happy veterans day

Today I remember and honor my dad and his service in the Coast Guard during WWII. 

Today is the 100th anniversary of Armistice Day, which marks the anniversary of the end of World War I, which was formally ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918. 

I also remember that today was my parents' wedding anniversary. 

Here are some screen captures of them from an old 8mm film that was taken during their honeymoon in Nassau. 

❤️❤️❤️

xoxoxo e

happy birthday john lennon #3

Love is real, real is love
Love is feeling, feeling love
Love is wanting to be loved

waking up at the nursing home ...

When I arrived, Mom was sleeping soundly.


Victor Mature and Betty Grable were the feature item, in "I Wake Up Screaming."



It's film noir, so Elisha Cook, Jr. was on hand too, of course.


Happily, Mom woke up smiling : )


And it was smiles all around.

visiting hours

I've been thinking lately that I need to stop worrying about my mother. Every time I go to see her she seems happy. Happy to see me. Content with her surroundings.

Maybe she isn't really suffering. I am.

I am he one holding onto the pain, the grief, mourning the woman that I've lost, while she is still here.

I have lost a lot. I can no longer have long talks with my mom. or arguments. We can't go out to eat, or to the movies, or museums. But we can still smile at each other and spend some time together. We can even watch TV together. We can laugh and make faces at each other.

That's actually quite a lot.

my favorite xmas gift this year

A handmade card and poem from the kid.

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happy mother's day

This picture is from a few weeks ago, as we are both still staying close to home today, getting over colds, but lilacs for Mother's Day seem appropriate.

feverish

Yesterday I picked the kid up from school, she conked out in the car on the way home, sounding stuffy—got her home and checked her out—she had a low grade fever, tummy ache.

She ate one bite of a saltine ("Is this all I get for dinner?") fell asleep on the couch—when I tried to tuck her into bed she got angry that she didn't finish dinner, demanded applesauce. She got back up, ate two bites, and fell back asleep on the couch.



I tucked her in again—she slept for about an hour, then whimpered, woke up, got up to go to the bathroom at 1am talking with a frog voice, trying to relate a dream she had where a red, black, white, and blue fish could go to school whenever he wanted to.

She woke up way too early today but let me stay in bed a little longer as she lay on the couch. By afternoon we had twin temperatures.

A true Mother's Day weekend.

the spiral of life

I've been thinking lately about the changes I have gone through in my daughter's first five years of life. Some have been expected, and some not.

When she was first born I was thrilled to meet her, relieved that everything went well, and simultaneously excited and horrified at the reality that this little human's life was in my hands. The first few months were a getting-to-know-you period where I met this person who had been living inside my body for the past nine months. My new roommate was demanding, and I had to learn to love her amidst all the chaos, but I fell in love with her all over again pretty quickly. When I think about the rest of that first year, I mostly think of us face-to-face, with goofy grins.

The second year, which most dub the terrible twos, now seems a breeze - at least toddler behavior-wise. Milestones were met, walking and talking began in earnest. A real little person was in my life. Probably the greatest challenge for me was having to watch her get sick, or fall down and get hurt, and deal with all the worry, while trying to care for her and let her know that everything would be O.K. The rest of the year blurs with the third year and was a real struggle for me, as chilhood illness really took over, and it seemed that the two of us were sick all the time. I also started to lose who I was, my identity, and I think started to resent the whole motherhood gig. With added pressure from work from folks who aren't parents and just didn't get what it's like to be torn in two, to be wholly responsible for another's existence - well, it didn't help and tended to make a person cranky...

But we both started to get healthier, thanks to some lifestyle changes, staying out if range of some things and simply growing up and out of other things, so during the fourth year I started to find my own voice again. She became a bit more independent, and I could take some time to express myself, through my blog, or just be able to have a conversation with another adult and have her not be the only focus in the room, as four-year-olds are not as endlessly fascinating to folks as babies are.

Richard Long

This year we are circling back to where we were in year one. She's old enough to get her own breakfast on the weekends, so I can sleep in and get some me time. She is so smart and funny that we can get giddy and laugh or share a family joke. Or I can just sit and watch her in amazement as she tells a story or in delight as she dances, It's not quite the same stare at each other with goofy grins as before, but our worlds have changed, we are both older. But as I've observed before, life is not so much a circle, but a spiral, and we are in similar positions to the ones we were in five years ago, but now we are on a loop farther out on the spiral. And it's a good place to be.

life 9 1/2, 9 3/4, 9 5/8...

Henry is on the way out, but apparently intends to go out in style. My cousin found him outside her house the other night and was wondering how he got there. He has access to the (second story) deck, but she found him hanging out in the front yard. He has been taking the air quite a bit this week, it seems.

This evening we saw him in action. He perched at the edge of the deck, and took his time, looking below. Then, one swift JUMP and he was down, making his way to the front stoop and a towel-lined box to cuddle up in. He may not have much time left, may just be practically skin and bones, but this Brooklyn street cat has definitely chosen to go out with a bang and not a whimper. Rock on, Henry.

the eyes have it

Happy Mother's Day!

everybody's got a story

I have written before about how pleased I was with the adaptation of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency. The first series is almost over and it just gets better and better. One of the best aspects of Alexander McCall Smith's writing is his interest in all the characters - and some of them are true "characters" - that inhabit his worlds. Happily, the cable series follows his lead. In last night's episode, Mma Ramotswe gently probed her feelings about Rra J.L.B. Matekoni as she solved the episode's mysteries. But also revealed were insights into the characters of BK, Mma Makutsi and her brother Richard.

The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency: Truth & Mystery

Because everyone has a story, or series of stories to tell. They might not be apparent at first, or even second or third glance. Some people leave this world without ever sharing their stories. That's life. And that's Smith's writing. It's all about life and love and the choices we make, the paths we take. Mma Ramotswe is a good person, but she can make mistakes, and keep secrets, and cause pain, and love two very different men at different times of her life. Sort of like all of us. And like all of us, it is endlessly interesting to watch and see how she will sort it all out.

henry

I first saw him when he dashed across 12th Street in front of my car, in Park Slope, Brooklyn, a few steps from the brownstone where I lived. I didn't see him again for a few days and was concerned, wondering what happened to him, where he had disappeared. A man stood across the street from me, watching me, obviously searching the block. "Are you looking for something?" "A cat, I think he's a stray. A black cat."
The man beckoned me over and said that a little black cat had been living in his basement for a week or so, but he already had three cats and didn't want another. He fetched his cat carrier and said if I was really interested, I should take him to the vet, get him checked out, to be sure he was healthy, and I could hold onto the cat carrier for as long as I needed. I nodded and he went into his basement to find the cat. I already had one cat, Baby, but I had a feeling about this one. As if he already belonged to me.

A few minutes later he was back, with the cat in his arms. He was smaller than I remembered, scrawny, and in the cat carrier in an instant. I thanked this neighbor I had never met before this day, and went home with my treasure. It was late afternoon, and I had been on the way to the store before this unexpected turn of events. As soon as I let the little cat out of the bag, Baby hissed as it tried to cozy up to her. I put some food and water in two bowls for our new family member, but realized that I was now out of cat chow and better go to the store. The two cats seemed OK, the little guy (I had determined it was a boy) sniffing around its new digs, and Baby watching him at a polite but wary distance.

I took off, going to the little bodega, the Yiyo, which was around the corner and a few blocks away. Just about ten, fifteen minutes to go there and back, buy some Purina and some cat litter. When I walked back into the apartment it seemed very quiet. Baby was just where she had been before I left, but the new cat was nowhere to be seen. I put some more food in his bowl, which Baby promptly dashed over to eat, and cleaned and replenished the litter box. No cat.

I lived in a fairly large, long, railroad apartment, so methodically checked each room. No cat. I made dinner, figuring the smell of food would bring him out. No cat. By 8pm I was starting to wonder where Baby had managed to hide the body. I called friends, my mom, my man, bewailing how I had "rescued" this poor animal, only to ensure its mysterious death and disappearance in my Brooklyn apartment.

At the stroke of midnight, still boring someone on the other end of the phone with my plight, I turned and watched the little black cat crawl out of the tiniest gap from under the gas stove, eat some cat chow, and nonchalantly stroll to the bathroom and take a dump in the litter box. The little Brooklyn street cat was nocturnal! Of course. It took about a week to get him to shift over to my human awake-during-the-day, sleep-at-night schedule. It took less time than that for a little regular food and love to change him from a skinny, scruffy-looking short-hair to reveal his true roly-poly long-haired Angora self.
That was over fifteen years ago. Now Henry is dying, and I'm feeling pressured to make one of the hardest decisions of my life. I don't want him to be in pain, but it is hard for me to understand how we can so calmly talk about "what's best" for an animal when we wouldn't even consider such alternatives (out loud) for a human being. I've never loved another pet as much as I've loved Henry. I don't feel right about ending his life. I hate the idea of it being done to fit my schedule or others'. Unnatural, is the word that keeps popping in my head. The lack of control I feel in this situation is just a microcosm of how the notion of control in our lives is just an illusion. But the bottom line is this is going to be a tough week, no matter how things pan out, whether I have to make the decision sooner or later, and I am going to have to take care of my daughter's feelings on top of all of this, as well as take care of my own. And of course, Henry's.

five years

Cinque annos. Cinque ans. Cinco años. My daughter is almost five.

How have we changed these past five years? She has grown tall and beautiful and intelligent and willful and loving and temporarily deaf when it suits her.

I have grown frazzled and delighted and cranky and worried and amazed and hopeful and fearful and impatient.

I need to relax and enjoy more and not let the hectic schedule of our lives always set the pace. Hopefully she will continue to be patient with me as I try to learn this.

She needs to slow down and pay attention and only get sucked into the huge media machine from time to time.

It's a big huge world out there full of wonderful things just waiting for her.

Hopefully I will be able to share with her what I love and guide her only slightly and let her choose and discover what she truly loves.

patrick

When I was in kindergarten there was a boy named Patrick. Every day he would come over and pull my hair or push me or somehow or other find a way to touch me or bug me. I went home and cried to my mother, "Patrick hates me!" "She soothed me and said, "No honey, he probably likes you. That's just his way of showing it."

The next day I went in to school, all excited. Every time I saw Patrick I gave him a starry-eyed smile with a big "Hi, Patrick!" He didn't bother me anymore that day, after that actually avoided me.

My skills with men are still about par with this experience.

My daughter loves this story.

Happy Valentines Day!

love train

This is how I'm feeling these days...

humans is so crazy...

Well, I finally finished Devil's Brood, but is it finished with me? I am still pretty darn interested in this time period (12th century Europe and beyond), this family (the Plantagenets), and all the crazy timeless human emotions. This book was supposed to be the third in a trilogy about Eleanor of Aquitaine and Henry II and their family, but apparently the author, Sharon Kay Penman, isn't quite through with them either, as she is planning to write another focusing on Richard (the Lionheart) and his brother John, which most folks know from the Errrol Flynn Robin Hood classic. Both men were very different from their standard portrayals of hero and villain, so it will be interesting to see what Penman does with them.

What kept haunting me throughout the story was how Henry and Eleanor sacrificed their marriage by stubbornly following their own ambitions or fears. This is hardly a new story. Who hasn't a busted love affair to tell about? What Penman skillfully brought out in their story was that even though they were unable to trust one another, they continued to share a great bond, even at times love for one another, through fifteen years of warring, capture, imprisonment, and heartache, as they watched their sons rebel, die or drift away.

The human heart can be so hard to fathom, especially by its owner. Sometimes the mind leads you on a path away from your heart. Even more often, vice/versa. The question is, after love and heartbreak, and in these peoples' cases, all-out war, can two hearts find their way back again? For Eleanor and Henry, it did, at times, usually through grief, which they could share without all-consuming power and politics in the way.

gentlemen prefer...

My daughter is becoming a femme fatale. Today one of her classmate's mothers came over and tapped me on the shoulder and told me, "I just have to let you know that my son Benji is in love with your daughter." This was at the kindergarten orientation meeting for parents.That's right, she's almost five years old. It's kinda cute, but as we walked together back to work after the meeting I recalled some other moms (Ben's, Seth's, etc., etc.) who had also already told me the same thing at different times this year. And it's only December.

What can I say? She's got it. Work it, girl. Except then please put it away for the teenage years (or at least tone it down a bit) and then you can break it out again for your twenties. I'll be too old to worry at that point...



Last night TCM had on Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, which is an ultimate girl movie. She enjoyed it, especially the music. I love the Marilyn Monroe "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend" number that Madonna tried to rip off all those years ago. After it was over, she walked around the house, holding a pretend wedding bouquet, a la Marilyn and Jane Russell. Girls will be girls.

get happy

I recently read an article from The Atlantic about personality and the quest for happiness.

Such contradictions arise all the time. If you ask people which makes them happier, work or vacation, they will remind you that they work for money and spend the money on vacations. But if you give them a beeper that goes off at random times, and ask them to record their activity and mood each time they hear a beep, you’ll likely find that they are happier at work. Work is often engaging and social; vacations are often boring and stressful. Similarly, if you ask people about their greatest happiness in life, more than a third mention their children or grandchildren, but when they use a diary to record their happiness, it turns out that taking care of the kids is a downer—parenting ranks just a bit higher than housework, and falls below sex, socializing with friends, watching TV, praying, eating, and cooking.

I don't really think it was a great article, but the paragraph above has really stayed with me. Basically, it really pissed me off. I'm not sure who the writer Paul Bloom spoke to, but I'm sorry, I'm not happier at work. There are moments when work can be satisfying, challenging and other positive adjectives. But my real life, thoughts, dreams, take place outside of work. And I truly wish the balance of time was more even. I spend way too much of my time under fluorescents. And the similar crap above about parenting. Yes, it can be a major pain in the ass sometimes - more so than I ever imagined when I dreamt of having a baby. But it is also wonderful and surprising. And by the by, how many ecstatically happy single people do you know?

I guess what really bugs me about all of this happy talk is just that - why is happiness the ultimate goal? Is life supposed to be happy, all the time? Aren't the good moments, just like laughter, chocolate, great sex, mental realization, supposed to be peak moments?

Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty darn happy right now, especially about the recent election. But I would say that an average day for me has its shares of laughs, frustrations, downright anger, and happy times too. Most fairy tales and movies end with that Frozen Happy Moment, as if the characters lives will continue in that state perpetually. I'm not trying to impose a happiness goal on myself, but rather, I am looking more for those little moments of happiness, that I can try to create, or be surprised by, in my day-to-day life.

life takes time

I am constantly trying to simplify my life. No, really. For someone who is constantly rushing (and constantly behind) it may appear on the surface, that I'm doing just the opposite.

I get up in the morning and go through my morning rituals: prepare breakfast, check the Weather Channel, wake up the kid, shower while she eats breakfast, brush teeth, get dressed, tell kid not to start playing before she gets dressed while I eat breakfast, get out the door, drive to her preschool, drop off, hugs, drive to parking garage, walk across Mall to work, hope boss doesn't notice I'm 10-15 minutes late (again), clean my work area, get to work, eat lunch, sometimes go to acupuncture, more work, pick up kid, drive home, get kid to take a bath while I prepare dinner and lunch/snack for next day, eat dinner, go on the computer, watch a little TV, relax/cuddle, read a book, get kid ready for bed, take a shower, do a journal entry, read a little, sleep, wake up next morning and do it all over again.

Is this the life I always dreamed of, or envisioned? Is it good or bad? Should I even be thinking of my life in such terms? Truth be told, amidst all those tasks, there are also some real opportunities for love, laughter and some deep thoughts, if I allow them to come. Work, although mostly a slog, can also sometimes allow for some creative thinking and doing. The kid and her friends frequently crack me up as I watch them interact. There are sometimes opportunities for outings with friends and family that can be added to the day's agenda. And don't ask me how it works, but acupuncture and weekly yoga sessions can really help me relax and feel like I'm doing something for myself.

Admittedly, I haven't found a slot yet for art-making (apart from what I do at work.) I need to get back to my own artwork. I think this blog may help me get back to that. I hope so. I guess I have been looking inward, rather than outward, but I'd like to change that, at least a little. For a brilliant perspective on this idea, check out this great post about David Foster Wallace.

As much as I grouse about what's going on in the world around me and the beyond-absurd turns and twists that politics has been taking, for the most part I feel quite positive. I think the world is actually going through a quite significant period. The real changes as a century turns always take a few years to hit, and I think they're hitting now, hard. It's time for a change, and I think we will get the one we really need. I have been changing myself and my life gradually, and I think it is all for the better. It isn't easy getting older, being a "grown-up," but it is worth it. There's a lot to enjoy about life. It just takes time sometimes to notice.