Today, Bing and I went to see the most luscious movie. It was Feast of Love.
It was simply lovely and deserves a look see. It is rare that she and I both love a movie, but it happened with this one. I think the fact that she thinks that Selma Blair is about the sexiest woman alive might have something to do with it. For me, I don't know...something about it just called out to me. Perhaps it was the line that Greg Kinnear says when he goes to the hospital with an self inflicted injury to his hand. When asked why on earth he cut his finger, he says that he thinks it was because he wanted his body to feel some of the pain that was in his heart.
I cried. And cried. Bing didn't have any kleenex because she has a cold and had used it all herself, so I dried my tears with the hem of my skirt.
Sometimes lines just jump out at you and you don't really know why. I don't know why I cried. I am happy, settled. I just cried, that is all. It just happened. Something hit a nerve.
It happens.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Meme # 4899
From my buddy, Jill over at Charming and Delightful.
On the outside.
Name: Cat Ballou. Humor me
Birthday: January 30.
Current Status: Taken. Well, that is how I feel today...tomorrow, I may feel very available, if you would just let us marry and she could make an honest woman out of me, I think I would be better at staying put.
Eye color: Guess. Seriously, what would you guess? I'm curious about this shit. Plus it would be a great bit of research. I mean, what would you guess from reading my blog and why?
Hair color: Salt and pepper, but used to be this really gorgeous mouse brown.
On the inside.
My heritage: Irish. And we are talking like BIG TIME. Both of my parents were Irish immigrants. I am first generation American.
My fear: That I will die a bag lady. No idea where this fear comes from, but it haunts me on my really bad days.
My weaknesses: I am very stubborn. I hold a grudge.
My perfect pizza: Hamburger with black olives.
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrrow.
My thoughts first waking up: God, stop that music now! I deliberately set my alarm to go off playing the hispanic station. So, I generally wake up to very festive Mexican music that sets my teeth on edge and makes me get out of bed...because I also deliberately have my alarm clock across the bedroom. If I don't do this, I will simply hit the snooze button until 10 a.m. I learned this trick in college and it works for me.
My bedtime: I try to get in bed by 10 or 10:15. On really bad days if my back is hurting or my colitis is bad, I have been known to go to bed as soon as I get Liv's chapter of Harry Potter read....around 8:30.
My most missed memory: Rocking Liv to sleep. Holding her for hours just for the sheer pleasure of feeling her in my arms.
My Pick.
Pepsi or coke: Diet Dr. Pepper. Or an apple martini would hit the spot even more.
Single or group dates: I love it when Liv, Bing and I all go out together.
Addidas or Nike: Keds.
Tea or Nestea: Tea.
Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla. Actually, white chocolate beats both.
Cappuccino or coffee: COFFEE. Cuban coffee or at least coffee with chicory in it. I like the spoon to stand up in the cup.
Do you...
Smoke: Not anymore. I started when I was 14. Quit when I was 24 and STILL miss it. I actually have dreams where I am smoking and wake up jonesin for a cig. I am 49, so don't tell me that nicotine isn't dangerous.
Curse: Fuck yes.
Take a shower: What kind of dumbass question is that? I take one daily, ma'am. AND a bath every night. I'm so clean, I squeak. Make that fucking squeak, because I also curse.
Have a crush: Yes. The key is that you don't act on them, though, isn't it? I am WITH someone, so I control myself. I would never jeopardize my relationship over a crush and neither would she, because I am assuming that we are both human and get them.
Think you have been in love: Twice. Maybe three times, but I refuse to let her ever have that much of me again. This all goes back to the holding of grudges thing.
Go to school: I take Liv every weekday and teach a night class. I see plenty of the classroom.
Want to get married: Yes. Even though I am not the marrying kind, I would love to be covered under Bing's health insurance, which is truly great. She understands this and also the fact that I am not very good at the whole relationship thing, although if I could be with anyone, it would be her.
Believe in yourself: Not as much as I would like.
Think you're a health freak? Fuck no. Look in my kitchen.
In the past
Drank alcohol? Yes. More than my share on many, many nights.
Gone to the mall? I've never much been a mall rat.
Been on stage? In high school and college. Walking across it to get my degrees.
Eaten sushi? Yes. Good hell, I HATED it. Bing and Liv love it and I get gaggy just watching them eat it while I order my miso soup at the Japanese restaurant.
Dyed your hair? Yes. At some point, I decided to just let it go gray and I've never regretted it.
Have you ever
Played a stripping game? Yes. And I was the ONLY one who managed to keep my underpants on. I will always be so proud of that moment.
Played a drinking game? No.
Changed who you were to fit in? Not since I was in high school. I came out in college and never looked back. It is good to be myself.
Done something your kids will never know about? Yes. Many, many things.
Age you are hoping to
Get married: As soon as you stupid voters wise up and realize that gay marriage will not take away the sanctity of Britney and Kevin's nuptials.
Take your dream vacation: No time like the present.
In a guy (or in my case, a girl)
Best eye color: I like dark eyes. But, any color except red is fine.
Best hair color: Again, I like dark hair, but it really doesn't matter, even bald can be beautiful. I do draw the line at comb overs, though. I have to have some standards.
Short hair or long hair? No preference. That is a bold faced lie. I like long hair. I REALLY like long hair in a braid that can be undone.
Best attitude: Subservient. Just kidding! Like I really WANT to get e-mails and posts from women named Tie-me-up or Live-to-lick-your-shoes? I like wit. Wait. I love wit.
What were you doing....
A minute ago? Checking to see that Liv was still in the back yard while Bing was slavishly and subserviently painting windows without my help.
An hour ago? Coming home from the Nebraska game. GO HUSKERS!!!!
A month ago? Being overwhelmed by all of Liv's back to school papers that had to be filled out.
A year ago? Almost falling for a totally idiotic, arrogant, manipulative woman while Bing was on the sidelines just waiting for me to notice her. I DID notice her and it was the best thing I have ever done. Although now I have to put up with Bing reminding me how stupid I was ("Jesus Christ, babe...what were you THINKING?")
Finish the sentences
I love: Lucy. :)
I feel: tired of doing this meme.
I hate: creepy pee butt people And you know who you are.
I hide: bills from Bing sometimes. She doesn't really need to know that I spent THAT much on that eye creme, does she? Hey, I am protecting her from a heart attack.
I miss: Sven, Orna, Nirand, my Da, my perfect breasts when I was 20.
I need: Liv and Bing.
On the outside.
Name: Cat Ballou. Humor me
Birthday: January 30.
Current Status: Taken. Well, that is how I feel today...tomorrow, I may feel very available, if you would just let us marry and she could make an honest woman out of me, I think I would be better at staying put.
Eye color: Guess. Seriously, what would you guess? I'm curious about this shit. Plus it would be a great bit of research. I mean, what would you guess from reading my blog and why?
Hair color: Salt and pepper, but used to be this really gorgeous mouse brown.
On the inside.
My heritage: Irish. And we are talking like BIG TIME. Both of my parents were Irish immigrants. I am first generation American.
My fear: That I will die a bag lady. No idea where this fear comes from, but it haunts me on my really bad days.
My weaknesses: I am very stubborn. I hold a grudge.
My perfect pizza: Hamburger with black olives.
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrrow.
My thoughts first waking up: God, stop that music now! I deliberately set my alarm to go off playing the hispanic station. So, I generally wake up to very festive Mexican music that sets my teeth on edge and makes me get out of bed...because I also deliberately have my alarm clock across the bedroom. If I don't do this, I will simply hit the snooze button until 10 a.m. I learned this trick in college and it works for me.
My bedtime: I try to get in bed by 10 or 10:15. On really bad days if my back is hurting or my colitis is bad, I have been known to go to bed as soon as I get Liv's chapter of Harry Potter read....around 8:30.
My most missed memory: Rocking Liv to sleep. Holding her for hours just for the sheer pleasure of feeling her in my arms.
My Pick.
Pepsi or coke: Diet Dr. Pepper. Or an apple martini would hit the spot even more.
Single or group dates: I love it when Liv, Bing and I all go out together.
Addidas or Nike: Keds.
Tea or Nestea: Tea.
Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla. Actually, white chocolate beats both.
Cappuccino or coffee: COFFEE. Cuban coffee or at least coffee with chicory in it. I like the spoon to stand up in the cup.
Do you...
Smoke: Not anymore. I started when I was 14. Quit when I was 24 and STILL miss it. I actually have dreams where I am smoking and wake up jonesin for a cig. I am 49, so don't tell me that nicotine isn't dangerous.
Curse: Fuck yes.
Take a shower: What kind of dumbass question is that? I take one daily, ma'am. AND a bath every night. I'm so clean, I squeak. Make that fucking squeak, because I also curse.
Have a crush: Yes. The key is that you don't act on them, though, isn't it? I am WITH someone, so I control myself. I would never jeopardize my relationship over a crush and neither would she, because I am assuming that we are both human and get them.
Think you have been in love: Twice. Maybe three times, but I refuse to let her ever have that much of me again. This all goes back to the holding of grudges thing.
Go to school: I take Liv every weekday and teach a night class. I see plenty of the classroom.
Want to get married: Yes. Even though I am not the marrying kind, I would love to be covered under Bing's health insurance, which is truly great. She understands this and also the fact that I am not very good at the whole relationship thing, although if I could be with anyone, it would be her.
Believe in yourself: Not as much as I would like.
Think you're a health freak? Fuck no. Look in my kitchen.
In the past
Drank alcohol? Yes. More than my share on many, many nights.
Gone to the mall? I've never much been a mall rat.
Been on stage? In high school and college. Walking across it to get my degrees.
Eaten sushi? Yes. Good hell, I HATED it. Bing and Liv love it and I get gaggy just watching them eat it while I order my miso soup at the Japanese restaurant.
Dyed your hair? Yes. At some point, I decided to just let it go gray and I've never regretted it.
Have you ever
Played a stripping game? Yes. And I was the ONLY one who managed to keep my underpants on. I will always be so proud of that moment.
Played a drinking game? No.
Changed who you were to fit in? Not since I was in high school. I came out in college and never looked back. It is good to be myself.
Done something your kids will never know about? Yes. Many, many things.
Age you are hoping to
Get married: As soon as you stupid voters wise up and realize that gay marriage will not take away the sanctity of Britney and Kevin's nuptials.
Take your dream vacation: No time like the present.
In a guy (or in my case, a girl)
Best eye color: I like dark eyes. But, any color except red is fine.
Best hair color: Again, I like dark hair, but it really doesn't matter, even bald can be beautiful. I do draw the line at comb overs, though. I have to have some standards.
Short hair or long hair? No preference. That is a bold faced lie. I like long hair. I REALLY like long hair in a braid that can be undone.
Best attitude: Subservient. Just kidding! Like I really WANT to get e-mails and posts from women named Tie-me-up or Live-to-lick-your-shoes? I like wit. Wait. I love wit.
What were you doing....
A minute ago? Checking to see that Liv was still in the back yard while Bing was slavishly and subserviently painting windows without my help.
An hour ago? Coming home from the Nebraska game. GO HUSKERS!!!!
A month ago? Being overwhelmed by all of Liv's back to school papers that had to be filled out.
A year ago? Almost falling for a totally idiotic, arrogant, manipulative woman while Bing was on the sidelines just waiting for me to notice her. I DID notice her and it was the best thing I have ever done. Although now I have to put up with Bing reminding me how stupid I was ("Jesus Christ, babe...what were you THINKING?")
Finish the sentences
I love: Lucy. :)
I feel: tired of doing this meme.
I hate: creepy pee butt people And you know who you are.
I hide: bills from Bing sometimes. She doesn't really need to know that I spent THAT much on that eye creme, does she? Hey, I am protecting her from a heart attack.
I miss: Sven, Orna, Nirand, my Da, my perfect breasts when I was 20.
I need: Liv and Bing.
High school love
Well, so, yeah...we all went to the football game last night at Bing's school. Liv, Lynette (Sven's mom) and me. It was okay. They won.
We arrived about a half hour early and were sitting in the stands when Beth, Sven's ex girlfriend came up. She broke up with Sven a few weeks ago after she started going to a community college here in the city and met another boy. He was pretty broken up about it, but was totally Sven about it: didn't say a word. I only know he was upset because his mother told me.
So, I didn't smile when I saw Beth because I am immature that way. But, Lynette smiled warmly and scooched over to let Beth sit with us. Beth was bleary eyed. She asked Lynette how Sven was and Lynette said that he was all excited because his first game was on Saturday night and he was given permission to suit up for it. To add to the excitement, it was going to be televised on Saturday night on a major network.
Beth smiled. Quivery. She then burst out that she had decided that breaking up with him had been the stupidest thing that she had ever done and she had called to tell him that but he told her that he didn't want to get back together and to make matters worse, was not returning her calls or answering her e-mails.
Yada, yada, yada.....you know how it goes. High school love.
Beth only sat with us for part of the game and then found some old pals to hang with. But, I did feel badly for her in the end and hugged her goodbye. Last year, we had come to every game and watched her cheerleading, watched Sven kicking back his cup of gatorade when he wasn't on the field, catching her eye and grinning at her.
Ah. It wasMuskrat High School Love.
It made me think about my high school years. I wasn't out yet, and would have been insane to be out as I lived in a town with a population of less than 4000 and went to a catholic girl's academy to boot. We dated boys from St. Michael's, not girls in our class. (Although, dude....there were some beautiful girls in my class and yes, I DID notice.)
I dated one boy. His name was Stephan. He was a year older than me, planned on taking over his father's plumbing company when he graduated high school and got plumbing certified or whatever the hell you do to go into the plumbing business. My family was crazy about him. My friends thought he was a good catch. He remembered to open doors for me and bought me a wrist corsage for all the proms and homecomings we attended.
Of course, I wasn't even remotely attracted to him. But, he seemed very attracted to me and that was good enough for high school. He was good looking, played football, and well, I was his girl.
But he was never my boy. And I think that somewhere inside, he knew that. I never pretended to be in love with him. I was friendly and warm with him, hey...I DID like him. I just didn't love him or feel even slightly goopy towards him. I wouldn't know what THAT felt like until I was 24 and fell in love with a woman named Cory.
He used to tell me that he liked it that I wasn't "all soupy" like those other girls. But, I suppose he might have been a little disappointed. I certainly disappointed him in our make out sessions in his Dad's car. He never got to second base with me. Nope. I was very, verydisinterested chaste.
When I graduated, I never promised him anything except that I would write from college. And I did that for about two weeks. When I came home for Thanksgiving, my mother mournfully told me that he had started dating Dixie Washington, a girl who was his own age who worked as a hairdresser in her mom's salon. They are still together. They got married about twenty five years ago and have a passel of kids. One of them is a football player for the Cornhuskers.
So... I didn't experience high school love, although from what I read and hear, it can be the most excruciating love of them all. And now... I heard about your comfort things last post. This post....hows about you tell me about your high school loves? I am interested and will live vicariously through you.
So...anyone wanna fess up?
We arrived about a half hour early and were sitting in the stands when Beth, Sven's ex girlfriend came up. She broke up with Sven a few weeks ago after she started going to a community college here in the city and met another boy. He was pretty broken up about it, but was totally Sven about it: didn't say a word. I only know he was upset because his mother told me.
So, I didn't smile when I saw Beth because I am immature that way. But, Lynette smiled warmly and scooched over to let Beth sit with us. Beth was bleary eyed. She asked Lynette how Sven was and Lynette said that he was all excited because his first game was on Saturday night and he was given permission to suit up for it. To add to the excitement, it was going to be televised on Saturday night on a major network.
Beth smiled. Quivery. She then burst out that she had decided that breaking up with him had been the stupidest thing that she had ever done and she had called to tell him that but he told her that he didn't want to get back together and to make matters worse, was not returning her calls or answering her e-mails.
Yada, yada, yada.....you know how it goes. High school love.
Beth only sat with us for part of the game and then found some old pals to hang with. But, I did feel badly for her in the end and hugged her goodbye. Last year, we had come to every game and watched her cheerleading, watched Sven kicking back his cup of gatorade when he wasn't on the field, catching her eye and grinning at her.
Ah. It was
It made me think about my high school years. I wasn't out yet, and would have been insane to be out as I lived in a town with a population of less than 4000 and went to a catholic girl's academy to boot. We dated boys from St. Michael's, not girls in our class. (Although, dude....there were some beautiful girls in my class and yes, I DID notice.)
I dated one boy. His name was Stephan. He was a year older than me, planned on taking over his father's plumbing company when he graduated high school and got plumbing certified or whatever the hell you do to go into the plumbing business. My family was crazy about him. My friends thought he was a good catch. He remembered to open doors for me and bought me a wrist corsage for all the proms and homecomings we attended.
Of course, I wasn't even remotely attracted to him. But, he seemed very attracted to me and that was good enough for high school. He was good looking, played football, and well, I was his girl.
But he was never my boy. And I think that somewhere inside, he knew that. I never pretended to be in love with him. I was friendly and warm with him, hey...I DID like him. I just didn't love him or feel even slightly goopy towards him. I wouldn't know what THAT felt like until I was 24 and fell in love with a woman named Cory.
He used to tell me that he liked it that I wasn't "all soupy" like those other girls. But, I suppose he might have been a little disappointed. I certainly disappointed him in our make out sessions in his Dad's car. He never got to second base with me. Nope. I was very, very
When I graduated, I never promised him anything except that I would write from college. And I did that for about two weeks. When I came home for Thanksgiving, my mother mournfully told me that he had started dating Dixie Washington, a girl who was his own age who worked as a hairdresser in her mom's salon. They are still together. They got married about twenty five years ago and have a passel of kids. One of them is a football player for the Cornhuskers.
So... I didn't experience high school love, although from what I read and hear, it can be the most excruciating love of them all. And now... I heard about your comfort things last post. This post....hows about you tell me about your high school loves? I am interested and will live vicariously through you.
So...anyone wanna fess up?
Friday, September 28, 2007
The day of comfort.
Some days are just like that. You wake up and like Alexander, you just know it is going to be a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.
Actually, I have been feeling it coming on for a long time. I'm missing Sven, even though his last e-mail to me was this:
Hi Maria!
Thanks for the nice card and the box of iron man energy bars. I liked Liv's painting of me in a football uniform. Tell her that she got the colors just right. I'm LOVING school. I was moved into the football dorm last night. I guess the coach is finally noticing me. ha ha. The only bad part is that the football dorm isn't coed like the freshman dorm I was in. My next door neighbors were a pair of hot twins! From Arizona. When they moved in, Rome (his roomie) and I were all about being helpers. Alicia (his newfound friend, the math major) calls them the "doublemint ditz asses" but hey, they are fine looking. Anyway, thank you for everything and thanks for keeping an eye on my mom. My new dorm is all football guys and sort of rank smelling, but I like it. Gotta go study. (You know I'm full of shit, don't you?) Love, Sven.
I'm glad he's happy, but I miss him. And, I think it is this weather....it just makes me feel all melancholy and sad.
I knew it was time for for comfort foods and pampering today.
I made Liv and I her favorite breakfast today:
Liv's Favorite Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
1 ounce cheddar cheese
2 slices of sourdough bread
2 teaspoons butter
2 eggs
1 tablespoon milk.
Place cheese on slice of bread. Top with remaining bread slice. In a shallow bowl, combine eggs and milk. Melt butter in large nonstick pan. Dip sandwich in egg mixture. Cook sandwich for 3 minutes on each side or until golden.
Here are some recipes for my other favorite comfort foods:
(And Jill, I know you are stunned. Yes, this is the right blog. Maria, aka "the kitchen klutz" is posting recipes on her blog.)
Sausage and Egg Casserole
6 slices of bread, cubed
1 pound of sausage, browned/drained
1 and a half cups shredded cheddar cheese
8 eggs, beaten
2 cups milk
1 teaspoon salt
dash pepper
Cube bread and place evenly in a greases 9x13 pan. Sprinkle evenly with sausage and cheese. Mix eggs, milk, salt and pepper. Pour over ingredients. Cover. Chill overnight. Remove from the fridge 15 minutes before baking. Bake 45 minutes at 325 degrees.
Bread Pudding
6 slices of day old bread
2 tablespoons butter, melted
Half cup raisins
4 eggs, beaten
2 cups milk
1 cup of white sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat oven to 350. Break bread into small pieces into an 8 inch square baking pan. Drizzle melted butter over bread. Sprinkle with raisins.
In a medium mixing bowl, combine eggs, milk, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla. Beat until well mixed. Pour over bread and lightly push down with a fork until bread is covered and soaking up the egg mixture.
Bake for 45 minutes.
Aunt Joan's Rice Pudding I only make this when I am really depressed. It helps.
5 cups of milk
Half cup raw rice
Half cup sugar
Half a teaspoon of salt
Dash cinnamon
Half cup raisins
Scald milk with raw rice. Add sugar, salt and cinnamon. Pour into a casserole and bake at 325 for an hour and a half. Stir every 20 minutes. 15 minutes before the pudding is done, add raisins. Mix well.
Grease casserole before pouring in milk mixture.
I know, I know...these aren't exactly low calorie recipes, but they are my comfort foods. What are yours? I'm interested. Do you have a food that just gets through a tough time? I know that all the diet gurus say that rewarding and comforting yourself with food is a bad idea, but I don't really give a fuck. Food helps when I am feeling blue. How about you?
Other comfort foods include McCann's Irish Oat Bran, goat milk yogurt, and vanilla chai tea.
Now, when I am done gorging myself, I am on to pampering myself. I recently discovered the joys of Li'l Goat's Milk Body Wash and Shampoo. I am not kidding. My skin feels like silk. It is made for children, so if you tend to be rather stinky, I don't know if it would work for you, but it works just fine for Liv and me. Even Bing likes it and says it works and she DOES get smelly when she mows the lawn or comes home from her run every day.
I periodically go to the liquor store and stock up on Kilkenny beer. Not because we drink it, but because I like to rinse my hair with it once a week. Yup. That's right. I am wasting a good Irish beer by pouring it over my head (ice cold) in the shower. I kid you not, your hair will shine like gold if you do this once a week. Just make sure to rinse well....otherwise when you take your child to school, you will give THAT mom gossip fuel and she already hates you quite enough already, yes?
I am not fanatical about facial products. I just use the goat milk body soap on my face too...but once a week, I give myself a facial with this.
And the only thing that I really need that is sort of pricey is this. My eyes look like Barbara Bush in the morning. They are puffy and bulging and have these lovely black circles under them to add to my allure. I have tried everything and Arbonne is the only one that truly works. It costs almost 50 smackers for a bottle of the stuff, but I am just vain enough to need it.
So, there you have it: Maria's Comfort Items.
I am really, really curious. What are yours? What sorts of foods help you? What products? Any books or songs?
And Bing just called and suggested that Liv and I meet her at the football game at the high school where she teaches tonight. It is homecoming and she is one of the teachers who is assigned to patrol the grounds for naughty, rowdy teenagers on the loose. I hesitated. Bing's school was Sven's high school. We went to every single football game last year to watch Sven show his stuff. I haven't been able to go to even one game this year. I hate the thought that number 70 won't be on the field, or at least not with Sven inside of it. But...you know....maybe it is time to get out of this rut. I think we will go and invite Sven's mom to go with us. Maybe Bing can snag us some free pizza slices from the concession stand...
Time to get out of this slump. But...hey..I'm serious.
What works for you?
Actually, I have been feeling it coming on for a long time. I'm missing Sven, even though his last e-mail to me was this:
Hi Maria!
Thanks for the nice card and the box of iron man energy bars. I liked Liv's painting of me in a football uniform. Tell her that she got the colors just right. I'm LOVING school. I was moved into the football dorm last night. I guess the coach is finally noticing me. ha ha. The only bad part is that the football dorm isn't coed like the freshman dorm I was in. My next door neighbors were a pair of hot twins! From Arizona. When they moved in, Rome (his roomie) and I were all about being helpers. Alicia (his newfound friend, the math major) calls them the "doublemint ditz asses" but hey, they are fine looking. Anyway, thank you for everything and thanks for keeping an eye on my mom. My new dorm is all football guys and sort of rank smelling, but I like it. Gotta go study. (You know I'm full of shit, don't you?) Love, Sven.
I'm glad he's happy, but I miss him. And, I think it is this weather....it just makes me feel all melancholy and sad.
I knew it was time for for comfort foods and pampering today.
I made Liv and I her favorite breakfast today:
Liv's Favorite Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
1 ounce cheddar cheese
2 slices of sourdough bread
2 teaspoons butter
2 eggs
1 tablespoon milk.
Place cheese on slice of bread. Top with remaining bread slice. In a shallow bowl, combine eggs and milk. Melt butter in large nonstick pan. Dip sandwich in egg mixture. Cook sandwich for 3 minutes on each side or until golden.
Here are some recipes for my other favorite comfort foods:
(And Jill, I know you are stunned. Yes, this is the right blog. Maria, aka "the kitchen klutz" is posting recipes on her blog.)
Sausage and Egg Casserole
6 slices of bread, cubed
1 pound of sausage, browned/drained
1 and a half cups shredded cheddar cheese
8 eggs, beaten
2 cups milk
1 teaspoon salt
dash pepper
Cube bread and place evenly in a greases 9x13 pan. Sprinkle evenly with sausage and cheese. Mix eggs, milk, salt and pepper. Pour over ingredients. Cover. Chill overnight. Remove from the fridge 15 minutes before baking. Bake 45 minutes at 325 degrees.
Bread Pudding
6 slices of day old bread
2 tablespoons butter, melted
Half cup raisins
4 eggs, beaten
2 cups milk
1 cup of white sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla
Preheat oven to 350. Break bread into small pieces into an 8 inch square baking pan. Drizzle melted butter over bread. Sprinkle with raisins.
In a medium mixing bowl, combine eggs, milk, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla. Beat until well mixed. Pour over bread and lightly push down with a fork until bread is covered and soaking up the egg mixture.
Bake for 45 minutes.
Aunt Joan's Rice Pudding I only make this when I am really depressed. It helps.
5 cups of milk
Half cup raw rice
Half cup sugar
Half a teaspoon of salt
Dash cinnamon
Half cup raisins
Scald milk with raw rice. Add sugar, salt and cinnamon. Pour into a casserole and bake at 325 for an hour and a half. Stir every 20 minutes. 15 minutes before the pudding is done, add raisins. Mix well.
Grease casserole before pouring in milk mixture.
I know, I know...these aren't exactly low calorie recipes, but they are my comfort foods. What are yours? I'm interested. Do you have a food that just gets through a tough time? I know that all the diet gurus say that rewarding and comforting yourself with food is a bad idea, but I don't really give a fuck. Food helps when I am feeling blue. How about you?
Other comfort foods include McCann's Irish Oat Bran, goat milk yogurt, and vanilla chai tea.
Now, when I am done gorging myself, I am on to pampering myself. I recently discovered the joys of Li'l Goat's Milk Body Wash and Shampoo. I am not kidding. My skin feels like silk. It is made for children, so if you tend to be rather stinky, I don't know if it would work for you, but it works just fine for Liv and me. Even Bing likes it and says it works and she DOES get smelly when she mows the lawn or comes home from her run every day.
I periodically go to the liquor store and stock up on Kilkenny beer. Not because we drink it, but because I like to rinse my hair with it once a week. Yup. That's right. I am wasting a good Irish beer by pouring it over my head (ice cold) in the shower. I kid you not, your hair will shine like gold if you do this once a week. Just make sure to rinse well....otherwise when you take your child to school, you will give THAT mom gossip fuel and she already hates you quite enough already, yes?
I am not fanatical about facial products. I just use the goat milk body soap on my face too...but once a week, I give myself a facial with this.
And the only thing that I really need that is sort of pricey is this. My eyes look like Barbara Bush in the morning. They are puffy and bulging and have these lovely black circles under them to add to my allure. I have tried everything and Arbonne is the only one that truly works. It costs almost 50 smackers for a bottle of the stuff, but I am just vain enough to need it.
So, there you have it: Maria's Comfort Items.
I am really, really curious. What are yours? What sorts of foods help you? What products? Any books or songs?
And Bing just called and suggested that Liv and I meet her at the football game at the high school where she teaches tonight. It is homecoming and she is one of the teachers who is assigned to patrol the grounds for naughty, rowdy teenagers on the loose. I hesitated. Bing's school was Sven's high school. We went to every single football game last year to watch Sven show his stuff. I haven't been able to go to even one game this year. I hate the thought that number 70 won't be on the field, or at least not with Sven inside of it. But...you know....maybe it is time to get out of this rut. I think we will go and invite Sven's mom to go with us. Maybe Bing can snag us some free pizza slices from the concession stand...
Time to get out of this slump. But...hey..I'm serious.
What works for you?
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Copycat.
It happened again today. I was innocently in the kitchen making scrambled eggs for Liv's breakfast when she came in, dressed for school.
We gave each other a double take.
We had done it again. She was dressed in maroon leggings and a white sweatshirt with a rainbow on it that said Color Me Happy across it.
I was dressed in maroon sweat pants and a white sweatshirt with Creighton University on it.
We sort of matched.
"Are you copying me again, Mom?" Liv asked. grinning. "Because, hey, I know you miss me when I am at school and all that stuff, but this is getting out of hand, woman!"
I laughed. Told her to hush up and eat her eggs.
This has happened over and over to us lately. Without planning it, we will end up both in jeans and pink sweaters or blue shorts with yellow tops. Once, she decided to wear her purple peasant skirt and matching purple top on the same day that I decided to wear MY purple broom skirt (or Stevie Nicks skirt as Bing calls it) and a purple top.
It is just bizarre. It kind of charms me and kind of creeps me out because I swear I am not the type of mother who believes in mother-daughter matching outfits. I do live in 2007, not 1954.
But, we both sighed and Liv ate her eggs while I drank my coffee. She went on and on about the puppy we are getting for her next month (after nearly a year of begging, I am allowing her to get a rat terrier.) I wasn't totally coherent. I was only on cup number two of coffee. I need three cups to function on a workable level. This also makes me pee like crazy nearly all morning.
We got into the car and headed off for Liv's school. On the way there, Liv laid out her argument as to why she needed to get a skateboard. I gave her the famous "We'll see" answer. When we arrived, I immediately saw THAT mother and hurriedly handed Liv her lunch and kissed her goodbye, hoping to get out the door before that woman nabbed me.
Too late. She had spotted me.
"MARIA!! How are you?"
I said I was fine, thanks and tried gamely to get by with a quick wave.
"Wait a sec, hon. I wanted to visit with you about that idea I talked about at the PTA meeting about only serving organic milk to our kids. God knows they don't need those antibiotics in their milk!"
I assured her that I was fine with organic milk and willing to pay the extra buck a week to get it.
Liv came rushing out the door for another kiss and said, "And remember, pullllease think about that skateboard, okay?"
I said I would think it over.
Yeah, right.
THAT mom laughed her trilling little tinkly laugh.
My GOD...you two sort of match and was that a RAINBOW I saw on Liv's shirt? My, my. Did you buy that intentionally?"
It took me a second to realize what she was getting at.
Of course...
Rainbow=gay pride.
I detest this woman. I really do. She is always doing this to me. Doing snotty little things and saying snotty little remarks covered in trilling laughs so that it can be shoved off as a joke.
I decided to put my metaphorical dukes up.
"Why, Mary Lynn, how very clever of you to notice! Of course, I bought it on purpose! I always try to sneak in gay emblems on all of Liv's clothes. We have an appointment this afternoon to go to the salon and get her hair cut in a mullet. And well, you heard her asking for that skateboard! We encourage her to be a tomboy. Any thing we can do to help make her look like a gay stereotype, well, we are RIGHT on it. I noticed that your little girl is quite the softball player at recess! Do you want me to pick her up a rainbow shirt too?"
I laughed my best trilling little laugh.
And felt a hand on my elbow. It was Harriet, my bff.
"Hey you," she said. "I was just looking for you! Come out to my car with me so I can show you this new book I bought."
"Is it a book by a gay author?" I asked. "Because you know, I only read gay books, Harriet! God, I wish I could just talk you into being gay with me!"
We left THAT mom standing vapidly with her mouth slightly open. She had no idea how to take me. I'm sure that she found some other mother to gossip about me with.
Harriet yanked me a little on the way outside the school.
"God," she said. "You are a brat!"
"She had it coming, girl," I said. "She started it! She asked me if I intentionally bought Liv a rainbow sweatshirt!"
"Well, fiddle dee dee," Harriet retorted. "How old did you say were? Are you like...a teen parent? I thought that you were going to pull her hair or something in there, start a little bitch fight. Maybe you can work a bit on those social skills...."
But, she was smiling. I love Harriet.
We leaned against her car talking for awhile, talking about how her son keeps getting into trouble for picking his nose. ("What the hell can I do about that? I mean, yes, it's disgusting. Should I make him eat a cup of boogers, do you think?")
I cooled off. Hugged Harriet goodbye and saw THAT mom come out of the building.
"Here she comes!" I whispered in Harriet's ear. "Give me a kiss, I dare you!"
But, of course, she didn't....she's a grown up or something.
I stopped at Walgreens on the way home to pick up some new pencils for Liv. I glanced at the Halloween costumes as I walked down the aisle.
And there, in the middle of the frankenstein masks and witch hats...was a wig. A mullet wig.
I was tempted to buy it and have Liv wear it to school tomorrow.....
But no. Because I need to act my age and all that shit.
We gave each other a double take.
We had done it again. She was dressed in maroon leggings and a white sweatshirt with a rainbow on it that said Color Me Happy across it.
I was dressed in maroon sweat pants and a white sweatshirt with Creighton University on it.
We sort of matched.
"Are you copying me again, Mom?" Liv asked. grinning. "Because, hey, I know you miss me when I am at school and all that stuff, but this is getting out of hand, woman!"
I laughed. Told her to hush up and eat her eggs.
This has happened over and over to us lately. Without planning it, we will end up both in jeans and pink sweaters or blue shorts with yellow tops. Once, she decided to wear her purple peasant skirt and matching purple top on the same day that I decided to wear MY purple broom skirt (or Stevie Nicks skirt as Bing calls it) and a purple top.
It is just bizarre. It kind of charms me and kind of creeps me out because I swear I am not the type of mother who believes in mother-daughter matching outfits. I do live in 2007, not 1954.
But, we both sighed and Liv ate her eggs while I drank my coffee. She went on and on about the puppy we are getting for her next month (after nearly a year of begging, I am allowing her to get a rat terrier.) I wasn't totally coherent. I was only on cup number two of coffee. I need three cups to function on a workable level. This also makes me pee like crazy nearly all morning.
We got into the car and headed off for Liv's school. On the way there, Liv laid out her argument as to why she needed to get a skateboard. I gave her the famous "We'll see" answer. When we arrived, I immediately saw THAT mother and hurriedly handed Liv her lunch and kissed her goodbye, hoping to get out the door before that woman nabbed me.
Too late. She had spotted me.
"MARIA!! How are you?"
I said I was fine, thanks and tried gamely to get by with a quick wave.
"Wait a sec, hon. I wanted to visit with you about that idea I talked about at the PTA meeting about only serving organic milk to our kids. God knows they don't need those antibiotics in their milk!"
I assured her that I was fine with organic milk and willing to pay the extra buck a week to get it.
Liv came rushing out the door for another kiss and said, "And remember, pullllease think about that skateboard, okay?"
I said I would think it over.
Yeah, right.
THAT mom laughed her trilling little tinkly laugh.
My GOD...you two sort of match and was that a RAINBOW I saw on Liv's shirt? My, my. Did you buy that intentionally?"
It took me a second to realize what she was getting at.
Of course...
Rainbow=gay pride.
I detest this woman. I really do. She is always doing this to me. Doing snotty little things and saying snotty little remarks covered in trilling laughs so that it can be shoved off as a joke.
I decided to put my metaphorical dukes up.
"Why, Mary Lynn, how very clever of you to notice! Of course, I bought it on purpose! I always try to sneak in gay emblems on all of Liv's clothes. We have an appointment this afternoon to go to the salon and get her hair cut in a mullet. And well, you heard her asking for that skateboard! We encourage her to be a tomboy. Any thing we can do to help make her look like a gay stereotype, well, we are RIGHT on it. I noticed that your little girl is quite the softball player at recess! Do you want me to pick her up a rainbow shirt too?"
I laughed my best trilling little laugh.
And felt a hand on my elbow. It was Harriet, my bff.
"Hey you," she said. "I was just looking for you! Come out to my car with me so I can show you this new book I bought."
"Is it a book by a gay author?" I asked. "Because you know, I only read gay books, Harriet! God, I wish I could just talk you into being gay with me!"
We left THAT mom standing vapidly with her mouth slightly open. She had no idea how to take me. I'm sure that she found some other mother to gossip about me with.
Harriet yanked me a little on the way outside the school.
"God," she said. "You are a brat!"
"She had it coming, girl," I said. "She started it! She asked me if I intentionally bought Liv a rainbow sweatshirt!"
"Well, fiddle dee dee," Harriet retorted. "How old did you say were? Are you like...a teen parent? I thought that you were going to pull her hair or something in there, start a little bitch fight. Maybe you can work a bit on those social skills...."
But, she was smiling. I love Harriet.
We leaned against her car talking for awhile, talking about how her son keeps getting into trouble for picking his nose. ("What the hell can I do about that? I mean, yes, it's disgusting. Should I make him eat a cup of boogers, do you think?")
I cooled off. Hugged Harriet goodbye and saw THAT mom come out of the building.
"Here she comes!" I whispered in Harriet's ear. "Give me a kiss, I dare you!"
But, of course, she didn't....she's a grown up or something.
I stopped at Walgreens on the way home to pick up some new pencils for Liv. I glanced at the Halloween costumes as I walked down the aisle.
And there, in the middle of the frankenstein masks and witch hats...was a wig. A mullet wig.
I was tempted to buy it and have Liv wear it to school tomorrow.....
But no. Because I need to act my age and all that shit.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Meme #4892 or Oatmeal Catulpa's Reading Wind Tour.
From Jill:
Rock Star Name (first pet and current car): Rags Bug. Sounds like I would give you a disease, huh?
Your "fly" Guy/Girl name (favorite ice cream flavor and favorite cookie): White Chocolate Mint Oreo. Now, that is a mouthful...
Your Detective name (favorite color and favorite animal): Green Dolphin. Oh yeah..bring it on, suckers.
Your Soap Opera Name (middle name and city where you were born): Margaret Winterset. Just call me rich bitch for short, but I sleep with all the cabana boys.
Your Star Wars Name (first 3 letters of last name, first 2 of first): McGMa. Sounds like I'm on the dark side. Yoda could take me, don't you think? I sort of sound phlegmy.
Super Hero Name (The and 2nd favorite color/favorite drink): The Red Martini. There I am in a slinky red dress, fighting bar stool crimes
Nascar Name (first names of your grandfathers): Alfred Charles.
Stripper Name (favorite perfume/candy): Chanel#5 Malted Milk Balls. Admit it. You are DYING to fuck me...
Witness Protection Name (mother and father's middle names): Marie Michael. Yep...boring you to death already...good choice...
TV Weather Anchor Name (5th grade teacher's last name, major city that starts with the same letter): Sister Adeltrude Seattle. She didn't HAVE a last name, she was married to JESUS, silly!
Spy Name (favorite season/holiday/flower): Thanksgiving Rose. Very unobtrusive, can't you just see my male counterpart calling for me in a dark basement: "Thanksgiving Rose, are you okay???"
Cartoon Name (favorite fruit, clothing you are wearing right now and ie or y): Pineapple Khakis. Kind of sporty, but with big knockers...
Hippy Name (what you ate for breakfast, favorite tree): Oatmeal Catulpa. Can't you just see me? Wholesome, yet sort of creepy...
Rockstar Touring Name (the and your favorite hobby and favorite element and tour): The Reading Wind Tour. Yeah, they'll be rushing the tour bus, those readers...
Rock Star Name (first pet and current car): Rags Bug. Sounds like I would give you a disease, huh?
Your "fly" Guy/Girl name (favorite ice cream flavor and favorite cookie): White Chocolate Mint Oreo. Now, that is a mouthful...
Your Detective name (favorite color and favorite animal): Green Dolphin. Oh yeah..bring it on, suckers.
Your Soap Opera Name (middle name and city where you were born): Margaret Winterset. Just call me rich bitch for short, but I sleep with all the cabana boys.
Your Star Wars Name (first 3 letters of last name, first 2 of first): McGMa. Sounds like I'm on the dark side. Yoda could take me, don't you think? I sort of sound phlegmy.
Super Hero Name (The and 2nd favorite color/favorite drink): The Red Martini. There I am in a slinky red dress, fighting bar stool crimes
Nascar Name (first names of your grandfathers): Alfred Charles.
Stripper Name (favorite perfume/candy): Chanel#5 Malted Milk Balls. Admit it. You are DYING to fuck me...
Witness Protection Name (mother and father's middle names): Marie Michael. Yep...boring you to death already...good choice...
TV Weather Anchor Name (5th grade teacher's last name, major city that starts with the same letter): Sister Adeltrude Seattle. She didn't HAVE a last name, she was married to JESUS, silly!
Spy Name (favorite season/holiday/flower): Thanksgiving Rose. Very unobtrusive, can't you just see my male counterpart calling for me in a dark basement: "Thanksgiving Rose, are you okay???"
Cartoon Name (favorite fruit, clothing you are wearing right now and ie or y): Pineapple Khakis. Kind of sporty, but with big knockers...
Hippy Name (what you ate for breakfast, favorite tree): Oatmeal Catulpa. Can't you just see me? Wholesome, yet sort of creepy...
Rockstar Touring Name (the and your favorite hobby and favorite element and tour): The Reading Wind Tour. Yeah, they'll be rushing the tour bus, those readers...
Happy endings
Lynette, Sven's mom, came home on Friday after depositing him in his dorm. I looked out the kitchen window, saw her car and went schlepping over there, prepared to scoop her up in my arms.
She didn't need scooping. And there was a FELLA in her kitchen! This shocked me for many reasons. Mostly because Sven told me that she tried to date a few times when he was a kid but that nothing ever came of it and because I have never seen her show the slightest interest in dating. When I think of Lynette, I picture her coming home in her nurse uniform and saying that all she wants is a Virginia Slim, a sandwich and stupid TV.
So, seeing a man (and a very nice looking man at that) in her kitchen gave me pause.
Lynette seemed flustered and then introduced us. His name was Nick and he was the father of Alicia, a girl that Sven met at registration and who lived in the math dorm. Nick and I shook hands and I handed Lynette her mail that I had picked up and left soon after.
An hour later, Lynette was at my door, blushing and flustered.
This is her story:
We got to the registration tables and sat down and this rather plain jane girl with glasses like Ali McGraw in Love Story sat down next to us with her father. Her name is Alicia, she is a math major and her mother had died a few years ago. Her father's name is Nick and he looked like I felt, as if his world was crashing into a light pole. But, we all visited and I was surprised that Sven seemed very interested in this Alicia, they had their heads together talking right from the get-go. You know that Beth (Sven's high school girl friend) broke up with him a few weeks ago when she met that boy in her new college, well...Alicia is nothing like Beth, not a cheerleader type at all, but she looked like she wouldn't put up with any bullshit from Sven and he seemed fine with that. Maybe they will be good friends. He needs a smart friend, a Hermione Granger sort of pal, you know?
Anyway, we all ended up eating dinner together and going on the same campus tour together. We got the kids moved in and we said our goodbyes and I thought that was that.
I took a cab to the airport and there I am waiting for my flight back to Omaha and well, I see Nick sitting there too, waiting for his flight back to Madison, Wisconsin. He was mopping his eyes. I think he'd probably been crying just like I did. Anyway, I sat down next to him and we got to talking and well...he said that he hated the idea of going back to his house, so well...I invited him to come home with me. Now....I want you to know that there is NO hanky panky going on. He is staying in Sven's room. But, we talked on the plane ride here and you know, I really am enjoying his company! He has to get back to work on Tuesday, he owns a plumbing company, but for now, well...we are enjoying each other's company.
So, I need to ask you. Do you know where I can get tickets for the Husker game tomorrow? I think he would enjoy that."
I smiled. Well, now. This was lovely. I told her that I would make a few calls and get back to her. In the meantime, she was going to take Nick to see the Henry Doorly Zoo.
Liv had been sitting in the living room while Lynette and I talked. I went in and she said she had heard the whole story. I asked her how she felt about giving our tickets to Lynette and Nick. We have three tickets for each home game for the whole season and Bing had to work so Liv and I had just planned to scalp the extra ticket at the game anyway. Liv thought this was a splendid idea.
I gave them the tickets that night. I think they had a fun time. Today, I went out to get the Sunday paper and there were Lynette and Nick sitting on her front porch drinking coffee. They were both smiling. I waved. They waved back.
I came in and there was an e-mail from Sven. He said that he had heard that Nick was going back with his mom and he thought this was great, that he seemed like a nice guy. He also said and I quote, "I am spending lots of time with Alicia. She is not my usual type of friend, she is like....all brains, but she has this smile that is just...very cool. I hung out with some football guys for awhile last night, but I found myself leaving early so that I could go see Alicia..."
I think this is a good beginning for everyone. Don't you?
And, hey...before I forget, I saw a trailer for what looks to be an excellent documentary about a woman with cancer. It is called Crazy Sexy Cancer and you can see the trailer here.
It reminded me so much of my sister that I sent it on to ALL of my sisters. There are some incredible people out there, you know?
So...I am feeling pretty good about life right now. Sven has a friend, Lynette has a friend, strong women are fighting the good cancer fight.
Life is good.
She didn't need scooping. And there was a FELLA in her kitchen! This shocked me for many reasons. Mostly because Sven told me that she tried to date a few times when he was a kid but that nothing ever came of it and because I have never seen her show the slightest interest in dating. When I think of Lynette, I picture her coming home in her nurse uniform and saying that all she wants is a Virginia Slim, a sandwich and stupid TV.
So, seeing a man (and a very nice looking man at that) in her kitchen gave me pause.
Lynette seemed flustered and then introduced us. His name was Nick and he was the father of Alicia, a girl that Sven met at registration and who lived in the math dorm. Nick and I shook hands and I handed Lynette her mail that I had picked up and left soon after.
An hour later, Lynette was at my door, blushing and flustered.
This is her story:
We got to the registration tables and sat down and this rather plain jane girl with glasses like Ali McGraw in Love Story sat down next to us with her father. Her name is Alicia, she is a math major and her mother had died a few years ago. Her father's name is Nick and he looked like I felt, as if his world was crashing into a light pole. But, we all visited and I was surprised that Sven seemed very interested in this Alicia, they had their heads together talking right from the get-go. You know that Beth (Sven's high school girl friend) broke up with him a few weeks ago when she met that boy in her new college, well...Alicia is nothing like Beth, not a cheerleader type at all, but she looked like she wouldn't put up with any bullshit from Sven and he seemed fine with that. Maybe they will be good friends. He needs a smart friend, a Hermione Granger sort of pal, you know?
Anyway, we all ended up eating dinner together and going on the same campus tour together. We got the kids moved in and we said our goodbyes and I thought that was that.
I took a cab to the airport and there I am waiting for my flight back to Omaha and well, I see Nick sitting there too, waiting for his flight back to Madison, Wisconsin. He was mopping his eyes. I think he'd probably been crying just like I did. Anyway, I sat down next to him and we got to talking and well...he said that he hated the idea of going back to his house, so well...I invited him to come home with me. Now....I want you to know that there is NO hanky panky going on. He is staying in Sven's room. But, we talked on the plane ride here and you know, I really am enjoying his company! He has to get back to work on Tuesday, he owns a plumbing company, but for now, well...we are enjoying each other's company.
So, I need to ask you. Do you know where I can get tickets for the Husker game tomorrow? I think he would enjoy that."
I smiled. Well, now. This was lovely. I told her that I would make a few calls and get back to her. In the meantime, she was going to take Nick to see the Henry Doorly Zoo.
Liv had been sitting in the living room while Lynette and I talked. I went in and she said she had heard the whole story. I asked her how she felt about giving our tickets to Lynette and Nick. We have three tickets for each home game for the whole season and Bing had to work so Liv and I had just planned to scalp the extra ticket at the game anyway. Liv thought this was a splendid idea.
I gave them the tickets that night. I think they had a fun time. Today, I went out to get the Sunday paper and there were Lynette and Nick sitting on her front porch drinking coffee. They were both smiling. I waved. They waved back.
I came in and there was an e-mail from Sven. He said that he had heard that Nick was going back with his mom and he thought this was great, that he seemed like a nice guy. He also said and I quote, "I am spending lots of time with Alicia. She is not my usual type of friend, she is like....all brains, but she has this smile that is just...very cool. I hung out with some football guys for awhile last night, but I found myself leaving early so that I could go see Alicia..."
I think this is a good beginning for everyone. Don't you?
And, hey...before I forget, I saw a trailer for what looks to be an excellent documentary about a woman with cancer. It is called Crazy Sexy Cancer and you can see the trailer here.
It reminded me so much of my sister that I sent it on to ALL of my sisters. There are some incredible people out there, you know?
So...I am feeling pretty good about life right now. Sven has a friend, Lynette has a friend, strong women are fighting the good cancer fight.
Life is good.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Anne Lamott
I first found Anne Lamott's books when I was stumbling around a Borders book store when Liv was an infant. I was exhausted, wanted badly to find some sort of book on motherhood that could engage me, but not try to instruct me. I already had a bookshelf full of how-to books. Basically, I was feeling like the only single parent in the world and I wanted to read someone who could relate to my situation.
I found a whole trove of books, all of them asinine. Titles like How to Raise A Strong Child, Be Your Child's Advocate! and Girls, How to Raise Them were screaming out at me from all sides.
And then I saw one called Operating Instructions. I read the back cover. Aha. Maybe a kindred spirit? I read the first few pages. More ahas.
I bought the book and gulped it down fast. For the first time, I felt totally understood. Here was someone who knew exactly how it felt to feel burdened by the sheer work of a baby, yet was also unabashedly madly in love with every part of her child even when she was leaning over him in his crib crying from exhaustion and anger because he would NOT sleep and she wanted to scream.
After I inhaled Operating Instructions, I went on to read everything she had written. My favorites besides that book have been Rosie and Traveling Mercies.
I could read Anne Lamott all day long and never want to put her book down.
So, when I heard that she was coming to speak in Omaha, I vowed to go see her. I asked my sister to go with me. She was less than thrilled. Anne Lamott's books are frowned on big time by the Catholic Church because she is just fine and dandy with abortion and assisted suicide. But...I had went to see Jodi Picoult with my sister when she was in town and she owed me and knew it. I threw in a trip to a fancy restaurant to make the whole trip sweeter.
Patrice agreed to go with me. We ate our dinners and walked to the Holland Center to get our seats.
And there they were walking up and down the block in front of the building. Picketers. You know the ones. They like to carry around gigantic posters of bloody fetuses. Their signs say lovely things like "God hates Anne Lamott."
How charming. But, it was their faces that really interested me. They looked almost sick with excitement. Like they were going to see Tom Cruise on the red carpet at the Academy Awards or something. They looked so eager. I recognized one man immediately.
I call him the creepy pee butt peeper man. When Liv was an infant, I sometimes went to mass at a large church mainly because I loved the music. This man was always standing in front of the church handing out pamphlets about teen pregnancies, keeping Terri Schiavo alive, or his favorite: the evil pro-choicers. I hated his face, his smug, smashed nose face. He looked incredibly self righteous and arrogant. This all changed when he spoke, as he had a lisp. It sort of ruined his fire and brimstone facade.
Once, channel surfing, I had stumbled on some local access channel and there he was, talking in his lispy, but I-AM-RIGHT! voice. He was talking about how parents must protect their young daughters from being "tainted by wily boyth." The look on his face became absolutely voracious. His voice dropped to a raspy whisper as he said, "Theth girlth, theth ripe, young girlth...they need a firm...hand to keep their refined virginity thafe from thoth men who want them for tawdry thrillth. I am alwaths available for counthel..." Spittle formed on the sides of his mouth. He could barely contain just how BADLY he wanted to save him some tender shoot girls. My first thought was that I would DIE before I would let him come near Liv.
I never went back to the church, although I often passed his home on my way to work. It had ABORTION KILLS all over his front windows. His house was junky. I saw a woman working in the yard once and two young boys playing on big wheels nearby. He was often outside waving as cars went by and pointing to his signs.
And there he was at the Anne Lamott speech. He was holding a big glass jar in the air holding what I was sure was a fetus. He was shouting something.
My sister tucked her head down, embarrassed, I think. Probably hoping that no one from her church would recognize her. I walked by with my head up but not giving any of them what they wanted: eye contact and an argument. Arguing with such idiots is pointless.
And, hey, I wanted a good seat.
But, I did note how loud they were and the weirdly excited look of hate on their faces as they brandished their signs. They were in heaven. This was invigorating to them.
We went in and sat down. Patrice refused to comment on the picketers except to ask if I noticed the tacky looking flip flops one of the women wore. I asked her if she had noticed the signs (including one sign that read ABORTION IS RONG.) She looked away from me.
"I am not going to let you pull me into an argument, Maria," she said. "I'm here. Count your blessings."
So, I shut up.
The lights came up and Anne Lamott came out and gave a lovely talk about faith and writing and dignity and joy. She spoke from her heart, smiled and commented that she had heard that there were several people planted in the audience with the sole purpose of disrupting her talk. Could they just do it now before she got started?
Silence. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Here was this woman who had helped me through parenthood, whose books I had sent to my sister when she was battling cancer and needed something exquisite to read. Anne Lamott was joyful and spirited, funny and dead serious. She was a true delight to listen to. Even my sister commented on the way to the the car that she thought her speech was wonderful.
There were no picketers on the streets when we left. They had all left, probably to go to their sanctimonious little homes where they could put their hideous posters in their basements to scare their children the next day. I'm sure that when their heads hit their pillows they felt as if they could sleep the sleep of the righteous, that God would be in their dreams handing them gold medals.
And me? I slept well too. My soul had been fed beautifully.
Thank you, Ms. Lamott. I loved listening to you talk. I felt the joy, warmth, and acceptance of your personality wipe clean all the negative jackass air that the creepy pee butt people had forced me to walk through to get to you.
I slept. In peace.
I found a whole trove of books, all of them asinine. Titles like How to Raise A Strong Child, Be Your Child's Advocate! and Girls, How to Raise Them were screaming out at me from all sides.
And then I saw one called Operating Instructions. I read the back cover. Aha. Maybe a kindred spirit? I read the first few pages. More ahas.
I bought the book and gulped it down fast. For the first time, I felt totally understood. Here was someone who knew exactly how it felt to feel burdened by the sheer work of a baby, yet was also unabashedly madly in love with every part of her child even when she was leaning over him in his crib crying from exhaustion and anger because he would NOT sleep and she wanted to scream.
After I inhaled Operating Instructions, I went on to read everything she had written. My favorites besides that book have been Rosie and Traveling Mercies.
I could read Anne Lamott all day long and never want to put her book down.
So, when I heard that she was coming to speak in Omaha, I vowed to go see her. I asked my sister to go with me. She was less than thrilled. Anne Lamott's books are frowned on big time by the Catholic Church because she is just fine and dandy with abortion and assisted suicide. But...I had went to see Jodi Picoult with my sister when she was in town and she owed me and knew it. I threw in a trip to a fancy restaurant to make the whole trip sweeter.
Patrice agreed to go with me. We ate our dinners and walked to the Holland Center to get our seats.
And there they were walking up and down the block in front of the building. Picketers. You know the ones. They like to carry around gigantic posters of bloody fetuses. Their signs say lovely things like "God hates Anne Lamott."
How charming. But, it was their faces that really interested me. They looked almost sick with excitement. Like they were going to see Tom Cruise on the red carpet at the Academy Awards or something. They looked so eager. I recognized one man immediately.
I call him the creepy pee butt peeper man. When Liv was an infant, I sometimes went to mass at a large church mainly because I loved the music. This man was always standing in front of the church handing out pamphlets about teen pregnancies, keeping Terri Schiavo alive, or his favorite: the evil pro-choicers. I hated his face, his smug, smashed nose face. He looked incredibly self righteous and arrogant. This all changed when he spoke, as he had a lisp. It sort of ruined his fire and brimstone facade.
Once, channel surfing, I had stumbled on some local access channel and there he was, talking in his lispy, but I-AM-RIGHT! voice. He was talking about how parents must protect their young daughters from being "tainted by wily boyth." The look on his face became absolutely voracious. His voice dropped to a raspy whisper as he said, "Theth girlth, theth ripe, young girlth...they need a firm...hand to keep their refined virginity thafe from thoth men who want them for tawdry thrillth. I am alwaths available for counthel..." Spittle formed on the sides of his mouth. He could barely contain just how BADLY he wanted to save him some tender shoot girls. My first thought was that I would DIE before I would let him come near Liv.
I never went back to the church, although I often passed his home on my way to work. It had ABORTION KILLS all over his front windows. His house was junky. I saw a woman working in the yard once and two young boys playing on big wheels nearby. He was often outside waving as cars went by and pointing to his signs.
And there he was at the Anne Lamott speech. He was holding a big glass jar in the air holding what I was sure was a fetus. He was shouting something.
My sister tucked her head down, embarrassed, I think. Probably hoping that no one from her church would recognize her. I walked by with my head up but not giving any of them what they wanted: eye contact and an argument. Arguing with such idiots is pointless.
And, hey, I wanted a good seat.
But, I did note how loud they were and the weirdly excited look of hate on their faces as they brandished their signs. They were in heaven. This was invigorating to them.
We went in and sat down. Patrice refused to comment on the picketers except to ask if I noticed the tacky looking flip flops one of the women wore. I asked her if she had noticed the signs (including one sign that read ABORTION IS RONG.) She looked away from me.
"I am not going to let you pull me into an argument, Maria," she said. "I'm here. Count your blessings."
So, I shut up.
The lights came up and Anne Lamott came out and gave a lovely talk about faith and writing and dignity and joy. She spoke from her heart, smiled and commented that she had heard that there were several people planted in the audience with the sole purpose of disrupting her talk. Could they just do it now before she got started?
Silence. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Here was this woman who had helped me through parenthood, whose books I had sent to my sister when she was battling cancer and needed something exquisite to read. Anne Lamott was joyful and spirited, funny and dead serious. She was a true delight to listen to. Even my sister commented on the way to the the car that she thought her speech was wonderful.
There were no picketers on the streets when we left. They had all left, probably to go to their sanctimonious little homes where they could put their hideous posters in their basements to scare their children the next day. I'm sure that when their heads hit their pillows they felt as if they could sleep the sleep of the righteous, that God would be in their dreams handing them gold medals.
And me? I slept well too. My soul had been fed beautifully.
Thank you, Ms. Lamott. I loved listening to you talk. I felt the joy, warmth, and acceptance of your personality wipe clean all the negative jackass air that the creepy pee butt people had forced me to walk through to get to you.
I slept. In peace.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Dear Sven
I don't know how to tell you goodbye. You are off to college tomorrow and so excited. I know that the last month has been hard for you. You've watched all your friends go off to Texas, to Arizona, to Chicago, to Iowa and to Lincoln and you are the last one to leave.
I wanted to thank you for being such a great presence in Liv's life and mine. Thank you for helping me shovel snow and mow the lawn. Thanks for helping me carry in groceries.
Thank you for helping Bing build Liv her tree house and then finding the perfect flag to put on top of it.
Do you remember the day we met? You came over with your mother to my house with a plate of brownies as a house warming gift to say welcome-to-the-neighborhood. You asked me if I had any kids. I pointed at Liv sitting in in her playpen. You went over to her, squatted down and said, "She'll do."
You offered her your finger and Liv, who was very wary of strangers, took it immediately. I think she knew right from the start that you were one of the good guys.
Thank you for babysitting Liv when I would get in a pinch. You ate me out of house and home, (how can one boy eat an entire pizza???) but you were one of her favorites.
Thank you for sneaking Dr. Peppers in to Liv when you thought I wasn't looking. After I TOLD you that I didn't like her drinking soda. I think it is important for children to have some small secrets from their parents and this one was okay with me. She will have to find another source when she starts jonesin for Dr. Pepper.
Thank you for bringing in all your football buddies to come buy lemonade at Liv's lemonade stand this summer. She made fifteen bucks just from you guys and you made her day.
Thank you for having a crush on me when you were 13. You gave me roses for my birthday that year. It was the first time that anyone ever gave me roses and I was so pleased. By the time you were 14, you realized that there were lots of cute girls in your class who were nearer your age and you switched your attention to them. But, for that one year, it did my aging ego good to see you go red in the face whenever you were around me, trip over your own feet, and stammer. You made me smile. I hope it doesn't embarrass you that I knew all the time and while I was relieved when you discovered girls your own age, it was a very sweet thing to be someone's crush for a while.
I never did tell your mother about that time that you came home drunk one night, so drunk that you puked in the trash can. I hope you did listen the next day, though, when I told you that you shouldn't make a habit of drinking like that. I also never told her about the smoking behind your garage or the time when your mother was out of town for the weekend and you were supposed to check in with me. I didn't really buy it when you told me that you were going to take your girlfriend home and then you returned a half hour later with her laying on the back seat and she spent the night with you.
I'm old, I'm not stupid.
And I was young once too. That was me who put the pamphlets about birth control and STD protection in your mailbox. I guess you took my advice or already knew that stuff because you aren't a teenage Dad.
Thanks for not laughing that day when I was shoveling snow and I tripped and fell hard on my ass. You came loping over and helped me up and I could see you holding back a big laugh, as was Liv. I didn't mind that you both burst out laughing as soon as I limped back into the house. As long as it wasn't in front of me......
Thank you for being such a good big brother stand in for Liv. It is because of you that she is the best goalie on her soccer team and understands football and what a conversion is. Thank you for buying her the corn cob hat at the Cornhusker game and carrying her around on your shoulders when she got tired walking back to the car.
Thank you for being so sweet to our old neighbor, Orna, as she lay dying. Most kids your age are a little weird about smelly old people who are dying, but you always came right in and plopped down next to her and bored her silly with your football talk. She loved that. And then, you would gently hug her when you left. I think it made her feel good to have such a virile, young, vital guy sitting with her. You looked so handsome at her funeral in your blue suit, sitting by your mother. She raised you right. You are a good kid.
I wish you all the best. I want you to go to that big west coast school and show them how Nebraskans play football. We do smashmouth here and none of that goofy tap dancing on the field. You go show 'em how we farmers throw a ball.
I promised you that I would watch out for your Mom and you know I will. She is going to miss you so much. You have been her whole world since you were just a kid and your Dad left. I'll make sure that she comes over for dinner once a week at least (and ok, always on days when Bing cooks because you know that I pretty much suck at anything involving the preparation of food.) She will be fine, Sven. I will keep an eye on her. I promise. No worries.
You just concentrate on keeping your grades up and playing football. Meeting girls. Having yourself some fun (but not too much, okay?)
And when you come home for Christmas, we will all go out and get some pizza, just you, your mom, Bing, Liv and me. Pizza with everything, just how you like it.
Liv cried when I put her to bed tonight. She misses you already and you haven't even left yet. I think just seeing your bags in the living room when we came by did her in. Thank you for making such a big fuss over the pictures she painted for you. You promised her that you would hang them up in your dorm room but I really don't expect you to hang up paintings of daisies by your eight year old neighbor in your football dorm room.
But, it wouldn't surprise me if you did anyway, just because you don't much care what others think of you. That's another gift from your mother in raising you so well.
Sven, go show them how it's done.
And come home soon.
Your friend and next door neighbor,
Maria.
I wanted to thank you for being such a great presence in Liv's life and mine. Thank you for helping me shovel snow and mow the lawn. Thanks for helping me carry in groceries.
Thank you for helping Bing build Liv her tree house and then finding the perfect flag to put on top of it.
Do you remember the day we met? You came over with your mother to my house with a plate of brownies as a house warming gift to say welcome-to-the-neighborhood. You asked me if I had any kids. I pointed at Liv sitting in in her playpen. You went over to her, squatted down and said, "She'll do."
You offered her your finger and Liv, who was very wary of strangers, took it immediately. I think she knew right from the start that you were one of the good guys.
Thank you for babysitting Liv when I would get in a pinch. You ate me out of house and home, (how can one boy eat an entire pizza???) but you were one of her favorites.
Thank you for sneaking Dr. Peppers in to Liv when you thought I wasn't looking. After I TOLD you that I didn't like her drinking soda. I think it is important for children to have some small secrets from their parents and this one was okay with me. She will have to find another source when she starts jonesin for Dr. Pepper.
Thank you for bringing in all your football buddies to come buy lemonade at Liv's lemonade stand this summer. She made fifteen bucks just from you guys and you made her day.
Thank you for having a crush on me when you were 13. You gave me roses for my birthday that year. It was the first time that anyone ever gave me roses and I was so pleased. By the time you were 14, you realized that there were lots of cute girls in your class who were nearer your age and you switched your attention to them. But, for that one year, it did my aging ego good to see you go red in the face whenever you were around me, trip over your own feet, and stammer. You made me smile. I hope it doesn't embarrass you that I knew all the time and while I was relieved when you discovered girls your own age, it was a very sweet thing to be someone's crush for a while.
I never did tell your mother about that time that you came home drunk one night, so drunk that you puked in the trash can. I hope you did listen the next day, though, when I told you that you shouldn't make a habit of drinking like that. I also never told her about the smoking behind your garage or the time when your mother was out of town for the weekend and you were supposed to check in with me. I didn't really buy it when you told me that you were going to take your girlfriend home and then you returned a half hour later with her laying on the back seat and she spent the night with you.
I'm old, I'm not stupid.
And I was young once too. That was me who put the pamphlets about birth control and STD protection in your mailbox. I guess you took my advice or already knew that stuff because you aren't a teenage Dad.
Thanks for not laughing that day when I was shoveling snow and I tripped and fell hard on my ass. You came loping over and helped me up and I could see you holding back a big laugh, as was Liv. I didn't mind that you both burst out laughing as soon as I limped back into the house. As long as it wasn't in front of me......
Thank you for being such a good big brother stand in for Liv. It is because of you that she is the best goalie on her soccer team and understands football and what a conversion is. Thank you for buying her the corn cob hat at the Cornhusker game and carrying her around on your shoulders when she got tired walking back to the car.
Thank you for being so sweet to our old neighbor, Orna, as she lay dying. Most kids your age are a little weird about smelly old people who are dying, but you always came right in and plopped down next to her and bored her silly with your football talk. She loved that. And then, you would gently hug her when you left. I think it made her feel good to have such a virile, young, vital guy sitting with her. You looked so handsome at her funeral in your blue suit, sitting by your mother. She raised you right. You are a good kid.
I wish you all the best. I want you to go to that big west coast school and show them how Nebraskans play football. We do smashmouth here and none of that goofy tap dancing on the field. You go show 'em how we farmers throw a ball.
I promised you that I would watch out for your Mom and you know I will. She is going to miss you so much. You have been her whole world since you were just a kid and your Dad left. I'll make sure that she comes over for dinner once a week at least (and ok, always on days when Bing cooks because you know that I pretty much suck at anything involving the preparation of food.) She will be fine, Sven. I will keep an eye on her. I promise. No worries.
You just concentrate on keeping your grades up and playing football. Meeting girls. Having yourself some fun (but not too much, okay?)
And when you come home for Christmas, we will all go out and get some pizza, just you, your mom, Bing, Liv and me. Pizza with everything, just how you like it.
Liv cried when I put her to bed tonight. She misses you already and you haven't even left yet. I think just seeing your bags in the living room when we came by did her in. Thank you for making such a big fuss over the pictures she painted for you. You promised her that you would hang them up in your dorm room but I really don't expect you to hang up paintings of daisies by your eight year old neighbor in your football dorm room.
But, it wouldn't surprise me if you did anyway, just because you don't much care what others think of you. That's another gift from your mother in raising you so well.
Sven, go show them how it's done.
And come home soon.
Your friend and next door neighbor,
Maria.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Meme #4891
Courtesy of Trop.
Hi, my name is puddintame.
But you can call me Maria.
Never in my life have I sky dived.
When I am nervous I pace.
The last song I listened to was some stupid country music song that Bing was playing in the car on our way to have dinner out.
If I were to get married right now, it would be to Bing. But, only for her sublime health insurance. My health insurance is private and it is just...adequate. I am not the marrying kind, I just don't think I could do it. Bing knows this and says it is fine with her if we can ever legally marry and I marry her for her health insurance. She knows I love her. She also knows that I would not like being anyone's wife. (Although, really. Who am I kidding? I AM her wife for all intents and purposes.)
My hair really needs to be shampooed. It is sticking up all over. Bed head is me.
When I was four, my mother cut my hair for the first time into a pixie. I cried and cried. My Da came home from work and cried too.
Last Christmas we didn't have any snow and everybody was walking around whining about it. Not me. I am no fool. January hit and boy howdy, we had us some snow.
I should be getting Liv up for school. I am stalling because we both hate this part.
When I look down I see a belly full of cream of wheat.
The happiest recent event was having company a couple weeks ago. I had dreaded it and yet it turned out to be one of the most interesting times of my summer.
If I were a character in Friends, I'd be well, I dunno. I only saw it maybe three or four times. How about a character in Lost? I'd be Juliet. You'd never be quite sure if I was one of the good ones or one of the bad uns.
By this time, next year, I hope I am making more money.
My current distress is that Sven is leaving for college on the West Coast on Wednesday and I don't think I can say goodbye to him without breaking down and crying in front of Liv, which will set her off.
I have a hard time understanding stalkers and peepers. I mean, how do you justify what you do?
There's these girls in the class that I teach who have to comment on everything and anything. I would kind of like to get through my notes so would you please stop thinking that every sentence that comes out of my mouth somehow relates to something in your life that you need to share with the class?
If I won an award, the first person I would tell is Bing.
I want to buy a new car. Bing doesn't believe in buying new. She drives me insane. I just want to smell a new car again.
I plan on visiting my sisters in small town Iowa this Autumn. I've been promising and Liv would have fun with all the cousins.
If I could spend the night at any house, it would be at my friend Vince's place in Chicago. He is an oncologist and lives in a penthouse with his partner, Thuan, who runs a Vietnamese grocery store with his sister. I have never had a bad time when I have visited there. Liv and I get rooms of our own and the boys love to take Liv places while Bing and I shop. Thuan makes the best vietnamese dinners, they have a huge bathtub that you have to step up to get in to. And best of all, I could arrange to meet Jill, one of my favorite blog buddies. I think we would have a good conversation.
The world could do without creepy pee butt people.
The most recent thing I bought myself is a book from Barnes and Noble.
The most recent thing that someone else bought for me was goat milk shampoo and soap.
My middle name ismy best kept secret.
In the morning I am not at my best. I don't really wake up until about 10 a.m.
Last night I was busy watching the Emmy Awards. 30 Rock won! YEESS.
There is this guy I know who always insists on helping me carry my groceries to my car at the grocery store. He is mentally handicapped, a sacker, and his name is Henery. That's right. Not Henry. Henery. He always says, "I love you, Maria" when I leave. He knows all of our names and says he loves all of us. He is a fantastic guy.
If I was an animal, I would be a...oh, forget it. I hate questions like that. I don't want to be an animal. I will never be an animal. So, I refuse to answer the question. You fill in the blank. Bing would say I was a swan, because she loves me and doesn't see my flaws very well. Liv would say a palomino because she is on this horse kick. A few people would probably say I was an ass.
A better name for me would beSally Belle. I have always wanted to have a name that sounded like I could be a saloon girl.
Tomorrow, I am having a massage. I have not had one in over five years and I am really looking forward to it.
Tonight, I am looking forward to a hot, steamy bath and sliding into bed early. It won't happen, but I need to believe that it CAN happen.
I'm not tagging anyone. If you need some filler, go to it.
Hi, my name is puddintame.
But you can call me Maria.
Never in my life have I sky dived.
When I am nervous I pace.
The last song I listened to was some stupid country music song that Bing was playing in the car on our way to have dinner out.
If I were to get married right now, it would be to Bing. But, only for her sublime health insurance. My health insurance is private and it is just...adequate. I am not the marrying kind, I just don't think I could do it. Bing knows this and says it is fine with her if we can ever legally marry and I marry her for her health insurance. She knows I love her. She also knows that I would not like being anyone's wife. (Although, really. Who am I kidding? I AM her wife for all intents and purposes.)
My hair really needs to be shampooed. It is sticking up all over. Bed head is me.
When I was four, my mother cut my hair for the first time into a pixie. I cried and cried. My Da came home from work and cried too.
Last Christmas we didn't have any snow and everybody was walking around whining about it. Not me. I am no fool. January hit and boy howdy, we had us some snow.
I should be getting Liv up for school. I am stalling because we both hate this part.
When I look down I see a belly full of cream of wheat.
The happiest recent event was having company a couple weeks ago. I had dreaded it and yet it turned out to be one of the most interesting times of my summer.
If I were a character in Friends, I'd be well, I dunno. I only saw it maybe three or four times. How about a character in Lost? I'd be Juliet. You'd never be quite sure if I was one of the good ones or one of the bad uns.
By this time, next year, I hope I am making more money.
My current distress is that Sven is leaving for college on the West Coast on Wednesday and I don't think I can say goodbye to him without breaking down and crying in front of Liv, which will set her off.
I have a hard time understanding stalkers and peepers. I mean, how do you justify what you do?
There's these girls in the class that I teach who have to comment on everything and anything. I would kind of like to get through my notes so would you please stop thinking that every sentence that comes out of my mouth somehow relates to something in your life that you need to share with the class?
If I won an award, the first person I would tell is Bing.
I want to buy a new car. Bing doesn't believe in buying new. She drives me insane. I just want to smell a new car again.
I plan on visiting my sisters in small town Iowa this Autumn. I've been promising and Liv would have fun with all the cousins.
If I could spend the night at any house, it would be at my friend Vince's place in Chicago. He is an oncologist and lives in a penthouse with his partner, Thuan, who runs a Vietnamese grocery store with his sister. I have never had a bad time when I have visited there. Liv and I get rooms of our own and the boys love to take Liv places while Bing and I shop. Thuan makes the best vietnamese dinners, they have a huge bathtub that you have to step up to get in to. And best of all, I could arrange to meet Jill, one of my favorite blog buddies. I think we would have a good conversation.
The world could do without creepy pee butt people.
The most recent thing I bought myself is a book from Barnes and Noble.
The most recent thing that someone else bought for me was goat milk shampoo and soap.
My middle name ismy best kept secret.
In the morning I am not at my best. I don't really wake up until about 10 a.m.
Last night I was busy watching the Emmy Awards. 30 Rock won! YEESS.
There is this guy I know who always insists on helping me carry my groceries to my car at the grocery store. He is mentally handicapped, a sacker, and his name is Henery. That's right. Not Henry. Henery. He always says, "I love you, Maria" when I leave. He knows all of our names and says he loves all of us. He is a fantastic guy.
If I was an animal, I would be a...oh, forget it. I hate questions like that. I don't want to be an animal. I will never be an animal. So, I refuse to answer the question. You fill in the blank. Bing would say I was a swan, because she loves me and doesn't see my flaws very well. Liv would say a palomino because she is on this horse kick. A few people would probably say I was an ass.
A better name for me would beSally Belle. I have always wanted to have a name that sounded like I could be a saloon girl.
Tomorrow, I am having a massage. I have not had one in over five years and I am really looking forward to it.
Tonight, I am looking forward to a hot, steamy bath and sliding into bed early. It won't happen, but I need to believe that it CAN happen.
I'm not tagging anyone. If you need some filler, go to it.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
The day I smoked a joint with my sister
My sister, Jessie, was diagnosed with breast cancer several years ago at the ripe old age of 37. This sent our family into a tailspin as our mother died from breast cancer about fifteen years ago. She underwent a bilateral mastectomy and endured several bouts of chemo and radiation. She has had two years of completely clean check ups since then.
She called me last night. In a sudden twist to the conversation, she asked me if I remembered that day in July when we had our "Carter adventure." This is what she calls it. I said that I did.
She will turn 41 next month. She is one of the most complex people I know. She is a total Catholic, does the whole Catholicism dance with perfection. She goes to mass EVERY SINGLE DAY. She goes to confession once a week, although I have no idea what she has to confess except maybe that she can be pretty smarmy about non-Catholics going straight to hell.
Here is her complexity: She is obsessed with Carter Falco. He is a singer, played with a band called Starguns or something, I don't know. Dive would know. Ask him. He knows all that shit. Bing would probably know too, but she is at school helping out with a class reunion. Anyway, I kid you not, Jessie is like an obsessed groupie about this man, has his picture in her bedroom next to her side of the bed wall. That is how crazy she is about him. Her husband is a good sport about all of this, tells her that Carter can be on her list of men that she can sleep with if she ever has the chance. He has Angelina Jolie on his list. As if.
Anyway, back when Jessie was receiving her chemo, she was so sick. I mean, it killed the rest of us sisters, it really did. Jessie was the baby in the family. She was our baby sister and we were all responsible for her. And she could hardly get out of bed. She came down to stay at my sister's house to recuperate after a bout with chemo and I went in and laid down with her in the bed for awhile, asked her if I could bring her anything, what she would want.
Something to make the nausea go away and Carter Falco.
I lay there for awhile, thinking. Then, I said, "Well, I think I can do both to a small extent, but you have to have an open mind. No coward heart, promise?"
She wearily promised.
I left and returned about 3 hours later. I told my sister that Jessie and I were going to go to my house for awhile to um...get some fresh air on my deck.
Patrice, my other sister, stared at me. "You are planning something that I would not approve of," she said.
I assured her this was true. She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she said, "You went out and got some illegal drugs for Jessie, didn't you? You are going to go smoke some Mary Jane, I can see it all over your face."
I tried not to laugh, but good hell...hearing my sister say the words Mary Jane was just too much. I chuckled. Nodded.
"Well, is Liv out of the house?" she asked.
"Uh...no..," I deadpanned. "I thought she'd join us...OF COURSE SHE IS OUT OF THE HOUSE! FUCK YOU."
Patrice's face reddened. "I'm sorry. Just...go ahead. But, I am counting on you to make sure that she doesn't do so much that she seizes or something."
I made a face at her. "We aren't cutting heroin, Patrice," I told her. "I have exactly two joints. Just enough to cut her nausea."
I went in to the spare bedroom and asked Jessie if she was up to a very short drive to my house. She said she thought so.
It broke my heart to actually have to support my bald little sister as she walked to my car. It was nearly 90 degrees out but she was shivering.
I got her to my house and sat her down on the sofa.
"Okay," I told her. "This is the part where you lay aside the cob that usually resides in your ass and open your mind."
Jessie sat up. "Please God, don't tell me that Carter Falco is in the next room, because I will tear your hair out to match my bald head, Maria. I will DIE if I meet him bald."
I assured her that he wasn't here. I'm good, but I'm not THAT good that I can get obscure singers to come sit in my living room.
I showed her a cd. I had his cd. It was actually her cd. She had left it at my house a few months ago when she had brought it over to show me just how "sexy and hot" Carter was. I hadn't bothered to listen to it. I don't even think Bing did and she listens to everything.
She smiled. "Ok, good. Put him on."
I held out my other hand. It held two joints.
She stared. "Are those what I think they are?"
"Yes."
"You want me to smoke dope and listen to Carter Falco with you?"
"Yes"
She peered closely at the joints. "Where did you get those?
I didn't answer. No use telling her that I actually knew several people who could have easily done this for me. I mean, I hadn't smoked since Liv was born, but before that I was not that girl from Go Ask Alice or anything, but I did know how to work a bong. And, really, she shouldn't be surprised. I mean, I'm the rebel of the family. I'm sure my reputation is much worse than my real life, but I kind of like having them think that I can bandy around words like toke and weed with a familiarity.
She sighed. "Never mind. Let's just do it...but...on one condition...you can NEVER tell my children that their mother smoked marijuana. Deal?"
It was a deal.
I turned on Carter and lit up the first joint. I showed her how to smoke it.
Don't take a deep drag, just a little one, just enough to glide into your lungs. Now you....hold it for a second and.....there... I exhaled.
She took to smoking weed like a pro. I told her she looked like she had been a teenage rebel party girl, just like her big sister Maria.
We went through the first one and then sat and talked for awhile. She admitted that her nausea had abated. Carter kept singing his metal banging, country ditties and we nodded our heads like the two middle aged stoners that we were. Groovin to the beat. Oh yeah.
Jessie lazily admitted that she had always been jealous of me.
"You were always just...you. You didn't care that Mom disowned you, just lived your life and you were so cool. You were like Stevie Nicks, all gypsy girl with a big career and you always knew enough about politics to take on Bob (Patrice's husband, our family bigot and Nazi goose stepper) and make him look like an idjit."
I gawked. "What did you just say? Was it idjit?"
She lay her head back and laughed. "An idiot! I said idiot!!"
"No sirree Bob, missy," I retorted. "You said idjit! You sound just like Mom!" (Our parents were both from Ireland.)
I admitted right back to Jess that I had always been jealous of her. You tried out for cheerleader and made it your freshman year! I was just pretending when I said that I didn't care about being a cheerleader. I wanted to be one SO bad. And then you go and meet the love of your life when you are a fucking sophomore, marry him and settle down and have three perfect children lickety split. No trouble with commitment in you. And here I am, going through all these um...idjit women until I am in my forties! It takes my slow ass self THAT long to realize that I can too fall in love with someone nice.
Jessie looked around. "Um, you got any chips or something crunchy. I am like....sooooo hungry."
I cawed. Yup. She was getting there.
I brought out a bowl of chips and what used to be my favorite thing to eat when high as a kite: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We pounced on them like the last two people on Survivor.
The cd ran down, Jessie fell asleep on my sofa after we smoked the second joint with her feet in my lap. I giddily painted her toenails bright red while I watched her sleep.
She would wake up a few hours later and we would drive back to Patrice's house. Later that evening, her husband and daughters would come to pick her up to take her back to her home in small town Iowa.
She would recover.
She called me last night. In a sudden twist to the conversation, she asked me if I remembered that day in July when we had our "Carter adventure." This is what she calls it. I said that I did.
She will turn 41 next month. She is one of the most complex people I know. She is a total Catholic, does the whole Catholicism dance with perfection. She goes to mass EVERY SINGLE DAY. She goes to confession once a week, although I have no idea what she has to confess except maybe that she can be pretty smarmy about non-Catholics going straight to hell.
Here is her complexity: She is obsessed with Carter Falco. He is a singer, played with a band called Starguns or something, I don't know. Dive would know. Ask him. He knows all that shit. Bing would probably know too, but she is at school helping out with a class reunion. Anyway, I kid you not, Jessie is like an obsessed groupie about this man, has his picture in her bedroom next to her side of the bed wall. That is how crazy she is about him. Her husband is a good sport about all of this, tells her that Carter can be on her list of men that she can sleep with if she ever has the chance. He has Angelina Jolie on his list. As if.
Anyway, back when Jessie was receiving her chemo, she was so sick. I mean, it killed the rest of us sisters, it really did. Jessie was the baby in the family. She was our baby sister and we were all responsible for her. And she could hardly get out of bed. She came down to stay at my sister's house to recuperate after a bout with chemo and I went in and laid down with her in the bed for awhile, asked her if I could bring her anything, what she would want.
Something to make the nausea go away and Carter Falco.
I lay there for awhile, thinking. Then, I said, "Well, I think I can do both to a small extent, but you have to have an open mind. No coward heart, promise?"
She wearily promised.
I left and returned about 3 hours later. I told my sister that Jessie and I were going to go to my house for awhile to um...get some fresh air on my deck.
Patrice, my other sister, stared at me. "You are planning something that I would not approve of," she said.
I assured her this was true. She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she said, "You went out and got some illegal drugs for Jessie, didn't you? You are going to go smoke some Mary Jane, I can see it all over your face."
I tried not to laugh, but good hell...hearing my sister say the words Mary Jane was just too much. I chuckled. Nodded.
"Well, is Liv out of the house?" she asked.
"Uh...no..," I deadpanned. "I thought she'd join us...OF COURSE SHE IS OUT OF THE HOUSE! FUCK YOU."
Patrice's face reddened. "I'm sorry. Just...go ahead. But, I am counting on you to make sure that she doesn't do so much that she seizes or something."
I made a face at her. "We aren't cutting heroin, Patrice," I told her. "I have exactly two joints. Just enough to cut her nausea."
I went in to the spare bedroom and asked Jessie if she was up to a very short drive to my house. She said she thought so.
It broke my heart to actually have to support my bald little sister as she walked to my car. It was nearly 90 degrees out but she was shivering.
I got her to my house and sat her down on the sofa.
"Okay," I told her. "This is the part where you lay aside the cob that usually resides in your ass and open your mind."
Jessie sat up. "Please God, don't tell me that Carter Falco is in the next room, because I will tear your hair out to match my bald head, Maria. I will DIE if I meet him bald."
I assured her that he wasn't here. I'm good, but I'm not THAT good that I can get obscure singers to come sit in my living room.
I showed her a cd. I had his cd. It was actually her cd. She had left it at my house a few months ago when she had brought it over to show me just how "sexy and hot" Carter was. I hadn't bothered to listen to it. I don't even think Bing did and she listens to everything.
She smiled. "Ok, good. Put him on."
I held out my other hand. It held two joints.
She stared. "Are those what I think they are?"
"Yes."
"You want me to smoke dope and listen to Carter Falco with you?"
"Yes"
She peered closely at the joints. "Where did you get those?
I didn't answer. No use telling her that I actually knew several people who could have easily done this for me. I mean, I hadn't smoked since Liv was born, but before that I was not that girl from Go Ask Alice or anything, but I did know how to work a bong. And, really, she shouldn't be surprised. I mean, I'm the rebel of the family. I'm sure my reputation is much worse than my real life, but I kind of like having them think that I can bandy around words like toke and weed with a familiarity.
She sighed. "Never mind. Let's just do it...but...on one condition...you can NEVER tell my children that their mother smoked marijuana. Deal?"
It was a deal.
I turned on Carter and lit up the first joint. I showed her how to smoke it.
Don't take a deep drag, just a little one, just enough to glide into your lungs. Now you....hold it for a second and.....there... I exhaled.
She took to smoking weed like a pro. I told her she looked like she had been a teenage rebel party girl, just like her big sister Maria.
We went through the first one and then sat and talked for awhile. She admitted that her nausea had abated. Carter kept singing his metal banging, country ditties and we nodded our heads like the two middle aged stoners that we were. Groovin to the beat. Oh yeah.
Jessie lazily admitted that she had always been jealous of me.
"You were always just...you. You didn't care that Mom disowned you, just lived your life and you were so cool. You were like Stevie Nicks, all gypsy girl with a big career and you always knew enough about politics to take on Bob (Patrice's husband, our family bigot and Nazi goose stepper) and make him look like an idjit."
I gawked. "What did you just say? Was it idjit?"
She lay her head back and laughed. "An idiot! I said idiot!!"
"No sirree Bob, missy," I retorted. "You said idjit! You sound just like Mom!" (Our parents were both from Ireland.)
I admitted right back to Jess that I had always been jealous of her. You tried out for cheerleader and made it your freshman year! I was just pretending when I said that I didn't care about being a cheerleader. I wanted to be one SO bad. And then you go and meet the love of your life when you are a fucking sophomore, marry him and settle down and have three perfect children lickety split. No trouble with commitment in you. And here I am, going through all these um...idjit women until I am in my forties! It takes my slow ass self THAT long to realize that I can too fall in love with someone nice.
Jessie looked around. "Um, you got any chips or something crunchy. I am like....sooooo hungry."
I cawed. Yup. She was getting there.
I brought out a bowl of chips and what used to be my favorite thing to eat when high as a kite: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We pounced on them like the last two people on Survivor.
The cd ran down, Jessie fell asleep on my sofa after we smoked the second joint with her feet in my lap. I giddily painted her toenails bright red while I watched her sleep.
She would wake up a few hours later and we would drive back to Patrice's house. Later that evening, her husband and daughters would come to pick her up to take her back to her home in small town Iowa.
She would recover.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Shopping with Aunt Dottie.
I have an aunt. Her name is Dottie. She is my Mother's sister. 88 years old. She lives with her husband, Hobart, in the house that they bought together in the 1950's and raised a family in. Except now they have The Maids come to clean once a week and a lawn service. Otherwise, they are pretty self sufficient. Well, Dottie is. Hobart pretty much just sits in his chair and watches television and every time Dottie walks by, he tries to pinch her tush and says, "There's my hot tomato wife." She slaps his hand and laughs.
We should all be so lucky to be 88 and still have someone want to pinch our asses and call us hot tomatoes.
Dottie calls me every so often to go shopping with her at her favorite store, Super Target. She still drives, but only around her neighborhood. Super Target is a drive across the city and she needs someone to take her.
That would be me.
Dottie called to say that she was ready for her "girls morning out." I usually don't mind these outings that much, but this week, in fact this whole month, is just plain bad for me. I have three projects that are due on October 1st and two of them are proving to be troublesome. I tried to get her to hold off for a few weeks.
She was having none of it.
If you are too busy, sugarfoot, I will just toodle on down there myself. No biggie.
Like I want to see her face on the evening news because she ran over a group of pre-schoolers on a leaf walk with their teacher?
I said I would pick her up at 10.
She was outside waiting for me in her hot pink jogging suit with a big scarf tied around her head. She tapped her watch pointedly as I pulled into her driveway.
It was 10:03.
"You young gals just don't place much emphasis on promptness, do you?" she said, as she jumped into the car and put her seat belt on. "C'mon, honey, step on it. Hobart wanted to come and I told him that he couldn't because we were going to fit you for a new bra and that was none of his beeswax. But, he still might try to come. GO!"
I went. I was torn between sputtering at her about the bra lie and being pleased that she had called me a young gal. It's been awhile...
On the way there, she had to re-hash Aunt Nippy's funeral, who had made it and what lazy slobs had missed it. She commented on the priest's piglike face. ("He had a snout where his nose should have been and did you notice how pink his face was? Just like a little pig. Those priests all need to work on looking more like Spencer Tracy and less like child molesters...")
I pulled into the Target parking lot and as she brandished her handicapped tag in my face, I found us a spot close to the door. This could get dicey, I thought to myself.
After we picked out a cart (a much more complicated procedure than you think, because Dottie needed to check them all to make sure that they didn't have those strange, twisty wheels that make it hard to pull a louie on the corners with), we slid into the store.
I hate big stores. They are just so fucking bright and way too cheerful and shiny. I always gasp a little when I go in. I mean, there is just TOO MUCH, you know? Too many offerings, too many colors reaching out to grab you. The only good thing about Target are the employees, who could care less if you are there or not. They leave you the hell alone and don't like to be bothered.
But, Dottie is in her element. She has a list. She needs:
1) Fiber Con (When you get to be my age, pooping is one big deal, missy.)
2) A new laundry basket.
3) Nylon socks for Hobart (I just need to find some ladies trouser socks, he likes those best and good St. Mike, like he knows the difference? I don't think so...)
4) Wrapping paper (I bought my last roll at the dollar store and that was a waste of money. It ripped if you even looked at it.)
5) Bedroom slippers (I used to wear "mules" when I was your age, honey. Boy, did your Uncle Hobart go in late to work some mornings when I wore those. I'd send the kids off to school and we would take us a little "nappie." But, now...I just want to keep my feet warm when I make dinner. Never get this old, honey. It sucks a big one.)
6) Potting soil
7) Shampoo (I used to like this shampoo called "Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific" but for some stupid reason, they stopped making it. They also stopped making the original Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo. Now, they make it, but it don't smell right. So, I just try to buy Prell. Remember those Prell commercials? They would drop a pearl in the shampoo to show you how thick it was. They don't make decent shampoo anymore.)
8) A new sofa pillow (Hobart fell asleep and drooled on my other one and I just can't get the smell out. I even used the stuff that you use on dog pee but it still smells like Hobart's stinky old man breath.)
and lastly:
9) A new crock pot (I want one of them new fangled ones where you can just take the inner pot out of the heater part and wash it easy as you please. The one I have still works fine, but it is a pain in the neck to clean, dolly.)
We managed to get everything on Dottie's list. She insisted on being the cart steerer and nearly killed two people (Get outta my way, youse. Honestly, there would be room for two carts in this aisle if people weren't so daggum fat these days...) but we managed.
Except for her shampoo. Her beloved Prell was nowhere to be found. And yes, she did fill out a complaint form. I steered her towards the whole wall of shampoos and suggested that she try this one or that one. Really, they did work just fine, I insisted.
She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair.
"Your hair is very soft, honey. What are you using?"
I hesitated.
"Goat milk soap," I told her.
I knew this would generate a discussion.
So, bring it on....
She looked at me as if I had told her that I washed my hair in cow urine.
"Goat milk? You use THAT on your HEAD??"
Yes, I told her. I did.
"Is it expensive?
I told her that I didn't know. That a friend had purchased it for me as a gift.
"What kind of retarded friends do you have? I mean, for the love of Mike, what sort of person gives goat milk as a gift? Honey pie, do you think that maybe you are the recipient of a gag gift?"
I sigh. I find some Pantene shampoo for grey hair and offer it up. She frowns.
"Put that back. I don't want my friends to come in my bathroom when it is my turn to host the bridge game and see shampoo in my bathroom for grey hair!"
"Aunt Dottie. Don't you think that they have noticed that your hair is grey?"
"Well, I'm not going to ADVERTISE it!"
We finally settle on Johnson's baby shampoo because it looks like a pearl would have a hard time sinking to the bottom.
I am exhausted. Almost done. Just one more thing. Every time we go to Target, she insists on stopping at the snack bar on the way out to buy a hot dog.
She also offers to buy me a bra. "That way, I won't have to say that I lied to Hobart when I go to confession this week,"
No bra, I tell her. No way.
We get a hot dog for her and a coffee (since when does Target have a Starbucks?) for me. We sit down.
A good looking man walks by, looks at me and smiles. He points to my chest and says, "Great. I love that!"
Aunt Dottie calls after him, "Hey, Mister Smart Pants, watch your mouth!"
He turns pink and walks quickly away.
I tell Aunt Dottie that he was commenting on my tee shirt. I am wearing my tee shirt that says National Sarcasm Society...like we need your support on the front.
"He was not, honey. He was commenting on your chest. Men today are just such uncouth little sex fiends."
I start to argue and then stop. This is totally not worth the time I will have to spend.
Aunt Dottie smiles at me. "Look at the bright side, though, cookie. He LOOKED at you! See? You don't need to go around dancing with girls, you could have any man in this place. You are still pretty. You still have really nice legs (okay the ankles are a little skinny, but you can't have everything) and your face isn't a wrinkle factory like mine yet. You could still settle down with some man, maybe an older gentleman with a good job so that you could afford a nice private woman's college for Livvy..."
I tell her for the MILLIONTH time that I have Bing. That I am happy with Bing.
She waves her hand. "Bing is a nice woman, sort of handsome, though and no hips, that is just odd in a woman...but, you could keep her, still be friends. I'm not asking you to tell her adios or anything, just...well, never mind." She trails off, seeing that she is getting in a hard spot with me.
She finishes her hot dog ("God, forgive me for putting those nasty nitrates in my bod, but a girl has to be bad sometimes, yes she does...")
It is time to drive home. We pull up in the driveway and there is Hobart, sitting in his robe and slippers in a chair on their front porch, waiting for her.
"I missed you!" he says, as she leans down to kiss him while I lug all her bags in the house.
"I missed you too, you good looking man," she says back to him, sitting in his lap.
When I walk back out the door after unloading all her purchases, they are still sitting there, enjoying each other's company.
I tell them they both need to go inside and get warm, that it is chilly out here.
Hobart says, "I am very warm with this hot tomato on my knee, Maria!"
And so he is. I kiss them both and leave.
Dottie calls after me, "You enjoy that new brassiere, honey!"
"Don't forget to go to confession this week, Aunt Dottie..." I call back.
I walk back to my car and swish my ass a little. Because, damn it, I come from a long line of hot tomatoes......
We should all be so lucky to be 88 and still have someone want to pinch our asses and call us hot tomatoes.
Dottie calls me every so often to go shopping with her at her favorite store, Super Target. She still drives, but only around her neighborhood. Super Target is a drive across the city and she needs someone to take her.
That would be me.
Dottie called to say that she was ready for her "girls morning out." I usually don't mind these outings that much, but this week, in fact this whole month, is just plain bad for me. I have three projects that are due on October 1st and two of them are proving to be troublesome. I tried to get her to hold off for a few weeks.
She was having none of it.
If you are too busy, sugarfoot, I will just toodle on down there myself. No biggie.
Like I want to see her face on the evening news because she ran over a group of pre-schoolers on a leaf walk with their teacher?
I said I would pick her up at 10.
She was outside waiting for me in her hot pink jogging suit with a big scarf tied around her head. She tapped her watch pointedly as I pulled into her driveway.
It was 10:03.
"You young gals just don't place much emphasis on promptness, do you?" she said, as she jumped into the car and put her seat belt on. "C'mon, honey, step on it. Hobart wanted to come and I told him that he couldn't because we were going to fit you for a new bra and that was none of his beeswax. But, he still might try to come. GO!"
I went. I was torn between sputtering at her about the bra lie and being pleased that she had called me a young gal. It's been awhile...
On the way there, she had to re-hash Aunt Nippy's funeral, who had made it and what lazy slobs had missed it. She commented on the priest's piglike face. ("He had a snout where his nose should have been and did you notice how pink his face was? Just like a little pig. Those priests all need to work on looking more like Spencer Tracy and less like child molesters...")
I pulled into the Target parking lot and as she brandished her handicapped tag in my face, I found us a spot close to the door. This could get dicey, I thought to myself.
After we picked out a cart (a much more complicated procedure than you think, because Dottie needed to check them all to make sure that they didn't have those strange, twisty wheels that make it hard to pull a louie on the corners with), we slid into the store.
I hate big stores. They are just so fucking bright and way too cheerful and shiny. I always gasp a little when I go in. I mean, there is just TOO MUCH, you know? Too many offerings, too many colors reaching out to grab you. The only good thing about Target are the employees, who could care less if you are there or not. They leave you the hell alone and don't like to be bothered.
But, Dottie is in her element. She has a list. She needs:
1) Fiber Con (When you get to be my age, pooping is one big deal, missy.)
2) A new laundry basket.
3) Nylon socks for Hobart (I just need to find some ladies trouser socks, he likes those best and good St. Mike, like he knows the difference? I don't think so...)
4) Wrapping paper (I bought my last roll at the dollar store and that was a waste of money. It ripped if you even looked at it.)
5) Bedroom slippers (I used to wear "mules" when I was your age, honey. Boy, did your Uncle Hobart go in late to work some mornings when I wore those. I'd send the kids off to school and we would take us a little "nappie." But, now...I just want to keep my feet warm when I make dinner. Never get this old, honey. It sucks a big one.)
6) Potting soil
7) Shampoo (I used to like this shampoo called "Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific" but for some stupid reason, they stopped making it. They also stopped making the original Clairol Herbal Essence shampoo. Now, they make it, but it don't smell right. So, I just try to buy Prell. Remember those Prell commercials? They would drop a pearl in the shampoo to show you how thick it was. They don't make decent shampoo anymore.)
8) A new sofa pillow (Hobart fell asleep and drooled on my other one and I just can't get the smell out. I even used the stuff that you use on dog pee but it still smells like Hobart's stinky old man breath.)
and lastly:
9) A new crock pot (I want one of them new fangled ones where you can just take the inner pot out of the heater part and wash it easy as you please. The one I have still works fine, but it is a pain in the neck to clean, dolly.)
We managed to get everything on Dottie's list. She insisted on being the cart steerer and nearly killed two people (Get outta my way, youse. Honestly, there would be room for two carts in this aisle if people weren't so daggum fat these days...) but we managed.
Except for her shampoo. Her beloved Prell was nowhere to be found. And yes, she did fill out a complaint form. I steered her towards the whole wall of shampoos and suggested that she try this one or that one. Really, they did work just fine, I insisted.
She reached up and ran her fingers through my hair.
"Your hair is very soft, honey. What are you using?"
I hesitated.
"Goat milk soap," I told her.
I knew this would generate a discussion.
So, bring it on....
She looked at me as if I had told her that I washed my hair in cow urine.
"Goat milk? You use THAT on your HEAD??"
Yes, I told her. I did.
"Is it expensive?
I told her that I didn't know. That a friend had purchased it for me as a gift.
"What kind of retarded friends do you have? I mean, for the love of Mike, what sort of person gives goat milk as a gift? Honey pie, do you think that maybe you are the recipient of a gag gift?"
I sigh. I find some Pantene shampoo for grey hair and offer it up. She frowns.
"Put that back. I don't want my friends to come in my bathroom when it is my turn to host the bridge game and see shampoo in my bathroom for grey hair!"
"Aunt Dottie. Don't you think that they have noticed that your hair is grey?"
"Well, I'm not going to ADVERTISE it!"
We finally settle on Johnson's baby shampoo because it looks like a pearl would have a hard time sinking to the bottom.
I am exhausted. Almost done. Just one more thing. Every time we go to Target, she insists on stopping at the snack bar on the way out to buy a hot dog.
She also offers to buy me a bra. "That way, I won't have to say that I lied to Hobart when I go to confession this week,"
No bra, I tell her. No way.
We get a hot dog for her and a coffee (since when does Target have a Starbucks?) for me. We sit down.
A good looking man walks by, looks at me and smiles. He points to my chest and says, "Great. I love that!"
Aunt Dottie calls after him, "Hey, Mister Smart Pants, watch your mouth!"
He turns pink and walks quickly away.
I tell Aunt Dottie that he was commenting on my tee shirt. I am wearing my tee shirt that says National Sarcasm Society...like we need your support on the front.
"He was not, honey. He was commenting on your chest. Men today are just such uncouth little sex fiends."
I start to argue and then stop. This is totally not worth the time I will have to spend.
Aunt Dottie smiles at me. "Look at the bright side, though, cookie. He LOOKED at you! See? You don't need to go around dancing with girls, you could have any man in this place. You are still pretty. You still have really nice legs (okay the ankles are a little skinny, but you can't have everything) and your face isn't a wrinkle factory like mine yet. You could still settle down with some man, maybe an older gentleman with a good job so that you could afford a nice private woman's college for Livvy..."
I tell her for the MILLIONTH time that I have Bing. That I am happy with Bing.
She waves her hand. "Bing is a nice woman, sort of handsome, though and no hips, that is just odd in a woman...but, you could keep her, still be friends. I'm not asking you to tell her adios or anything, just...well, never mind." She trails off, seeing that she is getting in a hard spot with me.
She finishes her hot dog ("God, forgive me for putting those nasty nitrates in my bod, but a girl has to be bad sometimes, yes she does...")
It is time to drive home. We pull up in the driveway and there is Hobart, sitting in his robe and slippers in a chair on their front porch, waiting for her.
"I missed you!" he says, as she leans down to kiss him while I lug all her bags in the house.
"I missed you too, you good looking man," she says back to him, sitting in his lap.
When I walk back out the door after unloading all her purchases, they are still sitting there, enjoying each other's company.
I tell them they both need to go inside and get warm, that it is chilly out here.
Hobart says, "I am very warm with this hot tomato on my knee, Maria!"
And so he is. I kiss them both and leave.
Dottie calls after me, "You enjoy that new brassiere, honey!"
"Don't forget to go to confession this week, Aunt Dottie..." I call back.
I walk back to my car and swish my ass a little. Because, damn it, I come from a long line of hot tomatoes......
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Calling just to say....
Liv, Bing, and I decided to call Nirand on the morning of 9-11. We knew that September 11th was going to be a hard day for him and so we called.
He picked up on the first ring. Bing talked to him first as she had to head off to work, then she handed the phone to me.
I told him that I was thinking of him and of his brother who died in the World Trade Center. He thanked me for thinking of him, said that he and Tinton had toasted him with a few vodka and tonics the previous night and that getting up this morning was a little dicey....too much grey goose and all that.
I handed the phone to Liv and she said that she didn't know what to say so she would just sing him a song that they learned at school this week. She went into a fine rendition of
Tie me kangaroo down, sport
Tie me kangaroo down...
Keep me cockatoo cool, Kool
Keep me cockatoo cool
Don't go away from the fool, Kool
Just keep me cockatoo cool....
She finished up, spoke briefly to her father and handed the phone back to me. I could hear Nirand chuckling. He said that Liv's song would be the total highlight of his day, even better than finding some decent black shale.
And then he says, "Hey, I like your blog."
"It is very strange. You write exactly how you speak."
Silence. Um, what?
He says that Tinton reads it now and then and that he read it too. I felt strangely embarrassed.
"So, do you really think of me as a boy toy? Because, you know....I saw the muscles in Bing's legs and arms when she was mowing the lawn and hey, I think she could take me...." He is laughing. Very droll man, this one is.
Ok. THAT was good. I assured him that Bing knew that she had no worries about him being my boy toy.
"Good." he said. "And now, I am going to have Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport going through my head all day long.
There are worse songs, I told him.
Muskrat Love.
One Bad Apple.
Ben.
I Think We're Alone Now.
He adds a few:
Xanadu.
Paper Roses.
The Lady in Red.
We hung up then, so that he could go rock hunting and I could get Liv to school.
And now, I can't get Xanadu out of my head. Shit. Pee butt. Damn it all.
So...tell me.....What are some of your least favorite songs to carry in your head all day....
He picked up on the first ring. Bing talked to him first as she had to head off to work, then she handed the phone to me.
I told him that I was thinking of him and of his brother who died in the World Trade Center. He thanked me for thinking of him, said that he and Tinton had toasted him with a few vodka and tonics the previous night and that getting up this morning was a little dicey....too much grey goose and all that.
I handed the phone to Liv and she said that she didn't know what to say so she would just sing him a song that they learned at school this week. She went into a fine rendition of
Tie me kangaroo down, sport
Tie me kangaroo down...
Keep me cockatoo cool, Kool
Keep me cockatoo cool
Don't go away from the fool, Kool
Just keep me cockatoo cool....
She finished up, spoke briefly to her father and handed the phone back to me. I could hear Nirand chuckling. He said that Liv's song would be the total highlight of his day, even better than finding some decent black shale.
And then he says, "Hey, I like your blog."
"It is very strange. You write exactly how you speak."
Silence. Um, what?
He says that Tinton reads it now and then and that he read it too. I felt strangely embarrassed.
"So, do you really think of me as a boy toy? Because, you know....I saw the muscles in Bing's legs and arms when she was mowing the lawn and hey, I think she could take me...." He is laughing. Very droll man, this one is.
Ok. THAT was good. I assured him that Bing knew that she had no worries about him being my boy toy.
"Good." he said. "And now, I am going to have Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport going through my head all day long.
There are worse songs, I told him.
Muskrat Love.
One Bad Apple.
Ben.
I Think We're Alone Now.
He adds a few:
Xanadu.
Paper Roses.
The Lady in Red.
We hung up then, so that he could go rock hunting and I could get Liv to school.
And now, I can't get Xanadu out of my head. Shit. Pee butt. Damn it all.
So...tell me.....What are some of your least favorite songs to carry in your head all day....
Monday, September 10, 2007
Monday, Monday
Monday, Monday
Can't trust that day....
Actually, it all started on Sunday afternoon and just carried over to today. I knew things were sliding along just a little too smoothly.
Yesterday, I suddenly became so sick of Bing that I wanted to scream. I think it is safe to say that she often feels exactly the same about me. But, yesterday just stank.
I looked around the house and decided that this habit of hers of making little piles of things and stacking them around the house just had to stop. We had company over the weekend and I was actually embarrassed by how untidy our home is. It is mostly because of HER piles. And the fact that our main bathroom is unfinished and she keeps making excuses not to get to it.
She was out grilling steaks for dinner and I went outside to tell her that I had reached a conclusion about those damn piles.
Uh huh.
She said something to the tune of I hear you. This infuriated me further as she usually says this when she is sick of me bitching and wants me to shut up. I got all hissy about it and said that if she had truly HEARD me, then perhaps she should act on it.
She smiled blandly at me and took a sip of her bottle of water.
I decided that I DETEST the way she drinks water. Be it a glass or a bottle, she does this strange thing with her lips that looks like a fish. It bothers me. I find it unattractive.
I sighed and sat down at the picnic table. I asked her to PLEASE not burn the garlic bread this time, okay? Did she need me to take it inside and broil it because if she didn't think she could keep an eye on it, well...I could do that. She said no, she had it covered.
She came in later with the steaks and the burned garlic bread. And then she walked right by me and PROTED. (This is my family word for fart. I have no idea why we call it that but we just do.) And then she sort of laughed and said, "Whoops. Hold your breath for minute and it will be all be over soon."
I glared at her. God. Just. Ick.
The rest of the night passed quickly. I was busy with Liv getting her bathed and reading her Harry Potter. When I came out to the living room from taking my bath, Bing was laying on the sofa. She patted the place next to her, lifted up the quilt to make room for me.
I sulkily got in.
I hate this fucking Nebraska weather. We just shut off the a/c a few days ago and now we are laying under a quilt because it is so cold.
Bing gave me a little kiss. Jaysus. Her breath smelled like pickles. I got up, said that I was going to go to bed. She puckered up for another kiss. I hesitated. She noticed.
"Hey, why are you so bitchy tonight?" she asked.
I told her that I was SICK of piles, that she burned the garlic bread, proted right in front of me and now her breath stunk.
"Oh," she said. "Well, goodnight, crabby pants."
I went to bed.
This morning, when I woke up it was Monday. That hardly seemed fair. My weekend had been so very nice and it went so very fast.
I heard the alarm ring at 5:30 for Bing. She went off to take her shower. I laid in bed feeling mad for no good reason.
She came out of the shower and turned on the light to get dressed. Usually, I enjoy watching her do this a lot. She has a very nice physique. Today, I slithered out of the bed like a snake and slunk off to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror and wondering how the hell my teeth got so yellow.
I glanced over at the toilet and realized that it needed a cleaning. Sighed.
I would do that later.
I plunked into the kitchen and began making Liv's lunch. Liv came in and started in with her coughing. She has fall allergies and often tries hard to milk them into being able to stay home sick. So, she often has coughing attacks right before school.
I held up the bag of ham and the bag of roast beef. Which did she want for a sandwich?
"I want soup today," she said in her most pitiful, look-at-me-I-am-hacking-my-lungs-out-and-you-won't-even-notice-me voice.
I closed my eyes. Sighed. Looked in the pantry and found tomato, lentil and beef soup. I asked her which kind she wanted.
"Chicken noodle," she said. "My throat kind of hurts...."
I dug in the pantry again and finally found some chicken noodle soup, heated it up and put it in her thermos. Added some crackers. A cheese stick. A bottle of water. Strawberries. A cookie.
Bing came in, all ready for school and leaned down to whisper in my ear.
"I just brushed my teeth, how about a kiss, you look so very hot in your tee shirt and long johns with your hair all sticking up and I bet your breath is pretty rank but see if I care."
I kissed her briefly. "Maybe YOU could make Liv's lunch once in awhile?" I whined.
"I hear you," she answered. "Tomorrow, okay?" And she flew out the door.
Yeah, right. She hears me. Uh huh.
By this time, Liv has said no to everything I have suggested for breakfast. Because. Her. Throat. Kinda. Hurts.
I go into the bathroom, get the thermometer, put it in her mouth and wait.
It beeps.
98.4
"You are fine," I tell her. "Go get dressed for school."
She gives me a sulky look and walks slowly off to her bedroom, stopping twice to have a fake coughing fit.
I go into my room and put on jeans and my first turtleneck of the season. I can't believe that just last week, I was in shorts. Now, it is barely fifty degrees and I am in a fucking turtleneck. I am just glad that I got all my canning and freezing done last week.
I decide to clean the toilet. We are all out of toilet bowl cleaner. Of course.
So, I grab the bleach. Clean the toilet.
By this time, Liv is dressed and I pick up the brush on her dresser.
"How should we do your hair today?" I ask her.
She whispers hoarsely that she just wants a band today. Her. Throat. Kinda. Hurts.
I slide a band into her hair and make her a piece of toast to eat in the car. Grab a carton of yogurt.
For me? Coffee. It is my third cup. On an empty stomach, so my nerves are jangling like a cash register while my stomach is growling.
We set off in the car for school.
We are on time. This is one good thing, I tell myself.
I see THAT mom. The one who looks perfect every day. Every single fucking day this woman looks as if she is Julie Andrews as the novice nun in Sound of Music, waving her hands on a mountain top and singing how the hills are alive with the sound of music and all that shit. She just looks too damn happy. I wonder if she drinks.
She sees me. Smiles. A big smile. Tells Liv that she looks so sweet in her black skirt and black top. "You look like a little Johnny Cash!" she says brightly.
And you know what Liv says. All together now: My throat kinda hurts.
Perfect Mom smiles sympathetically and says to me, "Did you take her temp?"
I can't stand this woman. I really can't.
"Gee, no," I answer. "Do you think it might be that drano she had for breakfast?"
Perfect Mom giggles. And then as she turns to leave, she says, "What an interesting color choice you have for a shirt! Kind of a um...well...sort of pinkish. Not many could pull that color off like you do."
Touche. I get it. Now, get out of my face.
I kiss Liv goodbye and note that as soon as I am six feet away from her she skips over to a group of girls, looking as if her throat is just fine now.
I see my bff, Harriet. Wave. She winds her way over to me.
"What is all over your shirt?" she asks.
I look down and see that I must have splashed bleach on it as I now have little white dots on my pepto bismal colored turtleneck.
"I am not off to a good start," I tell her.
"You just miss your little boy toy," she says. (She met Nirand.)
"I think I need a martini," I tell her.
"How about coffee and a donut with sprinkles?" she says.
I tell her that I need two donuts with many, many sprinkles.
We pull our jackets close around us and head out the front door.
My weekend was deliriously good. Now it is time to join the real world again.
Real life. With sprinkles today.
Can't trust that day....
Actually, it all started on Sunday afternoon and just carried over to today. I knew things were sliding along just a little too smoothly.
Yesterday, I suddenly became so sick of Bing that I wanted to scream. I think it is safe to say that she often feels exactly the same about me. But, yesterday just stank.
I looked around the house and decided that this habit of hers of making little piles of things and stacking them around the house just had to stop. We had company over the weekend and I was actually embarrassed by how untidy our home is. It is mostly because of HER piles. And the fact that our main bathroom is unfinished and she keeps making excuses not to get to it.
She was out grilling steaks for dinner and I went outside to tell her that I had reached a conclusion about those damn piles.
Uh huh.
She said something to the tune of I hear you. This infuriated me further as she usually says this when she is sick of me bitching and wants me to shut up. I got all hissy about it and said that if she had truly HEARD me, then perhaps she should act on it.
She smiled blandly at me and took a sip of her bottle of water.
I decided that I DETEST the way she drinks water. Be it a glass or a bottle, she does this strange thing with her lips that looks like a fish. It bothers me. I find it unattractive.
I sighed and sat down at the picnic table. I asked her to PLEASE not burn the garlic bread this time, okay? Did she need me to take it inside and broil it because if she didn't think she could keep an eye on it, well...I could do that. She said no, she had it covered.
She came in later with the steaks and the burned garlic bread. And then she walked right by me and PROTED. (This is my family word for fart. I have no idea why we call it that but we just do.) And then she sort of laughed and said, "Whoops. Hold your breath for minute and it will be all be over soon."
I glared at her. God. Just. Ick.
The rest of the night passed quickly. I was busy with Liv getting her bathed and reading her Harry Potter. When I came out to the living room from taking my bath, Bing was laying on the sofa. She patted the place next to her, lifted up the quilt to make room for me.
I sulkily got in.
I hate this fucking Nebraska weather. We just shut off the a/c a few days ago and now we are laying under a quilt because it is so cold.
Bing gave me a little kiss. Jaysus. Her breath smelled like pickles. I got up, said that I was going to go to bed. She puckered up for another kiss. I hesitated. She noticed.
"Hey, why are you so bitchy tonight?" she asked.
I told her that I was SICK of piles, that she burned the garlic bread, proted right in front of me and now her breath stunk.
"Oh," she said. "Well, goodnight, crabby pants."
I went to bed.
This morning, when I woke up it was Monday. That hardly seemed fair. My weekend had been so very nice and it went so very fast.
I heard the alarm ring at 5:30 for Bing. She went off to take her shower. I laid in bed feeling mad for no good reason.
She came out of the shower and turned on the light to get dressed. Usually, I enjoy watching her do this a lot. She has a very nice physique. Today, I slithered out of the bed like a snake and slunk off to the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror and wondering how the hell my teeth got so yellow.
I glanced over at the toilet and realized that it needed a cleaning. Sighed.
I would do that later.
I plunked into the kitchen and began making Liv's lunch. Liv came in and started in with her coughing. She has fall allergies and often tries hard to milk them into being able to stay home sick. So, she often has coughing attacks right before school.
I held up the bag of ham and the bag of roast beef. Which did she want for a sandwich?
"I want soup today," she said in her most pitiful, look-at-me-I-am-hacking-my-lungs-out-and-you-won't-even-notice-me voice.
I closed my eyes. Sighed. Looked in the pantry and found tomato, lentil and beef soup. I asked her which kind she wanted.
"Chicken noodle," she said. "My throat kind of hurts...."
I dug in the pantry again and finally found some chicken noodle soup, heated it up and put it in her thermos. Added some crackers. A cheese stick. A bottle of water. Strawberries. A cookie.
Bing came in, all ready for school and leaned down to whisper in my ear.
"I just brushed my teeth, how about a kiss, you look so very hot in your tee shirt and long johns with your hair all sticking up and I bet your breath is pretty rank but see if I care."
I kissed her briefly. "Maybe YOU could make Liv's lunch once in awhile?" I whined.
"I hear you," she answered. "Tomorrow, okay?" And she flew out the door.
Yeah, right. She hears me. Uh huh.
By this time, Liv has said no to everything I have suggested for breakfast. Because. Her. Throat. Kinda. Hurts.
I go into the bathroom, get the thermometer, put it in her mouth and wait.
It beeps.
98.4
"You are fine," I tell her. "Go get dressed for school."
She gives me a sulky look and walks slowly off to her bedroom, stopping twice to have a fake coughing fit.
I go into my room and put on jeans and my first turtleneck of the season. I can't believe that just last week, I was in shorts. Now, it is barely fifty degrees and I am in a fucking turtleneck. I am just glad that I got all my canning and freezing done last week.
I decide to clean the toilet. We are all out of toilet bowl cleaner. Of course.
So, I grab the bleach. Clean the toilet.
By this time, Liv is dressed and I pick up the brush on her dresser.
"How should we do your hair today?" I ask her.
She whispers hoarsely that she just wants a band today. Her. Throat. Kinda. Hurts.
I slide a band into her hair and make her a piece of toast to eat in the car. Grab a carton of yogurt.
For me? Coffee. It is my third cup. On an empty stomach, so my nerves are jangling like a cash register while my stomach is growling.
We set off in the car for school.
We are on time. This is one good thing, I tell myself.
I see THAT mom. The one who looks perfect every day. Every single fucking day this woman looks as if she is Julie Andrews as the novice nun in Sound of Music, waving her hands on a mountain top and singing how the hills are alive with the sound of music and all that shit. She just looks too damn happy. I wonder if she drinks.
She sees me. Smiles. A big smile. Tells Liv that she looks so sweet in her black skirt and black top. "You look like a little Johnny Cash!" she says brightly.
And you know what Liv says. All together now: My throat kinda hurts.
Perfect Mom smiles sympathetically and says to me, "Did you take her temp?"
I can't stand this woman. I really can't.
"Gee, no," I answer. "Do you think it might be that drano she had for breakfast?"
Perfect Mom giggles. And then as she turns to leave, she says, "What an interesting color choice you have for a shirt! Kind of a um...well...sort of pinkish. Not many could pull that color off like you do."
Touche. I get it. Now, get out of my face.
I kiss Liv goodbye and note that as soon as I am six feet away from her she skips over to a group of girls, looking as if her throat is just fine now.
I see my bff, Harriet. Wave. She winds her way over to me.
"What is all over your shirt?" she asks.
I look down and see that I must have splashed bleach on it as I now have little white dots on my pepto bismal colored turtleneck.
"I am not off to a good start," I tell her.
"You just miss your little boy toy," she says. (She met Nirand.)
"I think I need a martini," I tell her.
"How about coffee and a donut with sprinkles?" she says.
I tell her that I need two donuts with many, many sprinkles.
We pull our jackets close around us and head out the front door.
My weekend was deliriously good. Now it is time to join the real world again.
Real life. With sprinkles today.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Something in me sought something in you
Well, Nirand and Tinton just left. Funny, I really wasn't looking forward to having guests, but it turned out so well.
Tinton had called me to say that they would be driving through Nebraska and asked if he could stop and see Liv. I was in a jollier than usual mood and asked him if they wanted to stay with us and was surprised when he took me up on it. So, for three days, they were here. Nirand did ALL the cooking and boy howdy, were we fed well. He taught Bing LOTS of recipes, so I imagine that we will be eating Indian food more often now.
Nirand and I took to each other. Hard to describe it any other way. We just got along. He is young, very young. 25. Young enough to be my son. And attractive? Good golly, Miss Molly, he was easy on the eyes. But, simply a nice man. A good person. Talented.
He insisted on cleaning our shower after each time he used it, which amazed me. I mean, he actually got out the Bon Ami and went to town with a scrub brush.
We had some good talks. He and Tinton are geologists and centering in Tennessee for a few months to study rocks from the Devonian age, mostly black shale. They plan to be there until nearly Christmas, setting up camp and just exploring. Nirand went around my house, carefully picking up all of my stones (I have bowls of rocks laying around my house, a hobby inherited from my Da, who loved rocks) and identifying them for me. He added several Apache tears to my bowls, showing me how to identify them: you hold it in your hand and it will appear to be black, now hold it up to the light and look, it is almost clear...
He taught Liv how to carefully wash her collection of rose quartz in sea salt water and then polish them. She set them in sun catching rows on her windowsill.
Nirand went along with me on my daily walks and we talked and talked. Once, he caught my hand and held it for awhile until I self consciously took it back. He smiled.
I am sorry. Did that bring you discomfort?
I hesitated and then said that yes, it did. That hand holding was kind of an intimate gesture between two people and I guess that it made me uncomfortable.
He nodded gravely, smiling at me. "So, you feared that I was...how do you put it...driving on to you?"
I laughed. "You mean coming on to me, and yes, I guess I did fear that."
He told me that he had not meant that at all. That he just had an impulse to feel my fingertips. He assured me that he had absolutely no physical attraction to me in a romantic way.
Well, um...thank you, I think.
We walked and talked. Shared. I ended up telling him some of the most odd information about myself. He said that he noticed that I was not musically inclined, didn't play an instrument. I replied that I had exactly one day of piano lessons and my teacher had sent a note home to my mother saying that I had zilch talent and further lessons would be a waste of time. But, I confessed...I was sometimes moved by music, like most people.
He asked me what songs moved me.
Again, I waited a beat. We walked silently. He was the most unpushy person that I have ever known. Well, besides Tinton.
I confessed that I have always loved the song Rush Rush by Paula Abdul. He looked at me curiously for a moment. And then, I saw a muscle move in his cheek and he tried to hold it back, but couldn't...he snorted, just a little.
Paula Abdul?
I looked away.
"I KNOW, I KNOW," I said. "It is kind of ridiculous...."
No, no. It's not ridiculous. I just never took you for a Paula Abdul fan. Can you sing a bit of the song? I'm not familiar with it.
My turn to snort. I assured him that NO, I could not sing a bit of it. I was a poor singer.
Later, after dinner, he and Bing were talking ayurvedic healing and he offered to teach her some massage techniques to use on me. He said he had noticed that I often rubbed the small of my back, so it must hurt. He asked me to get down on the floor so that he could demonstrate the moves. I did, cautiously.
It was heaven. God, he should stop with the geology shit and just go into massage therapy. To my surprise, I actually fell asleep right in the middle of the demonstration. I don't think I have ever been so relaxed. Bing has promised to give me one of those massages tonight.
Nirand smelled good all the time. And it wasn't a cologne smell. It was, I found out, his soap. He used nothing but goat milk soap on his hair and body. And he smelled so....divine. Even Bing noticed and she is about the last person to notice scent of any kind. He swears by it, it is all part of his health maintenance theory.
Which includes smoking joints, I discovered. I went outside one night to find he and Tinton smoking a joint. They offered me a toke and I allowed myself one small one. I asked him how this fit in and he lazily replied that he had to have SOME vices, otherwise he wouldn't be human, would he?
Nirand went every day to the Indian grocery to stock up on food for us. He never once asked to be reimbursed, although I offered. He called it "pulling his share." Once, he came home with this nasty tasting tea made from ginger and hot pepper that he swore would help my back pain. I tried it and it didn't. He said that my heart wasn't in it. No shit.
Last night, Nirand and I sat outside talking while Tinton put Liv to bed and told her a story. Bing was watching some incredibly stupid action movie inside the house, so it was just us, sitting in chairs, stargazing.
Nirand produced a cd for me. It was a Paula Abdul one with the song Rush Rush on it.
"I bought this for you," he told me. "I already opened it and listened to that song you like and I have to tell you that it is a lovely song, it really is," he told me. "Unfortunately, that song is the only decent one on the whole album," he went on.
I was touched that he had actually went out and bought it for me. I told him that I hoped he would have a good trip to Tennessee, asked him if he had a girlfriend or family that he would be missing.
He was quiet for a moment. "No," he said. He had no girlfriend anymore, they had broken up a few months ago. He did have parents but things were hard with them.
"My older brother died in the World Trade Center on September 11th," he said. "He was a chef, taught me all I know about cooking. And my parents? Well, I don't think they will ever get over that. He did leave a wife and a baby and I see them as much as I can..."
I told him that I was sorry. He nodded. We were quiet for a while. Then, he reached over and took my hand again. This time, I didn't stop him. I knew him well enough to know that it was not a romantic gesture.
"I liked you right from the start," he said. "Something in me sought something in you. I'm not sure what it was. Just a connection. Maybe a past life. Maybe just that you have such an incredible daughter, maybe...who knows? We just click. It happens once in a while." He shrugged. Smiled. His teeth were so white that they actually shone in the porch light.
He went on: "You and Liv are so joined. And Bing. Wow. She is a musician's musician, very talented and such an easy person, not a lot of conflict in her. She loves you, she loves Liv, she is cool with it all. But, you....I don't know. You are harder, very complex. I think you must have an interesting past."
I have no idea why, but I told him all about Cory. My first love. The woman who tried to kill herself when I broke up with her almost two decades ago. I've never told anyone that story except Bing, who was there and knew her.
Nirand listened, nodding in all the right places.
After I finished, I said that I had no idea what made me blurt all that out.
"Because you feel it too," he said.
"We are from the same tribe," he said.
And that rang true in me. Something in me had sought something in him. We just connected and it had nothing to do with love or physical attraction or whatever. It was undefinable, but there.
Best not to analyze this shit too much.
So, they left this morning. We all stood waving from the driveway as they pulled out, off to Tennessee to look for black shale.
We came back in the house. Liv curled up with her book, Bing went into the kitchen to pull out some steaks to grill later. ("I just feel like something decidedly American after all that curry," she said.)
I wandered into my bedroom. There, on my pillow were several bars of goat's milk soap.
From Nirand, my tribemate.
Tinton had called me to say that they would be driving through Nebraska and asked if he could stop and see Liv. I was in a jollier than usual mood and asked him if they wanted to stay with us and was surprised when he took me up on it. So, for three days, they were here. Nirand did ALL the cooking and boy howdy, were we fed well. He taught Bing LOTS of recipes, so I imagine that we will be eating Indian food more often now.
Nirand and I took to each other. Hard to describe it any other way. We just got along. He is young, very young. 25. Young enough to be my son. And attractive? Good golly, Miss Molly, he was easy on the eyes. But, simply a nice man. A good person. Talented.
He insisted on cleaning our shower after each time he used it, which amazed me. I mean, he actually got out the Bon Ami and went to town with a scrub brush.
We had some good talks. He and Tinton are geologists and centering in Tennessee for a few months to study rocks from the Devonian age, mostly black shale. They plan to be there until nearly Christmas, setting up camp and just exploring. Nirand went around my house, carefully picking up all of my stones (I have bowls of rocks laying around my house, a hobby inherited from my Da, who loved rocks) and identifying them for me. He added several Apache tears to my bowls, showing me how to identify them: you hold it in your hand and it will appear to be black, now hold it up to the light and look, it is almost clear...
He taught Liv how to carefully wash her collection of rose quartz in sea salt water and then polish them. She set them in sun catching rows on her windowsill.
Nirand went along with me on my daily walks and we talked and talked. Once, he caught my hand and held it for awhile until I self consciously took it back. He smiled.
I am sorry. Did that bring you discomfort?
I hesitated and then said that yes, it did. That hand holding was kind of an intimate gesture between two people and I guess that it made me uncomfortable.
He nodded gravely, smiling at me. "So, you feared that I was...how do you put it...driving on to you?"
I laughed. "You mean coming on to me, and yes, I guess I did fear that."
He told me that he had not meant that at all. That he just had an impulse to feel my fingertips. He assured me that he had absolutely no physical attraction to me in a romantic way.
Well, um...thank you, I think.
We walked and talked. Shared. I ended up telling him some of the most odd information about myself. He said that he noticed that I was not musically inclined, didn't play an instrument. I replied that I had exactly one day of piano lessons and my teacher had sent a note home to my mother saying that I had zilch talent and further lessons would be a waste of time. But, I confessed...I was sometimes moved by music, like most people.
He asked me what songs moved me.
Again, I waited a beat. We walked silently. He was the most unpushy person that I have ever known. Well, besides Tinton.
I confessed that I have always loved the song Rush Rush by Paula Abdul. He looked at me curiously for a moment. And then, I saw a muscle move in his cheek and he tried to hold it back, but couldn't...he snorted, just a little.
Paula Abdul?
I looked away.
"I KNOW, I KNOW," I said. "It is kind of ridiculous...."
No, no. It's not ridiculous. I just never took you for a Paula Abdul fan. Can you sing a bit of the song? I'm not familiar with it.
My turn to snort. I assured him that NO, I could not sing a bit of it. I was a poor singer.
Later, after dinner, he and Bing were talking ayurvedic healing and he offered to teach her some massage techniques to use on me. He said he had noticed that I often rubbed the small of my back, so it must hurt. He asked me to get down on the floor so that he could demonstrate the moves. I did, cautiously.
It was heaven. God, he should stop with the geology shit and just go into massage therapy. To my surprise, I actually fell asleep right in the middle of the demonstration. I don't think I have ever been so relaxed. Bing has promised to give me one of those massages tonight.
Nirand smelled good all the time. And it wasn't a cologne smell. It was, I found out, his soap. He used nothing but goat milk soap on his hair and body. And he smelled so....divine. Even Bing noticed and she is about the last person to notice scent of any kind. He swears by it, it is all part of his health maintenance theory.
Which includes smoking joints, I discovered. I went outside one night to find he and Tinton smoking a joint. They offered me a toke and I allowed myself one small one. I asked him how this fit in and he lazily replied that he had to have SOME vices, otherwise he wouldn't be human, would he?
Nirand went every day to the Indian grocery to stock up on food for us. He never once asked to be reimbursed, although I offered. He called it "pulling his share." Once, he came home with this nasty tasting tea made from ginger and hot pepper that he swore would help my back pain. I tried it and it didn't. He said that my heart wasn't in it. No shit.
Last night, Nirand and I sat outside talking while Tinton put Liv to bed and told her a story. Bing was watching some incredibly stupid action movie inside the house, so it was just us, sitting in chairs, stargazing.
Nirand produced a cd for me. It was a Paula Abdul one with the song Rush Rush on it.
"I bought this for you," he told me. "I already opened it and listened to that song you like and I have to tell you that it is a lovely song, it really is," he told me. "Unfortunately, that song is the only decent one on the whole album," he went on.
I was touched that he had actually went out and bought it for me. I told him that I hoped he would have a good trip to Tennessee, asked him if he had a girlfriend or family that he would be missing.
He was quiet for a moment. "No," he said. He had no girlfriend anymore, they had broken up a few months ago. He did have parents but things were hard with them.
"My older brother died in the World Trade Center on September 11th," he said. "He was a chef, taught me all I know about cooking. And my parents? Well, I don't think they will ever get over that. He did leave a wife and a baby and I see them as much as I can..."
I told him that I was sorry. He nodded. We were quiet for a while. Then, he reached over and took my hand again. This time, I didn't stop him. I knew him well enough to know that it was not a romantic gesture.
"I liked you right from the start," he said. "Something in me sought something in you. I'm not sure what it was. Just a connection. Maybe a past life. Maybe just that you have such an incredible daughter, maybe...who knows? We just click. It happens once in a while." He shrugged. Smiled. His teeth were so white that they actually shone in the porch light.
He went on: "You and Liv are so joined. And Bing. Wow. She is a musician's musician, very talented and such an easy person, not a lot of conflict in her. She loves you, she loves Liv, she is cool with it all. But, you....I don't know. You are harder, very complex. I think you must have an interesting past."
I have no idea why, but I told him all about Cory. My first love. The woman who tried to kill herself when I broke up with her almost two decades ago. I've never told anyone that story except Bing, who was there and knew her.
Nirand listened, nodding in all the right places.
After I finished, I said that I had no idea what made me blurt all that out.
"Because you feel it too," he said.
"We are from the same tribe," he said.
And that rang true in me. Something in me had sought something in him. We just connected and it had nothing to do with love or physical attraction or whatever. It was undefinable, but there.
Best not to analyze this shit too much.
So, they left this morning. We all stood waving from the driveway as they pulled out, off to Tennessee to look for black shale.
We came back in the house. Liv curled up with her book, Bing went into the kitchen to pull out some steaks to grill later. ("I just feel like something decidedly American after all that curry," she said.)
I wandered into my bedroom. There, on my pillow were several bars of goat's milk soap.
From Nirand, my tribemate.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Music as Life
It has been an interesting couple of days. Tinton, Liv's father, is here visiting until Sunday. He is with his assistant, Nirand. Liv is delighted as Nirand was also in Mississippi with them this summer as they went rock hunting. She told me that he was "the nicest man in the world and I loved it when he made dinner."
Nirand and Tinton will be leaving for Tennessee on another bit of research tomorrow, but until then, they are staying with us, Nirand in our guest room and Tinton on our totally uncomfortable sofabed.
It's been kind of fun having them here. Nirand told me that he would do ALL of the cooking if I would just take him to an Indian grocery store. I am having some difficulty talking to him, he is just that gorgeous. He is a dead ringer for the character of Mohinder Suresh from the TV show, Heroes. (And yes, lulu, I thought of you and your crush.)
Nirand can cook. He also plays the guitar, as does Tinton. So, these boys, Bing, and Liv have all been entertaining me every day and night with music. It is gorgeous outside, so they roll the piano out to the sunporch and jam out there.
Yesterday afternoon, they outdid themselves. Apparently, this summer, Liv, Nirand, and Tinton did a lot of musical toodling. I kind of knew this, Liv came home with a harmonica that she has been playing off and on and she mentioned that Tinton taught her a few songs. I thought she meant, like, Mary had a Little Lamb stuff, though.
I was out in the front yard, in the late afternoon streams of sun, tending to my rose bushes and calla lillies. Mulching and pruning. It will be cold soon and they like to have their feet (roots) covered up well. I heard Nirand, Tinton, Bing, and Liv rolling the piano out to the sunporch and knew that music would follow.
I just had no idea that it would be that good.
I heard a familiar guitar riff and looked up to see Nirand and Tinton going into America's Lonely People. I sighed with pleasure. I've been kind of on an America kick lately, listening to some of their older stuff. Tinton and Nirand both have gorgeous voices, so they were doing the singing. But, it was Liv's voice that stopped me in my tracks. She was harmonizing. I could hear her little voice singing
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
You never know until you try...
It made me smile. I went to stand on the sunporch and listen. About halfway through the song, Bing, on piano, shouted out, "hit it" and Liv pulled out her harmonica and just went to town on that thing. Not one missed note, not one false note. It was as if she had been born playing that song.
I looked over at Tinton, strumming his guitar. We locked eyes for a moment.
That is OUR KID!
I saw tears in his eyes and suddenly mine were swimming in them too.
Who would have figured? Who would have figured that we have come from back there to here. From him saying that he just could NOT do the fatherhood thing to him standing there playing a song and harmonizing with his daughter, so full of love that you'd have to be blind to miss it.
Bing hit the piano keys to play along with Liv and Tinton and I carefully looked away from each other. They finished the song, Liv and Tinton and Nirand in pitch perfect harmony. (Bing doesn't sing, trust me, it is better that way.) We heard clapping and there in our yard, were several of our neighbors, smiling and enjoying the music.
Liv put her harmonica on the table and flew into my arms laughing.
"You looked very surprised, Mama!" she said.
I told her that no, not really, I wasn't. I have always known she was a genius.
I was suddenly choked up, my throat constricted with love for my Liv, my Bing, and yes, even for Tinton, who has come a LONG way.
Tinton, always taciturn, but always sensitive, too, launched into America's Mad Dog, knowing it would make me laugh. He and I have a private joke that this is the song to which Liv was conceived. And he was right, I did laugh.
The music ended. I went back to my garden, Bing went to her workout, Tinton took Liv to the sports store to buy her new cleats for soccer and Nirand went into the kitchen, promising chapatis and bhindi bhaji for a late dinner. Since this recipe uses nearly a pound of okra, I was relieved. We have a TON of okra this year in my garden.
Later, I would join Nirand and he would play a cd called Beyond Boundaries for me by Kiran Thakrar and educate me about Indian music. He would also tell me all about Ayurvedic Wellbeing and how "what you eat becomes your mind."
I would laugh and say something about oreos and he would laugh with me, his head thrown back with his perfect white teeth and I would flush because men who are THAT good looking should be outlawed from my kitchen.
It would be a good evening, filled with music and laughing and life.
Nirand and Tinton will be leaving for Tennessee on another bit of research tomorrow, but until then, they are staying with us, Nirand in our guest room and Tinton on our totally uncomfortable sofabed.
It's been kind of fun having them here. Nirand told me that he would do ALL of the cooking if I would just take him to an Indian grocery store. I am having some difficulty talking to him, he is just that gorgeous. He is a dead ringer for the character of Mohinder Suresh from the TV show, Heroes. (And yes, lulu, I thought of you and your crush.)
Nirand can cook. He also plays the guitar, as does Tinton. So, these boys, Bing, and Liv have all been entertaining me every day and night with music. It is gorgeous outside, so they roll the piano out to the sunporch and jam out there.
Yesterday afternoon, they outdid themselves. Apparently, this summer, Liv, Nirand, and Tinton did a lot of musical toodling. I kind of knew this, Liv came home with a harmonica that she has been playing off and on and she mentioned that Tinton taught her a few songs. I thought she meant, like, Mary had a Little Lamb stuff, though.
I was out in the front yard, in the late afternoon streams of sun, tending to my rose bushes and calla lillies. Mulching and pruning. It will be cold soon and they like to have their feet (roots) covered up well. I heard Nirand, Tinton, Bing, and Liv rolling the piano out to the sunporch and knew that music would follow.
I just had no idea that it would be that good.
I heard a familiar guitar riff and looked up to see Nirand and Tinton going into America's Lonely People. I sighed with pleasure. I've been kind of on an America kick lately, listening to some of their older stuff. Tinton and Nirand both have gorgeous voices, so they were doing the singing. But, it was Liv's voice that stopped me in my tracks. She was harmonizing. I could hear her little voice singing
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
You never know until you try...
It made me smile. I went to stand on the sunporch and listen. About halfway through the song, Bing, on piano, shouted out, "hit it" and Liv pulled out her harmonica and just went to town on that thing. Not one missed note, not one false note. It was as if she had been born playing that song.
I looked over at Tinton, strumming his guitar. We locked eyes for a moment.
That is OUR KID!
I saw tears in his eyes and suddenly mine were swimming in them too.
Who would have figured? Who would have figured that we have come from back there to here. From him saying that he just could NOT do the fatherhood thing to him standing there playing a song and harmonizing with his daughter, so full of love that you'd have to be blind to miss it.
Bing hit the piano keys to play along with Liv and Tinton and I carefully looked away from each other. They finished the song, Liv and Tinton and Nirand in pitch perfect harmony. (Bing doesn't sing, trust me, it is better that way.) We heard clapping and there in our yard, were several of our neighbors, smiling and enjoying the music.
Liv put her harmonica on the table and flew into my arms laughing.
"You looked very surprised, Mama!" she said.
I told her that no, not really, I wasn't. I have always known she was a genius.
I was suddenly choked up, my throat constricted with love for my Liv, my Bing, and yes, even for Tinton, who has come a LONG way.
Tinton, always taciturn, but always sensitive, too, launched into America's Mad Dog, knowing it would make me laugh. He and I have a private joke that this is the song to which Liv was conceived. And he was right, I did laugh.
The music ended. I went back to my garden, Bing went to her workout, Tinton took Liv to the sports store to buy her new cleats for soccer and Nirand went into the kitchen, promising chapatis and bhindi bhaji for a late dinner. Since this recipe uses nearly a pound of okra, I was relieved. We have a TON of okra this year in my garden.
Later, I would join Nirand and he would play a cd called Beyond Boundaries for me by Kiran Thakrar and educate me about Indian music. He would also tell me all about Ayurvedic Wellbeing and how "what you eat becomes your mind."
I would laugh and say something about oreos and he would laugh with me, his head thrown back with his perfect white teeth and I would flush because men who are THAT good looking should be outlawed from my kitchen.
It would be a good evening, filled with music and laughing and life.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Aunt Nippy's funeral.
Yes, that was her name. Or...what we called her. Aunt Nippy. Or Aunt Nip. I have no idea how she got this name nor do I want to know. I just know that her real name was Daniella and for some asinine reason, everyone called her Nippy. She must have really done something heinous.
I wasn't close to her. She lived in the same city that I do, but I never saw her except at weddings and funerals. Big family things. She was always very nice to me and I was nice in return, but we weren't close.
So, anyway...yeah. She died. She was in her 70's and died in her sleep. This is EXACTLY how I want to die. I like the whole idea of just laying down and off I go to the other side where I can eat as many fucking oreos as I please.
I went to the wake last night. I come from an Irish Catholic family, so of course, everyone is expected to show up at weddings and funerals. I arranged to have my sister, Patrice, pick me up so that we could go to the wake together.
Never again. She is just a little too fond of visiting with each and every person there. I think I looked at my watch at least five times.
I first ran into my Aunt Gina. She is the aunt with the smoker voice, although she will tell you, even if she barely knows you, that she quit twenty years ago and doesn't miss it at all. That anyone can quit smoking and those who make a big deal about it are just a bunch of whine asses.
The first thing she says to me is My god, you are getting too skinny.
This pleases me as she has obviously lost her glasses or has the beginning of Alzheimer's. Either way, it is fine with me.
I smile and assure her that I am NOT skinny.
Well, honey. Your ass looks much smaller than I remember it. But, your skin...wow. You need some moisturizer, you're a little dry there.
She proceeds to get out a small bottle of JERGENS lotion and tells me to meet her in the bathroom. I try to snake out of it.
No thanks, I'm fine. Really!
She insists. She drags my Aunt Dottie over and says, "Don't you think that Maria needs some moisturizer? Her skin looks like rice paper."
Aunt Dottie peers at me. And then, before I can protest, she is feeling up my facial skin with her veiny hands.
I reach up to take her hands. She tells me that my hands are cold. "Cold hands, warm heart," she says and then she tells Aunt Gina that my skin feels fine.
"I hear that you had a colitis flare up," she bellows out in a voice that is so loud that everyone in a ten foot radius looks at me curiously. I can just see them wondering if I am going to make a run for the bathroom.
I quietly insist that I am fine, fine.
I look around for my sister. Can we PLEASE go now? She is sitting with a few cousins. I go over to them and just as I get to them, the priest begins his welcome sermon.
He talks long and hard about how much we must miss Daniella. I roll my eyes. Good grief. Her name was NIPPY. No one knew her as Daniella. He obviously hasn't the foggiest idea who the hell she was. I stop listening after his first few sentences and start daydreaming about what I would do if I won the lottery.
I feel a poke in my shoulder and turn around. It is my Aunt Gina again. She hands me the Jergens lotion. "You can keep it, sugar," she says in a too loud whisper. "Seriously, your face needs some dew."
I feel so attractive.
The night finally ends and it is time for the funeral today. I take Liv to school and kiss her goodbye.
"I hope you have a good time at the funeral," she says, waving.
Oh, yeah. It will be a blast.
I walk into the huge Catholic church. My sister and two cousins are waiting in the back for me and we all walk in together. Halfway down the aisle, my cell phone rings. The ringtone is Girls Just Want to Have Fun. I now have every eye in the church on me and the acoustics are excellent. I am sure that they are whispering to each other that there is that lesbian cousin who has really dry skin and recently had a colitis attack. I silence the phone, wincing.
Patrice and my cousins all give me dirty looks as we sit down. And then they carefully check their cell phones.
I feel a poke behind me. My Aunt Gina and Uncle Vinny are sitting behind me. I turn around and smile. I FULLY moisturized this morning and I want her to see that. My makeup is perfect, my outfit is tasteful. No lipstick on MY teeth.
It is my Uncle Vinny poking me. He pats my shoulder and whispers in my ear, "We are all going out to breakfast after this shindig is over. Wanna come?"
Shindig? And why does his breath smell like beer at 9 a.m?
No, I don't wanna come. I smile and shrug with a we'll see gesture.
I glance over the turn out and see my cousin Thomas across the aisle. He smiles and waves. If anyone would have a joint at a funeral, he would. I debate going over and sitting next to him instead of my prissy sister.
The mass starts. The only time I am ever in church is at weddings and funerals and I stumble a little with all the up and down movements. A Catholic mass is like a little dance that is hell on the knees. We are up and then down and then kneeling and then up again. A heavy set dark haired woman is singing and she is straining way too hard to hit those soprano notes. I find myself holding my breath when she sings, worried for her.
Finally, it is time for communion. I love this part. This is where I get to go up and take the communion wafer on my tongue. It is my small rebellion. I am out as a lesbian, have been for years, although no one in my family mentions it. So they all know that I have no business taking communion. I am a SINNER, for godsakes. A very bad, bad Catholic.
This is precisely why I love doing it. I make sure that I walk with confidence and sure steps. I want every person in that church to see their lesbian relative unapologetically taking communion.
I go back to my seat and wait for the end of the mass. I look up as all my relatives trail up to get their communion wafer. My sister leans over and asks me if I plan to go out with everyone else afterwards. It is clear from her hissy whisper that she wants me to say I will.
I say no, sorry, I have an appointment. We both know that I am lying like a rug but there isn't much she can do about it. She tries anyway.
"You are lying in a place of God, Maria," she says in her scolding, big sister whisper.
I smile and nod. "I am SUCH a sinner, Patrice," I whisper back. "Do you think Satan is clapping?"
She looks straight ahead, the tip of her nose white. It is always white when she gets pissed off. I decide to push it. I reach into my purse and get out a mint and slide it into her hand. This is our family signal to tell someone that their breath is bad. I suppose I could pass one to my Uncle Vinny too, but no....he's so much bigger than I am. Patrice glares at me but pops the mint into her mouth.
The priest begins taking the incense burner and tossing it all around Aunt Nip's casket. I am swallowing hard, trying not to gag. I hate this part of funerals. I hear a sharp noise next to me and realize that my sister is choking on the peppermint that I gave her. She coughs so violently that even the priest stops with his incense tossing and looks at us, concerned.
Aunt Gina whaps Patrice on the back and the mint goes sailing out of her mouth into the highly teased hairdo of the woman sitting in front of us.
Uh oh.
The women reaches around and yanks it out, looking totally grossed out but saying nothing.
The priest resumes slinging incense. My sister regains her breath and then looks at me as if I jinxed her or something. I bite my lip. I will NOT laugh. I will NOT laugh.
I look over at Thomas and he is also trying not to laugh. I nearly lose it but some semblance of control stays with me. Perhaps it is the vision I have of my mother looking at me like she would just like to smack the chapel veil right off of my head.
Except I do not have one on, because, of course, I am a very bad Catholic. Everyone knows that. Just my cheekiness of taking the communion wafer will be fodder for talk until the next wedding or funeral when I will do it again.
We all get up to leave. I wave quickly at everyone and slip out the door before anyone can nab me to go have breakfast.
I am walking to my car when I see my Aunt Nippy's casket being taken to the hearse. She will be buried in her home state of North Dakota.
I blow a kiss to the casket. Goodbye, Aunt Nippy. Go eat some oreos. As many as you want.
I wasn't close to her. She lived in the same city that I do, but I never saw her except at weddings and funerals. Big family things. She was always very nice to me and I was nice in return, but we weren't close.
So, anyway...yeah. She died. She was in her 70's and died in her sleep. This is EXACTLY how I want to die. I like the whole idea of just laying down and off I go to the other side where I can eat as many fucking oreos as I please.
I went to the wake last night. I come from an Irish Catholic family, so of course, everyone is expected to show up at weddings and funerals. I arranged to have my sister, Patrice, pick me up so that we could go to the wake together.
Never again. She is just a little too fond of visiting with each and every person there. I think I looked at my watch at least five times.
I first ran into my Aunt Gina. She is the aunt with the smoker voice, although she will tell you, even if she barely knows you, that she quit twenty years ago and doesn't miss it at all. That anyone can quit smoking and those who make a big deal about it are just a bunch of whine asses.
The first thing she says to me is My god, you are getting too skinny.
This pleases me as she has obviously lost her glasses or has the beginning of Alzheimer's. Either way, it is fine with me.
I smile and assure her that I am NOT skinny.
Well, honey. Your ass looks much smaller than I remember it. But, your skin...wow. You need some moisturizer, you're a little dry there.
She proceeds to get out a small bottle of JERGENS lotion and tells me to meet her in the bathroom. I try to snake out of it.
No thanks, I'm fine. Really!
She insists. She drags my Aunt Dottie over and says, "Don't you think that Maria needs some moisturizer? Her skin looks like rice paper."
Aunt Dottie peers at me. And then, before I can protest, she is feeling up my facial skin with her veiny hands.
I reach up to take her hands. She tells me that my hands are cold. "Cold hands, warm heart," she says and then she tells Aunt Gina that my skin feels fine.
"I hear that you had a colitis flare up," she bellows out in a voice that is so loud that everyone in a ten foot radius looks at me curiously. I can just see them wondering if I am going to make a run for the bathroom.
I quietly insist that I am fine, fine.
I look around for my sister. Can we PLEASE go now? She is sitting with a few cousins. I go over to them and just as I get to them, the priest begins his welcome sermon.
He talks long and hard about how much we must miss Daniella. I roll my eyes. Good grief. Her name was NIPPY. No one knew her as Daniella. He obviously hasn't the foggiest idea who the hell she was. I stop listening after his first few sentences and start daydreaming about what I would do if I won the lottery.
I feel a poke in my shoulder and turn around. It is my Aunt Gina again. She hands me the Jergens lotion. "You can keep it, sugar," she says in a too loud whisper. "Seriously, your face needs some dew."
I feel so attractive.
The night finally ends and it is time for the funeral today. I take Liv to school and kiss her goodbye.
"I hope you have a good time at the funeral," she says, waving.
Oh, yeah. It will be a blast.
I walk into the huge Catholic church. My sister and two cousins are waiting in the back for me and we all walk in together. Halfway down the aisle, my cell phone rings. The ringtone is Girls Just Want to Have Fun. I now have every eye in the church on me and the acoustics are excellent. I am sure that they are whispering to each other that there is that lesbian cousin who has really dry skin and recently had a colitis attack. I silence the phone, wincing.
Patrice and my cousins all give me dirty looks as we sit down. And then they carefully check their cell phones.
I feel a poke behind me. My Aunt Gina and Uncle Vinny are sitting behind me. I turn around and smile. I FULLY moisturized this morning and I want her to see that. My makeup is perfect, my outfit is tasteful. No lipstick on MY teeth.
It is my Uncle Vinny poking me. He pats my shoulder and whispers in my ear, "We are all going out to breakfast after this shindig is over. Wanna come?"
Shindig? And why does his breath smell like beer at 9 a.m?
No, I don't wanna come. I smile and shrug with a we'll see gesture.
I glance over the turn out and see my cousin Thomas across the aisle. He smiles and waves. If anyone would have a joint at a funeral, he would. I debate going over and sitting next to him instead of my prissy sister.
The mass starts. The only time I am ever in church is at weddings and funerals and I stumble a little with all the up and down movements. A Catholic mass is like a little dance that is hell on the knees. We are up and then down and then kneeling and then up again. A heavy set dark haired woman is singing and she is straining way too hard to hit those soprano notes. I find myself holding my breath when she sings, worried for her.
Finally, it is time for communion. I love this part. This is where I get to go up and take the communion wafer on my tongue. It is my small rebellion. I am out as a lesbian, have been for years, although no one in my family mentions it. So they all know that I have no business taking communion. I am a SINNER, for godsakes. A very bad, bad Catholic.
This is precisely why I love doing it. I make sure that I walk with confidence and sure steps. I want every person in that church to see their lesbian relative unapologetically taking communion.
I go back to my seat and wait for the end of the mass. I look up as all my relatives trail up to get their communion wafer. My sister leans over and asks me if I plan to go out with everyone else afterwards. It is clear from her hissy whisper that she wants me to say I will.
I say no, sorry, I have an appointment. We both know that I am lying like a rug but there isn't much she can do about it. She tries anyway.
"You are lying in a place of God, Maria," she says in her scolding, big sister whisper.
I smile and nod. "I am SUCH a sinner, Patrice," I whisper back. "Do you think Satan is clapping?"
She looks straight ahead, the tip of her nose white. It is always white when she gets pissed off. I decide to push it. I reach into my purse and get out a mint and slide it into her hand. This is our family signal to tell someone that their breath is bad. I suppose I could pass one to my Uncle Vinny too, but no....he's so much bigger than I am. Patrice glares at me but pops the mint into her mouth.
The priest begins taking the incense burner and tossing it all around Aunt Nip's casket. I am swallowing hard, trying not to gag. I hate this part of funerals. I hear a sharp noise next to me and realize that my sister is choking on the peppermint that I gave her. She coughs so violently that even the priest stops with his incense tossing and looks at us, concerned.
Aunt Gina whaps Patrice on the back and the mint goes sailing out of her mouth into the highly teased hairdo of the woman sitting in front of us.
Uh oh.
The women reaches around and yanks it out, looking totally grossed out but saying nothing.
The priest resumes slinging incense. My sister regains her breath and then looks at me as if I jinxed her or something. I bite my lip. I will NOT laugh. I will NOT laugh.
I look over at Thomas and he is also trying not to laugh. I nearly lose it but some semblance of control stays with me. Perhaps it is the vision I have of my mother looking at me like she would just like to smack the chapel veil right off of my head.
Except I do not have one on, because, of course, I am a very bad Catholic. Everyone knows that. Just my cheekiness of taking the communion wafer will be fodder for talk until the next wedding or funeral when I will do it again.
We all get up to leave. I wave quickly at everyone and slip out the door before anyone can nab me to go have breakfast.
I am walking to my car when I see my Aunt Nippy's casket being taken to the hearse. She will be buried in her home state of North Dakota.
I blow a kiss to the casket. Goodbye, Aunt Nippy. Go eat some oreos. As many as you want.
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