At dusk, a table outside offered still another reminder that New Haven is indeed a cosmopolitan town.
1 day ago
Sunday, August 28, 2005
(from the East Coast) compensation
In the course of one of the many ascents of this moving project, I stopped to catch my breath. Looking out the stairwell window, I was reminded that there is a distinct beauty to this place.
At dusk, a table outside offered still another reminder that New Haven is indeed a cosmopolitan town.
At dusk, a table outside offered still another reminder that New Haven is indeed a cosmopolitan town.
(from the East Coast) notes and observations
Two college friends run into each other after a summer away: each on his and her cell phone, they don’t pause in their respective conversations. They embrace with their free arm, give wide grins, mouth “how have you been?” then “fine,” all the while continuing their cell chats, point apologetically to their phones, wave and move on.
~~~~~
Conversation in cosmetics store:
I only need body lotion… forgot mine at home…
Ah. Grapefruit – go with the grapefruit one. But wait until you see what it does to your skin if you put it on after exfoliating.
I love all those products, but I always forget to use them. They wind up drying out in their dust-covered containers.
Well, at least for your face: exfoliate, tone, seal. Three steps. Surely you take them?
No, not really…
Here, let me show you (pretending the hand is just like a face, she begins to exfoliate, then tone then seal). Where are you from, btw?
Wisconsin. I’m supposed to do this how often?
Three times a week. Daily, you just use your cleanser, right?
I don’t really use a cleanser...
What?? How do you clean your face?
With water. [Guilt and panic set in as imagination conjures up weeks, nay months of accumulated environmental pollutants.]
Oh! You are so cute! With water! That’s so charming!
You think I should use special cleanser, don’t you?
(Two women in store nod heads vigorously.)
You know, one’s skin changes over the years. I prefer being happy with those changes than throwing products at them.
You color your hair, don't you?
My man Jason simply brings it to its natural shade and pristine glow, sort of what it was like at its peak -- at age 6.
(no comment necessary)
Okay, okay, tonight: after I finish lifting a couple more boxes up and down flights of stairs, I'll exfoliate, tone and seal already.
(smiles all around)
~~~~~
At Staples: Three rolls of carpet. We need three rolls. Can we borrow the cart to wheel them to their destination? We do not have a car.
Yes, leave a photo ID.
You know, we could use this cart for the rest of the day to move around other things.
How will it look to push around a Staples cart all over New Haven? It will look like we stole it. (weigh usefulness of cart against dorkiness of using it all day)
Okay, back it goes.
~~~~~
This year’s look: sexiness continues to follow a downward direction as exposed lower torsos still catch the eye.
~~~~~
New haven, CT
~~~~~
Conversation in cosmetics store:
I only need body lotion… forgot mine at home…
Ah. Grapefruit – go with the grapefruit one. But wait until you see what it does to your skin if you put it on after exfoliating.
I love all those products, but I always forget to use them. They wind up drying out in their dust-covered containers.
Well, at least for your face: exfoliate, tone, seal. Three steps. Surely you take them?
No, not really…
Here, let me show you (pretending the hand is just like a face, she begins to exfoliate, then tone then seal). Where are you from, btw?
Wisconsin. I’m supposed to do this how often?
Three times a week. Daily, you just use your cleanser, right?
I don’t really use a cleanser...
What?? How do you clean your face?
With water. [Guilt and panic set in as imagination conjures up weeks, nay months of accumulated environmental pollutants.]
Oh! You are so cute! With water! That’s so charming!
You think I should use special cleanser, don’t you?
(Two women in store nod heads vigorously.)
You know, one’s skin changes over the years. I prefer being happy with those changes than throwing products at them.
You color your hair, don't you?
My man Jason simply brings it to its natural shade and pristine glow, sort of what it was like at its peak -- at age 6.
(no comment necessary)
Okay, okay, tonight: after I finish lifting a couple more boxes up and down flights of stairs, I'll exfoliate, tone and seal already.
(smiles all around)
~~~~~
At Staples: Three rolls of carpet. We need three rolls. Can we borrow the cart to wheel them to their destination? We do not have a car.
Yes, leave a photo ID.
You know, we could use this cart for the rest of the day to move around other things.
How will it look to push around a Staples cart all over New Haven? It will look like we stole it. (weigh usefulness of cart against dorkiness of using it all day)
Okay, back it goes.
~~~~~
This year’s look: sexiness continues to follow a downward direction as exposed lower torsos still catch the eye.
~~~~~
New haven, CT
(from the East coast) movin’ on up
(or: how to help a little one move into her college space given that I do not have the Arms of Arnold nor the stamina of a camel; I do have one thing though: HPPS* and mule-like stubborness, driving me to Get Things Done)
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
My hands are killing me. Not my arms, not my bicycled legs. My hands cannot hold another heavy box and clumsily, awkwardly, help lift it up another flight of stairs.
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
A quick run to Ikea. Nearby, but not walking distance. Yet another chatty cabbie. I PAY for good cheer. They're rakin' it in from me today.
A lamp, two lamps. [I wonder if they have a shower curtain I could take back home with me to Madison? Seriously, does anyone know where I can get an interesting shower curtain back home? Don’t say Linens ‘n Things. Not interesting. Wait, we're takin' about a different move. Back to this one:]
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
We need to stop. Hi, Dean of College. How come this year’s reception is for class of ’09 parents only? Aren’t class of ’07 parent(s) good enough? I could have used those catered snacks. I haven’t eaten since yesterday, having declined an invitation to eat pizza and drink wine at 10:30 am.
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
Oh thank you, storage area for closing at 10! Thank you so much.
We are ahead of schedule (when in the last three months have you heard me say that?) We are tired but happy (ditto). We make faces in the mirror across from our table at Cosi, order salads and toast marshmallows and graham crackers over a little burner. Heavy work, light heart.
* you can't be an Ocean reader and not know this: Hearty Polish Peasant Stock
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
My hands are killing me. Not my arms, not my bicycled legs. My hands cannot hold another heavy box and clumsily, awkwardly, help lift it up another flight of stairs.
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
A quick run to Ikea. Nearby, but not walking distance. Yet another chatty cabbie. I PAY for good cheer. They're rakin' it in from me today.
A lamp, two lamps. [I wonder if they have a shower curtain I could take back home with me to Madison? Seriously, does anyone know where I can get an interesting shower curtain back home? Don’t say Linens ‘n Things. Not interesting. Wait, we're takin' about a different move. Back to this one:]
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
We need to stop. Hi, Dean of College. How come this year’s reception is for class of ’09 parents only? Aren’t class of ’07 parent(s) good enough? I could have used those catered snacks. I haven’t eaten since yesterday, having declined an invitation to eat pizza and drink wine at 10:30 am.
Four flights up, recover stored boxes, four flights down, three different flights up, place boxes in room.
Oh thank you, storage area for closing at 10! Thank you so much.
We are ahead of schedule (when in the last three months have you heard me say that?) We are tired but happy (ditto). We make faces in the mirror across from our table at Cosi, order salads and toast marshmallows and graham crackers over a little burner. Heavy work, light heart.
* you can't be an Ocean reader and not know this: Hearty Polish Peasant Stock
Saturday, August 27, 2005
(from the East Coast) oh hi! oh hi! oh.
…or, more accurately, waiting to get there. In Cincinnati. At an airport that feels colder than Poland on a mid-January morning (the type of morning without much sunlight and with a prickly drizzle of ice falling on your nose, adding to the discomfort).
This is the first time I am flying into New Haven (not there yet!) as it is the first year that Delta decided to branch out and include Connecticut on its East Coast circuit. Yay Delta. All previous trips have been via New York or Hartford.
I cannot emphasize how On The Map it makes me feel, with both Madison (my home) and New Haven (the most frequently visited by me destination) linked in this way.
I am traveling with one of a very small handful of people who are, for me, the easiest to move around with – people who are ready to find pleasure in everything, including a sign that reads “Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky airport,” and who allow me to lean my head on their shoulder when I attempt to take a nap. Maybe these are not your criteria, but they most certainly are mine. Taking the arm in camaraderie and affection is also up there, but it is not as important as the first two items listed herein. Besides, this little one obliges me with the arm as well.
Perhaps I ought to work on my reputation though. At the airport, she coaxes me to take her to Moe’s – a pub where you can pretend that the pizza you’re eating crosses over nicely from breakfast to lunch. I’m reluctant. It’s only 10:30 Madison time. Oh please, she says – look! You can get a glass of wine!
Let it be known here that I never drink wine for breakfast. Never. Okay, fine, champagne brunch, but that’s different.
Just to prove my point, I drank water and ate nothing.
More later…
This is the first time I am flying into New Haven (not there yet!) as it is the first year that Delta decided to branch out and include Connecticut on its East Coast circuit. Yay Delta. All previous trips have been via New York or Hartford.
I cannot emphasize how On The Map it makes me feel, with both Madison (my home) and New Haven (the most frequently visited by me destination) linked in this way.
I am traveling with one of a very small handful of people who are, for me, the easiest to move around with – people who are ready to find pleasure in everything, including a sign that reads “Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky airport,” and who allow me to lean my head on their shoulder when I attempt to take a nap. Maybe these are not your criteria, but they most certainly are mine. Taking the arm in camaraderie and affection is also up there, but it is not as important as the first two items listed herein. Besides, this little one obliges me with the arm as well.
Perhaps I ought to work on my reputation though. At the airport, she coaxes me to take her to Moe’s – a pub where you can pretend that the pizza you’re eating crosses over nicely from breakfast to lunch. I’m reluctant. It’s only 10:30 Madison time. Oh please, she says – look! You can get a glass of wine!
Let it be known here that I never drink wine for breakfast. Never. Okay, fine, champagne brunch, but that’s different.
Just to prove my point, I drank water and ate nothing.
More later…
Late (for my take off)
...but ever reliable in keeing Ocean afloat.
If departures were easy, too many people would leave and there would be no one left at the home base to mind the ship.
My next post will be less nautical in nature. It will, however, be late, very late and from New Haven.
If departures were easy, too many people would leave and there would be no one left at the home base to mind the ship.
My next post will be less nautical in nature. It will, however, be late, very late and from New Haven.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Have I got everything? Am I ready to go?
(ha! you thought I would miss a day of posting, didn't you? fools!)
Is it gonna be wild, is it gonna be the best time
Or am I just a-saying so?Am I ready to go?
What do I hear when I say I hear the call of the road?
Why wouldn’t I quote lyrics when they are apt (especially since they happen to be on the only available decent tape to listen to in the car, as we spin, my daughters and I, for one last time through the neighborhood where they grew up)?
Posting is moving into difficult mode.
No no no, I am NOT having a mental crisis here, I am off tomorrow to the East Coast for the better part of the week. My littlest one is starting her next to last year of college and , like each Fall, I get to be the mover-facillitator. Posting will have to be on the sly, done in quick trips to erratically functional cafés, on the pretence that I have to dash down to check out the latest free trade blends.
Am I too old for this? (Not the posting, the moving in of daughters.)
I did it for the first time six years ago, when my oldest was first going off to college (same town, same college; the only thing that’s changed is the emergence of the BLOG!). I was 46 then. I remember going up to the Dean of the college and saying to her something like: “hey, look, miss. I am glad you got a good operation going here. But I am getting too old to be carrying boxes and building furniture for my kid.”
What do I say now, at 52? (Probably: so how come you ran out of the good snacks at this year's reception? You know, we take all the free food we can, giving that your college has sucked out every last penny from us in the past years.)
The residential college dean has never warmed up to me since, even though I have been going back regularly.
Six years later: I am still about to move boxes and furniture, painting walls as needed, pounding nails into walls that are too sensitive for that sort of thing.
But right now, I am in the midst of our last evening as a family in the home that is in every way our family home. You know, the one I pushed to put on the market. You know, the one I signed away today. I’m sure I am popular. Actually, it’s not about me. This night belongs to the daughters. And their childhoods here.
P.S. I feel like such a failure as a parent. They have no idea what Wonderama is.
Is it gonna be wild, is it gonna be the best time
Or am I just a-saying so?Am I ready to go?
What do I hear when I say I hear the call of the road?
Why wouldn’t I quote lyrics when they are apt (especially since they happen to be on the only available decent tape to listen to in the car, as we spin, my daughters and I, for one last time through the neighborhood where they grew up)?
Posting is moving into difficult mode.
No no no, I am NOT having a mental crisis here, I am off tomorrow to the East Coast for the better part of the week. My littlest one is starting her next to last year of college and , like each Fall, I get to be the mover-facillitator. Posting will have to be on the sly, done in quick trips to erratically functional cafés, on the pretence that I have to dash down to check out the latest free trade blends.
Am I too old for this? (Not the posting, the moving in of daughters.)
I did it for the first time six years ago, when my oldest was first going off to college (same town, same college; the only thing that’s changed is the emergence of the BLOG!). I was 46 then. I remember going up to the Dean of the college and saying to her something like: “hey, look, miss. I am glad you got a good operation going here. But I am getting too old to be carrying boxes and building furniture for my kid.”
What do I say now, at 52? (Probably: so how come you ran out of the good snacks at this year's reception? You know, we take all the free food we can, giving that your college has sucked out every last penny from us in the past years.)
The residential college dean has never warmed up to me since, even though I have been going back regularly.
Six years later: I am still about to move boxes and furniture, painting walls as needed, pounding nails into walls that are too sensitive for that sort of thing.
But right now, I am in the midst of our last evening as a family in the home that is in every way our family home. You know, the one I pushed to put on the market. You know, the one I signed away today. I’m sure I am popular. Actually, it’s not about me. This night belongs to the daughters. And their childhoods here.
P.S. I feel like such a failure as a parent. They have no idea what Wonderama is.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
pause for a station identification
Remember those words from your childhood? Because these days, I don't hear them much. Pause. Exhale. It's time to identify your station. WQXR (ding! guess what that was? c'mon New Yorkers of my generation, what kind of a station was it?), for example.
It's a chance to reflect on what you're listening to and where you are in life.
My recounts of events of this week-of-high-drama (the title of the next popular reality show!) have irked some wise and some foolish people. When I went back with the tail more or less between my legs and asked still others if indeed I had been so annoying as to be insufferable and vile, they were baffled.
But truth is, it takes one wise person to discover that the earth is round. So I must go with the sage and leave the rest rubbing their chins in puzzlement.
I apologize.
To those who thought I was coming down hard against them: I am sorry. [Caveat: I am not sorry for coming down hard against those who in their lives do not treat their past, present or future loved ones with kindness and compassion.]
To those who thought I was batty at the least and about to jump into an abyss of neuro-psychotic illness (is it a disease? it sounds scary, hence the choice of words): I am sorry.
To those who hated the choice of instrument of torture for the home buyer ( a cannonball) --and there were many of you! --I am sorry.
Most of all, to the buyers who came back with a reasonable counter offer just five minutes ago, leading us to contemplate small sums of money instead of big cataclysmic outcomes: I am so so sorry. I know you love the house. Your letter is eloquent and genuine. May you have as many happy memories in this place as I did.
P.S. Yo, you home buyers: did you or did you not read this blog? fess up!
UPDATE: Coincidentally, today a friend sent me this image of an instrument of torture (had it been in my files earlier, I may have bypassed the cannonball idea):
It's a chance to reflect on what you're listening to and where you are in life.
My recounts of events of this week-of-high-drama (the title of the next popular reality show!) have irked some wise and some foolish people. When I went back with the tail more or less between my legs and asked still others if indeed I had been so annoying as to be insufferable and vile, they were baffled.
But truth is, it takes one wise person to discover that the earth is round. So I must go with the sage and leave the rest rubbing their chins in puzzlement.
I apologize.
To those who thought I was coming down hard against them: I am sorry. [Caveat: I am not sorry for coming down hard against those who in their lives do not treat their past, present or future loved ones with kindness and compassion.]
To those who thought I was batty at the least and about to jump into an abyss of neuro-psychotic illness (is it a disease? it sounds scary, hence the choice of words): I am sorry.
To those who hated the choice of instrument of torture for the home buyer ( a cannonball) --and there were many of you! --I am sorry.
Most of all, to the buyers who came back with a reasonable counter offer just five minutes ago, leading us to contemplate small sums of money instead of big cataclysmic outcomes: I am so so sorry. I know you love the house. Your letter is eloquent and genuine. May you have as many happy memories in this place as I did.
P.S. Yo, you home buyers: did you or did you not read this blog? fess up!
UPDATE: Coincidentally, today a friend sent me this image of an instrument of torture (had it been in my files earlier, I may have bypassed the cannonball idea):
And people are just too much for me to face…
And therefore, placing a particular house-purchasing family in a cannonball and firing it skywards seems just about perfect! [And I do not care if they are reading this. Go ahead, write your lower offer based on an exaggerated defect because, dudes, I am not going to accept it! Think you are so smart – reading my blog perhaps? I am fed up, I no longer want to sell you the house, I even take back my kind offer of the New York Times from this morning. My personal crises notwithstanding, I am not going to be drawn into this nightmare sale by house-buying transactional stubborness!]
…I climb up on the top of the stairs And all my cares Just drift right into space
Like hell they do. Type in correction: none of my cares are drifting into space. They are piling on rapidly and my plate was already full before this week even started. Prognosis: no relief in sight.
On the roof is peaceful as can be And there the world below can’t bother me…
Oh it bothers me plenty. Plenty. Thanks a lot world, for sucking it to me again and again. Thanks for last night as well (sorry, friend, for standing you up for drinks last night; I was quite incapacitated).
When I come home feeling tired and beat I go up where the air is fresh and sweet…
Where would that be? The fresh and sweet air I mean? In the crawlspace that the engineer came to inspect this morning? Is that it? Seemed fine up there. This is a forty year old house, damn it! You want a new property – here I’ll show you some houses farther west. Add a couple hundred thou and you can have all the brand new roof tiles you want!
Oh, did I hear that you registered your child for the local elementary school already? Well forget it! Tell junior mommy and daddy were forced out of the house by VERY ANGRY SELLER! I have no patience, no remorse, no oomph, no stamina left! Go pick on someone else, buttheads.
No more mr. nice-guy from me, ever. I tell you, it doesn’t pay! It DOES NOT PAY!
…I climb up on the top of the stairs And all my cares Just drift right into space
Like hell they do. Type in correction: none of my cares are drifting into space. They are piling on rapidly and my plate was already full before this week even started. Prognosis: no relief in sight.
On the roof is peaceful as can be And there the world below can’t bother me…
Oh it bothers me plenty. Plenty. Thanks a lot world, for sucking it to me again and again. Thanks for last night as well (sorry, friend, for standing you up for drinks last night; I was quite incapacitated).
When I come home feeling tired and beat I go up where the air is fresh and sweet…
Where would that be? The fresh and sweet air I mean? In the crawlspace that the engineer came to inspect this morning? Is that it? Seemed fine up there. This is a forty year old house, damn it! You want a new property – here I’ll show you some houses farther west. Add a couple hundred thou and you can have all the brand new roof tiles you want!
Oh, did I hear that you registered your child for the local elementary school already? Well forget it! Tell junior mommy and daddy were forced out of the house by VERY ANGRY SELLER! I have no patience, no remorse, no oomph, no stamina left! Go pick on someone else, buttheads.
No more mr. nice-guy from me, ever. I tell you, it doesn’t pay! It DOES NOT PAY!
UPDATE: In case the buyers do not understand blogs, I am compelled to remind all that Ocean is a blog that believes in looking at tense moments with humor. I did modify the text a teeny tiny bit so as to not appear totally wacky. Which I am not.
* lyrics: my commenter was right. Peter belts it out, but Carole King wrote it
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
straw
Everyone has a camel and a straw. Mine came tonight. Back broken. No comments necessary! Really. No sympathy, no, nothing please. It will do no good. Make a donation to your favorite charity, give money to GOODWILL, please, give them a boost. Because really, there is not enough of goodwill in this world. Not nearly.
And then, after you've written a check, sit back and reflect on how easy it is to do right by people who are important to your past and present -- even if not necessarily your future. Think how easy it is to wish them well. How simple not to break them. If you are parting with someone who, upon refelction, saved you in small and big ways once upon a time, remember those small and big gestures. Remember how once the person really truly was your best friend.
Don't screw your past best friends, even if they no longer are that. Don't trip them up. Look, look hard at their eyes and note their pleading wistfulness, their great desire to do the right thing even if you don't believe it is the right thing.
And then, after you've written a check, sit back and reflect on how easy it is to do right by people who are important to your past and present -- even if not necessarily your future. Think how easy it is to wish them well. How simple not to break them. If you are parting with someone who, upon refelction, saved you in small and big ways once upon a time, remember those small and big gestures. Remember how once the person really truly was your best friend.
Don't screw your past best friends, even if they no longer are that. Don't trip them up. Look, look hard at their eyes and note their pleading wistfulness, their great desire to do the right thing even if you don't believe it is the right thing.
When this old world starts getting me down And people are just to much for me to face*…
…I climb up on the top of the stairs And all my cares Just drift right into space
On the roof is peaceful as can be And there the world below can’t bother me…
Hello, Nina?
Yeah…
The roofers are going to inspect your house as per buyer request, okay?
Do I have a choice? No I do not.
I’ll come over as well and listen to what is being said about it.
Swell.
When I come home feeling tired and beat I go up where the air is fresh and sweet…
Hey there, do you know that there are a bunch of people outside, children running around, some men on the roof, some below?
Yeah…
Shouldn’t we do something? Like go out there and talk to them?
No, leave them alone. They’re looking for defects.
Oh. Well I already talked to them. They don’t want to be bothered with a roof replacement when they move in.
And I don’t want to be bothered with a buyer replacement, so just let them be.
On the roof the only place I know Where you just have to wish to make it so
I wish I would not feel like I am near the end of my period of sanity, where I am about to cross over and enter a terrain heretofore unentered, even during most trying past circumstances…
What are you talking about? Stay calm, stay calm.
I cannot. Excuse me, while I take this call…
...I’ve found a paradise that’s trouble proof And if the world starts getting you down There’s room enough for two up on the roof…
If it has a couple of more good years left, then how is it a defect? Damn it, I did not go to law school for nothing! I know my rights.
There’s time to argue whether this is technically a defect.
I am tired of arguing. I am tired tired tired of everyone arguing! Why does everything, everything have to be resolved through argument? I don’t want it! Purge it from my life already!
You could always give in. In all aspects of your life, just give it up. Let it go. Ignore the injustice of it all! You could always just take what's handed out and shrug your shoulders. Give in, given in.
Yeah…
...And all my cares just drift right into space Up on the Roof...
* On the Roof lyrics by Peter Cincotti
On the roof is peaceful as can be And there the world below can’t bother me…
Hello, Nina?
Yeah…
The roofers are going to inspect your house as per buyer request, okay?
Do I have a choice? No I do not.
I’ll come over as well and listen to what is being said about it.
Swell.
When I come home feeling tired and beat I go up where the air is fresh and sweet…
Hey there, do you know that there are a bunch of people outside, children running around, some men on the roof, some below?
Yeah…
Shouldn’t we do something? Like go out there and talk to them?
No, leave them alone. They’re looking for defects.
Oh. Well I already talked to them. They don’t want to be bothered with a roof replacement when they move in.
And I don’t want to be bothered with a buyer replacement, so just let them be.
On the roof the only place I know Where you just have to wish to make it so
I wish I would not feel like I am near the end of my period of sanity, where I am about to cross over and enter a terrain heretofore unentered, even during most trying past circumstances…
What are you talking about? Stay calm, stay calm.
I cannot. Excuse me, while I take this call…
...I’ve found a paradise that’s trouble proof And if the world starts getting you down There’s room enough for two up on the roof…
If it has a couple of more good years left, then how is it a defect? Damn it, I did not go to law school for nothing! I know my rights.
There’s time to argue whether this is technically a defect.
I am tired of arguing. I am tired tired tired of everyone arguing! Why does everything, everything have to be resolved through argument? I don’t want it! Purge it from my life already!
You could always give in. In all aspects of your life, just give it up. Let it go. Ignore the injustice of it all! You could always just take what's handed out and shrug your shoulders. Give in, given in.
Yeah…
...And all my cares just drift right into space Up on the Roof...
* On the Roof lyrics by Peter Cincotti
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Jumping with a bungee cord
There are people who walk cautiously through life. They take a step, pause, contemplate the possible consequences, retreat, move to the side, resume even more slowly and eventually they make progress. Really they do.
I am not like that. In all matters relating to my personal life, I plunged. Friends became intensely close, boyfriends were instantly candidates for soulmate status. I reeled in a world of dizzying love for people, for events, for activities that I discovered afresh each year.
My little one and I were talking earlier today. She remarked how I never just connected to a person, I super charged the connection and with excitement and found all the nuance and beauty that made a person completely stellar. Best of breed, so to speak. Best of the best.
At 52, as I now proceed to distance myself from a significant chunk of my past, I think, I really think this – I think I was wrong to be so headstrong.
To all you blog readers who are younger than me, take heed. The world does not belong to the bold, it does not reward you for your efforts, it will not smile kindly at your generosities.
Forget the visions of eternal love, of eternal friendship; not even that: forget the belief in a solid strong anything. It’s fleeting – all of it, it’s fleeting and mostly terribly unkind.
I took a stack of old books to a used book place tonight. Books, just books, useless books, books that I had no room for in the new loft. Before handing them over, I flipped through some of them. I came across an inscription, written by someone who, some years back, promised undying friendship and eternal devotion. I pulled the book out of the reject pile, as a reminder of how completely ridiculous the idea was.
I am not like that. In all matters relating to my personal life, I plunged. Friends became intensely close, boyfriends were instantly candidates for soulmate status. I reeled in a world of dizzying love for people, for events, for activities that I discovered afresh each year.
My little one and I were talking earlier today. She remarked how I never just connected to a person, I super charged the connection and with excitement and found all the nuance and beauty that made a person completely stellar. Best of breed, so to speak. Best of the best.
At 52, as I now proceed to distance myself from a significant chunk of my past, I think, I really think this – I think I was wrong to be so headstrong.
To all you blog readers who are younger than me, take heed. The world does not belong to the bold, it does not reward you for your efforts, it will not smile kindly at your generosities.
Forget the visions of eternal love, of eternal friendship; not even that: forget the belief in a solid strong anything. It’s fleeting – all of it, it’s fleeting and mostly terribly unkind.
I took a stack of old books to a used book place tonight. Books, just books, useless books, books that I had no room for in the new loft. Before handing them over, I flipped through some of them. I came across an inscription, written by someone who, some years back, promised undying friendship and eternal devotion. I pulled the book out of the reject pile, as a reminder of how completely ridiculous the idea was.
trippin' up at the finish line
I held it together when the house was not selling and, for legal reasons, it needed to sell or else.
I held it together when changes were taking place in my life, changes that would rock even the most solid, stoic of characters.
I held it together when moving everything everywhere wrenched my back, and the holding it together was not tarnished by the fact that I still have a vast amount of moving ahead of me.
I held it together when I found that I needed to buy new furniture for the new apartment -- great fun! great expense!
I held it together when the very same van that I was treating with kid gloves started flashing "low oil" lights today, even though I had just changed the oil last month and had put on perhaps 55 miles since.
I held it together when my robust exercise schedule faltered -- the first major casualty of a hell schedule.
I held it together as I sat on the landing steps of my loft at the wee hours of the morning today, looked outside and noticed a solitary person walking, one prong at a time, on the railroad tracks. He looked lonely and sad.
I held it together through sadnesses and worries of others, which make me sad and worried for them in addition to making it absolutely impossible to look up with pleading eyes and ask for much hand-holding.
I held it together when my daughters were shaken out of bed because, unexpectedly, the realtor with the new buyers and their little children showed up at our doorstep and informed me that they expected to spend the morning here, overseeing the engineering inspection, giving me five minutes, FIVE FREAGIN' MINUTES to get the place in order for their peering eyes (and I don't care if they read my blog, so there!) and leave them to their devices.
I held it together when I came back well into the afternoon, loaded down with groceries and who knows what and they were all still there, discussing why the outside door downstairs was sticking and why the furnace was rattling. I have a furnace that was purchased within our tenure here, damn it, go pick on somebody else's furnace!
I even held it together when the purchasing wife said she would be back this Thursday along with the engineering crew, because they still needed to pry open the crawlspace and had no time to do it today.
But when I got a call saying that they were sending out a roofing contractor who would do an inch-by-inch analysis of the roof and would I mind? -- I sat down on the kitchen floor and cried.
I held it together when changes were taking place in my life, changes that would rock even the most solid, stoic of characters.
I held it together when moving everything everywhere wrenched my back, and the holding it together was not tarnished by the fact that I still have a vast amount of moving ahead of me.
I held it together when I found that I needed to buy new furniture for the new apartment -- great fun! great expense!
I held it together when the very same van that I was treating with kid gloves started flashing "low oil" lights today, even though I had just changed the oil last month and had put on perhaps 55 miles since.
I held it together when my robust exercise schedule faltered -- the first major casualty of a hell schedule.
I held it together as I sat on the landing steps of my loft at the wee hours of the morning today, looked outside and noticed a solitary person walking, one prong at a time, on the railroad tracks. He looked lonely and sad.
I held it together through sadnesses and worries of others, which make me sad and worried for them in addition to making it absolutely impossible to look up with pleading eyes and ask for much hand-holding.
I held it together when my daughters were shaken out of bed because, unexpectedly, the realtor with the new buyers and their little children showed up at our doorstep and informed me that they expected to spend the morning here, overseeing the engineering inspection, giving me five minutes, FIVE FREAGIN' MINUTES to get the place in order for their peering eyes (and I don't care if they read my blog, so there!) and leave them to their devices.
I held it together when I came back well into the afternoon, loaded down with groceries and who knows what and they were all still there, discussing why the outside door downstairs was sticking and why the furnace was rattling. I have a furnace that was purchased within our tenure here, damn it, go pick on somebody else's furnace!
I even held it together when the purchasing wife said she would be back this Thursday along with the engineering crew, because they still needed to pry open the crawlspace and had no time to do it today.
But when I got a call saying that they were sending out a roofing contractor who would do an inch-by-inch analysis of the roof and would I mind? -- I sat down on the kitchen floor and cried.
...and the day ran away with the spoon
...and the knife and fork and a bunch of kitchen-ey items, as I got the loft ready for a small group of evening visitors.
Or, maybe I shouldn't call them mere visitors. My recollections this morning are foggy, but I distinctly remember looking toward the loft windows and seeing two chairs positioned in front. On those two charis were not exactly nine ladies dancing, but definitely at least two. Through the windows, the dome of the Capitol looked on. As did I.
It began as an evening of celebration. A daughter with a job offer was reason enough to go order some rainbow drinks along with the much beloved Ahi tuna, downtown, at the Crave.
Back at the loft, food was not the centerpiece. Or was it? I once said that if I had only a handful of foods available to me and I could pick my handful, it would include bread, cheese and chocolate.
At midnight, someone who does not stop just because it is midnight, proposed more revelry and music. Truth is, no one could keep up with her. I vaguely remember thinking I should stay up and post. I fell asleep thinking I should post.
Or, maybe I shouldn't call them mere visitors. My recollections this morning are foggy, but I distinctly remember looking toward the loft windows and seeing two chairs positioned in front. On those two charis were not exactly nine ladies dancing, but definitely at least two. Through the windows, the dome of the Capitol looked on. As did I.
It began as an evening of celebration. A daughter with a job offer was reason enough to go order some rainbow drinks along with the much beloved Ahi tuna, downtown, at the Crave.
Back at the loft, food was not the centerpiece. Or was it? I once said that if I had only a handful of foods available to me and I could pick my handful, it would include bread, cheese and chocolate.
At midnight, someone who does not stop just because it is midnight, proposed more revelry and music. Truth is, no one could keep up with her. I vaguely remember thinking I should stay up and post. I fell asleep thinking I should post.
Monday, August 22, 2005
bargain with the blogger in me...
...if I promise to post after midnight and show pictures of turtles, fish and marble stone, will you still like me?
...if I tell you that I am only now by a computer and I only have five minutes, will you forgive me?
...if I tell you that this morning, I had time, but no interest in writing, because nothing, really nothing happens before noon -- nothing at all worth blogging about, will you understand?
Thank you.
...if I tell you that I am only now by a computer and I only have five minutes, will you forgive me?
...if I tell you that this morning, I had time, but no interest in writing, because nothing, really nothing happens before noon -- nothing at all worth blogging about, will you understand?
Thank you.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Would you spend hours cleaning the house for the mother-in-law of a complete stranger?
I did. Today, the soon-to-be-owners of our house asked to bring their parents for a special visit. You know, so they could say –“look ma & pa, look what we bought yesterday!”
I ran into the whole lot of them as I was getting the last piece of garbage into the van outside. The place was, of course, immaculate.
Why bother? We have an accepted offer. It’s not as if I am going to go home and there’ll be a ding-a-ling-a-ling and it will be them saying – forget it, slobs*, we do not want your piece of junk!”
Why do we do the things we do? Why do we bother, when it makes no difference, creates not even a small increment of pleasure?
I don’t know.
* incidentally, if they called us slobs, they’d be the first
I ran into the whole lot of them as I was getting the last piece of garbage into the van outside. The place was, of course, immaculate.
Why bother? We have an accepted offer. It’s not as if I am going to go home and there’ll be a ding-a-ling-a-ling and it will be them saying – forget it, slobs*, we do not want your piece of junk!”
Why do we do the things we do? Why do we bother, when it makes no difference, creates not even a small increment of pleasure?
I don’t know.
* incidentally, if they called us slobs, they’d be the first
inch by inch, row by row, gonna make my garden grow...or not.
Five years ago if you had asked me about my non-academic interests, I would have talked about traveling, writing, cooking and, yes, gardening.
Serious about my perennials, I planted hundreds upon hundreds of them. I pored over White Flower Farm catalogues in February and was there each April for the first hours of the Flower Factory's opening week-end. Dirt on my hands, strained muscles from digging -- all blissful reminders of my Hearty Polish Peasant Stock.
Then, like an unfaithful lover, a season or two ago, I got tired of it. My attention drifted. Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of garden space (the yard here is huge), by the rabbits that constantly chomped at my dianthus, by the phlox mildew and the spit-bugs and the drought and the weeds, I took one look and walked away.
The forces of nature retaliated. The perennial beds grew with wild abandon. Screw you, they seemed to say, we will multiply and spread and with great promiscuity, we will welcome weeds and everything and anything that wants to take part in this wild fling with nature. We'll show you how hot and alive we are! -- they told me.
But it was like the last wail of a scorned lover. I gave a small "there, there" pat, pulled a weed or two and turned away. The lure of the downtown, of my writing, of my camera, of new faces and new spaces was too great.
So, good-bye garden. Once I loved you to death. Now you are just a sweet memory of a damp soil and fresh new shoots in spring. Tucked away with all other sweet memories of past loves and passionate indulgences.
Serious about my perennials, I planted hundreds upon hundreds of them. I pored over White Flower Farm catalogues in February and was there each April for the first hours of the Flower Factory's opening week-end. Dirt on my hands, strained muscles from digging -- all blissful reminders of my Hearty Polish Peasant Stock.
Then, like an unfaithful lover, a season or two ago, I got tired of it. My attention drifted. Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of garden space (the yard here is huge), by the rabbits that constantly chomped at my dianthus, by the phlox mildew and the spit-bugs and the drought and the weeds, I took one look and walked away.
The forces of nature retaliated. The perennial beds grew with wild abandon. Screw you, they seemed to say, we will multiply and spread and with great promiscuity, we will welcome weeds and everything and anything that wants to take part in this wild fling with nature. We'll show you how hot and alive we are! -- they told me.
But it was like the last wail of a scorned lover. I gave a small "there, there" pat, pulled a weed or two and turned away. The lure of the downtown, of my writing, of my camera, of new faces and new spaces was too great.
So, good-bye garden. Once I loved you to death. Now you are just a sweet memory of a damp soil and fresh new shoots in spring. Tucked away with all other sweet memories of past loves and passionate indulgences.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
If you cannot find a free moment in a day, blog about tomatoes
Heirloom tomatoes. Accompanying a bunch of grilled things -- scallions, mushrooms, meats, all of it.
The best of the suburban life (of which I have only days remaining) is that which happens at dusk, over wooden embers. With the colors of the late August garden there, to spark and inspire.
The best of the suburban life (of which I have only days remaining) is that which happens at dusk, over wooden embers. With the colors of the late August garden there, to spark and inspire.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Reflections on selling a house
So how anxious was I to seal the deal?
Anxious enough that the first offer, representing, as my economist pal figured out, 93% of the asking price, was accepted with a sigh of relief. Fact is, we were about to lower the asking price.
In the last three days, the house had more showings than in the entire preceding 6 weeks. What made the difference? It appears that the words “motivated seller,” plugged in just three days ago, pushed it into the suddenly desirable category.
I do not get people. Most sellers are motivated! If you’re not motivated, you don’t pound a “for sale” sign into your lawn.
How hard is it for all of us, my daughters especially, to let go of this family home? Hard. Trust me, hard.
Is there a bright side? Oh yes, definitely. Many. Too many to list here. But here’s one I kept thinking about today as I stared at the vine climbing along the back wall of the house. It had become infested with some bug or other and I predict that within two weeks the entire two-story wall will be covered by wilted brown leaves instead of the lush green ones that nature intended.
On the other hand, note what’s happening around the back and side walls of the warehouse apartments. THEY are planting perennials. THEY are responsible for their health and well being. THEY will weed, prune, mulch them. Not me. Not me.
Anxious enough that the first offer, representing, as my economist pal figured out, 93% of the asking price, was accepted with a sigh of relief. Fact is, we were about to lower the asking price.
In the last three days, the house had more showings than in the entire preceding 6 weeks. What made the difference? It appears that the words “motivated seller,” plugged in just three days ago, pushed it into the suddenly desirable category.
I do not get people. Most sellers are motivated! If you’re not motivated, you don’t pound a “for sale” sign into your lawn.
How hard is it for all of us, my daughters especially, to let go of this family home? Hard. Trust me, hard.
Is there a bright side? Oh yes, definitely. Many. Too many to list here. But here’s one I kept thinking about today as I stared at the vine climbing along the back wall of the house. It had become infested with some bug or other and I predict that within two weeks the entire two-story wall will be covered by wilted brown leaves instead of the lush green ones that nature intended.
On the other hand, note what’s happening around the back and side walls of the warehouse apartments. THEY are planting perennials. THEY are responsible for their health and well being. THEY will weed, prune, mulch them. Not me. Not me.
in one hour: a tornado and a new family on the block
The lead story on CNN is about the tornado that touched down yesterday evening in Stoughton, just outside Madison.
Oh, how well I know that storm! It was one of the rare times where I could not seek shelter during a warning. Between the house showing and the need to get down to the loft a.s.a.p., I just could not do it. And so I rode it out, plowing my van through the torrential rains.
Nothing happened here on the west side of Madison. Or, nothing bad happened. In the course of the tornado, a family with two little children purchased our house.
I was sitting in the van, watching the children of the prospective buyers run around the front yard just minutes before the storm struck. I thought -- how perfect! My neighbors had been arguing over the gender of the next kids on the block: there was a strong lobby for more girls. But the boys wanted playmates too. In the end, each will get one.
Me -- I just want to say that selling this house has been one huge nightmare. The sale isn't final yet, but it's a solid offer. The storm chased off a period of high uncertainty. How fitting that it should have cleared the air so violently, so completely.
Oh, how well I know that storm! It was one of the rare times where I could not seek shelter during a warning. Between the house showing and the need to get down to the loft a.s.a.p., I just could not do it. And so I rode it out, plowing my van through the torrential rains.
Nothing happened here on the west side of Madison. Or, nothing bad happened. In the course of the tornado, a family with two little children purchased our house.
I was sitting in the van, watching the children of the prospective buyers run around the front yard just minutes before the storm struck. I thought -- how perfect! My neighbors had been arguing over the gender of the next kids on the block: there was a strong lobby for more girls. But the boys wanted playmates too. In the end, each will get one.
Me -- I just want to say that selling this house has been one huge nightmare. The sale isn't final yet, but it's a solid offer. The storm chased off a period of high uncertainty. How fitting that it should have cleared the air so violently, so completely.
So fitting: amidst storms and turmoil, there is always the calming presence of Katy
It could not have been crazier. The minute I finished posting on the blog yesterday, the avalanche intensified: one car stalled, without power. One house showing cancelled, another on for early evening. Must finish straightening and tidying (it has to sell! The house has to sell! Hurry up and sell!). About done now. Crap! – the AC breaks down (we were never friends, the air conditioning and I but does it have to fail me completely now? I am trying to sell the house! I have another showing tomorrow! It is so damn muggy!)
Quickly, open the windows. Create a breeze. Leave the premises, the showing is about to begin.
The sirens go off. Tornado warning. Radio reports: touch down in Spring Green, just west of here, ten minutes away. Return to close the windows. Have to wait. Showing in progress. Finally, the people leave (did you write out an offer? No? What’s the matter with you – the house is perfect!).
Close the windows, head downtown. I do not care about sirens. So lift me up and swirl me in your funnel clouds! I know all about storms – I am not going to be freaked by this one!
There sure is a lot of water around me. Don’t stall, trusty-but-almost-dead-van, do not stall! SO much water. I wade through puddles, I feel the pouring rain on my bare arms.
And then – screw it all. I go to dine with Katy.
Katy is leaving town and as her last parting gift, she takes her blog partner and me out to l’Etoile.
Oh, l'Etoile, l'Etoile! I knew you when you were just a baby. You too have seen me through a quarter of a century of changes. I ate here through the events that have rocked the world, I cooked here during my most turbulent years. And so it is fitting to sit here now, with these two bloggers, these two friends, and to let go of the storms around me and indulge in the foods and services of this stellar place.
Tory, chef and proprietor, hovers.
We are winding down. I'm still reeeling over the charentais melon carpaccio with prosciutto-wrapped goat cheese and crazy jim's cucumbers, cippolini onions and baby arugula (in a honey-rice wine vinaigrette).
We stare at the dessert menus, but not for long. They are snatched away. We are not allowed to choose. Tory makes us all of them and suddenly, our table is filled with sweetness.
Katy
We linger. The evening cannot end.
Oh, but we are downtown! The loft! Of course. It is so easy to finish each evening at the loft. My daughters, elsewhere downtown this night, join us. The night is quiet except for the train that goes by outside the window. No storms now. Have a safe trip south, Katy.
Quickly, open the windows. Create a breeze. Leave the premises, the showing is about to begin.
The sirens go off. Tornado warning. Radio reports: touch down in Spring Green, just west of here, ten minutes away. Return to close the windows. Have to wait. Showing in progress. Finally, the people leave (did you write out an offer? No? What’s the matter with you – the house is perfect!).
Close the windows, head downtown. I do not care about sirens. So lift me up and swirl me in your funnel clouds! I know all about storms – I am not going to be freaked by this one!
There sure is a lot of water around me. Don’t stall, trusty-but-almost-dead-van, do not stall! SO much water. I wade through puddles, I feel the pouring rain on my bare arms.
And then – screw it all. I go to dine with Katy.
Katy is leaving town and as her last parting gift, she takes her blog partner and me out to l’Etoile.
Oh, l'Etoile, l'Etoile! I knew you when you were just a baby. You too have seen me through a quarter of a century of changes. I ate here through the events that have rocked the world, I cooked here during my most turbulent years. And so it is fitting to sit here now, with these two bloggers, these two friends, and to let go of the storms around me and indulge in the foods and services of this stellar place.
Tory, chef and proprietor, hovers.
We are winding down. I'm still reeeling over the charentais melon carpaccio with prosciutto-wrapped goat cheese and crazy jim's cucumbers, cippolini onions and baby arugula (in a honey-rice wine vinaigrette).
We stare at the dessert menus, but not for long. They are snatched away. We are not allowed to choose. Tory makes us all of them and suddenly, our table is filled with sweetness.
KatyWe linger. The evening cannot end.
Oh, but we are downtown! The loft! Of course. It is so easy to finish each evening at the loft. My daughters, elsewhere downtown this night, join us. The night is quiet except for the train that goes by outside the window. No storms now. Have a safe trip south, Katy.
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