Remembering Y2K

Does 12/31/1999 seem like a VERY long time ago? The panic over Y2K is funny now looking back. Would the banks shut down, would there be food to eat or water to drink, would business as we knew it grind to a halt? At work we had to write letters to our customers assuring them that their elevators would not fall out of the sky at the stroke of midnight.


It all seems so funny now. We laughed at the man of our household who bought extra canned goods during each grocery store trip and made sure we had cash on hand in case the bank machines would not work. We roared with giggles at a friend who had a room in her basement with everything from food to gas masks and blankets. The night of "the beginning of the end" was celebrated at a fun dinner with friends where we promptly forgot all of our worries and as we headed to bed not one thing seemed to have gone wrong.

A wonderful lesson in how preparation is everything but worry is useless. As the saying goes, may your troubles always be smaller than your imagination!

Deck the Cars...

                                 
When did we become a nation that puts their cars in costumes?
Seriously.  The other day at the grocery store I found myself parked next to three mini vans with antlers on their doors and red pompoms attached to the front grilles.   Car costumes? What is it that compels people to decorate their cars like reindeer?  How goofy is that.  At the risk of soundling like a Scrooge--no bah humbug intended--don't get me wrong:  I LOVE Christmas.    It's so common now to see cars adorned with wreaths on the front grille, which I actually think looks especially nice on luxury cars...like a shiny black Mercedes, or a ruggedly handsome Land Rover.  (Or maybe it's possible I've just seen too many commercials for a red-ribboned Lexus).  The other night I saw an FJ Cruiser with twinkly colored Christmas lights entwined around the roof rack.  Then there was the Jeep Cherokee decked out with candy canes protruding on all doors and large holiday decals plastered all over the body.  (Do they know what that does to the paint finish?)
      I can't help but wonder what we Americans look like from afar...ever fun-loving..but decorating our vehicles like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?
     What does this say about our love affair with the automobile...or is it more about how much time we spend in our cars?  We Americans love to advertise ourselves:  window decals with stick figures indicating the family members, right down to the pets.   I have even seen someone's loved one's life/death dates commemorated on the rear windshield like a tombstone.  Now that's a little too weird for me.

                                           
And then there's the preppy monogram...then again maybe that's just a southern trend.  Nothing like telling strangers that a cute and sassy sorority sista may be the driver of that car...

     Yesterday I saw a new one:  Christmas tree "antlers" attached to the doors and a star attached to the front grille.  Are you kidding me?
                                    
  Ho Ho Ho  Merry Christmas American Automobile!

Rest and Be Thankful

One of my favorite phrases, this is taken from a rest stop in scenic western Scotland.  It's inscribed on a stone in Argyll Forest Park on the highest point (803 ft. above sea level, the monument commemorates the completion of the road, which was constructed by soldiers in 1750..check it out at visitScotland.com).    It marked a place where travellers could stop, rest, and be thankful that they had reached the pinnacle of the steep climb.  Could be a metaphor for parenting, or life in general.
    I thought this would be a perfect title for a Thanksgiving-themed post...  Thanksgiving 2011 has already come and gone and now here we are in the midst of the countdown to Christmas.  Rest and be thankful. Equally appropriate as we fly through December.
    I originally had the idea of posting something for which I'm thankful...everyday in the month of November. That did not happen...but counting one's blessings, or thanksgiving the verb has no expiration date.  These posts of gratitudes of mine are entirely random and in no particular order.  I've decided to use some book marks (pun intended) for a little visual variety.

Friendship.     My friends are so precious to me.  Friendships are truly 

a blessing and I cherish all of mine: long, short, casual, deep.  

Years ago I discovered my blogging partner Susan had also read 

Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight (a rather obscure book with a weird title) 

and liked it...  well that was a no kidding moment...I knew then we were bonded.  

Later when we read Cutting for Stone we continued to realize just how many 

P.S. Pam/Susan/Marion/Shiva parallel experiences we share.

And most of those moments are just ordinary ones.

Always thinking alike.

* * * * * * * * *

One of my longest-enduring friendships is with another Susan, from Scotland.  

We have been friends across the pond, and now in the U.S., for over 42 years...  

It was she who first introduced me to the Rest and Be Thankful in Scotland,

 and that was some 25 years ago.

* * * * * * * * * 

I'm thankful for my good health, despite watching my body age, 

or become "less young."  Of course all without my permission. 

Still Alice is a sobering novel of Alzheimers too soon in life.  

That makes me fearful.  I'm still myself, as far as I know. 

And that makes me grateful.

 

Aging gracefully or becoming less young.

At least I'd like to think that I am accepting this with grace.

Water for Elephants makes me reflect on old age in 

general, (even though that was a sub-theme in the novel) 

...and living, I hope, a very long and healthy life.   

I'm thankful for the hope that this will be true. 

Cocktail Hour Under the Tree of Forgetfulness---

the sequal to Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight.  

The title makes me think of life in menopause.  I once read a description 

of this stage of life (the empty nest), as the cocktail hour.  

Sitting under a tree of forgetfulness brings me right back to Still Alice.  

It's awful to walk into a room, stand there and realize you  forgot what you 

went in there for in the first place...not to mention the words that you 

sometimes struggle in vain to let come into your head...grasping desperately 

for the word, or name,  even when you can see the face in your mind.

* * * * * ** * * 

That being said about aging,    

I'm grateful for a happy, perfectly normal (I believe it was!) childhood.   

The Glass Castle and A Piece of Cake.  You gotta read those books

 to fully appreciate what was a satisfying, uneventful childhood.  

I'm so grateful for parents who loved me and were sensible in how they 

raised me and my brothers. They made me feel safe, and taught me

what it means to be well grounded. Which also makes me thankful for

all the people and elements that make up my family.

* * * * * * * * * 

Survival ...and all the thankfulness and deposits in the gratitude bank 

that go hand-in-hand when people survive anything.

I'm very thankful for surviving my children's high school years 

without any arrests, DUIs, jail, bail or teenage pregnancies.  Best quote from 

Jodi Picoult in My Sister's Keeper:  "parenting is really just a matter of tracking, 

or hoping your kids do not get so far ahead you can no longer see their next moves."  

I know there were fake trails I tracked.  My kids could throw off a scent good as any. 

(it's a given your children can fool you anytime, all the time.)  I'm counting my blessings 

I survived those years!

  After  reading these books I'm thankful my mother survived the war, 

or I wouldn't be here.  Not to mention it makes me appreciate and indebted 

to all veterans who gave so much.  "All gave some and some gave all."

I am also so thankful that my brother-in-law survived a nasty and 

dangerous fall off a ladder...on Thanksgiving day, no less.  

This could be an active on-going post, for sure....

   
  

Gratefulness

My favorite Thanksgiving saying is "Never let what you do not have or should not have or cannot have ever lessen your thanksfulness for all that you do have."

Thanksgiving is such a marvellous time for reviewing the past year and thinking of the many blessings we all have received. At our house (or alternate location as we had this year in Arizona) we always go around the table to say what things we appreciate most. My list was long this year including better business, our daughter's on-time college graduation, the many times we were able to be together this year despite the long distances, health, a full belly and a warm bed, fun trips, the support of friends when I needed it most, etc. I ended with the statement "I am most thankful that I survived this year." It was a grand one and a harrowing one all at the same time.

Isn't that true of much of life? Dickens said "It was the best of times. It was the worst of times." You have to take the sour with the sweet and perhaps the trick to both happiness and gratefulness is learning to balance the extremes and to appreciate when you are on the mountaintop of even the simplest things. We so often miss the whole journey by wishing bad times away, focusing on the destination instead. Such joy can be found in the everyday if we just stop to look and listen.

My hope for the time I have before the next Thanksgiving is that I remember to be grateful every day not just one day in November. I want to remember each day that life is full of adjustments and changes and sorrows but also full of joy and love and hope.

Tricks and Treats

Tricks and Treats.  Kind of describes life, huh.

Two years ago we (P.S. and our husbands) were in Seaside, Florida and had an upper-deck view of the town on Halloween weekend.  (Shout-out to Sundog Books--the bookstore with the best view of town and the Gulf).  We had a perfect vista of all the absolutely adorable wee trick-or-treaters, accompanied by parents who were also getting into the spirit of the season.  Susan and I reminisced about all our Halloween years with our kids.  How much fun it was to be involved  helping them come up with their costumes, and creatively put them all together!

After the kids outgrew trick-or-treating we still had residuals, handing out candy and oohing and aahing over our costumed little neighbors.  The past few years the trick-or-treaters have sadly dwindled...guess the word is out in the neighborhood that only old people live in that cul-de-sac.  This past weekend, my hubby and I were fortunate enough to be back in Seaside again for Halloween weekend...along with two out of our three children.  Treat! This time the highlight of the town's activities was the Halloweener Derby-- a dachshunds-only  race and all-dog costume party.  Our invalid dog was able to attend as a spectator and enjoyed her outing  too.  

These guys got the hang of it right away. 

Chase my human! Chase that dog chasing his human!

... these little weiners  were having too much fun to race in a straight line...

...how good it feels not to wear the cone of shame... 

The crowd favorite, the LSU dog on wheels...and could he ever run!

Smile

Mochi with two of her three favorite people...

...resting her injured and shaved leg...

...making friends...

These doggies were dressed like dragonflies... 

   

Nowadays it's more likely that my trick-or-treaters are going to be 

my kids' old Pez dispensers  gathered on the kitchen windowsill...  

Those Seaside boys, Halloween 1988

No roads lead back......

Doggy Tale

Pain meds, anti-inflammatories, sutures, range of motion, physical therapy.

Rough medical vocabulary.  Or, more like ruff, as in canine speak.

When the vet gave me the news that my dog was going to need surgery to repair a torn ACL, I thought, here we go again.  Only this time I took the news pretty well compared to the first time I received similar news ("oh no, please say it isn't so...").  Then it was about my son, who had injured his knee in a HS wrestling tournament.    My husband and I were listening intently to the surgeon explain the procedure using a plastic model of a knee (complete with ligaments), when, suddenly without warning, I felt lightheaded and a wave of nausea wafted over me.  Without even waiting to excuse myself (how rude) I exited the room and hightailed it to the restroom.  I stared at myself in the mirror as I leaned on the sink for support and struggled not to faint.  (do not fall, hit the sink and chip a tooth).  A few splashes of water and I could feel myself regaining composure.  I did make it back to the room to hear the doctor's final details.  Talk about a very emotional punch in the guts.

I felt the same way when I realized this was going to be a canine traumatic experience.  After all, the dog is part of the family.  How times have changed:  I don't recall a single dog from my childhood days that ever had ACL or meniscus surgery (who knew dogs had knees).  Now it's fairly commonplace, judging by shared stories from other pet owners.  Not to mention pets today can even undergo chemotherapy or  opthamology-related operations...but that's a whole 'nother paragraph or two.

My son's ACL surgery and recovery was the most serious and traumatic medical experience I'd had in recent times.  The evening that he was released from the hospital, I remember helping my son to the bathroom and then hearing a thud.  He had passed out, and only my middle-school- aged daughter and her friend were home to help.  We had difficulty getting the door opened because he was wedged behind it, but we did.  He was OK except for the awful ashen color of his face. The girls took one look and announced, "eeewh, he looks dead."  Wonderful.  But I have to admit they were right: he really looked like a corpse.

I'm happy to report we all survived that medical episode and even again four years later, when SAME son had the SAME surgery on  SAME knee when he was in college.  I know we (and the dog!) will get through this too, despite her humiliation wearing the ridiculous lampshade on her head.  And not to mention her pink shaved leg that resembles a raw turkey drumstick.  Ruff..

All of These Lines Across My Face

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am.
So many stories where I've been
And I got to where I am.
But these stories don't mean anything
If you've got noone to tell them to.
It's true - I was meant for you.

Brandi Carlile


Several weeks ago PS (Pam and Susan) and our husbands went to a concert where one of the opening acts was Brandi Carlile. It was a glorious night at an outside amphitheatre and the words above from one of the songs have rolled around in my head ever since.

I was lucky enough to watch a love story for all of my life. My parents were married 58.5 years before my father's death in April. They married at 18 and 20 and spent all of their lives together weaving a story of love and devotion in some wonderful times but also some dreadful ones. During 8 years of illness my mother cared for my father's every physical and emotional need in a way that someone young would find hard to do not to mention someone in her mid 70's. The toll these years took on her are clearly etched in her face. The depth of her sorrow after she lost the love of her life has been harrowing to watch.

In our family my Dad was the keeper of all the stories and memories. His mind was a steel trap of information, dates and details. We all almost felt panicked that we could never remember it all. For now, my mother is the very epitome of "the stories don't mean anything if you've got noone to tell them to".

It is yet another transition in life to both watch a parent die and to watch another one lose their confidence and strength. But it is a reminder of what we can do for the ones we love - smile as they fly away, step back from being a full time mom, be strong as the people we love have to live their own lives and fight their own battles, be there in both the good and the bad times, keep moving forward step by step through whatever life presents to us, remember the stories of our lives...in all of these things my mother has raised the bar for us. Hopefully my siblings and I are up to the task!

Did We Sign a Parenting Contract?

Anyone reading this blog would think we are two moms who just can't get their acts together past the empty nest.  (We can't).  We are trying, though, seriously trying.  To be fair, we will admit the empty nest isn't all that bad, in some respects.  There is a certain element of liberation, of course!

My husband and I are discovering how nice it is to be able to travel on the weekends and return home Sunday evening whenever we want; no worries about getting kids off to school Monday morning.  (And what a treat to even have a weekend to ourselves--one not restricted by sports schedules, or an SAT Saturday, for example).  It's really pleasant not being a prisoner in your own house because you have to stay home at night because your kids have a social life and, as parents, you just have to be around.   And, it's decadently liberating (or extremely pathetic, whichever way you want to look at it) for my husband and me to come home from work and take our supper of leftovers (sometimes from different meals) in front of the TV... where we sit like blobs unwinding from the work day.  

In defense of that, this past summer we had over 90 days of over 90 degrees! 

That weather is enough to turn anyone into  a blob when just the commute home from work wipes you out.

Anyway, there is no mistaking the pang that accompanies the realization that life before the children started to fly the coop will NEVER be the same again.  But, that's OK... it's what's supposed to happen, right?  Parenting has been described as the one job that if you get it right and do it well, you will be out of a job in 18-22 years.  Intellectually, I believe parents realize and expect that.  Emotionally, (maybe especially for moms?) it's a lot more difficult to accept.  The whole role of parenting was to raise your children well:  to have good manners, be responsible, be thoughtful and kind, and simply become productive members of society.  But wait, how did I forget that along with all this comes the dissolution of our nuclear family.  Was that in the contract?  Did I not read the small print?

The Empty Nest Book by Karen Stabiner is a really heartfelt collection of essays.  And P.S. Pam/Susan:  We could have written all of them.   

There is Tired..and then there is TIRED

At my age, sleep has suddenly become the most precious commodity. Where did those days go when you hit the pillow and never rolled over again until dawn? Gone the way of age and hormones and fewer activities to manage day to day. All those years were so filled to the brim that by the time I went to bed I was almost comatose. Now it is quickly to sleep only to wake up hour after hour. Surely I have not arrived at the age where I will never sleep through again and will need an afternoon nap!





Thankfully when I was so busy I could not breathe I actually both enjoyed it and appreciated that it was the happiest time of my life. Moving from hot breakfast to making lunch to work to the school to pick someone up, to lacrossse and baseball and horseback riding and soccer and tutors and driving lessons and ballet and school meetings and making dinner and managing homework and doing the laundry and cleaning the house...on it went until I fell asleep from exhaustion only to wake up and do it all again. How grateful I was and am for such a full and happy life as a Mom.




Perhaps as the next stages come in life things will settle into a routine again...in the meantime I am going home to do downward dog and check the status of my knees!

Age and Enlightenment

Yoga Shock and Awe

My after-work exercise classes are my antidote to empty-nest malaise--not only helping to maintain health (that goes without saying) but sanity, too.  And never mind a better night's sleep while fumbling through menopause.  I have been reacquainting myself with my very own body as we stretch, balance and contort and erase all the day's residuals.  For some reason during my last class, right in the middle of downward dog pose ("dunwood face-in dawg" as one instructor pronounces it) I experienced genuine shock.  And awe, as I came face-to-face with my knees, albeit upside down.  Who's legs are those?  What's with all the saggy skin?  The first thing that came to mind: The Camel with the Wrinkled Knees (1924)!  It was all I could do to keep from laughing (upside down).    What happened to those days when exercise was disguised as playtime.  Knees weren't saggy, but got scraped during childhood fun like falling off a merry-go-round or climbing trees.  Reality check.  Ouch.    

Retired...minus benefits

     Last week I had to give one of our customers a lift.  "Are you a lacrosse mom?" she asked, noticing the decals on my car's rear window.  "Yes," I replied, then hesitated.  "I guess I would be considered a retired lax mom since (sigh) all my lacrosse players are now out of the house..."    Used to be I was a lacrosse mom with a capital L.   Booster club business! Shuffling boys & girls game schedules!  Out-of-town tournaments!  $$$ spent on summer camps!.... it was enough to make one's head spin.
       There once was a time when I knew the latest releases on equipment, and the newest trends in uniforms for girls and boys.   I knew the names of all the area high school coaches.  I  read my sons' Inside Lacrosse magazine each month.  I was on a first name basis with local lax vendors (which isn't all that remarkable as there weren't very many in Georgia then.)  
         After 15 years of lacrosse involvement, I really am a retired lax mom.  As a mother, I am also no longer in charge of my children's school, medical and general life schedules.  Sitting in the waiting room not too long ago, I realized that I used to see my dentist and her staff at least eight times a year (or more) when there were three children in the mix.  Now, I no longer nag anybody about homework, projects, chores, or filling out college applications.  I don't even get to manage birthday party invitations.    Does that mean I am a retired mom?  With the most intense part of motherhood behind me now, am I still an active mom?       
         I think back to that day when my first child was born:  the nurse handed me a tiny bundle wrapped in flannel and I hit the ground running, suddenly anointed with a new job title.  Twenty-plus years later (how the heck did that happen-- whoa slap me--)  finds me shopping for a new job description.  I am trying to  find my place in the next stage of life, as my job as a mom fades into the background.    I'm melting...  I'm melting...  

Remembrance

September 11, 2001.  a bright blue sky, brilliant sunshine.  A glorious morning to be alive!  That's exactly what I thought to myself when I headed off to work.  I was still in the driveway when the car radio reported a plane had crashed into one of the World Trace Center buildings.  With a vision of a private Cessna (did the pilot have a heart attack?) I ran back into the house to turn on the TV.  My immediate concern was for my brother-in-law, and a friend and others who worked "right there."  Is there anyone who cannot remember where you were or what you were doing on that day when the world fell apart?


     This blog's title, "no roads lead back" and the full quote (see our "How did we get here from there" page) poignantly describes in a few words,  how the world dramatically and drastically changed a decade ago.  My daughter was in the 5th grade, taking a test when news broke.  Her school's administration and teachers were all in alert/protect mode, trying to keep the news away from the children...except one of Chandler's classmates was returning from a dentist appointment, and broadcast the news to the class.  Her teacher cancelled the test and noted on each student's blank test:  "Our nation is being tested.  We are being tested.  America will pass with flying colors!"
      
     Such a heartfelt expression...a few lines of encouragement during extreme uncertainty.  How do we stay calm and reassuring for our children when we are the ones needing hugs and hand-holding?  We couldn't sleep at night, and life seemed so dark and bleak.  Ten years ago the nation mourned.  But life has amazingly continued on...and faster than we could have imagined at the time. Those eager 5th graders are now juniors in college with much ahead of them.


         This week...full of remembrances everywhere;  in the media, at a pastoral meadow in Pennsylvania, in the nation's capital outside the Pentagon, and in New York, where a city's heart was ripped out.  The Sept 11 Memorial at the site of what was once ground zero promises to be a serene, reverent place to reflect.  This week....the mornings have been touched by a delightful change in the weather; full of glorious sunshine and bright blue skies...and we carry on. 

Time Compression

It seems to be a current theme in my life...where did the time go? This week I am thinking alot about the horrors of 9/11 and wondering how it could have been ten years ago when it all seems so fresh. I remember calling my husband after the towers fell and asking that he not let our children (then 12 and 15) watch the coverage when they came home from school. Little did I know they had seen much of it live from their classrooms. The sadness of that day and the weeks that followed was unbearable. I look now at the children of the victims and feel sorrow for what they lost and what the parents lost. I saw a story of a man who got caught in an elevator at the World Trade Center and got out moments before the tower fell. He noted that it was impossible to fathom how the world had changed from the time he stepped on until the doors opened again. Life is like that...changing all the time sometimes dramatically as on 9/11 and sometimes just so slowly that you do not even notice until it is too late.

Sippy Cups

So I was tidying up and putting away the endless glasses and mugs that were in the sink and on the counter, wondering how is it that two empty nesters can generate so much dishware?  As I put the mugs away in the cupboard I had a flashback to when my kitchen cabinets were filled with plastic.  Lots of plastic, as in those colorful Tupperware tumblers with spouted lids for todders, otherwise known as sippy cups.  Remember the double-handle cups with the weighted bottoms that wouldn't tip?
That transition:  from bottle to spill-proof baby cup to a cup without a lid.  What progress!  When did those little people learn to drink out of regular cups?  It all happened without very much thought.   I can see so clearly a grinning, bright-eyed toddler with chubby hands grasping a two-handled cup and banging a high chair tray.  Now, I marvel that those same baby hands are wide and masculine, with hair on the knuckles, or slight and feminine with polish on the nails.  Those soft little hands of my wee ones now haul a suitcase halfway around the world, salute Colonels and Generals, or grasp the controls of a military airplane.  It only took a blink of an eye and those sippy cups have been replaced with big kid cups.
 But wait, adults do have sippy cups!  We just know them as travel mugs, or Starbucks coffee to go...

No roads lead back...but sometimes they do circle...

I've just sent my youngest(!) baby(!) off to school.  Junior year abroad.  Bittersweet airport farewell.  Two suitcases: 100 lbs of checked luggage for a year, and everything else she could possibly stuff into carryon without getting busted by the airline luggage police.   A road to adventure.  Meiji Gakuin University. Tokyo. Japan.  Her dormitory just so happens to be in the general location of our old neighborhood.  Our old neighborhood when we were an American  ex-pat family living in Japan...nearly 20 years ago.  What are the odds of that.  I cannot help but wonder on the weirdness/dramatic irony (if those are the right terms) of how she ended up back in Japan... She was just a bald  little babe-in-arms when we arrived in Japan and now that road has circled back.  She first spoke toddler Japanese and now she is in Japan to study  the language for real.  Her road is open and stretched out ahead of her.

This photo is one of streets in our neighborhood.  Taken a few days before we left Tokyo to return to the US....another bittersweet transition.    I had given the boys a camera to go out and snap pictures of all the familiar and ordinary sites in the neighborhood.  The painted characters  in the street  spell out ToMaRe  or STOP.    How often have we ever wished we could stop time and savor the moment?

So Many Airports, So Many Goodbyes

There is nothing more exciting than the morning you wake up, hand the children their suitcases and leave for the airport on yet another family vacation. The possibilities are endless and the unknown creates a buzz of excitement, despite the sleepy eyes and too heavy suitcases. The only baggage is just that...a suitcase. How different as time goes on and the children become young adults. It seems there is a never ending succession of dropping them at an airport, bravely saying goodbye while wishing they could come back and be 6 again in their rooms. Who has baggage now? Didn't we do our jobs to make them independent and able to fly free of the nest? Yearning for the past won't make it so. My suitcase is full of memories, pride, sorrow that it all went so quickly tinged with the happy knowledge that we did our jobs. The trip from being a mom 24/7 to stepping back a bit from young adults is another adventure that has just begun.