I am all dressed up: skirt, fancy top, heels, accessories. No pantyhose; I've already shared that I do not wear those unless it is really cold — which, fortunately, it rarely is in Houston.
Why the chic attire? I went out on an interview today, meeting with the president of the Cy-Fair Chamber of Commerce. And it's a good thing I dressed as I did, as she mentioned the other reps from the magazine she had met and pointed out how they always looked classy.
If only she could see me in my normal, everyday get-up ...
When Alison was little, she wore only dresses. Which was interesting, because I don't get all dressed up around the house. I prefer jeans or shorts. I don't always wear tennis shoes, but sometimes I do. And Alison was all about dresses. She wanted to be "pretty." In fact, she had to have skirts or dresses with big skirts that would "go out" when she danced. She refused to wear pants. Ever. Even when she went to sport day in Germany, she wore a skirt. Around mid-first grade she did a total 180, preferring jeans and Tshirts for years. She's hit a middle ground now, wearing dresses and skirts on occasion. The other two were more moderate all along, knowing that there were times that jeans were simply more practical.
Truth is, I like to get dressed up. I love to shop, love to wear all my outfits. This is part of the reason I have a job. (Well, that and the fact that I need some purpose in life; when all your children are in school all day and you have no social life, there has to be a reason to get up and get moving. Mine is now deadlines.) Only going out every week or so has worked well for me. When I was at the paper in Lafayette, I got into sort of a rut and felt like I wore those same black pants to work four days out of five.
So, now that I only get dressed up on occasion — which does not really include church, where most members of my congregation wear the UUniform: cargo shorts, T-shirt with some sort of liberal religion slogan, and Tevas — I can concentrate on really looking fabulous on those days. Not sure I would say "fabulous" was the word of the day, but I think I did OK.
So what is the sign that one has too many shoes? When you can't find a pair you're sure you have? After digging through all the boxes (in the interest of discretion, or modesty, I won't reveal the actual number of said boxes) not once, but twice, I was about ready to give up. But I did find them. And I was so pleased to see that they matched my skirt (a taupe/stone color) perfectly. In fact, it was like getting new shoes — they will go with so many things.
OK. So, the interview went well. So, since I was out and about, I made a stop at the Container Store to replace my apothecary jar (used for bathroom storage) that I broke this weekend while tidying the bathroom. (That'll teach me to clean, huh?)
But first, feeling that my home shoe selection is inadequate, and since I was on 1960 anyway, I made a run to DSW (Designer Shoe Warehouse, for the uninitiated). I found a pair of black shoes (loafer-type) for fall, to replace the ones I've been wearing and watching wear out since 2000. But the best news is, not only did I find a pair I like, I found three other pair that would have worked just as well. I did limit my purchase to one ... and one pair of sand-colored heels (yes, sand; read the box). And a pair of red and black Converse for Alison's birthday.
And, since I was out, I made a run to Ann Taylor. I'll spare you the details; suffice it to say, I did moderate damage. And realized that I now need new navy shoes. Which, I'm sure, can be arranged.
My day of retail therapy being over, it was now time to come home, join real life, and meet the school bus. So I made the transition from career woman to mom, supervising snack time and homework. Rescheduled gymnastics, checked on music lessons, read e-mail, returned phone calls.
I haven't changed clothes yet. I'm not sure I'm done being pretty. But I'm going to. I am going to take off my tiara and return the pretend dress-up clothes to the closet where they belong. Even wearing jeans, it's still possible to dance.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
9/11
I wasn't going to write about the fifth anniversary of 9/11. I'm not trying to pretend it didn't happen, but public grieving isn't my style.
But today, it's everywhere I turn. It's hard to avoid, isn't it? Every mention in the news has been all about what we were doing, how we felt, and whether or not we've recovered.
Rightly so, I suppose. Yes, it was a national tragedy — one of epic proportions. I watched, along with the rest of the country, in stunned silence as the events unfolded. Like everyone, I remember where I was — home with a 2-year-old — when I heard the initial reports on the radio. An accident with a small plane, I assumed; then, naively, I hoped no one was hurt. Then when I heard about the second one, I thought briefly that it was a strange and macabre coincidence.
I was glued to the television for much of the next several days. All the same, I wondered when our life would return to normal. Because it always does. We don't quite forget, but we move on, at some point as if nothing ever happened.
And I remember Alison's reaction, her concern that I was too involved, too caught up in the news reports. She so desperately wanted me to move on. So I did — for her, and for all children. We can't dwell on the negativity too long or we get mired in the mess, unable to extricate ourselves and return to any sense of normalcy.
Like any proper tourists in New York, we visited Ground Zero. It was three years later, 2004, when we were there, so it was no longer a disaster scene so much as a construction site. Yet we knew, when we stood there, what had happened. We took pictures, but not out of disrespect. It was more about remembering what had happened and the gravitas of the events that day.
My friend Amy blogs, and she wrote this about New Yorkers and their reaction. And I agree with her. Why must they feel that they have to "own" this tragedy? Did the people of Oklahoma City react this way? Weren't we all affected?
Why does any of us feel that we must have a piece of such a thing? Years ago, when Jeffrey Dahmer was arrested, someone had to ask Gary, "Isn't that the same area where you lived in Milwaukee?" Well, yes, but years before. And just because it was the same city, same general neighborhood, it doesn't give him an instant connection. But what if it did? Does it make people somehow feel more a part of the action because they knew someone who was there?
Strange, these human tendencies to want to feel a part of a notorious event. Is it compulsion? Maybe.
In any event, so much for not writing about this day. But I guess I'm just doing what we all must: staking my claim on a piece of history.
But today, it's everywhere I turn. It's hard to avoid, isn't it? Every mention in the news has been all about what we were doing, how we felt, and whether or not we've recovered.
Rightly so, I suppose. Yes, it was a national tragedy — one of epic proportions. I watched, along with the rest of the country, in stunned silence as the events unfolded. Like everyone, I remember where I was — home with a 2-year-old — when I heard the initial reports on the radio. An accident with a small plane, I assumed; then, naively, I hoped no one was hurt. Then when I heard about the second one, I thought briefly that it was a strange and macabre coincidence.
I was glued to the television for much of the next several days. All the same, I wondered when our life would return to normal. Because it always does. We don't quite forget, but we move on, at some point as if nothing ever happened.
And I remember Alison's reaction, her concern that I was too involved, too caught up in the news reports. She so desperately wanted me to move on. So I did — for her, and for all children. We can't dwell on the negativity too long or we get mired in the mess, unable to extricate ourselves and return to any sense of normalcy.
Like any proper tourists in New York, we visited Ground Zero. It was three years later, 2004, when we were there, so it was no longer a disaster scene so much as a construction site. Yet we knew, when we stood there, what had happened. We took pictures, but not out of disrespect. It was more about remembering what had happened and the gravitas of the events that day.
My friend Amy blogs, and she wrote this about New Yorkers and their reaction. And I agree with her. Why must they feel that they have to "own" this tragedy? Did the people of Oklahoma City react this way? Weren't we all affected?
Why does any of us feel that we must have a piece of such a thing? Years ago, when Jeffrey Dahmer was arrested, someone had to ask Gary, "Isn't that the same area where you lived in Milwaukee?" Well, yes, but years before. And just because it was the same city, same general neighborhood, it doesn't give him an instant connection. But what if it did? Does it make people somehow feel more a part of the action because they knew someone who was there?
Strange, these human tendencies to want to feel a part of a notorious event. Is it compulsion? Maybe.
In any event, so much for not writing about this day. But I guess I'm just doing what we all must: staking my claim on a piece of history.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Bad Hair Day
It is indeed. I think perhaps I need to find someone new to cut it. One week ago today I was completely happy with my hair; I remember because I had a lengthy phone conversation with Peter and we discussed, among other things, my hair, with which I was pleased. (It says a lot for our friendship that we can discuss my hair and our mutual hatred for Ann Coulter in the same conversation ...) I never can seem to figure out what I have done differently on the days I like it. Though today my guess is it has to do with how long I wait to dry it; since my days are my own, I often let it air dry then finish it up. Is that my mistake? Whatever it is, I even sank so low last night as to contemplate trimming my own bangs. And I have enough bad high school memories to know that is never an answer!
You know the worst part of this: No one else even notices. Which means that even on the days I think my hair looks great, it really doesn't. Or, conversely, on the days I think it looks terrible, I look stunning. N'est ce pas?
I thought not.
But other than the hair, once I get past it, everything else has gone OK today. I worked a lot this morning, editing articles. And, I am pleased to report, they need very little work. The writers I have are very enthusiastic and, consequently, do good work. I still have some stuff to finish up (such as, writing my own stories ...) but it will get done. All in good time. Though the due date is fast approaching. I work best on a deadline.
It's the weekend, which means two full days of opportunity. Alison wants to see Superman at the IMAX; her birthday is approaching and she is worried that it won't be there anymore, so we're going to celebrate early. We need to get the invitations out for Sylvia's belated party. And we need to watch Hotel Rwanda that we've had from Netflix for more than a month. This weekend, it gets watched or it goes. And this time, unlike the last three weekends, I mean it.
Not sure what else the weekend holds. I think I'll let it surprise me.
You know the worst part of this: No one else even notices. Which means that even on the days I think my hair looks great, it really doesn't. Or, conversely, on the days I think it looks terrible, I look stunning. N'est ce pas?
I thought not.
But other than the hair, once I get past it, everything else has gone OK today. I worked a lot this morning, editing articles. And, I am pleased to report, they need very little work. The writers I have are very enthusiastic and, consequently, do good work. I still have some stuff to finish up (such as, writing my own stories ...) but it will get done. All in good time. Though the due date is fast approaching. I work best on a deadline.
It's the weekend, which means two full days of opportunity. Alison wants to see Superman at the IMAX; her birthday is approaching and she is worried that it won't be there anymore, so we're going to celebrate early. We need to get the invitations out for Sylvia's belated party. And we need to watch Hotel Rwanda that we've had from Netflix for more than a month. This weekend, it gets watched or it goes. And this time, unlike the last three weekends, I mean it.
Not sure what else the weekend holds. I think I'll let it surprise me.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Happiness is ...
... beautiful daughters! Seriously, aren't they the cutest things?
Sometimes, when I look at them, I have to stop, collect myself, and remember that I brought these very special people into the world.
And even if I never publish a novel, never write an Op-Ed for the New York Times, or never win a prize for fiction or nonfiction either one, I will know that my legacy is my children.
And that might have to be enough for me. I could have done worse.
PS: Yes, one is missing. The enigma that is my eldest ... it just adds to her charm.
And one more thing ...
Madeleine the critic is helping me with my blogging these days. Well, she offers sporadic assistance. Today she is wondering why I listed 99 things in yesterday's post. What can I say? It was an arbitrary decision; no real rhyme or reason.
She thinks I need to add one more to make it an even hundred. Her choice: To point out that I have a preference for blue ink pens.
Guilty as charged. What can I say? I prefer blue to black ink. Always have. I should also note that I prefer medium point. And these days I really prefer gel pens.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that I really love buying pens. Well, I actually love buying any sort of school or office supplies. I like to buy post-its, pens, those really nice wooden pencils (you know, the kind without any paint on them). I like pads of paper, highlighters, tape dispensers, little organizational tools. Love them all. A trip to Office Depot is anything but boring for the likes of me.
So there you have it. Maddie will be pleased to see that I have now been totally upfront about my odd fetishes. But I'm warning you, I could be hiding other unsavory facts. Best not to tell all too soon.
She thinks I need to add one more to make it an even hundred. Her choice: To point out that I have a preference for blue ink pens.
Guilty as charged. What can I say? I prefer blue to black ink. Always have. I should also note that I prefer medium point. And these days I really prefer gel pens.
In the interest of full disclosure, I should point out that I really love buying pens. Well, I actually love buying any sort of school or office supplies. I like to buy post-its, pens, those really nice wooden pencils (you know, the kind without any paint on them). I like pads of paper, highlighters, tape dispensers, little organizational tools. Love them all. A trip to Office Depot is anything but boring for the likes of me.
So there you have it. Maddie will be pleased to see that I have now been totally upfront about my odd fetishes. But I'm warning you, I could be hiding other unsavory facts. Best not to tell all too soon.
Up and at 'em
In a delightful change of pace today, I got up off my can and walked. Exercise — I truly hate it, but I have to admit, I felt great when I was done. I've been intending to get busy all week, so now here it is Thursday and I am just now doing something.
Part of my change in motivation has to do with the weather; it is much cooler these days. It is still hot here — I think it will be hot here for months, but come November it will feel great. But we're having a brief respite from the oppressive heat, so I can deal with being outside in the mornings. So I hit the pavement, complete with Gary's iPod in my ears, and to the sounds of Elvis Costello walked all through the streets of our subdivision, checking out the houses, seeing which ones have more curb appeal than mine.
So, with the weather as hot as it is, I had to find out the scoop on white pants and skirts. Yes, Labor Day is past, but the 90-degree temps remain, and I suspect they will for a while. So I e-mailed the fashion writer at the Houston Chronicle. She responded immediately — she could tell, I presume, that this was no frivolous question, but of the emergency variety. And good news for those of us with new white pants: I can continue to wear them through the fall. Such a relief.
Sigh ... back to work. And to the vacuum. And the beds. Real life. A nice little break from my fantasies.
Part of my change in motivation has to do with the weather; it is much cooler these days. It is still hot here — I think it will be hot here for months, but come November it will feel great. But we're having a brief respite from the oppressive heat, so I can deal with being outside in the mornings. So I hit the pavement, complete with Gary's iPod in my ears, and to the sounds of Elvis Costello walked all through the streets of our subdivision, checking out the houses, seeing which ones have more curb appeal than mine.
So, with the weather as hot as it is, I had to find out the scoop on white pants and skirts. Yes, Labor Day is past, but the 90-degree temps remain, and I suspect they will for a while. So I e-mailed the fashion writer at the Houston Chronicle. She responded immediately — she could tell, I presume, that this was no frivolous question, but of the emergency variety. And good news for those of us with new white pants: I can continue to wear them through the fall. Such a relief.
Sigh ... back to work. And to the vacuum. And the beds. Real life. A nice little break from my fantasies.
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
All About Me
Slow day here in the 'hood, so it's time for fun facts — more than you ever wanted to know about me:
99. I have three daughters.
98. I always thought I wanted four children. Reality won out.
97. I am married to my college sweetheart. We met when I was 18.
96. We have a dog. She and I are not close.
95. This house — brand-new — is the only house we've owned that was built after 1920.
94. Yet I love it.
93. I love to read.
92. My favorite authors include (but are not limited to): F. Scott Fitzgerald, Edith Wharton, Margaret Atwood, and Jane Austen.
91. My favorite writers include (but again, are not limited to): Maureen Dowd, Anna Quindlen, Michael Kinsley, and Thomas Friedman.
90. I love to cook, but I hate to fix dinner every night.
89. I love to shop, but not for groceries.
88. We have a huge, huge bedroom closet. And my part is nearly full.
87. I haven't worn panty hose since ... can't even remember.
86. I like to go out to lunch.
85. I also like to go out to dinner.
84. Snakes, bugs, rodents, and bats really creep me out.
83. I love my part-time job.
82. But I wish I got out of the house more.
81. LIke all women, I love chocolate.
80. Especially the dark kind.
79. I love to watch reruns of MASH, but only with McLean Stevenson and Wayne Rogers.
78. I like Stephen Colbert better than Jon Stewart.
77. I love plants, but I am a lousy gardener.
76. My favorite stores include Williams Sonoma, Restoration Hardware, Ann Taylor, IKEA, and Target.
75. Among my prized possessions is a set of the Young Folks Shelf of Books, circa 1960.
74. I've lived in five states and Europe.
73. But I've never been to the Grand Canyon.
72. I didn't go to Disneyworld until I was 36.
71. And I don't care to ever return.
71. I love to play darts.
69. And I'm not too bad.
68. I also love to bowl.
67. And, again, I'm not that bad.
66. I even own my own shoes and ball.
65. My daughter was born on my great-grandmother's 101st birthday.
64. I never get tired of watching When Harry Met Sally and You've Got Mail.
63. I cry every time they meet in the park.
62. And I cry every time Charlotte dies in Charlotte's Web.
61. I never miss The Office.
60. Or Everybody Hates Chris
59. Can't stand Kirstie Alley.
58. Or Brooke Shields.
57. Or Kathie Lee Gifford.
56. Or Joan Rivers.
55. Since moving to Houston, I've become a fan of The View.
54. And since I love Rosie O'Donnell, I love it more.
53. Though I miss Star Jones (go figure).
52. Elisabeth Hasselbeck is an idiot, but she deserves to have her say.
51. I've marched on Washington. Twice.
50. I'm a die-hard liberal.
49. Yet I respect many Republicans whom I know personally.
48. And I am considering — only considering! — voting for Kinky Friedman.
47. But I'm still thinking about it.
46. I paid a small fortune to take my kids to see The Producers on Broadway with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick.
45. I am still in touch with my best friend from fourth grade and my best friend from age 40.
44. And my favorite male friend from college.
43. We talk every month or so.
42. I refuse to drink diet soft drinks.
41. Or eat fat-free food.
40. This could explain a lot.
39. I've never been snow-skiing.
38. Or snorkeling.
37. I've never been to Las Vegas.
36. But I've been to Paris four times.
35. I love sushi.
34. I hate beer, but I love red wine.
33. And champagne.
32. I love to play trivia at bars.
31. And I love to win.
30. I love to play board games.
29. And I love to win.
28. I am very competitive.
27. I have read more books than I care to count since moving.
26. But that's more of an embarrassing stigma than an accomplishment.
25. My favorite classic Hollywood stars are Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly.
24. I stay up to watch the Oscars every year.
23. I have three brothers. I am the second eldest.
22. I am close friends with all of them.
21. All of my cousins are boys.
20. Yet I have three daughters.
19. I can speak German. Though not very well.
18. I love to sing karaoke.
17. I drive a Chrysler minivan.
16. But I'd much rather be driving a Mustang.
15. I love having a really clean house.
14. Sadly, most of the time, I don't.
13. I really love early morning hours and late night hours.
12. It is difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile these two likes.
11. I love to play Mah Jongg. (And win.)
10. Much of the music I love has been relegated to oldies radio stations.
9. I am addicted to public radio.
8. I love Elvis Costello, Harry Connick Jr., Broadway soundtracks, and the Steve Miller Band.
7. And a bunch of other music.
6. The last book I read was The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio.
5. As a child, my dream home was Crete, Nebraska, where my grandparents lived.
4. My dream home now? With my husband and daughters, wherever that is.
3. I graduated from the University of Missouri and have my master's from Bradley University.
2. I am six years in arrears in putting photos into albums.
1. I can ramble aimlessly for a very long time.
99. I have three daughters.
98. I always thought I wanted four children. Reality won out.
97. I am married to my college sweetheart. We met when I was 18.
96. We have a dog. She and I are not close.
95. This house — brand-new — is the only house we've owned that was built after 1920.
94. Yet I love it.
93. I love to read.
92. My favorite authors include (but are not limited to): F. Scott Fitzgerald, Edith Wharton, Margaret Atwood, and Jane Austen.
91. My favorite writers include (but again, are not limited to): Maureen Dowd, Anna Quindlen, Michael Kinsley, and Thomas Friedman.
90. I love to cook, but I hate to fix dinner every night.
89. I love to shop, but not for groceries.
88. We have a huge, huge bedroom closet. And my part is nearly full.
87. I haven't worn panty hose since ... can't even remember.
86. I like to go out to lunch.
85. I also like to go out to dinner.
84. Snakes, bugs, rodents, and bats really creep me out.
83. I love my part-time job.
82. But I wish I got out of the house more.
81. LIke all women, I love chocolate.
80. Especially the dark kind.
79. I love to watch reruns of MASH, but only with McLean Stevenson and Wayne Rogers.
78. I like Stephen Colbert better than Jon Stewart.
77. I love plants, but I am a lousy gardener.
76. My favorite stores include Williams Sonoma, Restoration Hardware, Ann Taylor, IKEA, and Target.
75. Among my prized possessions is a set of the Young Folks Shelf of Books, circa 1960.
74. I've lived in five states and Europe.
73. But I've never been to the Grand Canyon.
72. I didn't go to Disneyworld until I was 36.
71. And I don't care to ever return.
71. I love to play darts.
69. And I'm not too bad.
68. I also love to bowl.
67. And, again, I'm not that bad.
66. I even own my own shoes and ball.
65. My daughter was born on my great-grandmother's 101st birthday.
64. I never get tired of watching When Harry Met Sally and You've Got Mail.
63. I cry every time they meet in the park.
62. And I cry every time Charlotte dies in Charlotte's Web.
61. I never miss The Office.
60. Or Everybody Hates Chris
59. Can't stand Kirstie Alley.
58. Or Brooke Shields.
57. Or Kathie Lee Gifford.
56. Or Joan Rivers.
55. Since moving to Houston, I've become a fan of The View.
54. And since I love Rosie O'Donnell, I love it more.
53. Though I miss Star Jones (go figure).
52. Elisabeth Hasselbeck is an idiot, but she deserves to have her say.
51. I've marched on Washington. Twice.
50. I'm a die-hard liberal.
49. Yet I respect many Republicans whom I know personally.
48. And I am considering — only considering! — voting for Kinky Friedman.
47. But I'm still thinking about it.
46. I paid a small fortune to take my kids to see The Producers on Broadway with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick.
45. I am still in touch with my best friend from fourth grade and my best friend from age 40.
44. And my favorite male friend from college.
43. We talk every month or so.
42. I refuse to drink diet soft drinks.
41. Or eat fat-free food.
40. This could explain a lot.
39. I've never been snow-skiing.
38. Or snorkeling.
37. I've never been to Las Vegas.
36. But I've been to Paris four times.
35. I love sushi.
34. I hate beer, but I love red wine.
33. And champagne.
32. I love to play trivia at bars.
31. And I love to win.
30. I love to play board games.
29. And I love to win.
28. I am very competitive.
27. I have read more books than I care to count since moving.
26. But that's more of an embarrassing stigma than an accomplishment.
25. My favorite classic Hollywood stars are Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly.
24. I stay up to watch the Oscars every year.
23. I have three brothers. I am the second eldest.
22. I am close friends with all of them.
21. All of my cousins are boys.
20. Yet I have three daughters.
19. I can speak German. Though not very well.
18. I love to sing karaoke.
17. I drive a Chrysler minivan.
16. But I'd much rather be driving a Mustang.
15. I love having a really clean house.
14. Sadly, most of the time, I don't.
13. I really love early morning hours and late night hours.
12. It is difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile these two likes.
11. I love to play Mah Jongg. (And win.)
10. Much of the music I love has been relegated to oldies radio stations.
9. I am addicted to public radio.
8. I love Elvis Costello, Harry Connick Jr., Broadway soundtracks, and the Steve Miller Band.
7. And a bunch of other music.
6. The last book I read was The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio.
5. As a child, my dream home was Crete, Nebraska, where my grandparents lived.
4. My dream home now? With my husband and daughters, wherever that is.
3. I graduated from the University of Missouri and have my master's from Bradley University.
2. I am six years in arrears in putting photos into albums.
1. I can ramble aimlessly for a very long time.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Happy Labor Day
It's Labor Day. And in honor of this workers' holiday, I am not working.
I will spend the day at home, with my family. I will tidy up, putting away all the things we bought at IKEA yesterday. If the weather holds out, we will swim. We may attend the neighborhood Labor Day picnic, complete with live music, food, and bouncy houses.
I will do some laundry. I will make the beds, unload and load the dishwasher, and straighten up the bathrooms. These I do not consider work; this is what I must do to maintain order in my home. And I am adamant about order around here ... or at least some semblance thereof. Not that I achieve it every day, but I desire it with every fiber of my being.
But today is not about achieving this goal. Today is about relaxing, about not working. I will not clean out the pantry, organize my closet, or even run the vacuum.
Even though I have already spent part of today writing and will write more — writing is, for me, not work. It is part of my employment, naturally, because it is all I know to do. But is so much more than my vocation; it is how I express myself, how I identify who I am. It is who I am. This is what a writer will tell you, that writing is in their veins.
But the writing today, this and the other I may do, is not the writing for which I am paid. Because today is not a day for paid labor. It is a day off, one I will enjoy. Tomorrow it is back to the routine, back to the grind. The girls go back to school and I will get busy with deadlines fast approaching.
That is tomorrow. Today is a holiday from work. I plan to enjoy my time with my family as we celebrate this last official day of summer. Good-bye to the sights and smells of summer, welcome to fall and all it beholds.
Happy Labor Day!
I will spend the day at home, with my family. I will tidy up, putting away all the things we bought at IKEA yesterday. If the weather holds out, we will swim. We may attend the neighborhood Labor Day picnic, complete with live music, food, and bouncy houses.
I will do some laundry. I will make the beds, unload and load the dishwasher, and straighten up the bathrooms. These I do not consider work; this is what I must do to maintain order in my home. And I am adamant about order around here ... or at least some semblance thereof. Not that I achieve it every day, but I desire it with every fiber of my being.
But today is not about achieving this goal. Today is about relaxing, about not working. I will not clean out the pantry, organize my closet, or even run the vacuum.
Even though I have already spent part of today writing and will write more — writing is, for me, not work. It is part of my employment, naturally, because it is all I know to do. But is so much more than my vocation; it is how I express myself, how I identify who I am. It is who I am. This is what a writer will tell you, that writing is in their veins.
But the writing today, this and the other I may do, is not the writing for which I am paid. Because today is not a day for paid labor. It is a day off, one I will enjoy. Tomorrow it is back to the routine, back to the grind. The girls go back to school and I will get busy with deadlines fast approaching.
That is tomorrow. Today is a holiday from work. I plan to enjoy my time with my family as we celebrate this last official day of summer. Good-bye to the sights and smells of summer, welcome to fall and all it beholds.
Happy Labor Day!
Friday, September 01, 2006
A Friday of possibilities
Today was off to a less auspicious start than yesterday, when the high school bus was a no-show. I'm forever indebted to the anonymous neighbor (Morgan's mom?) who saved me by offering Alison a ride. Though I was scrambling to get Sylvia dressed and send her next door with her breakfast so she could catch her bus while I gave Alison a ride — a fact which I hope Alison pointed out to the neighbor who does not know me. I do try, really, I do!
Yet I'm totally lazy. It's not as if I've accomplished nothing today — I've read my e-mail, work-related and personal. I'm getting responses to the many press releases I've sent out promoting beautiful, upscale Cy-Fair Magazine. I finished my novel. Well, novella, Summer Crossing by Truman Capote. Which has edified for me that yes, too many semicolons and colons are, in fact, distracting.
But I'm moving slowly today. The benefits of working at home.
I had a leisurely morning while I read yesterday's paper. Who says that ding dongs aren't a breakfast food? You know, I'd be horrified if i caught one of the girls eating like that. Yet in my morally ambiguous approach to parenthood, all rules change when you're the mommy. As I've often said, once their name is on the mortgage and they pay the bills, they are welcome to make the rules. Plus, what they don't know can't be held against me (!).
Library books to return, floors to vacuum, kitchen to tidy, sheets to fold and put away. A tribute to the mundane. Which has led me to decide that our budget certainly can support a twice-monthly housekeeper. As I explained to Gary, if I am happy, then, by default, everyone will be happier. His response: The girls would probably be willing to sacrifice their allowance in support.
A psycho mom, every child's dream. My goal each day is to make sure that doesn't happen ... admittedly, some days are better than others.
Alison is off to Baton Rouge tonight, and Maddie and Sylvia are going on an overnight. What to do: Dinner? Movie? Dancing? The sky's the limit, and downtown Houston is a mere 25 miles away.
The evening awaits ...
Yet I'm totally lazy. It's not as if I've accomplished nothing today — I've read my e-mail, work-related and personal. I'm getting responses to the many press releases I've sent out promoting beautiful, upscale Cy-Fair Magazine. I finished my novel. Well, novella, Summer Crossing by Truman Capote. Which has edified for me that yes, too many semicolons and colons are, in fact, distracting.
But I'm moving slowly today. The benefits of working at home.
I had a leisurely morning while I read yesterday's paper. Who says that ding dongs aren't a breakfast food? You know, I'd be horrified if i caught one of the girls eating like that. Yet in my morally ambiguous approach to parenthood, all rules change when you're the mommy. As I've often said, once their name is on the mortgage and they pay the bills, they are welcome to make the rules. Plus, what they don't know can't be held against me (!).
Library books to return, floors to vacuum, kitchen to tidy, sheets to fold and put away. A tribute to the mundane. Which has led me to decide that our budget certainly can support a twice-monthly housekeeper. As I explained to Gary, if I am happy, then, by default, everyone will be happier. His response: The girls would probably be willing to sacrifice their allowance in support.
A psycho mom, every child's dream. My goal each day is to make sure that doesn't happen ... admittedly, some days are better than others.
Alison is off to Baton Rouge tonight, and Maddie and Sylvia are going on an overnight. What to do: Dinner? Movie? Dancing? The sky's the limit, and downtown Houston is a mere 25 miles away.
The evening awaits ...
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Antiquing, Texas-style
A friend decided it was time to introduce me to the world of Texas antique shops. Destination: Brenham, just an hour west on 290.
Brenham is charming, a little downtown of turn-of-the-century (turn of the last century, that is) storefronts. it's like a piece of Americana, the type of small-town feel that one only gets in mid-America. It's that certain ambience that doesn't exist out where we live in suburbia.
The streets were lined with antique shops. They clearly aren't about making big money; signs all indicated that most would be open at 10 a.m, yet when we arrived — just after 10 — most were still closed. So we popped in where we found an open door and a friendly face. Some stock lovely vintage furniture, others stock kitsch. I loved both; what, after all, is better than a day full of nostalgia? I loved flipping through old 45's, dishes and glassware, fragile fabrics and cowboy-themed memorobilia.
I came home with my arms full — two classic kitchen canisters, a set of enamel-ware, and my favorite find: a kitchen bowl with a Dutch-like pattern. The attraction? It is a pattern I grew up with, as both my mother and my grandmother had dishes with this pattern. It was my dad's ice cream bowl; he ate a bowl of ice cream every night before bed in this bowl. (And yes, as the girls noticed, it is definitely much too big for ice cream. Not that anyone is commenting ...)
Yet another day that makes me feel more at home here in the Lone Star state.
Brenham is charming, a little downtown of turn-of-the-century (turn of the last century, that is) storefronts. it's like a piece of Americana, the type of small-town feel that one only gets in mid-America. It's that certain ambience that doesn't exist out where we live in suburbia.
The streets were lined with antique shops. They clearly aren't about making big money; signs all indicated that most would be open at 10 a.m, yet when we arrived — just after 10 — most were still closed. So we popped in where we found an open door and a friendly face. Some stock lovely vintage furniture, others stock kitsch. I loved both; what, after all, is better than a day full of nostalgia? I loved flipping through old 45's, dishes and glassware, fragile fabrics and cowboy-themed memorobilia.
I came home with my arms full — two classic kitchen canisters, a set of enamel-ware, and my favorite find: a kitchen bowl with a Dutch-like pattern. The attraction? It is a pattern I grew up with, as both my mother and my grandmother had dishes with this pattern. It was my dad's ice cream bowl; he ate a bowl of ice cream every night before bed in this bowl. (And yes, as the girls noticed, it is definitely much too big for ice cream. Not that anyone is commenting ...)
Yet another day that makes me feel more at home here in the Lone Star state.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Anniversary of a disaster
The world came crashing down for the citizens of New Orleans one year ago today. I remember so clearly walking home after dropping the girls off at school, discussing this very scenario with Melissa. My dad told me this possible phenomenon was discussed in urban geography courses forty years ago. So when it actually happened, we weren't surprised, necessarily.
But that doesn't mean we weren't stunned. The level of devastation was shocking. The stories of people abandoned, trapped in their attics, alone, no help on its way. It was tragedy on a level that was hard to comprehend. Much like the tsunami the Christmas before — it was an event that sucked the very life out of a city, a country, and we were left helpless on the sidelines, too paralyzed with shock and grief to properly respond.
I saw the after-effects up close when we visited Houston the very next week on a house-hunting trip. The hotel lobby, full, in the middle of the day, of adult men, clearly sitting there with nothing to do. The people carrying laundry in grocery bags. A table full of donations of toiletries and literature on where to get relief. Signs on the sides of roads advertising temporary jobs.
Even two months later, when we visited again to finalize details on the house, we got glances inside hotel rooms and saw clear evidence of people who had been living there for weeks, months. There was the sweet woman at breakfast who asked us if we, too, had been displaced by Katrina. When asked if she would be returning to New Orleans, to collect her things, she smiled and said, sadly, "There's nothing there to get." Her family was from New Orleans; her mother, she said, had refused to leave. Her husband had loved it there. But he had already passed away, so she wouldn't be returning. For her, life was now in Houston.
Fast forward, and today there are still 118,000 Hurricane Katrina evacuees, if you will, living in Houston. Many of them are here permanently — thye've found jobs, reinvented their lives. The children enrolled in the Houston schools are being held back, not doing well on standardized tests. These people are victims of crimes, they are the perpetrators of crimes. And we know, because the fact that they were displaced by Katrina is always part of the story.
The recovery is slow; areas like the French Quarter, the Garden District and Bourbon Street are nearly back to normal. But so many other parts of the city, virtually obliterated by the flood waters, will never be the same. People tell of working to restore their homes, only to be the sole house on the block that is rebuilding. What happens to these neighborhoods? Will there be businesses, jobs and services for them? Will the city recover?
Such a loss. Certainly for the residents of the city, but for all of us, for the entire country. With a death total over half of the casualties in the 9/11 attacks, it is the greatest natural disaster in U.S. history. But where is the million-dollar payout for these victims? Where is the government relief? Why are their lives and their tragedy less important?
I'll be watching, along with the rest of the world, hoping that New Orleans recovers in some sense. Maybe not just the same, but a city still. We need it; we need to see New Orleans come back.
But that doesn't mean we weren't stunned. The level of devastation was shocking. The stories of people abandoned, trapped in their attics, alone, no help on its way. It was tragedy on a level that was hard to comprehend. Much like the tsunami the Christmas before — it was an event that sucked the very life out of a city, a country, and we were left helpless on the sidelines, too paralyzed with shock and grief to properly respond.
I saw the after-effects up close when we visited Houston the very next week on a house-hunting trip. The hotel lobby, full, in the middle of the day, of adult men, clearly sitting there with nothing to do. The people carrying laundry in grocery bags. A table full of donations of toiletries and literature on where to get relief. Signs on the sides of roads advertising temporary jobs.
Even two months later, when we visited again to finalize details on the house, we got glances inside hotel rooms and saw clear evidence of people who had been living there for weeks, months. There was the sweet woman at breakfast who asked us if we, too, had been displaced by Katrina. When asked if she would be returning to New Orleans, to collect her things, she smiled and said, sadly, "There's nothing there to get." Her family was from New Orleans; her mother, she said, had refused to leave. Her husband had loved it there. But he had already passed away, so she wouldn't be returning. For her, life was now in Houston.
Fast forward, and today there are still 118,000 Hurricane Katrina evacuees, if you will, living in Houston. Many of them are here permanently — thye've found jobs, reinvented their lives. The children enrolled in the Houston schools are being held back, not doing well on standardized tests. These people are victims of crimes, they are the perpetrators of crimes. And we know, because the fact that they were displaced by Katrina is always part of the story.
The recovery is slow; areas like the French Quarter, the Garden District and Bourbon Street are nearly back to normal. But so many other parts of the city, virtually obliterated by the flood waters, will never be the same. People tell of working to restore their homes, only to be the sole house on the block that is rebuilding. What happens to these neighborhoods? Will there be businesses, jobs and services for them? Will the city recover?
Such a loss. Certainly for the residents of the city, but for all of us, for the entire country. With a death total over half of the casualties in the 9/11 attacks, it is the greatest natural disaster in U.S. history. But where is the million-dollar payout for these victims? Where is the government relief? Why are their lives and their tragedy less important?
I'll be watching, along with the rest of the world, hoping that New Orleans recovers in some sense. Maybe not just the same, but a city still. We need it; we need to see New Orleans come back.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Sunday, Sunday
In Germany, Sunday was the day I dreaded most. I felt isolated there; weekdays I had a routine: take kids to school, take care of the baby, pick up kids, help with homework, shopping, German lessons, and so on. Saturdays there were errands to run, things to do. But Sundays ... it was strange. We didn't go many places — everything was closed. We didn't go to church; I couldn't quite muster up the energy necessary to attend services in German. (It was all I could to to speak and understand casual conversation, but to focus on a one-hour talk? Impossible.)
Sometimes we were invited out for coffee; sometimes there was a carnival or outdoor festival. But the girls' friends tended to not be available for playdates. It rained a lot, so the weather was often dreary, thus we didn't go out a lot. And our children were very small — we had an infant. Thus Sundays were usually a dismal grey day with little to do. The house was clean, thanks to the housekeeper, and since it was rental, there weren't any projects to take care of.
On occasion I'd luck out and find a movie on the Danish channel (they used subtitles rather than dubbing everything as the Germans did). I saw the movie "Breaking Away" on one of those days; I'm not sure if I remember it fondly because it's a good movie, because it takes place in and was filmed in Bloomington, Indiana, (my adopted home state), or because it filled a void at a time when I needed it. Whichever it was, the movie remains a favorite.
I know, I know, I should have appreciated the uninterrupted family time. But you know, I had a lot of uninterrupted time. I was alone a lot. Gary worked long hours, and by the time the weekend rolled around, I was craving some sort of activity, some connection. It was better in springtime or summer, on those rare days when it was sunshiney, and we could go for bike rides and get outside, go to the beach. But for most of the year? I seem to recall only the long days without much to do.
It is better here. I know it's hot — oppressively so — but we have a backyard swimming pool to combat that. And things are open. Plus there's church, where I do get that connection. And now that the girls are older, I don't feel the same sense of being overwhelmed with them that seemed to take over my very being when they were small.
Why the sudden burst of nostalgia? I suppose it has something to do with hitting the six-month mark. We're here, we're settled and we're starting, just starting, really, to feel a part of things. I know a few people; not the same way I did in Lafayette, but still, I have people to talk to. I have a job, one that takes me places, gets me out of the house a bit. And the girls are making friends. And on a weekend when we had no real plans, I didn't feel the pain of nothing to do, but managed to relish the time and relax.
Progress. It's not always measured in large steps, but sometimes in the little things. It's all just a matter of time.
Sometimes we were invited out for coffee; sometimes there was a carnival or outdoor festival. But the girls' friends tended to not be available for playdates. It rained a lot, so the weather was often dreary, thus we didn't go out a lot. And our children were very small — we had an infant. Thus Sundays were usually a dismal grey day with little to do. The house was clean, thanks to the housekeeper, and since it was rental, there weren't any projects to take care of.
On occasion I'd luck out and find a movie on the Danish channel (they used subtitles rather than dubbing everything as the Germans did). I saw the movie "Breaking Away" on one of those days; I'm not sure if I remember it fondly because it's a good movie, because it takes place in and was filmed in Bloomington, Indiana, (my adopted home state), or because it filled a void at a time when I needed it. Whichever it was, the movie remains a favorite.
I know, I know, I should have appreciated the uninterrupted family time. But you know, I had a lot of uninterrupted time. I was alone a lot. Gary worked long hours, and by the time the weekend rolled around, I was craving some sort of activity, some connection. It was better in springtime or summer, on those rare days when it was sunshiney, and we could go for bike rides and get outside, go to the beach. But for most of the year? I seem to recall only the long days without much to do.
It is better here. I know it's hot — oppressively so — but we have a backyard swimming pool to combat that. And things are open. Plus there's church, where I do get that connection. And now that the girls are older, I don't feel the same sense of being overwhelmed with them that seemed to take over my very being when they were small.
Why the sudden burst of nostalgia? I suppose it has something to do with hitting the six-month mark. We're here, we're settled and we're starting, just starting, really, to feel a part of things. I know a few people; not the same way I did in Lafayette, but still, I have people to talk to. I have a job, one that takes me places, gets me out of the house a bit. And the girls are making friends. And on a weekend when we had no real plans, I didn't feel the pain of nothing to do, but managed to relish the time and relax.
Progress. It's not always measured in large steps, but sometimes in the little things. It's all just a matter of time.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
And the winner is ...
So glad I went to the networking luncheon ... because I won the door prize! It is a bag filled with miscellany from the community college, including a lanyard, mini stapler, pen, mirror, pad of paper, and very, very cool star-shaped, five-color highligter!
Does life get any better than that?
Does life get any better than that?
Networking
Big day today: I'm off to the Cy-Fair American Business Women's Express Lunch. One of those networking lunches, which is really good for me. The magazine is brand-spanking-new, so not many people know about it. And I know virtually NO ONE, so it's good for me to get out there, be seen.
And, as an added bonus, it gets me out of shorts and into something snappy. It's good to get to wear all one's outfits.
Tomorrow I am going to a seminar at the school district on — surprise — how to work with the school district. Sounds fascinating, but necessary.
Other than that, not much going on. I could write of my challenge to clean all the baseboards (one room down, 11 to go ...) or about how I did all the laundry yesterday, which taught me that my linen closet has a hard time holding all the clean towels at ocne — apparently some need to sit in the hamper.
And I'm nearly done with Anita Shreve's A Wedding in December. Not totally satisfying. I'm ready for something new. Any suggestions?
And, as an added bonus, it gets me out of shorts and into something snappy. It's good to get to wear all one's outfits.
Tomorrow I am going to a seminar at the school district on — surprise — how to work with the school district. Sounds fascinating, but necessary.
Other than that, not much going on. I could write of my challenge to clean all the baseboards (one room down, 11 to go ...) or about how I did all the laundry yesterday, which taught me that my linen closet has a hard time holding all the clean towels at ocne — apparently some need to sit in the hamper.
And I'm nearly done with Anita Shreve's A Wedding in December. Not totally satisfying. I'm ready for something new. Any suggestions?
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
And speaking of something inappropriate ...
Spent the morning at the Sampson Elementary VIPS (very important parents = volunteers) orientation. It was mostly blah-blah-blah, a bunch of introductions. There were more than 120 parents (moms) there, and a lot of people were missing; it's a different deal than Miller, that is for sure. This PTO has about 12 subcommittees — one organized bunch. Super moms — frankly, they scare me. I think I'll just lie low. Most chairs chose not to make mini-presentations, but my favorite mom (big mouth, loud, take-charge, I-love-my-kids-more-than-you-love-yours mom) had to make a speech, had to take far more than her allotted five minutes because HER committee is the most exciting, more important than the others. Yea, yea, yea; whatever.
I do wish I had known we were taking pictures for volunteer nametags; I might have not let my hair retain its natural curl in order to blend in with the humidity; I might not have spent 20 minutes walking over in afore-mentioned humidity. Can't wait to see this photo.
But my favorite moment? When the moderator, after the mini-speech by the Hispanic mom, said, "Thanks. And love that accent!" Don't you people have any class?
And then there was last night, parent night at the middle school. One teacher mentioned she was pregnant; she said it was her second and she likely would not be having any more (OK, first of all, too much information!). Then a father pipes up with, "Why?" Um .... none of your business? Do you not know which boundaries are not to be crossed?
Why must people be so clueless? And why don't people learn? One time, at a party when I was hugely pregnant, the wife of one of Gary's more moronic colleagues asked me if this pregnancy was planned. I tried the, "Why would you ask that?" response — you know, the one designed to embarrass people into shutting up? Didn't have the desired effect AT all — she proceeded to tell me just why she wanted to know, outlining in horrifying detail the circumstances of all her pregnancies.
Sigh. Some people do not learn. Don't people have any class? Sadly, we know the answer to that.
I do wish I had known we were taking pictures for volunteer nametags; I might have not let my hair retain its natural curl in order to blend in with the humidity; I might not have spent 20 minutes walking over in afore-mentioned humidity. Can't wait to see this photo.
But my favorite moment? When the moderator, after the mini-speech by the Hispanic mom, said, "Thanks. And love that accent!" Don't you people have any class?
And then there was last night, parent night at the middle school. One teacher mentioned she was pregnant; she said it was her second and she likely would not be having any more (OK, first of all, too much information!). Then a father pipes up with, "Why?" Um .... none of your business? Do you not know which boundaries are not to be crossed?
Why must people be so clueless? And why don't people learn? One time, at a party when I was hugely pregnant, the wife of one of Gary's more moronic colleagues asked me if this pregnancy was planned. I tried the, "Why would you ask that?" response — you know, the one designed to embarrass people into shutting up? Didn't have the desired effect AT all — she proceeded to tell me just why she wanted to know, outlining in horrifying detail the circumstances of all her pregnancies.
Sigh. Some people do not learn. Don't people have any class? Sadly, we know the answer to that.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Happy Birthday, Sylvia!
Just another day ... or not? Today is the day, eight years ago, that we welcomed daughter No. 3 into our lives. Our little family was complete: mother, father, three little girls. After Maddie was born I felt so wonderful, I just had to do it again. And I was not disappointed. She has been an absolute delight in every way.
But she is at school today, so the celebration will wait until later. Much work to do today. I need to take care of some work stuff, tidy up a bit, run some errands. Need to finish A Wedding in December by Anita Shreve, but it's not capturing my attention like some of her books have. But I'll finish it — I always do, or I feel like I can't pass judgment.
I need to read something more substantial. I tend to lean toward very light fiction in the summer. It's easy to read by the pool, it's fun. But reading Bergdorf Blondes about did me in; what a mindless piece of nonsense. I know it's labeled a farce, but I just thought it was a waste; those characters had no redeeming qualities.
I have enjoyed reading the Betsy-Tacy books to the girls. Per a friend's recommendation (thanks, Gale!) I picked them up, and they are charming. Reminds of so much other really good children's literature: Eleanor Estes, Lois Lenski, Carolyn Haywood, Beverly Cleary. I love curling up with Sylvia to read them; even 12-year-old Maddie will join us.
Well, so much to do today. The time for dilly-dallying is over.
But she is at school today, so the celebration will wait until later. Much work to do today. I need to take care of some work stuff, tidy up a bit, run some errands. Need to finish A Wedding in December by Anita Shreve, but it's not capturing my attention like some of her books have. But I'll finish it — I always do, or I feel like I can't pass judgment.
I need to read something more substantial. I tend to lean toward very light fiction in the summer. It's easy to read by the pool, it's fun. But reading Bergdorf Blondes about did me in; what a mindless piece of nonsense. I know it's labeled a farce, but I just thought it was a waste; those characters had no redeeming qualities.
I have enjoyed reading the Betsy-Tacy books to the girls. Per a friend's recommendation (thanks, Gale!) I picked them up, and they are charming. Reminds of so much other really good children's literature: Eleanor Estes, Lois Lenski, Carolyn Haywood, Beverly Cleary. I love curling up with Sylvia to read them; even 12-year-old Maddie will join us.
Well, so much to do today. The time for dilly-dallying is over.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Organization heaven
The Container Store can make all my dreams come true.
I fantasize about having a perfect house. One where everything is neat and tidy, all the little cluttery pieces put away all the time. There are several obstacles to my achieving this; I can name three right away, but there are others — moi included. I have two desks, one in the kitchen and one upstairs, and at the moment, both are a mess. So it's not all the kids' fault.
When I visit the Container Store, I believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that this dream is attainable. All I need are the proper containers and my perfect house dream will become reality.
I don't even really go nuts there; today I picked up some jars for the bathroom (decorative as well as functional) and CD shelves. But I spent lots of time browsing, getting ideas about achieving my dream home.
I love that these stores make us feel as if this perfect home is right there, available for the masses. Just like Target and IKEA, simplifying style, making cheap shopping chic, and marketing it on a budget.
Makes life fun; makes getting my life in order feel less like a chore and more like a project.
Hurrah for mass-marketed organization; hurray for capitalism that makes it all possible.
And hurray for me, for getting the CDs on shelves and my cabinets in order. There.
I fantasize about having a perfect house. One where everything is neat and tidy, all the little cluttery pieces put away all the time. There are several obstacles to my achieving this; I can name three right away, but there are others — moi included. I have two desks, one in the kitchen and one upstairs, and at the moment, both are a mess. So it's not all the kids' fault.
When I visit the Container Store, I believe, even if only for a fleeting moment, that this dream is attainable. All I need are the proper containers and my perfect house dream will become reality.
I don't even really go nuts there; today I picked up some jars for the bathroom (decorative as well as functional) and CD shelves. But I spent lots of time browsing, getting ideas about achieving my dream home.
I love that these stores make us feel as if this perfect home is right there, available for the masses. Just like Target and IKEA, simplifying style, making cheap shopping chic, and marketing it on a budget.
Makes life fun; makes getting my life in order feel less like a chore and more like a project.
Hurrah for mass-marketed organization; hurray for capitalism that makes it all possible.
And hurray for me, for getting the CDs on shelves and my cabinets in order. There.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Tragedy revisited
I wasn't too wrapped up in the whole sordid Jon-Benet Ramsey case way back in '97. Sure, I followed it — how could you help it? — but I wasn't glued to the details. My children were very small, but Alison was old enough to ask why that little girl kept showing up on television. So I turned it off; it was all too sad and too shocking to get wrapped up in.
Yet I listened when others formulated theories. And I confess, I was all too ready to believe the worst; I really just assumed that it was someone in her family. The intruder theory didn't hold water; there were just too many inconsistencies. So I bought into the bizarro scenarios: a crazed mother, a jealous brother, a psycho father.
And it was hard to believe that a killer in such a prominent, well-publicized case could go unpunished. Particularly if they were meeting with the police, pretending to be concerned. How perverse is that?
Fast-forward to, well, today, where there's been an arrest. Details on CNN say the alleged perpetrator has confessed. He's some sort of pedophile, apparently, and says her death was an "accident."
Just another puzzle piece in this notoriously unsolved case.
Mostly today, I've been feeling funny for not believing the Ramseys. I'm sorry that they've lived under this veil of suspicion for 10 years, suspected in the death of their own daughter.
Assuming, of course, that this guy really did do it, and that the family really is off the hook. Call me a skeptic, but he is innocent until proven guilty. So I'll not let go of my suspicions totally for the moment.
Such a sick and twisted story. The video of her in the child beauty pageants made me uncomfortable. She was just a little girl. But she shouldn't have had to live out some vicarious fantasy of her mother. And she shouldn't have had to die — certainly not in such a violent way.
A strange ending to a sad story. The end? Let's hope so.
Yet I listened when others formulated theories. And I confess, I was all too ready to believe the worst; I really just assumed that it was someone in her family. The intruder theory didn't hold water; there were just too many inconsistencies. So I bought into the bizarro scenarios: a crazed mother, a jealous brother, a psycho father.
And it was hard to believe that a killer in such a prominent, well-publicized case could go unpunished. Particularly if they were meeting with the police, pretending to be concerned. How perverse is that?
Fast-forward to, well, today, where there's been an arrest. Details on CNN say the alleged perpetrator has confessed. He's some sort of pedophile, apparently, and says her death was an "accident."
Just another puzzle piece in this notoriously unsolved case.
Mostly today, I've been feeling funny for not believing the Ramseys. I'm sorry that they've lived under this veil of suspicion for 10 years, suspected in the death of their own daughter.
Assuming, of course, that this guy really did do it, and that the family really is off the hook. Call me a skeptic, but he is innocent until proven guilty. So I'll not let go of my suspicions totally for the moment.
Such a sick and twisted story. The video of her in the child beauty pageants made me uncomfortable. She was just a little girl. But she shouldn't have had to live out some vicarious fantasy of her mother. And she shouldn't have had to die — certainly not in such a violent way.
A strange ending to a sad story. The end? Let's hope so.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Back to School
Is it me, or is August 16, with outside temps in the 90s, a little premature for the start of school?
I didn't think it was just me.
None the less, I think my girls were ready to go back. They need some companionship, need to see some kids their own age. And, for the most part, they like school. They're good students and they're motivated.
Oh, but 6.40 a.m. seems so early to be waiting for the bus. Better them than me (!).
For Maddie, this is a big year: The switch to middle school. She has a locker, PE uniform, lunch at the snack bar. She can wear flip flops. Sit where she wants at lunch. She's excited.
Alison is a freshman — my god, where does the time go? She is jazzed because her journalism class will be producing the yearbook. She asked me if I'd come speak to her class as an "expert." Seems funny, somehow ... but sure, why not? I was a kick-ass yearbook editor back in the day. Oh — and there's that thing I'm doing now that might be relevant ...
Sylvia seemed happy enough — likes her teacher, saw her friends. She's easy to please.
I remember so well the first day of school. Every year, for the most part — I loved going back. I liked buying school supplies, planning my outfit for the first day. And yes, Tammy, I do remember what you wore the first day of fourth grade. Though I'm a little fuzzy on some other first-day ensembles. I remember the night-before-school-starts phone calls to sort out the details, but the outfits themselves escape me (though with a little prodding I'll bet they'd come back!).
A friend posed the question recently about what classes people loved. I liked English, history, music; I liked working on the yearbook and newspaper. But I'll be honest — I was mostly uninspired by my high school teachers. These people had a chance to really ignite in us a passion for learning, and mostly they slept-walked through teaching us. What they were best at was getting embroiled in gossip and controversy and teaching lessons the exact same way they had for the past 25 years. Or longer.
I had a great science teacher — Mr. McLaren was the best — but he didn't — couldn't, through no fault of his own — inspire me to study the sciences. And I really liked Mr. Moore in math. Alas, my talents did not lie in that area. My school had terrible business, history and language teachers. And our English teachers weren't always so hot, either.
Though on occasion we would benefit from the expertise of student teachers — don't knock the innovations of novices. I can name a few in particular who really inspired me, in art, history, and English. Even going back to grade school, these college seniors brought with them a passion that was evident. I'll always remember them and the gifts they shared. Don't know what happened to all of them, but I'm guessing that at least some of them went on to become very effective in the classroom.
College was a different story, then grad school ... but I'm jumping ahead. The girls had great first days, all three of them. I hope their passion for learning continues. It's the greatest gift we give our children, a love of knowledge.
It will take them to the stars.
I didn't think it was just me.
None the less, I think my girls were ready to go back. They need some companionship, need to see some kids their own age. And, for the most part, they like school. They're good students and they're motivated.
Oh, but 6.40 a.m. seems so early to be waiting for the bus. Better them than me (!).
For Maddie, this is a big year: The switch to middle school. She has a locker, PE uniform, lunch at the snack bar. She can wear flip flops. Sit where she wants at lunch. She's excited.
Alison is a freshman — my god, where does the time go? She is jazzed because her journalism class will be producing the yearbook. She asked me if I'd come speak to her class as an "expert." Seems funny, somehow ... but sure, why not? I was a kick-ass yearbook editor back in the day. Oh — and there's that thing I'm doing now that might be relevant ...
Sylvia seemed happy enough — likes her teacher, saw her friends. She's easy to please.
I remember so well the first day of school. Every year, for the most part — I loved going back. I liked buying school supplies, planning my outfit for the first day. And yes, Tammy, I do remember what you wore the first day of fourth grade. Though I'm a little fuzzy on some other first-day ensembles. I remember the night-before-school-starts phone calls to sort out the details, but the outfits themselves escape me (though with a little prodding I'll bet they'd come back!).
A friend posed the question recently about what classes people loved. I liked English, history, music; I liked working on the yearbook and newspaper. But I'll be honest — I was mostly uninspired by my high school teachers. These people had a chance to really ignite in us a passion for learning, and mostly they slept-walked through teaching us. What they were best at was getting embroiled in gossip and controversy and teaching lessons the exact same way they had for the past 25 years. Or longer.
I had a great science teacher — Mr. McLaren was the best — but he didn't — couldn't, through no fault of his own — inspire me to study the sciences. And I really liked Mr. Moore in math. Alas, my talents did not lie in that area. My school had terrible business, history and language teachers. And our English teachers weren't always so hot, either.
Though on occasion we would benefit from the expertise of student teachers — don't knock the innovations of novices. I can name a few in particular who really inspired me, in art, history, and English. Even going back to grade school, these college seniors brought with them a passion that was evident. I'll always remember them and the gifts they shared. Don't know what happened to all of them, but I'm guessing that at least some of them went on to become very effective in the classroom.
College was a different story, then grad school ... but I'm jumping ahead. The girls had great first days, all three of them. I hope their passion for learning continues. It's the greatest gift we give our children, a love of knowledge.
It will take them to the stars.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
What's up, anyway?
Too much .... life is in a frenzy right now, getting ready to go back to school, stuff around the house (clearing the summer clutter, from being home every day), stuff for work. There is so much I want to write about, and yet, I am not making time. Today there is a Chamber lunch, meet the teacher, drinks with colleagues, a trip to buy decorations for the locker (?) Exactly.
But I'll get back in the groove. Tomorrow, in fact. Stay tuned ...
But I'll get back in the groove. Tomorrow, in fact. Stay tuned ...
Monday, August 07, 2006
Twelve years ago ...
I woke up that morning early, and the first thing I did was put a load of clothes in the wash. Somehow I knew I needed to catch up on as much housework as I could.
We were dressed and ready to go by about 5.30 a.m., so we sat in the living room and read the paper, checked out the television. Let me tell you, there was nothing good on at that time of day.
Finally got Alison up, had some breakfast, took a walk around the neighborhood to see if we could get things moving.
Aroudn 10 Gary decided to mow the lawn, figuring he might not have time later in the week. Alison and I popped in the movie Guys and Dolls. I snoozed a little, got a call from a friend.
"What?" she cried. "You're in labor? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"
Ah, if only it were that simple. These things take time, and you're usually better off at home for as long as you can stand it.
By noon I knew we needed to go. Dropped Alison off next door and headed off to the hospital. And at 4.11 p.m. we proudly welcomed our second daughter, Madeleine Claire, into the world. She weighed 8 lbs 11 oz. She gave us a bit of scare when her heart rate dropped drastically during labor, but she pulled through.
Since then, she's given us another scare with her appendix. But she made it through that, as well. She has also given us 12 wonderful years as parents. She is bright, funny, clever and witty. Not to mention beautiful. She has a sense of who she is. She is loyal and kind.
We celebrated by going to the zoo and out to dinner — her choice. She's Maddie these days; the bigger name gets pulled out when we need emphasis or by those who don't know who her well.
She's the kind of daughter that would make any parent proud. And indeed we are.
Happy Birthday, Maddie!
We were dressed and ready to go by about 5.30 a.m., so we sat in the living room and read the paper, checked out the television. Let me tell you, there was nothing good on at that time of day.
Finally got Alison up, had some breakfast, took a walk around the neighborhood to see if we could get things moving.
Aroudn 10 Gary decided to mow the lawn, figuring he might not have time later in the week. Alison and I popped in the movie Guys and Dolls. I snoozed a little, got a call from a friend.
"What?" she cried. "You're in labor? Shouldn't you be at the hospital?"
Ah, if only it were that simple. These things take time, and you're usually better off at home for as long as you can stand it.
By noon I knew we needed to go. Dropped Alison off next door and headed off to the hospital. And at 4.11 p.m. we proudly welcomed our second daughter, Madeleine Claire, into the world. She weighed 8 lbs 11 oz. She gave us a bit of scare when her heart rate dropped drastically during labor, but she pulled through.
Since then, she's given us another scare with her appendix. But she made it through that, as well. She has also given us 12 wonderful years as parents. She is bright, funny, clever and witty. Not to mention beautiful. She has a sense of who she is. She is loyal and kind.
We celebrated by going to the zoo and out to dinner — her choice. She's Maddie these days; the bigger name gets pulled out when we need emphasis or by those who don't know who her well.
She's the kind of daughter that would make any parent proud. And indeed we are.
Happy Birthday, Maddie!
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Travels and travails
I have a friend who blogs. She's quite a good writer and very dedicated; she updates her blog daily. Even when they travel, each morning she takes time to give a rundown of everything they saw and did the previous day. Even though I may not find the minutiae of her family as fascinating as she does, I admire her perseverence.
Suffice it to say, I am not this friend. I blog and write sporadically. And I do not bore people with the mundane details of my daily life.
(My God! you're saying. You mean you actually spare us the boring parts? Then what is this crap I'm reading?)
We left town Saturday morning, heading east, then north, on our vacation trek. We made it to Vicksburg, Mississippi, by mid-afternoon. I'll spare you the historical details; it was a big battle, a siege that lasted several weeks. But wait —— you probably already knew that. Anyway, we enjoyed the film and the visitors center and enjoyed the drive through the battle field. It's huge.
Spent the night in Jackson (and listened to the Man in Black serenade us), got up Sunday and headed north. Stopped in Oxford —— drove through the Old Miss campus (prompting one daughter to query: What is it with you two and college campuses?). More importantly, we visited the grave and home of William Faulkner, which, again, elicited yawns from the girls. Soon enough they'll appreciate Faulkner; they'll be thanking me for this pilgrimage someday. We then drove on to Shiloh. The film there was better —— who knew that grainy color footage of the actual battle existed?!? The park has more hands-on demonstrations; the girls got to be part of a crew that loaded the cannon, and we all participated in bayonet training. Kitschy, yet fun. And we drove through the battlefield. We also drove through Tupelo; had I seen signs for the birthplace of the King I would have stopped, but alas, no brown historical marker to be seen.
My image of Mississippi has always been extreme poverty —— a state that ranks 50th in everything. But the parts of the state that we saw were charming. I guess the depressed areas are hidden.
Today we've spent visiting friends in Lafayette. It's been fun for us, fun for the kids. Makes me miss our life here. It's been good to visit. We probably should have stayed longer, but then you risk staying too long. And there are others on the itinerary who get sort of pissy about how much time they get. Such a delicate balance we must strike.
Next stop: DeSoto, Missouri. Is it as exciting as it sounds? You bet.
Suffice it to say, I am not this friend. I blog and write sporadically. And I do not bore people with the mundane details of my daily life.
(My God! you're saying. You mean you actually spare us the boring parts? Then what is this crap I'm reading?)
We left town Saturday morning, heading east, then north, on our vacation trek. We made it to Vicksburg, Mississippi, by mid-afternoon. I'll spare you the historical details; it was a big battle, a siege that lasted several weeks. But wait —— you probably already knew that. Anyway, we enjoyed the film and the visitors center and enjoyed the drive through the battle field. It's huge.
Spent the night in Jackson (and listened to the Man in Black serenade us), got up Sunday and headed north. Stopped in Oxford —— drove through the Old Miss campus (prompting one daughter to query: What is it with you two and college campuses?). More importantly, we visited the grave and home of William Faulkner, which, again, elicited yawns from the girls. Soon enough they'll appreciate Faulkner; they'll be thanking me for this pilgrimage someday. We then drove on to Shiloh. The film there was better —— who knew that grainy color footage of the actual battle existed?!? The park has more hands-on demonstrations; the girls got to be part of a crew that loaded the cannon, and we all participated in bayonet training. Kitschy, yet fun. And we drove through the battlefield. We also drove through Tupelo; had I seen signs for the birthplace of the King I would have stopped, but alas, no brown historical marker to be seen.
My image of Mississippi has always been extreme poverty —— a state that ranks 50th in everything. But the parts of the state that we saw were charming. I guess the depressed areas are hidden.
Today we've spent visiting friends in Lafayette. It's been fun for us, fun for the kids. Makes me miss our life here. It's been good to visit. We probably should have stayed longer, but then you risk staying too long. And there are others on the itinerary who get sort of pissy about how much time they get. Such a delicate balance we must strike.
Next stop: DeSoto, Missouri. Is it as exciting as it sounds? You bet.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Vacation!
After this hectic summer (of doing what? Swimming? Nothing?) it is time to get away. We are headed out tomorrow, early, road-tripping back to Indiana, by way of Civil War sites in Mississippi, Mammoth Cave (alas, no Graceland this trip) and Nashville. We'll visit friends in the Hoosier state, then family in Missouri. Then we'll stop at the Clinton Library in Little Rock and end up in Oklahoma for a week of UU camp. Not the most glamorous vacation ever, but fun, none the less.
Or at least we hope so. All five of us, cooped up in a car, with Alison leading the fights in the back of the van?
I have fond memories of summer travels with my family: with only AM radio, there was no music (and if there had been, it would have been chosen by my father). He drove what felt like 600 miles a day and was never wiling to look for a motel until after 8 p.m. — I guess that extra 25 miles was going to make all the difference — and more than once the six of us ended up in a room without enough beds and barely enough floor space. My dad smoked in the car, and we kids were crammed in the back. This is pre-seatbelt days, so it didn't really matter whether the car was big enough. We'd fold down the seats in the back of our Pinto wagon, lay down the sleeping bags, and hang out. Or fight. Or whatever. We saw whatever my parents had put on the itinerary (I don't recall that we were ever consulted) and frankly spent a lot of time in the car. We were sick all through Colorado, and I remember the rain and cold in Plymouth, Mass., the heat of South Dakota.
But you know what? I really enjoyed it. We went everywhere — East Coast, Midwest, Northeast. Saw Boston, Washington DC, Mount Rushmore, the Rockies, the Hermitage. Michigan, Ohio, Kansas, Pennsylvania, Niagra Falls. We were very well traveled. And even if those places didn't mean anything at the time, they mean something now.
So, no regrets. I'll report on how it goes. But no matter what, it will be worth it. America in a car — it's what growing up here is all about.
Or at least we hope so. All five of us, cooped up in a car, with Alison leading the fights in the back of the van?
I have fond memories of summer travels with my family: with only AM radio, there was no music (and if there had been, it would have been chosen by my father). He drove what felt like 600 miles a day and was never wiling to look for a motel until after 8 p.m. — I guess that extra 25 miles was going to make all the difference — and more than once the six of us ended up in a room without enough beds and barely enough floor space. My dad smoked in the car, and we kids were crammed in the back. This is pre-seatbelt days, so it didn't really matter whether the car was big enough. We'd fold down the seats in the back of our Pinto wagon, lay down the sleeping bags, and hang out. Or fight. Or whatever. We saw whatever my parents had put on the itinerary (I don't recall that we were ever consulted) and frankly spent a lot of time in the car. We were sick all through Colorado, and I remember the rain and cold in Plymouth, Mass., the heat of South Dakota.
But you know what? I really enjoyed it. We went everywhere — East Coast, Midwest, Northeast. Saw Boston, Washington DC, Mount Rushmore, the Rockies, the Hermitage. Michigan, Ohio, Kansas, Pennsylvania, Niagra Falls. We were very well traveled. And even if those places didn't mean anything at the time, they mean something now.
So, no regrets. I'll report on how it goes. But no matter what, it will be worth it. America in a car — it's what growing up here is all about.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Weird, crazy, busy in the forecast, with a chance of happy
Surviving company — a good thing, in this case — but it has made my life hectic. That, and uncertainty, waiting for news, good or bed.
This sounds so cryptic. Let me put it this way: I have a new job! Just found out Monday; I've been waiting to hear for a while, so I've been rather moody, on edge. But now I that I have word, I can get my act together.
I have been hired as the editor of Cy-Fair Magazine, a glossy, slick, full-color family oriented magazine, "marketed to upscale families in the Cy-Fair area." Upscale families in Cy-Fair — that's me! I am the demographic. And I have the skills (girls only want boyfriends with skills ...) to put this together. I know what people want to read.
So, before I interviewed I put together a packet marketing myself: I outlined why I would be good at the job, a list of possible story ideas, a budget for the first issue, writing samples. The publisher loved it. She thought I was so organized. I didn't hear anything, so finally I e-mailed her and asked what was up, and she offered me the job. The magazine is quarterly and I will work mostly from home. It is perfect for me.
So, this is good. Very good. A very positive turn in my career path.
And in my Houston life path. Things are looking up.
This sounds so cryptic. Let me put it this way: I have a new job! Just found out Monday; I've been waiting to hear for a while, so I've been rather moody, on edge. But now I that I have word, I can get my act together.
I have been hired as the editor of Cy-Fair Magazine, a glossy, slick, full-color family oriented magazine, "marketed to upscale families in the Cy-Fair area." Upscale families in Cy-Fair — that's me! I am the demographic. And I have the skills (girls only want boyfriends with skills ...) to put this together. I know what people want to read.
So, before I interviewed I put together a packet marketing myself: I outlined why I would be good at the job, a list of possible story ideas, a budget for the first issue, writing samples. The publisher loved it. She thought I was so organized. I didn't hear anything, so finally I e-mailed her and asked what was up, and she offered me the job. The magazine is quarterly and I will work mostly from home. It is perfect for me.
So, this is good. Very good. A very positive turn in my career path.
And in my Houston life path. Things are looking up.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Happy Fourth of July!
The holiday I missed the most when we lived overseas. There's something about summertime Americana that makes me sentimental. Cook-outs, parades, fireworks — makes me feel like a kid again. We celebrated by swimming, grilling steaks, the neighborhood parade, and fireworks — amazing fireworks, just in our neighborhood.
Happy Birthday, America! I'm sure spontaneous fireworks is what it's all about.
Happy Birthday, America! I'm sure spontaneous fireworks is what it's all about.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Blah, blah, blah
More rain ... but it's not a bad thing, because the landscapers were here today, and we have a backyard full of new sod and many new plantings. It looks like a tropical paradise.
All of this surrounding our brand-new, glorious swimming pool! Many weeks behind schedule, but finally, finally done. The filter is not running yet; in typical fashion they were to turn it on today but didn't make it. But they'll be here first thing in the morning. Sure, sure. But they had better, as we want to take the inaugural swim tomorrow.
Counting down the days until vacation. Though I wish it were somewhere really exciting and relaxing. This year we'll visit friends, visit family and go to a week of UU camp. But it should be nice. Next year maybe we'll do something more exciting.
Mostly these days, life is just ordinary. Reading a lot, puttering around the house, taking care of routine stuff.
Blah.
All of this surrounding our brand-new, glorious swimming pool! Many weeks behind schedule, but finally, finally done. The filter is not running yet; in typical fashion they were to turn it on today but didn't make it. But they'll be here first thing in the morning. Sure, sure. But they had better, as we want to take the inaugural swim tomorrow.
Counting down the days until vacation. Though I wish it were somewhere really exciting and relaxing. This year we'll visit friends, visit family and go to a week of UU camp. But it should be nice. Next year maybe we'll do something more exciting.
Mostly these days, life is just ordinary. Reading a lot, puttering around the house, taking care of routine stuff.
Blah.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Energy and philanthropy
After a busy busy weekend with guests, I am exhausted. Today we did nothing. OK — I did some laundry, cleaned up, made a return to Target, did some reading. But in the grand scheme of things, it felt like very little.
The weekend was nice — Maddie's friend, Juliana, and her mother, my friend Ann — were here. We ran like crazy — to the zoo, the beach, out to eat, the movies. It was fun — nice to see friends, good to catch up. Maddie planned the itinerary, full of everything she loves to do best. But by Sunday we opted out of the visit to the science center; we were all glad to stay put. We substituted a trip to get ice cream, and no one complained.
Their visit made me homesick, made me miss friends terribly. But we have to get over it.
So today I was still catching up. But I have enough energy to be impressed with Warren Buffett and Bill and Melinda Gates. I was off Bill Gates and Microsoft for awhile. But they've redeemed themselves. And I like Buffett's attitude about his kids' inheriting money; he says they should have to earn their own fortunes. I'm guessing his kids got quite an education and have been well provided for; they won't be suffering from their lack of inheritence.
Once again, proof that there is indeed humanity in our culture. You just have to seek it out.
The weekend was nice — Maddie's friend, Juliana, and her mother, my friend Ann — were here. We ran like crazy — to the zoo, the beach, out to eat, the movies. It was fun — nice to see friends, good to catch up. Maddie planned the itinerary, full of everything she loves to do best. But by Sunday we opted out of the visit to the science center; we were all glad to stay put. We substituted a trip to get ice cream, and no one complained.
Their visit made me homesick, made me miss friends terribly. But we have to get over it.
So today I was still catching up. But I have enough energy to be impressed with Warren Buffett and Bill and Melinda Gates. I was off Bill Gates and Microsoft for awhile. But they've redeemed themselves. And I like Buffett's attitude about his kids' inheriting money; he says they should have to earn their own fortunes. I'm guessing his kids got quite an education and have been well provided for; they won't be suffering from their lack of inheritence.
Once again, proof that there is indeed humanity in our culture. You just have to seek it out.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Receding clouds, dryer days ahead
Or so we hope. The rain has ceased here, but it's in the forecast again, and there are still flash flood warnings for the southeastern part of the city.
Dan Rather is leaving CBS; not news at this point, but noteworthy. His career started there in 1962; it's been a sad end to one of the longest, at one time most well-respected reporting careers at a major network. We've seen a lot of changes in the past year and we'll likely see more. Sorry, but I don't predict good things for Ms. Couric. But I could be wrong — maybe I'll love her?
Heard a story today on NPR about dialects and accents, so I went online to take this Are You A Yankee or a Rebel quiz. My result: "32% Dixie. You are definitely a Yankee." And I even answered one with the appropriate Houston response; yes, I now use the term "feeder" rather than access or frontage road. When in Rome, or should I say, when in Houston. Though I can honestly say I've never been to a drive-through liquor store.
Guests arriving on Thursday, so we have to get things in shape around here. I wouldn't want people to see how we actually live — I'd prefer they see the fake house.
Too bad it won't include a swimming pool and landscaped back garden ... sigh ... this week we can blame it on the rain.
Dan Rather is leaving CBS; not news at this point, but noteworthy. His career started there in 1962; it's been a sad end to one of the longest, at one time most well-respected reporting careers at a major network. We've seen a lot of changes in the past year and we'll likely see more. Sorry, but I don't predict good things for Ms. Couric. But I could be wrong — maybe I'll love her?
Heard a story today on NPR about dialects and accents, so I went online to take this Are You A Yankee or a Rebel quiz. My result: "32% Dixie. You are definitely a Yankee." And I even answered one with the appropriate Houston response; yes, I now use the term "feeder" rather than access or frontage road. When in Rome, or should I say, when in Houston. Though I can honestly say I've never been to a drive-through liquor store.
Guests arriving on Thursday, so we have to get things in shape around here. I wouldn't want people to see how we actually live — I'd prefer they see the fake house.
Too bad it won't include a swimming pool and landscaped back garden ... sigh ... this week we can blame it on the rain.
Monday, June 19, 2006
When it rains, it floods
It has rained since Saturday. Rained a little that day, rained a lot last night. And this morning, it rained a lot more. In fact, we got six inches of rain in just over an hour.
The rain was coming down all night. This was a torrential downpour. And it hadn't let up at all by the time I had to drive Alison to summer school. I listened to the closings on the radio in vain; her class was on. So we left ten minutes earlier than usual; I hope hope hoped that there would be less traffic, that fewer people would care to brave the streets.
I wish I could have been one of those people that had stayed home. Even the streets of the subdivision are full of water; it made me nervous to drive through them. Water was gathering on the street I take to the Interstate, and since I take the feeder road, the water on the right-hand side was way up. You can only drive on the middle of the road for so long before you have to get over to the right.
Got Alison to school — she wisely wore her rain coat for the run into the building — and the parking lot was much emptier than usual; many families decided not to risk it. Back in the subdivision, half an hour later, the water was up over the bottom of some driveways; the bottom of some mailbox posts was covered.
Southeast Houston has 11 inches of rain in a short period of time. Ground, drains are already saturated and can't absorb it. In the city, around the inner loop, the roads were closed — the 610, the Gulf Freeway were closed, with water over three lanes, over the exit ramps and feeder roads. Buildings are flooded. This storm has been likened to Hurricane Allison — not as strong, but the same type of storm. We've seen footage of rescues, of abandoned cars all morning.
It's scary. It's frightening to think that you can't find safety in your home. It's terrifying to be out on the roads in this. And I wouldn't if I didn't have to, that is for sure. Forces of nature are incombatible, it seems; we are at their mercy.
The rain here has stopped, for now. It's in the mid-70s, cloudy, overcast, wet, but the rain is no longer coming down. I'll be interested to see what the streets look like when I leave to get Alison in a couple of hours.
We suffer without rain, we suffer with too much. Thank goodness my family is safe, but I worry about others who might not be.
The rain was coming down all night. This was a torrential downpour. And it hadn't let up at all by the time I had to drive Alison to summer school. I listened to the closings on the radio in vain; her class was on. So we left ten minutes earlier than usual; I hope hope hoped that there would be less traffic, that fewer people would care to brave the streets.
I wish I could have been one of those people that had stayed home. Even the streets of the subdivision are full of water; it made me nervous to drive through them. Water was gathering on the street I take to the Interstate, and since I take the feeder road, the water on the right-hand side was way up. You can only drive on the middle of the road for so long before you have to get over to the right.
Got Alison to school — she wisely wore her rain coat for the run into the building — and the parking lot was much emptier than usual; many families decided not to risk it. Back in the subdivision, half an hour later, the water was up over the bottom of some driveways; the bottom of some mailbox posts was covered.
Southeast Houston has 11 inches of rain in a short period of time. Ground, drains are already saturated and can't absorb it. In the city, around the inner loop, the roads were closed — the 610, the Gulf Freeway were closed, with water over three lanes, over the exit ramps and feeder roads. Buildings are flooded. This storm has been likened to Hurricane Allison — not as strong, but the same type of storm. We've seen footage of rescues, of abandoned cars all morning.
It's scary. It's frightening to think that you can't find safety in your home. It's terrifying to be out on the roads in this. And I wouldn't if I didn't have to, that is for sure. Forces of nature are incombatible, it seems; we are at their mercy.
The rain here has stopped, for now. It's in the mid-70s, cloudy, overcast, wet, but the rain is no longer coming down. I'll be interested to see what the streets look like when I leave to get Alison in a couple of hours.
We suffer without rain, we suffer with too much. Thank goodness my family is safe, but I worry about others who might not be.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Little Bits of Random
It was an ordinary week. Nothing much of note happened.
Or so it would seem. Drove Alison to summer school every day, with differing traffic. We leave the house each day before 7.15 a.m. Most days we are there by 7.30, but yesterday, Thursday, we weren't even off the access road on 290 by 7.30. Weird — today I was driving home by 7.32. The traffic here is beyond comprehension.
Went to the Woodlands Mall to return our .mac package; when I tried to register it told me the access code was already in use. These numbers are totally random in appearance — not likely that someone could just guess it. And the package was sealed. Weird.
Browsed at the Woodlands, but didn't buy anything (except for Fathers Day gifts for the dad). I found the *cutest* marked down Ralph Lauren outfit at Foley's (our Ayres/Famous Barr alternative, soon to be Macy's). But even marked down it was pretty pricey. And I can't be sure that I like it that much.
Found out that two of the guys from ZZ Top live in the Woodlands, from our overly chatty clerk at Ayres/Foleys/Macys. (The new cards will be in the mail soon; corporate folks are coming in to start the transition. I'm surprised I don't this guy's marital status and birthday.)
Oh — got rear-ended exiting I-45 (the north freeway) onto Spring Cypress. We weren't going very fast, and the guys who hit me were very nice. Damage is very minor, but I'm sure it will require an entirely new bumper. Didn't call the police, and their boss has called twice to assure me that they will take care of it (I think they want to avoid the iinsurance company). So now I have to take the car in for an estimate and have it in the shop. Grrrr. But considering how fast people drive and how many accidents there are, I should consider myself lucky.
The pool deck is done — yay!! Now Maddie complains that the pea gravel hurts her feet. Um, it's too late to change it?
And I'm a single parent no more — the prodigal father returned from his business travels. The girls, who were wonderful all week, fought ridiculously over the temperature in the back of the van driving to dinner. It had nothing to do with said temperature, but was all about control; the fight started before the car even had a chance to cool down. What is up with that? As Gary mused, is he the problem?
So, the weekend begins. Rain in the forecast, so we'll be looking for something fun to do. Watch Crash? Furniture shopping? Time will tell.
Or so it would seem. Drove Alison to summer school every day, with differing traffic. We leave the house each day before 7.15 a.m. Most days we are there by 7.30, but yesterday, Thursday, we weren't even off the access road on 290 by 7.30. Weird — today I was driving home by 7.32. The traffic here is beyond comprehension.
Went to the Woodlands Mall to return our .mac package; when I tried to register it told me the access code was already in use. These numbers are totally random in appearance — not likely that someone could just guess it. And the package was sealed. Weird.
Browsed at the Woodlands, but didn't buy anything (except for Fathers Day gifts for the dad). I found the *cutest* marked down Ralph Lauren outfit at Foley's (our Ayres/Famous Barr alternative, soon to be Macy's). But even marked down it was pretty pricey. And I can't be sure that I like it that much.
Found out that two of the guys from ZZ Top live in the Woodlands, from our overly chatty clerk at Ayres/Foleys/Macys. (The new cards will be in the mail soon; corporate folks are coming in to start the transition. I'm surprised I don't this guy's marital status and birthday.)
Oh — got rear-ended exiting I-45 (the north freeway) onto Spring Cypress. We weren't going very fast, and the guys who hit me were very nice. Damage is very minor, but I'm sure it will require an entirely new bumper. Didn't call the police, and their boss has called twice to assure me that they will take care of it (I think they want to avoid the iinsurance company). So now I have to take the car in for an estimate and have it in the shop. Grrrr. But considering how fast people drive and how many accidents there are, I should consider myself lucky.
The pool deck is done — yay!! Now Maddie complains that the pea gravel hurts her feet. Um, it's too late to change it?
And I'm a single parent no more — the prodigal father returned from his business travels. The girls, who were wonderful all week, fought ridiculously over the temperature in the back of the van driving to dinner. It had nothing to do with said temperature, but was all about control; the fight started before the car even had a chance to cool down. What is up with that? As Gary mused, is he the problem?
So, the weekend begins. Rain in the forecast, so we'll be looking for something fun to do. Watch Crash? Furniture shopping? Time will tell.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
High heels, long hair, cruel attacks
Headline on CNN Website: Has Ann Coulter gone too far?
Are you kidding? She is really something, that one. Not only do I tire of her vicious right-wing attacks, but this image she tries so hard to hone — every photo of her with the long hair draped over her shoulder, the attempt at the smouldering looks. I take it she sees herself as the hot sexy conservative alteranative.
But all that aside, the swipes at the 9/11 widows were uncalled for. Does she reallly believe that, or does she just try to write something as controversial as possible in order to stir up some publicity for her book? Which debuted as No. 1 on amazon.com, if I'm not mistaken.
I am a firm believer in free speech. But why does she go after these women in such a vitriolic manner?
I guess you could say I'm not a big fan.
And all you've got going for you is the hair, babe; high heels and short skirts do not a beauty make. You're not quite as attractive as you think.
Are you kidding? She is really something, that one. Not only do I tire of her vicious right-wing attacks, but this image she tries so hard to hone — every photo of her with the long hair draped over her shoulder, the attempt at the smouldering looks. I take it she sees herself as the hot sexy conservative alteranative.
But all that aside, the swipes at the 9/11 widows were uncalled for. Does she reallly believe that, or does she just try to write something as controversial as possible in order to stir up some publicity for her book? Which debuted as No. 1 on amazon.com, if I'm not mistaken.
I am a firm believer in free speech. But why does she go after these women in such a vitriolic manner?
I guess you could say I'm not a big fan.
And all you've got going for you is the hair, babe; high heels and short skirts do not a beauty make. You're not quite as attractive as you think.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Welcome to the working week
In a moment of insanity, I agreed to do some freelance work for a local real estate publication. This is a problem? Well, not really, but I am coming to terms with the fact that a) I'm not really feeling motivated and b) I don't work well at home. Neither one of these is really news to me. I'm also a huge procrastinator, so I have not really started (though I did do a bunch of reading yesterday in preparation for my article). Lease to buy options (boring ... I really do better with lifestyle/human interest pieces).
Gary left for Germany yesterday. The girls and I went to church yesterday, out to lunch, to the pool. Watched the Tonys — I don't live in New York, only get to see a Broadway show every few years, yet I love the Tonys. They are so much more real than the Oscars or the Emmys ... OK, who am I kidding. But I love them anyway. The show Jersey Boys won so many times that I am singing "Can't take my eyes off you" over and over. Since Harry Connick is leaving The Pajama Game this month, thus thwarting my plans to see him on stage this fall, now I think I want to see Jersey Boys, if I can figure out someone to watch the girls and get Pete to meet me and Gary in NYC.
An added bonus to the Tonys: They run on schedule, not lingering on and on. No over the top, 10-minute thank you speeches. These actors/actresses seem to have their egos a little more in check.
They're working on the pool deck today. Progress. What will I complain about when it's done?
We finally, finally made up our minds about vacation. And Alison is upset because it puts us in Lafayette on a weekday. But I'm not sure how to fix that. Gary can't take two and a half weeks off work, and we all — Alison included — want to go to SWUUSI, a UU family camp in Oklahoma. Those dates aren't flexible, so there you go.
Must finish the laundry then get to work. Real work. Only the lure of a paycheck is making it worthwhile.
Gary left for Germany yesterday. The girls and I went to church yesterday, out to lunch, to the pool. Watched the Tonys — I don't live in New York, only get to see a Broadway show every few years, yet I love the Tonys. They are so much more real than the Oscars or the Emmys ... OK, who am I kidding. But I love them anyway. The show Jersey Boys won so many times that I am singing "Can't take my eyes off you" over and over. Since Harry Connick is leaving The Pajama Game this month, thus thwarting my plans to see him on stage this fall, now I think I want to see Jersey Boys, if I can figure out someone to watch the girls and get Pete to meet me and Gary in NYC.
An added bonus to the Tonys: They run on schedule, not lingering on and on. No over the top, 10-minute thank you speeches. These actors/actresses seem to have their egos a little more in check.
They're working on the pool deck today. Progress. What will I complain about when it's done?
We finally, finally made up our minds about vacation. And Alison is upset because it puts us in Lafayette on a weekday. But I'm not sure how to fix that. Gary can't take two and a half weeks off work, and we all — Alison included — want to go to SWUUSI, a UU family camp in Oklahoma. Those dates aren't flexible, so there you go.
Must finish the laundry then get to work. Real work. Only the lure of a paycheck is making it worthwhile.
Friday, June 09, 2006
This and that
I know that what happened in Iraq yesterday is important and could change the direction of things. But did I really need to wake up this morning to a photo of a corpse on the front page of the paper?
Arrest made in the school bus vandalism prank in Lafayette. Good — I didn't see the humor. Nor, I'm sure, did the school district, as they paid to repair the damage to the buses, paid teachers and staff for an extra day, paid subs for the teachers and staff who had plans they couldn't change, dealt with the logistics of adding a day to the school year. Hilarious.
The pool tile is done — they were here until after 8 last night finishing up. Yay! Next comes plaster, then the deck. The landscape crew is here today to get started; they'll have to reschedule since much of the pool work remains to be done, but they will get our irrigation system functional again so the entire front yard doesn't die in the meantime.
We need to go choose our landscape rocks, return an overdue book to the library, go to the pool. Mundane stuff. I'm getting my hair done (at last, you say); thank goodness I got it in before the Cat BBQ tomorrow night. An official office function — this is more fun than the Lafayette office, anyway. Parties!
Had some neighbors over last night — met them last weekend and they are moving into a house just up the road. They have a 16-year-old son, 14-year-old daughter and 7-year-old daughter. The kids got along, and I really like the parents. Looks good for our future social life. I kind of miss having one.
Ordinary day. That's not such a bad thing.
Arrest made in the school bus vandalism prank in Lafayette. Good — I didn't see the humor. Nor, I'm sure, did the school district, as they paid to repair the damage to the buses, paid teachers and staff for an extra day, paid subs for the teachers and staff who had plans they couldn't change, dealt with the logistics of adding a day to the school year. Hilarious.
The pool tile is done — they were here until after 8 last night finishing up. Yay! Next comes plaster, then the deck. The landscape crew is here today to get started; they'll have to reschedule since much of the pool work remains to be done, but they will get our irrigation system functional again so the entire front yard doesn't die in the meantime.
We need to go choose our landscape rocks, return an overdue book to the library, go to the pool. Mundane stuff. I'm getting my hair done (at last, you say); thank goodness I got it in before the Cat BBQ tomorrow night. An official office function — this is more fun than the Lafayette office, anyway. Parties!
Had some neighbors over last night — met them last weekend and they are moving into a house just up the road. They have a 16-year-old son, 14-year-old daughter and 7-year-old daughter. The kids got along, and I really like the parents. Looks good for our future social life. I kind of miss having one.
Ordinary day. That's not such a bad thing.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
To Hell With all That
To Hell With All That: Loving and Loathing our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan
After reading this book, I have one big question: What's your point?
Flanagan, the anti-feminist, has set out to convince us that the women's movement has done women a disservice in showing that women might be dissatisfied with merely performing perfunctory household duties. Being a housewife should be celebrated, she says; women should be glad to fix dinner and do the laundry. Child-rearing has been elevated to an art and needs to be scaled back a notch, back to the days when being a wife was first and foremost and the children a mere by-product.
Excuse me? She really expects me to believe this tripe?
And she is the poster child?
Flanagan writes of the evils of nannies, the amount of discomfort they can bring to a household. And this in the same book where she devotes an entire chapter to the relationship she has with — you guessed it — her nanny. The woman she hired to care for her children for three years when she wasn’t even working. It is the noblest thing to be home with one’s children, she says, and points out that she stayed home with her children. But in the same breath she tells us that she had a 9-5 nanny and that she was practically paralyzed, unable to function, between 7 and 9 a.m. before the nanny’s arrival. She makes it clear that children need their mother their when they’re sick in the night … but that she did not actually put the sheets in the washer — that was the nanny’s job.
She talks of the amount of satisfaction a woman should get from taking care of her home and her family. Then tells you of the maid and gardener who actually do most of said housework.
Sometimes it seems as if her point is to make it clear that she is a woman of privilege — she can afford to be home, yet can pay all this household help. She and her husband can send their two boys to a soigné preschool, one whose very élan was disrupted by an outbreak of head lice. What — parents of children who go to public kindergarten aren’t disrupted by such things? Do we merely take it in stride?
Flanagan’s writing style, praised by some, is a bit pretentious for me (“soignée"? "élan"?). She seems more interested in painting a picture of herself as having made the right choices than in looking at what is good for all women. Her own mother tossed aside the apron in the early '70s in order to have a job and some time for herself, and all Flanagan can see is that she felt abandoned. In retrospect, can’t she see that maybe it was the only way for her mother to survive?
I don’t see a need to pit working mothers against stay-at-home moms — we all have our children’s very best interests at heart. To her credit, Flanagan does confess the realities of her life — the privilege that eludes most stay-at-home mothers of preschoolers — but she doesn’t quite see that they set her apart. She honestly sees herself as an ordinary sacrificing mother, even when she had full-time help. And today, as a staff writer for the New Yorker, she does not consider herself a working mother.
Not a book I could recommend. And not only because I didn’t agree with her point, but more importantly, because I couldn’t discern that she had one.
After reading this book, I have one big question: What's your point?
Flanagan, the anti-feminist, has set out to convince us that the women's movement has done women a disservice in showing that women might be dissatisfied with merely performing perfunctory household duties. Being a housewife should be celebrated, she says; women should be glad to fix dinner and do the laundry. Child-rearing has been elevated to an art and needs to be scaled back a notch, back to the days when being a wife was first and foremost and the children a mere by-product.
Excuse me? She really expects me to believe this tripe?
And she is the poster child?
Flanagan writes of the evils of nannies, the amount of discomfort they can bring to a household. And this in the same book where she devotes an entire chapter to the relationship she has with — you guessed it — her nanny. The woman she hired to care for her children for three years when she wasn’t even working. It is the noblest thing to be home with one’s children, she says, and points out that she stayed home with her children. But in the same breath she tells us that she had a 9-5 nanny and that she was practically paralyzed, unable to function, between 7 and 9 a.m. before the nanny’s arrival. She makes it clear that children need their mother their when they’re sick in the night … but that she did not actually put the sheets in the washer — that was the nanny’s job.
She talks of the amount of satisfaction a woman should get from taking care of her home and her family. Then tells you of the maid and gardener who actually do most of said housework.
Sometimes it seems as if her point is to make it clear that she is a woman of privilege — she can afford to be home, yet can pay all this household help. She and her husband can send their two boys to a soigné preschool, one whose very élan was disrupted by an outbreak of head lice. What — parents of children who go to public kindergarten aren’t disrupted by such things? Do we merely take it in stride?
Flanagan’s writing style, praised by some, is a bit pretentious for me (“soignée"? "élan"?). She seems more interested in painting a picture of herself as having made the right choices than in looking at what is good for all women. Her own mother tossed aside the apron in the early '70s in order to have a job and some time for herself, and all Flanagan can see is that she felt abandoned. In retrospect, can’t she see that maybe it was the only way for her mother to survive?
I don’t see a need to pit working mothers against stay-at-home moms — we all have our children’s very best interests at heart. To her credit, Flanagan does confess the realities of her life — the privilege that eludes most stay-at-home mothers of preschoolers — but she doesn’t quite see that they set her apart. She honestly sees herself as an ordinary sacrificing mother, even when she had full-time help. And today, as a staff writer for the New Yorker, she does not consider herself a working mother.
Not a book I could recommend. And not only because I didn’t agree with her point, but more importantly, because I couldn’t discern that she had one.
An inconvenient truth
Houston was the first stop on Al Gore's book tour to promote his new book and film, An Inconvenient Truth. We joined the sold-out crowd at the Hobby Center in downtown Houston to listen to the man who should have been president talk passionately about what we, human beings, have done to this planet and what we must do to save it.
And I'm so glad I did. The man portrayed as "stiff" from 1992-2000 was anything but. He was greeted with thunderous applause — clearly there are people who long for a different presence in politics. He was energetic, lively, captivating and funny; he spoke with great enthusiasm and ardor about his crusade to bring awareness to global warming and educate people about what must be done in order to turn this potential cataclysm around. The talk was fascinating and entertaining. Which leads me to wonder:
Where was this guy in 2000?
The statistics were alarming. The damage done by our misuse of carbons is astounding — most of it in the last 30 years. Of the records set for 25 hottest years on record, the top 25 have all been set in the last 30 years. Glaciers and mountaintop snows are disappearing; Greenland and Antarctica have seen significant losses. We will all pay a price, with elimination of species, global climate, storms, and loss of land mass as ocean levels rise.
Experts in the field — scientists and climatologists — universally agree: This is real. There are no skeptics among those in the know.
But the good news is, it's not too late to change. We have the knowledge and the technology available to change trends and make a difference in the well-being of our planet.
Granted, anyone who heads out on the lecture circuit with an agenda will use only the facts they know will support their claim. And I suspect Gore is no different. But it's hard to discount the overall message of what he said. He used a lot of canned stories in his opening, but it was funny nonetheless. And in the Q&A, when asked about Iraq, he responded that Iraq is the single worst strategic decision ever made by the United States. A bold statement — one that, I confess, I would have to think about long and hard before making. But I think a case could be made. We're in a quagmire, with no end in sight — today's developments not withstanding.
But I digress. Overall, it was an empowering evening. I am revved up for midterm elections, for the campaign season of 2008. Something has to change; do Democrats have the power to retool their message and show that they really are the party with our best interests at heart?
Go see the film. An Inconvenient Truth — it's an eye-opener.
And I'm so glad I did. The man portrayed as "stiff" from 1992-2000 was anything but. He was greeted with thunderous applause — clearly there are people who long for a different presence in politics. He was energetic, lively, captivating and funny; he spoke with great enthusiasm and ardor about his crusade to bring awareness to global warming and educate people about what must be done in order to turn this potential cataclysm around. The talk was fascinating and entertaining. Which leads me to wonder:
Where was this guy in 2000?
The statistics were alarming. The damage done by our misuse of carbons is astounding — most of it in the last 30 years. Of the records set for 25 hottest years on record, the top 25 have all been set in the last 30 years. Glaciers and mountaintop snows are disappearing; Greenland and Antarctica have seen significant losses. We will all pay a price, with elimination of species, global climate, storms, and loss of land mass as ocean levels rise.
Experts in the field — scientists and climatologists — universally agree: This is real. There are no skeptics among those in the know.
But the good news is, it's not too late to change. We have the knowledge and the technology available to change trends and make a difference in the well-being of our planet.
Granted, anyone who heads out on the lecture circuit with an agenda will use only the facts they know will support their claim. And I suspect Gore is no different. But it's hard to discount the overall message of what he said. He used a lot of canned stories in his opening, but it was funny nonetheless. And in the Q&A, when asked about Iraq, he responded that Iraq is the single worst strategic decision ever made by the United States. A bold statement — one that, I confess, I would have to think about long and hard before making. But I think a case could be made. We're in a quagmire, with no end in sight — today's developments not withstanding.
But I digress. Overall, it was an empowering evening. I am revved up for midterm elections, for the campaign season of 2008. Something has to change; do Democrats have the power to retool their message and show that they really are the party with our best interests at heart?
Go see the film. An Inconvenient Truth — it's an eye-opener.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Am I really a Houston mom?
With our lack of a backyard pool, and temps in the 90s (gulp — it's only June!) we're off these days to the neighborhood pool. It's a funky, hanging-out kind of pool — no real deep end, no diving board, a curvy shape with a sort-of stream, but lots of lounge chairs and a mushroom-shaped fountain. For serious swimmers there's also a lap pool up the road, but for our crowd, this is sufficient. It's not terribly crowded (not when we go, anyway) and there's plenty of water.
I love to watch the other moms. These are mostly mothers of preschoolers and young grade schoolers, so already I don't quite fit in. They arrive loaded up with pool toys, strollers, swim diapers, and enough snacks to last til tomorrow — don't these kids eat at mealtimes?
And I love to watch the fashion parade — moms who arrive in bikinis and bronze themselves to an unhealthy glow, moms in cute but practical tankinis, moms who wear unflattering, frumpy old-lady suits — even when they don't have to. Too thin, too heavy, just right ... where do I fit in? My suit is cute — well, the one I wore yesterday for sure. Grabbed it off a sale rack at the end of last year. I'm not one to name drop or brand drop, but if I were, and I did, you'd know for sure that it can't be ugly.
I watched the moms at gymnastics yesterday, too. Women here are big on heels — with shorts, with jeans, with capris. Another minus for me. And I hope the sparkly look is only the one mom — she was the kind who looked all put together, even for dropping off for gymnastics, and she had sequins on everything — the tank top, the belt, the jean capris, the purse. She probably had them on the wedge heels she was wearing, too, but I didn't get a good look. I think I was temporarily blinded.
I know it's Texas, but come on; it's still the real world. I felt so inadequate in my shorts and sandals ... well, not really, but I have to wonder if that's what she's going for. Why else would you don all those sequins in the middle of the afternoon?
More thoughts to ponder — that and Caitlin Flanagan and whatever the HELL her point is. More later.
I love to watch the other moms. These are mostly mothers of preschoolers and young grade schoolers, so already I don't quite fit in. They arrive loaded up with pool toys, strollers, swim diapers, and enough snacks to last til tomorrow — don't these kids eat at mealtimes?
And I love to watch the fashion parade — moms who arrive in bikinis and bronze themselves to an unhealthy glow, moms in cute but practical tankinis, moms who wear unflattering, frumpy old-lady suits — even when they don't have to. Too thin, too heavy, just right ... where do I fit in? My suit is cute — well, the one I wore yesterday for sure. Grabbed it off a sale rack at the end of last year. I'm not one to name drop or brand drop, but if I were, and I did, you'd know for sure that it can't be ugly.
I watched the moms at gymnastics yesterday, too. Women here are big on heels — with shorts, with jeans, with capris. Another minus for me. And I hope the sparkly look is only the one mom — she was the kind who looked all put together, even for dropping off for gymnastics, and she had sequins on everything — the tank top, the belt, the jean capris, the purse. She probably had them on the wedge heels she was wearing, too, but I didn't get a good look. I think I was temporarily blinded.
I know it's Texas, but come on; it's still the real world. I felt so inadequate in my shorts and sandals ... well, not really, but I have to wonder if that's what she's going for. Why else would you don all those sequins in the middle of the afternoon?
More thoughts to ponder — that and Caitlin Flanagan and whatever the HELL her point is. More later.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
On strip malls and spirituality
When the UU Church in Lafayette was searching for new space, Target moved into its new Super Target building, thus leaving available real estate at the corner of State Road 26 East and Hwy. 52. Some people were intrigued. Others said (and I paraphrase) it would be a cold day in non-existent hell before they would attend church services in a strip mall.
I confess, I was on board with that sentiment. Shopping for office supplies? OK. Spiritual awakening on Sunday morning? Nicht.
Yet, as we all have to do, I am evolving. We've been attending services at the UU Church in the Woodlands. The building is nestled in the woods, with tree tops visible through the very high windows in the A-frame sanctuary. There's a lovely garden in front where folks gather for coffee hour, complete with a pond and little bridge. It's relaxing and uplifting and a beautiful setting. The people are nice (I've joined a covenant gruup) and they have a very active high school group. But they have two services, with the better class for Alison during the second service, when there's no class for Maddie. The DRE just resigned and the minister is leaving at the end of the month.
All of this I could live with ... if it weren't a 40-minute drive.
Dedicated folks in Lafayette drove from Delphi, Frankfort and Crawfordsville to attend services. They were often very involved, coming to myriad meetings during the week. But it's hard for me to drive so far, what with small people at home and a husband who works late (not to mention my penchant for sleeping in on weekends!) Social events are never nearby; being involved requires a major committment.
So I figured we owed it to ourselves to at least check out the UU church nearest us. We chose the Woodlands first because it's bigger, appears more organized and was recommended by a friend in Lafayette (her friend from grad school goes there). We initially steered clear of the closer church because it's so much more fellowship-y — no minister, no DRE, no paid staff.
It's also only 20 minutes away. So, today we decided to have a look. We were non-committal, and first impressions weren't good. It's in a strip mall — ie, no windows in the interior rooms, and the space was a health club before; serious remnants remain. The schedule is funky, with RE following the service.
All doubts disappeared when we heard the service. Today was a guest minister from Austin; he must have a huge church there, as he was very dynamic and a great speaker. And the people — everyone was friendly and welcoming. It's a totally volunteer-run church, which apparently makes people closer. Lots of activities, lots of social events, lots of interest groups.
And people who live near us — two families live in our subdivision, and one family is building a house just up the street from us. We offered our three months of experience in Coles Crossing to help the new folks with their pool construction, swapped phone numbers (they have kids the same ages).
Alison and Maddie prefer Northwoods; Gary and I see advantages to both. Not a bad dilemma to have. For now, we'll be involved with both, revisit the situation at a later date.
So we're working on our issues with strip malls. At the very least, we have options. And that's always a good thing.
I confess, I was on board with that sentiment. Shopping for office supplies? OK. Spiritual awakening on Sunday morning? Nicht.
Yet, as we all have to do, I am evolving. We've been attending services at the UU Church in the Woodlands. The building is nestled in the woods, with tree tops visible through the very high windows in the A-frame sanctuary. There's a lovely garden in front where folks gather for coffee hour, complete with a pond and little bridge. It's relaxing and uplifting and a beautiful setting. The people are nice (I've joined a covenant gruup) and they have a very active high school group. But they have two services, with the better class for Alison during the second service, when there's no class for Maddie. The DRE just resigned and the minister is leaving at the end of the month.
All of this I could live with ... if it weren't a 40-minute drive.
Dedicated folks in Lafayette drove from Delphi, Frankfort and Crawfordsville to attend services. They were often very involved, coming to myriad meetings during the week. But it's hard for me to drive so far, what with small people at home and a husband who works late (not to mention my penchant for sleeping in on weekends!) Social events are never nearby; being involved requires a major committment.
So I figured we owed it to ourselves to at least check out the UU church nearest us. We chose the Woodlands first because it's bigger, appears more organized and was recommended by a friend in Lafayette (her friend from grad school goes there). We initially steered clear of the closer church because it's so much more fellowship-y — no minister, no DRE, no paid staff.
It's also only 20 minutes away. So, today we decided to have a look. We were non-committal, and first impressions weren't good. It's in a strip mall — ie, no windows in the interior rooms, and the space was a health club before; serious remnants remain. The schedule is funky, with RE following the service.
All doubts disappeared when we heard the service. Today was a guest minister from Austin; he must have a huge church there, as he was very dynamic and a great speaker. And the people — everyone was friendly and welcoming. It's a totally volunteer-run church, which apparently makes people closer. Lots of activities, lots of social events, lots of interest groups.
And people who live near us — two families live in our subdivision, and one family is building a house just up the street from us. We offered our three months of experience in Coles Crossing to help the new folks with their pool construction, swapped phone numbers (they have kids the same ages).
Alison and Maddie prefer Northwoods; Gary and I see advantages to both. Not a bad dilemma to have. For now, we'll be involved with both, revisit the situation at a later date.
So we're working on our issues with strip malls. At the very least, we have options. And that's always a good thing.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Ah, the weekend
We're down one kid for the weekend. Alison went on a UU weekend to Oklahoma City, to a youth group con. She loved the last one the attended. The van was to leave at 6.30 last night, so they said to arrive around 6 and get everything loaded up. We were there just after 6 and no one else was there — Alison panicked and Gary was searching frantically for a cell phone number. I told them both to just chill — we don't have to go all type A and start dialing the minute — nay, the second — we suspect something isn't right. Sure enough, minutes later someone showed up. This is a UU group, after all (!)
Last night Maddie and I (and sometimes Gary) watched the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice — loved it! Loved everything about it, from the dialogue (excellent adaptation) to the costumes to the actors. Colin Firth IS Mr. Darcy. Alison wants to watch the new version, and we will (the Netflix arrived!) Though I've heard it isn't nearly as good ... we shall see.
Should be out helping clean out the garage, but I needed a breather.
It's 90 out today; good day for a pool. Sigh ... is this my biggest problem these days? That I have no back yard pool? Exactly.
Back to the garage; real work beckons.
Last night Maddie and I (and sometimes Gary) watched the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice — loved it! Loved everything about it, from the dialogue (excellent adaptation) to the costumes to the actors. Colin Firth IS Mr. Darcy. Alison wants to watch the new version, and we will (the Netflix arrived!) Though I've heard it isn't nearly as good ... we shall see.
Should be out helping clean out the garage, but I needed a breather.
It's 90 out today; good day for a pool. Sigh ... is this my biggest problem these days? That I have no back yard pool? Exactly.
Back to the garage; real work beckons.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
It's raining, it's pouring ...
Down comes the rain, to a city that has had more than it needs — all week it has poured, and we had more than four inches in one hour yesterday. Not so much in our neck of the woods, but that term is all relevant now, isn't it? Not only are there flash flood warnings in effect, bayous that are saturated, low-lying areas dangerously near calamity, but work on our pool is delayed. It's a near catastrophe. The workers are actually here, and were able to work much of the morning, but since the skies opened up again about 30 minutes ago, they're sitting on our covered patio.
The rain also means no gardener today, so the flower beds will have to hold onto their weeds.
We're supposed to go to the library today, but I think I'll wait until the downpour halts for a bit. This is no ordinary rain, so I'm not just being a sissy. It isn't like that gentle German rain, but very real stormy skies. Good news is that it should be over by the weekend.
Someone who read the freecycle ad came today to collect the empty moving boxes. The movers will make a box pick-up, but they told me they just incinerate them — !!! Can't do it, not when I know someone out there is getting ready to move and needs empty boxes. Such a shocking waste.
Yesterday we stayed in to watch a movie. Even with our collection of unwatched or seldom viewed videos and DVDs, it motivated me to join Netflix. Joined at the highest level — the Website assured me that it's the best deal as well as the most popular — and I certainly want to do the popular thing. The queue already has 40 titles, supplemented by suggestions from my children, such as War of the Worlds (Alison), Hoodwinked and Robots (Sylvia), and Mildred Pierce (!) (Maddie — the kid has taste!).
The pool workers have packed up their tools and are getting in the truck. I guess it's over for today. So sad ...
Rain, rain, go away ... please let them finish my pool and then I won't complain anymore (unless I can't actually use said pool, then I'll renege on that promise entirely ... I can't win).
Currently listening: Best of Dave Edmunds
Currently reading: To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan
The rain also means no gardener today, so the flower beds will have to hold onto their weeds.
We're supposed to go to the library today, but I think I'll wait until the downpour halts for a bit. This is no ordinary rain, so I'm not just being a sissy. It isn't like that gentle German rain, but very real stormy skies. Good news is that it should be over by the weekend.
Someone who read the freecycle ad came today to collect the empty moving boxes. The movers will make a box pick-up, but they told me they just incinerate them — !!! Can't do it, not when I know someone out there is getting ready to move and needs empty boxes. Such a shocking waste.
Yesterday we stayed in to watch a movie. Even with our collection of unwatched or seldom viewed videos and DVDs, it motivated me to join Netflix. Joined at the highest level — the Website assured me that it's the best deal as well as the most popular — and I certainly want to do the popular thing. The queue already has 40 titles, supplemented by suggestions from my children, such as War of the Worlds (Alison), Hoodwinked and Robots (Sylvia), and Mildred Pierce (!) (Maddie — the kid has taste!).
The pool workers have packed up their tools and are getting in the truck. I guess it's over for today. So sad ...
Rain, rain, go away ... please let them finish my pool and then I won't complain anymore (unless I can't actually use said pool, then I'll renege on that promise entirely ... I can't win).
Currently listening: Best of Dave Edmunds
Currently reading: To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewife by Caitlin Flanagan
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Welcome to old age
Woke up Thursday with a pain in my shoulder — you know, the kind as if you've slept on it wrong. It only hurt when I turned my head, no biggie. On Friday, the day I turned 40, we giggled that it was all downhill from there.
On Monday when I woke up, I could barely move. Couldn't lift my arm higher than my shoulder; every move I made was excruciating. Couldn't lift a spoon, had to drink from a straw. Spent the day on the couch in agony, barely able to move.
Today, after a miserable night, woke up feeling just the same. Until I remembered that we might have held onto Maddie's post-surgery painkillers. They did the trick — took one this morning and was totally functional all day. The shoulder still hurts, but at least I can get by. Drove the car, did laundry, cooked dinner. The joy of the mundane.
But I am concerned about what this forebodes ... am I doomed to an enternity of aches and pains? Unexplained injuries? Minor ailments?
Four days into my 40s and already I'm an invalid. Where does it go from here?
On Monday when I woke up, I could barely move. Couldn't lift my arm higher than my shoulder; every move I made was excruciating. Couldn't lift a spoon, had to drink from a straw. Spent the day on the couch in agony, barely able to move.
Today, after a miserable night, woke up feeling just the same. Until I remembered that we might have held onto Maddie's post-surgery painkillers. They did the trick — took one this morning and was totally functional all day. The shoulder still hurts, but at least I can get by. Drove the car, did laundry, cooked dinner. The joy of the mundane.
But I am concerned about what this forebodes ... am I doomed to an enternity of aches and pains? Unexplained injuries? Minor ailments?
Four days into my 40s and already I'm an invalid. Where does it go from here?
The birthday concludes
Such a lovely birthday. Such a lovely weekend.
John and Barbara (my older brother and his girlfriend) are two of the most fun people I know. They were here from Thursday through Sunday, providing endless entertainment.
The girls love them. Adults who have no children and are perpetual adolescents themselves make for good playmates. Sylvia crawls up in their laps and snuggles as if she's a cat; the girls love them, and the affection seems to be mutual.
Alison was inspired by Barb's visit to pull out the Riverside Shakespeare and read; not a bad deal. Maddie delights them with her laugh.
We went to the pool, went to the Houston Museum of Fine Art (MFAH, not MIII ...) which has an impressive collection — a respectable survey of most major periods, covering everything from ancient Greece and Egypt (though why those pieces are in Houston I'm not quite sure ...) most of the Impressionists — Monet, Van Gogh, Mary Cassatt, Degas, Cezanne, Pisarro, etc. — Toulouse Lautrec, PIcasso, Klee, Mondrian, Chagall, Georgia O'Keeffe, Remington, Jackson Pollock, Roy Lichtenstein. A list that is by no means comprehensive. We merely skimmed the surface. The museum is free on Thursdays — lucky for us,
We went to the beach in Galveston. Downtown, the historic district, is charming, all turn of the century architecture. The water was warm and shallow, perfect for playing in the waves, which were strong enough to be fun, but not too dangerous for our crowd (though I did want to keep an eye on the girls, and I certainly wouldn't want them out there alone. We brought home much of the beach with us so as not to forget (and realized that our snow brush can be reincarnated with a new purpose: beach brush!)
Ate out (a lot), went to old town Spring (kitschy!), played my new Yahtzee game. Fun.
Fun, fun. Just a good weekend. The perfect start to a new decade.
Life begins at 40. I know it's true.
John and Barbara (my older brother and his girlfriend) are two of the most fun people I know. They were here from Thursday through Sunday, providing endless entertainment.
The girls love them. Adults who have no children and are perpetual adolescents themselves make for good playmates. Sylvia crawls up in their laps and snuggles as if she's a cat; the girls love them, and the affection seems to be mutual.
Alison was inspired by Barb's visit to pull out the Riverside Shakespeare and read; not a bad deal. Maddie delights them with her laugh.
We went to the pool, went to the Houston Museum of Fine Art (MFAH, not MIII ...) which has an impressive collection — a respectable survey of most major periods, covering everything from ancient Greece and Egypt (though why those pieces are in Houston I'm not quite sure ...) most of the Impressionists — Monet, Van Gogh, Mary Cassatt, Degas, Cezanne, Pisarro, etc. — Toulouse Lautrec, PIcasso, Klee, Mondrian, Chagall, Georgia O'Keeffe, Remington, Jackson Pollock, Roy Lichtenstein. A list that is by no means comprehensive. We merely skimmed the surface. The museum is free on Thursdays — lucky for us,
We went to the beach in Galveston. Downtown, the historic district, is charming, all turn of the century architecture. The water was warm and shallow, perfect for playing in the waves, which were strong enough to be fun, but not too dangerous for our crowd (though I did want to keep an eye on the girls, and I certainly wouldn't want them out there alone. We brought home much of the beach with us so as not to forget (and realized that our snow brush can be reincarnated with a new purpose: beach brush!)
Ate out (a lot), went to old town Spring (kitschy!), played my new Yahtzee game. Fun.
Fun, fun. Just a good weekend. The perfect start to a new decade.
Life begins at 40. I know it's true.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Happy Birthday to me!
It ain't so bad being 40.
I had a wonderful day as I transitioned to the over-40 demographic. The girls were wonderful, showering me with gifts ... and reminders that I am no longer in my 30s. My brother John and Barbara are here, so we went to the pool, to dinner, and to play trivia. I got a brand-new fancy Yahtzee game (which we broke in, and I lost. Dreadfully.) I got a new wallet, a DVD, a firepit for the back yard. I got some Godiva chocolate. My friend H sent a very sweet package, and my friend T from high school called.
And I woke up with a dreadful crick in my neck Thursday that hurt more than ever yesterday. A preview of coming attractions, perhaps? It's all downhill from here?
It's the age you feel and all that, right? Being old happens to others; just because your age goes up a number means nothing. I still feel good, still look OK.
I think I'll just ascribe to the belief that life begins at 40. I think I'm in a good place.
Happy Birthday!
I had a wonderful day as I transitioned to the over-40 demographic. The girls were wonderful, showering me with gifts ... and reminders that I am no longer in my 30s. My brother John and Barbara are here, so we went to the pool, to dinner, and to play trivia. I got a brand-new fancy Yahtzee game (which we broke in, and I lost. Dreadfully.) I got a new wallet, a DVD, a firepit for the back yard. I got some Godiva chocolate. My friend H sent a very sweet package, and my friend T from high school called.
And I woke up with a dreadful crick in my neck Thursday that hurt more than ever yesterday. A preview of coming attractions, perhaps? It's all downhill from here?
It's the age you feel and all that, right? Being old happens to others; just because your age goes up a number means nothing. I still feel good, still look OK.
I think I'll just ascribe to the belief that life begins at 40. I think I'm in a good place.
Happy Birthday!
Monday, May 22, 2006
The week begins
The week of my 40th birthday. It's a week-long celebration. Today's festivities include staying home with a sick daughter, buying sandals for another child, attending fifth-grade graduation and tidying the upstairs. By the end of the week, I should be all partied out.
We are having company — my older brother and his significant other. We're looking forward to seeing them. One of Barb's friends from grad school lives in Houston, so I am to collaborate with her in planning fun outings for the out-of-towners.
Over the weekend we kept busy — trying to get the girls to clean their rooms, choosing tile for the pool (mission accomplished), playing trivia at BW3, going to the Astros game. The girls had never been to an MLB game before, and the Astros won, complete with a home run, so the girls got to see the train run. It was fun. Make no mistake, one of the high spots of being an American is baseball. We all wore our new Astros hats, and as we were in the first 10,000 fans, Gary and I got T-shirts. Alison already commandeered her dad's ... I guess he thought I'd let him have mine. I guess he thought wrong.
Let's see what tomorrow has in store ...
We are having company — my older brother and his significant other. We're looking forward to seeing them. One of Barb's friends from grad school lives in Houston, so I am to collaborate with her in planning fun outings for the out-of-towners.
Over the weekend we kept busy — trying to get the girls to clean their rooms, choosing tile for the pool (mission accomplished), playing trivia at BW3, going to the Astros game. The girls had never been to an MLB game before, and the Astros won, complete with a home run, so the girls got to see the train run. It was fun. Make no mistake, one of the high spots of being an American is baseball. We all wore our new Astros hats, and as we were in the first 10,000 fans, Gary and I got T-shirts. Alison already commandeered her dad's ... I guess he thought I'd let him have mine. I guess he thought wrong.
Let's see what tomorrow has in store ...
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Familiar friends
My week of single parenting is nearly over. Gary will be home from his business trip tomorrow night — his plane lands at 4.30, so not even late tomorrow.
And we have a brand-new shell of a swimming pool in our backyard. All we have to do is hose it down two times a day. I'll be happy to cede that job to him over the weekend.
Even better, I am no longer friend-free. I've been spending time with the mother of Sylvia's friend, who is very nice. We walked this morning, over two miles. It was fun, and she is easy to talk to.
Plus I've been in touch this week with one of my friends from college, Pete. We were the best of friends all through college, tried to stay in touch for a while, but I haven't talked to him since before we went to Germany.
We've picked up just where we left off; it's like we just talked yesterday. We've sent photos back and forth (he looks just the same) and he sounds just the same — he's the same old Peter.
He has changed, of course. He's a hospital VP. And he works out, runs marathons. Let's face it: We're both nearing 40, so life has changed in many ways. We're not the naive, careless 18-year-olds we were when we met, and life has caught up with both of us. I know that in many ways we are different people, all grown up. But in other ways we are just the same.
I remember from a class reunion that there was one guy who seemed to have ditched the annoying parts of his personality yet stayed the same — he was like Christopher always us just without any of the juvenile crap.
I feel that way about Pete — he has managed to hold onto what I remember as funny and charming, yet he has grown up at the same time. He is comfortable with who he is, secure, and successful.
I am so glad he is back in my life. Friends, after all, are what it's all about.
And we have a brand-new shell of a swimming pool in our backyard. All we have to do is hose it down two times a day. I'll be happy to cede that job to him over the weekend.
Even better, I am no longer friend-free. I've been spending time with the mother of Sylvia's friend, who is very nice. We walked this morning, over two miles. It was fun, and she is easy to talk to.
Plus I've been in touch this week with one of my friends from college, Pete. We were the best of friends all through college, tried to stay in touch for a while, but I haven't talked to him since before we went to Germany.
We've picked up just where we left off; it's like we just talked yesterday. We've sent photos back and forth (he looks just the same) and he sounds just the same — he's the same old Peter.
He has changed, of course. He's a hospital VP. And he works out, runs marathons. Let's face it: We're both nearing 40, so life has changed in many ways. We're not the naive, careless 18-year-olds we were when we met, and life has caught up with both of us. I know that in many ways we are different people, all grown up. But in other ways we are just the same.
I remember from a class reunion that there was one guy who seemed to have ditched the annoying parts of his personality yet stayed the same — he was like Christopher always us just without any of the juvenile crap.
I feel that way about Pete — he has managed to hold onto what I remember as funny and charming, yet he has grown up at the same time. He is comfortable with who he is, secure, and successful.
I am so glad he is back in my life. Friends, after all, are what it's all about.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
How I know I'm loved
There's nothing like a 7-year-old. She is so sweet, so sincere. All her emotions, all her thoughts, they are right there, laid out on the table for all to see. She wears her heart on her sleeve.
I, for one, love it.
Every drawer I open in my bedroom, every cabinet, had a note for me on Mothers Day. Some were little cards, some short letters, some were the letters M-O-M cut out and decorated. Even the kitchen cabinet where I keep my tea had one. The gist of the notes — all hand-written by my youngest daughter — is that I am the greatest mother in the world. Maybe the greatest mommy ever.
If that doesn't make one feel good, I can't imagine what would.
And as I often remind my children, being a great mommy is easy when you have the greatest kids in the world.
I, for one, love it.
Every drawer I open in my bedroom, every cabinet, had a note for me on Mothers Day. Some were little cards, some short letters, some were the letters M-O-M cut out and decorated. Even the kitchen cabinet where I keep my tea had one. The gist of the notes — all hand-written by my youngest daughter — is that I am the greatest mother in the world. Maybe the greatest mommy ever.
If that doesn't make one feel good, I can't imagine what would.
And as I often remind my children, being a great mommy is easy when you have the greatest kids in the world.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Dad in charge
I landed in Houston at 8.15 a.m. Sunday. If you do the math, you’ll realize this meant I had to get up at 4 a.m. in order to leave Lafayette by 4.45 a.m. in order to be at the airport by 6 to catch my 6.45 flight. And if you know anything about me, you know I’m not an early morning person — I managed just fine, even though I had stayed up until midnight — but it wasn’t easy.
Gary and the girls met me at the airport; he had a noon flight to Germany, so it was the easiest way to hand off the kids anyway. They gave me flowers and lots of Mothers Day cheeer. And we had plenty of time, so we went to breakfast — breakfast buffet on Mothers Day, perfect. And they gave me my gift: a pedometer. Now I can count my daily steps. What I learned is 10,000 steps a day is pretty easy when you’re chasing three kids and a dog (!) (Donald Rumsfeld on the Daily Show last week admitted one day he had only 1500 — egads! — I get 1,500 by 9 a.m.
The girls and I were home before noon … and I was greeted by a house where my husband was alone with the girls for three days. And boy, it looked like it. I’m sure they had fun over the weekend, but the house might have suffered a bit.
Sunday we just hung out; I took a nap, we watched A Little Princess, ate popcorn, Maddie made me strawberry shortcake for dinner. Nice day.
Then Monday I had to deal with what Gary left for me. I vacuumed, did laundry, folded all of last week’s laundry that had piled up in the laundry room. Tidied up, got Saturday’s mail.
He’s a good guy, spends lots of time with the girls. He’s a good husband and a great dad. He also can’t keep house. But it’s OK. They need me, and it’s clear they missed me.
Which I will try to remember the next time I clean the floors.
Gary and the girls met me at the airport; he had a noon flight to Germany, so it was the easiest way to hand off the kids anyway. They gave me flowers and lots of Mothers Day cheeer. And we had plenty of time, so we went to breakfast — breakfast buffet on Mothers Day, perfect. And they gave me my gift: a pedometer. Now I can count my daily steps. What I learned is 10,000 steps a day is pretty easy when you’re chasing three kids and a dog (!) (Donald Rumsfeld on the Daily Show last week admitted one day he had only 1500 — egads! — I get 1,500 by 9 a.m.
The girls and I were home before noon … and I was greeted by a house where my husband was alone with the girls for three days. And boy, it looked like it. I’m sure they had fun over the weekend, but the house might have suffered a bit.
Sunday we just hung out; I took a nap, we watched A Little Princess, ate popcorn, Maddie made me strawberry shortcake for dinner. Nice day.
Then Monday I had to deal with what Gary left for me. I vacuumed, did laundry, folded all of last week’s laundry that had piled up in the laundry room. Tidied up, got Saturday’s mail.
He’s a good guy, spends lots of time with the girls. He’s a good husband and a great dad. He also can’t keep house. But it’s OK. They need me, and it’s clear they missed me.
Which I will try to remember the next time I clean the floors.
Visiting home
The weather was rainy and cold, but it was a lovely weekend in Lafayette.
It wasn’t that the roads were less crowded; it wasn’t that the town is smaller or even the locations familiar.
It was about friends.
I met friends for lunch on Friday. I went to a birthday party with lots of familiar faces Friday evening. I met H. for lunch on Saturday. Visited my former next-door neighbor and went to a neighborhood party Saturday night. Then J. and I went to the Jeff Show on Saturday night, where I saw even more friends.
Even when I popped into Interior Objects to run a quick errand for J., Michael, the owner, recognized me at once and we chatted briefly.
The weekend was all about remembering and spending time with people who meant something in my life. Lafayette was home for ten years — a decade — and many, many deep connections remain. At one point on Friday I was feeling strange and disconnected, as if I didn’t belong. But the more time I spent with friends — wonderful, strong women who have meant so much to me — the more I was reminded of just what life was like there.
Fortunately, with airplanes, telephones and e-mail, the world is much smaller than it used to be. For those of you who are reading this — you know who you are — I want you to know how much I value and cherish your friendship, and how much your support has meant over the last few months.
But I also know that I need to work harder at making life here in this new place all that it can be. I need to cultivate new friendships, find all that is positive here.
Which doesn’t mean I’ll ever give up on or forget the people who have meant so much to me in Indiana. You don’t get off that easy; you’re part of my life forever. And I won’t let you forget it.
It wasn’t that the roads were less crowded; it wasn’t that the town is smaller or even the locations familiar.
It was about friends.
I met friends for lunch on Friday. I went to a birthday party with lots of familiar faces Friday evening. I met H. for lunch on Saturday. Visited my former next-door neighbor and went to a neighborhood party Saturday night. Then J. and I went to the Jeff Show on Saturday night, where I saw even more friends.
Even when I popped into Interior Objects to run a quick errand for J., Michael, the owner, recognized me at once and we chatted briefly.
The weekend was all about remembering and spending time with people who meant something in my life. Lafayette was home for ten years — a decade — and many, many deep connections remain. At one point on Friday I was feeling strange and disconnected, as if I didn’t belong. But the more time I spent with friends — wonderful, strong women who have meant so much to me — the more I was reminded of just what life was like there.
Fortunately, with airplanes, telephones and e-mail, the world is much smaller than it used to be. For those of you who are reading this — you know who you are — I want you to know how much I value and cherish your friendship, and how much your support has meant over the last few months.
But I also know that I need to work harder at making life here in this new place all that it can be. I need to cultivate new friendships, find all that is positive here.
Which doesn’t mean I’ll ever give up on or forget the people who have meant so much to me in Indiana. You don’t get off that easy; you’re part of my life forever. And I won’t let you forget it.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Starting Tuesday
I've got to get my day started. Here it is, after 10 a.m., and I've done so little. In my former life I would have been up for hours, already well underway at work. And here? Zip. Didn't even exercise — I guess two days in a row would be too much for me. The landscape guys have come and gone; now I'm just waiting for the tree removal. I've read the Lafayette paper online, read some e-mail. Not much to show for mid-morning.
I have a ton of errands to take care of today. Sylvia has gymnastics, Maddie has the band visit at the middle school. Gilmore Girls season finale later. I need to return some stuff to the mall, buy stamps, mail some bills.
I am off to Lafayette for the weekend — my friend J. has a big birthday (which number, in the interest of privacy, I will not reveal — though it's not a big secret). It will be nice to get away for a bit, visit friends, see the Jeff High School spring show, take care of some left over business. Then I'll come home early on Mothers Day ... and an hour later Gary will leave for a week in Germany. Such is the life of a Cat executive. However, he is taking some time off for my birthday, when my brother and his significant other visit. Should be fun.
I am going to hire a gardener today. Check that off the list, anyway.
Time to dive into Tuesday. Later!
I have a ton of errands to take care of today. Sylvia has gymnastics, Maddie has the band visit at the middle school. Gilmore Girls season finale later. I need to return some stuff to the mall, buy stamps, mail some bills.
I am off to Lafayette for the weekend — my friend J. has a big birthday (which number, in the interest of privacy, I will not reveal — though it's not a big secret). It will be nice to get away for a bit, visit friends, see the Jeff High School spring show, take care of some left over business. Then I'll come home early on Mothers Day ... and an hour later Gary will leave for a week in Germany. Such is the life of a Cat executive. However, he is taking some time off for my birthday, when my brother and his significant other visit. Should be fun.
I am going to hire a gardener today. Check that off the list, anyway.
Time to dive into Tuesday. Later!
Monday, May 08, 2006
Remembering the Holocaust
Alison is reading The Diary of Anne Frank in English class. So, for extra credit, we visited the Houston Holocaust Musuem Sunday afternoon.
The design of the museum is inspired by the shape of the crematoriums; it is surrounded by faux barbed wire. The room of the permanent exhibit is wedge-shaped; when you enter and see the story of Jews in Europe in the early 20th century, the ceiling is tall. It lowers as you begin to read about Hitler coming to power and is at its lowest when you get to the photos of the final solution and the camps being liberated.
The exhibit told the story well, mostly through photographs with just a few donated artifacts — Nazi armbands and memorobilia (a baby spoon with a swastika, a children's book with propaganda). The most gruesome photos are in flat display cases — bodies discovered when the camps were liberated, victims of Mengle's experiments. Truly shocking.
There is a large community of Holocaust survivors who settled in Houston after the war. Their stories are told now in one of the rotating exhbits. Many of them gave the money to set up the museum, and their stories are told in a film made up of interviews, which give horrendous anecdotes.
The most recent addition is the donated rail car used to transport prisoners to the camps. It is outside, and as it was a hot day, we immediately felt what it must have been like to travel for hours or days, packed in with up to 100 other people.
It was a sobering visit, one that brought back all the horrors we have only read about, never experienced.
It's good to be reminded from time to time. Just how cruel people can be.
The design of the museum is inspired by the shape of the crematoriums; it is surrounded by faux barbed wire. The room of the permanent exhibit is wedge-shaped; when you enter and see the story of Jews in Europe in the early 20th century, the ceiling is tall. It lowers as you begin to read about Hitler coming to power and is at its lowest when you get to the photos of the final solution and the camps being liberated.
The exhibit told the story well, mostly through photographs with just a few donated artifacts — Nazi armbands and memorobilia (a baby spoon with a swastika, a children's book with propaganda). The most gruesome photos are in flat display cases — bodies discovered when the camps were liberated, victims of Mengle's experiments. Truly shocking.
There is a large community of Holocaust survivors who settled in Houston after the war. Their stories are told now in one of the rotating exhbits. Many of them gave the money to set up the museum, and their stories are told in a film made up of interviews, which give horrendous anecdotes.
The most recent addition is the donated rail car used to transport prisoners to the camps. It is outside, and as it was a hot day, we immediately felt what it must have been like to travel for hours or days, packed in with up to 100 other people.
It was a sobering visit, one that brought back all the horrors we have only read about, never experienced.
It's good to be reminded from time to time. Just how cruel people can be.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
A lovely night
Not a bad week here in Houston. Hot and muggy — the norm for this time of year — but sunny and pleasant all the same.
And I was busy — or what for me counts as busy. I was a parent reader for the first grade. Attended the Night of Stars grade school open house ("And we're the stars!" said Sylvia, with great excitement). Received excellent mid-term reports for two of the girls. Went to my first small-group ministry at the UU church. Attended a band concert. Met with the landscaper.
Went to the Friday neighborhood happy hour. And I'm glad I did. It was at a house with a new pool, so the girls swam while the other moms and I shared our frustrations about the pool process — and I am not the only one to feel put out by the homeowners association. Solidarity at last. They are like the neighborhood Gestapo, and many others share these same sentiments.
I also chatted later with another neighbor who helped me understand some of the neighborhood dynamic. She had been hesitant to tell me all of this when I was brand-new (wanted me to form my own opinions) but I think I have a much better feel for what is going on. So I feel better, less excluded.
And to top it off, Gary and I went out to dinner in the city. We went to the Heights to a restaurant called Shade, a sleek modern restaurant whose "globally inflected comfort foods radiate freshness and joy." It was very nice, the perfect Friday night. I even whipped out one of my favorite black dresses to make the evening special — and to feel good about all my efforts at working out.
It rained last night — poured — so we probably won't go to the newly opened neighborhood pool. Instead, we'll spend today tidying up around the house — time to take care of those final details. The last of the pictures will go on the wall, and the office bookcases will be bolted into place.
We'll feel all moved in, at last.
And I was busy — or what for me counts as busy. I was a parent reader for the first grade. Attended the Night of Stars grade school open house ("And we're the stars!" said Sylvia, with great excitement). Received excellent mid-term reports for two of the girls. Went to my first small-group ministry at the UU church. Attended a band concert. Met with the landscaper.
Went to the Friday neighborhood happy hour. And I'm glad I did. It was at a house with a new pool, so the girls swam while the other moms and I shared our frustrations about the pool process — and I am not the only one to feel put out by the homeowners association. Solidarity at last. They are like the neighborhood Gestapo, and many others share these same sentiments.
I also chatted later with another neighbor who helped me understand some of the neighborhood dynamic. She had been hesitant to tell me all of this when I was brand-new (wanted me to form my own opinions) but I think I have a much better feel for what is going on. So I feel better, less excluded.
And to top it off, Gary and I went out to dinner in the city. We went to the Heights to a restaurant called Shade, a sleek modern restaurant whose "globally inflected comfort foods radiate freshness and joy." It was very nice, the perfect Friday night. I even whipped out one of my favorite black dresses to make the evening special — and to feel good about all my efforts at working out.
It rained last night — poured — so we probably won't go to the newly opened neighborhood pool. Instead, we'll spend today tidying up around the house — time to take care of those final details. The last of the pictures will go on the wall, and the office bookcases will be bolted into place.
We'll feel all moved in, at last.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
The lure of shopping
I love to shop. Love it. Call it vanity, call it therapy. It's what I love.
Yet I say that with a few caveats. I do not shop recklessly. And I do not feel a need to be wasteful or repetitive. I don't need 15 pair of black sandals — not when 14 will do (!) And I don't make major purchases without running them by Gary first. I do like to consult with him ... even if it is merely a courtesy. I am the decider, after all.
Shopping has changed over the last few years. Some of the changes are for the better; now that we use the VISA for everything, transactions are a lot quicker. I am stunned when I see someone writing a check at the supermarket — I catch myself wondering what is wrong with their credit. Ditto someone paying with lots of cash.
But what is up with swiping my own credit card? Can't the clerk do that for me? Makes them look lazy. Ditto the self-checkout at the grocery. Why should I be ringing up my own purchase when there are clerks paid to do that? The novelty wore off that real quick, let me tell you.
And let's just return to paper shopping bags. Those plastic things are a nuisance. It takes nearly 25 of them to get all my groceries home. Maybe it would help if the baggers wouldn't put one bottle of dishwashing liquid or one box of Eggos in a bag. They could be more efficient. And there is no need to individually wrap the bags of holiday candy. Give me a paper bag anyday; what am I to do with all those plastic ones? Yes, the occasional plastic bag to wrap a wet swimsuit in or use when walking the dog comes in handy. But I get enough from Target — where strangely enough, I don't mind them. Back to paper!
But that's grocery shopping. And I'm really more into clothes shopping. Or accessories. Or household items. Or books.
Houston has great stores. I love the Container Store. The Galleria is great — fantastic shopping, the best. The area around the Galleria is full of very elite shops. Even Willowbrook Mall is much more high-end than any local mall I've ever had — Williams Sonoma is just blocks, not hours, away. FM 1960, the main drag near here, has Costco, Ann Taylor, DSW. We've got it all.
But it isn't all about me anymore. My last big shopping trip was with my eldest. She's a true teen. I used to see things that I thought the girls might like so I'd pick them up. Well, not anymore. They are too picky, too unpredictable. When I pointed out capris I thought were cute at Macy's or Famous Barr, Daughter #1 said she didn't really care for them ... but they might be OK if they came from Hollister or Abercrombie.
She chose all her clothes at American Eagle. (I saw those prices at Abercrombie and was stunned: $59 for a tiny denim miniskirt? $49 for capri pants? I think not.) She was happy enough — found some capris that were acceptable, found a similar tiny skirt. But her choice of tops was limited to T-shirts. Sure, they're cute, but T-shirts only? Couldn't she find anything else? Her favorite was the Coke T-shirt and the one I bought for myself — a vintage looking Beatles shirt.
She can't wait to wear it. But I told her she has to wait until I wear it first.
Mostly, I am feeling my age. She and I have very different visions of style. It's OK — I don't mind letter her dress her way, giving into what's trendy. I guess what troubles me is that I actually envision myself as a little trendy. And she has put me squarely in my place.
But I know just how to make myself feel better. All I need is the VISA to buy myself some happy!
Yet I say that with a few caveats. I do not shop recklessly. And I do not feel a need to be wasteful or repetitive. I don't need 15 pair of black sandals — not when 14 will do (!) And I don't make major purchases without running them by Gary first. I do like to consult with him ... even if it is merely a courtesy. I am the decider, after all.
Shopping has changed over the last few years. Some of the changes are for the better; now that we use the VISA for everything, transactions are a lot quicker. I am stunned when I see someone writing a check at the supermarket — I catch myself wondering what is wrong with their credit. Ditto someone paying with lots of cash.
But what is up with swiping my own credit card? Can't the clerk do that for me? Makes them look lazy. Ditto the self-checkout at the grocery. Why should I be ringing up my own purchase when there are clerks paid to do that? The novelty wore off that real quick, let me tell you.
And let's just return to paper shopping bags. Those plastic things are a nuisance. It takes nearly 25 of them to get all my groceries home. Maybe it would help if the baggers wouldn't put one bottle of dishwashing liquid or one box of Eggos in a bag. They could be more efficient. And there is no need to individually wrap the bags of holiday candy. Give me a paper bag anyday; what am I to do with all those plastic ones? Yes, the occasional plastic bag to wrap a wet swimsuit in or use when walking the dog comes in handy. But I get enough from Target — where strangely enough, I don't mind them. Back to paper!
But that's grocery shopping. And I'm really more into clothes shopping. Or accessories. Or household items. Or books.
Houston has great stores. I love the Container Store. The Galleria is great — fantastic shopping, the best. The area around the Galleria is full of very elite shops. Even Willowbrook Mall is much more high-end than any local mall I've ever had — Williams Sonoma is just blocks, not hours, away. FM 1960, the main drag near here, has Costco, Ann Taylor, DSW. We've got it all.
But it isn't all about me anymore. My last big shopping trip was with my eldest. She's a true teen. I used to see things that I thought the girls might like so I'd pick them up. Well, not anymore. They are too picky, too unpredictable. When I pointed out capris I thought were cute at Macy's or Famous Barr, Daughter #1 said she didn't really care for them ... but they might be OK if they came from Hollister or Abercrombie.
She chose all her clothes at American Eagle. (I saw those prices at Abercrombie and was stunned: $59 for a tiny denim miniskirt? $49 for capri pants? I think not.) She was happy enough — found some capris that were acceptable, found a similar tiny skirt. But her choice of tops was limited to T-shirts. Sure, they're cute, but T-shirts only? Couldn't she find anything else? Her favorite was the Coke T-shirt and the one I bought for myself — a vintage looking Beatles shirt.
She can't wait to wear it. But I told her she has to wait until I wear it first.
Mostly, I am feeling my age. She and I have very different visions of style. It's OK — I don't mind letter her dress her way, giving into what's trendy. I guess what troubles me is that I actually envision myself as a little trendy. And she has put me squarely in my place.
But I know just how to make myself feel better. All I need is the VISA to buy myself some happy!
Monday, May 01, 2006
The affliction that is celebrity
I'm not breaking any new ground here, but since when is George Clooney an expert on Darfur?
Let me be upfront: I think Clooney and I are actually on the same page politically, in some respects. But I'm not sure when I missed his transition to political pundit. Last I checked he was an actor making movies. Does he have any qualifications for spouting off his opinions on world affairs?
I'm not even sure he went to college (pause ... and a quick check on imdb.com shows that he studied "for a few years" at Northern Kentucky University); one of his first acting jobs was on "The Facts of Life" — and as a supporting character! Yet he is sharing his vast knowledge of how the U.S.A. should handle foreign relations?
He is no more qualified than Tom Cruise is to discuss psychiatry and post-partum depression and childbirth; just because your girlfriend has a baby does not an expert make.
I read somewhere that Reese Witherspoon was listed as a person of influence. For what?!?
We need to get over our obsession with all people famous. I've said before that Katie Couric acts like an airhead, but at least she did study somewhere reputable and she has worked on the news. The goofy "I'm cute and famous" act came later.
Just because an actor/actress makes a lot of money doesn't make them experts on any issue. Terri Hatcher, Patricia Heaton, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, Richard Gere. I actually agree with some of these people, but I'm not sure I trust them to help me navigate the complicated world.
I read an interview with Gillian Anderson where she described the making of Bleak House and how difficult and demanding it was for her to get into character. And I'd like her to step back and remember that SHE IS ACTING. Her whole career is about playing dress-up. Pretend. It's not saving the world. You, actors, are not that important. Not in the way that my daughters' teachers or librarians are. Or people who volunteer at the Crisis Center. Or teach preschool. These are jobs that really do change the world.
Get over yourselves already.
Let me be upfront: I think Clooney and I are actually on the same page politically, in some respects. But I'm not sure when I missed his transition to political pundit. Last I checked he was an actor making movies. Does he have any qualifications for spouting off his opinions on world affairs?
I'm not even sure he went to college (pause ... and a quick check on imdb.com shows that he studied "for a few years" at Northern Kentucky University); one of his first acting jobs was on "The Facts of Life" — and as a supporting character! Yet he is sharing his vast knowledge of how the U.S.A. should handle foreign relations?
He is no more qualified than Tom Cruise is to discuss psychiatry and post-partum depression and childbirth; just because your girlfriend has a baby does not an expert make.
I read somewhere that Reese Witherspoon was listed as a person of influence. For what?!?
We need to get over our obsession with all people famous. I've said before that Katie Couric acts like an airhead, but at least she did study somewhere reputable and she has worked on the news. The goofy "I'm cute and famous" act came later.
Just because an actor/actress makes a lot of money doesn't make them experts on any issue. Terri Hatcher, Patricia Heaton, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins, Richard Gere. I actually agree with some of these people, but I'm not sure I trust them to help me navigate the complicated world.
I read an interview with Gillian Anderson where she described the making of Bleak House and how difficult and demanding it was for her to get into character. And I'd like her to step back and remember that SHE IS ACTING. Her whole career is about playing dress-up. Pretend. It's not saving the world. You, actors, are not that important. Not in the way that my daughters' teachers or librarians are. Or people who volunteer at the Crisis Center. Or teach preschool. These are jobs that really do change the world.
Get over yourselves already.
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