Category Archives: Life

Redemption Song

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IMG00044IMG00045Last night I entered the 42nd Street subway station and I heard someone doing a pitch-perfect rendition of Bob Marley’s Redemption Song.  People were singing along.

I was in a “woe-is-I” mood.  [“Won’t you help to sign these songs of freedom?”]

I was feeling like this economic and political quagmire would just continue and there would be no new start for our country.   [“how long will they kill our prophets as we stand aside and look? Some say it’s just a part of it, we have to fulfill the book”.] 

How am I going to get out of this funk and enjoy life again and be grateful for all that I have [“Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; None but ourselves can free our minds.”]

So, I started singing along, “Redemption song; Redemption song,” with strangers and it was stirring.  I am still humming it today.

Inspiration comes in the strangest of places.  In the bowels of NYC in the overcrowded, smelly Times Square Station.  Redemption song.  Redemption song.

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Cramming summer into the week before Labor Day

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Memorial Day Weekend was last weekend, right?  When did July come to town?  July didn’t even call and say hi. There aren’t 35 days in August?  Rip off!!!

Wait, I have only have 5 days left to:

  1. do my entire summer fitness regimen,
  2. go kayaking on the Hudson River,
  3. browse at farmer’s markets,
  4. take a boat ride,
  5. clean out my closets,
  6. put all the family pictures on iPhoto,
  7. go to the Aquarium at Coney Island,
  8. walk along the beach at Coney Island,
  9. go to the Bronx Zoo,
  10. go the Botanical Gardens,
  11. visit my mother’s grave,
  12. lose weight before I see everyone again at synagogue for the High Holy Days,
  13. get new blinds for the bedroom,
  14. have a lazy weekend,
  15. have cook-outs with friends,
  16. see all the summer movies,
  17. sit outside and enjoy the late summer’s breeze,
  18. find quality time to spend with my partner?

Man, I am toast.

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Too much politics; too much rage — I am going gentler

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A dear friend says she can’t read my blog because — I am paraphrasing and embellishing now — if she thought about all of the world’s ills about which I rant, her head would explode.  I get that.  If I don’t write about them, my head will explode. Or maybe not.

I had a good run of happy thoughts on my blogcation.  So, taking my friend’s point of view to heart and realizing that as I get older I will become more of the same, I am going to try to ease up on the ranting.   I had this scary image of me in 25 years, in a housecoat (like my grandmother wore) and high tops (my grandmother never wore these) screaming about things on street corners.

So, no more world, national, market or local news for me today.  My stomach is already tied in knots about some Republican joking about Obama-tagging (as in tagging wolves that are hunted).  I am not starting.  Nope.  Nope.

I took the day off from work because we have no morning sitter coverage for our son.  He is having a bike lesson now.  [I learned that if your child is not a natural at something, a parent is the last teacher on earth your child wants.]  Then we will hang out, have lunch.  A sitter will come around 1pm and I will set off to do errands, like getting new door knobs.  Our door knobs are the original 1920’s door knobs and they are falling apart.  So, instead of having a metal hanger in every room in case the know falls off, I will go and find some new ones.

I can upload new music on our family iPod. I can upload pictures from vacation, etc.  I can’t visit my cousin who is recovering from an operation because I have some kind of head cold and I don’t want to infect him.

I wish I were busy at work.  But if I go in and have nothing going on, I will get depressed and tired.  I am available by blackberry and can hop into any kinkos anywhere, so I can handle most things and, if I need to, I can pop into the office.

Let’s see if this more Zen version of me can work.

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Reminder about what counts

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A friend just sent around a quote from Erma Bombeck after she found out she was dying from cancer.  Good reminder of what counts, but hard to remember to see past the small stuff:

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or the sofa faded.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my partner.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television and more while watching life.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, “Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

There would have been more “I love yous” and “I’m sorrys”.

Rest in Peace, Erma.

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Another accidental audience

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I am in a real estate closing, waiting for documents to be finalized and payments mades.

A small, but irritating fact, the lawyer for the purchaser can’t stop telling me how important and busy is his client, the husband (busier than the rest of us, who are present, obviously) so we have to have him sign and get out fast.  He clearly does not realize that there are many busy people in this room, two of whom are there out of love and obligation to sellers (one deceased; the other living in an alternate reality).    Whatever.

This lawyer also thinks he is the first person in the world to have a newborn.  Of course, he is speaking to his client, the wife, a woman who has a small child and is pregnant.  He says things like, my wife pumps breast milk all the time.  In fact, he says his refrigerator used to have ice cream and waffles, now it is filled with pumped milk.  I am sure I needed to know that the bassinet is next to his wife’s side of the bed so she can bring him into bed to nurse.  We are now learning about his mother-in-law who is staying with them. She works for a chiropractor. Fabulous.

Wow, to think I lived without his virtual baby manual during the first 7 years of my son’s life.

I just want to get out of here.

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Random Thoughts

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I realized that I was talking to someone on her cell while she was in the office bathroom.  I heard people talking and flushing.  I need to sterilize my ear.

I am for universal health care coverage, but I will not pay for hearing aids or ocular implants for people who blast music in their ears.  Especially on my subway car.

I saw a man standing just outside the employees entrance at a funeral home looking at the traffic going by.  Was he waiting for something to happen?

My partner promised to handle a matter but left my cell phone number.  Lesbian merger or dumping it back into my court?

How nice do I really have to be?

Would I get away with driving a person off a bridge if I promise to devote my life to public service (even though that wasn’t the quid pro quo for Teddy)?

If a bald, portly nerdy guy doesn’t see that he is lucky to have the girlfriend he has, will a baseball bat knock sense into him?

How come men think they are way better looking and way more desirable than they really are?

If you are blasting Karla Bonoff or The Pousette Dart Band and dancing around thinking you are cool, should you be entitled to social security benefits out of pity?

Did Sarah Palin drop off the face of the earth or was that just a fantasy I had?

Does Dick Cheney sometimes crawl back into his secret bunker for old time’s sake?

Do I have to go to the gym or can I imagine just how gross it is?

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Blogcation Day 8

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Last night I noticed as I parked the rental car that the outer casing of the driver’s side rear view mirror was missing.  Oh, great, I thought.  Did some aggressive Escalade driver nicked me in an East Hampton parking lot? Or was it some Hummer dude (because one’s driveway is technically off-road driving) who couldn’t fit his tank into four parking spaces and tapped my ultra-safe, unpretentious and family-like Volvo sedan?  I was still a little wrecked about it even though I realized that buying all of that rental insurance paid off big time.  That, and the GPS and the EZ Pass are all worth it, because family vacation drives are epic enough without the added excitement of not knowing where to go or scrounging for cash and change at the toll booth.  I am sure Suze Orman would say that these are unnecessary add-ons that cost me money which, if properly invested, would pay for my son’s education.  Well, I will figure out another way.

We went back out to Long Island to visit with friends who are just wonderful people.  Our son swam in the pool, while the adults just kept eating and talking (someone was always watching him and poised to save him).  Seriously, there was food to feed an army, which worked out well because people actually dropped by.  In New York City, if someone dropped by unannounced, the person would be labeled a stalker and a restraining order issued.

I had to stop eating because, well, I didn’t wear loose enough clothing.  Our son didn’t want to leave — why would he, when he got to swim, explore the nooks and crannies of a big house, and he was lovingly plied with cupcakes and given huge goody bag (big like a serious Halloween trick or treating night score) from the “candy drawer”.

We didn’t stay long enough (I was concerned about the Sunday afternoon traffic back into the city) and we love seeing them.   And it was nice that we had the rental car so we did not to have to ask them to schlep to us in the City. (One of these days, I will recount the crazy story about how we met this couple and what we have lived through together — but no names and not now.)

I was very apologetic and self-conscious about checking my blackberry for texts from potential sitters for our son and constant phone messages from the owner of our beach house rental.  My partner said she would speak to the owner and I was scared for the guy.  She will put an end to his hysteria — either with (i) a charming and gentle touch or (ii) a verbal dressing-down that would be grammatically correct with poly-syllabic words for which he would need the OED (Oxford English Dictionary — when we were dating, my partner had to tell me what the acronym meant and she didn’t break it off — see, she DOES suffer some fools).  All depends on his approach.   Be afraid.

We just finished a rousing game of FDF (Fresh Direct Football).  I stand in the foyer and throw the unbreakables to my son in the pantry who then runs them to my partner in the kitchen.  No spillage and no bruised fruit (although I am worried about the orange bell pepper).

Our son is now reading his encyclopedia of trains (a gift from our friends some months ago).  Recently, he said to me, “I am not angry at you, [Mom], but I just get very frustrated that you don’t remember the names and types of trains.”  Oh, sweetie, if only I could remember most things I once knew.  If only I were young with a sponge-like brain.  If we were really smart, we would take you to the gambling tables and you would win because you would remember all the card that were played.  Then I would need a faster car than the Volvo family sedan because I would have to out-run child protective services agents.

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The irony of Dominick Dunne’s and Ted Kennedy’s contemporaneous deaths

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Dominick Dunne was a writer of some repute early in his career. A career which careened out of control from drugs and alcohol, if I remember correctly.  A person of power and privilege was the main suspect in his daughter’s murder and the suspect eluded conviction, as Mr. Dunne maintained, precisely because of his power and privilege.  He then became a TV personality doing exposés on the “unsolved” crimes committed by the rich and powerful.

Dominick Dunne’s death has gone relatively unnoticed, more unnoticed probably because Ted Kennedy died hours earlier.  What a strange juxtaposition.  One man, a TV personality driven by never having gotten justice for his daughter; the other, a child of our American aristocracy and leader of a political dynasty who was responsible for a woman’s death and at the scene of another’s rape. 

In these last few days, our leaders have gently referred to Ted Kennedy’s “transgressions” as they eulogize the liberal lion of the Senate.  I keep thinking of Dominick Dunne.

I loved Ted Kennedy’s politics, but I am still working through my issues with all of these days of mourning.  Was the nation better served by his service in the Senate or would his being held to account for his behavior have made us the more perfect union we desire?  I keep thinking about the pledge of allegiance: “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands: one nation [under G-d] with liberty and justice for all.” 

I just don’t know.

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Blogcation Day 7

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We decided to leave the rented beach house a day early and beat the horrendous weather. 

The owner of the house has been in a constant freaked out state that people would ruin his “expensive” stuff (not to be a snob, but it was IKEA and CB2 stuff; if it were Design Within Reach I would understand it), so I took pictures of every stain we saw on his self-assembled finery.  I also took pictures of the garbage piled up. 

I even emailed him the picture of the joint that gave way on the IKEA futon in the downstairs living area.  I tried to explain to him that we didn’t cause it but we discovered it when I, 120 pounds sopping wet, felt it give way as I sat down so immediately got up.  First he heard: I put my sopping wet dog on the couch.  I told him we don’t have a dog.   Then he asked if he could get this straight — that we dragged the couch out into the rain so that it was sopping wet, got warped and gave way. Ok, ok, ok, ok.  I am going into an alternate universe.

So, I continued the conversation, mostly intrigued about how far down the rabbit hole we would go.  I told him that I took down the outdoor umbrella so it wouldn’t do any damage in the strong winds.  I told that the umbrella was also bent a little.  Then HE got bent out of shape.  We started down the road of the sopping wet dog and I told him that we never opened the umbrella because the outdoor table was rusted over and we, as a rule, don’t eat on rusted surfaces, especially without a doctor present to administer tetanus shots.  He couldn’t imagine how this could happen.  I have no idea what others did in his house, but we were clean and careful and frankly out doing stuff all the time.  I had to climb out of the rabbit hole before I would do irreparable damage to my mental health. My partner listened to my side of the conversation and thought I was insane.  Then I told her the other side of the conversation.  She wondered if Verizon charges extras for receiving phone calls from Mars.

Throughout the conversation, I had this image of the CSI: Miami team determining who did what damage so the cost could be properly apportioned to the appropriate security deposits.  I don’t even like Horatio Caine on my TV set let alone in my head.  eeeeeewwwww.   

And, we were such considerate renters.  Really. Not only did my partner SCRUB the slightly gross kitchen, but we left soap, toilet paper and paper towels for the next renters (no such amenities were afforded us) and I called to ask what I should do to batten down the hatches because of the crazy weather from Tropical Storm Danny.  We wiped down the bathrooms, stripped the beds, etc., even though there is a cleaning service (well, um, precisely because we experienced the “quality” of the cleaning service).

It is good to be home with our stuff and our urban wildlife.

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