Tag Archives: Life

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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Postscript on “My very own urban jungle and I don’t mean the Bronx Zoo”

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So, my friend sent me a picture of this costume because she thought, given my recent urban wildlife challenge40andoverblog.com/?p=1085, I might consider this for Halloween. 

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Blogcation Day 5

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A little work crept in early on vacation day no. 5.  Still we made it to the beach for a swim in the c-c-c-c-old ocean water.  We took our son for a swim and then it was time for him to rest and play with sand toys while my partner, addicted to e-books, read on her iPod and I busily answered emails.  We got out of the water even though he wanted to stay in — chattering teeth and all — and he did as we asked.  My partner and I were marveling at this when, I guess in an effort to exert his humanity, he whined angrily that he was both hungry and wanted to go back into the water.  Pausing not to react to the whining, I was so strangely elated.  Well not so strange and no so elated exactly, but I was happy that my son was like every other kid his age in this regard.  Because early in his life, people whispered about the possibility of his being On The Spectrum [as in aut . . . . .  ism].

The gift of normality can never be over-rated in our house.

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Sen. Ted Kennedy, part 2

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I have been reading that many wonder whether such a flawed person could have been re-elected so many times in the age of the 24-hour news REcycle.

I would like to believe that we recognize that we all have flaws and moral failings.  It is hypocrisy that we cannot abide. And maybe, too, the lies that seek to cover up the hypocrisy. 

Sen. Kennedy was human and so he is flawed.  He was born into wealth and into the closest thing this nation has to an aristocracy.  He lost his brothers by violence, two of them by assassination.  The dreams and hopes of a mourning nation broke his shoulders.  He also is responsible for the death of a young woman and possibly two passengers on a private plane.  He was the adult at a drinking party where a rape occurred.  He had affairs and abused alcohol. 

He never pretended to anything other than a flawed man and he used his wealth and name to do good for others.  He didn’t use others to create his wealth and name.  That is why his political career would have survived the 24-hour news REcycle. 

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Blogcation Day 4

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Today was a great day. 

Mickey’s Cartage Company picked up the gross garbage from the prior renters and added a second dumpster.  Throughout our travels today, we kept seeing a Mickey’s Cartage Company truck on the road.  We wondered whether someone was just driving our garbage around because there was no room left at the landfill. 

We had a lazy morning.  My partner read on the porch and our son played games, read and watched a little TV. I zoned out.  Then we set out for my partner’s dad’s beach house in East Hampton where her sister and nephew live for now.  I snuck out to go to the gym and work on the sagging around my long-ago arm muscles. Here’s the fab thing about the Hamptons: the prices are unconscionable regardless of the quality of the services.  $30 for an underground gym with old equipment and no amenities.  You just have to pretend it is in pesos and pretend it is a good deal.

Ok so far.

Feeling guilty for leaving my partner and sister-in-law to contend with two 7 year-olds who, when together, feel like ten deranged alien beings, I drove back to the house.  The noise level was deafening.  The two moms were beleaguered and trying to create order around the pool.  I jumped into service (literally) by jumping into the pool, which is freezing cold because it never occurred to my father-in-law to get a heating device.  It is refreshing only in August when you are in the sun; otherwise, it is a little like falling into an ice-fishing hole. 

The great day is being downgraded to a hurricane.

Having kids around a pool is one of the most nerve-wracking experiences I can imagine.  Danger to life, limb and brain development is everywhere.  Might as well toss a 7 year-old the keys to the car. 

The boys were intent on having a sleepover, even though this was an afternoon playdate.  The last sleepover was a misnomer.  It was a shriek-a-thon and finally ended when my son came into the livingroom and asked to sleep with us because he was really tired.  Of course, he doesn’t remember that insanity.

Hurricane now downgraded to a tropical depression. 

My son needed to sulk over dashed hopes of a sleepover tonight.  Then, he wanted to go back to the City.  No more vacation.  He NEVER gets to do anything HE wants (dude, we’ve had 3 hair-raising playdates with your cousin within 4 days).

How do all kids know how to sulk this way?  It is part of the human genome in which I have the most interest.  I don’t care what makes his eyes blue or gives him a slightly weird looking big toenail.  I want to know why all kids whine exactly the same way and say the exact same things when they don’t get what they want.  Then we could replace those chemicals in the genome with Stepford Wives-like chemicals (a boon to the pharma companies) and, presto-magico, we would never have to fantasize about separate vacations from our children.

Schlepping from Montauk to East Hampton and back again, with all of that traffic and all those lunatic drivers in their fast cars is exhausting.  So, my understanding partner told me to take a nap (it was either sleep in bed or lie on the floor moaning, “woe is I”), so really I didn’t give her a choice. 

We grilled, we ate, I am blogging.  My beloved, our terrific son (even with the whining) and I are together, chilling out listening to Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong.

Tropical depression upgraded to a great day on the road to Utopia. 

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Senator Ted Kennedy

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Much to my relief, the news reports do not paint a saintly portrait of Ted Kennedy. 

Sen. Kennedy was an effective legislator and a champion of causes important to those not born into wealth.  He was a complicated man from a complicated family.  He lost three brothers violently.  First, Joe in the carnage of WWII, followed by John and Bobby by assassination.  He drank.  He left a woman, Mary Jo Kopechne, to die in the water when he drove his car off a bridge.  His personal life seemed out of control, until the 1990s. 

People are complicated.  When they die, they don’t shed the complexity.  Their deaths force us to contemplate the messy wholes that don’t fit well into eulogies.

Elie Wiesel once said that only a victim can forgive his tormentor.  He is right.  We can laud Sen. Kennedy for all he did to make our nation a more perfect union, but only the Kopechnes can tell us whether on balance his good deeds outweighed his failings. 

For me, I hope he rests in peace.

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Elul — A Deep Moment on Blogcation Day 3

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When I was in Hebrew School, we were taught a song that starts, in new age, non-gender-specific translation, “Oh G-d, my G-d, I pray that these things never end: the sand and the sea, the rush of the water, the crash of the heavens and the prayers of all.”

The song is, in essence, a prayer for humanity to pray, a prayer for the basic elements, a prayer for the majesty and healing of the world.

It is the beginning of  the month of Elul, which culminates in the Jewish Days of Awe, during which Jews repent and atone for sins.  This leads to introspection (one hopes) about the gulf between who we are and who we want to be.  That introspection is supposed to help one re-set one’s internal compass, toward righteousness and good.  The annual gut-check, and if you are really not so righteous, a sucker punch to the gut (or groin).

I am not religious.  Really.  But tradition is important because it ties me to those generations who came here and struggled so I could have advantages, opportunities and the life I lead.  I stand on their shoulders and my generation’s prosperity fueled their dreams and they stood tall with pride.  Tradition also ties me to the generations that will follow mine. From generation to generation.

My grandfather renounced religion (it was the original Kumbaya Age:  the Age of Socialism and communal living) and preached free love (he was ahead of his time  — free love idled until the 1960s) but got married and never missed religious ritual built around the family.  So Passover, Bar or Bat Mitzvahs were important, but non-family self-inflicted synagogue time?   Hmmmm.  Not so much. 

But whether or not one is a deist, taking the time to think about life and mistakes, and things to do better, can’t be bad.  The problem I have is that people can off-load responsibility on some sort of fatalistic rationalization based on the existence of G-d.  Judaism doesn’t really afford that off-loading option but lots of Jews don’t seem to acknowledge that.

With all these caveats, there is something mystical about starting the month leading into the Days of Awe enjoying and marveling at the sand and the sea, the rush of the water, and the crash of the heavens (a little too much crashing, if you ask me, but rarely does anyone ask me).  Maybe prayer isn’t so bad, as long as the responsibility to make the prayers come true rests with us singularly and as a human collective.

Maybe I believe in G-d, somehow, some way.  The only compelling argument I heard for the existence of G-d was from an orthodox Jew with a nihilist edge (and not an insignificant case of depression).  He said, “could everything be so screwed up by accident?”  Can’t argue with that.

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