Monday, July 26, 2010
.thirty-something and a few more wrinkles.
I can't really be sure yet but I don't think much has changed in me since yesterday except that yesterday I was thirty and today I am thirty-one. Yesterday I was thirty and today I am thirty-something.
Turning thirty was a big deal. Only it wasn't. I had a birthday party at a bar. I got drunk. I ate red velvet cake. For the week leading up to my birthday I laughed with my husband that he should buy me therapy as my gift and if not psychological therapy then medical therapy- as in botox. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirtieth year of life I was like, This is it? This is thirty? This is what the fuss was all about? I'm taking back the botox and therapy and exchanging them for a sensible pair of shoes. Ones that won't blister my feet.
Thirty was twenty-nine only with longer hair and a great deal more tears.
Turning thirty-something wasn't a big deal. Only it was. I woke up and ate Leif's tasty pancakes made from a recipe for waffles. I found a velvet painting of a tall ship at a thrift store. I had lunch with my family and ate ice cream at a Baskin Robbins. I cried because I wished my baby was alive and because I wasn't supposed to be having this birthday without him. For the week leading up to my birthday I wished that I could just skip it and get another shot at making thirty consist of 100% less death than it had the first time. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirty-first year of life I am like, This is it. This is thirty-something without him. This is what all the fuss was about. I'm exchanging my sensible pair of shoes for more sessions with my therapist.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that thirty-one will be twenty-nine only with more employment and only a moderate amount of more tears.
Turning thirty was a big deal. Only it wasn't. I had a birthday party at a bar. I got drunk. I ate red velvet cake. For the week leading up to my birthday I laughed with my husband that he should buy me therapy as my gift and if not psychological therapy then medical therapy- as in botox. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirtieth year of life I was like, This is it? This is thirty? This is what the fuss was all about? I'm taking back the botox and therapy and exchanging them for a sensible pair of shoes. Ones that won't blister my feet.
Thirty was twenty-nine only with longer hair and a great deal more tears.
Turning thirty-something wasn't a big deal. Only it was. I woke up and ate Leif's tasty pancakes made from a recipe for waffles. I found a velvet painting of a tall ship at a thrift store. I had lunch with my family and ate ice cream at a Baskin Robbins. I cried because I wished my baby was alive and because I wasn't supposed to be having this birthday without him. For the week leading up to my birthday I wished that I could just skip it and get another shot at making thirty consist of 100% less death than it had the first time. I was joking. Only I wasn't.
Hours after waking up on day one of my thirty-first year of life I am like, This is it. This is thirty-something without him. This is what all the fuss was about. I'm exchanging my sensible pair of shoes for more sessions with my therapist.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that thirty-one will be twenty-nine only with more employment and only a moderate amount of more tears.
Friday, July 23, 2010
.irene.
Tomorrow my grandma would be 94 years old.
She died in December of 2006, six months before Leif and I got married. When I think about our wedding I also think about how she wasn't there to celebrate with us.
The last couple years of her life her memory was starting to fade and so she would often repeat her favorite stories, which I think is the prerogative of anyone over the age of 80. Every time she saw Leif she would faithfully comment on how his name was very Swedish, which made her Swedish-Irish self very happy. But her favorite story and the one most commonly heard was the one about how she and my grandfather met. She was working at a newspaper and he came in one day, for a reason I can't recall at the moment, and asked her if she would like to go into the darkroom with him. He was an amateur photographer and the offer was completely innocent (I think, but grandma was a looker so who knows) but it was funny in its inappropriateness.
She was also a pilot, which was no small accomplishment in those days, and was very close to joining the Women Airforce Service Pilots of WWII. Instead she got married and moved with my grandpa, a petroleum engineer, all over the US and later the world. She raised three children while living in Lebanon and Libya.
Once, years after my grandpa died she told me how she still dreamed of him every night.
When George died one of my thoughts afterward was of grandma and how much I wished she was still around. I thought maybe she would have something to tell me that would help ease the pain a little bit.
This was the second to the last time I ever saw her. We were celebrating her 90th birthday.
She was pretty amazing.
She died in December of 2006, six months before Leif and I got married. When I think about our wedding I also think about how she wasn't there to celebrate with us.
The last couple years of her life her memory was starting to fade and so she would often repeat her favorite stories, which I think is the prerogative of anyone over the age of 80. Every time she saw Leif she would faithfully comment on how his name was very Swedish, which made her Swedish-Irish self very happy. But her favorite story and the one most commonly heard was the one about how she and my grandfather met. She was working at a newspaper and he came in one day, for a reason I can't recall at the moment, and asked her if she would like to go into the darkroom with him. He was an amateur photographer and the offer was completely innocent (I think, but grandma was a looker so who knows) but it was funny in its inappropriateness.
She was also a pilot, which was no small accomplishment in those days, and was very close to joining the Women Airforce Service Pilots of WWII. Instead she got married and moved with my grandpa, a petroleum engineer, all over the US and later the world. She raised three children while living in Lebanon and Libya.
Once, years after my grandpa died she told me how she still dreamed of him every night.
When George died one of my thoughts afterward was of grandma and how much I wished she was still around. I thought maybe she would have something to tell me that would help ease the pain a little bit.
This was the second to the last time I ever saw her. We were celebrating her 90th birthday.
She was pretty amazing.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
.now we just need more guests to sit in them.
Our flea market chairs are finished. Huzzah!!! I feel strangely accomplished, even though I didn't do much of the work myself aside from choosing the upholstery and a wee bit of staining and sanding.
This is what the rocker looked like after we (by we I hope you know I mean Leif) finished most of the sanding.
I think we messed up on the measurements for the back cushion on the rocker because it is about three inches too tall. We also want to get the base fixed with webbing so it is more comfortable but...it has taken us forever to finally get these done. So I'm not sure if I just want to call it a day and be over with it for now.
Also on the list of things I would like to change but don't want to spend the money on it right now is a new rug. That blue one was supposed to go into George's nursery but, well, you know the story and now we have this rug and so it is acting as a placeholder.
This is what the rocker looked like after we (by we I hope you know I mean Leif) finished most of the sanding.
I think we messed up on the measurements for the back cushion on the rocker because it is about three inches too tall. We also want to get the base fixed with webbing so it is more comfortable but...it has taken us forever to finally get these done. So I'm not sure if I just want to call it a day and be over with it for now.
Also on the list of things I would like to change but don't want to spend the money on it right now is a new rug. That blue one was supposed to go into George's nursery but, well, you know the story and now we have this rug and so it is acting as a placeholder.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
.kittens trump allergies.
I don't like cats very much. Their evil dander creeps its way into my nostrils and lungs and after awhile I feel like if I don't suffocate to death because of the asthma or relentless sneezing first then my eyes will pop out of my head because of the sinus pressure and I will die a slow and tremendously messy death worthy of a scene in a George Romero movie.
Despite this fact, Leif and I offered to cat-sit for my parents last weekend so they could visit a friend out of state. They do/have done so much for us that we offered to spend the weekend in a part of California where the temperature often hovers around the 105 degree mark this time of year in order watch my dad's incredibly ill-temperedthird child cat . But we were happy to help my parents out, in spite of the cat and his bad temper, so they could take a mini vacation.
But in all honesty my dad's cat is a mean little booger, at least to everyone who isn't part of his "family." By family I mean my dad, my mom, and to a much lesser extent me and my sister. Leif, on the other hand is lucky if Simon goes a couple of hours without making an overt effort to demonstrate how much he doesn't like him. He is also as old as the hills which basically means you can't really expect him to change his ways now. So spending time with Simon means that you have to be on your toes because at any moment he can decide that he has had enough of you and God help you if you don't get out of his way quickly enough because he will bite you. Or scratch you. Or both. Or he will just give you the evil eye (the one starting to cloud over because of a cataract), which will make you certain that he probably just put a curse on you in whatever way outrageously old and evil cats can do those sorts of things.
And then he will want to come in the bedroom and sleep with you and when you don't let him he will cry and scratch at the bedroom door all night.
And then you will want to let him because you desperately want to be liked by everyone, even an old crotchety cat and you feel badly when he makes the lonely cat mews.
My dad absolutely falls to pieces over this cat because he is my dad and he is just that way with his cat. He always has been and it is part of the reason why I think my dad is such a great person. To be completely honest his cat does have a sort of charm that is hard to resist. Of course it is the kind of charm that is hard to resist because you are afraid that if you do you will wake up one morning to find that the phone lines have been severed and you can't use your car because the tires have been slashed. He may be old but he still has claws and (most of) his sharp teeth.
So yeah, I don't like cats much and Simon is just barely tolerable (sorry Dad). But I do like kittens. I can put up with allergies if the allergy-inducing agent is cute enough. There are three such tiny little entities in my parent's backyard; adorable spawn from a semi-stray cat that my dad has grown fond of over the years (On a side note they are taking her to be neutered after her kittens are gone, assuming they can catch her). Luckily they are not quite big enough to be taken away from their mom yet and my dad has done an excellent job of taming them so I got to play with them all weekend. I occupied myself with them so much that I barely noticed the 100 degree weather or the snot running from my nose.
But two of them still need homes or my parents are going to have to take them to the SPCA. So if anyone lives in Southern California and is looking to adopt a kitten I happen to know two very adorable, very friendly candidates.
Despite this fact, Leif and I offered to cat-sit for my parents last weekend so they could visit a friend out of state. They do/have done so much for us that we offered to spend the weekend in a part of California where the temperature often hovers around the 105 degree mark this time of year in order watch my dad's incredibly ill-tempered
But in all honesty my dad's cat is a mean little booger, at least to everyone who isn't part of his "family." By family I mean my dad, my mom, and to a much lesser extent me and my sister. Leif, on the other hand is lucky if Simon goes a couple of hours without making an overt effort to demonstrate how much he doesn't like him. He is also as old as the hills which basically means you can't really expect him to change his ways now. So spending time with Simon means that you have to be on your toes because at any moment he can decide that he has had enough of you and God help you if you don't get out of his way quickly enough because he will bite you. Or scratch you. Or both. Or he will just give you the evil eye (the one starting to cloud over because of a cataract), which will make you certain that he probably just put a curse on you in whatever way outrageously old and evil cats can do those sorts of things.
And then he will want to come in the bedroom and sleep with you and when you don't let him he will cry and scratch at the bedroom door all night.
And then you will want to let him because you desperately want to be liked by everyone, even an old crotchety cat and you feel badly when he makes the lonely cat mews.
My dad absolutely falls to pieces over this cat because he is my dad and he is just that way with his cat. He always has been and it is part of the reason why I think my dad is such a great person. To be completely honest his cat does have a sort of charm that is hard to resist. Of course it is the kind of charm that is hard to resist because you are afraid that if you do you will wake up one morning to find that the phone lines have been severed and you can't use your car because the tires have been slashed. He may be old but he still has claws and (most of) his sharp teeth.
So yeah, I don't like cats much and Simon is just barely tolerable (sorry Dad). But I do like kittens. I can put up with allergies if the allergy-inducing agent is cute enough. There are three such tiny little entities in my parent's backyard; adorable spawn from a semi-stray cat that my dad has grown fond of over the years (On a side note they are taking her to be neutered after her kittens are gone, assuming they can catch her). Luckily they are not quite big enough to be taken away from their mom yet and my dad has done an excellent job of taming them so I got to play with them all weekend. I occupied myself with them so much that I barely noticed the 100 degree weather or the snot running from my nose.
But two of them still need homes or my parents are going to have to take them to the SPCA. So if anyone lives in Southern California and is looking to adopt a kitten I happen to know two very adorable, very friendly candidates.
Monday, July 19, 2010
.a hard day.
Sometimes I can feel it starting to creep in and sometimes it just comes out of nowhere. It sweeps down, knocks the air out of my lungs and I am right back where I was on March 31st.
Today I wasn't expecting to feel so horrible.
This weekend my mom gave me the sweater that she was making for him around the time that he was born and died. It is tiny and adorable and he'll never get to wear it.
Yesterday I saw Gretchen, who I have known since I was eleven but haven't seen in over two years. Her family is absolutely lovely. She made George the most beautiful quilt. On it is embroidered an image of a little stuffie fox that was going to go into his nursery. It's perfect.
This afternoon I am having lunch with a friend who I haven't seen in months. The last time I saw her I was a slobbering mess. The only difference between me all those weeks ago and the current me is that I can put on a smiling face and pretend that I am not as sad as I really am.
I just want to wait for this day to pass into the next while laying in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
My heart hurts.
Life is unfair.
I want my son back.
Today I wasn't expecting to feel so horrible.
This weekend my mom gave me the sweater that she was making for him around the time that he was born and died. It is tiny and adorable and he'll never get to wear it.
Yesterday I saw Gretchen, who I have known since I was eleven but haven't seen in over two years. Her family is absolutely lovely. She made George the most beautiful quilt. On it is embroidered an image of a little stuffie fox that was going to go into his nursery. It's perfect.
This afternoon I am having lunch with a friend who I haven't seen in months. The last time I saw her I was a slobbering mess. The only difference between me all those weeks ago and the current me is that I can put on a smiling face and pretend that I am not as sad as I really am.
I just want to wait for this day to pass into the next while laying in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
My heart hurts.
Life is unfair.
I want my son back.
Friday, July 16, 2010
.with the naked eye.
The unseen matrix that makes us solid enough to hug, to touch, to kiss....
That which makes us unique...
The blood in our veins...
The stuff that fuels our life in all of its achievements and losses...
The part of us that prompts us to search out knowledge and pushes us to create...
The stuff that makes each of us an enigma to others and to ourselves...
Cheers.
*All these images are photomicrographs. They came from The Molecular Expressions Photo Gallery. Go and see for yourself and be amazed at what beer, antibiotics, flavors, dinosaur bones, and religious items look like under magnification.
cytosine
guanine
thymine
uracil
That which makes us unique...
dna
The blood in our veins...
hemoglobin
The stuff that fuels our life in all of its achievements and losses...
atp
brain
The stuff that makes each of us an enigma to others and to ourselves...
testosterone
estradiol
Cheers.
mint julep
*All these images are photomicrographs. They came from The Molecular Expressions Photo Gallery. Go and see for yourself and be amazed at what beer, antibiotics, flavors, dinosaur bones, and religious items look like under magnification.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)