The first place we stopped in New Brunswick was Grand Falls, where it was still, decidedly, winter.

Also? Francophone. Oh, the lovely time I've had trying to apply my France-type French with a thick American accent to communicating in Quebec. Just the word "oui" - so simple, yes? - caused a hiccup.

But pretty pretty country.

Dear Florenceville,

Your highway sign boasts that your town is the "French Fry Capital of the World".
And yet? Not ONE French Fry to be purchased in the ten blocks of town. Sears catalog store? Yep. Quaint (and a little scary) bridge over the gorge? Yep. Gas station with barbeque chips? Yep.

But NOT.ONE.HOT.FRENCH.FRY to be found.

You might want to look into this.

"French Fry Capital of the WORLD"...not "New Brunswick" or "Canada" or even "the North Atlantic". The whole thing sets up certain expectations.

Just saying.

Our favorite town in New Brunswick had to be St. John. Some might argue that so close to the US border that it is not a true Canadian town. I wasn't there long enough to be informed on the subject.

All I know is that it is gorgeous. Not just in the cute-tourist way, either. It is a real working town in the midst of so much natural beauty. Ah, the coastline, the houses, the people. We lingered for as long as we could, just soaking up this place. It reminded us of long-ago homes.

The view from the bridge as we waited to re-enter the US. Overcast? Yes. But pleasant and green with leftover piles of snow tucked away.

Nothing ominous here...

...Until we were firmly back in the States.

By the time I dropped off CD at the Portland, Maine airport, the storm was kicking up in gusts and wet. He didn't want to go, and I hated to see him leave.

The first mile in 1600 that I drove was with wipers squeaking and knuckles white on the wheel. It was supposed to take 90 minutes to get to my father's house.

It took twice that.

The Nor'Easter came in with high winds, snow, and icy rain. The van skittered like a bug.

We arrived, finally.

I dragged in the suitcases and bags.

Stripped Bear down and put him in dry clothes.

And then we curled up together. And collapsed.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:39 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Armed with camera, stack of pillows, and a cooler full of Oberweis milk (don't ask)... we were off.

Crossed over at Detroit and headed for London, Ontario.

You know you're in Canada when...

Stopped for lunch along Lake Erie...

The water on this side of the lake is so beautiful...

Out of Ontario and into Quebec province... c'est ca?

Welcome to Montreal...

Street seller.

Goodnight and on to New Brunswick...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 09:39 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Tonight we're crossing the border into Canada for a visit. It's Bear's first trip offically out of the U.S. but his passport isn't ready - so we've got about 50 pieces of ID for him (including some report cards and a really cute baby picture plus copies of his Passport photos).

The lady who answered the US helpline told me not to worry - that I wouldn't need his passport since we were traveling by car and I could just bring his driver's license and Birth Certificate.

"Um, he's 6," I said.

"Right," she answered.

Long pause as I realized, with growing horror, that she actually wasn't going to figure out that 6 year olds? Don't drive. Well, not legally.

When I called Canada, the man there cheerfully told me that the Birth Certificate and Baptism Certificate would be fine.

*big sigh of relief*

CD flies back next Sunday night so he can be at work on Monday morning. He'll fly to Boston the following weekend and drive us home.

We're crossing in Detroit. Then we're traveling to Ottawa, Toronto, Quebec City, Fredericton, NB and finally stopping in for a few days in Moncton, NB. Coming home via the US; Portland, Providence, Boston, Buffalo, and then gunning it the last 500 miles home to Chicago (our usual method).

If you live along the way, consider me waving enthusiastically in your direction.

I'll post from the road.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:01 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 Have a great trip! When you get back, check it out -- I've nominated you for a Thinking Blogger award! http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/2007/03/31/thinking-bloggers/#comments Thanks for always making me think!

Posted by: Whymommy at April 09, 2007 07:12 AM (gsrhP)

2 I hope y'all have a great time!

Posted by: mom2waihd at April 09, 2007 09:28 AM (pQgL8)

3 Ohh.. you just reminded me of my last trip out to the US and Canada in '05. What beautiful places you'll be visiting. Lucky you guys! Hope Bear loves Quebec as much as I do! Have a HUGE crepe for me while you are there. xx

Posted by: flikka at April 09, 2007 05:57 PM (puvdD)

4 Have a great trip!! (I've been a comment slacker lately) Sounds like you guys are going to get to see a good deal of Canada while you're up there!

Posted by: Michele at April 12, 2007 04:53 AM (5VGFA)

5 Pursuant to your post on the 27th: I admit. I knuckled under. Too many evil people in my life + Google = A very unhappy me. But I'm no quitter. Trust me on this one. I hope you are well and happy, E. xoxo Have a great trip!!

Posted by: Margi at April 12, 2007 04:32 PM (QzQAa)

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Last Thanksgiving, we lost our old cat Zazoo.

He left behind Maggie, who I've had for about 20 years. Who has never lived without another pet friend to keep her company. Who has been lonely.

The last five months have been hell.

Each night (because cats? are nocturnal) she screams. And screams. All these years and I never knew that a cat could be that LOUD.

And then, if one of us comes out to see what's wrong, she literally will just look at us and say *meow* - like 'oh, did you want to stay up and play with me?'

Taking her to bed with us only causes her to use our sleeping bodies as toys to be batted.

We've tried everything.

We're exhausted.

The only thing that helps is to give her a dose of itty-bitty kitty antidepressants before bedtime. Which are expensive, people.

Next Monday, we are leaving for 2 weeks up in Canada (driving from Toronto to New Brunswick, down to visit my family in Massachusetts, and then back).

And when we get back? We're getting a P-U-P-P-Y. Bear has wanted one forever, his doctor has greenlighted it, Canada says 'sure', ... so there is no stopping us.

Now, Maggie may not be happy to discover that the new ball of fluff coming to keep her company is of the canine variety. But she'll get over it.

Oh, yeah. If she knows what's good for her? She'll get over it FAST.

And let us get a good night's sleep.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:15 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I'm unclear on these new Child Abuse laws....

Do they include exposing my son to 80's rock?

Because, if so, I am in deep trouble.

Spring came out from behind its rock the other day and viciously attacked us with bright sun, a warming Earth, and a couple dozen purple-and-orange crocuses waving from the front yard.

As we drove from yon to hither and back (the parent's lament), I rolled down the windows and turned up the radio. Flipping through the usual channels because I wasn't in the mood for RadioDisney (which is evil) or classical. I wanted peppy, light.

I got the Police.

As the guitar and drums rolled into the speaker, he shouted from the back "this one, Mommy! This song!" and I wondered if it was a bad thing that he a) recognizes most of the songs from "Ghost in the Machine"? b) and can sing them all by heart?

Nah.

Once upon a time, this album played over and over again during a party at my house Senior year and a guy name Steve and I crawled under the pool table to avoid some inanity and ended up kissing. Steve, compared to the guys I had known before, was a very good kisser.

And though it meant nothing more than that, "Every Little Thing She Does is Magic" will forever remind me of being tucked under Steve's arm, hearing him sing some lyrics, and feeling his lips, and smiling while we kissed.

Until now.

Now that memory is going to fight with the one from an early Spring day. A day before the night when we would get to meet the author Mary Pope Osborne. The afternoon we raked out the front yard and laid down extra soil and fertilizer for our last spring in the big blue house. The day we stopped for the 2nd time in a week for Slushies on the way home.

The day my 6-year-old belted out, in tune and on melody, "I resolve to call her up a thousand times a day. And ask her if she'll marry me in some old fashioned way..."

And a moment of misty, thinking, thinking - someday, you know, he might.

And then it was time to sing the "Gee-oh, gee-oh" part.

So I did.

Except, he shouted from the back, "Mommy! It's Hee-o! Hee-o!"

I firmly believe that he should be 7 before I let him win one of these arguments. So I just shook my head in beat and belted out (off key) "Its a big enough umbrella; but its always me that ends up getting wet!"

He giggled.

Gee-oh!

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:41 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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When I was in my 20's, I did a little too much Princess Bride. Yeah, at first I would tell myself that I was only gonna watch it on the weekends. Then, the next thing you know, I was loading the movie on random Tuesdays - telling myself it was OK, because I'd had a hard day.

I found myself slipping quotes into inappropriate situations; "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned... I got involved in a land war. In Asia." "Have fun storming your wedding!" "Sir, you use the word 'incompetant' a lot. I do not think it means what you think it means."

I made my dad and grandmother go with me to a Mandy Patinkin concert once. Thank God that man can actually sing, because I didn't check beforehand. It could have been so, so, so very bad.

I knew I couldn't make excuses anymore once I found myself late at night... following updates of Cary Elwe's career.

Yes, I knew I needed help.

I just didn't know how to ask.

I go through these phases, these little obsessions. Little. Well, compared to a tsunami, maybe. Princess Bride, wedding flowers, Al Green songs, Dawson's Creek, Tom Selleck, quiche, General Hospital, Lyle Lovett...

It's pretty obvious that I have a problem. Problems. These additictions, indulgences that waste time. That I should give up, probably. And grow up.

Except the Tom Selleck thing. Tom Selleck, I'll never surrender. He was my poster-boy crush back in the day and everyone gets one poster-boy crush. It's in the by-laws.

So somehow these past few months I've pushed myself away from my silliness. Soaked myself up in the rest of my life. Got serious about freelancing, homeschooling, facing what needs to be done. And if I allowed myself a TiVo'd soap opera, then I would only allow myself to watch it fast forward - reading the subtitles to save time.

And, damn.

I'm here to say... I'm here to witness. Girl gets dull and overpointy when she rakes all the fluff outta life.

The other day, I just gave up and TiVo'd a bunch of Alias reruns. In the dark of the night, I made a bowl of salsa and chips and curled up with Michael Vartan.

Well, you know what I mean.

It's good to be back.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 03:03 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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1 HAHAHAHHHHA! Seriously, I LOVE the Princess Bride. It was the favorite movie of the ENTIRE student body at Caltech in the late 90s. So what you're saying is that you have been _mostly_ dead?

Posted by: caltechgirl at March 06, 2007 03:30 PM (r0kgl)

2 'Allo.... So why exactly is an addiction to the Princess Bride bad???? I can't wait for the day when my kids understand all of the jokes so I can pass on the addiction.

Posted by: Cathy at March 07, 2007 02:48 AM (Bc4Lg)

3 I am with Cathy, what the problem with the Princess Bride addiction again?? It is good to have some harmless addictions. Something that makes you feel a little different, a little more alive. Chips and salsa are the bonus part. Now I'm hungry!

Posted by: Michele at March 07, 2007 03:31 AM (5VGFA)

4 I'm glad I'm not the only weirdo out here... I know EXACTLY what you mean. I just recently got an addiction for myself after about 4 years without one -- Grey's Anatomy. I rented all the DVDs of past seasons and now 8:00 on Thursday's I try really hard to watch it. And i am so much happier because of it. My husband asked why I like it so much and all I could say was "it makes me feel more like I'm connected to the "life"." Isn't that strange?? TV land makes me feel more of life?? I think its because so much 'life' (well, fake life) happens in that one hour compared to my boring life where that much doesn't happen in a whole year.

Posted by: Kelly at March 07, 2007 04:54 AM (VPwLk)

5 You're back! I've missed you so much! Perhaps you are my addiction?

Posted by: Tammy at March 07, 2007 09:48 AM (xO2S4)

6 Never saw Princess Bride but I use to see Tom Selleck all the time since we lived in the same neighbor in Hawaii....the man is HOT and very nice.

Posted by: LeeAnn at March 07, 2007 10:17 AM (JQe3J)

7 My name is Innego (sp) Montoya! You killed my father, prepare to die! Hehehe. Nothing wrong with a little Princess Bride

Posted by: Sam at March 07, 2007 02:30 PM (tzase)

8 Right ... if you were going to do all of that andd cut the fun out of life ... you might as well go back to work! LOL.

Posted by: Monica C. at March 08, 2007 07:18 AM (PaLQU)

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I don't know how my son managed to have fun at such a half-hearted attempt at camp - but when I picked him up (about 2 hours early), he was smiling.

I had gotten nothing done, nothing.

In a couple of months we are selling this house. I look around. And freak the hell out.

So much to do. We'll be working right up to the minute our first open house starts.

And? And? We still haven't decided where we're moving. What comes next.

Leaving Dee's party on Monday, I was disengaging from a conversation. I think I was talking about swimming with the dolphins last month off Key largo.

"Wait," she asked - "what's new with the house?"

"Oh," I said. "Well, we picked out a kitchen. And we have some kind of plan. Whatever comes together by April or so - that's when the house goes up for sale. "

"Then where?"

"Well, we think Iceland for a visit this summer. And maybe England."

We looked at each other while I pulled on my coat.

"I don't know where we'll end up," I admitted. "Maybe back here. Maybe Canada. We've decided to be open."

And I thought 'That sounds insane. That sounds utterly nuts! When in the world did I go from coffee-talk about my job and Bear's life to being the off-kilter loony tune who doesn't know where she and her family are going to be living in 6 months? This woman is about to give me such a look! Such a comment!.' And I even braced myself a little.

Because this is all wrong, right?

But she just called "Good Luck!" as we started down the stairs to the car.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:31 AM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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When I was growing up, I hoarded resentment.

After all, there was so much of it lying around to be had.

I saw the inequities all around me, and it seemed like my straw was always shortest in the sucks-the-worst competitions.

I didn't know then. I didn't know that an upper-middle-class white girl in New England has it so damn good that she doesn't know from inequity.
That little crack in the cosmic egg came later.

In the meantime, back in that time, it was so hard to keep in the anger at the unfairness.

Sometimes, my family still makes choices that baffle me. And there will be this strange Twilight Zone moment when I'll just get so pissed.

Even though, in the long and deep of things, it doesn't really effect me. Even though I immediately snap back.

The conditioning of childhood has left these buttons in me that I don't seem to be able to disarm.

I mean, I'm a grown-up - right? I'm over it.

So why does what they do still just sock me in the gut, if only for a moment?

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:03 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Almost 6 years ago. We were newlyweds, new parents, looking to plunk down some roots in a nice community with good schools.

Turns out? Not so much with affording that.

So we bought this house instead. It looked like a cozy place to stay while we saved up for the real house and a great investement.

The years turned it into our home.

Yet it has never truly fit. The neighborhood was outstanding - big park, walk to trains and shopping and the library.

But the house itself?

Shudder.

There are no closets. Really. Instead, we've got a 1920's kitchen that literally can not be made clean. Tiny bedrooms, 1 small bathroom, and arthritic electricity that goes to sleep during rainstorms. And let's not ever forget the unnatural squirrel-raccoon love affair playing out nightly in the attic.

We have sunk thousands of dollars and hundreds upon hundreds of hours improving the best we can. You just can't force this house to be another house, if you pick up what I'm laying down here.

So two years ago, we started looking *seriously* for the next place. Colorado. Canada. Minneapolis. Portland.

Traveled to other states, looked around, applied for jobs, and skimmed online real estate ads.

Nothing came together.

We didn't feel any urgency about it until last Easter, when a reporter showed up on the sidewalk looking for a quote.

Turns out that across the street, our co-chairs in the Block Party? One of them is defrocked Catholic Priest who has had over $2 Millions paid out to the half-dozen former prepubescent boys who had come forward and won suit.

CD and I spent that whole weekend with a thick ball of dread resting between us. If we'd been waiting for a signpost in bold letters, with a siren on top, that was it. The loud SMACK of the trigger being pulled. We jumped at the sound, startled in our lives.

And since then, we've known in our bones that we would be selling this spring, once 'real estate season' begins.

But to get there, we had a real estate angent help us build a list of to-do's that would help the house sell, and for what it is really worth. Since I, silly rabbitt, decideed to play teh part of a stay at home mom this year.. guess who got all the lovely assignments?

Well, hey, I was a high-powered corporate muck. I can get it all done AND learn to make my own paper. Right?

Except you know what I realized today?

Holy Shit, it's already December.

Seriously. I need a nail gun, a couple gallons of latex paint, a garbage skip, about two million storage boxes, some bathroom tile, and a tall, ripped handyman named Sven.

Yeah, the last one is just for fun.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:46 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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It's amazing what a couple days of raking and yard work in beautiful weather can do for your souls - and muscles.

OK, no one tell my brother - but we're getting him an iPod for Christmas. We were bartering for one and then CD picked up this Christmas job at the electronics store and he gets dibs on the insane clearance stuff. This is a secret so besides everyone on the internet, let's just keep it under our hats....

We're going to preload it with a few of songs.

I happen to have an, err, bizarrely huge MP3 collection. I was one of those early Napster anarchists (But all legal now! I swear!). NO idea what kind of crack I used to smoke, but I got stuff like Peaches and Herb.

Shudder.

Kalisah inspired the idea pick songs from the late 8o's and early 90's. You know, stuff from when my *younger* brother was in high school.

Here's the list so far .... thoughts?

1. "Hungry Like a Wolf" Duran Duran
2. "Vogue" Madonna
3. "Vacation" The Go-Go's
4. "Smells Like Teen Spirit" Nirvana
5. "Can't Touch This" MC Hammer
6. "Under the Bridge" Red Hot Chili Peppers
7. "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" Green Day
8. "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" Tears for Fears
9. "Ice Ice Baby" Vanilla Ice
10. "One" U2

Posted by: Elizabeth at 11:04 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 A friend of ours just described Vanilla Ice to her son as the K-Fed of our youth. I thought it a perfect desciption. I'm so glad he's no longer singing/dancing. He makes a much better actor.

Posted by: Cathy at November 26, 2006 11:45 AM (PwBrn)

2 OK, Iceman I can understand, but you're dissing FedEx? Really? That icon of class, style, and talent?! I'm SHOCKED, I tell you. Shocked!

Posted by: Elizabeth at November 26, 2006 02:56 PM (GFKsB)

3 Please don't forget R.E.M. They wouldn't leave you off of their list!

Posted by: Amanda at November 27, 2006 06:04 AM (KsbaG)

4 "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins "Roxanne" by the Police or "Every Breath You Take" "Whip It" by Devo The one-hits from The Fixx and Kajagoogoo (sp?). The song from Tears for Fears that you have takes me SO much right back to high school, it's scary. Class of '85, LOL. p.s.: I'm so sorry about Zazzoo ...

Posted by: Monica C. at November 28, 2006 11:25 AM (PKru1)

5 Have to have some Boys to Men in there like end of the road. I think it was almost every person I have met that graduated in 92-93's class song. Maybe some Metalica too.

Posted by: Karen at November 28, 2006 11:31 AM (TylAd)

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Zazzoo, the silvery furball that shared our lives and was Maggie's true companion for 13 years, died today.

Services will be held tomorrow, followed by a burial under the old apple tree in the backyard.

Namaste, Zazz. Namaste.

Zazz is at rest now; Bear placed fluffy cattails and berries with him and CD found a nice big stone to protect his sleep. Thank you, so much, for all the generous comments. It's helped.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:18 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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Once upon a time, I got a kitten.

I was impossibly young, and living with my first love.

I wanted, he indulged, and we ended up with this tiny bit of fluff who lived on my shoulder and pushed her cold nose in my ear with small purrs.

I called her Maggie.

This isn't a story about Maggie.

When Maggie was about 5 years old, there was tragedy. We'd had another cat and he died. Maggie, from loss, tried to join him. I didn't know cats could care so much. Could be so lonely that they would sit in a corner, uneating, ungroomed. Breaking my heart with her broken spirit.

My ex and I decided to get her another partner. Somehow, we ended up with this big, fat, silvery thing with more names than I can remember. He didn't like people much. He liked food. He didn't care for being held, although he'd suffer a pat if you bent down to bestow it.

And? He adored Maggie.

Somewhere along the way, he became Zazzoo. My ex left them both with me when we finally parted - almost a decade of water under our bridge. You have to take them both. They're a set, he said.

So I suffered Zazzoo for love of Maggie.

It was the three of us for a long while, and I grew more accustomed to his face. We declared peace and stayed out of each other's way.

Then, CD. He was spending a weekend, some months into this fling of ours, I remember him yelping. A manly yelp, sure.

"You have another....cat?"

"Didn't I mention that?" 600 square feet of apartment, I'd been certain he'd noticed before.

It was when Bear was born that Zazzoo became real. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, Zazzoo melted for love of our baby. He was boneless, clawless, completely dear to our own baby boy.

We were all, the four of us, suprised how that worked out.

No longer just Maggie's bitch, he truly liked being around Bear. Would skulk over and keep an eye on him. Offer his thick fur for a touch.

We always figured that we'd be stuck with this strange little beast of a cat until the end of time. He seemed sturdy and endless. I'd tease him, that when Maggie went - hey, he could consider his own clock punched.

He'd give me a swish of his tail and march away.

I'm clearly not that frightening.

It's taken a day to notice, since we came home. Because he'd hidden himself away in the cellar. But when he didn't come up for food tonight, we knew. Found him curled up in an old rag pile, listless and breathing slowly with effort.

Oh, I thought. Oh, I think he's dying.

And Bear, seeing it on my face, began to cry.

CD and I locked eyes, and the sadness came in waves. How easy to forget the math, but he must be 19 or 20, now. He was middle-aged, they said, when we adopted him and that was 13 years ago.

A lifetime, really.

We carried him upstairs, to a bed of towels. Bear and CD and I talked about our years with him. And how sad it is when we ask animals to be our companions that we do it knowing that their walk will be shorter than ours, and we'll be left behind when they float away.

Now they two have gone to bed while I keep vigil with my old companion, Zazzoo. He's resting, comfortably. Maggie is nearby, licking him ever so often.

I've told him I will stay up with him as long as he wants. And that if it's time for him to leave he knows I will take good care of his beloveds, of his little Maggie and of his bouncy copper boy.

And I told him, too, that if he'd like to stay with us awhile longer, that would be fine.

He looks at me, and huffs a bit. And knows that he was always welcome here. That he still is.

And I look at him, and sigh a bit. And think, how I will miss him. And try not to get him too wet with my tears.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:54 PM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
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We were so delayed out of West Palm Beach that I was on a first name basis with most of the employees. The flight was rocked with turbulence. By the time we landed at Chicago's Midway airport, we were wilted and snarling on the sharp end of 8 hours of travel.

Then had to wait an HOUR for our luggage to appear.

No, I am not stretching the truth.

60 frigging minutes of watching that silver belt spin and spin with that one frigging green flowered suitcase.

By the time Dee pulled into the driveway, we sprang out of her car like Jack in the Boxes. (Um, I don't think we even thanked her for the ride.)

Bear ran up the front stairs and started banging on the door like the cats could let him in.

The house? Smelled pretty yucky. But I was too tired to care. It was 1AM and I stripped and dove under the covers.

When I woke up this morning, it was like coming to in a horror movie.

I'd left a couple of days before CD and Bear, with a to-do list for them.

One they had clearly made into a paper airplane.

There are week-old dirty dishes in my kitchen.

The margerine was left out on the counter.

I will not even describe what has happened inside my fridge, except to say - it's gonna take a hazmat suit, a bottle of bleach, and a Tiawanese acrobat to get it clean.

Speaking of clean, they did the laundry! Loads and loads of it!

Then DUMPED it on every free surface of the living room.

(I can only assume this was to facilitate the subsequent rummaging for the 5 ratty t-shirts and single pair of too-small underwear they each packed for themselves.)

The cats, of course, carefully plotted their days so that EACH and EVERY pile has been slept in and shed on in our absence.

There is no clean place for my eyes to rest.

Two years ago, I would have been furious. Back then, I had a divorce lawyer on speed-dial and hidden Tylenol stashes in each room.

Two years ago, I was juggling a multi-million dollar global IT project with an executive who liked to get me on a teleconference with my team and see how badly he could humiliate me in front of them. I would spend 5 hours prepping for those calls, and he would always find the one thing, the one single small thing, that he could stab me with.

"What's that, Elizabeth? A decimal in the wrong place on your daily spending report from France? Oh, only a dollar you say? I'm curious, when does our company's money matter to you? When it's a thousand? A million?..."

And then CD would walk through the door, just as I would start responding, and shout 'What's for dinner?'

Ah, the good old days.

That was then.

Look, I know that you're probably saying "Hey, Elizabeth is blowing sunshine up her OWN ASS again! What flexibility!"

But here's the thing.

2 years ago, see, I'd bought into this lie. That somehow, there was something called perfect-town and I was on a military style march to there. That "if-only", you know? If only CD was well. If only he would have some kind of epiphany. If only my boss would take a Paxil. If only.

Not to crack any cosmic eggs, but turns out? Not so much.

My husband, bless him, is working 2 jobs to keep us going. He is swallowing his pride for one of those jobs. He got like 5 hours of sleep last night, and then went off to 13 hour-day while I sat on the sofa sipping coffee and thinking about a nap.

Yes, he sucks at organizing anything that can't be plugged in.

He's a clutter-monger.

He packs like an over-caffeinated squirrel.

And I love him.

God doesn't give anyone everything.

I look around at this mess, and realize that we have too much crap and clutter as a family. That there are ways to make things easier. That I hate cleaning, absolutely. And I HATE cleaning up after my husband.

But at least I can make the 6-year-old help. And, you know, I'm with him. Not some egomaniacal 50-year-old with a need to overcompensate for what I can only assume is a deficiency in another area.

I am firmly determined to change my outlook on life in these 100 days.

*sigh*

Did I mention?

It's good to be home.

Although... I could have used a few more days in paradise.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:59 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Well, it's been a week of our 10-day break. We've been to the beach, and Disney World's Animal Kingdom, spent eleventy jillion hours in the pool, and jauntily bounced the Intracoastal on a Jet Ski.

Weather? 80 degrees, blue skies, and warm breezes. (Yes, damn you, Florida! Damn your tropical warmth!)

Health-wise I am, finally, well.

Seriously? I can not begin to decribe what a blessing this week has been. I feel like a new person. Even the moments I have spent dancing with my Grandmother's ghost have been healing.

My mom once told me that there is no such thing as a "geographical cure".

No offense meant to my mom, but she's wrong.

If what ails you has chilled your world into shades of gray? Then get thee to paradise.

'Cuz... yeah.

Yeah.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:34 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 142 words, total size 1 kb.

1 I'm so jealous! What a good time of year to go south! It looks like you had an incredible time -- I bet Bear was at the perfect age to really enjoy all you did. Now back to the real world. I don't know about you, but there's nothing like getting away, even for a couple of days, to help me see "real life" in a better way.

Posted by: Kelly at November 18, 2006 08:55 AM (wezXV)

2 That picture on the beach is just so neat! I very much believe in that cure.... Just being near the ocean and getting away always refreshes me. I am so glad you are all having a much needed break!

Posted by: angela at November 19, 2006 02:19 AM (TzM0f)

3 took your advice and signing up for the geographical cure. booked flights last night. flying on 28th for 15 days. can't wait. i feel more relaxed already. Hoping it dually servces as a relationship cure, too. Hope your grandma won't mind the intrusion!

Posted by: dodo at November 20, 2006 05:55 AM (PIXRm)

4 Hey, let me know where to send the keys

Posted by: Elizabeth at November 25, 2006 02:38 PM (GFKsB)

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I don't have an image editing prgram here, so please excuse grainy pictures...
She had the chairs reupholstered to match the new sofa when I was in college. Soft Florida colors to match the palm trees and the waterview.

The card taped by the thermostat tells me in her handwriting to set the dial to "auto".

Her stapler is lined up with her tape dispenser on her desk. Liitle address stickers with her name.

The embroidery she was always working tucked, unfinished, with the crossword puzzle books on the shelf.

In the morning, the sun blasts onto the balcony.

I stir my coffee, and pad across the room. It's a shadow, I know. But my heart leaps before I can tell it no.

No.

It's been 5 years, heart.

You should know by now.

She's not here.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:55 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 143 words, total size 1 kb.

This is Wemouth Cemetery. The end of that row is where they laid my grandmother's body to rest.

Of course, she isn't really there.

Grandma was, well, my Grandma. She didn't back cookies, couldn't cook worth a damn, argued politics with a keen passion, played Gin like a cardshark, and was the first person to argue my viewpoints with me.

When Bush was finally declared the winner of the Florida election and thus, President, she called me up chuckling - "Your guy never had a chance down here."

She called me 'sister' towards the end, as a form of endearment. Shaking her keys at me when she was impatient for us to be off, as I would pack up my purse and tell her to 'shh'. Her silver curls and grinning eyes trying to look all bossy and imperious.

Ha.

Of all the relatives around my childhood, she's the one I stayed in a conversation with throughout my life. The one I got to know, and the one I let know me.

We hardly agreed on much - politics, decorating, even marriage. But we got each other. And we liked to spend our Sunday nights arguing on the phone about foreign policy and CSI plots.

When my cat fell out the window of the apratment back in my poor, poor days. He had a really broken leg. A few days later, I got a check from her for $500 - completely unasked for. I called her up, in confusion.

"For the vet bills, dear."

When my cat died a few days later, I called her again. I was unable to say anything, I was so sad.

"Elizabeth, is that you?" she guessed. "Oh, he died, didn't he...?"

Some years back, I went on a hunt for her gravestone. I had to see it.

I thought I was fine, you know. As we strolled up and down the rows looking for her name - my name.

And then we found it.

I almost broke into a million pieces. Like I'd decided she wasn't really dead until then. Until I traced her name, my name, in the stone.

Bear and CD and I held each other for a long time as I cried.

Then Bear found 3 beautiful stones. We placed them on the grave she shares with my grandfather, and remembered her. We prayed for her. We missed her.

Since she died, I've been trying to get to Florida, to her condo.

From there from the time I was a kid, I would visit her (and Grandfather, while he lived) each winter. She and I that would hang out at Denny's (Grandma loved her some Early Bird Special on a Senior Discount) and chatter away the late afternoon. Then we'd walk the beach at sunset. Watch the night sky for stars.

My father and his brother kept the condo. Got a dumpster and cleared it out. Now they rent it out for 6 months each year - Dec to May.

Since she passed, it became something of a compulsion, to walk that stretch of beach again. To listen to those waves.

This year, my father relented to a time when we could go down to the condo. The week of November 13. Yes, my birthday. Even sent us the keys.

Our bookkeeper could be heard shouting all the way from Canada. That we'd have to use a credit card. That we can't really afford this. Really.

The last 2 weeks, I've been so sick. Coughing for air. And hanging on for this day.

On Friday, I have to be well enough to go, I would tell myself. Even if I have to pack dirty clothes, and travel with bed head. Even if I cough my way across country.

Last year? Paris.

This year? Florida.

Warmth. And salty breezes. Palm trees, with their long giraffe-like trunks. Pastels and long sunsets. And the memory of my grandmother's laugh on the sea.

I've shed tears into the ground of her death. Her 'no more'.

Today I fly to where her life was.

To be warm, to smile, maybe to cry. To relax, unwind, and be open. Maybe, to find a little healing.

In more ways than one.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 05:52 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment
Post contains 707 words, total size 4 kb.

1 Have a wonderful, relaxing time. Nothing like the sea air and the warm sand to make you feel wonderful.

Posted by: LeeAnn at November 10, 2006 05:04 AM (SLFj+)

2 I hope the salt air, and the sand in your toes is the medicine you need.

Posted by: cursingmama at November 10, 2006 09:53 AM (PoQfr)

3 What a beautiful story, and beautiful memories. Hang on to them, and tell them often to those who knew her, and those who simply need to hear. Thanks for the story today. Feel better, and enjoy the warm, salty breezes for all of us....

Posted by: Whymommy at November 11, 2006 06:47 AM (9CfVk)

4 Your posts always touch me - this one maybe more than any other. I've been missing my own grandmother, my "bestemor", so much myself lately....Longing to go back home to her... I'm so glad you are taking this meaningful trip.

Posted by: gigi at November 11, 2006 02:45 PM (ljeWJ)

5 Beautiful. I just have to say, Elizabeth, that your writing is getting better and better.

Posted by: becky at November 12, 2006 06:27 PM (gxmeq)

6 What a gift your grandmother was. Enjoy yourself she would want that for you

Posted by: angela at November 13, 2006 04:09 AM (gloT8)

7 What a great story. I hope this trip is everything you hoped it would be.

Posted by: Michele at November 16, 2006 09:49 AM (FN5hT)

8 Since you read my "Snowed In" I have come back to read your blog. I love your writing style. Your "sister" sounds very much like my Aunt Kathryn. I was named for her and if I could be like her, I would be a very happy woman. She was sharp and fiesty. She claimed to hate sentiment and then would hand me her mother's silver because I was the closest she had to a real granddaughter. Several times now, your pieces have touched something in me that has inspired something of my own. This is another one

Posted by: Kat at November 17, 2006 05:51 AM (LiZcA)

9 oops. yikes embarassment! I got here through a link on someone else's blog and thought it was her archive. Doesn't change the sentiment of my comment... just paint it a shade of red.

Posted by: Kat at November 17, 2006 05:57 AM (LiZcA)

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My son was asleep in his car seat behind me. Around his wrist, a bright yellow hospital bracelet. I looked back at him often, my heart swelling in gratitude at his peaceful expression, his feverless cheeks.

Down on the car floor, my phone lit up and I ignored it. Despite being on Emergency Leave, my phone had logged over 30 incoming calls. 13 messages. My deputy had been let go due to budget concerns and my manager was attempting to fill in. I had told him a dozen times that I was not in a sitaution where I could deal with work. He kept calling (...)

All at once, the leaves have dropped down from the trees. Raining, floating, diving into the still-green grass.

There's a breeze that is something cool but not yet cold.

It's been 13 months.

"When did you leave your job?" She asks on the phone, clickety-clacking her keyboard.

"March, uh the last day in March."

"Uh, huh - and you didn't call us then?"

"No, no... I wouldn't be now, except I need a little relief for a few months... I hate these things..."

"March, 2006," she repeats, cutting me short.

Bear comes into the kitchen, clings to my leg a moment. I ruffle his hair and help him stand on the chair. And together, we build him a snack. Of fruit and milk and crackers.

"No peanut butter," he whispers. "It has a loud taste."

"Well, I'm going to put in your deferrment. Effective..."

"But I can still pay the interest, right? I don't want these things to grow... I haven't been in college since - "

"Let me finish," she says sharply. "Yes. Effective to May. That's previous. And expiring in January. The interest is $15 a month, pay that if you wish. Then we won't capitalize it. Which means, to add it to the balance of your remaining loan amount. Otherwise, your loan amount will be larger at the end of the year than it was at the begining. Do you understand?"

13 months ago, I was managing a project funded based on speculation of the return on investement on $40 million worth of capital assets.

I think I can understand what happens if I don't pay the $15.

Not that I say so.

"I have to ask, were you fired for cause?"

I chuckled as I helped Bear down and sent him off to the table with his snack.

He told me I wasn't being a team player. He fashioned an inconvenience into an emergency. Exhausted, angry, I finally hung up on him.

"No," I answered finally.

No, each of my annual reviews said that I used to be really good at the job I used to resent so much. That I exceeded expectations, even as I was ripped in two. No, lady, I used to be 'advancement tracked'. Ain't that a laugh?

"Is there anything else?"

"Uh, yes..." I nibble my lip. Finally, I say it out loud. "I think I want to teach. I mean, I want to write, but so far that just isn't paying the bills. And I used to teach, high school and college. It was years and years ago but I think I want to do it again. I would need to take some classes. Theology and half a masters in Project Management won't... I mean, I think I want to teach writing. Like that."

She waits for the actual question.

"I know I still have an outstanding balance from my first go-around but..."

"You want to know if you can take out another loan?" she asks, a little too snarky for my tastes.

Not that I say so.

My crisp assumption of power began drifting away from me when I left my career. When the world begain blinking its tepid eye at my Stay-at-home-mothering. When I stopped having a tally of how many I manage and how important my responsibilities were.

Now I wipe the counter, and wait.

"Yes," she says.

"Uh, yes?"

"Yes, you did not exhaust your maximums. You are in good standing. But we are not a lending institution...."

"I understand," I say hurriedly, hanging up. I want to whoop for joy, but instead I just smile at the plant hanging over the kitchen sink.

13 months ago, it was a thunderstorm. It was a yellow hospital band around my son's wrist and my husband's strength against my fears. It was the fog, and the clearing.

It was finding myself successfully climbing up a mountain, and then looking around to realize - it was the wrong one.

"More milk," he says, showing me an empty cup. His smile makes me forget the autumn night, the long road ahead, the lady on the other end of the line.

"Of course," I agree, reaching for the jug.

Of course.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 01:27 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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I came down with a cold last week. Bear gave it to me, on purpose. Fiendish 6 year old knew he would have days of soup and television, if only he could fell the great mean mommy who makes him do his chores and go to school. Plotted with some of the great biologists of our time, came up with a bug that would sit on my chest until I slipped into a twilight space of Arthur and chocolate milk.

This afternoon, finally, I called CD in surrender.

"Come home," I begged. I was dozing in and out while Bear hopped around me. Sniffly himself, but full of mischief, too. Me asleep, child awake - this was the most dangerous combination known to man.

"I can't," he told me - his team already fallen to similar microbic beasts, he couldn't leave his company unsupported. Much like my breasts.

But I digress.

I gave him no choice; "Bear is making himself popcorn! In the microwave! Also? Haggis! There are wildebeasts roaming the hall. Or livestock-shaped laundry that has been willed into life, into playmates for our child. Plus I think he's cruising the internet, looking for Dora's home number."

He groaned and told me he'd do what he could. But that I should have backup plan.

He reminded me that we had a Very Important Call with our bookkeeper today. About the gap between what is due and what is coming. About the little things we needed in the meantime. Like microwave popcorn. And insurance premiums.

I flaked, completely irresponsibly.

For weeks now, I have blown off the weekly finances meeting on the flimsy pretext that the bookkeeper and CD have it at the very moment I drive Bear to Kindergarten and walk him to class. This week, they finally rescheduled it.

And me, with my silly little fever and bone-crushing exhaustion.

In fact, I called CD in the midst of it, croaked at him (because there was a frog hanging from my tonsils) to get his skinny fanny homeward. "I am drowning in bedclothes! And your son has a cup of ice, some Halloween candy, and he's headed for the blender. The blender, dammit!"

At some point, an hour or so later, I heard my husband's dulcet tones, snarling from the front room; "I'm home!"

And from there, it all went downhill. CD turned a blind eye to Bear's incomplete homework, the dishes in the sink. He kicked the laundry monster into the hall corner, and told me to sleep.

When I woke up, disoriented, hours later, a foamy dread tugged at me.

As the pressure dials up, we break down. We slip into old, bad habits. Old, bad feelings. Old, bad ... old. Bad.

He knows it is not my fault that I am sick, on a day when it is impossible for him to take care of us. He knows that the money strains will eventually sort themselves out, and until then we are each doing our best.

But my husband, he was depressed for many years. Someone once said that depression is angry turned inward, and I think that is at least partially true. I remember that chip on his shoulder, it waves at me in recognition. I remember that sullen gleam in his eye.

I can't stand feeling all victim-like. As I don't remind him when he comes home with some fast food for us that he forgot to pick up tissues. I grab a wad of toilet paper, and pretend not to see how he didn't help. Try to keep the narrow laser beam on what he did do.

He came home. He watched our son. So I could sleep.

Forget how it used to be. Forget swallowing my own emotions and needs and wants. Forget how I used to tiptoe on the eggshells that kept the peace.

As I tiptoe, one more time.

Angry. And sick. And tired.

This too shall pass.

And hopefully, soon enough.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 04:59 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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1 It can be really hard to control that there laser beam so as not to rock the boat. I hope you're feeling better and that the eggshells are less crunchy underfoot. Or at least that you have thick socks on.

Posted by: dodo at November 03, 2006 04:21 AM (Vr3Rf)

2 Thick socks! Why didn't I think of that Thanks, dodo

Posted by: Elizabeth at November 03, 2006 06:28 AM (1ehDg)

3 I am so sorry to hear your sick. I think alot of us women get sick and just want to be taken care of or atleast get some sort of help only to find none is there. Its good he came home even if he was grumpy. When I get sick its usually a day or two after my husband has been really sick so when he starts feeling better he thinks my sickness is on his same time line and I should be up and back in action as soon as he is. The part about bear cruising the internet looking for doras home number is about the funniest thing I have heard in awhile lol

Posted by: angela at November 03, 2006 07:41 AM (4DU9g)

4 Hugs. In addition to what has been written, I can add that dh always seems to try and trump my illness with some malady of his own.

Posted by: Thia at November 03, 2006 11:26 AM (xUsQl)

5 Now that you are better (I hope) you can get together your list of mothers who can assist you when you are feeling bad. It's always a good thing to have other mommies as your back-ups because Daddies don't see the same things as we do. I learned the hard way and now I have a nice support system.

Posted by: LeeAnn at November 04, 2006 03:51 PM (SLFj+)

6 Why is it always so hard to see what they did and not focus on what they didn't? Perhaps, because what they did is still only 10% of what we do on any given day, including the ones when we are sick. Hope you are feeling better. This too shall pass, indeed. P.S. I had to take out the "do's" in the first sentence because the commentor didn't like them.

Posted by: Jazzy at November 05, 2006 04:30 AM (NdNdx)

7 Oh. I just this moment found your blog (via Suburban Turmoil), and it is beautiful. Your writing takes my breath away. Last week's post just left a lump in my throat. And I am not easily impressed. I have a ton of suggestions for keeping little kids occupied when you're sick, but mine is only 2, so all I can do here is wish you well and applaud your writing. Feel better soon.

Posted by: Whymommy at November 05, 2006 06:30 AM (9CfVk)

8 I hope you're feeling better! Hugs and chicken soup!

Posted by: Laura Lencioni at November 05, 2006 01:05 PM (Tqoj6)

9 ajepwhlov uiwz

Posted by: David at November 07, 2006 06:44 AM (jsjtT)

10 Your memories of living with a partner with depression are very real to me; thank you for your beautiful expression of it.

Posted by: Fiona at November 07, 2006 07:42 AM (vA34y)

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There's been some relief in the financial doom and gloom.

CD has found a second job. Just a little something at his favorite IT store. But it means a lot.

First, because for months upon months no one would give him a second glance. Like the Goodyear blimp squatted on his head with an LED sign proclaiming "Do Not Hire Me!" in big letters.

Spots he was outrageously qualified for would blink at him slowly and then shout "next!"

As I forged a routine with Bear, CD splashed helplessly. Even his counselor growing confused. Not understanding that week after week with application after application bringing not even a phone call, not even an email... stung CD's thin hide. Finally, CD brought himself able to discuss it with her.

Like kids who mulishly push away homework complaining that it's dumb - when inside it is them themselves that feel overwhelmed. CD at first had complained that he hadn't ever truly signed on to being breadwinner. That he felt forced into doing something he just didn't feel he should have to do.

Then, the ball of frustration and fear began to unravel. And he was able to say the truth - I'm scared. I'm trying, and not getting anywhere. What if I never find a position, don't find a way to support us in time?

And just as we faced ruin, just as we started to cash in the future to pay for today, the phone began to ring.

Ain't that the way it always goes?

So the most important thing this part-time gig brings us is hope. CD was hired. Enthusiastically and happily offered paying work. And where there is one - there is more. He can believe again that others can see his worth. That the right new full-time position will follow.

Of course, the second - and most stunningly obvious - point to this second job is that it buys us time.

Bear and I can continue having "school" here at home in the mornings. I can continue to be the one to drive him to the afternoon Kindergarten at the public elementary. And late afternoons can continue to be cooking, and cleaning. And T-Ball, and karate. And Power Rangers and popcorn and cuddling on the couch. And errands. And Go Fish. And dancing to vintage John Mellencamp or Zap Mama. And raking the growing pile of leaves carpeting the lawn. And coming up with outrageous Wile E Coyote squacoon catching schemes.

I can continue to hunt freelance writing gigs instead of looking for a weekend waitressing job or even more frightening - heading back into the corporate jungle.

(Shameless Plug and Snoopy Dance of Joy - Orbitz just published the podcast I wrote about Roscoe Village, Chicago! It's here or copy the link [http://tlc.orbitzinsider.com/File/roscoevillage_chicago.mp3]. Yay, Orbitz! I love you and your puppets. Really.)

I can continue to make a fool of myself with story ideas for a book or articles. Hanging on to that little thread of hope that maybe I could actually be a writer on my tax returns as well as in my Glenda-laden fantasies.

We can hang on.

I worked two jobs for the first 3 months of this year. I was tired, wired, and quick to snap. Of course, I also didn't have a clone of me to support me, but snickering is unbecoming so I won't go too far down that road.

Instead I'll just say that all this makes CD a bit of a hero around here and Bear and I are doing everything we can to make the 12+ hour days as bearable on him as possible.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:25 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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As we continue to seek a new job for CD and scrounge up money on my own 2.5 "free" hours a day... I realize that I have become a little nutty.

Maybe.

In between karate and T-ball and permission slips and job applications and craft projects and making do with less, I think I am just about to scream... and then something else comes up and I have to reschedule screaming.

It's like I found my afterburners.... And there's a kind of empowering giddiness to it sometimes, especially as I implement the stuff on my '100 days of towards a change' list.

So (and here's the segue) have I mentioned that we have a young racoon living in our attic? And a squirrel? Yes, both have been spotted on occasion - ripping into our soffits and skittering above our ceilings.

Clearly, they are cohabitating in some kind of Jerry-Springer "Caught on Video" unnatural relationship but they are always careful not to be caught leaving or entering at the same time. Sort of implying a time-share thing. Much like the "unproven except everyone knew it was going on Brad and Angelina" thing way back, uh... last spring.

But whatever kind of Republican-baiting kind of lifestyle they are engaging in, it is time they stopped doing it in our house. So we borrowed a small animal live trap from a friend and set it up in the attic.

No joy in Mudville.

For a week of nights, the racoon-squirrel (squacoon!) outwitted us, folks.

So CD got the idea to leave the trap in the driveway just under their favorite soffit with a Mighty Beef can of cat food as bait.

You know what Mighty Beef bait catches you?

A cat.

Stunning, ain't it?

There it was. A big puffball of neighborhood cat. Blinking and shivering. Maybe feral. So we called the town's non-emergency police number specifically set up for animal control.

And got their voice mail.

Left a message.

24 hours later, they hadn't called back and Puffball was REALLY pissed. And thinking about pressing aggravated kidnapping charges.

We let her go.

It was either that or adopt her.

Undaunted in his squacoon mission, CD reloaded the trap.

This morning, on my way to drive Bear to school, we stepped out the back door to find... Son of Puffball. A little gray thing, scrunched up against the cold rain.

I sighed, and bustled Bear off to the van.

25 minutes later, I pulled back into the driveway. Son of Puff was dripping wet and watching me with big eyes. In the dark gap of the ripped-open (again!) soffit above us, I swear I saw golden eyes blinking - with smirk. Cheshire-cat kind of smirk. The kind of smirk that makes me want to buy a BB Gun. Yes, me.

I squatted next to the trap.

"Puffy," I said to the gray tribble. "Puffy, you picked the wrong can of cat food."

Puffy didn't say much back.

"I'm supposed to call the Police so they can put you to sleep. Kill you, really. 'Cuz you're not only homeless and probably rabid. You are also, clearly, stupid. Dumber than a squacoon, for damn sure."

Puffy shook his fur.

With a sigh, I slipped open the trap and let him run free.

I told myself it was because I am just too busy to be dealing with cats taking up space in a squacoon trap.

But it was nice to watch him run like a blur through the bright green grass of our backyard. For a place where no laundry needed doing, and no list needed checking off.

Posted by: Elizabeth at 12:48 PM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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