It turns out that I will always have to live in a place that has a fireplace or at least a hearth. The reason isn't one you might expect. Yes, I do love a warm, crackling fire on a crisp autumn day, but for me a fireplace means a little bit more than that.
When I was a kid, the fireplace served four major functions:
1. It was a place for actual fire- an effort to create warmth and/or ambiance
2. It was a table for those lucky few occasions when a special seasonal show like "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" or when a Miss America Pageant was on television and Dutch and I got to eat dinner in the living room and watch. We still call the hearth "the fireplace table".
3. It was staging for dramatic performance: poetry recitation, play acting, and, I'm embarrassed to say, for serious concert reenactment, specifically attempts at singing stylized versions of songs originally sung by the likes of Amy Grant, Debbie Gibson or Tiffany while perhaps miming parts of the chorus to add further emotional implication that may have been missed by simply sharing the lyrics.
(I would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize for that, family. I'm so, so SO sorry!)
4. It was, most importantly, a focal point venue for hosting every celebration known to man; a.k.a. a party on the hearth. My mother must have spent tireless hours hanging bunting, balloons, signs (birthday, graduation, congratulations, Valentines Day, Fourth of July, Flag Day, Easter, Welcome Tooth Fairy!, etc.), crepe paper streamers and bows on the surround of our old brick fireplace. She would place whatever gift or basket or reward on the hearth so that on a noteworthy day, we would stumble into the living room, eyes still bleary from sleep, and find - "What!? Surprise! The whole room is celebrating this most special occasion! I feel so incredibly valued and/or important!" or "Look! the Easter bunny/Tooth Fairy/ Santa Claus came! I can't believe my good fortune!" Or something similar.
A decorated fireplace really was a special treat every time, even though we knew it was coming and, as snarky teenagers, felt an expectation about it. It was a thoughtful, concrete reminder of how loved we were. That's what we loved about it.
Because of this, I don't understand how families who don't have a fireplace cope. I mean, where do they leave gifts? How do they acknowledge their loved ones on days like today - Father's Day?
I suppose this post should be about Rich - and what an amazing Dad he is to Jack. There is no one in the world better at being Jack's Dad or my partner. No one! And because I want to fully acknowledge how important and valuable Rich is to our family, I'm in the process of hanging streamers on the fireplace surround and making a paper banner with poorly crafted bubble letters that read, "Happy Father's Day!"
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Introduction: Portugal, Morocco, and Spain
So, hey folks, I can now officially say that I've been to Morocco, Portugal, and Spain! My passport says so if you don't believe me. See? It's completely true... Sort of. Being on a cruise is like that. I would call it vaguely travelling- tip-toeing near places without waking them up; peeking through the blinds at a new place on your front lawn because you're curious, but snapping them shut for fear of being nosy; sampling the food aisle by aisle at the newest Costco location with no intention to buy . You get the idea. This is why, I suppose, cruises are so popular among the Q-tip crowd*. This is also why cruises are popular for parents of young children who need containment and entertainment. The vacation part isn't really about the travel.
The vacation part means that someone else makes most of your decisions for you or narrows down the options to a manageable quantity. Someone else tells you exactly when to get on the boat and when to get off; that you have a choice between these two excursions in this country, one with limited walking, the other a bus tour; you are told where to go for a prepared meal (with wine and music) and at what time,and where to drop off your kids for two hours so that you can sip a pint and whip your husband at Texas Hold'em and so on. That's the vacation part - the paring down of decision making.
The actual travel is sort of a pleasant side-effect.
Because cruising (or any canned tour, really) is what it is, one can only experience bits and pieces of what I consider the most lovely part of visiting a new country and or a new culture. One eye must be trained on what is authentic - genuinely meeting people and feeling that life is enriched as a result of a meaningful exchange with someone different from you, whether through discussion, sharing food together, creating understanding through a knowing nod, smile or gesture when language is a slight barrier, etc. The rest is simply the aesthetic - what we choose to believe according to our own consciences married to what we hope is real, the sterility of being somewhere new without having to actually be there, our expectations sadly (or maybe relievingly?) left unchallenged.
I suppose any travel can end up that way if one forgets to be intentional about the authentic.
When I remember or write about this experience, I want to be sure and consider both the authentic and the aesthetic. Here are topics I hope to have time to mention in this space:
1. Considering the pluralities of the cruise
During the cruise bands reincarnations of "Achy Breaky Heart" followed by "Dancing Queen":
Ginger -"I'm pretty sure this is exactly the sort of thing that Dirty Dancing mocked."
Rich -"I'm pretty sure this is exactly the sort of thing Dirty Dancing celebrated."
2. Mint tea in Morocco- Agadir and the Souk in Taroudant
3. Kids Club Star - featuring Jack Haag!
4. Una mas cerveza, por favor, senorita - and other opportunities to dust off my espanol.
5. La Playa, volcanoes, and forest - The lost city of Atlantis found
* Q-Tip - definition - slang for person of a certain age who happen to now have white hair and who wear, inexplicably, white shoes that match their hair color; generally Q-tips don't mind meeting strangers who remind them of their grandchildren on cruises, but beware - approaching them could mean being assaulted by uncomfortable political or racial discussion, and or diatribe about nationality and/or child rearing. Also note - most are quite lovely. British ones don't mind being topless on cruise ships.
The vacation part means that someone else makes most of your decisions for you or narrows down the options to a manageable quantity. Someone else tells you exactly when to get on the boat and when to get off; that you have a choice between these two excursions in this country, one with limited walking, the other a bus tour; you are told where to go for a prepared meal (with wine and music) and at what time,and where to drop off your kids for two hours so that you can sip a pint and whip your husband at Texas Hold'em and so on. That's the vacation part - the paring down of decision making.
The actual travel is sort of a pleasant side-effect.
Because cruising (or any canned tour, really) is what it is, one can only experience bits and pieces of what I consider the most lovely part of visiting a new country and or a new culture. One eye must be trained on what is authentic - genuinely meeting people and feeling that life is enriched as a result of a meaningful exchange with someone different from you, whether through discussion, sharing food together, creating understanding through a knowing nod, smile or gesture when language is a slight barrier, etc. The rest is simply the aesthetic - what we choose to believe according to our own consciences married to what we hope is real, the sterility of being somewhere new without having to actually be there, our expectations sadly (or maybe relievingly?) left unchallenged.
I suppose any travel can end up that way if one forgets to be intentional about the authentic.
When I remember or write about this experience, I want to be sure and consider both the authentic and the aesthetic. Here are topics I hope to have time to mention in this space:
1. Considering the pluralities of the cruise
During the cruise bands reincarnations of "Achy Breaky Heart" followed by "Dancing Queen":
Ginger -"I'm pretty sure this is exactly the sort of thing that Dirty Dancing mocked."
Rich -"I'm pretty sure this is exactly the sort of thing Dirty Dancing celebrated."
2. Mint tea in Morocco- Agadir and the Souk in Taroudant
3. Kids Club Star - featuring Jack Haag!
4. Una mas cerveza, por favor, senorita - and other opportunities to dust off my espanol.
5. La Playa, volcanoes, and forest - The lost city of Atlantis found
* Q-Tip - definition - slang for person of a certain age who happen to now have white hair and who wear, inexplicably, white shoes that match their hair color; generally Q-tips don't mind meeting strangers who remind them of their grandchildren on cruises, but beware - approaching them could mean being assaulted by uncomfortable political or racial discussion, and or diatribe about nationality and/or child rearing. Also note - most are quite lovely. British ones don't mind being topless on cruise ships.
Disclaimer
Sleeping in your own bed is the major allure of being back home after having spent some time away. That's exactly what we got to do last night after a whirlwind vacation. Rich and I struggled with what to do on vacation. We needed something inexpensive and easy, something that would allow Jack to be entertained and contained but that also allowed for Rich and I to relax some, too. So we took a little cruise - a discounted one - that had a kids club for Jack to play in - and meals that I didn't have to cook or plan for - that took us to places we wanted to see (though kitch, I'll admit) - and that allowed for sunbathing and being still. Nice.
But we're home now. And safe. Tired. And happy.
More to follow..
But we're home now. And safe. Tired. And happy.
More to follow..
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Bits and Bobs
It's been a while since I've been here. That's ok. Life has a way of interrupting all good intentions. Potty training, for example, requires one to drop what she's doing immediately and run to the toilet (as they call it here), throw a Lightin' McQueen potty seat on the porcelain, yank down the trousers (also what they call them here) of the pre-schooler, plop him on the seat, and hold her breath until the pre-schooler has either done the deed or cries because he didn't. On a good day its the former, rewarded with a sticker. If the latter(or an accident on the way because Momma was too slow with her potty-seat throwing), then it's about consolation and warm hugs so as not to "demonize" the toilet experience.
Ahem.
In any case, my point is that life is full of interruptions.So here's what life's like at the mo for us:
1. School is fine. When I say fine, I mean insanely busy. That's all I will say about it.. Except that report card writing is coming which means mental hibernation is imminent, followed by a nervous week of duck and cover. It's not that bad, but my anxiety creeps up my back and shoulders at the thought of the frenzied, last minute marking, bartering, and reporting that's coming.
2. I wrote my first official journalism article with my friend Mark. When I say I wrote it, I mean to say that he had an idea, and I helped guide his thoughts into something a bit more structured. It was published in a little indy-magazine and has since been linked to other interviews and shared with other sites in other parts of the world, including Detroit where there is a concerted effort to talk about the church's role in the Occupy Movement. I just learned you can also see it here on IndyMedia UK and Democratic Underground. Um. Weird.
3. I'm going into London tonight to the TS Elliot Award poetry reading. Here are the featured poets, if you're interested. Carol Ann Duffy, a British version of Canadian Margaret Atwood will be there, and I will be stalking her.. Believe it. Fortunately for me, I will be with my new colleagues who will surely hold me back if necessary, or (more likely) give me a leg up boost over the waiting crowd to get to the front of the line for an autograph in my copy of The Bees. :) Also, I'm pretty sure I'll fall in love with Daljit Nagra.
4. We taught Jack how to ride his scooter. This was supposed to help with the walking/whining pattern that occurs anytime we walk anywhere. The Brits walk A LOT. A mile wouldn't be considered a long walk to the train station, for example, much less walking around the block to get to daycare, which is what Rich does with Jack every morning. So far, Jack rides for a few seconds, whines about it being too hard, and one of ends up carrying the scooter and the other Jack.. WHO IS GETTING TOO BIG TO CARRY. It hasn't stopped us from going anywhere, though, and Jack is getting better at riding. Or maybe Rich is building a lot of muscle mass..
So that's a little bit about now. I am off to catch a train.. I'll leave the story about how we booked a Mediterranian cruise for our Easter break on the very eve before the great cruise capsize story hit the news for another post... (sigh).
Ahem.
In any case, my point is that life is full of interruptions.So here's what life's like at the mo for us:
1. School is fine. When I say fine, I mean insanely busy. That's all I will say about it.. Except that report card writing is coming which means mental hibernation is imminent, followed by a nervous week of duck and cover. It's not that bad, but my anxiety creeps up my back and shoulders at the thought of the frenzied, last minute marking, bartering, and reporting that's coming.
2. I wrote my first official journalism article with my friend Mark. When I say I wrote it, I mean to say that he had an idea, and I helped guide his thoughts into something a bit more structured. It was published in a little indy-magazine and has since been linked to other interviews and shared with other sites in other parts of the world, including Detroit where there is a concerted effort to talk about the church's role in the Occupy Movement. I just learned you can also see it here on IndyMedia UK and Democratic Underground. Um. Weird.
3. I'm going into London tonight to the TS Elliot Award poetry reading. Here are the featured poets, if you're interested. Carol Ann Duffy, a British version of Canadian Margaret Atwood will be there, and I will be stalking her.. Believe it. Fortunately for me, I will be with my new colleagues who will surely hold me back if necessary, or (more likely) give me a leg up boost over the waiting crowd to get to the front of the line for an autograph in my copy of The Bees. :) Also, I'm pretty sure I'll fall in love with Daljit Nagra.
4. We taught Jack how to ride his scooter. This was supposed to help with the walking/whining pattern that occurs anytime we walk anywhere. The Brits walk A LOT. A mile wouldn't be considered a long walk to the train station, for example, much less walking around the block to get to daycare, which is what Rich does with Jack every morning. So far, Jack rides for a few seconds, whines about it being too hard, and one of ends up carrying the scooter and the other Jack.. WHO IS GETTING TOO BIG TO CARRY. It hasn't stopped us from going anywhere, though, and Jack is getting better at riding. Or maybe Rich is building a lot of muscle mass..
So that's a little bit about now. I am off to catch a train.. I'll leave the story about how we booked a Mediterranian cruise for our Easter break on the very eve before the great cruise capsize story hit the news for another post... (sigh).
Saturday, October 01, 2011
Boho Rebound
I bit the bullet, my back against the wall; my cupboard was bereft of coffee, my body begging for it. I went downstairs to Boho , the little tea and coffee shop two doors down from my above-the- shoe-shop flat. I hadn’t been there since the owner summarily chided Jack (and me by proxy) about being too enthusiastic on the premises.
The story goes that Jack came bounding into the coffee shop – genuinely happy for the first time living in England, having had a nice day at his brand new (at the time) “school” – and bounced into a chair to see over the counter and order “Milk and cookies, please!” He decided in his own three-year-old way that he was a regular, and anyway, we are also neighbors. The owner, all blond and gorgeous in her throaty Eastern European accent, snarled “We do not allow shoes on the chairs here.” She then grimaced and turned her back on us.
By the time milk and cookies arrived, my feelings were deeply hurt. Probably it wasn’t a big deal, and probably I shouldn’t have dwelled on it too much. More than likely, she forgot that she said it in the first place and didn’t mean anything personal by it. Could it be a language barrier married to a harsh sounding dialect? Was I especially sensitive that day? Then again, any civilized person knows that it is rude to put your feet on someone’s living room chair. I knew this at the time, but bit my bottom lip, trying to feel anger instead of embarrassment.
I felt stung and had ill feelings every time I walked by afterward. I wanted so much to build community, especially with those on my street – my literal neighbors who not only own the shop but who live above it as well. It felt ruined somehow.
The fact is it might be the coolest place on my street. Its tiny windows face the big church on Queens Street and advertise, in twirly letters, latte and cream tea. Tiered dishes of cupcakes and pastry beckon passersby into the shop. Little wooden bistro sets stand out front and beside the shop is a covered patio that houses several more colorful seating areas with polka-dot cushions.
The tea is served in individual tea pots, all of them different from the others. It’s like the owner collected them on her travels and now we get to share her experiences via Earl grey and steamed milk. The inside is a happy space – small counter, wooden furniture, great view. Boho is always packed in the morning with people reading daily newspapers and sipping on espresso, people who, mid dog-walk , popped in for a coffee, people who make it part of their daily routines to stop and chat with other towns folk next to a warm and cozy pot of English Breakfast tea.
Boho opens and closes on a whim. I’m not sure what the hours are, nor does it make any difference. Small town law dictates that if one needs to close shop to catch a football match, or visit a neighbor, or take a nap - it’s fine. Probably most other folks are doing the same.
And that’s why I was sad that I felt icky about going back.
But as I’ve already stated, there was a dire need last week end. Jack and I stumbled out of our door onto the sidewalk and took our time walking to Boho. The tinkling bell announced our arrival and we ordered one white coffee (that’s coffee with milk), one breakfast pastry (cinnamon apple), one glass of cold milk (because sometimes they steam it), and a chocolate cookie.
We sat on the covered patio and enjoyed our treat, the hurt feelings comforted a little with every tasty sip.
The story goes that Jack came bounding into the coffee shop – genuinely happy for the first time living in England, having had a nice day at his brand new (at the time) “school” – and bounced into a chair to see over the counter and order “Milk and cookies, please!” He decided in his own three-year-old way that he was a regular, and anyway, we are also neighbors. The owner, all blond and gorgeous in her throaty Eastern European accent, snarled “We do not allow shoes on the chairs here.” She then grimaced and turned her back on us.
By the time milk and cookies arrived, my feelings were deeply hurt. Probably it wasn’t a big deal, and probably I shouldn’t have dwelled on it too much. More than likely, she forgot that she said it in the first place and didn’t mean anything personal by it. Could it be a language barrier married to a harsh sounding dialect? Was I especially sensitive that day? Then again, any civilized person knows that it is rude to put your feet on someone’s living room chair. I knew this at the time, but bit my bottom lip, trying to feel anger instead of embarrassment.
I felt stung and had ill feelings every time I walked by afterward. I wanted so much to build community, especially with those on my street – my literal neighbors who not only own the shop but who live above it as well. It felt ruined somehow.
The fact is it might be the coolest place on my street. Its tiny windows face the big church on Queens Street and advertise, in twirly letters, latte and cream tea. Tiered dishes of cupcakes and pastry beckon passersby into the shop. Little wooden bistro sets stand out front and beside the shop is a covered patio that houses several more colorful seating areas with polka-dot cushions.
The tea is served in individual tea pots, all of them different from the others. It’s like the owner collected them on her travels and now we get to share her experiences via Earl grey and steamed milk. The inside is a happy space – small counter, wooden furniture, great view. Boho is always packed in the morning with people reading daily newspapers and sipping on espresso, people who, mid dog-walk , popped in for a coffee, people who make it part of their daily routines to stop and chat with other towns folk next to a warm and cozy pot of English Breakfast tea.
Boho opens and closes on a whim. I’m not sure what the hours are, nor does it make any difference. Small town law dictates that if one needs to close shop to catch a football match, or visit a neighbor, or take a nap - it’s fine. Probably most other folks are doing the same.
And that’s why I was sad that I felt icky about going back.
But as I’ve already stated, there was a dire need last week end. Jack and I stumbled out of our door onto the sidewalk and took our time walking to Boho. The tinkling bell announced our arrival and we ordered one white coffee (that’s coffee with milk), one breakfast pastry (cinnamon apple), one glass of cold milk (because sometimes they steam it), and a chocolate cookie.
We sat on the covered patio and enjoyed our treat, the hurt feelings comforted a little with every tasty sip.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Out and About
Visit pics on the Flickr of last week ends whirlwind road trip to Bristol for the International Kite Festival, Glastonbury Abbey, and a ride on a refurbished steam engine! :)
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Happy Birthday, Jen!!!
I remember when I was four and you were three and our moms lifted us over the backyard fence to meet. You were in a yellow jumper that tied at the shoulders and had blond pig-tails. I probably wore pea green. We stared at each other as we dug in dirt, from shovel to pail, and were silent.(I'll retell this story a billion times!) Who knew that that moment was the start of a life-long friendship that would withstand time, distance, devastating grief, Mr. Lambrecht, and 9th grade prom,and would, at the same time, foster oblivious joy, silliness*, song, and compassion? I am who I am in great part to your friendship. Thanks for that! I love you, Jen!
Happy Birthday!!!
* Silly in every form imaginable:
1. "I do this all the time!"
2. "The Olympic gymnastic champion is.." and dance class in my garage
3. "I'm allergic to cheese"
4. "I can't say that name"
5. "We'll tell the counselors that I was trying to kill a bug on the window, not trying to 'take-out' the air-conditioning"
6. "If there is someone in the house, come out now! We have a gun (sure it was the decorative rifle over the mantle..)"
* Silly in every form imaginable:
1. "I do this all the time!"
2. "The Olympic gymnastic champion is.." and dance class in my garage
3. "I'm allergic to cheese"
4. "I can't say that name"
5. "We'll tell the counselors that I was trying to kill a bug on the window, not trying to 'take-out' the air-conditioning"
6. "If there is someone in the house, come out now! We have a gun (sure it was the decorative rifle over the mantle..)"
7. Rod Turner.
8. Ubert and fence walking
9. The neighborhood pool and synchronized swimming
10. Driving my car in the rain.. through a red light.. very slowly..
11. That stupid flower bangs thing and the abusive hairbrush
12. "Avery thinks he is SO hot.."
13. "I just saw that guy I'm gonna marry.."
14. Sneaking over to your house to watch "Three's Company"
15. The clapper.
etc. etc. etc.
Monday, January 29, 2007
In His Presence
From Debbie's Service - the parts that I find especially relevant no matter the name you say in reference to God:
1. Humble yourself to admit that you have personal needs and need other people. Crucify your individualism, and ask others to pray for you. This is an exercise in humility.
2. Take time deliberately to be alone with God. Let him write in the margins of your life. Follow the example of Jesus: Be in a quiet place, on a mountain, by a lake, or at the beach in order to clear the cobwebs from your brain and mute the clamor of noises that competes with God's quiet voice.
3. Don't be captive of the tyranny of the agenda of others. The need is not your call...
4. Make spending time with God a paramount commitment of your life.
5. Make prayer a priority in various time frames, looking for ways to be in continuous communion with God - early morning or evening, in the night seasons.
6. Spend time listening in prayer. It's simple: ask, then be quiet and listen!
7. Choose regular physical disciplines of exercise, good eating habits, and enough sleep. A rested, healthy body removes hindrances to hearing from God.
8. Ask for the fullness of the Holy Spirit in your life.
9. Cultivate a worshipping heart.
10. Cultivate God-centeredness, not self-centeredness.
11. Ask God to blast you out of your comfort zone. Don't settle for a life on a treadmill of activity. "Status quo is the Latin word for the rut we are in." Seek God-given vision.
12. Seek the faces of God, not systems of doctrine, man-made programs, religious enterprises etc. Don't settle for business as usual.
1. Humble yourself to admit that you have personal needs and need other people. Crucify your individualism, and ask others to pray for you. This is an exercise in humility.
2. Take time deliberately to be alone with God. Let him write in the margins of your life. Follow the example of Jesus: Be in a quiet place, on a mountain, by a lake, or at the beach in order to clear the cobwebs from your brain and mute the clamor of noises that competes with God's quiet voice.
3. Don't be captive of the tyranny of the agenda of others. The need is not your call...
4. Make spending time with God a paramount commitment of your life.
5. Make prayer a priority in various time frames, looking for ways to be in continuous communion with God - early morning or evening, in the night seasons.
6. Spend time listening in prayer. It's simple: ask, then be quiet and listen!
7. Choose regular physical disciplines of exercise, good eating habits, and enough sleep. A rested, healthy body removes hindrances to hearing from God.
8. Ask for the fullness of the Holy Spirit in your life.
9. Cultivate a worshipping heart.
10. Cultivate God-centeredness, not self-centeredness.
11. Ask God to blast you out of your comfort zone. Don't settle for a life on a treadmill of activity. "Status quo is the Latin word for the rut we are in." Seek God-given vision.
12. Seek the faces of God, not systems of doctrine, man-made programs, religious enterprises etc. Don't settle for business as usual.
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