Thursday, May 28, 2009

One Nike Popover, please....(Patty)

The Humphrey Yo-gart is more of a dish than a flavor, it is plain yogurt (don't be fooled by the word "plain", it is tart and delicious, just as you recalled it from Bloomingdales!) with blueberries and granola and nuts. Someday you must come to New Orleans and we can take all kinds of field trips, including an outing to Counter Culture.
John is in Atlanta for a few days. I think I told you that he is currently persuing one-and-only-one job, and it is working in the music industry with his friend from high school. At this point, it is more of a hobby than a job, but he is hoping to make some money at it in the near future. The best part about the situation is that John has always been and will always be a Night Owl. This Owliness has been working against him for the past 20 years. As a member of a family where everyone else gets up for school in the 6-7AM range, and as a man who would like to go out to a 10:30PM movie now and then with his wife (less than zero chance of that occuring ever), he has struggled along, setting an alarm every morning for decades, pulling himself out of bed before his body clock is ready...
He also loves music, so going to listen to bands late at night has become "research" ...he's finally found a job that suits his lifestyle! This is the only time in his life he has been able to completely change gears and head in a different direction, so I hope it works out, but for now he can order a Vodka-on-the-rocks at midnight and feel extremely good about it!
So I'm a temporary bachelorette. Last night I went to my friend and doubles partner, Mary Ann's house for dinner. She was raised in another country...do you ever notice that people who are not from the USA don't get the "heat" thing? Like they forget to put the air conditioning on? Mary Ann is a fabulous cook, but when I go there I basically wear a bathing suit. One time a few months ago, I lent her my sneakers (don't ask too many details...) and made her PROMISE to leave the shoes outside on her doorstep when I needed them the next morning... I get there that morning...no sneakers! Luckily Mary Ann was home...she had left the shoes outside overnight, but she was worried that they would be TOO COLD for me to wear so she popped them in the oven for a few minutes....all kinds of temperature issues going on in that house!

Patty

Monday, May 25, 2009

Thick and Creamy (Ruby)




Oh God, don’t get me started…

…about the comforting effects of Yogurt & Ice Cream – specifically vanilla flavored - in my life…since you had to bring up that yogurt (would love to know more about the “Humphrey Yo-gart” flavor...) First of all, I still find it mildly entertaining (but probably bores my children to death) to think things like “if you were stranded on a desert island and you could only have ONE kind of [food] with you, what would that be?” and typically, I opt for Yogurt in my stranded-island mind. Vanilla. And not just any vanilla yogurt but whichever is my personal pick at any given time in my abundant life as a consumer. These are the winners over time, according to me:

THE WINNER of all the loves of my yogurt lovin’ days: my Mom would take me to Forty Carrots in the lower level of Bloomingdales in New York City in the ‘70’s. I was 15-ish and frozen yogurt was still a fairly new trend. The yogurt was velvety, THICK, cold, delectable. They didn’t actually have Vanilla but the “Plain” was to OUT OF THIS WORLD, better than and unlike any other plain yogurt on earth, better than any vanilla on earth; a slightly tart flavor that they would drizzle with honey and top with granola and a generous handful of fresh blueberries and this was my express trip to heaven. I remember justifying the consumption of it because it was yogurt, not ice cream, and that these were superior quality calories (hmmm). In the ‘70’s no one was talking about “ANTI-OXIDANTS” to further bolster the goodness of the blueberries, but they were to DIE for, plump, blue-licious…that was enough. It was a sizeable portion…as decadent as a Banana Split and I called it “lunch AND dinner” whenever I had it.

Another early VANILLA seducer in my life - this time ICE CREAM - was a brand that I only saw in the ‘60’s – “Louis Sherry” and it fascinated me because of the tiny black specks of vanilla bean. Authentic, natural. Perfectly delicious!! Oddly enough, though, the one place I remember buying it was from a small freezer case that opened from the top at the neighborhood meat-market. The packaging was a raspberry-purple color and the brand name was in white or black script that appealed to me. The whole experience was memorable. Comforting. Better than medication. Vanilla-therapy. And not surprising that I became a vegetarian later in life; while my Mom was scrutinizing cuts of pork and lamb, I was studying the packaging and fantasizing about the vanilla bean ecstasy of that ice-cream.

My Grandmother from Cleveland often came at Christmas and she loved New York City, just over 10 miles from where we lived at the time; we’d take the train down from Westchester, through Harlem and into downtown Manhattan for the ritual visit to skate or watch others skate at Rockefeller Center and then delight in hot-fudge sundaes at Schrafft’s. The hot-fudge was almost as good as my Mom’s – sticky and warm, an absolute recipe for happiness.

Whether it’s ice cream or yogurt, though, for me it has to be unimaginably thick and creamy…which is why Greek yogurt (everywhere these days) is perfect for me…not ony for the flavor and texture but because it is often fabulously high in protein (I’ve had some that is as high as 18g/serving!) I had an electric yogurt-maker in high school for a while but the result was never creamy or yummy enough so I stopped (I think my Mom sold it at a garage sale before I went to college, which is why you never saw it in the dorm). And from time to time I still make my own Yogurt cheese / Greek Yogurt and mix it with molasses and honey but it’s faster/easier to buy it.

Here is my latest recommendation for an every-day great yogurt though: Target’s store brand – Archer Farms – for a fair price at $2.29 for 24oz., has low fat and fat free versions of Vanilla or Plain that say Thick and Creamy in tiny letters which manage, nevertheless, to SHOUT the message to me simply because I am on the prowl for the CREAMIEST-of-the-crop. I buy the Fat Free Vanilla – which is reasonably high in protein and low in calories - and I refuse to share (don’t worry, there are 500 other yogurt options in our fridge, many disguised as skittles…or cotton candy…or apple-brown-betty…or anything except plain or vanilla for the candy-loving-fake-yogurt-eaters I live with). We call the Target brand “Mommy’s yogurt”. It epitomizes comfort food for me and replaces any residual cravings for Louis Sherry Ice Cream.

Glad the block party went relatively well – except for the short-lived rain and food slipping away from you. I feel the same way about left-over food at parties, especially if I have sprung for it myself. Recently we were at an event where everyone had to bring something and the stuff we brought was shelf-stable and individually wrapped (picture: Twinkies-ish) and there was so much left over that it was a little bit of a hard pill to swallow to just walk away from it…but I managed to be O.K. : )

Happy Memorial Day – we totally FORGOT (? – seriously - ?) to do any traditional meal/cook-out or whatever that we typically pull off on holidays like this. Invariably - when we REMEMBER that it's a holiday that requires "special/celebratory" food - we can count on Scot's kid-friendly specialty: Ruffles Potato Chips with “Daddy’s Dip” – this dip that Scot makes just knocks my kids socks off…unlike me, with “Mommy’s Yogurt”, Scot is kind enough to share this treat with the Hungry Ones…

Ruby

Sunday, May 24, 2009

Hi Bag, have you seen Portia? (Patty)

Those unmade beds look good to me! No papers or Cheeto dust on them whatsoever!
We had that block party last weekend…I go in with my neighbor directly across the street, we split everything, the food, the alcohol, the ice, etc and we set up our porch furniture right in the middle of the street, with rugs and flowers, it’s very festive. This format has been working beautifully for many years, but for the first time this year, it rained on the party. The rain didn’t start until 10:30PM or so and it only came down for 15 minutes, but everyone was edgy because it was raining all over town and you could hear thunder and people were arriving with tales of torrential rain in near-by areas, and there was this tipping point, when all the guests, in an effort it be helpful, started grabbing things and rescuing them to “dryness” ….a flurry of chairs, tables, chafing dishes, everything flew to safety. Our friends came into our house, and Angele’s friends went into Angele’s house…but sadly the FOOD all went into Angele's house!! Given the fact that there never was a contingency plan for rain, I couldn’t be too bothered by this, and people were 99% done eating but you know that at a party, noshing is the law. We continued to drink, the rain stopped and the band started playing again and they even played until 12:30 (not Midnight) due to the unscheduled weather-break and it was fun. BUT…(be patient, this round-about recap actually ties into the unmade beds…) There are up sides and down sides of having super-neat neighbors! We have different concepts of “leftover”. I ENJOY spending money, but I HATE wasting money…if I cater a party, and there is a little salmon and salad and whatever leftover, for me it will either be a delicious midnight snack or possibly lunch the next day. If you are organized like Angele is, and have a different mindset, especially if you have an employee helping with the clean up, a lot of stuff gets thrown away. It’s a package deal, if you are going to have a perfect, stuff-free kitchen with counters you could bowl on, you’ve got to keep perishables moving! Leftover salad doesn’t have a chance in that environment! 2 of my tablecloths ended up over there, and they came back washed, crisply ironed in a pure shade of white that I did not know could be attained. I’ve never been upstairs in their house, but I will bet you a million dollars that every bed is made.
One last thing about the business of happiness, I too can see the wisdom of coaxing a child away from the negative side of things…shortly after Katrina sent 1/3 of our belongings swimming into oblivion, we were standing at a luggage carousel, and Portia had a sentimental, far-away look in her eyes. I thought she was going to say something nice about the trip we had just been on, but instead she said, “I really miss that turquoise piece of luggage.” And I had to nip that in the bud, I quickly responded” OK, we are NOT going to mourn our goods item by item by item, we lost a lot of things, but we still have TONS of stuff, so just LET IT GO”. It’s possible that yelling at a kid to make them feel happier is not the textbook method to success in that area, but that is the technique I went with that day.
I’m sort of jealous that Blue could leave his bike outside all winter and not have it stolen, extra credit for Madison, Wisconsin!!!
Finally, I’ve never been to Lafayette, LA in my life, and for various reasons, I’ve been there 2 times in 2 weeks…it’s a cute little Cajun town, all the roads are like “Rue de Louis XIV”… Its been great one-on-one time with Portia, but honestly I just spent a YEAR with her, we don’t need anymore quality one-on-one time, but the best thing about the 2 hour trip is that exactly halfway there is the world’s best yogurt shop. In the same way that homemade ice cream is so superior to regular ice cream, this yogurt is incredible. They say it’s 32 calories per half-cup which I know is a lie…it’s too good! My favorite is the Humphrey Yo-gart, but now I am out of excuses to stop there!
The second best thing about the trip was watching Portia walk around with this HUGE tennis bag….A few months ago, we were at some event where they were raffling off a few prizes and she zeroed in on this behemoth bag, pestering me to take chances on it, repeatedly asking when the drawing was, worked up about it in a way that a middle-of-the-road type person like myself can only roll their eyes at… it was cute the way she was so excited about the stupid bag, pulling me to the tent when it was time for the drawing, sitting right next to the bag with a hopeful look. Then she WON THE BAG! It was so preposterous, they had barely announced her first name, and she scooped the bag up, the person running the event was confused, like “Hmmm, where did that bag go?” but Portia was already high-fiving her friends and loading stuff into what can only be described as an armoire with straps on it….
So that’s the scoop down here! (Shoot, I wish I hadn’t used the word “scoop” because that reminds me of yogurt….)

Patty

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Goldilocks & the 4 Boys (Ruby)




Geez, when you talk about your friend’s house and how [Hurricane Katrina] “…blew the whole thing into the lake…”, it’s mind boggling (no, not “mind-BLOGGING”). Yikes! I try to visualize that and it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen…anyway, so nice that the house is rebuilt and that you got to sip a Skinny-Mojito there!

A closer-to-home-YIKES, however, is having kids grow up and suddenly be “out there”…in the world. I don’t imagine I’ll be getting through this with any prize-winning grace – not sure I want to picture living through my troops becoming an army of teenagers, without being at least mildly sedated. A friend who has been back in touch recently wrote such a nice note about the differences and similarities between having little children, vs. what it feels like when they are grown(ish): “it's so funny with kids, you're dying for them to walk and talk and once they can you long for the days they couldn't. You want them to be old enough to not need to be constantly watched, but once they are you are constantly wondering where they are or what they are doing. You want them to graduate from High School and then they go and you miss them terribly. Then they come back to visit and you're back to square one where there's no juice in the pitcher and no ice cream bars in the box, only now there is also no gas in your car to run to the store and get more.…”

Regarding your last post/letter, I think we all just want those kids to be “happy” without being a Hallmark card about it and squeezing prescribed little snippets of HAPPINESS out of them like our fathers seemed to rely on with us. And regarding your Dad’s tendency to NEGOTIATE the reality of your alleged happiness, that makes sense to me on one level; as long as we’re putting all that effort into attempting to make life more enjoyable for our kids, with the PERFECT MIX of discipline, support & love (not to mention shelter, safety, at least a thimble of wisdom to share, some FUN thrown into the mix and ALL THE RIGHT GROCERIES), it does seem like we should be able to get a little positive feedback and some bonus points that sound approximately like this: “Oh, yeah….this life of mine is going great….I’m a HAPPY KID, Mom/Dad….and GOLLY! I have you two to thank for that!” (...or abbreviated eye contact from Sweet Medusa...that would be rewarding too).

The problem is that no one is really subscribing to anyone else’s interpretation of what happiness LOOKS like…or at least not forever. Which is why it’s relatively blissful before a baby learns how to say “NO!” and walk away from you, with his/her own agenda. At the same time, this is exactly what you want, ultimately, for your child…to get skilled at the be-your-own-person thing, the “don’t-worry-about-me-Mom/Dad-I-can-figure-out-where-I’m-going” thing.

Then coming in through another door in the happiness discussion, I question the notion of TOO MUCH “HAPPINESS” for my kids, which can so easily add up to attitudes and behaviors like complacency and LAZINESS, acting SPOILED and ENTITLED. This is where I totally trip up as a parent, because I really want my kids to be able to get their own stuff, to be motivated, to triumph over their own successes, to be ACCOUNTABLE, all as part of a recipe for long-term happiness – for them and for me. But I LOVE to do stuff FOR them, partly as a time-saver (I can do it faster, better, for whatever that's worth), partly for the simple joy of pleasing and surprising them, partly because they have all honed their skills for backing me into a corner and getting me to surrender to their demands, and also in part because of our 17 year old autistic son, Louki, who has us trained to be Johnny-on-the-spot interpreters and implementers of all things, all needs, all moments…for all the right reasons and this “let us take over from here…” parenting style carries over into the parenting of all of our children, sometimes.

My first son, Blue, was interesting training ground for me as a new parent. Before he learned to walk, he could toss a smile my way that would MELT me, then he’d smile at the toy he wanted….and he knew that if he charmed me enough times in succession with that smile, eventually I’d fetch that toy for him (no matter how close and “gettable” it was for him). His “Thanks, Mom” was the look in his face, those eyes squinting with GLEE, his drooling, generous grin. I was enriched, made better for my efforts. As that “baby” grew, when it came to tasks that were more tedious, – actually chores – doing anything for himself, cleaning up, making a bed, etc., was more than he wanted to sign up for but he kept smiling at me, charming me, and later, intellectually negotiating with me. Instead of letting a few balls drop over the years, as I had more babies, got busier, had less patience, got more tired, I threw a few more my way by “doing it all”, to make sure it was done “just so”…correctly, up to my OCD standards, etc., to ensure my own HAPPINESS; I’d scurry through the house, tidying up and making 4 or 5 perfect beds before racing off to work and I’d rarely return home without bags-full-o’stuff to promise uninterrupted “happiness” for all, anything from a new/improved fresh flow of groceries (including Beer for hub-a-licious), to new clothes and magazines for someone, to the latest just-released can’t-miss movie on DVD. The welcome-home line I typically receive to this day is: “Did you get anything?”

“Getting” is prime. Historically, I’ve been a “getter” so that I can distribute what I get and be a GIVER of goods and services. Whether we like this or not, this may actually define the word “Mom”. (And not just “anything” qualifies; for instance toilet paper, scotch-tape, anything for ME, anything that isn’t a significant contribution to someone else’s happiness does not count, as I gain entrance back into the house). So I GET, and they TAKE it all, happily…which is why I GET it in the first place…then I feel guilty about giving too much, then I get pissed about them TAKING too much, then I HATE MYSELF…and kind of resent them. This is an ongoing conflict that is really my fault…I know this…but it is a classic parenting conflict…like, your Dad was the one who made it possible for you to have that Burger at the tennis club…but he also REALLY needed you to make it so clear to him that you understood the inherent privilege in it…which is NOT WHAT KIDS DO; they just want the life you give them…and they can gulp it all up like hungry dogs, no matter what it is you give them...groceries, vacations, whatever.

Anyway, again, because of my job situation and because I think it’s an important exercise for my kids, I keep thinking of ways to cut back, essentially GETTING and GIVING less to all of them while convincing them that we HAVE what we need (and more)… HA!

I’m struggling to re-learn this all myself, too. It’s a GIANT temptation for me to go overboard to PLEASE them as part of my “HAPPY FAMILY COCKTAIL” (even though I get it…I know that what they REALLY need and want is time, attention, to be listened to, etc…it’s always truly basic). Meanwhile, tonight for example, my son, Bowie, is in a school concert and he wants a bow tie in black or red and a new pair of black pants to wear. He has black pants. Scot tells me, “he can wear the ones he has…and he doesn’t have to have the tie…it’s just for one night”, but this doesn’t sit well with me because I want him to feel HAPPY about his outfit…I want him to see that I made the effort. Hmmm. And Ollie just asked for money for a soda. I am categorically against soda. But we are wanting him to feel independent, to be able to walk down the street and help himself to a little “living”, a little “freedom”…disguised as soda. I am opting to possibly pick him up some lemonade instead but he’s not liking this alternative. And Blue has put in his request for a super healthy Pistou soup with about a million ingredients that I keep promising to pick up so that he can be HAPPY. I support this, but keep getting distracted by all the other requests and assignments.

Eeek!!

One day later:
O.K. – Bowie returned a shirt he had never worn for some new (“better”) black pants and wore a black necktie of mine to the school concert. Not a bad compromise.

Ollie did break out of the asylum (house) to buy himself a soda (does anyone really need a Mountain Dew at 3:30 in the afternoon? This is soooo Wisconsin!). But, I also brought home 3 different kinds of lemonade, even though I really want them to just drink water (This is soooo ME!).

Blue needs me to take his bike back to the bike shop where he just paid $130.00 to fix things that had corroded when he left the (brand new) bike outside for the whole winter; says it’s not really riding right. Hmmm. What a surprise. At least he paid (and will continue to pay) for the repairs.

I still haven’t picked up the veggies for Pistou.

I’ve promised the kids that if they make their beds EVERY day, I will treat them to a trip to McDonald’s on the weekends (we used to go out to restaurants a few times a month, as a family, but have stopped that). This worked well for the first week. Please note that Toyen makes her bed the minute she gets home from school, so eventually, her room looks great every day, but the boys would all lie around in slop without ever lifting a finger and still grin about it...if I didn't devote my life to rescuing them from themselves...or myself from them...

These things mean nothing in the end…but for a Mom with anxiety issues, my personal HAPPINESS…in a fleeting way…can have a direct link to whether or not I can tell that Goldilocks and all her brothers have been sleeping in "my" beds…

This morning, I made all the beds myself.

How shallow. How happy.

Ruby

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Put on a happy face

Wow! My father did the same thing! I had forgotten about that, but when I was 8, 9, 10 years old, my dad would always say things like "Here comes the world's happiest kid!" or "This child needs for nothing!" or "How does it feel to have EVEYTHING you want?!" At first, when he would ask me a direct question, such as "Are you happy today?" I might answer, "Well, today is a little sad, I didn't make the starting line-up of the swim team". He wouldn't take that as a fact, it would be more of a negotiating point, and be followed by "Are you KIDDING me??? If I had the life you have, if I'd even KNOWN what a swim team was, not to mention SIGNING for a hamburger at the "snack bar", I'd give my right arm! You should try working 12 hour days and you'll stop worrying about the backstroke..." In other words, not only was it a 50 year old man versus a 9 year old girl so his arguments always outdid mine completely, but even a small child can see the writing on the wall; my semi-priviledged youth was NEVER going to match up with his poor upbringing, and I really believe this is where my sense of sarcasm began. The idea of saying one thing while meaning another is a tricky one and needs years of honing to be pulled off properly, and that was my training ground!
I had a pretty good childhood, but I had lots of periods of loneliness and boredom, but whatever, I just had to deal with it. Not only did my PARENTS have a diffucult childhood, but even within my own family, they had a rags-to-riches lives, but the "riches" only came very late in life. My older brothers had a lot more "rags" in their formative years and I came along much later in more of the "riches" time period, so they weren't too "happy" about the inequity of one sibling having it "easier". In my defense, this assessment of "ease" was based solely on amount of goods, not dealing with life in any way!
I think it's natural for a parent to yearn for their child to be happy and grateful and gracious. In my own updated way, I do the same thing to my kids that my father did to me. I fish around for them to say any equivalent of "I'm happy" or "My life is good". My version is more like "On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate that trip?" or "tell me the highlight of your day"...ultimately, it is the masked "Are you happy?" question that my father asked me so many years ago.
On your other topic...anxiety sucks! I used to be so laid back, even when I had small children, I felt relatively in control...however, the past few months I have definitely had heightened anxiety, Madison and her health, Portia and her questionable driving skills, Zeke racing back and forth to college on that bike, road trips, alcohol, fuzzy details on where my children actually are, there is so much out of my control, kids arriving home at all hours in a city that is not so safe, it has all added up to giving me general unease, like when I wake up in the morning, I have to stave off a doomed feeling...I was never like that before. I had a "girls night" this week at a friend's "camp", a little weekend home that her family had had for 50 years before Katrina blew the whole thing into the lake, literally the house was 4 inches tall when they got back from the hurricane...they spent 2 years rebuilding it, and the grand re-opening was this month! It's so nice, piece by piece, to see New Orleans back to its old self. I'm not sure why driving 45 minutes away and sleeping at a lakehouse is relaxing, it's not like the crime is any better when I'm there, but it was a perfect combination of girly healthy snacky foods (guacamole, hummus, salads, skinny mohitos) girly talk (Farrah, Jon and Kate, bitchy women we have in common, hair issues) and a solid night of sleep that was so refreshing!
By the way, the Chinese restaurant in my neighborhood is called Five Happiness. Why do those restaurants always have names that make no sense? But we all know what they meant....I guess that's all that matters!

Patty

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Happy





I was a nervous kid who became a nervous adult; you know this about me…or at least the nervous young-adult part. The first time I rode on a subway – with my family, seated next to my Mom – I developed a nervous blinking twitch that stayed for a couple of months and had me slamming my lids open & shut incessantly, frenetically. The first time I flew in a plane, I screamed “STOP THE PLANE!” as we banked and a bird’s eye view of the world was out the window to my right. I can conjure up the movie of my own death in my head, in a millisecond…and then I eulogize myself…repeatedly throughout my life I have done this, for many reasons, in many situations. I am currently working (really hard) at shifting the plot and outcome of these imaginary movies-from-hell, implementing a mental cut & paste that affords me a positive visual alternative. Sometimes I succeed at it. Yay!

For much of my life, especially in the past couple of years, since I have RESPONSIBLY sought medication for my anxiety disorder, I’ve been actively pursuing the things in my life that keep me from being a nervous wreck.

When my father used to randomly ask me “…but, are you HAPPY…?” I always said yes even though the answer in my head would have been more like "well, I'm a total WRECK, if you must know...but we won't worry our pretty heads over that..."; either way, I don’t believe his objective was so much about me or my being truly “happy” as much as it was his way of letting go of his own feelings of guilt about parenting, something that categorically made him more of a nervous wreck than he’d ever have wanted to admit; he could be easier on himself if his kids answered with a resounding “YES!!!” to the happiness question. I say this completely without accusation – I can’t imagine being a parent who isn’t aware of how hard it is to pull it all off adequately, let alone well…and with no guilt. Meanwhile, I have thought often about what really does make me happy and at this point – beyond the obvious, top of mind "blow-out-the-candles-and-make-a-wish" kind of happiness (GOOD HEALTH for all my loved ones, no hunger in the world, 3-more-wishes…etc.,) “happy”, for me, is living CALMLY, IN THE MOMENT, not nervous, not visualizing my own demise, not planning for what comes next (aka catastrophe), not being personally annoyed by some otherwise innocuous detail.

So what can I do – beyond meds - to achieve this? With the recent, specific worries of my being unemployed, as we reinvent chunks of our life, Scot and I are consciously looking for a collective CALM in this storm (if calm can be something you do “collectively”, in agreement, contributing to it to for the sake of the team). This is not hard for him but in all honesty he does need to prompt me in the reciting of my “let’s see…what am I happy about (not yet swallowed alive by...) today…?” list for the last few mornings…playing the “Glad Game” as Pollyanna and my family refer to it.

And what rises to the top of my “Happy list” this week? Why, Lazy Jane’s CafĂ©, of course – on Willy Street, on the east side of town. We’ve gone there after working out together several times recently and today I decided that I am happier there than anywhere right now. The “Lazy” ambience itself is unapologetically casual and welcoming. The decor of this place is eclectic, with flowery, over stuffed chairs and couches next to the most simple of children's wooden school-style tables and little chairs, “breezy” lighting as sunshine pours in from the many windows, baskets of sock monkeys and baby dolls beckon eager children who come in with their Moms, bookshelves with a mishmash of magazines and books for all ages make it feel like home. A fabulous staircase with purple walls and tons of glimmering gold knick-knacks lead to the loft-like upper level that winds around into nooks and crannies with railings that let you peek down to the lower level, from wherever you sit. Nothing matches but everything feels like it belongs. The look is somewhere between the bygone, charmingly sweet Eloise Wilkins illustrations (Golden Book series “We help Mommy”), and Betsey Johnson fashionista-edgy-ornate. When your food is ready, they BELLOW your name the way we yell upstairs for the kids to come down for supper at home (only MUCH LOUDER) so that you can fetch the meal yourself. An occasional customer will holler back with a reply like “What!” or “I’m COMING!!” For me it defines comfortable, low-key and familiar, with a hint of playful mockery. I am a huge fan of the joyfully bright hand-lettered chalk menu and the food is awesome. I manage to stay IN THE MOMENT while I’m there; I don’t think about being chased by tornadoes, surprised by coyotes, stung by killer bees or falling down and cracking my teeth but instead focus lazily on topping off my coffee with cream. And this makes me fabulously happy.

I’m glad your Mother’s Day was so kid-abundant! The definition of what that day should be…how perfect! Sounds like a HAPPY weekend for all, except perhaps the speeding ticket and the all-too-common communication barriers as you attempted to buy out Einstein’s Bagels…that, to your point, often have nothing to do with language of origin…another topic all together : )

Ruby

Sunday, May 10, 2009

All sliced up and no place, "to go"

I feel like a mother today! Madison drove in from Emory. She got on the road at 9AM and had a speeding ticket by 10…it was one of those ticky-tack offenses, going 65 in a “construction zone” on the highway where there wasn’t any construction going on and 10 seconds further down the road, the speed limit was 70 again…I figure if you are a car driver in America, every 5 years or so, you are going to get a ticket of some sort, so I was very Zen about this one.
To celebrate the end of the year, Zeke was having 4 friends from Tulane over here for an early dinner on Friday (they clearly wanted to be gone by the time anything fun would be happening, but I take what I can get). You know how John loves to cook for a group, but then about 2PM, we found out the group would be more like 10 people…not too cool to increase a dinner party by 6 guests just 3 hours before it is to be served, but whatever, “college kids” and “exact plans” are not groups of words that go together easily…
Just as Madison was pulling up from her 7 hour drive, 2 car loads of Tulanians were also pulling up, it was a perfect storm, and the car that took Madison 2 days to load up was unloaded in 5 minutes! It was a whirlwind of lamps and comforters and boxes and kids, it’s 18 steps up to the front door of our house, so that was a great start to a great night.
Meanwhile, the freshmen at Tulane have to get the Full Meal plan; in addition to the dining hall, they get $300 Greenbucks, which you can use at the Food Court. They are non-refundable, and Zeke still had about $100 in Greenbucks, so I had the excellent idea of going as a family to Einstein’s Bagels in the Tulane Food Court on Saturday morning.
Pretty much the entire clientele on campus is buying one item or maybe two, like a bagel or a decaf…
Here we come, family of 5, ordering basically everything on the menu, two dozen bagels, lots of things with cheese and bacon and snacks for later…. the line behind us was getting longer and longer and Zeke, who is almost out of the stage in life where anything I say is a complete embarrassment was starting to distance himself from us and get that “I really don’t know her that well” look in his eyes…Our server, at a perfunctory glance, was missing approximately 25% of her teeth, and the ones she did have were in the wrong places. I think that is why I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, and in all fairness, I don’t think she could understand my words either. Although both of our native tongues were English, we were having one of those weird communications issues, which was not speeding things up. Finally she got both of the other servers to help. The sophomore behind me was getting impatient, can you blame him? I can’t stand it when I get in line behind people like me!!! He said from 5 yards back “Does it really take THREE people to deal with ONE order?!?” Miraculously, my server understood every word of his comment, and took more time to deal with him…
Well-fed and hours later, Zeke was calling with those uneasy requests of a boy moving out of a dorm, like “Could you bring me a vacuum cleaner and some cleaning supplies?”
That brought up the suspicion that nothing has been cleaned since January or maybe September, but I’m going with the theory that they RAN OUT of supplies…
But here we are on Mother’s Day, what a nice day to be reassembled... We had my mother-in-law over for lunch, I always like her explanation of why she OWNS but does not USE her cellphone..."It bothers me when it rings". Well, there you have it!

Patty

Thursday, May 7, 2009

BAD Neighbors & Squirrels

So sorry about your disgruntled neighbor and the change of date for your block party/Mother’s Day cue. I’m not even your neighbor but emotionally, this throws me off a little…I guess because so often the nasty-little-fleas get their way but don’t have the decency to be appreciative and say “Why, thank you - kind people - for your efforts…” A classic example of “the squeaky wheel gets the grease” (or am I mistaking “GREASE” for “inheritance”?)

Whatever.

I cringe when I think of having to put up with a lousy neighbor ever again but you can only go for so long before it is bound to happen. I’ve had some doozies in my time but am happy to admit that the families on either side of me right now (in the house I am soon likely to leave) are kind, generous, quiet, and into their own thing…which is divine.

As a tiny child I lived next to a family of torturers. Not entirely true, but they were rampant bully-children with absent parents who shouted endlessly at each other and were, generally, mean to everyone. My brother and I invented a protective barrier which became the cornerstone of our defense tactic: “knee popo”. We’d sit at the top outside landing of the steps to our 2nd floor apartment, looking straight across at the family of bullies on their 2nd floor landing and we’d bend our bare legs (wearing shorts in the summer time) and spread the flesh where our calves and thighs met at the underside of our knees and the effect looked (still looks) just like a fat butt – which we referred to as “popo” vs. any of the other more popular names – fanny, bottom, hiney, butt, behind, tush. We did this TO them – smugly, triumphantly, silently, the only way we knew how to say “BACK OFF, BULLIES!”. I was three. The reality of “Sticks & Stones may break my bones, but NAMES will never hurt me!” had not come into focus.

Learn to play nice.

We moved often enough and the next time we collectively disliked a neighbor was when we moved in next to Mrs. Nevz. The memory is vivid….my mother had arranged the loveliest knick-knacks on glass shelves in the window at the bottom of our stairs; there were two hand-painted porcelain cats and many colorful glass pieces. The sunlight in the morning, when I came down for breakfast, spangled beautifully through all of it making rainbows and colored spots dance against the walls and ceiling. Magic, for me. And there, in the center of this window, across our yard and in her own window, staring back from inside the soft-focus frame of my mother’s beautiful knick-knacks was the sour-puss face of Mrs. Nevz. Snarly eyes, a frozen frown, disgusted by happy kids, happy families…doing happy things. She sat in that window, staring us down, making us wonder if she ever left that perch or ever turned her head in another direction. As a family, we laughed about it. So when my brother dared me to dig the hole and set up stones for a mock camp-fire in her back yard, then dance around it with my Indian costume on and patting my mouth with my hand for the characteristically offensive “Injun” chant that was still [marginally] tolerated in the early 1960’s, it felt like the obvious thing to do to semi-taunt Mrs. Nevz. My thought was – how would she even see what went on in her back yard if she was always staring squarely through her window toward the window at the front of our house? But she must have had eyes on the back of her head because she was madder than mad when she called my Mom to REPORT me (my brother was innocent?) and guess who had to go over after Sunday school that weekend to apologize for being a BAD GIRL. Oops. Once, my Mom offered to cut back her overgrown bushes as a favor and, although she agreed to it, Mrs. Nevz was livid over the trimmed bushes as soon as my Mom completed the project. Hmmm. And like your “Mr. Disgruntled”, this woman was always working on her next disturbance, stockpiling her disgust and intolerance, never running out of it.

At another house years later – where we were tweens and teenagers and no longer dressing in Indian costumes – Mr. & Mrs. Terwilliger were on earth, living next to us, to make our lives more interesting! These were classically complainy, disapproving, older-than-their-age types who certainly would have preferred a family WITHOUT teenagers and since we were no dream-come-true family at the time we were not helping the situation. My favorite story about them was that Mr. Terwilliger actually WORE a long to-do list, safety-pinned to his shirt each Saturday by his significant (m)other – Mrs. Terwilliger – to keep him, their marriage, and their lives on track. (Secretly, I covet this method, but I would use post-its).

One more neighbor story – my sister was at a neighborhood party where suddenly this squirrel was running up and down the legs of the guests and as they shrieked “Aghhhhh!! Get it off…!” the woman who had the party was saying – “Oh, no…that’s a NICE squirrel – that’s Lolita!!” Well, she had befriended this rodent and shared food with it, named it and allowed it up in her lap…and anywhere…and expected everyone else to embrace Lolita similarly. But my sister was having a squirrel problem in her back yard at the same time and had started to gather those squirrels up into cages that she would take out to a nature preserve and kindly say bye-bye. So the neighbor lady shows up one day freaking out to my sister saying that Lolita is missing and accuses my sister of “getting rid” of her. Next thing my sister knows is that this crazy lady has gone out to the nature preserve and simply called out “Lolita!!!!!” and that squirrel comes running to her and is now safely back in the ‘hood…this was her way of asking my sister to stay away from Lolita in the future…let sleeping (creeping) squirrels lie…

Anyway, it’s seriously a miracle in my mind that any of us can tolerate ANYONE else…God knows it’s an exercise with a giant learning curve – from our siblings to our spouses and in laws to our children, our pets and – God forbid – our neighbors…so many diverse styles, needs, comfort zones, gobs and gobs of baggage, etc.

Kudos to you and the folks of Allard Blvd. for actually pulling this party off for 34 years. I hope people show up on the right date (but I don’t care if Mr. Grumpy has a good time).

And Happy Mother’s Day!!!

Ruby

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

When is the 4th of July?

NOTHING interesting has happened in the last few days, do you know that feeling? Nothing that anyone would be the least bit interested in. I feel that way at Christmastime when I get those long blow-by-blow accounts of people's lives. If I did a holiday letter, it would be like "January - Portia got her driver's license, February - not much happened, March - not much happened, April - Portia got in a car accident, May - can't remember...." The only year I did a letter was the Katrina year, because it was all SO absurd, the trash-that-once-was-my ground-floor piled so high that when FEMA came to take it away, they inadvertently took the streetlight with it...by the way, 4 years later, I still have a big hole in my romantically lit front yard. You really don't know what you've got 'til it's gone (that would make a good song lyric). Remember how I rejoiced and bearhugged the mailman when I finally saw him coming down the street? EIGHT months without mail delivery, really, there is no place else in the U.S. of A. where that would be acceptable! We were "green" without even trying...
Speaking of song lyrics, this was the final weekend of Jazzfest, and I am happy to report that if I didn't get Swine Flu there, I will never get it. I laugh hilariously when I hear of people who won't touch elevator buttons for fear of swine-y germs...one minute at JF is equivalent to one million elevator button pushes. People sweating, sharing drinks, a nice breeze followed by maybe a little of the dirt from the track grinding in your mouth, kids laying down and doing grass angels (imagine snow angels, but grosser) in areas peppered with random soft shell crab tentacles and empty ketchup packets...I think of it as building up your immune system...I may have a touch of the Wine Flu, similar but not at all contagious...again, lots of fun music, I had to go hear Tony Bennett, it was like being at a wedding with lots of people holding up their phones after calling their Moms and saying "Listen! It's Tony Bennett!"
We also had 5-7 houseguests, depending upon what moment of what day you were referring to, it only rained the last hour of the last day, so that was good luck. We were having a finale crawfish boil on Sunday night, I had the house looking as good as a house can look with 9 people staying there, but then Zeke and his 5 friends stopped in, wet from head-to-toe, muddy and hungry, and it went downhill from there. One of them asked, "does anyone know when Cinco de Mayo is?"....Ummm, I'm pretty sure it's going the fall on the 5th af May again this year... We are so American!
And sneaking a peek at the week to come...
Allard Blvd. has been having an annual Block Party for 34 years. For 33 years it has been the night before Mother's Day. It's a miracle that it has been able to survive, 24 residents with 24 opinions. What band should we get? How much should be spent? Where should the band set up? Should it always be smack-dab in the middle of the block? No, because the older residents who live there don't like the noise...should it be on the South end of the block where the most participants are? (participation is optional...) No, the residents on the North end of the block don't like that idea... The Annual Meeting, to discuss Block Party is always a lively affair, but somehow we crank out this awesome party every year. For 15 years, there is one neighbor who arrives disgruntled, in fact you can feel his angry aura enter the room before he actually gets there, and his mission in life is to CHANGE THE DATE! He doesn't really know when he does want the party, but he simply CAN'T STAND the current date. He's the kind of guy who throws around the "everyone" concept, i.e. "EVERYONE hates this date, NO ONE will have a party this year"...anyway, after so many years of impassioned pleading, even though he was a minority of one, we all agreed to (gasp) change the date. So this year it will be the Saturday AFTER Mother's Day. In a city that reveres tradition, a city where every restaurant in town serves red beans and rice on Mondays, because that is the day people eat that dish, change is not good. When people saw this year's invitation they were only half-kidding when they exclaimed, "But how will we know when it's Mother's Day?!?!?!?" As I have to tell them, you won't.
Even though the date is printed clearly on the invite, I can pretty much guarantee that people will show up this Saturday. Little hints like no lights strung up and down the street, no band, no tables and chairs will not deter them. And the sad part is I really don't think Disgruntled Neighbor got any joy or satisfaction out of the new date, he was immediately on to other things that bug him. It would be great Karma if it poured rain torrentially this Saturday night, then everyone will feel so good about the change of date!

Patty

Friday, May 1, 2009

“Gladly”, the cross-eyed bear

We won’t even talk about what the vet ACTUALLY said about the quick anal-gland surgery the Peach needed, let’s just keep it simple and say that I was honestly HOPING I could throw $500.00, unexpectedly, somewhere this week and it may as well have been at our Vet-Clinic. My value-to-add: between you & me, let’s just make sure we all pay attention when those doggies scoot from room to room on their butts and spend an entire night at the end of our beds licking their butts because the result could be a trip for the family to a water-park, a few REALLY good dinners out, a much desired shopping spree, approximately 3 visits to my salon for cut and color, etc,…instead of the vet bill.

But, don’t get me wrong; I’d pick a hefty vet bill over any one of these cash-gulping recreational alternatives, any day.

So, Skye “moved home”, officially, yesterday – for the summer. What this means is that his STUFF that lived down the street - all by itself in the apartment he paid for, while he crashed with us continuously for the last nine months - is in my car. I am REALLY hopeful that this is a temporary situation before it all gets carried to our basement, although this verbal equation did trickle into the constant banter-in-my-head: Apartment + CAR = aCARtment. I could totally see us coining the phrase and christening the lifestyle, couldn’t you? Since we are in the midst of needing to downsize and likely to be moving into an apartment in August, what I seriously do not want right now is some Mini-Van load of crap getting fanny-sprawl all over my house but I AM NOT MEDICATED FOR NOTHING! Nope, I dutifully take my anxiety medication so that I will embrace my children and the ebb & flow of their needs (and I believe this includes tolerating the ebb & flow of their “STUFF”, as irritating as this is for me as I fantasize about a perfectly clean, orderly house WITHOUT: crumbs on the couch, cigarette butts on my front walk, dried up pens with no tops, broken pencils with teeth marks on them, entire pads of paper with only one tiny mark on every page, unmade beds, fingerprint smears on every door-jam, window, glass bookcase, etc., heavy-swollen back packs abandoned by the front door to trip over, thousands of books out of bookshelves, mud-flecked shoes, dirty sweat-shirts and socks that lost interest on their way to the laundry-chute and have decided to rest-up for the next outing instead, empty cupboards & fridge but massive amounts of half-tasted-but-rejected nibbles in the garbage so that we can KEEP BUYING MORE STUFF TO EAT…etc).

Scratch that, there’s no EBB in my house…just a super-abundance of FLOW…

After your “Shrewly Bee” letter, I was reminded of so many more of those same word-things – is there an actual name for these or are they simply a “COMMON HUMAN EXPERIENCE INVOLVING THE PHONETIC/SPELLED MISUNDERSTANDING OF WORDS”? We all have our own that we’ve come across and they always make me laugh. Here are a few that I recalled:
• My sister’s friend who repeatedly sang in her church choir: “Gladly, the cross-eyed bear” (Gladly, the CROSS I’d bear)
• Cousin Liam was listening to his Grandmother tell him about God & Jesus - an earnest & informative discussion - when he said: “…wait a minute, Grandma’, are we talkin’ about CHUCK-e-JESUS??”
• My sister’s friend who recited: “The Lord is my Shepherd – he knows what I want” (The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want)
• Or mine: “My Country TIZZA-VEE, sweetlan dove lih birdie”

TGIF!! (how can I say that, with no job?)

(Answer: because I don’t have to have my daily “I-feel-like-a-shitty-mother" panic-attack trying to come up with a lunch to send to school with Atticus that revolves around a staple of chocolate things & Lucky Charms-style shaped and brightly colored marshmallow pieces).

Ruby