My heart is a little broken. I knew this day would come, I just didn't think it would get here so suddenly, and I'm a bit confused on how to deal with it. Finding one's own identity is tough. Just ask my eight year old boy. He's a brilliant, funny, obsessive weird little dude, and I say that with the most love a mother can muster. Despite the fact that most adults absolutely love him, most kids do not get him. It never bothered him until now, when the awareness of who we or he in this case, are in relation to others. It has finally sunk in. He is not like the others.
Every parent wants their kid to shine, to be a bright star in their own world. Who doesn't want their child to be loved, have a butt load of friends, be asked to all the birthday parties and called on to play on someones team? I do. Keller should have all of these things, and yet, does not. It's certainly not for lack of trying. He isn't mean, a disgusting booger eater, or a jerk. Well, on occasion he acts like a jerk. He marches to his own drum and lots of kids don't hear it.
First of all, he looks different. His hair is longish, and usually not brushed and stringy because he spends so much time outside chasing after imaginary Dutch soldiers. Keller's favorite outfit consists of a pair of blue khaki pants that are too short with worn out knees, his old dress shoes a.k.a. "hobo shoes", a grey army shirt with tiny holes around the neck from chewing on it, and a dress jacket that makes him feel like James Bond. And, a belt. He ALWAYS has a belt on, usually pulled too tight. He likes the outfit cause he can stuff toy guns, lucky charms and his M6 identity card in all the pockets. He is happy when he wears this outfit, so I let it go. He isn't allowed to wear it to school or church or out in public, really. But when we're home and he's just going to save the world, I let him have at it.
Keller acts different, which is the biggest reason why kids don't always relate. He obsesses about many things including Egypt, mummies, weapons, wars, littering and whatever television show his sister is into. Hie is very sensitive and his feelings are easily hurt when he is slighted. I know how hurt he is because it usually ends with him whispering in my ear about a not-so-nice situation. Bedtime means plenty of snuggling and serious talks about school, troubling encounters with classmates or a specific scene in a Batman movie that I've seen a bazillion times and don't really care to hear about again, but which totally gets him going. It's much.
If you didn't know him, you would think he is nothing but a know-it-all. Sometimes he acts like an annoying smarty pants, but mostly he's just a walking encyclopedia who is dying to share new things he has learned with anyone who will listen. I often think he just needs to get it out so he can make room in his brain to fill up with more knowledge. Some kids in his school slot him under the annoying know-it-all category. Others think he is a bore or too smart for his own good. Some are in awe of his brain, but they usually don't say much. I think he has a tough go at school.
I know he does. There are a group of kids, boys and girls, who have been making fun of him for the past few weeks, telling him he is worthless and that no one wants to be his friend. He is, of course, priceless. But the truth is, he doesn't have too many friends at school. He has one buddy in a higher grade with whom he hangs with. But their friendship is somewhat dictated by the fact that his parents and grandparents are friends of ours.
Last week as I was tucking Keller in bed, he told me about the kids telling him he was worthless. I of course wanted to march to school and flick them in the side of their heads, but refrained. What I did tell him was that tons of people think he is cool. And then, it came out out of his mouth, like a sad truth we never want to face. "No I'm not; I'm a geek," he answered. As much as it broke my heart, I knew it was sorta true. He is weirdly book smart. He dresses strange.
"Not everyone will get you. Not everyone will be your kind of people," I answered. "And, you cannot worry about them. Just know that many, many people love you that will grow as you get older." It's the best I could come up with on the fly and it is the truth. Thankfully, he sort of accepted that. It's going to be a little lonely for him but he'll manage. He'll learn from it and something great will come out of it.
For example - there's a hilarious song from a defunct Toronto band named Corky and the Juice Pigs, that sums up this feeling. "The Only Gay Eskimo in my Tribe" is one of the saddest, funniest songs I've ever heard. Every time this band played this tune, it would send the audience into hysterics. I loved it too, but not just because it was so weird, but because it was sung with such conviction, I had to believe there was some true feelings behind it. I do not think my son is gay and he is definitely not an Eskimo. He is often lonely and misunderstood. But one day he will laugh with the world ,and honor loneliness and being different. I cannot wait.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
My Tween is Like, Almost a Teen. Seriously.
Today my daughter has taken another skip toward teendom. Toward the era of darkness, as my boy so wisely predicts. Her 12th birthday is exciting for her, bittersweet for me. I've had an entire year to consider her maturity, the changes she will experience, the excitement, the agony that begins for both her and her parents. And yet, it snuck up on me. Damn.
I spent the week thinking about how to celebrate this birthday. Should I take her out for a nice meal? Should we do the typical trip to the mall? A meal at home with the family wasn't in the cards. Hubby was gigging and I had an appointment around dinnertime. I wanted it to be special. She had talked about a sleepover or a night time party, but her best buddy was out of town and so the party would have to wait.
As the day neared, we scrambled to get her the most important gift of all, a cell phone. As much as I dreaded the foray into triple digit texting frenzy, she was now of the age where she could stay after school for football games. This meant another step toward independence for her, which means we had to find a way to stay tethered without her feeling or knowing it; a cell phone, unfortunately, is a solution. Let the texting begin! I am afraid. Her best friend sent over 100 messages HER first day. What on earth could they say???
I soon found out. Immediately after picking her up from school I was told she'd been invited to a movie with her friends. We would go pick up her phone so she could text, not call, and get the details. We headed out to her favorite bakery where we indulged ourselves with pastries and text messages. Yes, we sat directly across from each other and texted our plans for the rest of the day. As ridiculous as it was, I went along with it. Kids today! As weird as it seems, it makes her happy and feel connected. To me it seems like a total disconnect but what do I know?
On the way to pick up her brother, we took a detour to a home decor/consignment store which was great fun. We found a dresser and a cool table for the foyer. And some great chairs, outdoor set and a pinball machine. We didn't walk out with any of those items, but instead purchased a $2 pair of purple earrings for Cyre. Happy Birthday!
Next on the agenda was a visit to the doctor. The kids were great. They played with toys, read books and played with cell phones Sometimes technology had its moments and this was one of them. If it could keep the peace for an hour, then I was down with it.
We grabbed homemade pasta and Chinese at the grocery, a movie to watch and headed home. We had only moments before the texting began. Where, when, how would she meet her friends? The constant beeping indicated a new text was just received was enough to develop a new tick. And this was day one...
As I pulled into the movie theater and saw her friends huddled together with laughter, it hit me. She had crossed into another time zone, another stage, the era of darkness. This was a huge moment. Remember your first "alone" movie with friends? I do. Westwood Theater, Etobicoke. That was hard to swallow.
At least I still had my boy. We celebrated the evening with a dance/military/marine party. After wearing me out, Keller suggested we watch a movie with a "hero" which meant I could request James Bond. A win/win for everyone!
Shortly thereafter Cyre came home and answered a slew of "Happy Birthday" phone calls. She has since spent the rest of the evening setting up voice mail, texting and celebrating her new found youth.
A happy birthday indeed.
I spent the week thinking about how to celebrate this birthday. Should I take her out for a nice meal? Should we do the typical trip to the mall? A meal at home with the family wasn't in the cards. Hubby was gigging and I had an appointment around dinnertime. I wanted it to be special. She had talked about a sleepover or a night time party, but her best buddy was out of town and so the party would have to wait.
As the day neared, we scrambled to get her the most important gift of all, a cell phone. As much as I dreaded the foray into triple digit texting frenzy, she was now of the age where she could stay after school for football games. This meant another step toward independence for her, which means we had to find a way to stay tethered without her feeling or knowing it; a cell phone, unfortunately, is a solution. Let the texting begin! I am afraid. Her best friend sent over 100 messages HER first day. What on earth could they say???
I soon found out. Immediately after picking her up from school I was told she'd been invited to a movie with her friends. We would go pick up her phone so she could text, not call, and get the details. We headed out to her favorite bakery where we indulged ourselves with pastries and text messages. Yes, we sat directly across from each other and texted our plans for the rest of the day. As ridiculous as it was, I went along with it. Kids today! As weird as it seems, it makes her happy and feel connected. To me it seems like a total disconnect but what do I know?
On the way to pick up her brother, we took a detour to a home decor/consignment store which was great fun. We found a dresser and a cool table for the foyer. And some great chairs, outdoor set and a pinball machine. We didn't walk out with any of those items, but instead purchased a $2 pair of purple earrings for Cyre. Happy Birthday!
Next on the agenda was a visit to the doctor. The kids were great. They played with toys, read books and played with cell phones Sometimes technology had its moments and this was one of them. If it could keep the peace for an hour, then I was down with it.
We grabbed homemade pasta and Chinese at the grocery, a movie to watch and headed home. We had only moments before the texting began. Where, when, how would she meet her friends? The constant beeping indicated a new text was just received was enough to develop a new tick. And this was day one...
As I pulled into the movie theater and saw her friends huddled together with laughter, it hit me. She had crossed into another time zone, another stage, the era of darkness. This was a huge moment. Remember your first "alone" movie with friends? I do. Westwood Theater, Etobicoke. That was hard to swallow.
At least I still had my boy. We celebrated the evening with a dance/military/marine party. After wearing me out, Keller suggested we watch a movie with a "hero" which meant I could request James Bond. A win/win for everyone!
Shortly thereafter Cyre came home and answered a slew of "Happy Birthday" phone calls. She has since spent the rest of the evening setting up voice mail, texting and celebrating her new found youth.
A happy birthday indeed.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
She's a Dancing Machine
Dancin, dancin, dancin!!! She's a dancin machin-ine...
That's right, I'm back at it. It's been a long 15 years or so since I've attended a dance class or hit the floor in a serious manner and it's wonderful. Part of the new year, new world order is that I take care of myself and do something just for me. Some folks buy gym memberships, hire personal trainers or train for marathons to get in shape. I'm doing the foxtrot, the rumba, the cha cha and the west coast swing.
Sure, I need to tone up, drop some pounds and get fit. But truthfully, I'm taking dance classes first and foremost because it makes me happy. Not just put a smile on my face happy, but singing inside, dance around like Snoopy, happy. Why have I let it go for so long if that's the result? Have I just been a miserable person for the past 15 years? I don't know and no. I haven't been unhappy for the past 15 years, but I could have been happier. And now I am.
Since moving to our home on Burtonwood, I pass by the Fred Astaire Dance Studio twice a day, going to and from work. And for the last six months, I've told myself I'm going to stop by and sign up for a class. But, life gets busy, the holidays were approaching, money got tight, time slipped away...shit happens.
It took a really busy week at work and an even busier weekend for me to get grumpy enough to take action. After complaining about my schedule for the umpteenth time, it dawned on me that only I could change things and that doing something completely for myself that would make me feel good in every way, was the ticket. I called and signed up for class.
Most of the folks taking classes are either young couples working on learning to put on a decent show at their wedding, older couples looking for some new element to add some spice to their lives, or single guys looking to improve their chances of meeting a chick. Oh, and a couple of single ladies looking for...I don't know. I can only speak for myself. Happiness.
And, as luck would have it, once again I have a dance teacher who has a fabulous Latin name and hips that do some serious damage. I fondly remember Fernando, the Fred Astaire of Chile who was so hot, even extreme hetro guys had to stare. My current teacher doesn't have quite the same effect, but he's got some incredible moves and is excited that I don't step on his toes too often. It's a good fit.
My husband does not love dancing, and understands that these classes are really just for me. He's not at all interested in coming to class and I'm sure totally relieved I haven't asked. However, once I told him about one of the female dancers who was showing everyone the west coast swing and forgot (I hope) that she was wearing a full skirt and a thong, and gave us all a FREE SHOW, his ears perked up. He may show up one day unexpectedly...
All this time learning to dance is going to help me more than physically. It's going to help me mentally as well. I'm forever being told to do something for myself, be nice to myself, and enjoy life. Learning to spend some money and time on just me is tough. I'm used to putting the kids first. Their lessons/activities always take precedent. But, all work and no play makes for a grumpy mummy and that doesn't make for a happy household. So, I'm learning to indulge. Just a little. I'm a dancin machine once again.
That's right, I'm back at it. It's been a long 15 years or so since I've attended a dance class or hit the floor in a serious manner and it's wonderful. Part of the new year, new world order is that I take care of myself and do something just for me. Some folks buy gym memberships, hire personal trainers or train for marathons to get in shape. I'm doing the foxtrot, the rumba, the cha cha and the west coast swing.
Sure, I need to tone up, drop some pounds and get fit. But truthfully, I'm taking dance classes first and foremost because it makes me happy. Not just put a smile on my face happy, but singing inside, dance around like Snoopy, happy. Why have I let it go for so long if that's the result? Have I just been a miserable person for the past 15 years? I don't know and no. I haven't been unhappy for the past 15 years, but I could have been happier. And now I am.
Since moving to our home on Burtonwood, I pass by the Fred Astaire Dance Studio twice a day, going to and from work. And for the last six months, I've told myself I'm going to stop by and sign up for a class. But, life gets busy, the holidays were approaching, money got tight, time slipped away...shit happens.
It took a really busy week at work and an even busier weekend for me to get grumpy enough to take action. After complaining about my schedule for the umpteenth time, it dawned on me that only I could change things and that doing something completely for myself that would make me feel good in every way, was the ticket. I called and signed up for class.
Most of the folks taking classes are either young couples working on learning to put on a decent show at their wedding, older couples looking for some new element to add some spice to their lives, or single guys looking to improve their chances of meeting a chick. Oh, and a couple of single ladies looking for...I don't know. I can only speak for myself. Happiness.
And, as luck would have it, once again I have a dance teacher who has a fabulous Latin name and hips that do some serious damage. I fondly remember Fernando, the Fred Astaire of Chile who was so hot, even extreme hetro guys had to stare. My current teacher doesn't have quite the same effect, but he's got some incredible moves and is excited that I don't step on his toes too often. It's a good fit.
My husband does not love dancing, and understands that these classes are really just for me. He's not at all interested in coming to class and I'm sure totally relieved I haven't asked. However, once I told him about one of the female dancers who was showing everyone the west coast swing and forgot (I hope) that she was wearing a full skirt and a thong, and gave us all a FREE SHOW, his ears perked up. He may show up one day unexpectedly...
All this time learning to dance is going to help me more than physically. It's going to help me mentally as well. I'm forever being told to do something for myself, be nice to myself, and enjoy life. Learning to spend some money and time on just me is tough. I'm used to putting the kids first. Their lessons/activities always take precedent. But, all work and no play makes for a grumpy mummy and that doesn't make for a happy household. So, I'm learning to indulge. Just a little. I'm a dancin machine once again.
Friday, January 1, 2010
2010: The Countdown to Our Death
Just kidding. But that's what my kids were discussing last night, in light of the impending year 2012, signifying the end of the Mayan calendar,a new blockbuster movie, it's-the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it (thanks REM) 80s rock anthem and some other stuff. That was a mouthful, huh?
Actually, we had a wonderful NYE. And a busy, exciting Christmas. (That will have to be another post.) After working a full day (not planned, but necessary. Sort of.) I hurried home to find a house full of kids. Our dearest Heeda is visiting and was gracious enough to play child wrangler for the afternoon. I seriously owe her one. The kids are nearing the end of a two week at home period, and it was starting to get ugly, in a "I'm bored" kind of way. They both managed to swing play dates with friends and apparently spent the afternoon killing off the Dutch (imaginary...no offence, people), saluting neighbors, practicing their sharp shooter skills, playing on their DS games, dancing, and chasing each other. Wrangle on, Heeda, wrangle on.
Kev had been working all day and arrived shortly after I did. He was thrilled to have a few hours between gigs to rest, eat, shower and throw back a few beers. I caught up with events at home and played on my brand spankin new Crackberry. SIDE NOTE: This is a VERY dangerous development. I can take photos, upload music, facebook and respond to emails ANY time I like? Oh, and use the phone? It was more than once that W, husband and children had to remind me of their presence.
After a couple of hours, it was time to get ready for our evening out. I loaded up the kids, kissed the husband goodbye and drove off. We dropped off Keller's friend and headed east toward the most amazing Salvadorean restaurant ever. I had recently discovered the wonders of amazing coupon deals thanks to restaurant.com. Spend $10 ($6 if it's your first try) and get a $25 discount after spending a minimum of $35. Sounds complicated, but it's a total deal. I got two coupons and plan to go back for more.
The restaurant is unassuming, outside of the ginormous neon sign out front. El Pugarcito is now on my top five restaurants in the Queen City. The chicken tamales were the best I've ever had, beating out anything here, in TO and NYC. Their shrimp cocktail (it sounds better ordered in Spanish, but I can only remember French) is full of juicy, fresh salsa, huge chunks of avacado and huge shrimps. Keller ate them all, along with two beef tacos. I know, I still have no clue where he puts all the food...tape worm? Cyre had a pupusa and some of the sizzling hot fajitas W and I ordered. There was so much food left over, we took an entire meal home for the hubby. Hard to believe we ate all that, had two sodas and two beers and only paid $39. Total. Including tip. Seriously.
You would think we were stuffed and unable to eat one more thing, but no. We ate on. A quick trip over to Amelie's in NoDa meant we had to snarck back some french pastries. Have I ever mentioned their salted caramel brownies are dreamy? As my friend Leslie so wisely advises, "just smear it all over my body". Just as we were ready to go, I spotted my dear friend, Mr John Love. Have I mentioned he could quite possibly be the grooviest man in Charlotte? (outside of my husband, of course.) And, W was with me so she could totally confirm that he is the long lost, twin brother of another dear friend, John James, stylist and general raconteur, and resident of TO. These two just gotta meet!
The kids played dominoes, xs and os, etch a sketch and tag while W, John and I discussed meditation, goals for 2010, astrology, music, and internal plumbing. The cherry on top of the whipped cream? Crystal Dempsey, THE social media, social butterfly of Charlotte was there too. Yeah!!!We were close to wearing out our welcome and it was time to go. After a long goodbye, we got in the car and headed home.
It was time to watch the Times Square show and countdown to midnight. Cyre then reminded us that 2012 is only two years away, and perhaps it was time to start the countdown to our death. Yeah, OK. I tried to get everyone to focus on the television show which was a big mistake. Maybe it's cause I'm a honkey, but I don't get JayZ or Rhianna. And, they su-ucked. But, I always love watching the crowds and how excited people get, amazed at how long they will stand out in the cold, crappy weather wearing a "Happy New Year from Nivea cream" hat. That's when one of the cameras zoomed in on some European couple who proceeded not to kiss, but rather, swap spit, tongues and smash faces. "Lose the tongue people, it's a family show!" was all I could say.
Hubby came home in time to watch the countdown and quickly changed into his jammies. And start cooking. Of course. Keller then began his own minute-by-minute countdown, absolutely freaking out that we wouldn't be able to put on shoes, grab some pots and pans and make it out to the lawn in 20 minutes. Somehow we managed to make it to the last minute. Poor Alfie missed the countdown. Somehow he escaped outside and was desperately trying to get back in. After it hit midnight we did all run outside and made as much noise as possible. Kev light off the last of our firecrackers to which there was absolutely NO response from the neighbors. We really do live in a quiet, little sleepy hollow.
We ended the evening curled up on the pull-out bed, with a Harry Potter movie and a whole lotta popcorn. It was a joyous way to end the year.
Here's to 2010. And to the rest of our lives.
Actually, we had a wonderful NYE. And a busy, exciting Christmas. (That will have to be another post.) After working a full day (not planned, but necessary. Sort of.) I hurried home to find a house full of kids. Our dearest Heeda is visiting and was gracious enough to play child wrangler for the afternoon. I seriously owe her one. The kids are nearing the end of a two week at home period, and it was starting to get ugly, in a "I'm bored" kind of way. They both managed to swing play dates with friends and apparently spent the afternoon killing off the Dutch (imaginary...no offence, people), saluting neighbors, practicing their sharp shooter skills, playing on their DS games, dancing, and chasing each other. Wrangle on, Heeda, wrangle on.
Kev had been working all day and arrived shortly after I did. He was thrilled to have a few hours between gigs to rest, eat, shower and throw back a few beers. I caught up with events at home and played on my brand spankin new Crackberry. SIDE NOTE: This is a VERY dangerous development. I can take photos, upload music, facebook and respond to emails ANY time I like? Oh, and use the phone? It was more than once that W, husband and children had to remind me of their presence.
After a couple of hours, it was time to get ready for our evening out. I loaded up the kids, kissed the husband goodbye and drove off. We dropped off Keller's friend and headed east toward the most amazing Salvadorean restaurant ever. I had recently discovered the wonders of amazing coupon deals thanks to restaurant.com. Spend $10 ($6 if it's your first try) and get a $25 discount after spending a minimum of $35. Sounds complicated, but it's a total deal. I got two coupons and plan to go back for more.
The restaurant is unassuming, outside of the ginormous neon sign out front. El Pugarcito is now on my top five restaurants in the Queen City. The chicken tamales were the best I've ever had, beating out anything here, in TO and NYC. Their shrimp cocktail (it sounds better ordered in Spanish, but I can only remember French) is full of juicy, fresh salsa, huge chunks of avacado and huge shrimps. Keller ate them all, along with two beef tacos. I know, I still have no clue where he puts all the food...tape worm? Cyre had a pupusa and some of the sizzling hot fajitas W and I ordered. There was so much food left over, we took an entire meal home for the hubby. Hard to believe we ate all that, had two sodas and two beers and only paid $39. Total. Including tip. Seriously.
You would think we were stuffed and unable to eat one more thing, but no. We ate on. A quick trip over to Amelie's in NoDa meant we had to snarck back some french pastries. Have I ever mentioned their salted caramel brownies are dreamy? As my friend Leslie so wisely advises, "just smear it all over my body". Just as we were ready to go, I spotted my dear friend, Mr John Love. Have I mentioned he could quite possibly be the grooviest man in Charlotte? (outside of my husband, of course.) And, W was with me so she could totally confirm that he is the long lost, twin brother of another dear friend, John James, stylist and general raconteur, and resident of TO. These two just gotta meet!
The kids played dominoes, xs and os, etch a sketch and tag while W, John and I discussed meditation, goals for 2010, astrology, music, and internal plumbing. The cherry on top of the whipped cream? Crystal Dempsey, THE social media, social butterfly of Charlotte was there too. Yeah!!!We were close to wearing out our welcome and it was time to go. After a long goodbye, we got in the car and headed home.
It was time to watch the Times Square show and countdown to midnight. Cyre then reminded us that 2012 is only two years away, and perhaps it was time to start the countdown to our death. Yeah, OK. I tried to get everyone to focus on the television show which was a big mistake. Maybe it's cause I'm a honkey, but I don't get JayZ or Rhianna. And, they su-ucked. But, I always love watching the crowds and how excited people get, amazed at how long they will stand out in the cold, crappy weather wearing a "Happy New Year from Nivea cream" hat. That's when one of the cameras zoomed in on some European couple who proceeded not to kiss, but rather, swap spit, tongues and smash faces. "Lose the tongue people, it's a family show!" was all I could say.
Hubby came home in time to watch the countdown and quickly changed into his jammies. And start cooking. Of course. Keller then began his own minute-by-minute countdown, absolutely freaking out that we wouldn't be able to put on shoes, grab some pots and pans and make it out to the lawn in 20 minutes. Somehow we managed to make it to the last minute. Poor Alfie missed the countdown. Somehow he escaped outside and was desperately trying to get back in. After it hit midnight we did all run outside and made as much noise as possible. Kev light off the last of our firecrackers to which there was absolutely NO response from the neighbors. We really do live in a quiet, little sleepy hollow.
We ended the evening curled up on the pull-out bed, with a Harry Potter movie and a whole lotta popcorn. It was a joyous way to end the year.
Here's to 2010. And to the rest of our lives.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
I am Thankful
Thanksgiving has come and gone which means my birthday is just around the corner. It's the perfect time to reflect on the past year and do a little inventory (which I can later analyze in my next therapy session) on what I am thankful.
In no particular order...
I am thankful for my in-laws and their beautiful beach house, which is the perfect getaway. (note to self - must go again this winter!)
I am thankful for my in-laws, kindred foodies, who shop, talk, swap and live food.
I am thankful for a fine car, which takes us to and fro throughout the southern US to visit friends and family. (I'm not always thankful though on the 5th of every month, when my car payment is due.)
I am thankful for toddlers, who exhaust my patience and expand my heart. Love to Landon, Cameron and Ella!
I am thankful for my children who request that we rent "An Inconvenient Truth" to watch and discuss global warning.
I am thankful that my son can quote Socrates, never mind even knows who the dude is.
I am thankful that my daughter never has to be told to practice her instrument, but picks it up spontaneously and is developing a beautiful sound.
I am thankful that my husband went to ten stores (so he says, maybe for dramatic effect?), tried eBay, Craigslist and Zappa, before finding me the perfect purse for my birthday.
I am thankful that my boss, who apparently has my number (figuratively, people) never calls me on it too often, but gently nudges me in the right direction despite it sometimes being out of my comfort zone. Thanks, Eve.
I am thankful for Facebook (do NOT insert your finger in your mouth out of disgust!) which allows me to follow old friends from high school (Dave Buchanan, you are groovier than I ever imagined), slightly less older friends from college (Forrest Dogger, Steve Brearton; ladies, you know who you are) and chums from the hood (Michelle Lawrie, stop playing frickin poker!).
I am thankful for the extremely cool folks I have met in Charlotte (too many to mention) who give me hope that this town is more than football, banking and pleated pants.
I am thankful for salted caramel brownies from Amelie's. Nuff said.
I am thankful for my husband who negotiated a case of wonderful, French Beaujolais wines as part of his payment for a recent gig. Cheers!
I am thankful to the Hornets Nest Girl Scouts troop who took me to do the "ropes", and allowed me to face my fear of heights, and learn to trust total strangers.
On the same note, I am thankful to Jay with the UUCC who encouraged me to participate in a Sunday service, and face my fear of public speaking.
I am thankful for my friend Melinda, who has faith in my abilities and never stops telling me so.
I am thankful for friends and family who juggle their lives and schedules to come visit us in Charlotte.
Thanks, all.
In no particular order...
I am thankful for my in-laws and their beautiful beach house, which is the perfect getaway. (note to self - must go again this winter!)
I am thankful for my in-laws, kindred foodies, who shop, talk, swap and live food.
I am thankful for a fine car, which takes us to and fro throughout the southern US to visit friends and family. (I'm not always thankful though on the 5th of every month, when my car payment is due.)
I am thankful for toddlers, who exhaust my patience and expand my heart. Love to Landon, Cameron and Ella!
I am thankful for my children who request that we rent "An Inconvenient Truth" to watch and discuss global warning.
I am thankful that my son can quote Socrates, never mind even knows who the dude is.
I am thankful that my daughter never has to be told to practice her instrument, but picks it up spontaneously and is developing a beautiful sound.
I am thankful that my husband went to ten stores (so he says, maybe for dramatic effect?), tried eBay, Craigslist and Zappa, before finding me the perfect purse for my birthday.
I am thankful that my boss, who apparently has my number (figuratively, people) never calls me on it too often, but gently nudges me in the right direction despite it sometimes being out of my comfort zone. Thanks, Eve.
I am thankful for Facebook (do NOT insert your finger in your mouth out of disgust!) which allows me to follow old friends from high school (Dave Buchanan, you are groovier than I ever imagined), slightly less older friends from college (Forrest Dogger, Steve Brearton; ladies, you know who you are) and chums from the hood (Michelle Lawrie, stop playing frickin poker!).
I am thankful for the extremely cool folks I have met in Charlotte (too many to mention) who give me hope that this town is more than football, banking and pleated pants.
I am thankful for salted caramel brownies from Amelie's. Nuff said.
I am thankful for my husband who negotiated a case of wonderful, French Beaujolais wines as part of his payment for a recent gig. Cheers!
I am thankful to the Hornets Nest Girl Scouts troop who took me to do the "ropes", and allowed me to face my fear of heights, and learn to trust total strangers.
On the same note, I am thankful to Jay with the UUCC who encouraged me to participate in a Sunday service, and face my fear of public speaking.
I am thankful for my friend Melinda, who has faith in my abilities and never stops telling me so.
I am thankful for friends and family who juggle their lives and schedules to come visit us in Charlotte.
Thanks, all.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
High Fidelity - Hero Style
"High Fidelity" is one of my favorite movies. It's wry, honest, angst y and totally cool. The main characters are absolute music snobs, something I have been accused of at certain periods of my life. Rob, played by John Cusack (pre leading-man-in-a-blockbuster attempt), sorts his life out via lists. (Something else I can totally relate to).
Though they seem to be dying a slow death, indie record stores still exist and their employees' antics were completely lifted by Nick Hornby. I've met a few of these guys in my time, but it has been years since I've ventured into one of these places. I miss them, the staff, and their absurd conversations they have totally out loud, showing complete disdain or indifference to anyone within earshot.
What I didn't know, is that these situations, these characters, can cross into other arenas where the staff are equally passionate, knowledgeable and downright nerdy. I met a group of them last weekend with my kids at the local indie comic shop. My son had been invited to a birthday party and knowing that his friend was a GI Joe fan, we decided to buy him a few comics as a present.
Heroes Aren't Hard to Find is a superbly cool place to be on a lazy Saturday afternoon. First of all, the store itself is fantastic. There's a giant comic book character with weird, silver silo-ish arms sprouting from the counter and into the ceiling. The comics and books are in pristine, and I do mean, no reason why you couldn't find anything, order. Like the floors, the glass cases are sparkling clean, and have an awesome assortment of characters for sale. I will probably NEVER buy one of these, but I love looking at them and never fail to give them more than just passing glances when there. Heroes is painted a dark blue, but with bright spots of secondary colors. For example, the bench is a sunny yellow, and the perfect spot for perching with a book.
My daughter did just that, happily so for the entire stay. Our dog, relegated to sitting outside the door, enjoyed being petted and cooed at by all the passersby. One enchanted stranger brought him a bowl of water and Alfie made the most out of all the attention.
Keller seemed to have forgotten how cool Heroes is, and was amazed at ALL the books there, just waiting for him to pick up and read. He immediately grabbed some comics for his friend, threw them on the counter and then went hunting for something else to read. Within minutes, he found a series of Indiana Jones books and got so excited, he didn't make it to a chair or bench. He just plunked himself down on the floor in the middle of the aisle, right in front of the Indiana Jones section. He was completely oblivious to the other patrons who had to jump, side step or step over him. No apologies either...
But Heroes is the kind of place where they aren't needed. Everyone there gets it. Seriously. Neither the Barry or Dick character cared that my son was completely blocking traffic. What's more, neither one of them were at all disdainful (out loud, anyway) of Keller's comic choice. I'm guessing it was a good one because before I knew it, some guy my age wanted to know what Keller was reading, what his favorite Indie movie was, what he thought the best part of the movie was, and why. And this guy wasn't being polite! He was WAAAAAY excited that he and Keller both agreed that the third one was the best. (I cannot for the life of me, remember the title right now)
His enthusiasm caught me off guard. At first I thought "Is this some weirdo who likes little kids?", quickly followed by "Is he trying to pick me up in some round about way?", ending with "He has found a kindred spirit!" Naturally, I was intrigued.
I watched as this guy made his way around the store, talking to every single patron about something, and eventually winding his way to the cash register where he, Dick and Barry swapped "top five underrated story lines" etc etc for the next 40 minutes. I couldn't believe it! It was the comic book version of High Fidelity, only with less snotty, more friendly staff.
After nearly an hour, it was time to go. I rounded up the kids and headed over to the cash register. Mr. Enthusiastic, who was still there, told me and my kids that I was an awesome mom for hanging out, and that they had better be good to me on Mother's Day. Again, not quite sure if it was a nerdy attempt at flirting, or pure enthusiasm. Either way it was funny.
What struck me as I walked out the door and looked back? Besides my own, there wasn't one single kid in the shop. Just guys, grown men, swapping knowledge, stories and ideas, name-dropping insider-type writers and collectors, and arguing the merits of their favorite comics. It was a great way to revisit High Fidelity, Heroes style.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Why I Love Being a PFA - Our 2009 Trip to Canada
That's what islanders call folks who live there part-time, are seasonal or frequent visitors. It means you aren't a born and bred islander. The island I'm talking about of course, is Prince Edward Island, or PEI, Canada. Eh? In case you are stumped, a PFA is a "person from away". Okay, eh?
I love my life on the island and wish it lasted longer than just a couple of weeks a year. But with only two weeks vacation a year, sneaking extra time to escape to the farm can get tricky. Add two full days of travel (each way)and time on PEI becomes more and more precious. Tack on time spent cleaning, fixing, trimming and fuming over plumbing, and hours spent biking, sunning, eating ice cream and watching lobster boats becomes more than just precious; it is downright sacred.
We have spent the last two years dreaming and scheming about getting back to PEI and reminiscing about what life is like there. Or what our experiences of life on the island are like there. Keep in mind we've never set a frozen toe on the island in the middle of a long, cold March so our perspective is one of a warm, breezy, uber green land full of festivals, trips to the ocean, lobster suppers and bike rides. We haven't done the cold, bitter winter white, isolated island that sometimes requires a ride on a snow plow less than a mile down the road in order to get to work at all, never mind on time. That's a glimpse of winter courtesy of my wonderful friend and neighbor, Paula. That's right, she had to ride the snow plow to work one day last winter. Brrrr. Just the thought of it...
Anyhow we couldn't wait to get there this year, after having missed a trip in 2008. We were anxious to repeat our "magical" experiences from 2006 and 2007 and were a little worried that we might have imagined our time there as a time that was so completely freeing, it was "other" worldly. Kevin spent many nights during the past two years dreaming of our home. He would imagine hootenannys in our barn, celebrations with family on holidays and entire summers at the beach. As sweet as that sounds you have to imagine 729 days of listening to "Guess what? I dreamt about PEI last night." Got a wee bit tired after a while. But, I did appreciate his passion and enthusiasm.
Kev was so excited to go this year, he decided we should leave early, early. I'm talking 10 pm at night, let's drive straight through the middle of the night and early morning early. What could I say? I put the kids in their pjs, grabbed their pillows and blankets and loaded everyone in the car. All was well until Kev hit the tired wall somewhere around 1:30 am. He pulled off as we left NC and grabbed a super large coffee. I had forewarned him that I wasn't going to be doing any night driving and that he HAD to make it to daylight before I'd take the wheel. Somewhere around 5:30 am he announced he might have to pull over and throw up. I knew it was my turn.
I decided to stop for breakfast and hit Denny's for a grand slam. The kids were a little out of sorts after spending a fitful night sleeping in the car and Alfie was just glad to be out. Kev was cranky from too much coffee and driving and needed a few hours sleep. I was happy to provide it for him. Within the hour, we had eaten breakfast, visited the bathroom, walked the dog, filled up on gas and were back in the car. We had road stops down to a tee.
I don't know how I did it, but I managed to get the best leg of the trip. I was a little nervous about crossing through NYC since our last foray in the city was a complete disaster. Here's a summary of our last drive through the big apple -four hours in rush hour traffic in a stick shift car; pulling off the freeway so our boy can do his business; pulling over yet again but this time at a McDonalds in one of the worst hoods in the Bronx. I was so pissed, the poor homeless lady parked out front came and gave ME a pat on the back.
OK, back to the second drive through NYC. To make it through unscathed, you have to hit it at the exact right time. Mid-morning works just fine. Traffic was slow enough that we could glance out the window at the Chrysler Building, but not too slow to feel at all frustrated. Our GPS (or Messiah; see previous blog, end of 2008) took us an alternate route through CT, on highway 15. It was the most gorgeous drive, like a wooded drive through the forest, only one with pretty houses and quaint little gas stations along the way, oh, and no stop lights or traffic. Yeah me!
By about 2 pm, we were hungry and ready to stop. Our goal was to get all the way to Bangor, MA and spend the night there. Somehow we did it. We even lucked out and found a hotel that accepted dogs. Alfie didn't love being left in the hotel room when we swam and the management didn't appreciate it either. We decided that he would have to stay in the car while we went out for a lobster (and fish) dinner.
The next morning Kev took over driving duty and managed to get us to the island by 6 pm. After another quick lunch stop somewhere in an over crowded Timmies in New Brunswick, we continued our sunny drive and made it from Maine to the island in about seven hours. The thrill we felt when we got to the Confederate Bridge is indescribable. Anticipation, excitement, nerves, the works!
Our arrival was noticed within minutes as the kids' friends and our neighbors were over in no time. The kids took off to play with their friends as Kev and I struggled to find the power switch. OK, Kev struggled. After what seemed like hours, we took our friend Paula's advice and decided to spend the night there. We were exhausted and quite frankly, ready for their deadly home-brew island wine.
Poor Kev was a bit slow the next morning after nursing a wee hangover. Something about their wine does weird things to his head! We were anxious to get in the house, air it out, set it up and begin our island fantasy. (Or should that be fantasy island???) The house was dusty and a bit damp, but in much better shape than we thought. Yes the upstairs bathroom needs a rehab. Yes, the trees out front were completely overgrown and in need of some serious hacking. Of course we would have to upgrade the plumbing, replace the kitchen faucet, get a new water tank, replace the stairs to the basement, repaint the kitchen and do something about the decade old exterior paint. But it was ours free and clear and one of the most beautiful places on earth.
The next two weeks we spent mornings working on the house and afternoons sunning at the beach or exploring little towns. We hit an Oyster Festival, a local Ceilidh, a bunch of garage sales, a Museum, farmers market and as many shops in town as possible. We rode bikes whenever we could and never once considered bringing a lock. It's just that kinda place.
Living in a small town has its ups and downs. The quaintness and charm never seem to wear off. The people knowing your business just might but seeing as how we're only there two or three weeks a year, I'm not too worried about people talking. Mind you, we spent a few hours with a couple of local plumbers and I knew more about some businessmen in town than I cared to! Who pays the bills, who's going off to jail...definitely a lot of TMI.
One of the strangest phenomenons about small town life is that you always seem to run into the same people, or folks who know your neighbors etc. Kev and I bought a stove second hand from a guy who lives about 30 minutes outside of our town, via Craigslist. On our second day there we drove into this town to square up and met some of the nicest people ever. Turns out they used to live just down the street from our house and were good friends with our friends. How's that for small town? We met a couple at a cafe on the island, only to run into them again THAT NIGHT at the Dairy Bar on Hwy 2, eh. Yeah (imagine me inhaling and say yeah at the same time; total islander!) Well, standing in line at the Dairy Bar, I met another woman who was from Ontario and also spent summers on the island. She and I were laughing about running into the same families and she joked I would probably be seeing her again. Wouldn't you know it, her dad was performing at the St Mark's Ceilidh on Lot 7! She walked in that night and upon seeing me stuffed in the corner said "well hello stranger!" Oh how I love me some small town island!
Each day there got better. We found better beaches, ate yummier seafood, drank more Canadian beer, fixed up little projects around the house and soaked in more of the simple life. We had a bet on how many times Kev might say "I want to live here". He never did tell me how many times he said it in his head but I know I heard it out loud several times. As our vacation drew closer to the end, my mood got heavier. I was in love with my island life and sad at the thought of having to give it up.
Our last night was bittersweet. We had the kids' friends over for supper and made plans for the next year. With heavy hearts, we packed our clothes, put away the dishes and prepared for an early morning drive. We fretted over what to take back, what could be given away and what needed to be locked up. One by one our neighbors stopped in to wish us well and share invitations to dinner next year. It was almost too much.
Like always when I'm feeling horribly sad inside, I try and mask my feelings by saying as little as I possibly can and the next morning I had very little to say. I wanted to bawl but managed a scowl instead. At first I kept asking myself "why can't we just stay?" and sulked about having to leave. Kev was just as sad and even confused about his feelings for Canada, and maybe a little regretful about moving at all. Sheesh. We were a mess!
But, after hours (and hours and hours) of thinking about our time on the island, I realized that part of what makes it so special is that it is only for a short time and it must be savored. If life were sweet all the time, we would cease to know the difference between the everyday grind of life, and the sweet escape on foreign soil. That's why I love being a PFA.
See you next year, eh?
I love my life on the island and wish it lasted longer than just a couple of weeks a year. But with only two weeks vacation a year, sneaking extra time to escape to the farm can get tricky. Add two full days of travel (each way)and time on PEI becomes more and more precious. Tack on time spent cleaning, fixing, trimming and fuming over plumbing, and hours spent biking, sunning, eating ice cream and watching lobster boats becomes more than just precious; it is downright sacred.
We have spent the last two years dreaming and scheming about getting back to PEI and reminiscing about what life is like there. Or what our experiences of life on the island are like there. Keep in mind we've never set a frozen toe on the island in the middle of a long, cold March so our perspective is one of a warm, breezy, uber green land full of festivals, trips to the ocean, lobster suppers and bike rides. We haven't done the cold, bitter winter white, isolated island that sometimes requires a ride on a snow plow less than a mile down the road in order to get to work at all, never mind on time. That's a glimpse of winter courtesy of my wonderful friend and neighbor, Paula. That's right, she had to ride the snow plow to work one day last winter. Brrrr. Just the thought of it...
Anyhow we couldn't wait to get there this year, after having missed a trip in 2008. We were anxious to repeat our "magical" experiences from 2006 and 2007 and were a little worried that we might have imagined our time there as a time that was so completely freeing, it was "other" worldly. Kevin spent many nights during the past two years dreaming of our home. He would imagine hootenannys in our barn, celebrations with family on holidays and entire summers at the beach. As sweet as that sounds you have to imagine 729 days of listening to "Guess what? I dreamt about PEI last night." Got a wee bit tired after a while. But, I did appreciate his passion and enthusiasm.
Kev was so excited to go this year, he decided we should leave early, early. I'm talking 10 pm at night, let's drive straight through the middle of the night and early morning early. What could I say? I put the kids in their pjs, grabbed their pillows and blankets and loaded everyone in the car. All was well until Kev hit the tired wall somewhere around 1:30 am. He pulled off as we left NC and grabbed a super large coffee. I had forewarned him that I wasn't going to be doing any night driving and that he HAD to make it to daylight before I'd take the wheel. Somewhere around 5:30 am he announced he might have to pull over and throw up. I knew it was my turn.
I decided to stop for breakfast and hit Denny's for a grand slam. The kids were a little out of sorts after spending a fitful night sleeping in the car and Alfie was just glad to be out. Kev was cranky from too much coffee and driving and needed a few hours sleep. I was happy to provide it for him. Within the hour, we had eaten breakfast, visited the bathroom, walked the dog, filled up on gas and were back in the car. We had road stops down to a tee.
I don't know how I did it, but I managed to get the best leg of the trip. I was a little nervous about crossing through NYC since our last foray in the city was a complete disaster. Here's a summary of our last drive through the big apple -four hours in rush hour traffic in a stick shift car; pulling off the freeway so our boy can do his business; pulling over yet again but this time at a McDonalds in one of the worst hoods in the Bronx. I was so pissed, the poor homeless lady parked out front came and gave ME a pat on the back.
OK, back to the second drive through NYC. To make it through unscathed, you have to hit it at the exact right time. Mid-morning works just fine. Traffic was slow enough that we could glance out the window at the Chrysler Building, but not too slow to feel at all frustrated. Our GPS (or Messiah; see previous blog, end of 2008) took us an alternate route through CT, on highway 15. It was the most gorgeous drive, like a wooded drive through the forest, only one with pretty houses and quaint little gas stations along the way, oh, and no stop lights or traffic. Yeah me!
By about 2 pm, we were hungry and ready to stop. Our goal was to get all the way to Bangor, MA and spend the night there. Somehow we did it. We even lucked out and found a hotel that accepted dogs. Alfie didn't love being left in the hotel room when we swam and the management didn't appreciate it either. We decided that he would have to stay in the car while we went out for a lobster (and fish) dinner.
The next morning Kev took over driving duty and managed to get us to the island by 6 pm. After another quick lunch stop somewhere in an over crowded Timmies in New Brunswick, we continued our sunny drive and made it from Maine to the island in about seven hours. The thrill we felt when we got to the Confederate Bridge is indescribable. Anticipation, excitement, nerves, the works!
Our arrival was noticed within minutes as the kids' friends and our neighbors were over in no time. The kids took off to play with their friends as Kev and I struggled to find the power switch. OK, Kev struggled. After what seemed like hours, we took our friend Paula's advice and decided to spend the night there. We were exhausted and quite frankly, ready for their deadly home-brew island wine.
Poor Kev was a bit slow the next morning after nursing a wee hangover. Something about their wine does weird things to his head! We were anxious to get in the house, air it out, set it up and begin our island fantasy. (Or should that be fantasy island???) The house was dusty and a bit damp, but in much better shape than we thought. Yes the upstairs bathroom needs a rehab. Yes, the trees out front were completely overgrown and in need of some serious hacking. Of course we would have to upgrade the plumbing, replace the kitchen faucet, get a new water tank, replace the stairs to the basement, repaint the kitchen and do something about the decade old exterior paint. But it was ours free and clear and one of the most beautiful places on earth.
The next two weeks we spent mornings working on the house and afternoons sunning at the beach or exploring little towns. We hit an Oyster Festival, a local Ceilidh, a bunch of garage sales, a Museum, farmers market and as many shops in town as possible. We rode bikes whenever we could and never once considered bringing a lock. It's just that kinda place.
Living in a small town has its ups and downs. The quaintness and charm never seem to wear off. The people knowing your business just might but seeing as how we're only there two or three weeks a year, I'm not too worried about people talking. Mind you, we spent a few hours with a couple of local plumbers and I knew more about some businessmen in town than I cared to! Who pays the bills, who's going off to jail...definitely a lot of TMI.
One of the strangest phenomenons about small town life is that you always seem to run into the same people, or folks who know your neighbors etc. Kev and I bought a stove second hand from a guy who lives about 30 minutes outside of our town, via Craigslist. On our second day there we drove into this town to square up and met some of the nicest people ever. Turns out they used to live just down the street from our house and were good friends with our friends. How's that for small town? We met a couple at a cafe on the island, only to run into them again THAT NIGHT at the Dairy Bar on Hwy 2, eh. Yeah (imagine me inhaling and say yeah at the same time; total islander!) Well, standing in line at the Dairy Bar, I met another woman who was from Ontario and also spent summers on the island. She and I were laughing about running into the same families and she joked I would probably be seeing her again. Wouldn't you know it, her dad was performing at the St Mark's Ceilidh on Lot 7! She walked in that night and upon seeing me stuffed in the corner said "well hello stranger!" Oh how I love me some small town island!
Each day there got better. We found better beaches, ate yummier seafood, drank more Canadian beer, fixed up little projects around the house and soaked in more of the simple life. We had a bet on how many times Kev might say "I want to live here". He never did tell me how many times he said it in his head but I know I heard it out loud several times. As our vacation drew closer to the end, my mood got heavier. I was in love with my island life and sad at the thought of having to give it up.
Our last night was bittersweet. We had the kids' friends over for supper and made plans for the next year. With heavy hearts, we packed our clothes, put away the dishes and prepared for an early morning drive. We fretted over what to take back, what could be given away and what needed to be locked up. One by one our neighbors stopped in to wish us well and share invitations to dinner next year. It was almost too much.
Like always when I'm feeling horribly sad inside, I try and mask my feelings by saying as little as I possibly can and the next morning I had very little to say. I wanted to bawl but managed a scowl instead. At first I kept asking myself "why can't we just stay?" and sulked about having to leave. Kev was just as sad and even confused about his feelings for Canada, and maybe a little regretful about moving at all. Sheesh. We were a mess!
But, after hours (and hours and hours) of thinking about our time on the island, I realized that part of what makes it so special is that it is only for a short time and it must be savored. If life were sweet all the time, we would cease to know the difference between the everyday grind of life, and the sweet escape on foreign soil. That's why I love being a PFA.
See you next year, eh?
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