massive desk I share with my son (my head is blocking his iMac). This is supposed to be a picture of me - day 1 of the new "move my body, mind, and soul" regime.
This the all-natural me: no make-up, hair air-dried post-swim, midnight, end of a long - but good - day.
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February 26, 2009
It's amazing. When you get a bit stronger, how much more you realize you have to deal with.
Forgiveness. What is it, really? What does it mean to give it - and receive it?
I tangle with the weightier concepts, the overlays of God and Jesus and women and men and trust and mess and relationships and betrayal, then all of a sudden, I am sliced to the heart with memories and this sudden heartache.
Like it won't stay in the box, the one I laid it all to rest in so long ago.
If I forgive you, and we work on getting past this, can you guarantee me it will never, ever, happen again? Can you? The question is a trap, you know. I want you to say yes. To promise yes. As I promise it to you. As I dream of Before.
But we know that what you can do once, you can do again, I can do again, and will do again. Part of my trust knows this. Lies to you. Wants everything to be all right even as it clutches its brokenness.
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February 25, 2009
What we got was messy, chaotic, brilliant, and hard. And full to the brim, even at the worst of times, with love. I could say that's 'cuz of me. Strange but true - I have never stopped loving anyone in my life. Anyone I have ever loved, I still DO love. Just... differently. Maybe, it could be argued, somewhat theoretically. Considering distance and time and...
I digress.
My point (and I hope there's one around here somewhere) is that we are now in a somewhat good time. Last fall, a crack appeared in the ceiling and we had to dig it out, find the source, patch it. They say that broken bones once healed are stronger than before. If that were true of relationships, my marriage would be made of titanium.
It's not.
We're human. We screw up. But we know how to choose to fix things, now. We know the difference between pain and anger. Into this wisdom, we've found a way to walk very gently with each other. To be very on-purpose with our communications. We stopped letting in people who are full of negativity. And we started cherishing the good, now that it's here for a visit.
Last Saturday was the Icelandic version of Thanksgiving. This has been a pain in the ass in the past because it forces CD and I against our natural roles. Neither of us likes to be social in groups, but when forced - I'm the ice breaker and networker, he's the guy standing just to my left carrying two drinks with a pink cell phone, a tube of "Brick-O-La", and a Revlon compact stuffed in his pockets.
But for Thorrablot, he's got to be the first one through the door. He's the one who - quite literally - speaks the language. For those hours, it is his childhood memories being invoked. His traditions. His heritage. I'm the American appendage, somewhat clueless and mispronouncing most people's names.
Some years, his frustration at being forced out of his hard protective shell has triggered some last-minute scuffles. This year, I had decided that I could over-prepare us into a better start. I found a babysitter way in advance (it was adults-only because of space constraints), had formal outfits dry-cleaned for both of us, and made our contribution - a chopped salad with 9 different ingredients - a day in advance.
Then, at the last minute, disaster struck. My go-to pants? Were NOT what I brought home from the dry-cleaners. My husband had several suits, all lovely. But because of a bunch of reasons that all gathered to sabotage me - every back-up outfit I own was unavailable. CD ripped the house apart as I finally had to get in a shower. When I emerged - fully made up and blown dry and totally naked - he sighed.
Well, he made a pass. THEN he sighed.
"Here's the deal," he said, with the face that let me know I wasn't gonna like it. "I pulled our jeans from the wash and tossed them into the dryer on high. They should be done in about 10 minutes."
"You mean my jeans," I corrected. "It's a fancy occasion. The Icelanders will all be dressed up. You have to wear the suit."
"Babe," he shook his head. "We'll both wear jeans - it'll be fine."
I swallowed growing dread. "That's stupid. You won't feel right in jeans. It's not Icelandic."
"Screw being Icelandic," he answered, and I swear he almost laughed. "I'm with you. We're wearing jeans."
So we did. And?
We had a wonderful time.
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February 18, 2009
What kind of show would you be? Would your home be the primary set? Or the local coffee house?
BlogHer is doing a workshop about how to re-invent a blog after the initial reason you started it - ends. I've been struggling with this for years.
I began a website when CD and I were getting married. I shudder to remember the little animation I coded, that made my dress twirl. That I didn't embed Midi music must have been the intercession of a compassionate deity. That site? Won an award.
After I got in the habit of living out loud. I sorta... didn't stop. I've journaled my whole life. This was just a new interpretation of that.
I remember the first person who ever signed my "guestbook". I had never met her in real life, yet she was interested in reading about me. And me, in her. Despite our subsequent life changes since, we remained, virtually, friends.
I began an anonymous blog in a moment of crisis. I had a great job. Challenging, rewarding. I worked from home most of the time, always engaged with room to grow, and had a great team that I loved working with.
And yet?
I was unhappy.
Because as much as I loved my career and everything it meant - I never had a single day when I went to bed thinking I had done right by my son. I told myself it was just guilt. I told myself it was the universal complaint of working parents. I reminded myself of the amazing life my son had.
And then, I cried.
We cannot reason our hearts.
I quit and took on a new life, with wide open eyes. Homeschooling, living on a shoestring, keeping house, cooking dinner, paying bills. I signed up for this woman's army and Hoo-rah, I don't need or expect it to be easy. I stand behind that decision as one of the best I've ever made.
But it's played hell with me as a writer. Hell.
When you stop being mad, and put out the fire in the living room and the marriage and fill in the hole of your life with the whole of your life, well....
Thank you for listening the past month. I know I went quiet for a few days here, but I have not been away. I have been here, re-reading. A lot of very bland, and silly posts. But a couple of goods ones, I think.
I'm not Friends. I'm not Lost. And I've never even been to Las Vegas.
But that doesn't mean that there aren't things left worth saying. Or that this writer can't write them. Here.
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February 15, 2009
3+ years, sometimes driving up to an hour from his Montessori school. 2 sets of uniforms. 12 tournaments. 8 color belts. 5 color headbands.
Hours of practice, and telling him to practice.
Then: 3 forms without weapons, a form with a weapon, 2 sparring matches. Break a board with a punch. Break a board with a kick.
Wait.
Finally, the man says - "and to the rank of decided black belt..."
And the tears start.
(That's Bear. Behind him is the board he'd broken with a punch. Just about to kick the board on the left and then swing his arms over his head when he realized he'd done it. Just before the entire TKD school exploded in cheers and hugs.)
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February 13, 2009
Now, on to the last winner of the late, great Corporate Mommy giveaway!!
That's YOU, Jean!!! Congratulations!
(All of last week's unique, non-related to me comments after the jump) more...
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February 11, 2009
It was late spring just about 15 years ago. I headed to England with $350 in my pocket, an open-return ticket, and a new journal tucked between my spare jeans and the extra underwear in my backpack.
Long story short, I ended up dating a Coldstream Guard. Who invited me, one summer evening, to a dance. I found a little black halter dress in a thrift store and twisted up my hair with an antique rhinestone clip. But like Cinderella, I had a curfew - the B&B I was living at locked its doors at midnight.
And like Cinderella, I lost track of time. I realized it with a panic. One of the more senior men, Ian, had a car and offered to drive me across London.
We raced, but not quick enough. I rang and rang, and eventually realized I was stranded.
"What will you do?" Ian asked.
"Get a hotel room," I mused. I had an emergency credit card stashed, well, somewhere. I knew I couldn't stay at the barracks, and all my contact numbers were up in my room - on the wrong side of that impassive door.
"Dressed like that? With no luggage?"
"What's my alternative?"
"I'm headed home for the weekend," he said, opening the passenger door with a smile. "You can kip with me and my family, if you like."
I nodded slowly. It was uncomfortable, accepting a ride and the offer of a place to stay from a near-stranger. He had ginger hair and a big laugh and that's about all I knew of him. I wondered if I was going to end up in the pages of the newspaper, with the headline 'Unknown Woman washes up on Thames!'
"The thing is, it's a bit of a drive," he said as we headed onto the M1.
"It's far?"
"250 miles, give or take," Ian laughed.
It was nearing dawn when we finally got to Darlington. My gut was full of butterflies. Ian had proved to be a complete gentleman on the trip. Dropping the military persona, he told me stories of how his 3 children had been born and what they were like. And especially about his wife, Susan. How she'd saved lives when they'd lived in Ireland, by noticing something 'off' about a car parked on their lane. It had turned out to be a bomb. They'd lost everything they'd owned when it had gone off, but not a soul was hurt because she'd had the presence to sound the alarm.
I wondered what she would make of her husband showing up at all hours with a blond American in a dress down to here.
I needn't have worried.
She pulled the door open with a merry smile and offered me tea. Her husband looking at her like she was a hot cross bun and he hadn't eaten in days. By the end of the weekend, it was a done deal. Like Sandra Bullock's character in 'While You Were Sleeping' - I was in love with whole family. Ian and Susan and their kids and friends. All of it: their home full of happy noises and the smell of tea cooking, the greenhouse in their back garden filled with pots of dirt and bulbs, and the barbecue where Ian liked to char three kinds of meat while chomping on a cigar. I was in love and grinning and giddy.
As Ian ushered me out on Sunday, for the long drive back to London, Susan made me promise to return. And after my long, hot London summer had ended, I did - eventually moving in with them for several months.
Even after I came back the States, we stayed as close as we could. Exchanged phone calls and Christmas cards. I have pictures of the kids growing up. Clippings, and letters tucked in a box.
When Susan left me the message the other night, I knew. You always know. It's that tone of voice, you know?
I think I was crying, even as she told me.
Leaving the Darlington F.C. game, Ian had a bad fall. He died in hospital later that night, probably of a massive heart attack. He was only 53.
He leaves behind the sweetest woman on Earth, 3 great kids, a brother, and countless mates, co-workers, and former brothers in arms - as well as a desolate dog who is still waiting for him by the door.
He was the kind of guy who wouldn't leave a soul stranded, even if it meant hauling them 250 miles. The kind of guy who would bring a stranger home to his family, and make them welcome. There are too few people like that.
And now, there is one less.
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February 10, 2009
So I'm officially declaring it a de-lurk day. Please let me know if this thing is on, OK?
[thank you]
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February 09, 2009
I head down the sidewalk away from the library. A bag hanging from my hand, weighed down with a few new books that I'll probably won't find the time to read.
My car is behind me. Nestled into a parking space between two SUV's, up against the railroad tracks. And though the car keys jingle in my purse, I keep moving away. Into the night.
A gust lifts my hair, a mist sprays my face. The hems on my jeans are long and dragging; damper with each step.
I don't know where I'm headed.
An old Sting song is echoing in my mind. Memories of a time before. When I belonged to no one, and nothing. I cross over the street. The streetlight is flickering and dying. The buzzing noise entrances me for a long moment. I look up. In those thick clouds is a moon full and just as fickle. It won't stay on for me.
When I need the light, it's never there.
Breathe deep; the world smells like something from a memory.
And I'm washed clean.
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February 08, 2009
There are parts of the trim that hadn't been dusted, painted, washed, or even looked at closely since we moved in over 8 years ago. Well, specifically that long piece of trim about 1 foot from the ceiling, that serves some decorative purpose that remains a mystery to both CD and me.
This has been the master bedroom for a few years, even though it is technically the smaller of the two main bedrooms. We can't remember why we switched, so please don't ask.
Although we chose an organic, no-VOC paint for the walls - the trim was done in regular give-you-a-massive headache white latex enamel. The truth is, we have about 3 cans of the stuff in the basement. Bought on sale at some point back when we didn't care if we polluted the environment or killed Mother Earth. You know, last year?
So now, I have a massive headache forming. Time for some Alleve and a stiff drink. And to bask in the glow of being almost there.
Bear is getting a bookcase/desk combo from Ikea. We have to pick it up this week, and then put it together. It's funny, I showed him some other pieces he could have if we saved for a while but he really loves this set. There's a twin of it at his tae kwon do school and he totally digs the idea of having cubbies that he can use to sort his massive collections of Lego's and books and of, course, trophies.
By the end of this week, there should be a whole new room to show for all this. Before we put up the paintbrushes tonight, Bear gave me a big hug. I asked him what it was for and he said; "for knowing how much I really, really, wanted a big boy room."
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February 07, 2009
Boston, Chicago, Buffalo, Toronto, Detroit - these are the cities of hugging about the 41st-42nd degree of latitude. And having spent some time in all of them, I can say what they have in common...4 real seasons, deep cold in winter and blazing hot in summer. You get the full spectrum around here, which is somehow deeply satisfying to my soul.
One of my favorite things about this level of North is the Chinook Wind. It's like the world saying "ok, you gonna get your ass frozen off for 4 months - but we'll give you a nice day in the middle there, to keep you from going absolutely out of your freaking mind."
Although too far East to get the real snow-eater, we still get that day or two of a "false spring", of improbable warmth. A soft wind seems to sweep the snow away, bringing dripping puddles of mud and short sleeved shirts hastily dug out of the closet.
Today was it.
Bright sun, gusty breezes, pokes of green grass in February. A little miracle just at the moment when we are all so sick of winter that we want to cry.
I woke up early, with a full schedule ahead of me. They'd been promising that today was the day - and as I stepped outside around 7:45, the snow had already half melted away from the lawn.
We've been telling Bear since he turned 8 that we would change around bedrooms with him and get him some 'big kid' furniture. So, catching the sunshine in a jar, we raced over to Home Depot. Bear had to choose from the palette offered for the no-VOC paint we were using. (It comes in 65 organic pre-mixed tints) He shocked both of us by choosing an aqua color called "Summer Dragonfly" from their 'Waterscape' shade.
"Really?" we asked, our eyebrows inching up to our hairlines.
"Yes," he insisted, firmly.
You know how it is. The Chinook Wind comes blowing in, and you push open all the windows. The neighbor boys come over. You empty out the room, patch and fix the rough spots. Take down the curtains, and roll on the new paint.
Then, suddenly, everything is new. And possible...
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