I'm not even sure where to begin on this trip. I don't think I've even processed a lot of what I think and feel right now, and Lord knows I haven't discussed things with my husband.
Suffice to say, it was a long trip even though we were not there that long... one that wasn't my favorite, but the pool was nice and we got some ammo boxes at the flea market.
AND we went to the Football Hall of Fame in Ohio, so not all was lost.
The trip started out magnificently with a family reunion on my dad's side of the family. His dad's clan (Fogarty) and his mom's clan (McIlroy) haven't had lots of mixing together time. My cousin Deb worked like mad to put together a slam-bang party and it was fun to meet some of them McIlroys, and to see an Aunt and Uncle I haven't laid eyes on in years.
I always liked my Aunt Margie. She lived in California forever, and now she lives in Arizona... I had no idea, or I would have made a point of hooking up with her when we did our 'ZonaFest in 2001. We have a standing invitation to do so again, as does everyone in my family have to come here. It was so nice catching up with her, and hearing about her life in the "Super Desert," as Geoff calls it.
My uncle Buddy, I haven't seen him for about 20 something years. He moved to Florida, and there hasn't been a good link between our house and his ever. My sister hunted him down in Florida when she lived there and they had some nice visits. I always remember Uncle Buddy treating me like I was a little shit, so I didn't really care if I saw him or not.
Note to self: Be the Aunt that the kids miss when you don't see them for long stretches of time, okay?
Anyway -- he was lovely and kind and nice and polite, with a rapier wit and zings left and right to shoot at my mom, who always seems to be the target of the humorous barbs at family gatherings.
Note to self: Please tell mom how much you love her.
We had a lovely visit with the clans, and then on Sunday we did some geocaching in my hometown, which was hard because it was so amazingly hot. We ate dinner, went to bed, and got up the following morning to start our drive to Pennsylvania.
Monday night we arrived, visited with the family for a wee bit, hit the hotel and Geoff found the pool. I found the pool too. We enjoyed a swim, and got up the following morning to do it again.
Tuesday we visited with Doug's grandmother for a while, she's still got her humor about her and lives alone, but I'm not sure how long that will last. She seems weaker each time we see her. She's always so lovely to us, and it's hard to spend time with her because she can't hear well even with her aides... so there's a lot of yelling.
Note to self: Drop the grandmas a note to say you had a nice visit.
We spent time with Doug's parents, who treated us to lunch at Don Pablo's off rte 60 there near the PGH airport. We then went to a used bookstore and browsed, and back to the hotel where there was more swimming.
Wednesday I got to meet our nephew for the first time, who back in March had surgery to unfuse plates in his skull. He's lovely and looks like his mommy as much as his big sister looks like her daddy. They were lovely and we had a good visit where much laughter ensued. I absolutely adore our niece... I could spend hours with her. She is gorgeous, and funny, and she dotes on Geoff. Don't all pretty girls, it seems?
Doug didn't call his parents, which I do believe irritated his mom, and we ended up having the evening to ourselves, so we did some pimpy geocaches around Beaver. We then returned to the hotel where some swimming took place.
Thursday Doug and Dad made a plan of action for a fun day. After brief swim time, we met dad and went to the Football Hall of Fame in Canton Ohio (all bow in reverence!) It was about 90 minutes from where Doug grew up, and it was a fun place to be. The kids had a great time, I thoroughly enjoyed the history of early football and AFL memoribilia, and yes, OJ Simpson's jersey is still in the Bills' collection.
We ate dinner with Doug's other grandma who lives in Eastern Ohio, and it was a fun visit, but again -- she doesn't hear too well. Geoff got bored and wandered off. It's hard to be an 8 year old boy and hang out with GGG.
We were all very tired when we got home, and while no swimming took place in the evening, a visit to the gym made Geoff happy as he ran on the treadmill and rode the eliptical and bike for an hour. We all slept heartily, and woke early. Very brief swim, and then we went to Rogers.
Fridays in Rogers Ohio. What can I say. (Be sure to read the linked blog entry which talks about humanity in Eastern Ohio, and the fleamarket itself) Rogers Sale is like the biggest dang flea market in the universe. Perhaps. Dad likes to go there each week, and he has a systematic plan of attack where he goes through the tables, watches the auction and then sometimes visits his mom on the way home. We had done that already the day prior, so after spending one long morning at the sale, we went to a little roadhouse for lunch, and then Doug's dad had us swing by the little East Palestine cemetary where his grandparents are buried to show us how to get there.
That was sweet of him. It was nice.
We went back to the hotel so we could kill some time before going up to the house for dinner. Geoff swam, Dad and I drank a beer and watched him and talked, and Doug and Jessie both got naps (jerks).
We experienced an epic Geoff meltdown while waiting for my brother in law's birthday recognition time (ie: party but not a party) and my life got incredibly stressful and my ire got up beyond where I usually allow it to be. I had a crappy evening, and so did my son.
It was "no party" as we say in our house. That night, we had no swimming, and everyone was in bed by 10.
Saturday morning came and we were slated to split. We packed up, checked out and had lunch at Doug's folks and hit the road. We made excellent time, and I got C to the J to the K on the phone in the Scranton area, and we hooked up with him and the Missus for some beer and chat at Damon's by the WB/S airport.
Sad to say, that few hours time was the most fun I had all week.
I love Doug's family, I truly, honestly, really do. I just am different from them, and their understanding of things and how stuff can and should work is totally apart from mine.
My son is a high priority for me, and his happiness is not found in sitting on the porch chatting about family. There is a lot more that he needs aside from good conversation and a nice tall glass of iced tea. He doesn't get happiness at their house ... and they don't seem to understand that perhaps a concession should be made. All I have to say is, thank God for the pool at the hotel. Without it, maybe I would have flown home on Wednesday.
Anyway -- we stopped with CJK and Mrs. CJK, enjoyed some real quality time, albeit brief, and I laughed more in that short couple of hours than I got to laugh all week. We continued driving to almost 11pm when we reached Danbury CT. We stayed at a hotel with the honkin' loudest air conditioner in the universe, which kept turning off and on all night. It sounded like my alarm clock, so it woke me up each and every time it cycled.
Ugh.
We got up Sunday morning, Geocached in CT. I got stung by a bee at the last one we did, and we drove home.
The funny thing about getting stung by a bee is I performed one of the single most amazing acts of physical prowess I've ever executed in my life, and only my daughter was witness.
I was standing up on a ledge, about 3 feet above the trail. There was a stone wall that ran along the ledge and I'm not sure why the trail was so depressed, but it was. Doug was on the other side of the trail looking over there, and I was nosing around on my side. The kids were sitting on the trailside, tired and bored.
I knew it was time to go, because we had to get the dogs. I yelled out to Doug that it was time to abandon this one, we weren't finding it. Doug was about 80 feet from the coords when he found it, and I yelled at him "that's awesome. Sign the log and meet us at the truck." And the bee stung me.
Looking down at the back of my thigh, I saw it there and three others flying around behind it. I knew I was going to get hit again, so I went to climb quickly off the ledge and told the kids to get outta Dodge because the bees were on me.
It was then that the tips of my hiking sandals both slid under a branch, and I began to fall, face first, off the three foot high ledge. I had all the foreward momentum, and my feet were stuck. And I was slapping at a bee dangling from the back of my right thigh.
Sensing that I would most certainly break my neck, or my arm, or at least suffer some major facial structure damage, I pulled my knees up to my chest, releasing my shoes from the branch, and I jumped.
I managed to land on both feet, peed my pants a wee bit from the landing (I had to go pretty badly in the first place and landing 200 plus pounds of woman on a hard trail shakes a bit out, ya know?) and started to run.
"That was so cool." Jessica was amazed.
Yes it was, and only you got to see it. How sad is that. I yelled to Doug that I'd been stung and we were hightailing it out of the area. He didn't yell anything back, so I presumed he knew and we hoofed the .36 out as fast as we could. I got back to the truck and iced my sting. Doug caught up to us and asked why we left. He couldn't hear me yelling to him that we were outta there, and had no idea I had taken one for the team. I don't know if he believes I performed my acrobatic feat, but Jessica saw, so it happened.
If a tree falls in the forest... If Chrissy jumps in the forest...
So anyway -- yeah. That was my vacation. Returning to work was hard, because I felt like I needed a day to me. But I went back and so missed my girl C and buddy M. Jerm and his wife had their baby, a little boy, on Thursday. He rules. Can't wait to see him and sniff his little baby body.
There are Flickr pictures, and I started a new set because of this trip - License plate bingo! I actually saw more than I got pictures of... but the batteries in the camera were dead so I couldn't take pictures of Oregon, CA, Washington, Iowa, Idaho, and Arizona. Plus, I skipped all the New England State ones because I knew I could just take them here. Which I will and will add to the set.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Listmaking for the road trip departure
The date on this entry is somewhat false, it is 11pm on the 22nd, and I find myself once again waiting for laundry to finish drying. My day was hectic, annoying, and tiring, and I'm going to be up late finishing our packing. But. We'll be ready to leave at 7pm if it is the last thing I do while my lungs move air about my body. Whenever we travel, something gets left behind... and Doug more often than not will have the opportunity to yell at me. For instance, in 2000 when his grandfather died, I packed everything except his suit pants and dress socks. Nice. So he made do with some dockers, and had to borrow socks from his dad. He was so pissed at me. But to be honest, I hate packing. I always forget something for someone... either toothbrushes or shaving cream or underpants... When we went to North Carolina in April, I packed and left an entire dufflebag on our bed. I thought Doug would have seen it.
No matter how hard I try to be organized, I'm just plain not... I am the single most disorganized person on this planet. So, I've started making lists. And the lists help a little bit, but I end up being obsessed with the list, and then I become anxious, and I start to hyperventilate...
You get the picture.
Today I left work later than I'd intended. I had a lot to do, but I had to cram two weeks worth of work into one week, and I got pretty much 80% to where I wanted to be. I wanted to make sure there was little or nothing that C and MB or G had to do in my absence. As is, all they need to do is preview the content, make sure I didn't totally F up the order and whatnot, and insert the specials for one chain, which won't come until like Wednesday anyway. I did get to enjoy one beverage for our Beverage Friday. Would have liked two, but... I needed to jet.
There were errands I needed to complete. I wanted to get the car inspected, get home by 5pm, and get the dogs to take them to the kennel. Part of me said "Leave the car for Doug, and take the truck. That way if you are running late you can just get the dogs and HE can get the car inspected."
But I figured I could get it done.
First, I went to a service station where there were two cars ahead of me. Waiting. After a few minutes wait, I got out of the car to ask how long the wait for an inspection might be. The woman in the car ahead of me got out and said "Excuse me, I'm ahead of you."
I was somewhat astonished and said "Uh, yeah. I know that. I am just asking how long this is going to take."
"Oh." She said as she crossed her arms. "I thought you were trying to jump the line."
"Uh, no." Y'all know me. I'm not into entitlement.
I turned back to the mechanic and he told me that he was experiencing some technical difficulties with the machine, and it might take a little while. There was a car in the bay, and another guy was messing with the machine. It appeared as if the thing wasn't printing, or something. And these things are hooked up to the state so if you try it again it'll show fraud and it gets ugly...
"Well," said the woman ahead of me, "Perhaps that car failed the inspection and you should try another car."
So now, she's an expert. Pfth.
The mechanic let her know kindly that indeed, the car didn't fail, the machine was spazzing out. I decided to leave and try another garage. There used to be one at every gas station. Not every gas station has the emissions inspection station anymore, so I ended up in Salem.
I got in line behind another car. There was a car in the bay. After a few minutes, the guy came out and said "Hey, I'm closing at five. I can't go past five. You're gonna have to come back tomorrow."
Well, I won't be there tomorrow.
I realized, to my horror, it was now 4:50pm. I called Doug. He was just getting to camp to get Geoff. There was no way he was going to be able to get back to the house and get the dogs to the kennel on time. I thought of calling and postponing our ferry reservation tomorrow just so we could inspect the car and drop off the dogs.
I ended up rushing my ass home and calling the kennel to let them know I'd be late. They normally close at 5. The kid said he'd stick around for me. I owe him a cake. I got there at 5:45, dropped off my furry boys (I miss them horribly already!) and came home to beer. Doug will take the car to get inspected on Monday August 1st, a day later than we need it done by... but there is a garage 200 feet from our house that he can hit on that morning, and get the car taken care of.
We really do try to take care of stuff in advance. We try to get all our ducks (oops, I typed dicks. Ha!) in a row. But sometimes, that just does not work. Today was one of them.
So I did indeed make a list. Before leaving and after leaving, there are a number of things I must accomplish. The list is fairly simple for the next couple of days.
There is a lot I have on my mind too, in addition to our lives, vacation and listmaking.
A really, really good friend of mine and his wife (another really, really good friend) may be splitting up. Dimes to dollars. If I were a betting man, I'd put money on the "so long it's over" square on the craps table.
I've spent a shit ton of time talking to him, but she won't talk to me... which breaks my heart. I always thought she would be able to pick up the phone and just talk to me and I'd let her know what I think or just let her say things that she needs to say. But she's avoiding me. As happens in this kind of situation.
This friend, the guy in the relationship, may be moving very very very far away, and this is something that totally breaks my heart.
I want him to be happy. I want her to be happy. I want them to make decisions that work for both of them. I don't want me and my feelings about where they should be (married and together and happy, damnit!) to impact their decisions.
I'm so sad. Really, painfully sad. And over the course of the next couple of weeks their future hangs in the balance. If he moves far far away, I will be devastated. I can't even imagine how he and she both feel (devastated) if I'm outside the picture and feel this way.
Several of my friends have split up. Some of them not so happily. Others are friends now long into the years after they've gone their own ways. It's like a lame Fleetwood Mac song. And I can't listen to "Landed" by Ben Folds without just falling apart.
The other night on the phone with me, he made me cry. He asked me "What do I do with the dog? The dog never broke my heart... I can't leave him behind... can I?"
I don't know.
You gotta do what you gotta do baby. That's all I can say. If he or she is reading. It'll all work out in the end. I love you both so unimaginably deeply. Please know that.
Alright -- that is too damn sad. I need to go move some laundry around. I'm outta here for a week. I will update you all and regale you with tales of utter joy and fun from the road, in August.
Cheers, yinz.
No matter how hard I try to be organized, I'm just plain not... I am the single most disorganized person on this planet. So, I've started making lists. And the lists help a little bit, but I end up being obsessed with the list, and then I become anxious, and I start to hyperventilate...
You get the picture.
Today I left work later than I'd intended. I had a lot to do, but I had to cram two weeks worth of work into one week, and I got pretty much 80% to where I wanted to be. I wanted to make sure there was little or nothing that C and MB or G had to do in my absence. As is, all they need to do is preview the content, make sure I didn't totally F up the order and whatnot, and insert the specials for one chain, which won't come until like Wednesday anyway. I did get to enjoy one beverage for our Beverage Friday. Would have liked two, but... I needed to jet.
There were errands I needed to complete. I wanted to get the car inspected, get home by 5pm, and get the dogs to take them to the kennel. Part of me said "Leave the car for Doug, and take the truck. That way if you are running late you can just get the dogs and HE can get the car inspected."
But I figured I could get it done.
First, I went to a service station where there were two cars ahead of me. Waiting. After a few minutes wait, I got out of the car to ask how long the wait for an inspection might be. The woman in the car ahead of me got out and said "Excuse me, I'm ahead of you."
I was somewhat astonished and said "Uh, yeah. I know that. I am just asking how long this is going to take."
"Oh." She said as she crossed her arms. "I thought you were trying to jump the line."
"Uh, no." Y'all know me. I'm not into entitlement.
I turned back to the mechanic and he told me that he was experiencing some technical difficulties with the machine, and it might take a little while. There was a car in the bay, and another guy was messing with the machine. It appeared as if the thing wasn't printing, or something. And these things are hooked up to the state so if you try it again it'll show fraud and it gets ugly...
"Well," said the woman ahead of me, "Perhaps that car failed the inspection and you should try another car."
So now, she's an expert. Pfth.
The mechanic let her know kindly that indeed, the car didn't fail, the machine was spazzing out. I decided to leave and try another garage. There used to be one at every gas station. Not every gas station has the emissions inspection station anymore, so I ended up in Salem.
I got in line behind another car. There was a car in the bay. After a few minutes, the guy came out and said "Hey, I'm closing at five. I can't go past five. You're gonna have to come back tomorrow."
Well, I won't be there tomorrow.
I realized, to my horror, it was now 4:50pm. I called Doug. He was just getting to camp to get Geoff. There was no way he was going to be able to get back to the house and get the dogs to the kennel on time. I thought of calling and postponing our ferry reservation tomorrow just so we could inspect the car and drop off the dogs.
I ended up rushing my ass home and calling the kennel to let them know I'd be late. They normally close at 5. The kid said he'd stick around for me. I owe him a cake. I got there at 5:45, dropped off my furry boys (I miss them horribly already!) and came home to beer. Doug will take the car to get inspected on Monday August 1st, a day later than we need it done by... but there is a garage 200 feet from our house that he can hit on that morning, and get the car taken care of.
We really do try to take care of stuff in advance. We try to get all our ducks (oops, I typed dicks. Ha!) in a row. But sometimes, that just does not work. Today was one of them.
So I did indeed make a list. Before leaving and after leaving, there are a number of things I must accomplish. The list is fairly simple for the next couple of days.
- I need to mail a request to our doctor to HIPPA release some medical files to camp for Jess and Geoff (I can't find my copies, so if I send them an envelope addressed to the camp they should have no problem).
- I need to fill out forms for them for the weeks that got monkey wrenched.
- I need to swing by the bank and check our balances to make sure that we have money.
- I need to make sure I have a note to the tenant to put the trash out on Wednesday, and to water the plants if it does not rain over the next few days.
- I need to decide if I'm shaving my legs, or doing a massive Agent Orange deforestation of my inner thighs...
- I need to finish packing.
- I wanted to burn a mix CD for our trip. But that may not happen.
- I need to pack the travel bugs, the camera, the GPS...
- I need to print out CJK and Smitty's cell phone numbers to have them handy for the ride.
- I need another beer...
There is a lot I have on my mind too, in addition to our lives, vacation and listmaking.
A really, really good friend of mine and his wife (another really, really good friend) may be splitting up. Dimes to dollars. If I were a betting man, I'd put money on the "so long it's over" square on the craps table.
I've spent a shit ton of time talking to him, but she won't talk to me... which breaks my heart. I always thought she would be able to pick up the phone and just talk to me and I'd let her know what I think or just let her say things that she needs to say. But she's avoiding me. As happens in this kind of situation.
This friend, the guy in the relationship, may be moving very very very far away, and this is something that totally breaks my heart.
I want him to be happy. I want her to be happy. I want them to make decisions that work for both of them. I don't want me and my feelings about where they should be (married and together and happy, damnit!) to impact their decisions.
I'm so sad. Really, painfully sad. And over the course of the next couple of weeks their future hangs in the balance. If he moves far far away, I will be devastated. I can't even imagine how he and she both feel (devastated) if I'm outside the picture and feel this way.
Several of my friends have split up. Some of them not so happily. Others are friends now long into the years after they've gone their own ways. It's like a lame Fleetwood Mac song. And I can't listen to "Landed" by Ben Folds without just falling apart.
The other night on the phone with me, he made me cry. He asked me "What do I do with the dog? The dog never broke my heart... I can't leave him behind... can I?"
I don't know.
You gotta do what you gotta do baby. That's all I can say. If he or she is reading. It'll all work out in the end. I love you both so unimaginably deeply. Please know that.
Alright -- that is too damn sad. I need to go move some laundry around. I'm outta here for a week. I will update you all and regale you with tales of utter joy and fun from the road, in August.
Cheers, yinz.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Old
So, tomorrow morning early-like we're hitting the oily black roads of America for yet another amazing and mind-blowing trek in the truck. We're going to my parents and to a family reunion over the weekend, and then out to the wild, wooly western stretches of Pennsylvania for a 5 day visit across the hills of Beaver Valley. Someone commented to me that we "get away a lot," like it was something odd or weird. She said, "I haven't gone away in a few years. I honestly wouldn't be sure where I'd want to go." And that got me to thinking...
We do get away a lot. Mostly to Family (ie: Relatives) destinations, or to Aaron and Michelle's house. Our trip to the Outer Banks was the first non-family vacation we'd taken since 2001 when we went to Arizona and Utah. The person speaking with me lives within a half hour of her entire family, and she sees them just about every other weekend. They'll all be at her house for a party this weekend. In August, it is grampa's 90th, so there's a big family thing in Southern New Hampshire.
She's doing every 7 to 14 days what we do twice or thrice a year. We schedule our trips around the relations. We tend to see my parents more, because they're geographically easier to get to (5 hours) and to be honest heading out to Western PA is a haul and a half. We stay at a hotel, so it costs us a lot of money. So we don't do it nearly as often as conscience and good family values and love would probably require us to.
In fact, this week trip will cost us more than it cost us to rent the obscenely huge house we scored in April in North Carolina. We have to kennel the dogs, that'll cost us a pantload of dough. Gas is ridiculously expensive. Hotel and then eating elsewhere, that will add up after several days.
So yeah. It's gonna run us close to a grand this week, by my guestimate. But... it's family and sometimes visiting comes at a cost.
Doug has a grandma who lives in Ohio. I know we'll take her to lunch at Das Dutch Haus and spend a whole day there watching Geoff do his monkey shine and whine that he's bored. When we go see her, she always cries when we leave, which breaks my heart. "It's been so long since I seen ya, honey," she says as her gnarled hand squeezes mine and the tears start. "I don't know if I'll get a chance to see ya again at this rate."
When we travel back and I see her, I always say "See, Middie? I told you I'd see you again." She smiles and she's so happy.
And then we leave.
Our friend CJK lost his father this week after a long illness. Compared to both Doug's grandmothers, Mr. K was very young, too young to die and too young to have fought the kind of battle over the last decade that he had. I remember meeting him, the only time I got to, at CJK and CA(T)K's wedding. I think he was talking to my husband for quite a while, and then turned to me and said "Who is that nice young man?" So I filled him in and he was surprised...
"Oh! Doug!" he then pondered. "I haven't seen him in years!" And he smiled.
"And who are you?"
CJK and CA(T)K are out there helping with arrangements and the like. We'll miss the funeral, and we'll miss them by one day, it seems. Hopefully we'll catch them on our way home.
Because it sucks to not be able to see friends.
My friend Mare in California recently took her mom in. Dad H. died in 1988, and Momma H. moved to South Carolina after selling the house on John Davies Lane, where they raised five beautiful daughters together. Life was good in South Carolina, until she got a boyfriend... and slowly over time, the boyfriend spent all of her money. Momma H. had no idea, and was left with almost nothing in the end. So Mare and her sisters talked it over, and she drove out there and "saved momma." Momma H. has pre-dementia, and over the past few years her condition has gotten worse, to the point where she sometimes isn't sure what the hell is going on. Mare's got a long journey ahead of her, but I praise her for taking her mom in, and having the space and heart with which to do so.
I talked to Momma H. recently, and she went on and on about how happy she is living with Mare and the four boys (yes, she had five daughters, and one of them goes and has four sons!) and what a happy place it is and how fun it is to be there. She talked with me for like a half hour before I finally said "Barb, do you even know who this is on the phone?"
"You're one of Mare's friends. I'm not sure who though, but if you're Mare's friend you're okay by me!"
I told her who I was and she was all excited it was me, and asked after my parents to see if they were still in our hometown. It was like a light went off... not only was she happy about where she was, but hey! A memory that is still there! Mare told me those are rare.
Old people are sometimes really cute. Sometimes they are just downright nasty. Doug works with them daily, and he tells me stories that crack me up to no end. Once he asked a woman if she was having any problems, and she yelled at him "I don't have any problems! SEXUAL OR OTHERWISE!!!"
Uh, okay!
I don't want the chance to be a woman in a home. Seriously. I don't want to have some illegal alien wiping my ass while bitching to her friend who is standing there (in Creole or Spanish or whatever) about how fat and disgusting I am. I don't want someone taking all my money from my checking account while I think life is rosy and joyful. I don't want to look at my kids' friends and wonder "Who the hell is THAT guy?"
And I don't want to hold my grandson's wife's hand and cry because I won't see her for a good long time, or, won't ever see her again.
So yeah, we get away. We deserve it, and our families deserve it. Our families deserve to get to know our kids, to realize Geoff is difficult sometimes but a lot of the time he's just hysterically funny. I feel as if you folks reading this know my kids better than our family in Pennsylvania.
And that makes me really, deeply and honestly sad.
You won't hear from me for a while. I should be able to write Sunday night when we return. Or, sometime Monday. Until then, the Archives are not quite finished in their reconstruction, so if you want a little dose of something, feel free to visit the days of yesteryear.
Go call your grandma. She misses you.
We do get away a lot. Mostly to Family (ie: Relatives) destinations, or to Aaron and Michelle's house. Our trip to the Outer Banks was the first non-family vacation we'd taken since 2001 when we went to Arizona and Utah. The person speaking with me lives within a half hour of her entire family, and she sees them just about every other weekend. They'll all be at her house for a party this weekend. In August, it is grampa's 90th, so there's a big family thing in Southern New Hampshire.
She's doing every 7 to 14 days what we do twice or thrice a year. We schedule our trips around the relations. We tend to see my parents more, because they're geographically easier to get to (5 hours) and to be honest heading out to Western PA is a haul and a half. We stay at a hotel, so it costs us a lot of money. So we don't do it nearly as often as conscience and good family values and love would probably require us to.
In fact, this week trip will cost us more than it cost us to rent the obscenely huge house we scored in April in North Carolina. We have to kennel the dogs, that'll cost us a pantload of dough. Gas is ridiculously expensive. Hotel and then eating elsewhere, that will add up after several days.
So yeah. It's gonna run us close to a grand this week, by my guestimate. But... it's family and sometimes visiting comes at a cost.
Doug has a grandma who lives in Ohio. I know we'll take her to lunch at Das Dutch Haus and spend a whole day there watching Geoff do his monkey shine and whine that he's bored. When we go see her, she always cries when we leave, which breaks my heart. "It's been so long since I seen ya, honey," she says as her gnarled hand squeezes mine and the tears start. "I don't know if I'll get a chance to see ya again at this rate."
When we travel back and I see her, I always say "See, Middie? I told you I'd see you again." She smiles and she's so happy.
And then we leave.
Our friend CJK lost his father this week after a long illness. Compared to both Doug's grandmothers, Mr. K was very young, too young to die and too young to have fought the kind of battle over the last decade that he had. I remember meeting him, the only time I got to, at CJK and CA(T)K's wedding. I think he was talking to my husband for quite a while, and then turned to me and said "Who is that nice young man?" So I filled him in and he was surprised...
"Oh! Doug!" he then pondered. "I haven't seen him in years!" And he smiled.
"And who are you?"
CJK and CA(T)K are out there helping with arrangements and the like. We'll miss the funeral, and we'll miss them by one day, it seems. Hopefully we'll catch them on our way home.
Because it sucks to not be able to see friends.
My friend Mare in California recently took her mom in. Dad H. died in 1988, and Momma H. moved to South Carolina after selling the house on John Davies Lane, where they raised five beautiful daughters together. Life was good in South Carolina, until she got a boyfriend... and slowly over time, the boyfriend spent all of her money. Momma H. had no idea, and was left with almost nothing in the end. So Mare and her sisters talked it over, and she drove out there and "saved momma." Momma H. has pre-dementia, and over the past few years her condition has gotten worse, to the point where she sometimes isn't sure what the hell is going on. Mare's got a long journey ahead of her, but I praise her for taking her mom in, and having the space and heart with which to do so.
I talked to Momma H. recently, and she went on and on about how happy she is living with Mare and the four boys (yes, she had five daughters, and one of them goes and has four sons!) and what a happy place it is and how fun it is to be there. She talked with me for like a half hour before I finally said "Barb, do you even know who this is on the phone?"
"You're one of Mare's friends. I'm not sure who though, but if you're Mare's friend you're okay by me!"
I told her who I was and she was all excited it was me, and asked after my parents to see if they were still in our hometown. It was like a light went off... not only was she happy about where she was, but hey! A memory that is still there! Mare told me those are rare.
Old people are sometimes really cute. Sometimes they are just downright nasty. Doug works with them daily, and he tells me stories that crack me up to no end. Once he asked a woman if she was having any problems, and she yelled at him "I don't have any problems! SEXUAL OR OTHERWISE!!!"
Uh, okay!
I don't want the chance to be a woman in a home. Seriously. I don't want to have some illegal alien wiping my ass while bitching to her friend who is standing there (in Creole or Spanish or whatever) about how fat and disgusting I am. I don't want someone taking all my money from my checking account while I think life is rosy and joyful. I don't want to look at my kids' friends and wonder "Who the hell is THAT guy?"
And I don't want to hold my grandson's wife's hand and cry because I won't see her for a good long time, or, won't ever see her again.
So yeah, we get away. We deserve it, and our families deserve it. Our families deserve to get to know our kids, to realize Geoff is difficult sometimes but a lot of the time he's just hysterically funny. I feel as if you folks reading this know my kids better than our family in Pennsylvania.
And that makes me really, deeply and honestly sad.
You won't hear from me for a while. I should be able to write Sunday night when we return. Or, sometime Monday. Until then, the Archives are not quite finished in their reconstruction, so if you want a little dose of something, feel free to visit the days of yesteryear.
Go call your grandma. She misses you.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
How my experiences as a parent serve as birth control for others...
I was talking to my sister the other night, and she can tell you that my life and experience as a parent are the biggest form of birth control for her. After the day we had with Jessica on Saturday, and a lot of the things that we've gone through with the boy, any discussion I have with her often leaves her saying "I'm so not ever having kids."
Yesterday I spent the better part of the morning jumping through hoops trying to fix things for summer camp arrangements. Yes. I said fix things. You totally believed we had everything lined up. Ha!
I got a letter and a phone call Monday, both of which monkeywrenched my life.
First, the letter -- the cub scout camp cancelled the bus service for the next 2 weeks because only six boys signed up, and they need 20 to make it worthwhile. The week after next, Geoff is out of luck -- no bus. And there is no way I am driving like I did last week. If you remember, I spent the better part of last week driving. 20 minutes to camp, 90 minutes to my office, 90 from office to camp, 20 back to house. Four days of the week, and then Doug was able to get him in the afternoon last Friday, so I only had the 110 minutes worth of driving in the morning. I caught a break.
I called the camp and they gave me the names of three other campers in the area who were also taking the bus, and I decided I would call and make arrangements to carpool. I could take, if a parent could drive. The very first parent I called told me he'd take AND bring home, because he was staying at the camp as a volunteer, and it wouldn't be a problem to take Geoff with him.
Hallelujah.
He and I had a long talk about camp and life and living where we live and me working where I work and my commute, and he was tremendously cool, and it was awesome. So that problem was solved.
The phone call that I got Monday night was from the camp where I signed the kids up for the last 2 weeks of summer. They noticed I'd written on the application that I wanted Day Camp for Geoff. Well, they're not doing day camp, they're only residential. And they're rate is a lot higher than that which was listed on my form (which I received in the mail from them)... to the tune of $400 bucks a week. Gah.
Jessie still wants to go, but for only 1 week instead of two, which I'm feeling is fair because she really looks forward to going to this camp. Next year, she'll be too old.
So for one week I think I can push her off on friends, or take her to work with me for a day or two. But the two weeks in question are late in the summer, right before school starts, and I was wracking my brains trying to figure out what to do with the BOY. Every camp I checked was DONE by August 15th... and I'm looking at that week and the following week of August 22.
Then, it pops into my feeble little bear-like brain.
The YMCA camp Clayton used to work at, where he took Jessica for 2 years. Bingo. I found their webpage, the rate was the same for members and non-members, AND, on top of that, they have openings AND they're open that week. I called the camp and spoke with the director. I asked how long she'd been working there and she told me 25 years... so I asked if she knew Clayton and she did -- and we had a long lovely talk about how much fun he was there at camp. She totally remembers Jessica "How could I forget a big black man like him with a little blonde five year old girl hanging around with him!"
So we're in.
Flaming hoops? Pfth. Yeah -- life challenges got nothing on my phat, mad parenting skillz, yo.
Tuesday morning, my son got on the bus and there was only one kid on it. Sitting in the very last seat, all cool and having the bus to himself. What does Geoff do? Get in the seat WITH the kid. They were about the same age, and I bet that kid wanted the seat to himself, and is thinking "Dude, the whole bus is empty and you've gotta sit right on top of me???"
I'm going to have a little talk with Geoff about personal space and the unspoken rules of bus riding. I'm hoping this moring he sits in the row opposite.
On that note -- gotta finish packing up for lunch and getting the laptop into the bag. Have a good day you guys.
Yesterday I spent the better part of the morning jumping through hoops trying to fix things for summer camp arrangements. Yes. I said fix things. You totally believed we had everything lined up. Ha!
I got a letter and a phone call Monday, both of which monkeywrenched my life.
First, the letter -- the cub scout camp cancelled the bus service for the next 2 weeks because only six boys signed up, and they need 20 to make it worthwhile. The week after next, Geoff is out of luck -- no bus. And there is no way I am driving like I did last week. If you remember, I spent the better part of last week driving. 20 minutes to camp, 90 minutes to my office, 90 from office to camp, 20 back to house. Four days of the week, and then Doug was able to get him in the afternoon last Friday, so I only had the 110 minutes worth of driving in the morning. I caught a break.
I called the camp and they gave me the names of three other campers in the area who were also taking the bus, and I decided I would call and make arrangements to carpool. I could take, if a parent could drive. The very first parent I called told me he'd take AND bring home, because he was staying at the camp as a volunteer, and it wouldn't be a problem to take Geoff with him.
Hallelujah.
He and I had a long talk about camp and life and living where we live and me working where I work and my commute, and he was tremendously cool, and it was awesome. So that problem was solved.
The phone call that I got Monday night was from the camp where I signed the kids up for the last 2 weeks of summer. They noticed I'd written on the application that I wanted Day Camp for Geoff. Well, they're not doing day camp, they're only residential. And they're rate is a lot higher than that which was listed on my form (which I received in the mail from them)... to the tune of $400 bucks a week. Gah.
Jessie still wants to go, but for only 1 week instead of two, which I'm feeling is fair because she really looks forward to going to this camp. Next year, she'll be too old.
So for one week I think I can push her off on friends, or take her to work with me for a day or two. But the two weeks in question are late in the summer, right before school starts, and I was wracking my brains trying to figure out what to do with the BOY. Every camp I checked was DONE by August 15th... and I'm looking at that week and the following week of August 22.
Then, it pops into my feeble little bear-like brain.
The YMCA camp Clayton used to work at, where he took Jessica for 2 years. Bingo. I found their webpage, the rate was the same for members and non-members, AND, on top of that, they have openings AND they're open that week. I called the camp and spoke with the director. I asked how long she'd been working there and she told me 25 years... so I asked if she knew Clayton and she did -- and we had a long lovely talk about how much fun he was there at camp. She totally remembers Jessica "How could I forget a big black man like him with a little blonde five year old girl hanging around with him!"
So we're in.
Flaming hoops? Pfth. Yeah -- life challenges got nothing on my phat, mad parenting skillz, yo.
Tuesday morning, my son got on the bus and there was only one kid on it. Sitting in the very last seat, all cool and having the bus to himself. What does Geoff do? Get in the seat WITH the kid. They were about the same age, and I bet that kid wanted the seat to himself, and is thinking "Dude, the whole bus is empty and you've gotta sit right on top of me???"
I'm going to have a little talk with Geoff about personal space and the unspoken rules of bus riding. I'm hoping this moring he sits in the row opposite.
On that note -- gotta finish packing up for lunch and getting the laptop into the bag. Have a good day you guys.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Harry and the halfblood...
I just finished reading the latest installment in the life and adventures of everyone's favorite nerdy cursed wizard boy, and all I can say is "Woah." I won't spoil anything for anyone, but I have distinct thoughts and feelings about this latest installment, more than I've had about the previous books. Continue reading if you want to know what I think, or visit later after you've finished and we can discuss.
There is a lot in this book that really strikes me about Rowling and her style of writing. I really do think she makes it up as she goes along, that her writing is a product of her times. The first book was published in 1998, obviously before the events of September 11, 2005. Harry's introduction to the world was that there is this boy, he finds out he's a wizard, he survived a horrible attack when he was a baby, and now that he is going to be trained in his craft, the wizard who tried to kill him is working on making a comeback. Rowling's stories were lighthearted, and fun... as fun as a young boy learning to make friends and fly a broom can be. September 11th cast a dark shadow on the world, and in a lot of ways, on Rowling's prose. Each book is somewhat darker and more sinister than the last, as our own climate grows dark along with that in the wizarding world.
This latest book is rife with jabs at homeland security and how they don't work, fail, and the darkness seeps in no matter how hard you don't want it to... just like with the London Bombings of a few weeks ago. I know Rowling didn't KNOW these things were going to happen, I know she didn't plan on the world turning into a dark and scary place for us muggles out here. She's been able to do what every author should do best. She writes what she knows. And she is giving the characters a current events feel, sharing our fears and our trepidation with the students at Hogwarts. And this is giving her series a feel and excitement that I think they would totally lack if it weren't for the events in the world around us.
While the darkness seeps in, and scary shit happens, people fall in love, sporting events still are played, and life goes on. While the rest of us are living, there are those who obsess with the ever present dangers and fret about them, quietly and thoughtfully, preparing for the worst. There are those who work to mechanize the terror and bring it to the doorsteps of the rest of the world, in secret and quiet, where afterwards all the friends and relatives will say "He wouldn't ever do something like that! He had so much to live for!"
To quote Jim Infantino, "And in the middle marching there are me and you."
Each of us reading are the other characters, the witnesses to the happenings in the magic world. We aren't Hermione smart, or Cedric Diggory strong and brave, or Malfoy evil, but we're like the Patil twins, or Lavender Brown, or Luna and Neville. We're on the sidelines watching that which goes on around us... and we know people like Hermione, Harry, Cedric, Ron, Malfoy, Crabbe & Goyle. We have had bosses or teachers like Snape or like Dumbledore. And Rowling is able to write these characters moving through their parallel universe along with our similar joys and fear. We can relate. We know these people, even though they yell Latinesque jinxes and hexes and green goo shoots out the end of their wands.
People have criticized Rowling and said that she brazenly steals from classic literature, specifically Tolkein, that some of the scenes in her books are right out of LOTR. Perhaps. Tolkein denied over and over that his LOTR was in any way an allegorical work about England in the face of Nazi Germany... the Hobbits being the UK and all of the dark forces being the scourge which spread over Europe. Deny as he might, he was writing of his time and his thoughts and feelings. With a dose of good old Christian sacrifice and martyrdom, spiced with the possibility of redemption of one of the most foul creatures in the end, Tolkein borrowed from the Bible, from the Greeks, from Beowulf... all good literature through history gives a nod back to the predecessors. There was even a little Star Wars reference in the reverse going on (if you're reading it right now, I won't say it... I won't tell you who, but you'll see it). And it made me smile and laugh as I was reading.
So Rowling has the world by the tail. And she's got another book to write. Will it be the last in the series? Harry has one more year of school... but will that be all? Will his adventures end upon graduation? Will it take her two more years to crank out the book that she claims she has "in her head" and nowhere else? What happens if JK Rowling is hit by a bus? Or a sheep in Scotland mauls her (an evil sheep). What happens then?
What will become of us? And this story... which could be left untold.
No spoilers intended, I'm pondering what will happen in book seven. I am looking for someone to be redeemed... another steal from Tolkein or from religious literature if you will. I want there to be some sort of amazing redemption, some cleansing, not of the main horrible character -- that will never happen just like Sauron is never "saved" in the LOTR series, but there are two characters who may have a chance to walk away in the light, even though the Dark Mark is burned into their souls. I wonder wholeheartedly if the scar on Harry's forehead will play an unbelievably important role in the next or final chapter.
I would like to say I always loved Dumbledore because I think he "gets" it. His character is aware that there is a distinct lack of love in the world, and those who are capable of love can conquer anything. It is an age old philosophy dating back to Christ and Chaucer, that love conquers all. In the environment where we live, and where I've said it here a million times, there is NOT enough love out there. And Dumbledore would want us all to go out and do loving, kind things. Hold your opinions, keep your belief, but DO kindness. That is why I've always loved his character, his wisdom, his gentle kindness even when kicking Harry's ass as the stubborn teen sat across from him arguing. Thinking of Dumbledore's kindness right now brings a tear to my eye. Hell, it's just a book Christine.
Oh, but it's more.
If you want to know what I think, email me and I'll share, we can dialogue. That'll be nice. In the meantime, if you're unfamiliar with the series, and you like a fast paced read and a good mystery or six, start reading. And JK Rowling -- start writing the next one NOW. I don't want to wait two years to know what happens next. Especially if there are more terror attacks and other dark and evil events which could color your words and work.
There is a lot in this book that really strikes me about Rowling and her style of writing. I really do think she makes it up as she goes along, that her writing is a product of her times. The first book was published in 1998, obviously before the events of September 11, 2005. Harry's introduction to the world was that there is this boy, he finds out he's a wizard, he survived a horrible attack when he was a baby, and now that he is going to be trained in his craft, the wizard who tried to kill him is working on making a comeback. Rowling's stories were lighthearted, and fun... as fun as a young boy learning to make friends and fly a broom can be. September 11th cast a dark shadow on the world, and in a lot of ways, on Rowling's prose. Each book is somewhat darker and more sinister than the last, as our own climate grows dark along with that in the wizarding world.
This latest book is rife with jabs at homeland security and how they don't work, fail, and the darkness seeps in no matter how hard you don't want it to... just like with the London Bombings of a few weeks ago. I know Rowling didn't KNOW these things were going to happen, I know she didn't plan on the world turning into a dark and scary place for us muggles out here. She's been able to do what every author should do best. She writes what she knows. And she is giving the characters a current events feel, sharing our fears and our trepidation with the students at Hogwarts. And this is giving her series a feel and excitement that I think they would totally lack if it weren't for the events in the world around us.
While the darkness seeps in, and scary shit happens, people fall in love, sporting events still are played, and life goes on. While the rest of us are living, there are those who obsess with the ever present dangers and fret about them, quietly and thoughtfully, preparing for the worst. There are those who work to mechanize the terror and bring it to the doorsteps of the rest of the world, in secret and quiet, where afterwards all the friends and relatives will say "He wouldn't ever do something like that! He had so much to live for!"
To quote Jim Infantino, "And in the middle marching there are me and you."
Each of us reading are the other characters, the witnesses to the happenings in the magic world. We aren't Hermione smart, or Cedric Diggory strong and brave, or Malfoy evil, but we're like the Patil twins, or Lavender Brown, or Luna and Neville. We're on the sidelines watching that which goes on around us... and we know people like Hermione, Harry, Cedric, Ron, Malfoy, Crabbe & Goyle. We have had bosses or teachers like Snape or like Dumbledore. And Rowling is able to write these characters moving through their parallel universe along with our similar joys and fear. We can relate. We know these people, even though they yell Latinesque jinxes and hexes and green goo shoots out the end of their wands.
People have criticized Rowling and said that she brazenly steals from classic literature, specifically Tolkein, that some of the scenes in her books are right out of LOTR. Perhaps. Tolkein denied over and over that his LOTR was in any way an allegorical work about England in the face of Nazi Germany... the Hobbits being the UK and all of the dark forces being the scourge which spread over Europe. Deny as he might, he was writing of his time and his thoughts and feelings. With a dose of good old Christian sacrifice and martyrdom, spiced with the possibility of redemption of one of the most foul creatures in the end, Tolkein borrowed from the Bible, from the Greeks, from Beowulf... all good literature through history gives a nod back to the predecessors. There was even a little Star Wars reference in the reverse going on (if you're reading it right now, I won't say it... I won't tell you who, but you'll see it). And it made me smile and laugh as I was reading.
So Rowling has the world by the tail. And she's got another book to write. Will it be the last in the series? Harry has one more year of school... but will that be all? Will his adventures end upon graduation? Will it take her two more years to crank out the book that she claims she has "in her head" and nowhere else? What happens if JK Rowling is hit by a bus? Or a sheep in Scotland mauls her (an evil sheep). What happens then?
What will become of us? And this story... which could be left untold.
No spoilers intended, I'm pondering what will happen in book seven. I am looking for someone to be redeemed... another steal from Tolkein or from religious literature if you will. I want there to be some sort of amazing redemption, some cleansing, not of the main horrible character -- that will never happen just like Sauron is never "saved" in the LOTR series, but there are two characters who may have a chance to walk away in the light, even though the Dark Mark is burned into their souls. I wonder wholeheartedly if the scar on Harry's forehead will play an unbelievably important role in the next or final chapter.
I would like to say I always loved Dumbledore because I think he "gets" it. His character is aware that there is a distinct lack of love in the world, and those who are capable of love can conquer anything. It is an age old philosophy dating back to Christ and Chaucer, that love conquers all. In the environment where we live, and where I've said it here a million times, there is NOT enough love out there. And Dumbledore would want us all to go out and do loving, kind things. Hold your opinions, keep your belief, but DO kindness. That is why I've always loved his character, his wisdom, his gentle kindness even when kicking Harry's ass as the stubborn teen sat across from him arguing. Thinking of Dumbledore's kindness right now brings a tear to my eye. Hell, it's just a book Christine.
Oh, but it's more.
If you want to know what I think, email me and I'll share, we can dialogue. That'll be nice. In the meantime, if you're unfamiliar with the series, and you like a fast paced read and a good mystery or six, start reading. And JK Rowling -- start writing the next one NOW. I don't want to wait two years to know what happens next. Especially if there are more terror attacks and other dark and evil events which could color your words and work.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Welcome to the Working Week
We didn't go to Vermont this weekend. We decided that for one night worth of camping, doing the whole packing, fight with kids, haul the dogs thing was just too much. Saturday was just stellar and beautiful... so we decided to go Geocaching. And that's when things got ugly.
Jessica, as many of you know, despises the activity of geocaching. She hates ANYthing that requires movement. She hates anything if it does not involve reading, listening to music, or watching TV. She moans and complains each and every time we take her out. This time was no exception, and she decided to turn up the defiance by about 50%. She went nuts. She refused to get out of the car. I took her MP3 player and told her she could have it back after we were finished geocaching. She said she didn't care. She fought, cried, freaked out and generally ruined the day. We were sitting on the side of the road, dogs on leashes... geoff 500 feet up the trail waiting. And she wouldn't come.
We begged, we pleaded, we dangled carrots in front of her obstinant donkey nose. She wasn't budging. So we decided if she wasn't going to enjoy the outside in a pastoral relaxing way, she was going to enjoy it in a back breaking yard work labor way. And we brought her home, and put her to work.
She weeded the garden. She weeded the driveway. She mowed the lawn. She walked up and down our street picking up trash and filling a bag (including 2 dead turtles and a dead frog). She did an exceptionally good job. And we told her that we anticipated that we'd be out until 8pm, so she wasn't allowed into the house until 8pm. After she did all the work while Doug and I sat and watched, we had a talk. "Next time you think being outside taking a walk is difficult and no fun, we've got a wood pile that needs consolodated, and a fire pit that needs rebuilt. Those will be your next tasks."
Sunday she went willingly with us on our geocaching, although she did start complaining after the first long hike. We did three of them, the weather wasn't nearly as nice as Saturday, but all told, we all got the exercise we needed and our yard looks spectacular.
Today Geoff gets to take the bus to cub scout camp, so I'm greatly looking forward to getting to the office early for a change. I have a lot of work to catch up on at the office, so I need to get the nose to the grindstone as it were. A week from right now we'll be waking up at my parents and heading off to western PA. I'm finding that really hard to believe.
Oh -- and I got the New Harry Potter Book. I have read over 500 pages of it and will probably finish it tonight. I am not enjoying it as much as the past books because I feel she's simply setting the stage for the unbelievable and tremendous final book in the series... I have a lot of thoughts on the tone of the book and what is going on with the story as well but I'll keep my mouth shut until I'm done and others have read.
On that note.
Jessica, as many of you know, despises the activity of geocaching. She hates ANYthing that requires movement. She hates anything if it does not involve reading, listening to music, or watching TV. She moans and complains each and every time we take her out. This time was no exception, and she decided to turn up the defiance by about 50%. She went nuts. She refused to get out of the car. I took her MP3 player and told her she could have it back after we were finished geocaching. She said she didn't care. She fought, cried, freaked out and generally ruined the day. We were sitting on the side of the road, dogs on leashes... geoff 500 feet up the trail waiting. And she wouldn't come.
We begged, we pleaded, we dangled carrots in front of her obstinant donkey nose. She wasn't budging. So we decided if she wasn't going to enjoy the outside in a pastoral relaxing way, she was going to enjoy it in a back breaking yard work labor way. And we brought her home, and put her to work.
She weeded the garden. She weeded the driveway. She mowed the lawn. She walked up and down our street picking up trash and filling a bag (including 2 dead turtles and a dead frog). She did an exceptionally good job. And we told her that we anticipated that we'd be out until 8pm, so she wasn't allowed into the house until 8pm. After she did all the work while Doug and I sat and watched, we had a talk. "Next time you think being outside taking a walk is difficult and no fun, we've got a wood pile that needs consolodated, and a fire pit that needs rebuilt. Those will be your next tasks."
Sunday she went willingly with us on our geocaching, although she did start complaining after the first long hike. We did three of them, the weather wasn't nearly as nice as Saturday, but all told, we all got the exercise we needed and our yard looks spectacular.
Today Geoff gets to take the bus to cub scout camp, so I'm greatly looking forward to getting to the office early for a change. I have a lot of work to catch up on at the office, so I need to get the nose to the grindstone as it were. A week from right now we'll be waking up at my parents and heading off to western PA. I'm finding that really hard to believe.
Oh -- and I got the New Harry Potter Book. I have read over 500 pages of it and will probably finish it tonight. I am not enjoying it as much as the past books because I feel she's simply setting the stage for the unbelievable and tremendous final book in the series... I have a lot of thoughts on the tone of the book and what is going on with the story as well but I'll keep my mouth shut until I'm done and others have read.
On that note.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Things I love about my job
I love my job. Have I told you that lately? This week was rough because I spent more than my fair share driving all over North America to drop the boy at camp and get to work and go back and get him and oh, yeah. Take Jessica all the way over there and then get Geoff to camp and then get to work... I think I put over 400 miles on my car alone in the past 3 days. It's not normal for me to do so. But. Even though I wasn't AT work a ton of time this week, I love work. We have Beverage Friday, sometimes it is simply Beer Friday. Sometimes it is Margaritas. MC and Captain and Coke today, and felt really weird putting the bottle of booze into his desk like he's the closet alkie. Beer is kept in the fridge, so there isn't any sitting in your desk drawer drawing aspersions towards the nature of your character.
I had Guinness tonight. It was "brilliant!" Mikey, you shoulda been there. It was a thing of beauty.
Anyway -- one of the features of Beverage Friday is blabbing. We chat. We talk. We get to know one another. Sometimes it is all business. How was your week? Did this go well? What is our plan for next week? Other times, like today, it's just jibber jabber about life, the universe and everything. C, MC, and JTF and I had a lot of fun talking about engagement rings and the philosophies of 2 months salary as a good price for a freaking ring. My ring cost less than 300 bucks, and it is lovely and perfect and wonderful, and you'll note that I'm too fat to wear it anymore (since having kids and getting extra squishy). Unless I get it resized, of course.
And while we were chatting, I continued to work. Scheduling the content. Gotta schedule the content. DL discovered that if you only programmed 1/3 of a week's content across one of the chains, it would break everything. So... I set to making sure 2 weeks from now's content was fully 100% scheduled across the board.
While chatting.
And you know what happened? I messed up. I put the wrong content on the wrong screens. And I'm glad I caught it. But it is official. I can no longer work during Beverage Friday. Unless everyone else is far, far away from me. I did okay until people came a'talkin'. And then I mussed the bed.
I stayed until about 6:15 fixing things, and kicking myself.
Duh.
What's on the agenda this weekend? Well, there was initial discussion of going to Vermont tomorrow and camping overnight. Not sure if we're going to do it or not. Jessica DESPERATELY wants to go to some bookstore at midnight tonight for the stupid Harry Potter book. I told her we'll wait five days when it will be on sale at Sam's Club for 70% off the cover price. And I so don't want to be in a bookstore at midnight with elevendy million squeeling pre- and post-pubescent kids.
I'd rather stick forks in my eyes.
So if we don't go to Vermont, I'm not sure what we'll do but I bet stalking Tupperware containers in the forest will come up as an option. Next weekend we go on vacation. I don't think I'll be sticking around for Beverage Friday next week. But we'll see how things go.
On that note. Jessica -- shut up. Go away. Stop reading over my shoulder.
I had Guinness tonight. It was "brilliant!" Mikey, you shoulda been there. It was a thing of beauty.
Anyway -- one of the features of Beverage Friday is blabbing. We chat. We talk. We get to know one another. Sometimes it is all business. How was your week? Did this go well? What is our plan for next week? Other times, like today, it's just jibber jabber about life, the universe and everything. C, MC, and JTF and I had a lot of fun talking about engagement rings and the philosophies of 2 months salary as a good price for a freaking ring. My ring cost less than 300 bucks, and it is lovely and perfect and wonderful, and you'll note that I'm too fat to wear it anymore (since having kids and getting extra squishy). Unless I get it resized, of course.
And while we were chatting, I continued to work. Scheduling the content. Gotta schedule the content. DL discovered that if you only programmed 1/3 of a week's content across one of the chains, it would break everything. So... I set to making sure 2 weeks from now's content was fully 100% scheduled across the board.
While chatting.
And you know what happened? I messed up. I put the wrong content on the wrong screens. And I'm glad I caught it. But it is official. I can no longer work during Beverage Friday. Unless everyone else is far, far away from me. I did okay until people came a'talkin'. And then I mussed the bed.
I stayed until about 6:15 fixing things, and kicking myself.
Duh.
What's on the agenda this weekend? Well, there was initial discussion of going to Vermont tomorrow and camping overnight. Not sure if we're going to do it or not. Jessica DESPERATELY wants to go to some bookstore at midnight tonight for the stupid Harry Potter book. I told her we'll wait five days when it will be on sale at Sam's Club for 70% off the cover price. And I so don't want to be in a bookstore at midnight with elevendy million squeeling pre- and post-pubescent kids.
I'd rather stick forks in my eyes.
So if we don't go to Vermont, I'm not sure what we'll do but I bet stalking Tupperware containers in the forest will come up as an option. Next weekend we go on vacation. I don't think I'll be sticking around for Beverage Friday next week. But we'll see how things go.
On that note. Jessica -- shut up. Go away. Stop reading over my shoulder.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Observations on the Roads of the Eastern Seaboard
I spend a lot of time in traffic. Way more than I'd like to. My commute is relatively painless. I know the routes, I know the back roads. I know if I want to get trapped like a drowning rat in a box in the hull of a sinking ship I can always go to rte 114 in Peabody and sit and await the Apocalypse. It'll come first before I make it to I-95.
Lately, I'm not sure if it is the nice weather, but people are driving extra turdy and it is really getting to me. I thought I would share some of my latest observations on the commute, and see if you all have had similar experiences. I already shared about the woman who drove like she needed help, and how when I tried to assist her she gave me "'tude." So we can add this in the similar theme, vein, motif, category, if you will.
First, the other day I was cut off by someone driving a Roach Coach. For those of you unfamiliar with the term "Roach Coach," it is a truck laden with equipment and accessories which makes it a rolling restaurant. A "Canteen" truck is another term used in polite society. Usually the back is all silvery and patterned with diamond shapes, and the drivers are fucking retards to begin with, in a huge hurry to get to their next dollar. Not really realizing that they're spending ten times as much on gas as they would be if they just parked it and stood still and allowed customers to approach them. So he's in the left turn lane, I'm going straight. He cuts me off and I beep. Yes, I beeped. And then he slows down to negative two miles per hour to irritate me (and the 8 million other commuters behind us) and flips me the bird when he finally turns right.
Nice.
Fuck him. I hope that his customers get botulism or salmonella poisoning and die, and the surviving families sue him into destitution.
Next are the people who pull out in front of me by jack rabbit starting, and then they slow down to negative eleven once they are in front of me. "Whew! So glad I didn't get hit by that lady! I think I'll just slow it down some now... how about to negative eleven? That's a good speed when the posted speed limit is 40 mph. Yeah." These people suck long and hard. The thing that irritates me the MOST from these folks is the fact that 9 out of 10 times no one is behind me. They simply have to wait a few millisecond until I pass, and then they have the entire vacant roadway to pull out into at their leisure. But no. They cannot wait. They are entitled to be in front of me. They are usually "Yummy Mommy" types, size 2 after four kids, in the Lexus or Acura MDX or Beemer Mobiles and they are entitled BECAUSE. They insist on cutting my ass off. Why? So they can get there before me. Wherever there is. Usually in Marblehead, it is to getting their nails done at a posh salon.
Nice.
Fuck them.
I hope their Vietnamese illegal alien nail doer lady jabs the cuticle too hard and they get some sort of horrible infection which renders their hands useless and handicapped forever. Maybe then they can hire a driver who knows the rules of the road while they sit in the back seat lamenting their poor choices in life and why the judge ruled against them in the lawsuit.
Next is the landscaping truck. The other day I was cut off by one of these trucks in Swampscott. None of the tail lights on the gianormous humongous obscenely big trailer were functioning, so I had to keep my distance and use my keen sense of depth perception to know when they were coming to a stop, or slowing down. I was behind these guys almost all the way to my office. And I decided, as with the lady who couldn't drive for shit, that I would follow them, and inform them that they suck the wool off passing sheep, and suggest that they get a clue and fix their trailer connections.
So I follow them, and they are working on a little side street near my office. They're all like Mexican or Guatemalan or something. Only ONE of them speaks any semblance of what I might call English. They get out of their big assed Ford Pickup truck, all eight of them, and I stop my car and tell them what the problem is.
I let the driver know, that I'm only letting him know this so that he doesn't KILL someone on the way to the next job or back to the shop. I let him know that I almost DIED because they don't know the blue plug goes into the blue thingie. He barks at the orders to some of the guys, and they set to fixing the connections.
Yeah, the Marblehead police would pull you over and what. Ticket you? Deport all of your illegal asses back to wherever it is you came from? Neither. No one would care. Except for me. The driver thanks me in broken English, and I feel I've done something somewhat nice, but deep down inside I know tomorrow some yahoo is going to hook up the trailer incorrectly again, and it will be same shit, different day.
Whatever.
No Fuck them for these guys... they're just trying to exist. I just wish they'd plug the right color cable into the right connector. My eight year old can figure this shit out. Why can't they?
Today there was a contractor in front of me with Marblehead business address and phone number painted on his truck, but New Hampshire plates secured to his vehicle.
I won't even get started on what kind of insanity this boils up inside my brain. I hate that shit. Oh. My. God. You cheap bastard. Register your goddamn vehicle in the state where your business is. You suck. And yeah -- a hearty Fuck You for ripping off my state. It isn't even like you live in a BORDER town like Haverhill or Salisbury or Douglas or Webster... you are in Marble freaking HEAD you bastard.
Oh, I need a drink...
My commute will be the undoing of me. I'm sure.
Doug is napping, and Geoff is trying to wake him up. He wants to go canoeing so badly that it isn't even funny. We stopped at WalMart and bought PFD vests for all of us. Geoff is wearing his. He's particularly excited. He really wants to go. Perhaps we will. Perhaps we'll wait. Either way, we'll probably have our asses run over as we're crossing the street.
Gah.
Lately, I'm not sure if it is the nice weather, but people are driving extra turdy and it is really getting to me. I thought I would share some of my latest observations on the commute, and see if you all have had similar experiences. I already shared about the woman who drove like she needed help, and how when I tried to assist her she gave me "'tude." So we can add this in the similar theme, vein, motif, category, if you will.
First, the other day I was cut off by someone driving a Roach Coach. For those of you unfamiliar with the term "Roach Coach," it is a truck laden with equipment and accessories which makes it a rolling restaurant. A "Canteen" truck is another term used in polite society. Usually the back is all silvery and patterned with diamond shapes, and the drivers are fucking retards to begin with, in a huge hurry to get to their next dollar. Not really realizing that they're spending ten times as much on gas as they would be if they just parked it and stood still and allowed customers to approach them. So he's in the left turn lane, I'm going straight. He cuts me off and I beep. Yes, I beeped. And then he slows down to negative two miles per hour to irritate me (and the 8 million other commuters behind us) and flips me the bird when he finally turns right.
Nice.
Fuck him. I hope that his customers get botulism or salmonella poisoning and die, and the surviving families sue him into destitution.
Next are the people who pull out in front of me by jack rabbit starting, and then they slow down to negative eleven once they are in front of me. "Whew! So glad I didn't get hit by that lady! I think I'll just slow it down some now... how about to negative eleven? That's a good speed when the posted speed limit is 40 mph. Yeah." These people suck long and hard. The thing that irritates me the MOST from these folks is the fact that 9 out of 10 times no one is behind me. They simply have to wait a few millisecond until I pass, and then they have the entire vacant roadway to pull out into at their leisure. But no. They cannot wait. They are entitled to be in front of me. They are usually "Yummy Mommy" types, size 2 after four kids, in the Lexus or Acura MDX or Beemer Mobiles and they are entitled BECAUSE. They insist on cutting my ass off. Why? So they can get there before me. Wherever there is. Usually in Marblehead, it is to getting their nails done at a posh salon.
Nice.
Fuck them.
I hope their Vietnamese illegal alien nail doer lady jabs the cuticle too hard and they get some sort of horrible infection which renders their hands useless and handicapped forever. Maybe then they can hire a driver who knows the rules of the road while they sit in the back seat lamenting their poor choices in life and why the judge ruled against them in the lawsuit.
Next is the landscaping truck. The other day I was cut off by one of these trucks in Swampscott. None of the tail lights on the gianormous humongous obscenely big trailer were functioning, so I had to keep my distance and use my keen sense of depth perception to know when they were coming to a stop, or slowing down. I was behind these guys almost all the way to my office. And I decided, as with the lady who couldn't drive for shit, that I would follow them, and inform them that they suck the wool off passing sheep, and suggest that they get a clue and fix their trailer connections.
So I follow them, and they are working on a little side street near my office. They're all like Mexican or Guatemalan or something. Only ONE of them speaks any semblance of what I might call English. They get out of their big assed Ford Pickup truck, all eight of them, and I stop my car and tell them what the problem is.
I let the driver know, that I'm only letting him know this so that he doesn't KILL someone on the way to the next job or back to the shop. I let him know that I almost DIED because they don't know the blue plug goes into the blue thingie. He barks at the orders to some of the guys, and they set to fixing the connections.
Yeah, the Marblehead police would pull you over and what. Ticket you? Deport all of your illegal asses back to wherever it is you came from? Neither. No one would care. Except for me. The driver thanks me in broken English, and I feel I've done something somewhat nice, but deep down inside I know tomorrow some yahoo is going to hook up the trailer incorrectly again, and it will be same shit, different day.
Whatever.
No Fuck them for these guys... they're just trying to exist. I just wish they'd plug the right color cable into the right connector. My eight year old can figure this shit out. Why can't they?
Today there was a contractor in front of me with Marblehead business address and phone number painted on his truck, but New Hampshire plates secured to his vehicle.
I won't even get started on what kind of insanity this boils up inside my brain. I hate that shit. Oh. My. God. You cheap bastard. Register your goddamn vehicle in the state where your business is. You suck. And yeah -- a hearty Fuck You for ripping off my state. It isn't even like you live in a BORDER town like Haverhill or Salisbury or Douglas or Webster... you are in Marble freaking HEAD you bastard.
Oh, I need a drink...
My commute will be the undoing of me. I'm sure.
Doug is napping, and Geoff is trying to wake him up. He wants to go canoeing so badly that it isn't even funny. We stopped at WalMart and bought PFD vests for all of us. Geoff is wearing his. He's particularly excited. He really wants to go. Perhaps we will. Perhaps we'll wait. Either way, we'll probably have our asses run over as we're crossing the street.
Gah.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Canoe? Canoe!
File this under "As If I Don't Have Enough Crap In My Life." My husband took the dog for a walk tonight. He came home while I was writing tech documentation for work and said "You've gotta come help me get the canoe in the truck. Kiss my what?
No seriously.
Yeah -- he had me hop into the truck and drive around the corner where a 17' Fiberglass Old Town LLBean Style canoe has been for sale for the past several weeks. He's been pondering the purchase, and on his walk this evening with old Jack there, he stopped to look. The seller restores sailboats and canoes, and has had several different models for sale out in the yard for the past several years. So they got to talking. He was asking $250, but Jack charmed him and he let her go for $200 WITH two wood paddles.
A brand new Old Town goes for over 1,000. I didn't want a huge Fiberglass canoe. I wanted something that Doug and Geoff could handle by themselves if they wanted to go out... but this one was there, and it is ship shape, and yeah.
We own a canoe.
Seeing as it is 17' long, and the interior of our truckbed is only like 6' long, the drive home was slightly precarious. I grabbed a safety orange vest and tied it to the end (it being pitch dark out, I figured it was my best option). Doug rode in back and had tied the ropes inside the canoe to the frame of the truckbed and cap. Luckily we live less than a quarter of a mile away... the ride home could have been devilishly difficult otherwise, what with the way jerkasses drive around here. Seriously -- even with my hazards and safety orange flying off the back, I had a tailgater.
Meh!
So it's in our yard. It's ready to go. It's got a little rust, nothing too too bad, and I've already spent about 800 bucks in my mind's eye on canoe accessories like this and this.
First we started with the fishing. Now we're up to canoes... the outdoor addiction spreads. At least I know I'll get some tan lines this summer. Nothing like the tanlines one gets from a personal floatation device.
I'm outta here, to quote Nance.
No seriously.
Yeah -- he had me hop into the truck and drive around the corner where a 17' Fiberglass Old Town LLBean Style canoe has been for sale for the past several weeks. He's been pondering the purchase, and on his walk this evening with old Jack there, he stopped to look. The seller restores sailboats and canoes, and has had several different models for sale out in the yard for the past several years. So they got to talking. He was asking $250, but Jack charmed him and he let her go for $200 WITH two wood paddles.
A brand new Old Town goes for over 1,000. I didn't want a huge Fiberglass canoe. I wanted something that Doug and Geoff could handle by themselves if they wanted to go out... but this one was there, and it is ship shape, and yeah.
We own a canoe.
Seeing as it is 17' long, and the interior of our truckbed is only like 6' long, the drive home was slightly precarious. I grabbed a safety orange vest and tied it to the end (it being pitch dark out, I figured it was my best option). Doug rode in back and had tied the ropes inside the canoe to the frame of the truckbed and cap. Luckily we live less than a quarter of a mile away... the ride home could have been devilishly difficult otherwise, what with the way jerkasses drive around here. Seriously -- even with my hazards and safety orange flying off the back, I had a tailgater.
Meh!
So it's in our yard. It's ready to go. It's got a little rust, nothing too too bad, and I've already spent about 800 bucks in my mind's eye on canoe accessories like this and this.
First we started with the fishing. Now we're up to canoes... the outdoor addiction spreads. At least I know I'll get some tan lines this summer. Nothing like the tanlines one gets from a personal floatation device.
I'm outta here, to quote Nance.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Cub Scout Camp
My most gianormous tactical error this summer is that I signed Geoff up for three weeks of Cub Scout camp in southern New Hampshire. The fact he is going to camp isn't the gianormous error -- the fact that this week they don't provide transportation IS the error. I have to drive him.
Which isn't bad, if I didn't need to drive to work and back daily. The camp is about 20 minutes north of our house. Which means I drive 20 minutes north, then drive right past my house, and continue to work in a trip that takes about an hour and ten minutes with no traffic. I get to the office. I leave pretty much ten minutes after I get there. Okay. Slight hyperbole. More like 45 minutes.
And it is one of those major "what the hell was I thinking" moments that finds me here at 7:30am instead of getting ready for work. Geoff is eating breakfast. We can't really leave until 8:30 because camp starts at 9. I guess my mistake affords me the minor convenience of taking it easy in the morning for a whole week, and I should look at that as a gift instead of grumble about how it makes me late for work. But I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around a 5 hour work day with nearly 2 and a half hours of driving on either end. It isn't so much the 5 hour workday, it's the drive that is bearing down on me. Meh!
Yesterday morning when I dropped Geoff off at camp the entire situation was a fustercluck. I had mailed in all of his health forms, but I still had to stand in the line for "drop your health forms off and get them checked over." They didn't have a "drop off your health forms and get them checked over" line and "check in because you were smart enough to plan ahead" line. The line was taking forever, filled with 9 billion boys and their parents patiently waiting (except for one woman who jumped the line in her business suit... another "I'm entitled" kind of bitch and I wanted to trip her into the poison ivy). The mom behind me and I couldn't figure out what the hell could possibly take this long. She said last year it was totally different. You went to find your den assignment, and if you needed to turn in your health forms you went and did that, and if you were all set you went to your den. Ba-da-bing.
We finally got to the table after nearly a half hour in line... and the person doing check in shook Geoff's hand, asked him what rank he was now (Bear) and asked what he was looking forward to doing at camp this year, and welcomed him because this is his first year there and...
Yeah. That was what took so long. I was rather angry when I was in line that it was taking a stinking dog's age to check in, but my ire dissipated as this woman very kindly asked my son (and every other son coming through this line) personal questions to make him all at ease.
It's hard to argue with kindness. For a change.
We got checked in, and got his den assigned. He made friends immediately with an 11 year old named Chris who has a mohawk. Nice. Chris wants to be in the Navy when he grows up. Geoff talked about how he wants to be in the air force like his grandpa was, but I didn't have the heart to let him know his vision would forever preclude his participation in the skies for the military, if that truly is his wish. He changes his mind weekly as to what he wants to be...
I left him at camp with all new boys and a huge \m/ from him to me. Which rocked my heart and made me smile the entire way to the office. He had a super day and can't wait to go back.
Next week and the third week he is at camp there is a bus that picks up and drops off. So that will make my life easier. I won't have to drive past my house on the way to work. Actually, this morning I'm going to take the GPS with me and figure out an alternate route to 95. Perhaps I can get over there quickly without driving through Haverhill to go south.
My sister is on vacation this week, and I never truly realized how occupied she kept me while I was at work. The constant flurry of emails back and forth each day with innanities and funnies and "meh, meh, mehs" is truly missed. Gah. I never realized how BORING my job was.
Anyway. That's my update. More later.
Which isn't bad, if I didn't need to drive to work and back daily. The camp is about 20 minutes north of our house. Which means I drive 20 minutes north, then drive right past my house, and continue to work in a trip that takes about an hour and ten minutes with no traffic. I get to the office. I leave pretty much ten minutes after I get there. Okay. Slight hyperbole. More like 45 minutes.
And it is one of those major "what the hell was I thinking" moments that finds me here at 7:30am instead of getting ready for work. Geoff is eating breakfast. We can't really leave until 8:30 because camp starts at 9. I guess my mistake affords me the minor convenience of taking it easy in the morning for a whole week, and I should look at that as a gift instead of grumble about how it makes me late for work. But I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around a 5 hour work day with nearly 2 and a half hours of driving on either end. It isn't so much the 5 hour workday, it's the drive that is bearing down on me. Meh!
Yesterday morning when I dropped Geoff off at camp the entire situation was a fustercluck. I had mailed in all of his health forms, but I still had to stand in the line for "drop your health forms off and get them checked over." They didn't have a "drop off your health forms and get them checked over" line and "check in because you were smart enough to plan ahead" line. The line was taking forever, filled with 9 billion boys and their parents patiently waiting (except for one woman who jumped the line in her business suit... another "I'm entitled" kind of bitch and I wanted to trip her into the poison ivy). The mom behind me and I couldn't figure out what the hell could possibly take this long. She said last year it was totally different. You went to find your den assignment, and if you needed to turn in your health forms you went and did that, and if you were all set you went to your den. Ba-da-bing.
We finally got to the table after nearly a half hour in line... and the person doing check in shook Geoff's hand, asked him what rank he was now (Bear) and asked what he was looking forward to doing at camp this year, and welcomed him because this is his first year there and...
Yeah. That was what took so long. I was rather angry when I was in line that it was taking a stinking dog's age to check in, but my ire dissipated as this woman very kindly asked my son (and every other son coming through this line) personal questions to make him all at ease.
It's hard to argue with kindness. For a change.
We got checked in, and got his den assigned. He made friends immediately with an 11 year old named Chris who has a mohawk. Nice. Chris wants to be in the Navy when he grows up. Geoff talked about how he wants to be in the air force like his grandpa was, but I didn't have the heart to let him know his vision would forever preclude his participation in the skies for the military, if that truly is his wish. He changes his mind weekly as to what he wants to be...
I left him at camp with all new boys and a huge \m/ from him to me. Which rocked my heart and made me smile the entire way to the office. He had a super day and can't wait to go back.
Next week and the third week he is at camp there is a bus that picks up and drops off. So that will make my life easier. I won't have to drive past my house on the way to work. Actually, this morning I'm going to take the GPS with me and figure out an alternate route to 95. Perhaps I can get over there quickly without driving through Haverhill to go south.
My sister is on vacation this week, and I never truly realized how occupied she kept me while I was at work. The constant flurry of emails back and forth each day with innanities and funnies and "meh, meh, mehs" is truly missed. Gah. I never realized how BORING my job was.
Anyway. That's my update. More later.
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