When I was 6 years old, I wanted to name my first child "Fire Hydrant", I got my first bicycle and I was still too scared to climb to the top of the jungle gym rocketship at the park. This was also about the time when I had my last bowl of Mom's Taco Salad.
I picked out the bike with my Dad and his wife. I can still remember going to one of the 'Marts and finding the bike I wanted from the top shelf. Why anyone would think that it was okay to store bikes above one's head I just don't get. The bike was to be my birthday present and so was not bought right then. Unfortunately, it was gone when they returned for it and the pink one was replaced by a slightly larger red one. It took me a little while to grow into it, but once I did, mobility was mine!
My next bike was also a gift. One of my uncles won it with a lucky seat at a kid's matinee. The bike must have been too small for him and he was visiting from Alabama, so I became the lucky owner. It was a black and grey Mongoose. I remember riding around on one other bike (it had a banana seat and was appropriately yellow), but I outgrew it, too. Longer legs put an end to my biking career.
That is, until today. My husband took me to one of the 'Marts and I picked out my bike. I knew it was the one before I got anywhere close to it. It's the perfect shade of lemongrass. I got a new seat because my seat appreciates a little extra padding and not having a saddle wedging up it. It has speed controls and brakes on the handles, all of which is new technology for me. There is also a luggage rack on the back. Large enough for a lunch, way too small for any of my luggage.
I was feeling pretty nostalgic at the 'Mart, which is probably what caused inspiration to strike. I knew there was only one thing that I could make for dinner tonight. This also meant that contraband had to be bought. I checked sodium levels on everything, and then took Karl's wants into consideration. Maybe I'll try the baked Doritos next time. Ranch Style Beans were a bit tricky to pick out. All of the other beans have a picture of what is inside of the can. Ranch Style has a black label that infers you only want these beans if you know what you are doing. Karl reminded me of my southern roots, and then I knew we would be alright.
The following recipe is messy deliciousness.
Taco Salad:
1 small bag Doritos per person (unless you are eating with Karl, then he gets 2)
1 can Ranch Style Beans
1 Avocado
Lettuce
1/2 lb Ground Beef
Taco Seasoning
These are your basic components. Some people turn the avocado into guacamole and use it like you would a ceasar dressing. I prefer avocado chunks. Some may also prefer to use the entire can of beans. My preference is to drain it off some. Mrs. Dash Fiesta Lime is an excellent sodium free taco seasoning alternative. If you use the ground beef, please be good to your heart and use grass fed.
Cook the ground beef with taco seasoning. Layer in a bowl, Doritos, beans, avocado, chopped lettuce, and taco meat. Perportions are pretty much up to you. Serve immediately. If dining later, add the Doritos in when you are ready to eat.
Any other ingredients such as sour cream, cheese, onions, hot sauce, etc. is up to you.
Day 2:
Biking is harder than I remembered. I thought the hill in front of our house would be fun, not a potential deathtrap. As long as turning and breaking are not required, then I am almost okay at this. I thought the wind in my hair would be exhilerating. Instead it has been my signal that I am going too fast. Or that the wind is up. Either way, a good excuse to take a break. I think this is going to take a little practice. I will not let this be another jungle gym rocketship.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, August 23, 2010
Babysitting
All day long I carry around a baby. It has no gender, weighs 3 to 5 lbs, and screams when dropped.
It is always on my shoulder or hip, causing enough back trouble to justify almost daily trips to the chiropractor. I have to keep it cold, have to keep it clean, have to change it once a day. Once a month special supplies are ordered just for it. The supplies take up lots of prime real estate in my modest home, no matter where I put them. There are always remnants of them around the house, which serve as a constant reminder of my little burden. I am constantly paying medical and insurance bills for it. I take all of it's blood tests, I undergo it's procedures, I take all of the calls from the nurses who are checking in on it.
The tie that binds us is an important one. It is a direct link to my heart. And still, I slam it in the car door, kink it, pull on it till I bleed, catch it on doorknobs. Our link also means that I have to tend to myself every 3 days to a week. Infection is the silent threat. Showers are complicated, stressful and quick. I miss when they were easy, sexy and luxurious. The baby is never allowed to get wet and neither is our connection, so full submersion is just a dream.
People that haven't seen me in awhile are always surprised that I have a baby. They tend to pity the life change in a kind and sympathetic way. I pretty much want to talk about anything else even though the baby is the main constant in my life. I never have any time away from it. My husband helps but cannot fully take over its care. The baby insists on sleeping with us, but thankfully, under a pillow. Still, there is no denying that there is something else in bed with us. Especially since it snores.
My body has undergone many changes since I have had my baby. My curvy parts are inches lower than they had been, my hair is coarser, I have a varicose vein on the front of my knee. I have a couple of small abdominal hernias that have caused my ego a little pain. My skin feels and looks different. I am grateful that my husband seems to be blind to all of this and just sees me. I wish I could do the same for myself.
Some days my baby makes me so happy that I can do anything. Other days I'm exhausted and laid out on the couch. Both extremes are so different that people who have only witnessed one mood cannot imagine me any other way. For some I am always tired. For others I am inexhaustible. The latter has a hard time understanding how I am not out conquering the world every day. The changes can be subtle, which is the worst. Either I feel mildly crazy for not wanting to move or I do not realize that the down time has past and it's time to jump out into the world again.
My mother and my family have been very supportive. My mother has taken on several of my responsibilities, which has given me much relief. My family rallies during emergencies and has been very forgiving when I am too tired to visit or too forgetful to call. One more thing that has been hard to forgive myself for, especially knowing how often they have remembered me in their prayers.
It is always on my shoulder or hip, causing enough back trouble to justify almost daily trips to the chiropractor. I have to keep it cold, have to keep it clean, have to change it once a day. Once a month special supplies are ordered just for it. The supplies take up lots of prime real estate in my modest home, no matter where I put them. There are always remnants of them around the house, which serve as a constant reminder of my little burden. I am constantly paying medical and insurance bills for it. I take all of it's blood tests, I undergo it's procedures, I take all of the calls from the nurses who are checking in on it.
The tie that binds us is an important one. It is a direct link to my heart. And still, I slam it in the car door, kink it, pull on it till I bleed, catch it on doorknobs. Our link also means that I have to tend to myself every 3 days to a week. Infection is the silent threat. Showers are complicated, stressful and quick. I miss when they were easy, sexy and luxurious. The baby is never allowed to get wet and neither is our connection, so full submersion is just a dream.
People that haven't seen me in awhile are always surprised that I have a baby. They tend to pity the life change in a kind and sympathetic way. I pretty much want to talk about anything else even though the baby is the main constant in my life. I never have any time away from it. My husband helps but cannot fully take over its care. The baby insists on sleeping with us, but thankfully, under a pillow. Still, there is no denying that there is something else in bed with us. Especially since it snores.
My body has undergone many changes since I have had my baby. My curvy parts are inches lower than they had been, my hair is coarser, I have a varicose vein on the front of my knee. I have a couple of small abdominal hernias that have caused my ego a little pain. My skin feels and looks different. I am grateful that my husband seems to be blind to all of this and just sees me. I wish I could do the same for myself.
Some days my baby makes me so happy that I can do anything. Other days I'm exhausted and laid out on the couch. Both extremes are so different that people who have only witnessed one mood cannot imagine me any other way. For some I am always tired. For others I am inexhaustible. The latter has a hard time understanding how I am not out conquering the world every day. The changes can be subtle, which is the worst. Either I feel mildly crazy for not wanting to move or I do not realize that the down time has past and it's time to jump out into the world again.
My mother and my family have been very supportive. My mother has taken on several of my responsibilities, which has given me much relief. My family rallies during emergencies and has been very forgiving when I am too tired to visit or too forgetful to call. One more thing that has been hard to forgive myself for, especially knowing how often they have remembered me in their prayers.
Every two years I attend a conference for people who have babies like or similar to mine. Lots of seminars hosted by people who do not have babies telling us how to handle them. They are also the ones providing the food for the conference, which is fine for them, but inappropriate for struggling moms. Some of the sessions are lead by mothers like me, but even though we all have children, all of our relationships with our babies are very different from one another.
The baby does bring a fresh breathe of air into my life and I have been able to do many things since I have had it. But still, I wish I didn't need it so. I miss my freedom.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Tree Whisperer
I have always seen myself as shy, awkward and reclusive. Apparently the world has seen differently. I have reconnected with several people from my teenage years recently and their memory of me is totally different from mine. Descriptions of my personality vary, the only constant has been the length of my legs.
I had lunch earlier today with someone that I hadn't seen in 15 years. It had been more years than that since we had spent any length of time together. That person gave a description of my younger self that was determined and independent and, embarrassingly, love obsessed and of course naive. It's always surprising to me how a person's actions can be seen as so different from what one is actually feeling. I guess 'never let them see you sweat' is more true than I realized. Unless you tell someone that you are uncomfortable, they may never know. This holds true for both physical and mental discomforts.
My Wise Woman of the Day award goes to my chiropractor. Of course she's fabulous, as are all of the women in my life, ... wow. I had never thought of that before. Okay, points to me for surrounding myself with the fabulous. Anyways, I have become more of the person that I want to be because of her. And again, wow, that seems to be my theme for the summer. Surrounding myself with fabulous people that have helped to reshape my self-perception and live my life in a way that I have always hoped for. Best summer ever!
So back to the chiropractor. The back adjustments have made amazing improvements to my endurance. I am now able to do several things in a day that used to take me a week to accomplish. She also has a treadmill available for me, so I now have the most awesome running shoes ever. They have blue stripes and Nimbus 3000 is written in tiny script on the sides. My chiropractor has done wonders for my heart. She keeps setting goals for speed and distance, I keep accomplishing them ahead of schedule. I was telling her how I loved the program she put together for me - simple but effective. She said she pretty much just says to herself at the beginning of each session "How is Honey going to kick butt today?" That doesn't really sound like a mantra assigned to a meek person.
I have many times been inspired by the impassioned stories of other people. Someone describing a favorite hobby, tradition, job, vacation, whatever. Every time it happens I want to go out and have a similar experience. Not that I really want to kill a deer. But listen to a true hunter (not the drunk lazy kind) tell the story of a kill, where they went, tracking the deer, finally finding it and how it looked standing in the trees, how they felt at that moment (usually a bit humble and prayerful), I kind of would like to be along. Or maybe it's that I want to have a chance to nudge the gun in a different direction at the last second.
I'm convinced that simply being passionate about your own life is the key to inspiring others. Everyone wants to love their own life. I think we're all just looking for a way to tell our own story. Obviously I have found one way to do it. I think a person should go out into the world and do things that they want to be able to tell stories about. Strangely, the things that I want most to do in the world are things that I want to keep private for myself. When I'm with other people I love to talk, but I think I may love more hearing their story. Sometimes I feel like a cheerleader to the world, wanting the best for everyone, hoping that they see the best in themselves, hoping that they do the best thing for themselves and for others.
Myself, I could spend a lifetime staring a trees. Not a lot of banter in that. But that's when my moments of being overwhelmed in world happen.
"What did you do today?"
"I sat in a rocking chair on the deck and stared at my garden for an hour."
"So I was hunting the other day..."
I had lunch earlier today with someone that I hadn't seen in 15 years. It had been more years than that since we had spent any length of time together. That person gave a description of my younger self that was determined and independent and, embarrassingly, love obsessed and of course naive. It's always surprising to me how a person's actions can be seen as so different from what one is actually feeling. I guess 'never let them see you sweat' is more true than I realized. Unless you tell someone that you are uncomfortable, they may never know. This holds true for both physical and mental discomforts.
My Wise Woman of the Day award goes to my chiropractor. Of course she's fabulous, as are all of the women in my life, ... wow. I had never thought of that before. Okay, points to me for surrounding myself with the fabulous. Anyways, I have become more of the person that I want to be because of her. And again, wow, that seems to be my theme for the summer. Surrounding myself with fabulous people that have helped to reshape my self-perception and live my life in a way that I have always hoped for. Best summer ever!
So back to the chiropractor. The back adjustments have made amazing improvements to my endurance. I am now able to do several things in a day that used to take me a week to accomplish. She also has a treadmill available for me, so I now have the most awesome running shoes ever. They have blue stripes and Nimbus 3000 is written in tiny script on the sides. My chiropractor has done wonders for my heart. She keeps setting goals for speed and distance, I keep accomplishing them ahead of schedule. I was telling her how I loved the program she put together for me - simple but effective. She said she pretty much just says to herself at the beginning of each session "How is Honey going to kick butt today?" That doesn't really sound like a mantra assigned to a meek person.
I have many times been inspired by the impassioned stories of other people. Someone describing a favorite hobby, tradition, job, vacation, whatever. Every time it happens I want to go out and have a similar experience. Not that I really want to kill a deer. But listen to a true hunter (not the drunk lazy kind) tell the story of a kill, where they went, tracking the deer, finally finding it and how it looked standing in the trees, how they felt at that moment (usually a bit humble and prayerful), I kind of would like to be along. Or maybe it's that I want to have a chance to nudge the gun in a different direction at the last second.
I'm convinced that simply being passionate about your own life is the key to inspiring others. Everyone wants to love their own life. I think we're all just looking for a way to tell our own story. Obviously I have found one way to do it. I think a person should go out into the world and do things that they want to be able to tell stories about. Strangely, the things that I want most to do in the world are things that I want to keep private for myself. When I'm with other people I love to talk, but I think I may love more hearing their story. Sometimes I feel like a cheerleader to the world, wanting the best for everyone, hoping that they see the best in themselves, hoping that they do the best thing for themselves and for others.
Myself, I could spend a lifetime staring a trees. Not a lot of banter in that. But that's when my moments of being overwhelmed in world happen.
"What did you do today?"
"I sat in a rocking chair on the deck and stared at my garden for an hour."
"So I was hunting the other day..."
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Marco
Written on 07.24.10
Today I went wading. I waded through ocean waves, a swimming pool and lots of wet towels and swimsuits. I had the best time. I know my enjoyment of it all has a lot to do with me just enjoying life, but the two women and two girls I was with made it unforgettable.
I am in Galveston with my grandmother, mother, my cousin & her friend. The two girls are 9 and 11 years old. Earlier today we took the ferry over to Bolivar. Highlights included the excitement of the girls being on a ferry and seeing dolphins jumping in front of a tanker. I had to wonder if they were trying to lead the tanker safely to dock or if they were hoping to beach it.
I was amazed that we found the right road to the beach that we had always used. The road is barely marked and everything looks different since the hurricane. The girls were in the water before the van came to a full stop. It took me another 15 minutes to join them because I was wrapping myself up in cellophane. Not in a sexy way.
I have to admit to being a bit scared of the ocean. I absolutely love it, but I am also absolutely terrified of what lurks beneath. Sharks and stingrays and crabs, oh my! I really wanted to get wet, so I also had to get brave. I shuffled my way out into the waves because I think shuffling helps to scare away the stingrays. The sand is like dunes under the water, and with every dip I would pause, feel around with one foot and then would continue forward. After doing this several times, I finally got used to being brave and barely hesitated before walking into the abyss. I got all the way out to where the water reached above my knees. Victory was mine!
Mom and the girls jumped into the waves, laughed, would ride them in a little bit and then jump back into them again. I did the granny squat and would jump up at the last second so I could keep all of my gear dry. I was almost one of the girls. I did get to laugh with them and I most definitely enjoyed watching them have a good time. My grandmother stayed back in the van with all of the doors opened and rested while enjoying the sound of the waves.
Highlights for the ferry ride back included walking to the top deck of the ferry with the girls and being flirted with by a ferryman. I must also give many thanks here for oblivious little girls that demanded my attention away from the ferryman's attentions.
Back at the hotel the girls made a mad dash and splash for the pool. I took a shower (the adult thing to do) and then joined the girls. I reclined while they did flips, double flips and handstands in the water. We also sampled different pools. Our hotel has two. One has a giant toadstool that showers down water into the pool, the other has a rock fountain. The rock fountain was decidedly the better pool. Lots more swimming ensued.
Several swimsuit changes had happened by now (seriously, how many did they bring?) and the balcony was brightly dressed in small two-pieces and oversized beach towels. More swimming after dinner had been promised and the girls were adamant that they could comfortably eat dinner in their suits. After soaking my seat, I became adamant that they use a towel under their bums. Mom's pants also bared the mark of a wet couch. It got her twice.
By the time we made it outside, the pool lights were on and there were lots more kids splashing about. I had to join in. Okay, I was in the shallows, but I still got to watch. The water was lovely and cool. I was sitting on a ramp that led gently down into the water. I know that I should have been thankful for getting to do even that much, but I couldn't help thinking of a line from a movie talking about how we want it all. Not in the material way, but in the experience way. It's wonderful that I get to recline in the pool, but I want to dive. That's when I remembered what one of the girls asked me earlier. “What have you always wanted to do that you've never done?” I said skydiving, she said walk on the moon. Then she said, “Okay, now imagine you're doing it.” She started moving through the water at an exaggeratedly slow speed. I was laying on a long beach chair, so I lifted my arms above my head. She walked on the moon, and I soared through the sky. After remembering this, my imaginings of diving were quite satisfying. As an added bonus, I didn't have to wash my hair again.
A large group of kids playing Marco Polo pulled me out of my daydreaming. This is a game that I didn't like so much when I was their age. Something about people trying to evade you that bothered me. Now I see it a bit differently. I like that you are going on faith that you can close your eyes, call out in the darkness and know that your friends are waiting for you to find them. Soon my friends all joined me and we went inside, anxious for both sleep, happy dreams and more swimming tomorrow.
Today I went wading. I waded through ocean waves, a swimming pool and lots of wet towels and swimsuits. I had the best time. I know my enjoyment of it all has a lot to do with me just enjoying life, but the two women and two girls I was with made it unforgettable.
I am in Galveston with my grandmother, mother, my cousin & her friend. The two girls are 9 and 11 years old. Earlier today we took the ferry over to Bolivar. Highlights included the excitement of the girls being on a ferry and seeing dolphins jumping in front of a tanker. I had to wonder if they were trying to lead the tanker safely to dock or if they were hoping to beach it.
I was amazed that we found the right road to the beach that we had always used. The road is barely marked and everything looks different since the hurricane. The girls were in the water before the van came to a full stop. It took me another 15 minutes to join them because I was wrapping myself up in cellophane. Not in a sexy way.
I have to admit to being a bit scared of the ocean. I absolutely love it, but I am also absolutely terrified of what lurks beneath. Sharks and stingrays and crabs, oh my! I really wanted to get wet, so I also had to get brave. I shuffled my way out into the waves because I think shuffling helps to scare away the stingrays. The sand is like dunes under the water, and with every dip I would pause, feel around with one foot and then would continue forward. After doing this several times, I finally got used to being brave and barely hesitated before walking into the abyss. I got all the way out to where the water reached above my knees. Victory was mine!
Mom and the girls jumped into the waves, laughed, would ride them in a little bit and then jump back into them again. I did the granny squat and would jump up at the last second so I could keep all of my gear dry. I was almost one of the girls. I did get to laugh with them and I most definitely enjoyed watching them have a good time. My grandmother stayed back in the van with all of the doors opened and rested while enjoying the sound of the waves.
Highlights for the ferry ride back included walking to the top deck of the ferry with the girls and being flirted with by a ferryman. I must also give many thanks here for oblivious little girls that demanded my attention away from the ferryman's attentions.
Back at the hotel the girls made a mad dash and splash for the pool. I took a shower (the adult thing to do) and then joined the girls. I reclined while they did flips, double flips and handstands in the water. We also sampled different pools. Our hotel has two. One has a giant toadstool that showers down water into the pool, the other has a rock fountain. The rock fountain was decidedly the better pool. Lots more swimming ensued.
Several swimsuit changes had happened by now (seriously, how many did they bring?) and the balcony was brightly dressed in small two-pieces and oversized beach towels. More swimming after dinner had been promised and the girls were adamant that they could comfortably eat dinner in their suits. After soaking my seat, I became adamant that they use a towel under their bums. Mom's pants also bared the mark of a wet couch. It got her twice.
By the time we made it outside, the pool lights were on and there were lots more kids splashing about. I had to join in. Okay, I was in the shallows, but I still got to watch. The water was lovely and cool. I was sitting on a ramp that led gently down into the water. I know that I should have been thankful for getting to do even that much, but I couldn't help thinking of a line from a movie talking about how we want it all. Not in the material way, but in the experience way. It's wonderful that I get to recline in the pool, but I want to dive. That's when I remembered what one of the girls asked me earlier. “What have you always wanted to do that you've never done?” I said skydiving, she said walk on the moon. Then she said, “Okay, now imagine you're doing it.” She started moving through the water at an exaggeratedly slow speed. I was laying on a long beach chair, so I lifted my arms above my head. She walked on the moon, and I soared through the sky. After remembering this, my imaginings of diving were quite satisfying. As an added bonus, I didn't have to wash my hair again.
A large group of kids playing Marco Polo pulled me out of my daydreaming. This is a game that I didn't like so much when I was their age. Something about people trying to evade you that bothered me. Now I see it a bit differently. I like that you are going on faith that you can close your eyes, call out in the darkness and know that your friends are waiting for you to find them. Soon my friends all joined me and we went inside, anxious for both sleep, happy dreams and more swimming tomorrow.
When Travelling With Cat or Child
Written on 07.23.10
I think you should always keep a cage in the car. You never know what you may want to confine. For instance, a cat that is unused to travel. Some of the most terrifying sounds I have heard have come from a cat that was sitting safely on my lap in a car. Hearing the Yowls of Hell pretty much always makes me wish that I had a small cage. I get that same feeling while travelling with children.
Any happy well-adjusted child can turn into a menace to society once placed in a vehicle for more than 20 minutes. 5 minutes if they know that ice cream is waiting for them. Today I travelled with two lovely young girls, my mother and my grandmother. Our destination was Galveston, a mere 5 ½ hour drive.
Snacks were asked for as soon as the doors and seatbelts were locked. Thankfully, the kids were riding in a van that had at least five different kinds of chips. Mine were of the rice or baked variety, whereas my grandmother brought the much more fun Bugles and cornchips. After a short sampling of all that was easily reached, the girls fell asleep. I swear I waited till the last possible second to stop, but my waterpills are quite demanding. I knew that any break in travel would arouse their curiosity and then there would be no more rest for the remainder of the trip.
During hour 2, I drove and the girls played different car games. There were several rounds of “What Animal Am I?” and “What is Your Favorite (ex: Kind of Hamburger or Kind of Butterfly)?” And then it was time for me to inspect the lady's room of a Shell gas station.
Hour 3 had coloring with crayons and more snacks. I took care of some business at a Bucky Beaver's gas station . Hour 4 had rain that cooled everything down and then gently went on its way. I slept through the better part of the final hour and a half. Sometimes that's the only way to travel.
A large flock of pelicans greeted us at Galveston Bridge. The girls asked everytime we past by water if that was where they were going to swim. We tried to explain that the marshes were really just for fishing and crabbing. I'm still not sure they believed us. We decided to torture them by making them eat dinner before getting into the water, although Mom took pity and they all walked over to the beach while Jackie and I finished up. On second thought, maybe she was taking pity on Jackie and I.
I do have to correct my implication that I ate dinner with Jackie. What really happened was that Mom and I accompanied them while they ate, and when they went to the pool, we went to the Gumbo Bar.
My favorite bar. Oh the gumbo! Delicious dark rich roux. Large shrimp and tender muscles. The perfect amount of okra and rice. To enhance the experience, Mom had a glass of wine, I had a dark smooth beer and we split a big bowl of garlic bread. It's been 3 ½ hours since we ate and I'm still full. There are very few restaurants that I would like to take a cooking class from and this is most definitely one of them.
If I can get back over there, I will have gumbo again on this trip. I'm sure the other things on their menu are lovely, but we are here for three more days and that is just not enough time to eat anything but gumbo.
Now it's the end of the day for us and I can hear giggling in the other room. It does remind me of being here with other girls in my family when we where their age. If you come here with kids you really do need a balcony to throw bread from for the seagulls. I can remember running all over this hotel having fun, always waiting and hoping that it was time to go to the beach. I couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to spend the entire trip in the waves. All we needed was someone to drive us. Now it's their turn to yearn for the waves.
Being an adult, as our family rules dictate, I now get to sleep on one of the real beds. Secretly, I want to toss the kids off of the bunk bed and claim the top as mine. I would be envious of the memories that they are going to take from here, but I am enjoying the experience too much with my more adult perspective. Besides, I get to have a bedroom with an ocean view, eat gumbo at a bar as often as I can stand, and blessing above blessings, I can drive.
I think you should always keep a cage in the car. You never know what you may want to confine. For instance, a cat that is unused to travel. Some of the most terrifying sounds I have heard have come from a cat that was sitting safely on my lap in a car. Hearing the Yowls of Hell pretty much always makes me wish that I had a small cage. I get that same feeling while travelling with children.
Any happy well-adjusted child can turn into a menace to society once placed in a vehicle for more than 20 minutes. 5 minutes if they know that ice cream is waiting for them. Today I travelled with two lovely young girls, my mother and my grandmother. Our destination was Galveston, a mere 5 ½ hour drive.
Snacks were asked for as soon as the doors and seatbelts were locked. Thankfully, the kids were riding in a van that had at least five different kinds of chips. Mine were of the rice or baked variety, whereas my grandmother brought the much more fun Bugles and cornchips. After a short sampling of all that was easily reached, the girls fell asleep. I swear I waited till the last possible second to stop, but my waterpills are quite demanding. I knew that any break in travel would arouse their curiosity and then there would be no more rest for the remainder of the trip.
During hour 2, I drove and the girls played different car games. There were several rounds of “What Animal Am I?” and “What is Your Favorite (ex: Kind of Hamburger or Kind of Butterfly)?” And then it was time for me to inspect the lady's room of a Shell gas station.
Hour 3 had coloring with crayons and more snacks. I took care of some business at a Bucky Beaver's gas station . Hour 4 had rain that cooled everything down and then gently went on its way. I slept through the better part of the final hour and a half. Sometimes that's the only way to travel.
A large flock of pelicans greeted us at Galveston Bridge. The girls asked everytime we past by water if that was where they were going to swim. We tried to explain that the marshes were really just for fishing and crabbing. I'm still not sure they believed us. We decided to torture them by making them eat dinner before getting into the water, although Mom took pity and they all walked over to the beach while Jackie and I finished up. On second thought, maybe she was taking pity on Jackie and I.
I do have to correct my implication that I ate dinner with Jackie. What really happened was that Mom and I accompanied them while they ate, and when they went to the pool, we went to the Gumbo Bar.
My favorite bar. Oh the gumbo! Delicious dark rich roux. Large shrimp and tender muscles. The perfect amount of okra and rice. To enhance the experience, Mom had a glass of wine, I had a dark smooth beer and we split a big bowl of garlic bread. It's been 3 ½ hours since we ate and I'm still full. There are very few restaurants that I would like to take a cooking class from and this is most definitely one of them.
If I can get back over there, I will have gumbo again on this trip. I'm sure the other things on their menu are lovely, but we are here for three more days and that is just not enough time to eat anything but gumbo.
Now it's the end of the day for us and I can hear giggling in the other room. It does remind me of being here with other girls in my family when we where their age. If you come here with kids you really do need a balcony to throw bread from for the seagulls. I can remember running all over this hotel having fun, always waiting and hoping that it was time to go to the beach. I couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to spend the entire trip in the waves. All we needed was someone to drive us. Now it's their turn to yearn for the waves.
Being an adult, as our family rules dictate, I now get to sleep on one of the real beds. Secretly, I want to toss the kids off of the bunk bed and claim the top as mine. I would be envious of the memories that they are going to take from here, but I am enjoying the experience too much with my more adult perspective. Besides, I get to have a bedroom with an ocean view, eat gumbo at a bar as often as I can stand, and blessing above blessings, I can drive.
Pillow Talk
I have a passion for pillows. I love their soft sleepy goodness. Both feathers and poly-fill are equally welcome in my home. I greatly admire embroidered decorative pillows for the couch or chair, but my main obsession are bedroom pillows. If you stay at my home, better bring one of your own. I have bought several for the guest rooms, but they prefer it on my side of the bed.
This plush appreciation has slowly been spreading throughout the household. My husband was quick to steal back the two pillows we had begrudgingly sacrificed for the comfort of our last house guest. They were originally my pillows. They are all my pillows. Except for the ones that fall on the ground. Once Jane sleeps on it, then it's officially her pillow.
As much as I enjoy this fluffy luxury, there is one thing that hangs over my head a little bit. Every 3 months I have a heart doctor's appointment, and every 3 months I lie to my nurse.
One of the signs that I am not doing so well is that I need to be elevated to sleep comfortably, so being asked how many pillows I recline on is a routine question.
My plethora of pillows serve different purposes. The first one gets wedged slightly between the bed and the headboard. The second pillow makes up for the lack of the first. The third props me up while I read and the fourth pillow is just for curling up with. I use a fifth one to smoother out the sound of my pump. I swear the small mechanical noises it makes are amplified 20 fold as soon as it touches the bed.
Almost every night I'll wake up and I'm sleeping on either one pillow or none at all. So what do I say when the nurse asks me the question? I definitely cannot tell her that I sleep with four. They'd be eyeing me for that transplant list again. Actually, that might be a fun one to have to argue myself out of. "No, no, I'm not sick. I just can't stop buying pillows."
It's not like they really have any identifying markers (except for size and squishiness). I've tried to use the "But this one has white on white stripes" excuse. Karl didn't buy it. Or the pillows. And still, when I see an aisle of plumped up plain white lovelies, I want to bring them all home with me. Saying that I need to replace the old ones works much better but has also over time become an unbelievable statement. Either my pack-rat tendencies or my loyalty (to dust mites?) keeps me from hardly parting with one.
I think I can blame this all on my mother. Ever since I can remember she would travel with her own pillow. The smallest thinnest pillow you've ever seen. It took years for me to realize just how right traveling with your own is. You get to someone's house or a hotel and you are confronted with one of the four dreaded pillows. The flat stiff pillow that you only get one of, the fat pillow which has a plastic covering on it that rustles whenever you move, the pillow with stiff feather ends sticking out of it or the pillow that has been kept in a closet that has not been opened in the year since your last visit. Travelling with your own pillow is a survival must. Many a bad mattress or cheap quilt can be forgiven if you have your beloved to rest your head upon.
Of course, a small amount of ridicule must be tolerated if you are an adult travelling with pillow. You might as well be travelling with a teddy bear. If you are on a plane, order drinks. This helps, but don't be surprised if you get carded.
The one true woe of carrying your own comfort is leaving it behind. Only once have I lost a pillow to a hotel. I now take precautions when I leaving the room for an extended period of time. Leaving a pillow at a friend's or family's house gets a little tricky. At a hotel, you pretty much know that the pillow is irretrievable. You mourn and eventually you move on.
When your pillow is still out there, that's the hardest. Too embarrassed to convey the panic that sets in when you realize what you've done, you must either wait for another visit or beg someone to mail it to you. To date, I have not been brave enough to ask someone to overnight ship a pillow.
There is only one sure way to know that you have your pillow with you when you leave - pack it first. Don't carry anything else out to the car besides that pillow. I also suggest you walk very slowly as to not accidentally trip and use it to break your fall. You don't want to drive for 3 hours with a pillow speckled with mud, grass and fire ants. It will be hard to let your companions carry out the heaviest of the luggage while you safely store your own precious cargo, but you must be strong. The pillow should be used as a flag to mark wherever it is that you want to sit. You may want to keep guard over your pillow to make sure that your travelling buddies don't mistakenly move it to the driver's seat. They may say that they are tired after all of the trips they made, but really they just want you to rest comfortably on your clean pillow while they quietly drive you home.
This brings me to my final casualty of travelling with pillow: the risk of the pillow becoming damaged. I took a lovely pillow (a bit longer than standard, down filling, quite squishy) with a hand embroidered case on a plane going to Toronto. I learned while filling out the customs form that not all ink pens are flight friendly. Now my case and pillow have a beauty mark. The pillow that I travelled with today (king sized, poly-fill, squishy yet slightly firm) has a store embroidered case that it now is speckled with strawberry juice.
I really don't know how strawberry juice got on the bottom of the Tupperware container. It's not like I rubbed strawberries on the outside of it before eating them. And I only had 3. I really really wish I had seen the spill before I slept on it. Anyways.
This plush appreciation has slowly been spreading throughout the household. My husband was quick to steal back the two pillows we had begrudgingly sacrificed for the comfort of our last house guest. They were originally my pillows. They are all my pillows. Except for the ones that fall on the ground. Once Jane sleeps on it, then it's officially her pillow.
As much as I enjoy this fluffy luxury, there is one thing that hangs over my head a little bit. Every 3 months I have a heart doctor's appointment, and every 3 months I lie to my nurse.
One of the signs that I am not doing so well is that I need to be elevated to sleep comfortably, so being asked how many pillows I recline on is a routine question.
My plethora of pillows serve different purposes. The first one gets wedged slightly between the bed and the headboard. The second pillow makes up for the lack of the first. The third props me up while I read and the fourth pillow is just for curling up with. I use a fifth one to smoother out the sound of my pump. I swear the small mechanical noises it makes are amplified 20 fold as soon as it touches the bed.
Almost every night I'll wake up and I'm sleeping on either one pillow or none at all. So what do I say when the nurse asks me the question? I definitely cannot tell her that I sleep with four. They'd be eyeing me for that transplant list again. Actually, that might be a fun one to have to argue myself out of. "No, no, I'm not sick. I just can't stop buying pillows."
It's not like they really have any identifying markers (except for size and squishiness). I've tried to use the "But this one has white on white stripes" excuse. Karl didn't buy it. Or the pillows. And still, when I see an aisle of plumped up plain white lovelies, I want to bring them all home with me. Saying that I need to replace the old ones works much better but has also over time become an unbelievable statement. Either my pack-rat tendencies or my loyalty (to dust mites?) keeps me from hardly parting with one.
I think I can blame this all on my mother. Ever since I can remember she would travel with her own pillow. The smallest thinnest pillow you've ever seen. It took years for me to realize just how right traveling with your own is. You get to someone's house or a hotel and you are confronted with one of the four dreaded pillows. The flat stiff pillow that you only get one of, the fat pillow which has a plastic covering on it that rustles whenever you move, the pillow with stiff feather ends sticking out of it or the pillow that has been kept in a closet that has not been opened in the year since your last visit. Travelling with your own pillow is a survival must. Many a bad mattress or cheap quilt can be forgiven if you have your beloved to rest your head upon.
Of course, a small amount of ridicule must be tolerated if you are an adult travelling with pillow. You might as well be travelling with a teddy bear. If you are on a plane, order drinks. This helps, but don't be surprised if you get carded.
The one true woe of carrying your own comfort is leaving it behind. Only once have I lost a pillow to a hotel. I now take precautions when I leaving the room for an extended period of time. Leaving a pillow at a friend's or family's house gets a little tricky. At a hotel, you pretty much know that the pillow is irretrievable. You mourn and eventually you move on.
When your pillow is still out there, that's the hardest. Too embarrassed to convey the panic that sets in when you realize what you've done, you must either wait for another visit or beg someone to mail it to you. To date, I have not been brave enough to ask someone to overnight ship a pillow.
There is only one sure way to know that you have your pillow with you when you leave - pack it first. Don't carry anything else out to the car besides that pillow. I also suggest you walk very slowly as to not accidentally trip and use it to break your fall. You don't want to drive for 3 hours with a pillow speckled with mud, grass and fire ants. It will be hard to let your companions carry out the heaviest of the luggage while you safely store your own precious cargo, but you must be strong. The pillow should be used as a flag to mark wherever it is that you want to sit. You may want to keep guard over your pillow to make sure that your travelling buddies don't mistakenly move it to the driver's seat. They may say that they are tired after all of the trips they made, but really they just want you to rest comfortably on your clean pillow while they quietly drive you home.
This brings me to my final casualty of travelling with pillow: the risk of the pillow becoming damaged. I took a lovely pillow (a bit longer than standard, down filling, quite squishy) with a hand embroidered case on a plane going to Toronto. I learned while filling out the customs form that not all ink pens are flight friendly. Now my case and pillow have a beauty mark. The pillow that I travelled with today (king sized, poly-fill, squishy yet slightly firm) has a store embroidered case that it now is speckled with strawberry juice.
I really don't know how strawberry juice got on the bottom of the Tupperware container. It's not like I rubbed strawberries on the outside of it before eating them. And I only had 3. I really really wish I had seen the spill before I slept on it. Anyways.
I Felt A Draft
True story from Spring 2009, as requested.
It was a slightly special evening because we had guests for dinner. They were the kind of guests that you don't have to shine the silver for, but you do anyways.
I was minding my own business. Actually, I had been taking care of my own business in a little room off a long hall that leads back to the dinner table. The lights were low and there was a lovely glow of candlelight reflecting off of silver and glass. My Labrador, Jane, was faithfully by my side, matching her stride to mine. I had been ill for a long time, so my dining gown was actually my sleeping gown paired with a pale blue robe, which is how what next was even able to occur.
My underwear had hit the ground. I was slowly walking, more shuffling, and then there it was. I was one step closer to au naturale. I froze, Jane froze. Everyone was busy enjoying their dinner and the company, but I was just steps away from them. I looked down at Jane, she looked up at me, we both looked down at the rogue underwear, and then back at each other again. I wish she could have vocalized what she was thinking. “Um, do you want me to go for help?” or maybe, “Well that doesn't happen everyday”.
I retrieved what I had lost as quickly and as quietly as I could. Jane staid with me for a couple of more steps, and then excitedly ran ahead to the people we were rejoining. I am kind of thankful now that she doesn't' speak English. That night would have turned her into a gossip.
It was a slightly special evening because we had guests for dinner. They were the kind of guests that you don't have to shine the silver for, but you do anyways.
I was minding my own business. Actually, I had been taking care of my own business in a little room off a long hall that leads back to the dinner table. The lights were low and there was a lovely glow of candlelight reflecting off of silver and glass. My Labrador, Jane, was faithfully by my side, matching her stride to mine. I had been ill for a long time, so my dining gown was actually my sleeping gown paired with a pale blue robe, which is how what next was even able to occur.
My underwear had hit the ground. I was slowly walking, more shuffling, and then there it was. I was one step closer to au naturale. I froze, Jane froze. Everyone was busy enjoying their dinner and the company, but I was just steps away from them. I looked down at Jane, she looked up at me, we both looked down at the rogue underwear, and then back at each other again. I wish she could have vocalized what she was thinking. “Um, do you want me to go for help?” or maybe, “Well that doesn't happen everyday”.
I retrieved what I had lost as quickly and as quietly as I could. Jane staid with me for a couple of more steps, and then excitedly ran ahead to the people we were rejoining. I am kind of thankful now that she doesn't' speak English. That night would have turned her into a gossip.
What's In The Bag?
I went to California and all I brought back were groceries. Forget Nordstroms, forget William Sonoma, when I get excited about shopping it's because I'm going for groceries. I have not always preferred produce to petticoats, in fact, shopping for clothes usually trumps all. I once choose a Patagonia store over the last day of the American tour of a Rembrandt exhibit. Somewhere something changed.
Ever since I can remember, visiting my grandmother and aunt was synonymous with shopping. I think I always went home looking more stylish than how I arrived. My fall back style is a tee shirt and jeans, so getting fancy new duds created this strange mishmash of dresses and flipflops. Or cut-offs and patent leather sandals. The complete wardrobe transformation was fun, exhausting & fun. I have to admit that over time I started to get a little paranoid about what I took with me to begin with. Surely something that I already had was fit to be seen in?
Sometime after an unfortunate dress phase in junior high and a bit of high school, I graduated to not caring so much about what anyone thought about how I looked. I gave up all purses for a wallet and most of my haircuts were of my own creation. Sometimes I would take up wearing a watch, sometimes it was all about the scarves.
Then came the clothing store jobs. Cheap clothes with a short shelf life. And it really didn't matter. I was hooked on buying clothes again. I kind of loved having the excuse of needing it all for work. I can no longer remember how long I had those jobs, and there is little more than these few sentences that would even be worth repeating. Except that it taught me that I love to work hard. I was fine with the long strange hours, and the physical (100 boxes of clothes don't unpack themselves) and mental (stay awake, do the paperwork) side of it.
The job title that meant everything to me was “Massage Therapist”. This title came with an entire wardrobe of scrubs. I favored Dickey's style - bootcut drawstring pants with a faux wrap shirt. When scrubs were no longer required, I returned to my roots and traded the wrap shirts for tee shirts.
Not that long ago, my years of storing clothes finally came to an end. Hence known as the Great Exodus of 2006. Plastic bin after cardboard box after garbage bag left the attic. My Mom's back was the one lasting casualty. That back just hasn't been right since.
As anyone except for the person hoarding the clothes could predict, nothing looked good on me anymore. Both styles and my body had changed drastically over the last 15 years. A few sentimental pieces stayed behind (like the dress I was wearing the night I met Karl. Black polyurethane never looked so cute), the rest went to Goodwill.
I completely replaced my wardrobe a few more times as the scale dictated. At first the shopping was a reward of sorts. Kind of for being sick. When I lost that last chunk of weight it became a bit of a necessity. I mean really, you just can't go around with your underwear falling to the ground.
After that last hospital stay I became food obsessed. My casual infatuation turned to full blown lust. Being able to eat again after not keeping anything down for so long can do that to a girl. The small amount of body fat I was carrying around did nothing to help the situation. Without any reserves, I was ravenous hungry every hour. It was hard to keep me fed and I was at the mercy of whatever was in my Mom's fridge. I still have a fondness for soy corndogs. I really wish Morningstar would start making those again. It's very likely that the grocery store was my first outing once I was able, but I can't swear to that.
I still get excited when I know that I get to buy food. So buying gifts for my friends at the grocery store was the highest luxury I could think of. Himalayan salt, lemon cookies, dark chocolate wafers, dark chocolate almond cookies, candied ginger, dark chocolate candied ginger, wine, low-sodium soy sauce and I can't remember what all else came back with me. My luggage was outrageously stuffed. I almost didn't make it through security. I could have bribed them with lemon cookies, but those boxes were mine!
I have receipts from 4 different Trader Joe's trips, and I know I went to at least 2 other stores, during a span of 7 days. Ah Trader Joe's. So much contained in so small a store. I came back with no pictures of famous people or landmarks, but when those yummy cookies run out, I'll have to go back.
Ever since I can remember, visiting my grandmother and aunt was synonymous with shopping. I think I always went home looking more stylish than how I arrived. My fall back style is a tee shirt and jeans, so getting fancy new duds created this strange mishmash of dresses and flipflops. Or cut-offs and patent leather sandals. The complete wardrobe transformation was fun, exhausting & fun. I have to admit that over time I started to get a little paranoid about what I took with me to begin with. Surely something that I already had was fit to be seen in?
Sometime after an unfortunate dress phase in junior high and a bit of high school, I graduated to not caring so much about what anyone thought about how I looked. I gave up all purses for a wallet and most of my haircuts were of my own creation. Sometimes I would take up wearing a watch, sometimes it was all about the scarves.
Then came the clothing store jobs. Cheap clothes with a short shelf life. And it really didn't matter. I was hooked on buying clothes again. I kind of loved having the excuse of needing it all for work. I can no longer remember how long I had those jobs, and there is little more than these few sentences that would even be worth repeating. Except that it taught me that I love to work hard. I was fine with the long strange hours, and the physical (100 boxes of clothes don't unpack themselves) and mental (stay awake, do the paperwork) side of it.
The job title that meant everything to me was “Massage Therapist”. This title came with an entire wardrobe of scrubs. I favored Dickey's style - bootcut drawstring pants with a faux wrap shirt. When scrubs were no longer required, I returned to my roots and traded the wrap shirts for tee shirts.
Not that long ago, my years of storing clothes finally came to an end. Hence known as the Great Exodus of 2006. Plastic bin after cardboard box after garbage bag left the attic. My Mom's back was the one lasting casualty. That back just hasn't been right since.
As anyone except for the person hoarding the clothes could predict, nothing looked good on me anymore. Both styles and my body had changed drastically over the last 15 years. A few sentimental pieces stayed behind (like the dress I was wearing the night I met Karl. Black polyurethane never looked so cute), the rest went to Goodwill.
I completely replaced my wardrobe a few more times as the scale dictated. At first the shopping was a reward of sorts. Kind of for being sick. When I lost that last chunk of weight it became a bit of a necessity. I mean really, you just can't go around with your underwear falling to the ground.
After that last hospital stay I became food obsessed. My casual infatuation turned to full blown lust. Being able to eat again after not keeping anything down for so long can do that to a girl. The small amount of body fat I was carrying around did nothing to help the situation. Without any reserves, I was ravenous hungry every hour. It was hard to keep me fed and I was at the mercy of whatever was in my Mom's fridge. I still have a fondness for soy corndogs. I really wish Morningstar would start making those again. It's very likely that the grocery store was my first outing once I was able, but I can't swear to that.
I still get excited when I know that I get to buy food. So buying gifts for my friends at the grocery store was the highest luxury I could think of. Himalayan salt, lemon cookies, dark chocolate wafers, dark chocolate almond cookies, candied ginger, dark chocolate candied ginger, wine, low-sodium soy sauce and I can't remember what all else came back with me. My luggage was outrageously stuffed. I almost didn't make it through security. I could have bribed them with lemon cookies, but those boxes were mine!
I have receipts from 4 different Trader Joe's trips, and I know I went to at least 2 other stores, during a span of 7 days. Ah Trader Joe's. So much contained in so small a store. I came back with no pictures of famous people or landmarks, but when those yummy cookies run out, I'll have to go back.
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