just a number

My daughter turned 2 today.  My daughter, holy crap!  In my mind I am not old enough to have one child, let alone two!  When did this happen?  When did I get so grown up?

My mother and father are 20 years older than me.  They also graduated high school 20 years before me, so we’ve had this nice 20 year thing going on to help me remember years and distances between--  Sadly (or maybe gladly), I don’t have the same 20 year thing with my own children.  I am more on the 33 and 36 year old plan.  Which means when they are my age, I am going to be really ancient..

This year was my 20^th high school reunion.  20 years!  I’ve been out of college for 16 years.  I’ve lived on the NH seacoast for about 15 years and been with my current company for 11 of those years.  That’s a long time.  That’s the mark of an older person, an advanced aged person to have those sorts of numbers following their longevity in major life events.

 

I’ll be “celebrating” my 39^th birthday this September.  How old is that?  It’s amazingly old as I have never been this age before and it kind of scares me a bit. 

When I was 10 years old, I remember my mother getting a bunch of black balloons for her 30^th birthday and all of those Over the Hill novelty gifts.  Man, she was so old at that time, right?  She was a grown up personified.  She acted like a grown up, she dressed like a grown up (sorry Mom, it was the 80’s and that beach chair shirt you had screams grown up, at least I think it was a beach chair)  She drove a grown up-esque car, did aerobics, and listened to John  Denver (again, sorry Mom,  but you did get a bit cooler once you discovered yee haw dancing!) 

My dad was 30 at that time as well (although he’ll love to remind you that my mom is 4 months older than him).  He was a grown up too.  Sure, he had wild hair, wore the Opus t-shirts and listened to his stereo playing air guitar, huge headphones with the coiled cord and sang Jethro Tull ala falsetto, but he was a grown up person. 

So they were old, right?  Could you imagine your parents at 30 hanging out with their friends or brother and sister laughing hysterically over old stories and pictures?  You’d never see them bickering and having their own parents (aka grandparents) needing to admonish them to cut it out.  They were cool, they were calm, they were sort of collected and they were in charge. They didn’t do those things anymore.  They were adults.

And I guess technically now that I am a parent and a grown up, I am in charge too.  How weird is that.  Am I actually in charge?  In charge of what?  That is what frightens me sometimes because when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a grown up.  I see myself being just myself.  I might look a bit more haggard than I used to be, but I don’t see myself being an age I remember my own parents being. 

I mean, how could I be their age?  I still like to have fun!  I still giggle over absolutely silly things (Tuesday night comes to immediate memory).  My brother, sister and I still act like we have always acted when we get together.  We still have fun, we still tease one another, we still gang up on my mom (Mufasa) in good fun. 

How could this all be if I am supposed to be a grown up?  

So when bright light hits dim head, I realize that my parents used to have just as much silly, stupid and childish fun as I still have.  We just didn’t see it because we were so focused on our own childhoods and the fact that they-were-so-old.   I sort of wish I could go back in time and rather than hanging out in the living room watching Yo MTV Raps making fun of Flavor Flav’s wall clock necklaces, I could be a fly on the wall in the kitchen see that they weren’t talking about stocks and bonds and other equally horribly adult things—They were totally having a blast talking about things that I would now wish to join in and discuss.
 

My promise to myself is to remember to age as gracefully and as unnoticeable as possible.  I look at my parents now, enjoying their deck, their reggae and rum painkillers (and MAN, are they good!) in the summer.  I look at their friends when they come over for a “deck party” and listen to their conversations, their silliness and I love that they act just like we do.  They just have a larger collection of memories to laugh about- 

Not so old afterall….

Can I keep you?

Remember this movie line?  Quick, without cheating, tell me which film it came from!!

This quote popped into my head this morning while I was helping Gabe find a website on the computer.  As I sat there waiting for the page to load, he climbed up in chair with me and just sort of hung on like a little monkey in my lap.  While he was doing this, I had the clear impression that he was asking if he could keep me.  Could I stay as his, could he add me to his memories, thus holding onto me forever.  It is so infrequent that he “gets me all to himself”, I knew that this was one of those moments I could never forget, nor ever wish to trade.  It was fleeting as he popped off my lap in search of food not a minute later, but that brief period of time was all ours, it was perfect.

As we wander through life, we spend our time gathering; clothes, toys, papers and books, memories, and even people.  And if you are like me, you tend to hold onto too much stuff that you just cannot part with.  There is no reason to keep it all, to keep lugging it around from place to place.  You might open up a box once in a while and take those things out.  Look at them, remember them, consider downsizing, but then you pack them all back up lovingly to rediscover maybe a few years later.  Every so often, you decide to throw some things away, donate to charity, give to a friend or family member. You feel good about it at first, but then a year later when you remember that item and wish to see it again, you spend a day tearing apart your attic searching in vain for something you stupidly thought was insignificant enough to get rid of.  Never again you say.. and you mean it, but then the cycle repeats.

And to a point, it has to, or we’d all become hoarders.  There is a fine line between pack rat and hoarder, so you work hard to keep yourself on the safe side.  After all, you know that you don’t look good on TV and who wants TLC following you around exploiting your personal stuff to the world anyway..

So we gather and purge, gather and purge--  it’s just stuff, right?   It can be replaced thanks to Ebay if you truly regret getting rid of that Rubadub Dolly you loved as a child.  Granted it won’t be the same one you had (I don’t believe anyone else could sharpen those fingers as well as I could or gnaw on her nose as effectively), but you could have it again if you absolutely needed to see its matted hair one more time. 

But, can you purge people?  Sure I guess you can and I guess there might be enough people in your life that could be considered “toxic” enough to warrant purging.  But your memories are there, you’ve kept them.  No matter how hard you try, you can’t truly get rid of them (yes, I know Hollywood says you can, there have been enough movies saying so, but in the real sense they are always there).  And good or bad, I guess they helped make up who you have become today. 

And unlike tangible things, you can’t sell them for money, pass off onto another family member (although some would argue you can) or truck them off to the green center for recycling--  Like it or not, you are in for the long haul.  And like anything you cannot change, you learn to adapt, to work with.

I had a horribly ugly carpet in my apartment I shared with Kristine in Wilton.  It was a horrible Avocado color (think circa 1975 toilet/fridge/oven combo) and nothing I owned was going to match it or mute it in any way.  So, as I knew that the carpet was going nowhere fast,  my mother went out and found a plaid comforter that was had blues and yellows predominantly in the pattern.  And oddly enough, and where the colors intersected, it actually made a light avocado hue.  Surprisingly, it worked and that carpet didn’t look so out of place anymore, it actually complemented my comforter and tied it all together. 

What I am getting at is that sometimes you might not want a person or memory in your physical world anymore, but getting rid of the memory of them is just as impossible as ripping up a carpet in a rental apartment.  So, rather than sit and be miserable; find a way to make it work and not stand out so much. 

Keeping a person or memory isn’t a bad thing if you know how to make it complement your life.  I have a number of friends moving through a field of indecision, sorrow and confusion--  As I think about them, I realize that many more of us might be feeling the same, be it with a loved one,  a friend, a colleague, etc.   Allowing the ghost of a memory or time before to remain can’t hurt you if you don’t allow it the power to do so.  Take from it what you need and put the rest in that box in your attic to bring back out once and in a while to consider.  

Oh, hint to the movie--------------------------->

                                                     

The Language of Family

Every family has their own language; their own sayings and personal words that mean something special to those within the “inner circle”.  Some families are more fluent than others, but in some form or another, I believe it is always something you’ll find if you pay attention closely enough.  In my world, I realize that I have a few different families and we each have our own language--  I have my immediate family, my childhood family, my college years family, my professional family, etc.. I could probably list more “families” than I have fingers if I were to honestly sit and think about it.  Yet with all of these families and the fact that I speak English with them all, the actual language I speak is entirely different depending on whom I am with. And while I find each of my families each as wonderful as the next one, my thoughts are leaning towards my immediate family on this sunny, happy Friday.

I love going home and spending time with my family.  I am sure it might get boring for others to hear some of the same stories and memories that we share time and time again, but this is the language that makes up the fabric of our family.  It is inherently “us” and as much as a part of our family as we are.  There is a feeling I have when I am with my family, of totally being peaceful within my soul.  I belong there without trying, it’s “home” no matter where I am (although being home home, as in Greenville, totally brings my sense of calm to it’s best levels, even with Beau Beau and Lulu barking and Phoebe hissing).  It’s chaos, it’s laughter, it’s yelling and bickering, but at the end of the day, it’s family and that’s good.

Watching my children the other day, I realized that there is a special group that forms it’s own family within the bigger family.  And that is the family of siblings, and with it, the language of siblings. 

I can sit and listen to my children talking and playing and catch most of what they are saying.  Ellie is harder to understand as she is still learning her words and pronunciations, but her meaning is generally there (she is a bit of a banshee, you can’t miss what she is saying at those times for sure).  But as I listened to them, I could see that Gabe was understanding things that she was saying even without being verbal and vice versa.  They had a sort of cadence to their play; their communication; that was so fascinating to watch.  They ebbed and flowed within their own conversation without really even saying much at all. 

And watching them I started to think about my own brother and sister.  The more I thought, the more I realized that we too have our own language.  We have “isms” that will bring us to the ground laughing, memories and words that just make up who we are.  I can text my brother Jeremy one word and I know that he’ll catch on and be on the same page as I am.  And I know that as much as I am smiling on my end, he’s probably shaking his head on his end, laughing as well.  So many times I’ve had my day turned around after a conversation or silly text/message from Jeremy or Gillian--  And trust me, if anyone actually saw what we were texting or heard what we were saying, they’d scratch their heads and wonder how this could be amusing.  It’s just our own language, it works. 

When I was a child and my brother, sister and I would fight, my father would look at us and tell us that no one in this world is as close to you as your brother or sister are.  I used to think he was just using that to get  us to stop fighting, but as I’ve grown up, I’ve realized the beauty to having a brother or sister (although there are times where I question that as no one can frustrate you nearly as much as your brother or sister either).  I love that we have our own language that even our parents can’t figure out sometimes.  And I can’t wait to watch Gabe and Ellie grow up and create their own memories and communication that leaves me scratching my own head trying to figure it out. 

Ice Cream!

I scream, you scream, we all scream for ICE CREAM!!.

While there are tons of “better” things in this world than ice cream (newborn baby, free shiny car, hot date, etc); it’s just one of those wonderful simple pleasures we all share. 

Think of this, it’s universal--  You can travel to different cultures and be faced with really random and sometimes scary cuisine, but give a child (old or young) a dish or cone of ice cream and the cultural differences fade away-  There is just something about it that makes you smile!  Have you ever seen anyone angrily eating ice cream?  I think not--

In my quest to conquer all things domestic, I have embarked upon mastering the art of ice cream.  I have two ice cream makers now.  I have a little 1.5 quart unit that has to sit in the freezer for 24 hours (it has that gel inside the freezer bowls) and the big 6 quart machine that sadly looks like a demented ice cream cone, complete with plastic cone shaped ice bucket.  So I am prepared to feed the masses!

The freezer maker is actually quite easy to use (make sure you actually assemble it correctly though, it can be a huge mess)-  it’s drawback is the 24 hour notice you’ll need, hard to accommodate spur of the moment ice cream making unless you allow it to constantly hog precious freezer space.  The bigger unit is cool, it can be used pretty much whenever… but it is a HUGE mess.  HUGE…  Funny, when I was making ice cream all of those years back at Camp Wapanacki using their old crank machine (and even funnier how the counselors were the ones actually stuck turning the dang crank for hours), I never noticed the mess, but then again we were out in the woods and not in my kitchen..  I’ve noticed that they now sell cool units that are both motorized and crank, I might have to invest in machine #3 someday.   Then I can gather a bunch of people and make THEM crank that thing for hours while I run around and play.. That sounds fun..

Now, as usual, I am great at planning-  I am just a little weak in execution.  I always have the best intentions, but then the couch beckons and Cold Case reruns take over and another night passes.  Then the next morning I am sad and make the plan all over again to get on track-  Famous last words, but this week I had a time frame to get it done before my ingredients were wasted on me (fresh strawberries do have a time limit)-

I’ve been planning to make strawberry ice cream since we went picking on Sunday.  I love picking fruit in the sun.  Give me a basket and I’m good to go. I think I might have been a migrant worker or gypsy in a former life as I just feel the need to gather large quantities of grown items no matter the season.  I’m passing this onto my children as well, so when my great great great great grandchildren sit around on their hovercrafts picking fruit from the floating strawberry bushes, they’ll understand where this came from.

So, last night I got my butt in gear and figured I’d get the ice cream started and then give Ellie a bath and get her bed. I figure I’ll try the newer machine as I didn’t have the foresight to freeze the smaller unit beforehand.  How hard could it be?  I’ve got this, Ellie will be in her bath and bed while it’s still running, easy right?  Ha ha ha.. good plan.  The mondo ice cream maker needs constant monitoring.  It jams, a lot.  So, while I am standing there stabbing at it with the back end of a long wooden spoon and transferring the ice and rock salt back and forth between the bucket and a bowl in order to keep it from jamming further,  I notice that Ellie is being very very quiet.  That is when I noticed that she had proceeded to unravel not one, not two, but three spools of ribbon all over the living room floor.  Added to that is the cardboard paper that surrounded the spools of ribbon, ripped up and scattered everywhere, and the package of childproof drawer stoppers that I never got around to installing.  So, at this point it is about 8pm, the living room is a mess, the kitchen is covered with ice, rock salt, and a salty briny mess that combines the two.  Just when I am about to scrap the whole project and put this thing up for sale on Ebay, the unit blessedly stops turning as it is finally frozen to the point of ice cream.

Yay!  Done!  Except now Ellie has realized that I am making “honey” (don’t ask me why she calls it this. I actually kind of like the name and it’s sort of stuck so if you hear anyone in my family saying they want honey, it’s not actually the sticky amber colored stuff out of the teddy bear container), and she has attached herself to my leg chanting honey, me honey, want honey.  So, now I have ice, rock salt, briny mess, ribbons, cardboard, drawer stopper things,  and soft serve “honey” all over the kitchen--  My first thought was to scoop her up, wailing, and pop her into the tub, but the kid in me took over.  Needless to say I said screw it and we enjoyed eating our ice cream off the spatula and wooden spoon as I cleaned out the barrel--  And it tasted GREAT!

 

After getting Ellie in her bath and bed (she was asleep in about 2.5 minutes), tackling the kitchen mess and making my dinner, it was time to relax.  I can happily say that I still got some couch time, some Cold Case time and while I sat there eating homemade strawberry ice cream, I can honestly say that it was all worth it.  So, maybe I won’t put it up on Ebay just yet---

And yah, I’ll do it again and again and again.. Although next time I might opt for the little freezer unit!

If you like pina coladas…

…and getting caught in the rain….  Sure, we all know the words to this song.  It’s catchy, it rhymes, even Jimmy Buffet has covered it--  But last night as I was rolling silverware at Hagan’s (super awesome 2^nd job where I get to, get this, talk to lots of people!), the song came on our music system and I got to really really listen to the words.

So, let’s summarize in my terms—

This guy is sick of his wife/girlfriend/mistress, whatever--  While she sleeps beside him, he’s skulking through the personal ads-  Lo and behold he finds this font of loveliness that just seems to be the perfect woman on earth.  In order to make this song work, he of course has to write back to the ad with his own pithy version, where we learn that he can offer McDonald’s fast food and booze at Noon in the rain- 

Now, I could argue that this whole situation is pretty silly..  Honestly, how would you react if you walked into a bar at noon and found your significant other sitting there awaiting her illicit tryst amongst the jukebox and sticky bar stools?  It just doesn’t seem that he’d say, oh it’s you.. and then they’d laugh (ha ha ha) and realize that they’ve just been the right people all along and only needed the newspapers skeezy ads to bring them back together--    To me, something is inherently wrong with this relationship that pina coladas, rain and dunes won’t solve.  But then again, this was the 70’s (ok, late 70’s but it still counts) where porno mustaches, polyester and astrological signs were prevalent, so I could be totally off on the point-    

But with this, life itself seemed to be a bit easier (granted I was all of about 6 when this song came out, but I can pretty much assure you that I had a way more carefree and wild childhood than my children will have, primarily by virtue of the fact that we know more now, we fear more now, we might be a bit more savvy now about predators and such, but boy, my childhood was FREE, and my kids will never feel that same amount of freedom no matter how hard I try—I mean, I am all for bike helmets and the accoutrements, but you and I all know that they’ll never heap 4 people on a big wheel while tearing down a driveway turning off into the brush and pricker bushes, laughing the entire way)

So now, put this in our time frame, it would never work.  He’d be cruising facebook or craigslist for babes.  He’d find a picture of his wife/girlfriend/mistresses’ face and/or body parts and they’d never get to the McDonald’s, booze, noon or rain stage.. game on.. right?   Statuses would be changed, internet chatter would explode, text messages buzzing like mad, pictures untagged and the wagons of your side versus my side would circle.  Maybe a lifetime movie with Meredith Baxter Birney and Leah Thompson would be filmed to portray the wrongs committed and how it’s her fault or his fault (depending on how the filmmaker wishes to go)—I could go on and on..

I love my internet, I love my computer and my ability to know what is going on with everyone’s lives at all times (I’ll admit it, can you?), but sometimes I wonder if it might be easier to just go back in time a bit.. I’ll accept the porno mustaches and astrological signs (I might have to fight you on the polyester, it just feels nasty), if it means that we’d all be carefree enough to laugh off blatant spousal infidelity (I am actually truly kidding on that one) in order to have little carefree and wild fun. 

I’ll bring the big wheel, you gather up the people…

She talks too much...

If you know me well, you know that I like to babble… a lot.  I probably am happiest in my daily life if I am talking about something that someone might be interested in hearing.  Or maybe they aren’t interested, but happily no one has really told me to be quiet.  And so I babble.

Friends and family have mentioned to me that I should write the stuff in my head down.  The other week a friend of mine paid me a compliment.  Well, I viewed it as a compliment-  She said that she loves reading my Facebook statuses because they are written exactly how I talk and that she can hear me saying it while she reads.  To me, that means I’ve made some form of impression.  It could be a horrible impression, but either way that works for me!

So, as I undertake this leap into the blog world (don’t like that word blog, I might have to change it), I cannot promise you that I will make any sense.  I might give you something to think about, something to laugh about or maybe even something to yell at me about.  I can pretty much assure you that I will keep it upbeat and silly as I am too busy in life to spend time wallowing and crying.  If I do make you cry, I am sorry as I don’t like to see anyone sad.  If I make you sad, please let me know and I will bake you cookies to make it all ok again.

So, off we go into the world of my mind.  I hope I can entertain you with my thoughts and not scare the hell out of you.  If you stop talking to me and run away in the other direction when I say hi, I will figure out that it was the latter and not the former.