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something that isn’t always free: time
This morning Mother took GM to the hair salon so that I could stay home, blast classic rock (oh so sad that classic rock now features R.E.M. and Salt ‘n Pepa) and work on my favorite new activity: header art. That’s right- I had almost two hours where I didn’t have to make anyone a meal, help anyone to or on the toilet, or answer the same question over and over again. So I spent it making mad love to photoshop…mmmmmm. bliss!
It was weird. It was almost like I was shy all alone. And then I found myself singing along to the internet radio, “Take! These broken wings! And learn to fly again, learn to live so free!” Oh Mr. Mister, where have you been?
I really don’t get a lot of uninterrupted time. Ever. Even in my sleep I am fitfully thinking about my massive to do list of house cleaning, prescription picking upping, laundry washing, or meal making. The twenty or so minutes of quiet time that happen at random GM nap moments are filled with laundry folding or sheet changing or cat finding/feeding. Usually I don’t mind- I actually love to be busy. But sometimes I just want to fucking be STILL. I want to have no one needing me.
In a perfect world I would be able to have my two hours of respite on Thursday afternoon. But the past few weeks have been marred by stomach bug. Two weeks ago (I don’t think I ever did update you guys on this) we found out that GM really did have a UTI. Then this past week GM was being so super clingy and fretful that I knew I couldn’t leave. Actually I probably could have left, but I often self sabotage things because I worry too much. Or because I need to be perfect. I suck at that.
Right now my biggest fantasy is a weekend ALL to myself. I would use my fantasy lottery winnings to book myself a giant, breezy penthouse hotel room. I would have quiet if I wanted it or Aretha if I wanted it. I would have no distractions or worries. I can’t think of anything nicer.
If I found a magic fairy that would grant you 48 hours to YOURSELF what would you do?
Oh really?
Just hanging around on a Friday with GM. We are getting ready for a (rerun) of Martha and I am thinking about what to serve her for lunch. And then I am totally mesmaraized by a fall tv show promo on NBC. “Interesting”, I think. And then the tag line pops up, “It’s not tv. It’s birth control.”
And here is the problem; I can’t decide if I am offended or not. Am I? Are you?
Other uses for tracking numbers:
Early this morning I began what I usually need/must do at least once a week- I cleaned up the massive pile of post-it notes, random receipts, phone messages, and tidied up my highlighters. (anyone else have a love affair with highlighters? They really do make your to-do list colorful!)
And as I went through the stash of clearly miscellaneous I had the same panic attack that I have every week doing the same task: What if I accidentally throw away this bit of paper and then realize in a week/month/year that it was absolutely essential for fillintheblank? I mean sure this note looks like trash NOW, but does that mean it is? And yet again I wish that I could travel to the future to see what sort of organization devices will be in use. After my brief moment of day dream is over I usually sort the bits of paper and then if it looks like something that has any potential for future importance I tape it into a little notebook I have. Yes I have a notebook full of post-its. Don’t you?
The last post generated some really excellent off-site e-mail exchanges. I did lots of claiming (or reminding of claiming!) and traded several other war stories with people that also fought the battle of I went to a bajillion schools. Something that was brought up to me actually made me get teary-eyed: the penpal situation.
Yes, because I moved around so much I usually had a good stash of pen-pals. But what I didn’t think about was how emotional it must have been to be the pal that stayed versus the pal that moved. When you move around a lot usually all you want to do is STAY, plant roots, be able to actually be in a yearbook or sign up for classes the following year. What I didn’t know was that for every gal that is moving on there is someone else that is screaming inside, “Take me with you! Get me the fuck OUT of this town!”
I was really good at writing letters. Super good. I spilled my guts out and described in detail everything about my new school/town. I genuinely missed my old friend, but eventually (& usually after a month of school starting) the letters would slowly die off and life would move on.
Decades later I would still have pains of missing. I felt this massive void where information should have been. I resented that I didn’t know what happened next to my friends. And wondered- did they wonder about me?
In early 2000 I joined one of those website reunion places. We’ll call it schoolmates dot com. My main objective was to track down every best friend that I had ever had. That’s right. I was looking for: Theresa, Michael, Tanisha, Jodi, Maureen, Penny, Rose, Kim, Kate, Sarah, Katty, and Liz. I found three of them. But the biggest find was Theresa- my best friend from first grade.
We had been the dorkiest first graders one could ever imagine at an extremely hippie-dippie school for the gifted in Florida. We were the girls that read at levels several grades higher and had to leave in the afternoon to attend classes with the third graders. We had a deep love for all things Wonder Woman and most afternoons we were co-Presidents of a secret society that met in a kiddie pool in my front yard. She was the foundation of every single friendship I would ever have.
(yes, you see, I am totally wearing plaid.)
And we found each other.
We reunited over cell phone, across the country, but both of us drinking wine and smoking Parliaments out on a deck/balcony. We spoke fast and on top of each other. We marveled at how similar we had remained even during the awkward growing up years. I guess it isn’t too much of a surprise that a pair of know-it-all 1st graders would blossom into passionate theatre dorks.
And we kept it touch and then, as things do, life moved on. But we know where each other is (dude! She is on my fucking bloglines!) and should the need surface again we can find each other.
But there are other friends that I fear I have lost forever. I will always wonder what happened to Maureen, my best friend from the 2nd half of 7th grade. She would send me the saddest letters about finding her Mother’s booze in the strangest places. She had an abusive step-Father and a family that never got how beautiful she was. And I wonder about Kate. Did she ever forgive me for meeting with her after school and telling her that I had found some new friends and would no longer be coming over to her house to hang out?
I can’t be the only one that mourns the friend of a certain era. But I do often wonder if my yearning is only one sided. I wonder if the people that were once my best friends ever give me a moments thought. Do they ever wonder about me?
Who would you track down if only you could?
Norm!
At first it felt like nothing was going on. I was just doing my little part of comment leaving (in accordance with International NaComLeavMo rules & statutes) and I didn’t feel like anyone was going to stop by my little bitter corner of the blogosphere. (I get paranoid some days. No rationality involved.) And then all of a sudden you guys started showing up. Some of you I recognize from clever & witty comments you have left on blogs I read/stalk and others of you are new “finds” & I can’t wait to get to know better.
A little back story on me (& if you are new here check out my “Who is Calliope?” page up there for the nitty gritty) I moved around a lot as a child. (10 different schools- there is no girl scout badge for that) So much so that by the time I was a junior in high school I had mastered the fine art of claiming friends. I had learned that it was an ineffective use of my time to sit quietly and wait for some kid to figure out that I was the shit- I needed to go out and make it known.
After many moves I had figured out what makes a good person and what makes an asshole- and honestly those kinds of things are pretty easy to sniff out once you know what it smells like. Assholes smell like unkindness and cruelty, they ooze mean spiritedness and suffer from a lack of the wonderful top note of humor. Good people smell like the funny pages and have parents that swear.
Of course in my early quests for the holy grail of truth and quick best friending I did some acting out. I led a rebellion at a new school in the 2nd grade which involved teaching all the girls in my class what the phrase “kick ‘em in the nuts meant”. This, by the way, would be the Baptist elementary school that friends of my Grandparents ran. I lasted there until Christmas. But boy did I make some good friends!
In 7th grade I was going to boarding school at a fine arts school in a big city in a backwards state. My desire for uber wonderful and cool friends resulted in my not ever going to class and hanging out with 12th graders from the wrong side of the tracks (aka scenic design kids). Months went by & I didn’t even realize that I was supposed to be in French class and not trying to memorize the cool quirks of the kids filling out college applications. Not so great on the friend gathering during this time.
My life now is pretty rich with friendships. I am extremely lucky that I have many people on that ever elusive “will you help me bury the body” phone tree. And in the past several years I have added many internet friends on that list. It comes hard and fast when you just KNOW that the person on the other end of a snazzy URL is quality. Usually I can tell if someone is awesome by how they write about the banal. If you can sum up an hour at the grocery store and have me pissing in my pants or weeping through my kleenex then I claim you.
Really, that is how I feel about it. Claimed. Owned. You. Yes, you. & sometimes I rush into the claiming and scare the bejeebus out of you. It’s just that I don’t really like the chit chat phase. I want to skip that & get right into the confessions of college phase.
All this is to say that if I have freaked you out with an overly enthusiastic comment I am not sorry. You will see. We will be iBFF’s in no time. Soon it will be like we are all Norm. And when you stop by I will shout your name and freak my cat out.
Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.
Wouldn’t you like to get away?
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
and they’re always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name
If you are reading this and it is thursday please Make it a New Day.
For the rest of the story log in!
My local news station has begun doing something that annoys the shit out of me. And no, I am not even going to bring up the fact that the local gals are big fans of shirts in what I call “truck yellow” or the obvious animal print that pops up every other day. I will glass over the passion pink make up scheme and even the mid day news promos that feature perky gals exclaiming, “How what you are eating RIGHT NOW will kill your entire family- tune it at 5!” Because, really, doesn’t every local news station do some version of freak out news promos?
What has me all up in annoyance is the actual teaser while you are watching the actual news. I did my part. I dialed in at 5 and I expect to see the answers to what will kill me, in addition to a solid weather forecast that doesn’t just tell me what the temperature is at gold courses around the globe, and if you give me that I will allow you the 6 minutes you take to haul out a scruffy kitten and beg me to adopt it.
But what I won’t allow is for you to read me the news, have me all invested and shit in your in depth expose and then say, “To find out how this story ends log on to our website at www.thisainttherealnewssucka.com”. (made up website to protect the idiots)
When did getting actual news become such a damn chore? Even Reuters, a news site that I can usually count on, has my eyes bleeding from streaming videos and flashy commercials. Where do you go for direct, no crap, just news, news?
And when will the weathermen learn to use sunblock? You’d think they would know by now…
Will you accept this gardenia?
Yes. I am totally watching The Bachelorette. All the good shows are dwindling down and I am just not always a rerun girl. This is why my trigger finger does crazy things like set the dvr to record the new Lohan Reality Show. (shh! Haven’t watched the first episode yet, don’t spoil it for me!) I also set The Mole to record, but I will miss Anderson Cooper.
I feel like there are a whole bunch of shows around the corner but for the next week it’s nothing but drivel. Don’t the networks realize that because everyone is poor and can’t afford gas that we are staying home and waiting for the netflix to arrive? Can’t they move up the air dates of Big Love & Dexter? And whatever happened to The Closer?
In the meantime I have a massive gardenia bush in the backyard that is about to explode with the most wonderful perfume in the world.
Also, the fireworks show that we had in the den yesterday afternoon:
Memorial Day
Today I will play the PBS special that aired last night for GM. I will incorporate sparklers into the day when the sun sets. And I will wonder if she remembers how much her husband sacrificed in his service to this country. How he almost died many times. How he had to wear a dead man’s uniform to his own wedding. How he never spoke about certain years of his life. How he continued to have nightmares of war for his entire life.
Today I honor my GF. A soldier in WWII and in The Cold War. I have the letters. I have the photographs. I will not forget.
Today I ate radishes on my salad and thought of you, GF. I miss your perspective on the world so much. My life is now lived with the hope that somewhere you might be proud of me.
Who are you honoring in your heart today?
Right now:
* I am listening to my Mother undress my Grandmother in the bathroom. Something about the tenderness of their hushed conversation is making me feel so much love for my family. I can hear them softly counting in German, I can hear my Mother explaining what toilet paper is, I can here them shuffle down the hallway to GM’s bedroom.
* I am reheating another gourmet meal that I created with, you guessed it, balsamic vinegar. Yes, in case anyone was wondering, you CAN add a couple shakes of balsamic to mac & cheese. And yes you CAN add some sprinkles of blue cheese. And yes while it may stink up your kitchen it will be quite yummy.
* I am having a fun e-mail exchange with a blogging friend in Ireland.
* I am trying to figure out when the last time my hair had a date with some shampoo…
* I am excited about watching the rest of Charlie Wilson’s War on dvd. & in case you were wondering- this movie is SO not Grandmother appropriate. Not at all. Four bare chested hookers on display within the first two minutes does not bode well with 86 year old ladies. Just saying. That is your tip for the day.
* Wondering if it is wrong that I am getting excited about maybe getting my period in a few days because that means that my NEXT period will be the start of THE cycle.
* Feeling totally ok about not feeling as control freak-ish about this FET as I was about the IVF.
* Hoping that tomorrow’s weather is nice & not too humid so that I can take some good photographs. (Guess who just got hired to photograph four more shopping centers?!)
* Feeling smug for remembering that today is the start of NaComLeavMo. If you are here from that- HELLO! If you have no idea what the hell NaComLeavMo is go here and read about it. Even if you didn’t sign up the compiled list is a great group and you should totally go blog surfing.
What a three day holiday weekend means.
Five Words: Anne of Green Gables Marathon
Serious bliss and crushing out on Gilbert and drooling over Prince Edward Island and thinking maybe I should be a school teacher and how would my hair look all piled on my head like that and wondering if they sell raspberry cordial at Target and would it really get me to that fun drunk?
It’s ridiculous really because, nerd that I am, I actually own every installment of the mid 80’s PBS version. And yet whenever I see that it is airing on PBS, usually over some long weekend or other, my heart does a little flip. I yearn to be in the school with Anne, I want to be friends with Matthew, I imagine myself grown and outspoken like Marilla.
And Anne isn’t the only thing that sucks me into long weekend happiness- I am pretty much a sucker for any type or marathon situation. First season of America’s Next Top Model? Why not. You’ve Got Mail back to back to back? Yes please. Wizard of Oz and Sound of Music double feature? Just get me a catheter and I am all set.
The truth is these movies actually ARE better when you stumble across them. I doubt you could force me to rent or go to the theatre to spend 2 hours waiting for Meg Ryan to realize that that Tom Hanks is her e-mail man. But if it is 10pm on a Saturday night and nothing else is on I will be tuned in, dialed in, sucked in. All for that one effing kiss at the end of the movie. Or for Captain Von Trapp to see Maria in her pink frilly dress. Or for the makeover montage for Dorothy and her friends.
If only there was a muppet channel. I might never leave the house.
Accidental Gourmet Situation
For the past 3 days I have had a love affair with balsamic vinegar. It began during preparation for wednesday’s lunch. I had a hankering for one of those mile high sandwiches: toast, light glaze of mayo, lettuce, cucumber, mozzarella, green olives (have we discussed my love for all things olive?), and the juiciest hunkin’ slab of tomato evah. It was as I gazed at the glistening sparkle of my tomato that I realized that I wanted, no needed, to add another flavor sensation. I rooted around our pantry until I found it- balsamic vinegar.
A few shakes of the bottle and my sandwich was complete. And it was good. Damn good. So good that when I had my 15 reduced fat kettle corn potato chips on the side I felt they looked a bit naked. So I sploshed some vinegar on them and smiled at the tart waft of loveliness rising up to meet my nose.
Yesterday I had to attempt to recreate wednesday’s sandwich. And it was ok, not quite as earth shattering as the original, but extremely tasty nonetheless. By yesterday evening, however, I was on a quest to create another meal that would feature my new best friend. I wanted some pasta. And maybe some peas. And would it be weird if I added some vinegar?
What I created was insanely delicious. So so good. I cooked some chopped onions and chopped garlic in some EVO. While they were cooking I halved the rest of my container of grape tomatoes. Then I added the tomatoes to the pan, some frozen peas, a dash of basil, oregano, salt, garlic pepper, and (you guessed it) balsamic vinegar. I let everything dance together while the pasta cooked and then I had a little civil union ceremony with everyone on my stove.
Insanely good. I swear.
I am amused that I am having this vinegar lovefest. It makes me wonder if my tastes are changing with a season or if there some sort of nutritional ingredient in vinegar that my body is craving/lacking? I have this odd need to try it on watermelon. What is that about?
What accidental gourmet meals have you prepared? Were you able to duplicate them later?
P.S. Thank you oodles for all of the love on my last post. It means so so much. One hurdle down, 20 million more to go…But it is damn wonderful to not be alone on this journey.
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