although i enjoy the idea of long languid summers, the heat and humidity does me in...
in my romantic mind, sultry summers are defined by Gatsby's daisy and the downy armed ladies of Prufrock - lounging on their setees amid the gently billowing ceiling to floor sheers against open windows enjoying the gentle breezes of high society and summering the hamptons
in reality, this kind of summer is a very alluring invitation to another bout of Epstein Barr / CFS. the languid i fantasize becomes the exhausted i experience, and sultry very quickly dissolves into sulky, as i realise that anything i think i want to do feels like it takes three or four times the effort than it normally would if i just didn't feel so ridiculously tired.
fortunately i can accept (because i am actively seeking the harmony life, and working to de-fuse the negative) that it doesn't take much energy to turn the pages of a book, laze in the porch swing, hug the baby, float around the pool, or even to attend the lovely wedding of a dear friend.
in spite of the fact that i let myself wallow - too much, i think - in the pleh of not having the energy / gumption to do anything that felt even remotely rewarding this weekend, it wasn't horrible - - in fact, there were moments of it that were downright GOOD.
31 July 2006
28 July 2006
storycore
on NPR this morning at something like quarter of 7 marked the second time i cried already today.
the first, on seeing the one lady who was in the horrible car accident (that had I-75 closed down to one lane at 8 mile) kneeling (in her pretty summer work clothes) at the side of the person from the other car, who was lying in the middle of the "fast lane", not moving, and covered in a flowered sheet or probably a picnic blanket. the backs of my eyes and the end of my nose prickle again now, just thinking about it. heaven preserve us all...
the storycore story was from a pediatric doctor (to his daughter) about one of the most memorable patient's family - who upon realising she wasn't going to get the transplant she needed, offered up her organs to others in need. he commented on the resilience of children and their amazing ability to heal - - and the heartache every time one doesn't. but what got me was his comment about a hug around the knee, and i missed my little girl so much in that moment that i nearly burst into tears... instead they leaked heavily down my still damp cheeks.
i think when i'm tired i get double plus emotional, but yeah... still...
keep safe, keep close... have a good weekend
the first, on seeing the one lady who was in the horrible car accident (that had I-75 closed down to one lane at 8 mile) kneeling (in her pretty summer work clothes) at the side of the person from the other car, who was lying in the middle of the "fast lane", not moving, and covered in a flowered sheet or probably a picnic blanket. the backs of my eyes and the end of my nose prickle again now, just thinking about it. heaven preserve us all...
the storycore story was from a pediatric doctor (to his daughter) about one of the most memorable patient's family - who upon realising she wasn't going to get the transplant she needed, offered up her organs to others in need. he commented on the resilience of children and their amazing ability to heal - - and the heartache every time one doesn't. but what got me was his comment about a hug around the knee, and i missed my little girl so much in that moment that i nearly burst into tears... instead they leaked heavily down my still damp cheeks.
i think when i'm tired i get double plus emotional, but yeah... still...
keep safe, keep close... have a good weekend
26 July 2006
tea time
generally i drink tea in the autumn, winter, spring... not so much in the summer. this partly because for me, tea has always been only a hot drink (never to be brought to the lips had it gone woefully cold). i have always very nearly despised iced tea...
i only just recently realised that the reason i hated iced tea was the fact that all of the iced teas sold in restaurants, and most of those offered at the homes of aunts and other more distant relatives, was made from the floor-sweepings tea that i despise hot - or cold. i am a tea snob. i drink only "perfumed" teas; earl grey, jasmine, hibiscus, orange, cinnamon... i cannot, have never been able to, doubt i ever will, enjoy lipton, pg tips, or red rose (no offense to my grandmother, aunts, and friends who absolutely - - above all - - favor this brand). even english (or irish) breakfast tea, darjeeling, and oolong are a bit too bitter or bland to bring me comfort - certainly not without copious amounts of sweetening agent and often milk as well.
but the thing is this - - since i've started brewing my own carefully mixed version of earl grey iced tea i am enjoying it, righteously. and when the sun starts creeping down the western side of the sky, and the air starts cooling - even just slightly - i've found myself also enjoying, through the heat of july (and most likely into august) a nice cup of hot tea (not without a few diet cookies) in the evening.
what's more - - i just started my work day, not with an icy cold diet coke, but with a piping hot cup of stash earl grey.
= = = begin shameless plug = = =
i'm also keen on numi, republic of tea, twinings, and even the occasional bigelow.
= = = end of shameless plug = = =
i only just recently realised that the reason i hated iced tea was the fact that all of the iced teas sold in restaurants, and most of those offered at the homes of aunts and other more distant relatives, was made from the floor-sweepings tea that i despise hot - or cold. i am a tea snob. i drink only "perfumed" teas; earl grey, jasmine, hibiscus, orange, cinnamon... i cannot, have never been able to, doubt i ever will, enjoy lipton, pg tips, or red rose (no offense to my grandmother, aunts, and friends who absolutely - - above all - - favor this brand). even english (or irish) breakfast tea, darjeeling, and oolong are a bit too bitter or bland to bring me comfort - certainly not without copious amounts of sweetening agent and often milk as well.
but the thing is this - - since i've started brewing my own carefully mixed version of earl grey iced tea i am enjoying it, righteously. and when the sun starts creeping down the western side of the sky, and the air starts cooling - even just slightly - i've found myself also enjoying, through the heat of july (and most likely into august) a nice cup of hot tea (not without a few diet cookies) in the evening.
what's more - - i just started my work day, not with an icy cold diet coke, but with a piping hot cup of stash earl grey.
= = = begin shameless plug = = =
i'm also keen on numi, republic of tea, twinings, and even the occasional bigelow.
= = = end of shameless plug = = =
25 July 2006
Hazy Daze of Summer
Feeling fussed. Restless. Desperate to shirk my responsibilities and experience the verb: summer.
Not to mention it's hot, humid, hazy outside... that just about slows me to a sloth's pace every time.
Feeling like i really need a European august.
I'm tired.
Not to mention it's hot, humid, hazy outside... that just about slows me to a sloth's pace every time.
Feeling like i really need a European august.
I'm tired.
19 July 2006
campaign for harmony
i shall not, i will not, complain
that is my motto - at least one day at a time.
today i am remembering the peace of floating with my baby last night... face up to the blue sky and fluffy clouds and the lofty oak branches above, peeking across my sight line into the sky above us. giddy girl laughing for the joy of near weightlessness, floating with her mama.
it's supposed to be relatively nice weather for the rest of the week as well. this means that the possibility, the hope of floating, continues to shimmer in front of me for the next few days.
this is my peace... and i've said it.
that is my motto - at least one day at a time.
today i am remembering the peace of floating with my baby last night... face up to the blue sky and fluffy clouds and the lofty oak branches above, peeking across my sight line into the sky above us. giddy girl laughing for the joy of near weightlessness, floating with her mama.
it's supposed to be relatively nice weather for the rest of the week as well. this means that the possibility, the hope of floating, continues to shimmer in front of me for the next few days.
this is my peace... and i've said it.
18 July 2006
that darned pink dot
not to insinuate that she's been worn thin and then mended (though i'm fairly certain she won't disagree) my friend K over at the PinkDot has got me on a minefield of memory regarding summertime visits to the lake (beach)
my favorite memories of the beach as a child start the night before the trip - - planning the picnic, making the make aheads, packing up the towels and the tanning lotion (not sunscreen back then), and the rabid anticipation the night before, nearly not able to sleep.
the "day of" was waking up early and packing the cooler and the box of non-cooler items, double and triple checking the list so as not to forget the matches, the charcoal, the fluid, the can opener, the plates... the long long list of the remembered.
then packing the car, the towels, the blanket, the cooler, the box, the book - good heavens don't forget the book.
and then, the drive. the glorious drive with no air conditioning (not in our cars back in the day, too dear a luxury back then) and the windows rolled down with the already warming air - - cooled only by the speed - - rushing through the car, blowing our long hair in willy nilly patterns across our faces and above our heads. the drive that halfway through revealed the forgotten item - - left sitting very obviously on the counter top, so as not to forget it. the drive that felt hours longer than it was and was only shortened by the "soundtrack" broadcast on Honey Radio and our off-key-and-could-care-less sing-along versions of the old songs i grew up on.
and now the trouble begins:
the agony of finding a place that's far enough away from the crazies to feel safe, but near enough to watch
the ritual of the unpacking and the setting up of the grill and the immediate beginning of the cooking (because in our excitement we, of course, neglected breakfast) and the laying out of plates and dishes and the chagrin with which we realize, yet again, that we packed way more food than we can eat and shudder to think of packing it all up and lugging it home
the wait between the lunch and the swimming
the bone-chilling cold of the lake water in july (because it NEVER really "warms up" until august)
the murk of the water, the little fish, the sea-weed; all harbingers of the evil of actually swimming in lake water
the scorch of the sun bearing down so hard that the evil is forgotten (more like ignored)
the shivering icy cold skin from an hour too quickly passed in the water
the post-swim nibbling that i've never been able to outgrow
and the post food nap in the sun, with periodic rolling to even out the baking
the packing to go home was never as bad as i worried it would be and was always less agonizing than the walk back to the car, lugging all the repacked whatnot behind us.
the ride home, nearly as glorious at the way there, tempered only by a well earned fatigue and the murky seaweed smell of lake in our hair. the open windows still sang of summer and often a stop for ice cream was just about half way home.
and finally, home, and the absolute drudgery of unpacking the stuff - every shred of excitement about this trip to the beach behind us and nothing but frugality and good housekeeping nudging us to do the right thing and put it all away - for lunch tomorrow, which never tastes as good when it's on the back porch...
this ritual with my mom, the summer ritual of a day at the lake... this has molded the who of me; has determined the shape of my soul...
my favorite memories of the beach as a child start the night before the trip - - planning the picnic, making the make aheads, packing up the towels and the tanning lotion (not sunscreen back then), and the rabid anticipation the night before, nearly not able to sleep.
the "day of" was waking up early and packing the cooler and the box of non-cooler items, double and triple checking the list so as not to forget the matches, the charcoal, the fluid, the can opener, the plates... the long long list of the remembered.
then packing the car, the towels, the blanket, the cooler, the box, the book - good heavens don't forget the book.
and then, the drive. the glorious drive with no air conditioning (not in our cars back in the day, too dear a luxury back then) and the windows rolled down with the already warming air - - cooled only by the speed - - rushing through the car, blowing our long hair in willy nilly patterns across our faces and above our heads. the drive that halfway through revealed the forgotten item - - left sitting very obviously on the counter top, so as not to forget it. the drive that felt hours longer than it was and was only shortened by the "soundtrack" broadcast on Honey Radio and our off-key-and-could-care-less sing-along versions of the old songs i grew up on.
and now the trouble begins:
the agony of finding a place that's far enough away from the crazies to feel safe, but near enough to watch
the ritual of the unpacking and the setting up of the grill and the immediate beginning of the cooking (because in our excitement we, of course, neglected breakfast) and the laying out of plates and dishes and the chagrin with which we realize, yet again, that we packed way more food than we can eat and shudder to think of packing it all up and lugging it home
the wait between the lunch and the swimming
the bone-chilling cold of the lake water in july (because it NEVER really "warms up" until august)
the murk of the water, the little fish, the sea-weed; all harbingers of the evil of actually swimming in lake water
the scorch of the sun bearing down so hard that the evil is forgotten (more like ignored)
the shivering icy cold skin from an hour too quickly passed in the water
the post-swim nibbling that i've never been able to outgrow
and the post food nap in the sun, with periodic rolling to even out the baking
the packing to go home was never as bad as i worried it would be and was always less agonizing than the walk back to the car, lugging all the repacked whatnot behind us.
the ride home, nearly as glorious at the way there, tempered only by a well earned fatigue and the murky seaweed smell of lake in our hair. the open windows still sang of summer and often a stop for ice cream was just about half way home.
and finally, home, and the absolute drudgery of unpacking the stuff - every shred of excitement about this trip to the beach behind us and nothing but frugality and good housekeeping nudging us to do the right thing and put it all away - for lunch tomorrow, which never tastes as good when it's on the back porch...
this ritual with my mom, the summer ritual of a day at the lake... this has molded the who of me; has determined the shape of my soul...
17 July 2006
time flies
holy cats - it's been five days since my last post... i stink.
i've been spending most of the time enjoying the hot hot hot and the cool of the swimming pool. a bit too much, i think... my cheeks are the sunkissed pink that tells me i haven't been drinking enough water. my head, too, reminds me of my rampant state of dehydration. and yet...
the summertime beckons. come heat, come humidity... soak into me and make me as languid liquid as the coming august air. slow me down and caress my too stressed mind with your balmy evening breeze.
today is tea and oatmeal cookie at the panera too close to my office, where i'm not, but not at all close to home, where i am meant to be. my mom is visiting her sister (for her birthday) and i drove... mom really doesn't prefer to drive... probably she was hoping that i would abandon work and spend the afternoon buffering the visit. i would have, but i have so much still to do.
pleh - my tea has gone cold.
in just about an hour or so, i'm going to go be a buffer... in the meantime, work.
get outside, soak up some sun... bring some nice iced tea, or a glass of cold cold water and a twist of lime...
i'll be out in a few, to meet you...
i've been spending most of the time enjoying the hot hot hot and the cool of the swimming pool. a bit too much, i think... my cheeks are the sunkissed pink that tells me i haven't been drinking enough water. my head, too, reminds me of my rampant state of dehydration. and yet...
the summertime beckons. come heat, come humidity... soak into me and make me as languid liquid as the coming august air. slow me down and caress my too stressed mind with your balmy evening breeze.
today is tea and oatmeal cookie at the panera too close to my office, where i'm not, but not at all close to home, where i am meant to be. my mom is visiting her sister (for her birthday) and i drove... mom really doesn't prefer to drive... probably she was hoping that i would abandon work and spend the afternoon buffering the visit. i would have, but i have so much still to do.
pleh - my tea has gone cold.
in just about an hour or so, i'm going to go be a buffer... in the meantime, work.
get outside, soak up some sun... bring some nice iced tea, or a glass of cold cold water and a twist of lime...
i'll be out in a few, to meet you...
12 July 2006
chlorine gas...
no - it's not some crazy cool new alternative fuel...
it's what happens when you mix bleach with ammonia - or - other acidic additives
it's what happened last night as my dad was working on a cocktail to shock and clean the swimming pool. it sent me and my family (including the cat) for an impromptu trip to the ice cream place while we aired out the house some. considering the concentration of chlorine in the the bag of "pool shock" that my dad used, i'm still amazed that he didn't suffer some irreperable damage... still, he seemed ok last night before he went to bed.
the worst bit was the kind of evening it was - grey, humid, heavy, and still. there was nothing working in our favour to blow the noxious gas around a little... move it away from the house or the yard (you know, off and away to torment other, innocent, folk for a little while).
not that i would wish it on other folk... but a good wind would have done a lot to dissipate it well before it caused any discomfort to anyone - including us.
at the end of the day, though, we're all ok... and apart from a slight headache (which i always suffer) and a rough night's sleep (i've been having the weirdest, worst, haunted house dreams lately), it's going to be just fine.
11 July 2006
woes for wages
not only the craziness of the travel, but now an expense report.
shudder.
still, it's a lot of money i want back. so...
in other news, i'm expected at a work function dinner tomorrow night. this means time away from my daughter, and probably leaving the rest of the family to (shudder) make their own dinner... not to mention that wherever we go i'm likely going to have salad. for dinner.
i can't make some of the stuff i need to use come out the way i need to use it, and other stuff evades me completely.
ugh... maybe more later... when i've completed something and feel positive again.
shudder.
still, it's a lot of money i want back. so...
in other news, i'm expected at a work function dinner tomorrow night. this means time away from my daughter, and probably leaving the rest of the family to (shudder) make their own dinner... not to mention that wherever we go i'm likely going to have salad. for dinner.
i can't make some of the stuff i need to use come out the way i need to use it, and other stuff evades me completely.
ugh... maybe more later... when i've completed something and feel positive again.
07 July 2006
... and the livin' is easy
it's summertime.
at home that means the porch swing and swimming pool afternoons that lead into barbecue dinners on paper plates followed by light and cool desserts. it means beds offering up daisies and coneflowers (and weeds) and saturday on the lawn mower. it also means reading - lots of good and easy books.
at work it means comfy business casual during the bulk of the week and jeans on friday.
ah - here's the rub.
to me, jeans have always been what you wear when you're painting, or gardening... they're WORKING clothes - not work clothes. so, every friday, when i pull into the lot and get out of my car, i feel a little criminal over the ever-so-casual state of my attire.
yeah, me too - i'm thinking that if it makes me feel so sneaky, so wrong, so bad, why do i do it then? why don't i just suck it up like the half dozen or so other folk that actually wear clothing that's suitable for more than digging up weeds?
truth be told? i'm lazy. i look forward all week long to not having to even begin to think about what i'm going to wear on friday. i know what i'm going to wear: my jeans and the first shirt that hits my hand when i open the drawer... and likely a matching pair of shoes (i apparently draw the line at jeans AND sneakers).
it feels wonderful for me to spend the 15 minutes i would normally squander on determining the "right" outfit for the day, lounging in bed with my daughter sleeping beside me and the world waking up everywhere else. i semi-doze and laze my way through the last ten minutes (the marketplace segment) of NPR's morning edition.
also, this feeling of peace and zen lasts me through the rest of my at-home morning routine - - feeding the cat, gathering my wits, the drive in - - all made more comfortable by the peace of mind that started the day. as a matter of fact, up until i pull into the lot and the simmering sense of dread at being inappropriately attired for the office shadows across me, i'm feeling great.
i should mention, that it usually doesn't take much time for that sense of peace to return. most of the folks on my floor / in my department are fellow scrubs on fridays. and while there is always a hold out or two crossing my path on any given friday, i can (and do) pretend they're dressed to meet with a customer or a vendor and have to be a little more presentable than the rest of us.
it's friday. i am in jeans (and a red t-shirt, shoes, and bandana headband). i wear no makeup... and half the time not my shoes either.
have a great weekend!
at home that means the porch swing and swimming pool afternoons that lead into barbecue dinners on paper plates followed by light and cool desserts. it means beds offering up daisies and coneflowers (and weeds) and saturday on the lawn mower. it also means reading - lots of good and easy books.
at work it means comfy business casual during the bulk of the week and jeans on friday.
ah - here's the rub.
to me, jeans have always been what you wear when you're painting, or gardening... they're WORKING clothes - not work clothes. so, every friday, when i pull into the lot and get out of my car, i feel a little criminal over the ever-so-casual state of my attire.
yeah, me too - i'm thinking that if it makes me feel so sneaky, so wrong, so bad, why do i do it then? why don't i just suck it up like the half dozen or so other folk that actually wear clothing that's suitable for more than digging up weeds?
truth be told? i'm lazy. i look forward all week long to not having to even begin to think about what i'm going to wear on friday. i know what i'm going to wear: my jeans and the first shirt that hits my hand when i open the drawer... and likely a matching pair of shoes (i apparently draw the line at jeans AND sneakers).
it feels wonderful for me to spend the 15 minutes i would normally squander on determining the "right" outfit for the day, lounging in bed with my daughter sleeping beside me and the world waking up everywhere else. i semi-doze and laze my way through the last ten minutes (the marketplace segment) of NPR's morning edition.
also, this feeling of peace and zen lasts me through the rest of my at-home morning routine - - feeding the cat, gathering my wits, the drive in - - all made more comfortable by the peace of mind that started the day. as a matter of fact, up until i pull into the lot and the simmering sense of dread at being inappropriately attired for the office shadows across me, i'm feeling great.
i should mention, that it usually doesn't take much time for that sense of peace to return. most of the folks on my floor / in my department are fellow scrubs on fridays. and while there is always a hold out or two crossing my path on any given friday, i can (and do) pretend they're dressed to meet with a customer or a vendor and have to be a little more presentable than the rest of us.
it's friday. i am in jeans (and a red t-shirt, shoes, and bandana headband). i wear no makeup... and half the time not my shoes either.
have a great weekend!
06 July 2006
73
The song, n-n-n-nineteen, nineteen is running through my head.
a couple of days ago my cat turned 73 in his time; in ours, 12. It's a long time.
he's a good cat. he's not windey around my ankles or too mewley. he likes a good scritch behind the ears or under the chin every now and again, but isn't too demanding, and has NEVER jumped up onto my lap when i didn't want him there. he's a little shy of strangers, but usually comes out and makes an appearance (mostly i think so friends can coo about how handsome he is). he seldom bites, and never unless provoked. as opposed to being a temptation for small children (whom he despises) he keeps himself hidden well away until they are sleeping, or gone. he doesn't like animals, either.
he only knows one "trick" because to know more would be beneath his dignity. it's in quotes, because it's really just a matter of family etiquette, more than a trick. when i am holding him and he wants to get down, he gives me a "kiss" (a tentative nose to nose tickle of the whiskers) before he goes.
he's good at the vet, which is no small miracle considering how often he has to go, and what they do when he's there. he's diabetic, so every trip is a blood draw (for testing) and a fairly extensive wait (in a room full of the smell of panic and fear). they treat him with love, though, to which he always responds well.
he's smart, and funny. he knows how to lie. he's proud, and i've seen his pride hurt in ways that i never thought anyone other than a human could suffer. he's tender and caring, and worries over my daughter nearly as much as i do when she wakes in the night, crying from a nightmare. he's compassionate, and will try to purr away an illness in one he loves. he helped usher my beloved grandfather from this world to the next with a gentle quietness and a rumbling purr of what i can only believe was born of understanding and love.
he's my friend, my sounding board, and my companion. my one time / sometimes drinking buddy... and my pre-baby baby. he's the very first "obligation" that i ever willingly took on... and i'm so very glad (and lucky) that i did.
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