J has started a lacrosse clinic at school. I know - isn't that ridiculous? A kindergarten lacrosse clinic (to be fair, pre-first and first graders are involved too). Can't you just picture tiny girls with lacrosse sticks as big as they are running around a field, falling down and whacking each other in the head?
I always thought I would wait to put J in any kind of sport because I felt that parents who put their kids on teams before, say, second grade were pushy and overly ambitious. They are the kinds of parents who use flashcards for reading and math on their toddlers, and want their children to grow up bilingual. Don't they know all that time spent cheering on their 6-year-old from the sideline could be spent sitting in front of the TV, eating Cheetos, and yelling, "Hey! Don't set your hair on fire! Come pour Mommy a glass of wine!"?
As much as I work with J outside of school, I just never saw myself as that pushy parent. And yet... When J started at this school, I knew there would be some pressure to keep up with the Jonses, and I was not far off the mark. I just didn't realize I'd cave so easily.
"Your daughter isn't signing up for the clinic?"
"Well, I'm not sure yet. She just seems so young..."
"That's true, but what if she wants to start lacrosse in second grade, and all the other kids have been doing it for years? She might feel behind."
Knife, insert into heart. Next thing I know, we are at some chi-chi specialty store purchasing hundreds of dollars of equipment for a child who may or may not ever play this sport again. Sticks (one for J, and one for K in case she wants to help J practice), cleats, goggles, mouth guards, socks, shorts, etc. Spending money has never been comfortable for me, but JBL was there to smooth things over, even suggesting I should get myself a new pair of running shoes while we were there. K was encouraging and supportive. "I can't wait to watch you play!" What would I do without these people?
At the first practice, I noted J was one of a handful of kids who didn't have a special carrying case for her stick. I thought to myself how silly that was - a case! - but at the same time struggled with a pang of concern. NO, dammit, it is OK for her to not have every last thing everyone else does. It's not like a new car for your teenager, but it all starts somewhere, doesn't it??
Mentally calmed, I strolled over to another mom watching the girls getting oriented with their new sticks. I looked at her daughter and was struck by something - a change from the beginning of the year.
"Wow," I noted, "Riya is so tall!"
The mom nodded, smiling. And all at once I realized how much time has passed. Last year, I was beside myself with worry about how J would handle kindergarten. But she has done beautifully, and has blossomed in ways I never thought possible. What a milestone!
That thought brought to mind how much J has accomplished between 5 and 6. She now rides a bike without training wheels. She takes showers. She lost her first tooth, had her first bout of the stomach flu, and questioned the existence of Santa Claus. She totally understands strategy in card games, and is thrilled with puns. She has come a long way with swimming, reading and math, and has begun to demonstrate some real artistic ability. Long-gone first days of preschool, riding a two-wheeler, pull-ups, needing help getting dressed or brushing teeth. Barely a distant memory are first teeth, first steps, first words. Amazing. Now what?
Far ahead I see the rest of elementary school, with science projects, field trips and plays. Possibly there is a first crush. Hopefully there are new interests not yet thought of, and good kids that stay friends and look out for each other along the way. It can be hard with girls, I know.
Beyond that is almost impossible to imagine. J as big as K? Past the point of silliness and wiggles at bedtime? Past Nick Jr. and Winnie the Pooh? Beyond the time when there is nothing better than running in the grass with no shoes on? Past the time where even she finds it delightful to rub her plump little belly?
All these changes will come in the blink of an eye, but for now we have a break in the action. It's a delightful place in time.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
J Funnies - March 2010
"Mom, at school they have the BEST hamburgers."
"Really?"
"Yep. You know why they call them just 'burgers'?"
"Why is that?"
"Because they don't have any cheese on them."
"Hmm. Makes sense. What makes them so good?"
"Ketchup! And the meat."
Ah.
"Really?"
"Yep. You know why they call them just 'burgers'?"
"Why is that?"
"Because they don't have any cheese on them."
"Hmm. Makes sense. What makes them so good?"
"Ketchup! And the meat."
Ah.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Change in the weather
A cold front is coming through. After putting J to bed, I step outside to catch the last of the unseasonably mild air.
The rolling hill behind the house is no longer vivid green. It is muted and sleepy. The twilight sky is steel-gray. The wind is roaring in from the West, pushing insistently through the trees. The branches are bare and black in the fading light, like nerve endings reaching up to the clouds. The wind chimes clang restlessly. The last of the evening robins laugh nervously. Within each break between the gusts I hear the peepers down in the stream calling out to no one in particular. Their jocularity is drowned out by the next thrust of heavy breeze.
Maybe it's because I know this is Spring the changing weather doesn't fill me with dread. I smile and breathe deeply the gathering night.
Clang, clang, clang.
The rolling hill behind the house is no longer vivid green. It is muted and sleepy. The twilight sky is steel-gray. The wind is roaring in from the West, pushing insistently through the trees. The branches are bare and black in the fading light, like nerve endings reaching up to the clouds. The wind chimes clang restlessly. The last of the evening robins laugh nervously. Within each break between the gusts I hear the peepers down in the stream calling out to no one in particular. Their jocularity is drowned out by the next thrust of heavy breeze.
Maybe it's because I know this is Spring the changing weather doesn't fill me with dread. I smile and breathe deeply the gathering night.
Clang, clang, clang.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Ostensibly - wine notes 3/24/10
JBL loves wine, as I have mentioned in the past, and I am an obscenely lucky beneficiary of his Habit. It all started with a stint in St. Louis and a phenomenal restaurant in their version of Little Italy, but I will let him tell you about that some other time.
JBL's life ambitions have taken him, among other places, on the roller coaster highs and lows of the tech business. During these times we squandered many a fantastic vintage, over pizza for instance, for the simple reason that we could. Also because we had the world at our feet. And we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.
But then there were the not-so-good times (hello, 1999). We sacrificed many things, but wine was never on the list. These were times when JBL perfected the purchase of the Case of Wines Under $10. One shining star of this more frugal time is the Montes Malbec. This Chilean take on a Bordeaux varietal is intense and plummy and spicy and wonderful. See how technical I can be? I am aware that I do winespeak a disservice, but I know a flexible player when I taste one.
So the Malbec. We enjoyed a bottle over the past two evenings with two verrry different meals, and enjoyed it immeasurably with both. First up, an Asian tour de force, a black cod dish with two sauces. The flavors exploded off the plate and brought out the wine's ability to match spice, and to counter heat. Amazing. We literally took a sip after a bite of fish, and looked at each other with a 'wow' look.
But tonight the leftover paired equally well with a pizza that I have been craving for weeks. Margherita. Perhaps it was the stint of unseasonably warm weather we've enjoyed of late. Maybe it was a desire for something light and, well, un-meat-related. Whatever the cause, I have been fantasizing about this dish, and after J went to bed tonight we quenched my thirst. Last summer we tried various permutations, and I finally hit it out of the park with this latest recipe. And the Malbec? It stepped back and offered restrained fruity notes in support of the more subtle flavors, acting more like a soft Chianti than a powerhouse super-Tuscan.
So go buy the Montes. You will not be disappointed. And if you want the margherita recipe, here it is:
Pizza Dough (sorry if I posted this already - this is a Giada De Laurentiis recipe)
3/4 C warm water (105-115 degrees F)
1 envelope active dry yeast
2+ C AP flour
1 tsp sugar
3/4 tsp salt (I use fine sea salt)
3 TBSP olive oil
Warm the water in the microwave (I run mine on high for 30 seconds to get to the required temperature), and whisk in the yeast. Let stand for 5 minutes. Meanwhile, lightly oil a large bowl. In a food processor, pulse 2 C flour, sugar and salt to combine. After the yeast slurry has bloomed, add it and the 3 TBSP olive oil to the flour mixture, and process til a sticky dough forms. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently til dough is smooth, adding flour by tablespoonfuls if too sticky, about 1 minute. Transfer dough to prepared bowl, turning to coat with oil. Cover with plastic wrap and store in a warm, draft-free area to rise til doubled in size, about an hour. Preheat oven to 500 degrees F.
Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, and prep the pizza topping:
2-ish vine-ripened tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1 12 oz. package of fresh mozzarella, cut into 1 inch chunks - you won't use it all
Handful of fresh basil, roughly torn
1 medium lemon (you'll also need a zester or the fine side of a box grater)
Olive oil
Fine sea salt
After the dough has risen, punch it down and divide in half*. Flour a work surface and roll out the first dough half into a rectangle roughly the size of the baking sheet, transfer it to the parchment. Top the pizza sparsely first with the cheese (little chunks about 2 inches apart), then fill in first with chopped tomato and then basil. Drizzle with oil, sprinkle with salt and zest about a third of the lemon peel lightly over the pie. You will think, how will this cover the dough? But it will. Trust me.
Put the pizza on the verrrry bottom rack of the oven, and begin rolling out and topping the second pie. After about 15 minutes, your first margherita pizza will be crunchy and perfect! Put the second one in while you eat the first (great for a first course while entertaining - we save the second pizza for leftovers).
*I have used this same dough recipe to make the usual Don Pepino and Kraft shredded Italian cheeses for the girls. The high oven temp cooks the cheese long before the crust gets, well, crusty and crisp, but the girls don't seem to mind. For this type of pizza, I might recommend a lower temp (450) to give the dough a time to crisp up.
JBL's life ambitions have taken him, among other places, on the roller coaster highs and lows of the tech business. During these times we squandered many a fantastic vintage, over pizza for instance, for the simple reason that we could. Also because we had the world at our feet. And we had the rest of our lives ahead of us.
But then there were the not-so-good times (hello, 1999). We sacrificed many things, but wine was never on the list. These were times when JBL perfected the purchase of the Case of Wines Under $10. One shining star of this more frugal time is the Montes Malbec. This Chilean take on a Bordeaux varietal is intense and plummy and spicy and wonderful. See how technical I can be? I am aware that I do winespeak a disservice, but I know a flexible player when I taste one.
So the Malbec. We enjoyed a bottle over the past two evenings with two verrry different meals, and enjoyed it immeasurably with both. First up, an Asian tour de force, a black cod dish with two sauces. The flavors exploded off the plate and brought out the wine's ability to match spice, and to counter heat. Amazing. We literally took a sip after a bite of fish, and looked at each other with a 'wow' look.
But tonight the leftover paired equally well with a pizza that I have been craving for weeks. Margherita. Perhaps it was the stint of unseasonably warm weather we've enjoyed of late. Maybe it was a desire for something light and, well, un-meat-related. Whatever the cause, I have been fantasizing about this dish, and after J went to bed tonight we quenched my thirst. Last summer we tried various permutations, and I finally hit it out of the park with this latest recipe. And the Malbec? It stepped back and offered restrained fruity notes in support of the more subtle flavors, acting more like a soft Chianti than a powerhouse super-Tuscan.
So go buy the Montes. You will not be disappointed. And if you want the margherita recipe, here it is:
Pizza Dough (sorry if I posted this already - this is a Giada De Laurentiis recipe)
3/4 C warm water (105-115 degrees F)
1 envelope active dry yeast
2+ C AP flour
1 tsp sugar
3/4 tsp salt (I use fine sea salt)
3 TBSP olive oil
Warm the water in the microwave (I run mine on high for 30 seconds to get to the required temperature), and whisk in the yeast. Let stand for 5 minutes. Meanwhile, lightly oil a large bowl. In a food processor, pulse 2 C flour, sugar and salt to combine. After the yeast slurry has bloomed, add it and the 3 TBSP olive oil to the flour mixture, and process til a sticky dough forms. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently til dough is smooth, adding flour by tablespoonfuls if too sticky, about 1 minute. Transfer dough to prepared bowl, turning to coat with oil. Cover with plastic wrap and store in a warm, draft-free area to rise til doubled in size, about an hour. Preheat oven to 500 degrees F.
Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, and prep the pizza topping:
2-ish vine-ripened tomatoes, coarsely chopped
1 12 oz. package of fresh mozzarella, cut into 1 inch chunks - you won't use it all
Handful of fresh basil, roughly torn
1 medium lemon (you'll also need a zester or the fine side of a box grater)
Olive oil
Fine sea salt
After the dough has risen, punch it down and divide in half*. Flour a work surface and roll out the first dough half into a rectangle roughly the size of the baking sheet, transfer it to the parchment. Top the pizza sparsely first with the cheese (little chunks about 2 inches apart), then fill in first with chopped tomato and then basil. Drizzle with oil, sprinkle with salt and zest about a third of the lemon peel lightly over the pie. You will think, how will this cover the dough? But it will. Trust me.
Put the pizza on the verrrry bottom rack of the oven, and begin rolling out and topping the second pie. After about 15 minutes, your first margherita pizza will be crunchy and perfect! Put the second one in while you eat the first (great for a first course while entertaining - we save the second pizza for leftovers).
*I have used this same dough recipe to make the usual Don Pepino and Kraft shredded Italian cheeses for the girls. The high oven temp cooks the cheese long before the crust gets, well, crusty and crisp, but the girls don't seem to mind. For this type of pizza, I might recommend a lower temp (450) to give the dough a time to crisp up.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Tween
There is a tween in my life.
She is 12, but her body shape could put her at 14. She can be quiet without being sullen. The thought of getting her monthly friend makes her visibly uncomfortable, but she has begun regularly using the razor I stored under her sink. She is still several inches shorter than me, but can wear my shoes. I do not have small feet. She would kill me if she read that.
She loves watching Johnny Quest with her dad before bed, but has seen every episode ever produced of American Idol and Survivor. She can still play up a storm in the basement, her games replete with roles and props and southern accents. Yet she is now found more often in her room watching a downloaded show on her laptop, texting at the same time. With the door closed. Her iTouch holds as many songs as it does games. Last week she finally removed all the stuffed animals from her room to make room for more adult decorations.
She can eat an enormous bowl of ice cream with sprinkles, cherries and cookies on top, but orders caesar salad and ice water at restaurants. Her dreams at night involve shopping with her friends at Target and Old Navy, but she has yet to dream of driving there herself. Well, that's not exactly true. She has practiced driving in our neighborhood with JBL. But car insurance is nothing more than a source of funny commercials on TV.
She wears all manner of earrings, but was horrified by the Avril Lavigne-inspired makeup her cousin sported during her last visit. She has read the Twilight series twice, and thinks one of the vampires (not the main guy, but the other guy) is cute. Yet none of the boys at school remotely interest her. At least not that I know of.
She'll attempt to clean the mud off her own shoes - first by dragging the hose through a bed of irises onto the patio, then upon finding the outside water turned off, she will finish the job in the bathroom recently cleaned for guests. When asked about the wisdom of leaving mud and grass in the sink, her reply was, "Well.....?" (read in and innocent, confused tone).
When I run into her at school and she is with her friends, she won't look at me in the eyes. I'm almost certain she is hoping I won't hug her before we part. When we are home, she still hugs me before going to bed. I realize more and more that when I talk with her I have no idea what she is thinking.
I know this tween time is a gift - a period for me to get used to K becoming an adult. In addition to teaching her about the Rolling Stones, James Brown and Frank Sinatra, I need to listen to her music. As I encourage her to watch the science channel, I should read the chick lit books she is into.
This time, I know, is my last chance to reach out and really build a bridge of a relationship with her. Now that I have promised to stop treating her like a stepdaughter, I try to really look at her. She is a child who is almost a teenager. She wants my respect and unconditional love. She needs down time and healthy food and independence. She wants a good role model and someone who will give her space to blossom. And she doesn't really need much at all.
So I will try to keep seeing her, to not embarrass her, to gain perspective on the teen she has almost become, to protect the child she still is. I will love her. She is the key to the door that locked in all my junk for decades, and I am so thankful to let it all go. Thank you God for K.
Monday, March 22, 2010
The internet and stuffed animals
J is playing with her stuffed animal collie dog, Licks. JBL is working in his office nearby.
J: "Licks is getting onto the computer. He's going to 'Bone.com'."
JBL: "He might be surprised."
He might indeed.
J: "Licks is getting onto the computer. He's going to 'Bone.com'."
JBL: "He might be surprised."
He might indeed.
Monday, March 15, 2010
A father's introduction to joy
Running is one of my great passions, but isn't something I have done consistently. Certainly running is associated with the better parts of my life. I have run when discovering and rediscovering myself. And I have run in the most beautiful places in the world: Paris, the Outer Banks of North Carolina, Holland, Bermuda, San Fransisco, Tuscany and other places I can't even remember.
But the majority of my runs - like most everyone - have been based around areas where I have lived, and the vast majority of the time I run alone. My earliest memories of running, however, involved my dad. I can't say how old I was, but I do remember a few things vividly.
My father had an amazing long stride - at 6'2'', it seemed like he could glide down the road with hardly any exertion. I can picture his muscular legs, pale and freckled like mine but much longer and leaner.
Sometimes we would take the meandering fire trails that emptied out onto Morgan Mill Road across from the cornfields. Other times we would follow the roads all the way down to the reservoir. Coming back up was always tough, but my father never made me feel guilty for needing to walk. "You're doing great!" he would say with a grin and a big thumbs-up.
During these breaks we would explore small streams that ran along the roadside, finding tadpoles and turtles, and making dams. This extra exploration time is what I kept in my heart, rather than how guilty I may have felt about making him stop during the run, or how sore I was the next day.
And I remember he never pressured me to run - he just asked. I felt so proud to join him, and to share in something that obviously brought him joy. I had always felt comfortable in his presence anyway. He was quiet and introverted, like me, and felt happiest outside.
In middle school, my running tapered off due to lack of interest. I was becoming the socially-awkward and generally sub-happy teenager I would act as until college. Once at UMBC, I found running again, and not coincidentally, pieces of a happier self.
I couldn't run with my father at this point since knee problems had him turn to trail biking. I didn't miss our time alone together terribly - I was enjoying the introspective time running afforded me. I would occasionally bike with him, so it wasn't as though we were never together. Besides, I thought we had all the time in the world.
When I got married for the first time and moved to the city, my running again became inconsistent. When I got divorced just three years later, it would have been great to get out there with Dad, to blow off some steam and to once again be safely quiet. Unfortunately, in that short time, Alzheimer's had claimed him and had nearly eliminated his workouts.
After his death in 2000, I stopped running entirely for a time. It wasn't that without him I was uninspired. I exercised in other ways, but for some reason I felt I needed a running break. It wasn't until J was born that I rediscovered the feeling of joy putting one foot in front of the other. I joined a running group, and began racing again.
I didn't think then of how it had all begun, though I did wish my father could join us as I pushed J's stroller through trails and parks. As I identified birdsong or types of trees for her, I was vaguely aware that I was parroting information my dad had shared with me in similar circumstances.
When I completed my first half-marathon, after my mother's death in 2007, I pictured my parents near the finish line, set apart from the cheering masses. They were holding hands quietly, smiling at me for encouragement. That image pushed me to a strong finish even as it made me weep with longing and sadness.
It wasn't until I recently came upon a blogger who is also a serious distance runner that I thought again about my running memories with Dad. The blogger remarked that his daughter - six years old like J - asked to run with him last week, and he was thrilled at her interest. I wish I could tell him not to worry that he tried too hard with his son. And he shouldn't worry whether or not his daughter will find her own interest in running. He should feel at least a modicum of peace knowing that the shared experience of such a physical activity, at times both grueling and joyous, can truly be the gift of a lifetime. He has given his kids an entree into an active lifestyle, a way to help them cope with distress, a means of learning about nature and the depths of their own character.
Most importantly, the positive feelings a child has when sharing time with his or her father are priceless building blocks for a strong sense of self. And those common memories? His daughter will likely carry them in her heart, like a soft and sweet summer morning, her whole life.
But the majority of my runs - like most everyone - have been based around areas where I have lived, and the vast majority of the time I run alone. My earliest memories of running, however, involved my dad. I can't say how old I was, but I do remember a few things vividly.
My father had an amazing long stride - at 6'2'', it seemed like he could glide down the road with hardly any exertion. I can picture his muscular legs, pale and freckled like mine but much longer and leaner.
Sometimes we would take the meandering fire trails that emptied out onto Morgan Mill Road across from the cornfields. Other times we would follow the roads all the way down to the reservoir. Coming back up was always tough, but my father never made me feel guilty for needing to walk. "You're doing great!" he would say with a grin and a big thumbs-up.
During these breaks we would explore small streams that ran along the roadside, finding tadpoles and turtles, and making dams. This extra exploration time is what I kept in my heart, rather than how guilty I may have felt about making him stop during the run, or how sore I was the next day.
And I remember he never pressured me to run - he just asked. I felt so proud to join him, and to share in something that obviously brought him joy. I had always felt comfortable in his presence anyway. He was quiet and introverted, like me, and felt happiest outside.
In middle school, my running tapered off due to lack of interest. I was becoming the socially-awkward and generally sub-happy teenager I would act as until college. Once at UMBC, I found running again, and not coincidentally, pieces of a happier self.
I couldn't run with my father at this point since knee problems had him turn to trail biking. I didn't miss our time alone together terribly - I was enjoying the introspective time running afforded me. I would occasionally bike with him, so it wasn't as though we were never together. Besides, I thought we had all the time in the world.
When I got married for the first time and moved to the city, my running again became inconsistent. When I got divorced just three years later, it would have been great to get out there with Dad, to blow off some steam and to once again be safely quiet. Unfortunately, in that short time, Alzheimer's had claimed him and had nearly eliminated his workouts.
After his death in 2000, I stopped running entirely for a time. It wasn't that without him I was uninspired. I exercised in other ways, but for some reason I felt I needed a running break. It wasn't until J was born that I rediscovered the feeling of joy putting one foot in front of the other. I joined a running group, and began racing again.
I didn't think then of how it had all begun, though I did wish my father could join us as I pushed J's stroller through trails and parks. As I identified birdsong or types of trees for her, I was vaguely aware that I was parroting information my dad had shared with me in similar circumstances.
When I completed my first half-marathon, after my mother's death in 2007, I pictured my parents near the finish line, set apart from the cheering masses. They were holding hands quietly, smiling at me for encouragement. That image pushed me to a strong finish even as it made me weep with longing and sadness.
It wasn't until I recently came upon a blogger who is also a serious distance runner that I thought again about my running memories with Dad. The blogger remarked that his daughter - six years old like J - asked to run with him last week, and he was thrilled at her interest. I wish I could tell him not to worry that he tried too hard with his son. And he shouldn't worry whether or not his daughter will find her own interest in running. He should feel at least a modicum of peace knowing that the shared experience of such a physical activity, at times both grueling and joyous, can truly be the gift of a lifetime. He has given his kids an entree into an active lifestyle, a way to help them cope with distress, a means of learning about nature and the depths of their own character.
Most importantly, the positive feelings a child has when sharing time with his or her father are priceless building blocks for a strong sense of self. And those common memories? His daughter will likely carry them in her heart, like a soft and sweet summer morning, her whole life.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Post-run
Good day to be a robin. Bad day to be a worm.
Running in the cool rain is just about as good as running gets, at least for me. It makes me feel like I could go forever. The fact that today really feels like spring is simply icing on the cake.
Without my iPod, I was able to let my senses take in everything around me. The rolling hills have taken on a distinct green hue, and I could hear spring 'peepers' calling from the culverts near the roadside. Some of the cornfields resembled rice paddies after yesterday's torrential rains, and along their borders I was cheered to see the first vestiges of day lilies and tulips, spring onions and dandelions. Black birds cheered me on with their distinctive crackle-squeak. The smell of the earth waking up flooded me with joy and gratitude.
I am aware that there are many weeks to go before the leaves will appear on the trees, and it's likely that we'll have another snow before all is said and done, but today - running outside - was a gift. Happy, happy, happy.
Running in the cool rain is just about as good as running gets, at least for me. It makes me feel like I could go forever. The fact that today really feels like spring is simply icing on the cake.
Without my iPod, I was able to let my senses take in everything around me. The rolling hills have taken on a distinct green hue, and I could hear spring 'peepers' calling from the culverts near the roadside. Some of the cornfields resembled rice paddies after yesterday's torrential rains, and along their borders I was cheered to see the first vestiges of day lilies and tulips, spring onions and dandelions. Black birds cheered me on with their distinctive crackle-squeak. The smell of the earth waking up flooded me with joy and gratitude.
I am aware that there are many weeks to go before the leaves will appear on the trees, and it's likely that we'll have another snow before all is said and done, but today - running outside - was a gift. Happy, happy, happy.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
A waterfall of thoughts
The driving rain and gusty wind will keep me off the road today, and I know that is lame, and I am trying to be OK with it. Secretly I just wanted to do weights anyway.
I am better at taking puzzles apart than putting them back together. Or at seeing what the picture actually is once the puzzle is complete. The pieces by themselves make perfect sense to me, and are beautiful. But I am aware there is a challenge I forgo, and a reward I never deserve.
I continue to feel like I am swept along in a current of time, carried by the actions of others, and only subtly steered by my own. Conversely, I worry that I have clamped down my life, with every minute controlled and molded to my exact comfort. This comfort is limiting and disappointing and not at all ambitious.
One of my greatest fears is that I am utterly unremarkable. Sometimes I see a magic me in other peoples' eyes, and feel that mirage is created by what I can offer - humor, therapy, love. Logic and words have been my only saving grace, but they have not been enough to save me. Not yet, anyway.
These words, for now, are holding me still as I watch the sheets of rain pass by my window. I will let them go and see what happens today. One more sip of tepid coffee, a nibble of a powdered sugar doughnut, and then I'll step back in the river. See you downstream.
I am better at taking puzzles apart than putting them back together. Or at seeing what the picture actually is once the puzzle is complete. The pieces by themselves make perfect sense to me, and are beautiful. But I am aware there is a challenge I forgo, and a reward I never deserve.
I continue to feel like I am swept along in a current of time, carried by the actions of others, and only subtly steered by my own. Conversely, I worry that I have clamped down my life, with every minute controlled and molded to my exact comfort. This comfort is limiting and disappointing and not at all ambitious.
One of my greatest fears is that I am utterly unremarkable. Sometimes I see a magic me in other peoples' eyes, and feel that mirage is created by what I can offer - humor, therapy, love. Logic and words have been my only saving grace, but they have not been enough to save me. Not yet, anyway.
These words, for now, are holding me still as I watch the sheets of rain pass by my window. I will let them go and see what happens today. One more sip of tepid coffee, a nibble of a powdered sugar doughnut, and then I'll step back in the river. See you downstream.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Status
Feeling anxious and a little edgy this morning. My normal inclination would be to look forward to my run, and to get busy. God knows I have a lot to do today.
I could address some of my angst head-on, but like Thursday night margaritas, I don't think that will be a good idea today. So I am left with calm observation and breathing. Not a bad option, but still unnatural for me (see my profile description). Once JBL goes to work, I'll try some real zazen practice. Here goes nothing...
Updated: Literally, nothing. I fell back on my old wicked ways - cleaned the SHIT out of my house all day, then ran, then lost myself in family time. But in the end I was found.
I could address some of my angst head-on, but like Thursday night margaritas, I don't think that will be a good idea today. So I am left with calm observation and breathing. Not a bad option, but still unnatural for me (see my profile description). Once JBL goes to work, I'll try some real zazen practice. Here goes nothing...
Updated: Literally, nothing. I fell back on my old wicked ways - cleaned the SHIT out of my house all day, then ran, then lost myself in family time. But in the end I was found.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Big J, little J
I wish I had a picture of J to place here - a picture of her as she walked away from me this morning. As she headed toward the bus I could see her pride of independence vibrating in every fiber of her little being. I say 'little', but that's not entirely accurate any longer.
Her pride stems from the accomplishment of making me give her my last hug of the morning as she gets out of the car. You know, as opposed to after I have walked her down the hill and across the street, right before letting her climb the stairs onto the bus. How embarrassing! It has taken her until the week before St. Patty's Day to practically mold me into one of those mothers who wave distantly without getting out of the car. Maybe her goal of world domination by summer vacation can be reached after all. Don't let the bunny fool you.
But this is the girl who sings along with me at bedtime, substituting her pet name for me (Moomer [don't ask why - I have no idea]) for all the words of all our songs. And every time I empty her daily folder, piles of little drawings dedicated to me fall out. There I am in a polka-dotted dress holding a cup of coffee. (Strangely, there is also a duck at my side.) There is a heart-shaped scrap of paper that says, "I [heart] Mom". There is an elaborate card with drawings of rainbows, suns, and the ubiquitous peace symbol, and it reads, "To Mommy, Love Juliet."
Her handwriting, however, is no longer shaky. It is practiced and confident. She tells me stories of events at school with adult insights.
"Kalani was being fussy about me sitting next to her, and wouldn't stop talking about it. I got very mad, because I tried to make her stop but she wouldn't listen. But then, Laney - being the nice girl that she is - said, 'Let's change the subject.' And Kalani and I were happy after that!" (Read that with lots of hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions. No, I have no idea where she gets it.)
She uses phrases like, "By the way," in context and with the right intonation, but will follow it up with, "By the way, I like saying 'by the way'!" And then will fall over laughing.
She still needs me at her side before approaching a group of friends, feeling insecure that she won't be welcomed. Once welcomed, though, she wants nothing to do with me. I can't smile or wave or even wiggle my eyebrows in her general direction. The nerve.
She brushes her own teeth morning and night, and takes showers instead of baths, but still wants me to put her lavender lotion on.
Yes, this is all spot-on developmentally, and I am sorry to be such a sentimental sap, but holy schnockers. I mean, no one told me that the everyday smiles and looks and songs would crawl into my heart and hug it in much the same ways as the monumental milestones of parenthood. No one warned me that a sparkly-eyed little girl would bring me to my knees with happiness even as she walks away from me. I really could not have prepared myself anyway. These are the kinds of surprises I can live with...
Her pride stems from the accomplishment of making me give her my last hug of the morning as she gets out of the car. You know, as opposed to after I have walked her down the hill and across the street, right before letting her climb the stairs onto the bus. How embarrassing! It has taken her until the week before St. Patty's Day to practically mold me into one of those mothers who wave distantly without getting out of the car. Maybe her goal of world domination by summer vacation can be reached after all. Don't let the bunny fool you.
But this is the girl who sings along with me at bedtime, substituting her pet name for me (Moomer [don't ask why - I have no idea]) for all the words of all our songs. And every time I empty her daily folder, piles of little drawings dedicated to me fall out. There I am in a polka-dotted dress holding a cup of coffee. (Strangely, there is also a duck at my side.) There is a heart-shaped scrap of paper that says, "I [heart] Mom". There is an elaborate card with drawings of rainbows, suns, and the ubiquitous peace symbol, and it reads, "To Mommy, Love Juliet."
Her handwriting, however, is no longer shaky. It is practiced and confident. She tells me stories of events at school with adult insights.
"Kalani was being fussy about me sitting next to her, and wouldn't stop talking about it. I got very mad, because I tried to make her stop but she wouldn't listen. But then, Laney - being the nice girl that she is - said, 'Let's change the subject.' And Kalani and I were happy after that!" (Read that with lots of hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions. No, I have no idea where she gets it.)
She uses phrases like, "By the way," in context and with the right intonation, but will follow it up with, "By the way, I like saying 'by the way'!" And then will fall over laughing.
She still needs me at her side before approaching a group of friends, feeling insecure that she won't be welcomed. Once welcomed, though, she wants nothing to do with me. I can't smile or wave or even wiggle my eyebrows in her general direction. The nerve.
She brushes her own teeth morning and night, and takes showers instead of baths, but still wants me to put her lavender lotion on.
Yes, this is all spot-on developmentally, and I am sorry to be such a sentimental sap, but holy schnockers. I mean, no one told me that the everyday smiles and looks and songs would crawl into my heart and hug it in much the same ways as the monumental milestones of parenthood. No one warned me that a sparkly-eyed little girl would bring me to my knees with happiness even as she walks away from me. I really could not have prepared myself anyway. These are the kinds of surprises I can live with...
Monday, March 8, 2010
Right now
Right this second someone is giving birth. Someone just lost their first tooth. Right now someone realized their role as parent has changed. And someone realized they need to change the way they parent.
Right now someone is riding a bike without training wheels and falling. Right now someone is refusing to get on a bike because they are afraid of failing.
Right now someone is falling in love for the first time. Right now someone is realizing their lover is about to die. And right now someone's lover has hit them for the first time.
Right now someone is consciously choosing to ignore their messy kitchen. Right now someone is planning to work late because they feel like they have to. Again.
Just now someone realized their face is covered with subtle but deepening wrinkles. Someone just found out they have cancer. Someone just became afraid of flying, and driving at night.
So you say life is not about what happens every second, it's about what you do with what happens. Don't you hate cliches? I hate them too, and pat answers. What do I do with it all?
Right now someone is riding a bike without training wheels and falling. Right now someone is refusing to get on a bike because they are afraid of failing.
Right now someone is falling in love for the first time. Right now someone is realizing their lover is about to die. And right now someone's lover has hit them for the first time.
Right now someone is consciously choosing to ignore their messy kitchen. Right now someone is planning to work late because they feel like they have to. Again.
Just now someone realized their face is covered with subtle but deepening wrinkles. Someone just found out they have cancer. Someone just became afraid of flying, and driving at night.
So you say life is not about what happens every second, it's about what you do with what happens. Don't you hate cliches? I hate them too, and pat answers. What do I do with it all?
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Suburban hell
And I don't even live in suburbia.
After my long run this morning, J and I schlepped down to Ellicott City to J's haircut place (oh my GOD does she look cute with her little bob hair). JBL and K met us for lunch at Einstein Brothers', then we went to the mall to pick up some good towels, and to look for some clothes for JBL.
After lots of circuitous searches for parking, aimless wanderings, and 'excuse mes' through throngs of hapless afternoon shoppers, we took the girls for a frozen yogurt. There we parted ways - JBL to take K up to Towson for a sleepover, and me to drag J to the car wash and grocery before returning home for some down time.
At one point I told J to hurry up and finish her yogurt so we could get to our next stop- I could feel myself breaking out in hives, surrounded by the teenagers and harried parents and minivans and bad pop music - and JBL said, "Oh no - you get to experience the full suburban deal today. At least you'll have something to blog about."
I just feel dirty.
After my long run this morning, J and I schlepped down to Ellicott City to J's haircut place (oh my GOD does she look cute with her little bob hair). JBL and K met us for lunch at Einstein Brothers', then we went to the mall to pick up some good towels, and to look for some clothes for JBL.
After lots of circuitous searches for parking, aimless wanderings, and 'excuse mes' through throngs of hapless afternoon shoppers, we took the girls for a frozen yogurt. There we parted ways - JBL to take K up to Towson for a sleepover, and me to drag J to the car wash and grocery before returning home for some down time.
At one point I told J to hurry up and finish her yogurt so we could get to our next stop- I could feel myself breaking out in hives, surrounded by the teenagers and harried parents and minivans and bad pop music - and JBL said, "Oh no - you get to experience the full suburban deal today. At least you'll have something to blog about."
I just feel dirty.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Looking back
JBL, J and I had dinner last night with JBL's grandfather. Knowing of Grandy's interest in astronomy, I brought an assignment from J's science class regarding the solar system (it's kindergarten, people, so of course crayons were involved). He helped J fill in missing vowels from some words in a paragraph about Jupiter. He was obviously delighted - both by his great-granddaughter, and by the subject matter.
I volunteered that Jupiter is the only planet in our solar system that emits more energy than it receives from the sun. Grandy paused and smiled, staring off into the distance. "Jupiter was almost a star, you know." (pause) "It may be hard to understand, but when you are seeing light from a star, you're really looking back in time." His sparkling eyes settled on me and his smile broadened. He lovingly shared his knowledge with me the way you may offer a bouquet of flowers to a friend.
"That's amazing," I replied. "It IS hard to wrap your mind around." Of course I am well familiar with this information - astronomy was one of my father's favorite subjects, and he had also delighted in sharing the universe's secrets with me in the same reverent fashion. Though I ended up in business, science has always held a special place in my heart because of the happiness it brought to my dad.
I wasn't being patronizing when I told Grandy that it is difficult to really grasp the concept of viewing history as you gaze into the night sky. It is a tough concept, even when you can easily understand that the photons of light striking your retinas have traveled across the universe for possibly billions of years before reaching you. At this exact instant. You are viewing an image of the star as it was those many years ago as the light began its journey. The image literally is something from the past. That star might not even exist anymore.
Isn't it a gift to look back in time? It can be.
Earlier this week, I drove through the city after a meeting on the way to lunch. My boss and I ended up in an area of Baltimore near the water called Canton - known for its funky shops, pubs and restaurants. Along the way, however, I was struck by landmarks in some familiar old neighborhoods. These were some of my favorite running routes when I had worked downtown.
I imagined the heat of a summer day, even in early evening, emanating up from the sidewalks. The haze that hung in the air over the distance between this grid of streets and the overpasses of I-95, visible in glimpses at various intersections. The permanent smell of beer and dirt carried on wafting cool air that spilled out of propped-open doorways of neighborhood bars.
This was back before I listened to music on most every run. My soundtrack was the sound of the city - sirens, horns blaring, people talking - and the sound of my breathing. This was also way before J and even JBL. The end of the week meant closing down my desk, heading up to the corporate gym, working out or running the streets for an easy 3-5, then heading over to Water Street for happy hour before going home for dinner.
I could hear all the sounds, smell the odors, even feel the way my body felt then. A bit stronger, a bit leaner. Just as much fire in the belly. Not quite as sad. But not quite as happy, either.
A glance at these streets instantly transports me back in time, and it is like a bittersweet gift. If I could reach back and touch that girl that loved to run in the city, oh the things I'd tell her. But the memories are like the image of a long-burned-out star. There is no way to actually hold them in your hand. All you can do is capture and savor them.
Maybe I'll send out a few photons later today for the me yet to come. I hope I can shine bright enough to carry me long into the future...
I volunteered that Jupiter is the only planet in our solar system that emits more energy than it receives from the sun. Grandy paused and smiled, staring off into the distance. "Jupiter was almost a star, you know." (pause) "It may be hard to understand, but when you are seeing light from a star, you're really looking back in time." His sparkling eyes settled on me and his smile broadened. He lovingly shared his knowledge with me the way you may offer a bouquet of flowers to a friend.
"That's amazing," I replied. "It IS hard to wrap your mind around." Of course I am well familiar with this information - astronomy was one of my father's favorite subjects, and he had also delighted in sharing the universe's secrets with me in the same reverent fashion. Though I ended up in business, science has always held a special place in my heart because of the happiness it brought to my dad.
I wasn't being patronizing when I told Grandy that it is difficult to really grasp the concept of viewing history as you gaze into the night sky. It is a tough concept, even when you can easily understand that the photons of light striking your retinas have traveled across the universe for possibly billions of years before reaching you. At this exact instant. You are viewing an image of the star as it was those many years ago as the light began its journey. The image literally is something from the past. That star might not even exist anymore.
Isn't it a gift to look back in time? It can be.
Earlier this week, I drove through the city after a meeting on the way to lunch. My boss and I ended up in an area of Baltimore near the water called Canton - known for its funky shops, pubs and restaurants. Along the way, however, I was struck by landmarks in some familiar old neighborhoods. These were some of my favorite running routes when I had worked downtown.
I imagined the heat of a summer day, even in early evening, emanating up from the sidewalks. The haze that hung in the air over the distance between this grid of streets and the overpasses of I-95, visible in glimpses at various intersections. The permanent smell of beer and dirt carried on wafting cool air that spilled out of propped-open doorways of neighborhood bars.
This was back before I listened to music on most every run. My soundtrack was the sound of the city - sirens, horns blaring, people talking - and the sound of my breathing. This was also way before J and even JBL. The end of the week meant closing down my desk, heading up to the corporate gym, working out or running the streets for an easy 3-5, then heading over to Water Street for happy hour before going home for dinner.
I could hear all the sounds, smell the odors, even feel the way my body felt then. A bit stronger, a bit leaner. Just as much fire in the belly. Not quite as sad. But not quite as happy, either.
A glance at these streets instantly transports me back in time, and it is like a bittersweet gift. If I could reach back and touch that girl that loved to run in the city, oh the things I'd tell her. But the memories are like the image of a long-burned-out star. There is no way to actually hold them in your hand. All you can do is capture and savor them.
Maybe I'll send out a few photons later today for the me yet to come. I hope I can shine bright enough to carry me long into the future...
Morning churning
There is so much I want to do today.
I want to get back from my meeting with enough time to clean the bathrooms and vacuum the basement before I exercise and pick up J at the bus stop. I want to run before I do my boot camp video. I want to run from here to the city and back, going through every park, and the Baltimore zoo.
I want to repaint my toenails. I want to water the plants and put the grill cover on. I want to write more of the two stories I have been creating. I want to write about everything I am thinking and experiencing. I want to experience more than what I could ever write about.
I want to read more of my current 'daytime' reading book. I want to read all of the news in print for today. I want to re-read every book on my bookshelves. I want to re-read all of BHJ's posts. I want to read everything ever written. I want all this reading to make me the writer I want to be.
I want to spend time on the indie music site Kyle told me about. I want to find that song I heard on The World Cafe while waiting for J's bus on Monday. I want to hear every great song by every small band at every great small live venue that is happening tonight. I want to be sipping a cosmo at each one, and have JBL at my side. I want to attack JBL.
I want to shovel the snow covering the part of the yard where the spring bulbs grow. I want to check on the progress of those already begun, out by the mailbox. I want to map out my plan for this year's vegetable garden. I want to repaint the patio furniture and clean the glass table tops and weed around the bricks. I want to lay on the bricks and feel the sunlight on my face and place a bet on the first day I can lay there again in my bathing suit. I want to map out a plan to replace all the landscaping around the sides of the house. I want to learn everything there is to know about landscape design and horticulture.
I want to practice meditation. I want to be completely empty and quiet. I want to be absorbed into my yoga mat or into the sky above my house. (I would only want the latter if it's guaranteed I would be warm, though.) I want to watch hawks hunt in the snow. I want to find the first robins and experience their research of new nest sites. I want to follow the geese that seem to move in aimless groups from cornfield to lake and back again. I want to know what the point is.
I want to find my way to J at school and follow her around for the rest of her day. I want to smell her hair and see her easy smile. If she is ever sad or insecure, I want my spirit to wrap around her like a bathrobe fresh and warm out of the dryer. With her Bunny tucked in the pocket. I want to hear her neurons firing with every new thing she sees and learns and feels. I want to watch her grow each infinitesimally small bit and hear her heart beat and feel her weight in my arms during rest time. I want to sit beside her and hold her hand all the way home on the bus.
I want to roast a rack of lamb for dinner and try a new potato recipe. I want to figure out every recipe that intimidates me. I want to learn to cook every food that intimidates me. I want to experience all the wine in our cellar. I want to travel to wine and food destinations all over the world with JBL. Starting with San Fransisco.
I want to fall asleep tonight content, with my family already sleeping peacefully in the house, with all the lights turned out and crumbs of two chocolate chip cookies on my nightstand. And I guess that's really all that matters.
I want to get back from my meeting with enough time to clean the bathrooms and vacuum the basement before I exercise and pick up J at the bus stop. I want to run before I do my boot camp video. I want to run from here to the city and back, going through every park, and the Baltimore zoo.
I want to repaint my toenails. I want to water the plants and put the grill cover on. I want to write more of the two stories I have been creating. I want to write about everything I am thinking and experiencing. I want to experience more than what I could ever write about.
I want to read more of my current 'daytime' reading book. I want to read all of the news in print for today. I want to re-read every book on my bookshelves. I want to re-read all of BHJ's posts. I want to read everything ever written. I want all this reading to make me the writer I want to be.
I want to spend time on the indie music site Kyle told me about. I want to find that song I heard on The World Cafe while waiting for J's bus on Monday. I want to hear every great song by every small band at every great small live venue that is happening tonight. I want to be sipping a cosmo at each one, and have JBL at my side. I want to attack JBL.
I want to shovel the snow covering the part of the yard where the spring bulbs grow. I want to check on the progress of those already begun, out by the mailbox. I want to map out my plan for this year's vegetable garden. I want to repaint the patio furniture and clean the glass table tops and weed around the bricks. I want to lay on the bricks and feel the sunlight on my face and place a bet on the first day I can lay there again in my bathing suit. I want to map out a plan to replace all the landscaping around the sides of the house. I want to learn everything there is to know about landscape design and horticulture.
I want to practice meditation. I want to be completely empty and quiet. I want to be absorbed into my yoga mat or into the sky above my house. (I would only want the latter if it's guaranteed I would be warm, though.) I want to watch hawks hunt in the snow. I want to find the first robins and experience their research of new nest sites. I want to follow the geese that seem to move in aimless groups from cornfield to lake and back again. I want to know what the point is.
I want to find my way to J at school and follow her around for the rest of her day. I want to smell her hair and see her easy smile. If she is ever sad or insecure, I want my spirit to wrap around her like a bathrobe fresh and warm out of the dryer. With her Bunny tucked in the pocket. I want to hear her neurons firing with every new thing she sees and learns and feels. I want to watch her grow each infinitesimally small bit and hear her heart beat and feel her weight in my arms during rest time. I want to sit beside her and hold her hand all the way home on the bus.
I want to roast a rack of lamb for dinner and try a new potato recipe. I want to figure out every recipe that intimidates me. I want to learn to cook every food that intimidates me. I want to experience all the wine in our cellar. I want to travel to wine and food destinations all over the world with JBL. Starting with San Fransisco.
I want to fall asleep tonight content, with my family already sleeping peacefully in the house, with all the lights turned out and crumbs of two chocolate chip cookies on my nightstand. And I guess that's really all that matters.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
From the WTF files
So last month K was scheduled for her semi-annual dentist check-up. No biggie - we've been to this office - Dr. Kim - a half-dozen times before. Everyone who works there has been exceedingly kind to both girls, and the actual dentist himself? Aside from being a former Navy guy (which means I immediately respect the crap out of him), he is wonderfully calm and soothing, which are two characteristics you hope for in someone who might have to take a drill to your teeth.
But then on the day of this appointment I received a phone call from the dentist's office. Can we reschedule K's appointment? Yeah, it might snow later today, so we are closing early. WTF? Um, it's not supposed to start until around 5 (you are not calling Jim Cantore a liar, are you?), and her appointment is at 4. To change her appointment, I have to call K's mom to make sure she can meet K at the bus stop instead, and call the school to make sure K knows to get on the bus. I had changed my work schedule to make sure I could drive 3o minutes in one direction to pick both girls up from school to then drive 30 minutes in another direction to get K to the dentist before dropping her at her mom's and taking J home for dinner. Tragedies? No, but does this really need to change because it might snow earlier than predicted?
But I am a sucker, so I changed the appointment. Fast-forward to yesterday, D-1 for the New Appointment. Dr. Kim's office calls to confirm the appointment date (today) and time (4:30). Yes, I declare, that is fine. The usual arrangements are made with K's mom to send a note to school, corresponding to the one I send for J, that the girls will be picked up in the carpool lane. I am at a breakfast meeting this morning when I get the call. Can K come in at 2:30 instead of 4:30?
Um, WTF?? Well, the only other appointment we have this afternoon is at 2pm, so.... Absolutely not, I reply. They counter with 'How about 4pm?'. Nope. I don't mean to be a hard-ass, but it's just not a simple thing to change what time I do everything relating to K and school and whatnot. The dentist's receptionist then explains she can try 'a couple other things' but may need to call me back. You do that, honey. Now I am fuming.
As my meeting wraps up, here comes the last call. K's appointment now MUST be canceled. Why? Because their equipment just FAILED A STERILIZATION TEST. And so, you know, someone has to come in and sterilize everything. But we can see K tomorrow at 4:30! (How many people came in before they realized the equipment wasn't sterile, one wonders? Eww.)
So, what is worse, I ask you - a doctor's office coming up with a convenient lie to cancel an inconvenient appointment that they confirmed yesterday, or that they would ever FAIL A STERILIZATION TEST?! I think I'll go with #2. Either way, I am in the market for a new dentist, ne c'est pas?
Icing on the cake - just what I needed. It's another excuse to look like a dolt in front of JBL's ex. She already knows I am an idiot, but now I am an idiot that can't even pick a good dentist. Sheesh. And, no, I didn't do any breathing-awareness exercises during all of this.
But then on the day of this appointment I received a phone call from the dentist's office. Can we reschedule K's appointment? Yeah, it might snow later today, so we are closing early. WTF? Um, it's not supposed to start until around 5 (you are not calling Jim Cantore a liar, are you?), and her appointment is at 4. To change her appointment, I have to call K's mom to make sure she can meet K at the bus stop instead, and call the school to make sure K knows to get on the bus. I had changed my work schedule to make sure I could drive 3o minutes in one direction to pick both girls up from school to then drive 30 minutes in another direction to get K to the dentist before dropping her at her mom's and taking J home for dinner. Tragedies? No, but does this really need to change because it might snow earlier than predicted?
But I am a sucker, so I changed the appointment. Fast-forward to yesterday, D-1 for the New Appointment. Dr. Kim's office calls to confirm the appointment date (today) and time (4:30). Yes, I declare, that is fine. The usual arrangements are made with K's mom to send a note to school, corresponding to the one I send for J, that the girls will be picked up in the carpool lane. I am at a breakfast meeting this morning when I get the call. Can K come in at 2:30 instead of 4:30?
Um, WTF?? Well, the only other appointment we have this afternoon is at 2pm, so.... Absolutely not, I reply. They counter with 'How about 4pm?'. Nope. I don't mean to be a hard-ass, but it's just not a simple thing to change what time I do everything relating to K and school and whatnot. The dentist's receptionist then explains she can try 'a couple other things' but may need to call me back. You do that, honey. Now I am fuming.
As my meeting wraps up, here comes the last call. K's appointment now MUST be canceled. Why? Because their equipment just FAILED A STERILIZATION TEST. And so, you know, someone has to come in and sterilize everything. But we can see K tomorrow at 4:30! (How many people came in before they realized the equipment wasn't sterile, one wonders? Eww.)
So, what is worse, I ask you - a doctor's office coming up with a convenient lie to cancel an inconvenient appointment that they confirmed yesterday, or that they would ever FAIL A STERILIZATION TEST?! I think I'll go with #2. Either way, I am in the market for a new dentist, ne c'est pas?
Icing on the cake - just what I needed. It's another excuse to look like a dolt in front of JBL's ex. She already knows I am an idiot, but now I am an idiot that can't even pick a good dentist. Sheesh. And, no, I didn't do any breathing-awareness exercises during all of this.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Waiting to...
I am sitting on the floor of my office. It is ridiculous to call it my office, really. I mean, there's a desk in here with a computer on it. In its drawers are files with Important Papers, and books of stamps. Next to the computer there is a phone that I can put on 'speaker' for conference calls, and sometimes I do.
Across the room there is a bookshelf filled with all sorts of books - from Tufte's The Visual Display of Quantitative Information to Bronte's Wuthering Heights, from Churchill's series A History of English Speaking Peoples (I've only read one of those) to Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.
The walls are adorned with diplomas - mostly JBLs - with my lone MBA certificate among them.
But I never use this room. Instead I prefer to spend most of my day hunkered over my laptop at the kitchen counter. The kitchen is the heart of the house, is it not? I can be near my family (when they're here) from this perch. Also I can eat while I read and work!
So why am I in the office today? For one, it's not part of the rest of the main level's open floor plan. Its walls and french doors offer a sense of coziness that is lacking in the rest of the house. And why on the floor? Here on the floor, I am on the soft rug nestled among houseplants crowded along the room's south-facing windows. I am sitting in the sun on a winter's day.
From my vantage point, I can see the clouds gathering on the western horizon. I can see the back woods and the fields beyond them, still blanketed with snow. I see our corkscrew willow - JBL's favorite tree, I think - whipping around in the stiff breeze. It has started to take on 'shadow' as my friend Sarah calls it. It won't be long now until leaves appear on its delicate branches.
But I am not thinking about the impending season. I am thinking about breathing.
Any practitioner of yoga can tell you the understanding of your breath and its relationship to your body is the pathway to enlightenment. Any student of public speaking knows focused breathing can calm the run-away pulse. But it came to may attention today that breathing is not just a tool - rather, it is truly the one constant in your life, from birth to death.
In all aspects of our life, our breath is there to mirror our emotions. Great gasps accompany both the deepest laughter and sobbing cries. Calm, deep breathing is associated with peaceful sleep. Shallow, short breathing can follow inattention or the seemingly endless buzz of low-level anxiety. What sort of breathing to you use throughout the day?
It is my hope that breathing can not only mirror my emotions, but help conquer (if not at least smooth) them. My great nemesis, emotionally speaking, has always been my quick-fire, lightning-hot temper. Frustration and anger well up in me suddenly and sometimes unexpectedly, and only the torrent of harsh words or other demonstrated displeasure quenches the fire that emanates outward from my mid-section. This shower of fireworks deflects hurt or fear, shooting the blame far from my insides, scorching all nearby. Unlike my mother's eruptions that could simmer on for days, mine are often over quickly, leaving a fog of remorse and pain in their wake.
Can I really use my breath to stem the tide, to even-out the amplitudes of my reactions? Is it possible that a calm mind can then redirect the emotion so the intuitive self can reign and find safe harbor? Can breathing temper all, or will it simply mask the real issue - flaws that exist deep within?
I sit quietly in the waning afternoon light amongst oxygen-producing greenery and wonder. And breathe.
Across the room there is a bookshelf filled with all sorts of books - from Tufte's The Visual Display of Quantitative Information to Bronte's Wuthering Heights, from Churchill's series A History of English Speaking Peoples (I've only read one of those) to Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.
The walls are adorned with diplomas - mostly JBLs - with my lone MBA certificate among them.
But I never use this room. Instead I prefer to spend most of my day hunkered over my laptop at the kitchen counter. The kitchen is the heart of the house, is it not? I can be near my family (when they're here) from this perch. Also I can eat while I read and work!
So why am I in the office today? For one, it's not part of the rest of the main level's open floor plan. Its walls and french doors offer a sense of coziness that is lacking in the rest of the house. And why on the floor? Here on the floor, I am on the soft rug nestled among houseplants crowded along the room's south-facing windows. I am sitting in the sun on a winter's day.
From my vantage point, I can see the clouds gathering on the western horizon. I can see the back woods and the fields beyond them, still blanketed with snow. I see our corkscrew willow - JBL's favorite tree, I think - whipping around in the stiff breeze. It has started to take on 'shadow' as my friend Sarah calls it. It won't be long now until leaves appear on its delicate branches.
But I am not thinking about the impending season. I am thinking about breathing.
Any practitioner of yoga can tell you the understanding of your breath and its relationship to your body is the pathway to enlightenment. Any student of public speaking knows focused breathing can calm the run-away pulse. But it came to may attention today that breathing is not just a tool - rather, it is truly the one constant in your life, from birth to death.
In all aspects of our life, our breath is there to mirror our emotions. Great gasps accompany both the deepest laughter and sobbing cries. Calm, deep breathing is associated with peaceful sleep. Shallow, short breathing can follow inattention or the seemingly endless buzz of low-level anxiety. What sort of breathing to you use throughout the day?
It is my hope that breathing can not only mirror my emotions, but help conquer (if not at least smooth) them. My great nemesis, emotionally speaking, has always been my quick-fire, lightning-hot temper. Frustration and anger well up in me suddenly and sometimes unexpectedly, and only the torrent of harsh words or other demonstrated displeasure quenches the fire that emanates outward from my mid-section. This shower of fireworks deflects hurt or fear, shooting the blame far from my insides, scorching all nearby. Unlike my mother's eruptions that could simmer on for days, mine are often over quickly, leaving a fog of remorse and pain in their wake.
Can I really use my breath to stem the tide, to even-out the amplitudes of my reactions? Is it possible that a calm mind can then redirect the emotion so the intuitive self can reign and find safe harbor? Can breathing temper all, or will it simply mask the real issue - flaws that exist deep within?
I sit quietly in the waning afternoon light amongst oxygen-producing greenery and wonder. And breathe.
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