Among other things, my husband got me Amy Winehouse's Back to Black (alas, no Us Weekly, but this will do) for Christmas. That was December. It's now February. Have I listened to it? No. I was made more aware of this fact by my husband who told me he listened to it the other night, after I had gone to bed and proclaimed it very good. I've walked past it occasionally and looked at it longingly, thinking, 'I really should listen to this.' But haven't. Oh, and I didn't mention that it has 'explicit lyrics' which really limits my listening opportunities.
As much as I love music- and I do; it's a centerpiece of my life- something else is generally taking precedence. First, are the available times I have to listen a CD with 'explicit lyrics' (and I'm dying to know just how explicit they are...) I usually listen to music one of two times- in the car, driving around on errands, or up to Cleveland for work. Almost always, I am traveling with my Constant Companion and little ears do not need to hear explicit lyrics right now, especially when she has a true gift for memorizing and singing songs almost verbatim. Although she is developing a real penchant for Randy Newman-- so funny to hear those sardonic words emerge from such a little mouth. I must admit, the occasional Liz Phair slips into the playlist, but we try to keep it clean... for the most part. Likewise, listening to a CD for the first time when running around town is just not satisfying. It doesn't pay proper respect to the continuity and flow that makes up an artist's vision on an "album." The only other time I regularly listen to music is at dinner which we usually eat as a family. Also not the most opportune time to listen to the edgier stuff. It's Buckwheat Zydeco, Alison Krauss, Dixie Chicks, Moulin Rouge, Dwight Yoakam, Wilco and the like.
I have other priorities during the time I am generally alone in the house. First, there is always some kind of work "thing" to attend to. Emails to answer; client notes to address; consulting projects to complete. And then there is my TV habit. As much as I love music, TV is my siren song. Recording programs throughout the week guarantees that there is always a backlog of shows to watch. And whereas my husband has his alone time late at night, that is not my preferred hour. My time is early in the morning, most mornings waking by 6 or so to have an hour or two before the rest of the house springs into action. Call me crazy, but it just doesn't feel right to listen to explicit lyrics at 6 a.m.
Thing is, I hate unfinished business, loose ends. I have a hard time with loose ends. And, on a certain level, that CD I walk by, sitting there on the stereo, is unfinished business. Maybe I'll be able to listen to Amy Winehouse when I go on one of my twice yearly road trips with a friend... Or perhaps it will have to wait until my daughter is older (14? 15?) at which point I still won't be able to listen to it because then I will need to be a role model for her. sigh... I will mostly likely be listening to Amy when the album is considered a classic, if it ever achieves that status. And if it doesn't? I probably will have wasted a lot of angst on nothing. Story of my life.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Who Needs Another Kid?
I haven't introduced you to the other members of our cozy family- the cats. We have two: Rufus P. Kittykins, the Mayor of Kittytown, and Candace (Candy) P. Kittykins. Adorable... when one isn't responsible for their care, feeding, and entertainment.
The winter is an especially challenging time in regard to our furry family members. Both are indoor/outdoor, enjoying the benefits of both. When the temperature plummets, the Mayor becomes a complete wimp about setting foot outside. It's quite theatrical really. He stands at the door, tap, tap, tapping with his paw to be let out (my husband and I imagine him saying, 'Hello? I'm waiting. People, I'd like some attention here. Can anyone hear me?') We open a door to let him out. He shivers. Shrinks back. Cowers. Looks outraged that we would even consider allowing him to go outside. And he turns and heads back to warmer environs. But it doesn't end there. He is not content to be merely indoors. He now must be entertained. There is a constant lament, following me around the house and, God forbid I sit down. Then, he jumps on my lap, thinking my only concern for the afternoon or evening is to administer various spa treatments.
Candy is slightly less demanding. She will still go outside in snow and colder temperatures. She prefers to be outside. However, when inside, her demands are even greater. We think she was separated early from her mother (both cats were strays my husband "relocated" and adopted during a move several years ago) and has certain habits that indicate that. One is that she kneads and drools excessively when on one's lap. And I mean excessively. You could drown. So there's a cleanup factor there. And, because she is outside so often, she has very dense coat of fine, fine hair. And it sheds everywhere. It's the kind of hair that floats through the air, choking you.
Others have asked why not invest in a cat door so that the cats can let themselves in and out the hundred or so times the whim strikes daily? No can do. The complicating factor is that we live on a ravine, home to various forms of wildlife (deer are walking through as I write). Raccoons have become our new cat friends. We have a sun porch where we leave the door cracked open so the cats can come and go- eating, sleeping, and taking refuge as needed. We once left the door open past dark. Next thing we knew, Rocky and the Kids had moved in. Although incredibly thoughtful- they actually unroll the cat food bag, retrieve food, and re-close it- it creates a kind of cross-species mayhem. So that door must always be closed at dusk. And we are resigned to being slaves to the cats. Many days, I think they require more care and attention than our daughter. She, too, has learned to answer to their whims. If she only knew how to turn door knobs a bit better...
So, really, who needs to have another kid around the house when there are these other family members to attend to?
The winter is an especially challenging time in regard to our furry family members. Both are indoor/outdoor, enjoying the benefits of both. When the temperature plummets, the Mayor becomes a complete wimp about setting foot outside. It's quite theatrical really. He stands at the door, tap, tap, tapping with his paw to be let out (my husband and I imagine him saying, 'Hello? I'm waiting. People, I'd like some attention here. Can anyone hear me?') We open a door to let him out. He shivers. Shrinks back. Cowers. Looks outraged that we would even consider allowing him to go outside. And he turns and heads back to warmer environs. But it doesn't end there. He is not content to be merely indoors. He now must be entertained. There is a constant lament, following me around the house and, God forbid I sit down. Then, he jumps on my lap, thinking my only concern for the afternoon or evening is to administer various spa treatments.
Candy is slightly less demanding. She will still go outside in snow and colder temperatures. She prefers to be outside. However, when inside, her demands are even greater. We think she was separated early from her mother (both cats were strays my husband "relocated" and adopted during a move several years ago) and has certain habits that indicate that. One is that she kneads and drools excessively when on one's lap. And I mean excessively. You could drown. So there's a cleanup factor there. And, because she is outside so often, she has very dense coat of fine, fine hair. And it sheds everywhere. It's the kind of hair that floats through the air, choking you.
Others have asked why not invest in a cat door so that the cats can let themselves in and out the hundred or so times the whim strikes daily? No can do. The complicating factor is that we live on a ravine, home to various forms of wildlife (deer are walking through as I write). Raccoons have become our new cat friends. We have a sun porch where we leave the door cracked open so the cats can come and go- eating, sleeping, and taking refuge as needed. We once left the door open past dark. Next thing we knew, Rocky and the Kids had moved in. Although incredibly thoughtful- they actually unroll the cat food bag, retrieve food, and re-close it- it creates a kind of cross-species mayhem. So that door must always be closed at dusk. And we are resigned to being slaves to the cats. Many days, I think they require more care and attention than our daughter. She, too, has learned to answer to their whims. If she only knew how to turn door knobs a bit better...
So, really, who needs to have another kid around the house when there are these other family members to attend to?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Some days...
Some days I wonder why I even do this juggling act.
Some days I think the things I do or the money I make are hardly worth the effort.
Some days it feels like two steps forward, one step back (at least it's forward motion...)
Some days I wish my daughter could dawdle through her morning- every morning- to her heart's content.
Some days I feel like I would be a more gentle parent if we had fewer places to be.
Some days it just feels complicated.
Some days I'm just exhausted.
And some days it works.
Some days I make a difference in a client's life.
Some days it's like a well-choreographed ballet.
Some days I notice how much my daughter loves the time she spends with her Grammy and Papa.
Some days I'm so proud of how independent she is becoming.
Some days I notice we get along better when we spend some time apart.
Some days the work I do gives me great joy and satisfaction.
Some days it feels easy and right.
Some days the balancing act is all worth it.
Some days...
Some days I think the things I do or the money I make are hardly worth the effort.
Some days it feels like two steps forward, one step back (at least it's forward motion...)
Some days I wish my daughter could dawdle through her morning- every morning- to her heart's content.
Some days I feel like I would be a more gentle parent if we had fewer places to be.
Some days it just feels complicated.
Some days I'm just exhausted.
And some days it works.
Some days I make a difference in a client's life.
Some days it's like a well-choreographed ballet.
Some days I notice how much my daughter loves the time she spends with her Grammy and Papa.
Some days I'm so proud of how independent she is becoming.
Some days I notice we get along better when we spend some time apart.
Some days the work I do gives me great joy and satisfaction.
Some days it feels easy and right.
Some days the balancing act is all worth it.
Some days...
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Damn Groundhog
Damn groundhog. Saw his shadow again. If anyone can remember a year in recent history when Puxatony Phil hasn't seen his shadow, can you please comment? He's so adorable, but really. We hold onto this false hope every year. Maybe this is the year... Two more weeks of winter, instead of six? Could we be so lucky?
Winter this year has been unkind. With snow/rain showers starting in late October, then ice in November and December, and snow- endless snow- in December and January. An added insult has been the number of client appointments I've had to cancel because of bad weather. When I don't work, I don't make money. But so it goes. I cannot control the weather (nor should I even attempt to try).
So I curse Phil. But he's so damn cute also. I can't disassociate thing real thing with the one depicted in Caddyshack. Diabolical but so cute!
The sun is out today and it is predicted to be in the upper 30s/low 40s this weekend. For that, I am thankful. But six more weeks? Really?
Winter this year has been unkind. With snow/rain showers starting in late October, then ice in November and December, and snow- endless snow- in December and January. An added insult has been the number of client appointments I've had to cancel because of bad weather. When I don't work, I don't make money. But so it goes. I cannot control the weather (nor should I even attempt to try).
So I curse Phil. But he's so damn cute also. I can't disassociate thing real thing with the one depicted in Caddyshack. Diabolical but so cute!
The sun is out today and it is predicted to be in the upper 30s/low 40s this weekend. For that, I am thankful. But six more weeks? Really?
Guilty Pleasures
You all have them. C'mon. Admit it. Most people in my life think I'm pretty serious. Maybe even a little too serious sometimes. But I, too, have some guilty pleasures that are anything but serious. My pleasures...
I love Us Weekly magazine. I tried desperately this holiday to try to get my husband to buy me a subscription. I even had a whole budget-friendly campaign, pointing out to him that I was even willing to accept the lesser substitute of OK Weekly. Nothing doing. And my "hints" were like a Mack truck plowing into a Smart Car. So I continue to buy intermittent copies or rely on my wonderful friend who provides the occasional hand-me-down copy.
Solitaire on my iPod Nano is like a drug. Truly better than any psychotropic I could even consider taking. And it's like gambling because you play it for fake money!! So close to being in Vegas (but not quite). So, at first, it was the lure of building the bank that was the carrot. Now, after achieving 26,000 "dollars" it is more about the crazy challenge of seeing those cards flip into place. It soothes me. I can sit in the middle of a family tornado, the Princess Tea Party DVD playing for the millionth time, and I might as well be on a mini spa break. ahhhh... And my husband brought this probably never thinking I would develop an addiction. Again, a tribute to his go-with-the-flowiness.
The Bachelor has started again. I am not a reality TV person. I have never cleaved onto the American Idol phenomena. I think most situations depicted on reality TV are just painful to watch (Beauty and the Geek excepted which has a wonderful redemption theme). However, The Bachelor and The Bachelorette hook me every time. At first, I am mystified by the premise- what type of person would engage it that kind of competition? Then I get sucked in every single time. And, ultimately, I care about these people! I get vicarious satisfaction out of the fact that Mary and Byron are still together; I know exactly why Deanna and Jesse didn't make it. Jason is back and looking as good as ever. ABC. Monday night. 8-10:00 p.m.
Ultimately, these are all escapes from my usual life and responsibilities (more on that in a later post) which can be both the best of everything and a bit tedious. They allow me to suspend reality for a while. And, after all, don't we all need that? What's your guilty pleasure?
I love Us Weekly magazine. I tried desperately this holiday to try to get my husband to buy me a subscription. I even had a whole budget-friendly campaign, pointing out to him that I was even willing to accept the lesser substitute of OK Weekly. Nothing doing. And my "hints" were like a Mack truck plowing into a Smart Car. So I continue to buy intermittent copies or rely on my wonderful friend who provides the occasional hand-me-down copy.
Solitaire on my iPod Nano is like a drug. Truly better than any psychotropic I could even consider taking. And it's like gambling because you play it for fake money!! So close to being in Vegas (but not quite). So, at first, it was the lure of building the bank that was the carrot. Now, after achieving 26,000 "dollars" it is more about the crazy challenge of seeing those cards flip into place. It soothes me. I can sit in the middle of a family tornado, the Princess Tea Party DVD playing for the millionth time, and I might as well be on a mini spa break. ahhhh... And my husband brought this probably never thinking I would develop an addiction. Again, a tribute to his go-with-the-flowiness.
The Bachelor has started again. I am not a reality TV person. I have never cleaved onto the American Idol phenomena. I think most situations depicted on reality TV are just painful to watch (Beauty and the Geek excepted which has a wonderful redemption theme). However, The Bachelor and The Bachelorette hook me every time. At first, I am mystified by the premise- what type of person would engage it that kind of competition? Then I get sucked in every single time. And, ultimately, I care about these people! I get vicarious satisfaction out of the fact that Mary and Byron are still together; I know exactly why Deanna and Jesse didn't make it. Jason is back and looking as good as ever. ABC. Monday night. 8-10:00 p.m.
Ultimately, these are all escapes from my usual life and responsibilities (more on that in a later post) which can be both the best of everything and a bit tedious. They allow me to suspend reality for a while. And, after all, don't we all need that? What's your guilty pleasure?
Sunday, February 1, 2009
A Warm Hug
I have finally joined the Facebook revolution. My husband got me started. Well, actually, a friend of ours got him started and I was then so impatient to get news of mutual friends that I also started an account. Little did I know what I was getting into.
I naively thought it would be similar to LinkedIn, on which I have a somewhat stagnant account. I check it once in a while; every so often, I go on a flurry activity, inviting new connections and checking on the old... and then let it sit for another month, or two, or three. I know I am not leveraging it for all its charms. But I have used it for my clients to make connections in various fields. It is a nice tool but somewhat benign in my life.
But Facebook- oh, Facebook! How could I have missed out on this for so long? I joined on a Sunday afternoon. In first searching for friends, I came across and accessed the usual suspects- known friends from where I live now and high school friends with whom I still keep in touch. However, less than 12 hours later (who am I kidding?? Some starting to pop up a mere 2 or 3 hours later) friends from all eras of my life started to crawl out of the Internet. Less than 24 hours after being a member, I even got an email from one of my brother's friends, trying to track him down.
I was momentarily stunned and overwhelmed. And more than a little freaked out by the sheer responsibility of keeping up with all these people. Part of my problem in life is that I am bit too constrained by social conventions (it's part of the 1950s housewife thing I mention in my first post). I will answer your email within 24 hours; I will try my best to return your phone call the same day you call me. But what to do when there are 15 messages in my inbox reflecting all the activity- comments on my wall, new posts, invitations to join clubs- that requires, in my mind, some kind of response? I soon became acclimated to the culture of Facebook and the use of the quick message. Visit Facebook for 10 minutes; visit it for 3 hours. It works.
It has been more than a little fun. And very addictive, which everyone warned it would be. Our high school was a very clubby bunch, friendships often transcending cliques. With a graduating class of close to 700, it was as if you had a "home base" of your immediate group of friends but also had adventures and connections with the other groups in the outfield. Bad baseball analogy but you get what I mean? Reconnecting with that feeling of inclusion has done me no end of good. It simply reminds me of part of who I am; part of who I sometimes don't choose to or get to exercise on a regular basis now. I have also really appreciated learning who people are as adults. We made it! We grew up! We're surviving and, as far as I can tell, happy in the world of adults! My greatest Facebook joy has come from reconnecting with one of my closest friends from high school who I haven't seen or heard from in almost 20 years. And she lives in Baltimore, which we drive through several times per year. And she has a daughter who is almost the same age as mine. Who knew, after all these years?
Let me not forget my new friends: I really treasure having a more casual way to get to know the thoughts and details of the lives of some of my new friends. Most (all?) I have met through some kind of interaction with my daughter. Chasing after a toddler and making sure the playing kids don't tear apart someone's house is not exactly conducive to meaningful, intimate conversations. We try, but really. So Facebook allows for us to have some adult "conversation." I have learned so much and have found an even greater appreciation for those friends. I look forward to learning more.
Mostly, it reminds me more than a bit of all the good things about living in a college dorm (and there were plenty of bad- shared bathrooms and one telephone line for the whole hall?? Seriously?? Yes, I am that old). Someone is always online, a friend to talk to. Someone, new or old in my life, always understands what is going on in your life and usually has a little bit of camaraderie or levity to bring to the situation. Someone is always introducing you to new things. One of my most recent favorites? I just joined the group "Not now, mommy's facebooking..." The invitation sent to me by a high school friend who, even though I haven't seen her for close to 15 years, I can still picture exactly how she is saying that to her kids.
Facebook, it seems, is a warm hug. I know, it's a little Precious Moments. But couldn't we all use a warm hug- a safe place- like Cheers, where everybody knows your name?
I naively thought it would be similar to LinkedIn, on which I have a somewhat stagnant account. I check it once in a while; every so often, I go on a flurry activity, inviting new connections and checking on the old... and then let it sit for another month, or two, or three. I know I am not leveraging it for all its charms. But I have used it for my clients to make connections in various fields. It is a nice tool but somewhat benign in my life.
But Facebook- oh, Facebook! How could I have missed out on this for so long? I joined on a Sunday afternoon. In first searching for friends, I came across and accessed the usual suspects- known friends from where I live now and high school friends with whom I still keep in touch. However, less than 12 hours later (who am I kidding?? Some starting to pop up a mere 2 or 3 hours later) friends from all eras of my life started to crawl out of the Internet. Less than 24 hours after being a member, I even got an email from one of my brother's friends, trying to track him down.
I was momentarily stunned and overwhelmed. And more than a little freaked out by the sheer responsibility of keeping up with all these people. Part of my problem in life is that I am bit too constrained by social conventions (it's part of the 1950s housewife thing I mention in my first post). I will answer your email within 24 hours; I will try my best to return your phone call the same day you call me. But what to do when there are 15 messages in my inbox reflecting all the activity- comments on my wall, new posts, invitations to join clubs- that requires, in my mind, some kind of response? I soon became acclimated to the culture of Facebook and the use of the quick message. Visit Facebook for 10 minutes; visit it for 3 hours. It works.
It has been more than a little fun. And very addictive, which everyone warned it would be. Our high school was a very clubby bunch, friendships often transcending cliques. With a graduating class of close to 700, it was as if you had a "home base" of your immediate group of friends but also had adventures and connections with the other groups in the outfield. Bad baseball analogy but you get what I mean? Reconnecting with that feeling of inclusion has done me no end of good. It simply reminds me of part of who I am; part of who I sometimes don't choose to or get to exercise on a regular basis now. I have also really appreciated learning who people are as adults. We made it! We grew up! We're surviving and, as far as I can tell, happy in the world of adults! My greatest Facebook joy has come from reconnecting with one of my closest friends from high school who I haven't seen or heard from in almost 20 years. And she lives in Baltimore, which we drive through several times per year. And she has a daughter who is almost the same age as mine. Who knew, after all these years?
Let me not forget my new friends: I really treasure having a more casual way to get to know the thoughts and details of the lives of some of my new friends. Most (all?) I have met through some kind of interaction with my daughter. Chasing after a toddler and making sure the playing kids don't tear apart someone's house is not exactly conducive to meaningful, intimate conversations. We try, but really. So Facebook allows for us to have some adult "conversation." I have learned so much and have found an even greater appreciation for those friends. I look forward to learning more.
Mostly, it reminds me more than a bit of all the good things about living in a college dorm (and there were plenty of bad- shared bathrooms and one telephone line for the whole hall?? Seriously?? Yes, I am that old). Someone is always online, a friend to talk to. Someone, new or old in my life, always understands what is going on in your life and usually has a little bit of camaraderie or levity to bring to the situation. Someone is always introducing you to new things. One of my most recent favorites? I just joined the group "Not now, mommy's facebooking..." The invitation sent to me by a high school friend who, even though I haven't seen her for close to 15 years, I can still picture exactly how she is saying that to her kids.
Facebook, it seems, is a warm hug. I know, it's a little Precious Moments. But couldn't we all use a warm hug- a safe place- like Cheers, where everybody knows your name?
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