Just a quick update here, Daddy Dearest is in town so I have obligations this weekend. But I did want to mention what Halloween is like when you actually go OUT. I can't believe I've never been out on Halloween before (well, there was that one time in Santa Barbara when I ditched the blind people but I was underage so it doesn't count) and it was a Friday, I found myself free for the evening, why the hell not?
I don't know if it was because it was a Friday, or if it's always like this but this town was full of some of the best costumes I have ever seen. I wish I could have hit all the goings-on, there just isn't enough time in one evening. And I never say that about Bend. Here are a few of my favorite costumes -
Clockwork Orange guy
the syringe.
GEICO caveman tennis player - loved him!!
fat Geisha
Guy with the baby - costume wasn't much, but the creepy fake baby was totally cool!
Reno 911 guy - nice dancing too, dude.
And note to the ladybug who threw dirty looks at me for an hour- you're cute, blond and skinny. No reason to be a ladybitch.
Next year Halloween is on a Saturday. If I go out, I am going to have to be a little more creative than I have in the past. Thanks everyone for being so entertaining this year!!
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
Sleepless Nights
I haven't been sleeping well at all the past week. It appears the "homeless" don't rest so easily. During these nights there must be an hour or two at least where I do sleep because I have the most bizarre, vivid dreams. The following are some images from these dreams. Analyze all you want, but I've already reached the conclusion that I am insane. Certifiably so.
Going on a "field trip" with coworkers to some type of aquarium. I pet sting rays with enormous black eyes that jumped out of their pool to get to me.
Cardboard lockers to use for one day.
Trying to get to someone at midnight but it was already daylight so I feared I wouldn't make it in time.
A yard full of dogs I had to find homes for.
The home of my best friend in elementary school. She didn't live there anymore, but I walked in to take a look, met the new owner and thought about how much it had changed. The new owner had added a pool. In the same dream I saw the mother of my other best friend.
On another note I believe the break-up diet may finally have hit, considering I threw up my leftover Thai food last night. Goody for me.
Going on a "field trip" with coworkers to some type of aquarium. I pet sting rays with enormous black eyes that jumped out of their pool to get to me.
Cardboard lockers to use for one day.
Trying to get to someone at midnight but it was already daylight so I feared I wouldn't make it in time.
A yard full of dogs I had to find homes for.
The home of my best friend in elementary school. She didn't live there anymore, but I walked in to take a look, met the new owner and thought about how much it had changed. The new owner had added a pool. In the same dream I saw the mother of my other best friend.
On another note I believe the break-up diet may finally have hit, considering I threw up my leftover Thai food last night. Goody for me.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Beached Boston
I can deny it no longer. Not after yesterday. My pretty pretty princess puppy has become a porky plump piggy puppy. She beached herself on the console between my car seats trying to get from the backseat to the front. By beached, I mean she landed on the console and couldn't move herself off of it. She wiggled and shimmied a bit and then just gave up, her girth doubled, spreading out between the seats. She looked up at me with her big, round brown eyes, and I was a bad mommy. I laughed. I couldn't help it, and I can't describe it well enough that you, the listener (or reader, if you're picky), would laugh with the same gusto that I did. I laughed until I cried. My funny little clown puppy.
It's diet time. I already bought weight loss food, and have increased our walks. I've seen a big difference in Remy, he is quite slim now. It seems that females of other species have as much trouble losing weight as their human counterparts. I'm not too hopeful that she'll make much progress before winter hits and I begin to hibernate. At least I'll have some comic relief when the weather is bringing me down.
It's diet time. I already bought weight loss food, and have increased our walks. I've seen a big difference in Remy, he is quite slim now. It seems that females of other species have as much trouble losing weight as their human counterparts. I'm not too hopeful that she'll make much progress before winter hits and I begin to hibernate. At least I'll have some comic relief when the weather is bringing me down.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Things I Believe
I've been thinking a lot lately about what I believe in and what I should believe in. The world in general as of late seems turned upside down so often and my own world particularly so. I suppose I want to make sense of the things I don't understand. I want to find a foundation that isn't continuously shifting underneath my feet. So I made a list. I like lists. It's my list and I don't expect everyone to agree with it, but these are the things that make sense and mean something to me. They're also not overly serious as there is enough seriousness going on lately. Finally, I should also note that just because I believe that something can happen, doesn't mean I believe it will happen to me. Obviously, at my age, being married for 50 years is out of the question. Unless there really is a fountain of youth, but I don't believe there is.
Anyway, this is My List. In no particular order.
Kids change your life and sometimes who you are.
People who don't like dogs can't be trusted.
People who don't want kids are also questionable.
True love exists.
Bad kissers aren't worth it.
Miracles happen.
It's okay to cry.
Christmas is a good time to fall in love.
Santa Claus is real.
A hug can change your day.
Watching movies on the couch all day is time well spent.
It is possible to be married for 50 years.
Reading is one of life's greatest luxuries.
Music is essential.
Fruity drinks are for wimps.
Animals have feelings. And opinions.
Some things can only be explained by the existence of evil.
Everyone should see the ocean at least once in life.
The right pair of shoes can bring joy.
Food is love.
Southern hospitality is underrated.
A man dedicated to his family is always the sexiest man in the room. Hands down.
Affection is absolutely necessary.
Writing is a gift.
Theater, concerts, dance and art are fundamental to the soul.
Photographs tell a story.
A kiss that leaves you breathless should be a daily occurrence.
Bread and cheese is a meal. A good one.
True friendship is rare and should be treasured.
Wishes do come true.
Memories fade too quickly and sometimes not quickly enough.
Disneyland is the happiest place on earth.
High school is not the best years of your life.
Hearts can literally break.
Wine is an experience.
Everything is temporary.
Anyway, this is My List. In no particular order.
Kids change your life and sometimes who you are.
People who don't like dogs can't be trusted.
People who don't want kids are also questionable.
True love exists.
Bad kissers aren't worth it.
Miracles happen.
It's okay to cry.
Christmas is a good time to fall in love.
Santa Claus is real.
A hug can change your day.
Watching movies on the couch all day is time well spent.
It is possible to be married for 50 years.
Reading is one of life's greatest luxuries.
Music is essential.
Fruity drinks are for wimps.
Animals have feelings. And opinions.
Some things can only be explained by the existence of evil.
Everyone should see the ocean at least once in life.
The right pair of shoes can bring joy.
Food is love.
Southern hospitality is underrated.
A man dedicated to his family is always the sexiest man in the room. Hands down.
Affection is absolutely necessary.
Writing is a gift.
Theater, concerts, dance and art are fundamental to the soul.
Photographs tell a story.
A kiss that leaves you breathless should be a daily occurrence.
Bread and cheese is a meal. A good one.
True friendship is rare and should be treasured.
Wishes do come true.
Memories fade too quickly and sometimes not quickly enough.
Disneyland is the happiest place on earth.
High school is not the best years of your life.
Hearts can literally break.
Wine is an experience.
Everything is temporary.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Homeless
That’s how I feel lately. Sure, I live in a house, I’m not actually out on the street. But it’s really just a building, a shelter from the elements, a place to put my Stuff. It doesn’t feel like Home, even with all of my Stuff. Even with D. Even with the dogs. Because D isn’t always there and there are still a couple of people missing from the equation.
When I was in Portland for a conference last week, I was suddenly hit with feeling homesick. Being hit is exactly what it feels like too. It’s not just a little emotion, or a distant longing. It’s a physical, near-tangible feeling, as if someone dropped a coat of sadness on me and I can’t take it off. I sat for a few minutes wondering where it came from. I wasn’t alone, I was with people. I was even having fun. At first I thought maybe it was because I couldn’t completely be myself. I was with coworkers and my boss and, even though we were in a relaxed setting and not talking business, there’s still a level of professionalism to maintain.
After I got back to my hotel room, I realized that what I was and am missing is a home base. A place where people wait for me, where I’m missed. A place that wraps me in comfort and love, like a favorite, well-worn blanket the moment I step in the door. That is what home is to me, a place filled with people to love and be loved by.
Now when I have “guests” there is a level of formality and awkward politeness. It makes me uneasy, the absence of familiarity. Families don’t play host to each other. Families just are.
Tonight I’ll return to my house. It needs to be cleaned and dinner needs to be made. The dogs need to be fed. There are plenty of domestic chores to perform and take up my time. I will hug D when I arrive and again at bedtime. I can pretend it feels like home for a few minutes, especially for D, but I know I’m not really there yet.
Until then it feels like I’m just drifting, waiting for a place to land.
When I was in Portland for a conference last week, I was suddenly hit with feeling homesick. Being hit is exactly what it feels like too. It’s not just a little emotion, or a distant longing. It’s a physical, near-tangible feeling, as if someone dropped a coat of sadness on me and I can’t take it off. I sat for a few minutes wondering where it came from. I wasn’t alone, I was with people. I was even having fun. At first I thought maybe it was because I couldn’t completely be myself. I was with coworkers and my boss and, even though we were in a relaxed setting and not talking business, there’s still a level of professionalism to maintain.
After I got back to my hotel room, I realized that what I was and am missing is a home base. A place where people wait for me, where I’m missed. A place that wraps me in comfort and love, like a favorite, well-worn blanket the moment I step in the door. That is what home is to me, a place filled with people to love and be loved by.
Now when I have “guests” there is a level of formality and awkward politeness. It makes me uneasy, the absence of familiarity. Families don’t play host to each other. Families just are.
Tonight I’ll return to my house. It needs to be cleaned and dinner needs to be made. The dogs need to be fed. There are plenty of domestic chores to perform and take up my time. I will hug D when I arrive and again at bedtime. I can pretend it feels like home for a few minutes, especially for D, but I know I’m not really there yet.
Until then it feels like I’m just drifting, waiting for a place to land.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sushi, a Skeleton and Crazy People
D and I went to Seattle this weekend. It was a trip that I planned after L and I told her we were separating. Her little heart broke right in front of us to I wanted to give her something to look forward to. We haven't talked much about how she feels once we moved, she has seemed her usual cheerful self. When I asked her on the drive up if she misses the boys she said she does and that she is "a lot sad" on the weekends when we would have our pizza/movie nights. Yeah. I have holes in some of my days like that. It also seems my little bugaboo has developed her own coping mechanisms. She kept commenting that she could now push all of the elevator buttons and didn't have to share the backseat or any part of the hotel room with The Boy. When I asked "But don't you have fun going places with him?" she replied, "Yes. That's why I have to think of reasons to be happy he's not here." I do that too. I can order whatever pizza I want now but it's not quite the same.
So we filled our weekend with food, walking, more food, and more walking. We saw quite a few homeless crazy people which D was really disturbed by. They were her reason for deciding that she wouldn't like to live in Seattle. I guess I can't blame her. One poor man was lying twisted and unconscious on the sidewalk in the middle of the day. I'm still not sure he wasn't dead. Yikes.
We started Friday night at Wasabi Bistro for sushi. We ordered too much food because it all sounded so good and it was delicious. We couldn't eat half of it and then lamented the fact that there was no refrigerator in our room. Wasted sushi? That's a crime. D would have gladly eaten it for breakfast the next day. There's no such thing as breakfast food, anything will do.
Saturday we were off to the dollhouse miniature show. Never having gone before, I wasn't sure what to expect but I was silly-excited about it. It wasn't as big as I expected and I wish there were more completed dollhouse displays, but it was really cool. And quite overwhelming for a beginner such as myself. There were tiny teddy bears, tiny plants, teeny tiny cookies and cakes, teensy boxes of band aids and toilet paper, dolls, dresses, working lamps, dishes and quilts. And I do mean tiny. My back was sore from bending down to examine the teeny tiny, teensy weensy, itty bitty cereal boxes and bags of dog food. Anything you might find in your house was there in miniature form.
What, out of two conference rooms of this tiny merchandise, did I choose to purchase? Not what I thought I would. It was overwhelming and I couldn't think of what my as-yet-unfinished house would need. A plate of cookies for the table? A painting for the wall? A cat curled up on the bed? Nothing was quite special enough. And then I saw her. A skeleton. She wore a black evening gown, her hair upswept, cigarette holder in hand, tiny little bony fingernails painted red, diamond earrings attached to her skull. The nice lady at the booth informed me that this was Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's. Holly Golightly as a skeleton? How could I not have brought her home? She's too wonderful. She won't go in a dollhouse, I decided she will have her own roombox, most likely made from a pumpkin. D and I have already planned our trip to Michael's to purchase any accessories she might require. Our next weekend together will be a "crafty" one.
After my treasure find it was off to Pike Place. We watched the fish get thrown around, smelled the huge flower bouquets, ate crab pizza and shopped until we dropped. We also ran into two of the cutest Boston Terriers - one black, one brown. Two is definitely enough for me, but if I ever came across a brown one to adopt, I think my little family would have to grow to three. Of course we had to stop and visit and get the puppy kisses that we were missing from our own. They were more than happy to oblige too - the black one was typically Boston-exuberant as he bruised my lip when he jumped up to reach me. Assaulted by a Boston. I couldn't really complain.
Dinner was at McCormick and Schmick's on the Lake Union Harbor. We dined on calamari, salmon and halibut in a mushroom cream sauce while choosing which yacht we would like to take out for a spin. Of course I'll buy a better one when I win the lottery.
Saturday night was the experience of The Phantom of the Opera. D has been in love with the movie for several months so this was the real reason for our weekend trip. Unfortunately, our seats were in the very back but that was the only drawback. The Paramount Theater is gorgeous, I've never seen anything like it - elaborately carved walls, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling - it's like going back in time. And it was the perfect setting for the Phantom. I had never seen it before, not the play or the movie. It was everything that everyone said it would be. Definitely worth the drive and the encounters with crazy homeless people and even the $60 I paid to park everywhere we went.
Sunday morning we visited the Space Needle, whose elevator reminds me of the glass elevator in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Luckily, our elevator ride stopped after 41 seconds and we didn't go crashing through the ceiling to fly over the city. We were very fortunate to have clear, blue skies and could see for miles and miles. In fact, we were told that the view of Mt. Baker is something they get only 60 days a year.
After our safe descent back to solid ground we decided we'd had enough adventures for one weekend and it was time to head home. We made a couple of pit stops for frappuccinos and tacos and a brief visit to Ikea to purchase the Audrey Hepburn print I have been coveting for the last three months. She is now hanging happily over my bed. We got our fill of puppy kisses from our own bouncing Bostons, each forced ourselves to do our homework like good girls and then it was off to bed, exhausted but happy. Happily planning our next trip!
So we filled our weekend with food, walking, more food, and more walking. We saw quite a few homeless crazy people which D was really disturbed by. They were her reason for deciding that she wouldn't like to live in Seattle. I guess I can't blame her. One poor man was lying twisted and unconscious on the sidewalk in the middle of the day. I'm still not sure he wasn't dead. Yikes.
We started Friday night at Wasabi Bistro for sushi. We ordered too much food because it all sounded so good and it was delicious. We couldn't eat half of it and then lamented the fact that there was no refrigerator in our room. Wasted sushi? That's a crime. D would have gladly eaten it for breakfast the next day. There's no such thing as breakfast food, anything will do.
Saturday we were off to the dollhouse miniature show. Never having gone before, I wasn't sure what to expect but I was silly-excited about it. It wasn't as big as I expected and I wish there were more completed dollhouse displays, but it was really cool. And quite overwhelming for a beginner such as myself. There were tiny teddy bears, tiny plants, teeny tiny cookies and cakes, teensy boxes of band aids and toilet paper, dolls, dresses, working lamps, dishes and quilts. And I do mean tiny. My back was sore from bending down to examine the teeny tiny, teensy weensy, itty bitty cereal boxes and bags of dog food. Anything you might find in your house was there in miniature form.
What, out of two conference rooms of this tiny merchandise, did I choose to purchase? Not what I thought I would. It was overwhelming and I couldn't think of what my as-yet-unfinished house would need. A plate of cookies for the table? A painting for the wall? A cat curled up on the bed? Nothing was quite special enough. And then I saw her. A skeleton. She wore a black evening gown, her hair upswept, cigarette holder in hand, tiny little bony fingernails painted red, diamond earrings attached to her skull. The nice lady at the booth informed me that this was Audrey Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's. Holly Golightly as a skeleton? How could I not have brought her home? She's too wonderful. She won't go in a dollhouse, I decided she will have her own roombox, most likely made from a pumpkin. D and I have already planned our trip to Michael's to purchase any accessories she might require. Our next weekend together will be a "crafty" one.
After my treasure find it was off to Pike Place. We watched the fish get thrown around, smelled the huge flower bouquets, ate crab pizza and shopped until we dropped. We also ran into two of the cutest Boston Terriers - one black, one brown. Two is definitely enough for me, but if I ever came across a brown one to adopt, I think my little family would have to grow to three. Of course we had to stop and visit and get the puppy kisses that we were missing from our own. They were more than happy to oblige too - the black one was typically Boston-exuberant as he bruised my lip when he jumped up to reach me. Assaulted by a Boston. I couldn't really complain.
Dinner was at McCormick and Schmick's on the Lake Union Harbor. We dined on calamari, salmon and halibut in a mushroom cream sauce while choosing which yacht we would like to take out for a spin. Of course I'll buy a better one when I win the lottery.
Saturday night was the experience of The Phantom of the Opera. D has been in love with the movie for several months so this was the real reason for our weekend trip. Unfortunately, our seats were in the very back but that was the only drawback. The Paramount Theater is gorgeous, I've never seen anything like it - elaborately carved walls, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling - it's like going back in time. And it was the perfect setting for the Phantom. I had never seen it before, not the play or the movie. It was everything that everyone said it would be. Definitely worth the drive and the encounters with crazy homeless people and even the $60 I paid to park everywhere we went.
Sunday morning we visited the Space Needle, whose elevator reminds me of the glass elevator in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Luckily, our elevator ride stopped after 41 seconds and we didn't go crashing through the ceiling to fly over the city. We were very fortunate to have clear, blue skies and could see for miles and miles. In fact, we were told that the view of Mt. Baker is something they get only 60 days a year.
After our safe descent back to solid ground we decided we'd had enough adventures for one weekend and it was time to head home. We made a couple of pit stops for frappuccinos and tacos and a brief visit to Ikea to purchase the Audrey Hepburn print I have been coveting for the last three months. She is now hanging happily over my bed. We got our fill of puppy kisses from our own bouncing Bostons, each forced ourselves to do our homework like good girls and then it was off to bed, exhausted but happy. Happily planning our next trip!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Boston Bitch Party
Last night was my first get-together with other Bostons and their owners. I think it was a little short notice for some as we ended up with two humans and three dogs, plus me and my two beasts. I knew it would be a little unorganized to start with and dogs aren't always predictable so it was actually nice to start with a smaller group.
Lulu was the first to arrive, along with her brother Tank, but their mom was a little worried that he might be aggressive and left him in the car at first. Lulu is like a tiny gazelle, thin with long legs and skittish with dogs she doesn't know. That's okay, it's a lady's right to be choosy. Ruby takes this right of choice to extremes, however. She made it perfectly clear in no uncertain terms that Lulu was not welcome in her house, in her yard, around her brother, around her mom, around me or anywhere else on the planet. I knew she was a bitch. I didn't know that she's a Bitch. She was exiled to her crate, where through the open window I could hear her growling, whining and snorting her displeasure over the trespasser in her kingdom.
Remy was a perfect gentleman, as I knew he would be. Even with all of his excitement at having a guest and someone new to play with, he knew to take it easy with Miss Lulu. He bounced, he jumped, he barked "Let's play!" but always backed off if he got snapped at. His sensitive behavior was enough encouragement to give Tank a try at playing. Tank was not interested in playing for several minutes. His mission was to sniff every inch of the yard, showing his appreciation for certain spots by peeing on them. Remy's job at this point was to follow Tank around the yard, sniffing his butt and re-peeing over said spots.
Frank Sinatra arrived during the Pee Session. Frank is adorable. He turned out to be the oldest of the group, having just had his fourth birthday, and also the smallest. He is compact, wonderfully smushy-faced and can throw some dirty looks like I've never seen a dog do before. Especially when he's looking in the house and wondering why there is no doggy door like he has at his house. It was enough to shame me. Really.
It was about this time that Tank started to relax and play with Remy. Most of his play consisted of barking, growling and humping Remy's face, all of which seemed to embarrass his mom to no end. I am used to Remy being face-humped by Ruby so that didn't phase me but I did start to wonder if there's something about him that attracts face-humpers. Frank wasn't really interested in any of this, he wanted to play with the toys in the yard and that made Lulu unhappy and caused her to be sent to time-out in Mom's truck. Remy and Tank continued their odd, borderline sex play. When D came home Frank adopted her lap as his place to sit and contented himself there for most of the rest of the evening.
After Tank and Lulu said their goodbyes, Frank's dad said he'd like to meet Ruby. We decided it might be best to let the two of them try meeting without the distraction of Remy. She did better than I thought, although she tried a couple of times to make him believe she'd kill him. Such viciousness coming out of that 20 pound body! So unladylike. So unbecoming of a princess. Frank returned to the safety of D's lap and Ruby took out her frustrations on the nearest pine cone.
All in all, I think it was a successful evening. Remy was happy to have guests and earn the title of Best Dog for the evening and Ruby was happy to see them go and endured the title of Bitchy Bitch. I'm sure next time they'll do better. It's not always easy to make new friends and I suppose dogs are no exception.
And once in a while it's okay to be a Bitchy Bitch.
Lulu was the first to arrive, along with her brother Tank, but their mom was a little worried that he might be aggressive and left him in the car at first. Lulu is like a tiny gazelle, thin with long legs and skittish with dogs she doesn't know. That's okay, it's a lady's right to be choosy. Ruby takes this right of choice to extremes, however. She made it perfectly clear in no uncertain terms that Lulu was not welcome in her house, in her yard, around her brother, around her mom, around me or anywhere else on the planet. I knew she was a bitch. I didn't know that she's a Bitch. She was exiled to her crate, where through the open window I could hear her growling, whining and snorting her displeasure over the trespasser in her kingdom.
Remy was a perfect gentleman, as I knew he would be. Even with all of his excitement at having a guest and someone new to play with, he knew to take it easy with Miss Lulu. He bounced, he jumped, he barked "Let's play!" but always backed off if he got snapped at. His sensitive behavior was enough encouragement to give Tank a try at playing. Tank was not interested in playing for several minutes. His mission was to sniff every inch of the yard, showing his appreciation for certain spots by peeing on them. Remy's job at this point was to follow Tank around the yard, sniffing his butt and re-peeing over said spots.
Frank Sinatra arrived during the Pee Session. Frank is adorable. He turned out to be the oldest of the group, having just had his fourth birthday, and also the smallest. He is compact, wonderfully smushy-faced and can throw some dirty looks like I've never seen a dog do before. Especially when he's looking in the house and wondering why there is no doggy door like he has at his house. It was enough to shame me. Really.
It was about this time that Tank started to relax and play with Remy. Most of his play consisted of barking, growling and humping Remy's face, all of which seemed to embarrass his mom to no end. I am used to Remy being face-humped by Ruby so that didn't phase me but I did start to wonder if there's something about him that attracts face-humpers. Frank wasn't really interested in any of this, he wanted to play with the toys in the yard and that made Lulu unhappy and caused her to be sent to time-out in Mom's truck. Remy and Tank continued their odd, borderline sex play. When D came home Frank adopted her lap as his place to sit and contented himself there for most of the rest of the evening.
After Tank and Lulu said their goodbyes, Frank's dad said he'd like to meet Ruby. We decided it might be best to let the two of them try meeting without the distraction of Remy. She did better than I thought, although she tried a couple of times to make him believe she'd kill him. Such viciousness coming out of that 20 pound body! So unladylike. So unbecoming of a princess. Frank returned to the safety of D's lap and Ruby took out her frustrations on the nearest pine cone.
All in all, I think it was a successful evening. Remy was happy to have guests and earn the title of Best Dog for the evening and Ruby was happy to see them go and endured the title of Bitchy Bitch. I'm sure next time they'll do better. It's not always easy to make new friends and I suppose dogs are no exception.
And once in a while it's okay to be a Bitchy Bitch.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times...
These are odd times right now. In some ways, they are the very best and it's hard to explain that to anyone. There seems to be this expectation from people that L and I are at each other's throats and miserable every minute. That isn't the case for the majority of the time. I definitely have my meltdown moments and those are hard to get through. Sunday was one of those days. Packing and separating our belongings seemed to suddenly make it all too real and final and by the end of the day I just lost it. I cried until I couldn't breathe anymore. I cried until I threw up. Until my eyes were virtually swollen shut. I looked pretty the next day, let me tell you.
But then there are the lazy float days and the evenings by the fire and my birthday and I'm surprised to find that we somehow feel closer than before. It's as if I'm falling in love with him for real for the first time, rediscovering who he is. This seems cruelly unfair, given the circumstances, but at the same time I am so grateful to have this experience.
I know there are more crying days ahead. Seeing the house finally empty and those first nights alone are the ones that I dread the most. Somehow, though, these latest special moments help reaffirm that this is what is best for us. That we are on the right path. Wherever it may lead us.
But then there are the lazy float days and the evenings by the fire and my birthday and I'm surprised to find that we somehow feel closer than before. It's as if I'm falling in love with him for real for the first time, rediscovering who he is. This seems cruelly unfair, given the circumstances, but at the same time I am so grateful to have this experience.
I know there are more crying days ahead. Seeing the house finally empty and those first nights alone are the ones that I dread the most. Somehow, though, these latest special moments help reaffirm that this is what is best for us. That we are on the right path. Wherever it may lead us.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Unraveling
I hesitate to let this out yet, to make public something so personal to me. I know the questions will come though, and I don't have the mindset right now to deal with them directly. Instead I'll spill the pieces of my heartbreak into the vast regions of cyberspace, in the hope that my words will filter into smaller bytes, reduced to the smallest electrical current that a fly wouldn't feel, much less my heart.
Last week L and I made a decision. He'd probably say that I made it and, in the interest of self preservation, I suppose I did. We are going our separate ways. I won't speak for him or disclose information he may consider private and, as much as I want to blame him so that I have someone to be angry with, I can't. It just turns out to be an impossible situation. What I want isn't what he needs so it's time to let go. It just hurts. A lot.
There are those few peaceful seconds between sleeping and waking before I feel the clutch of my heart and lose my breath and realize nothing will be the same again. My stomach remains knotted throughout the day. I want to cry until there's nothing left, as if the tears could wash away any and all memory. Alternately, I'd like to be drunk every day, blissfully, numbingly intoxicated, until one day I wake up to a different life. I have the luxury of neither.
My mind is filled with eight years of happy memories, all of the things I will miss. Sure there were bad times, quite a few and some of them were just Ugly. I choose not to define our relationship that way, knowing there is a reason we lasted eight years. I won't miss those bad times, but I will miss our trips out of town, bread and cheese and wine nights, playing cards, holidays and being with someone who can always make me laugh and always knows when to hold me. I will miss being a family, the one thing I value most in life. The loss is overwhelming, no wonder I can't breathe.
I know I will be alright. I hear my mom's voice in my head over and over - "Everything happens for a reason." Throw in any other tired old cliche here you'd like. They're cliche because they're true. My heart just isn't listening right now.
Last week L and I made a decision. He'd probably say that I made it and, in the interest of self preservation, I suppose I did. We are going our separate ways. I won't speak for him or disclose information he may consider private and, as much as I want to blame him so that I have someone to be angry with, I can't. It just turns out to be an impossible situation. What I want isn't what he needs so it's time to let go. It just hurts. A lot.
There are those few peaceful seconds between sleeping and waking before I feel the clutch of my heart and lose my breath and realize nothing will be the same again. My stomach remains knotted throughout the day. I want to cry until there's nothing left, as if the tears could wash away any and all memory. Alternately, I'd like to be drunk every day, blissfully, numbingly intoxicated, until one day I wake up to a different life. I have the luxury of neither.
My mind is filled with eight years of happy memories, all of the things I will miss. Sure there were bad times, quite a few and some of them were just Ugly. I choose not to define our relationship that way, knowing there is a reason we lasted eight years. I won't miss those bad times, but I will miss our trips out of town, bread and cheese and wine nights, playing cards, holidays and being with someone who can always make me laugh and always knows when to hold me. I will miss being a family, the one thing I value most in life. The loss is overwhelming, no wonder I can't breathe.
I know I will be alright. I hear my mom's voice in my head over and over - "Everything happens for a reason." Throw in any other tired old cliche here you'd like. They're cliche because they're true. My heart just isn't listening right now.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
"I think my heart chose this for me..."
My daughter is 12 today. My Lovebug, Stinkbug, Bugabooga. I always feel a little melancholy on her birthday, looking back at how she's changed over the years, how she's grown. The time gets longer, the changes more dramatic.
I have never been more in love with anyone than I was with that child the minute she was born. It wasn't an easy birth either. She wasn't ready to be born and fought it for 52 hours. It was exhausting and at one point I was ready to agree with her and postpone it, if only to get a few hours of sleep. Sleep now, have baby another day. And then there she was - this miraculous, wondrous, tiny little creature. I would have cried had there been any amount of moisture left in my body with which to create a tear or two. She cried for both of us, although she really meant it as a complaint at being pushed out into the brightness of the outside world.
I couldn't get enough of her. When we were home, I placed her gently in her crib, with the chosen Winnie the Pooh blankets to soften her slumber. That lasted all of two minutes. I couldn't stand to have her in another room, away from me. It might as well have been another planet, that distance from her bedroom to the living room. So out she came, back into my arms, only so I could look at her for hours at a time. I was completely and utterly smitten.
It's not like I have grown less in love with her as she's grown. It's more like my love has had to accommodate itself to fit the person she is becoming. She's a lot like me, which has its good and bad points. I find that the things that I don't like in myself I abhor in her. Our likenesses cause us to clash, much in the way that like ends of a magnet will repel each other. Sometimes the pod is too close for the comfort of the two peas trying to exist in it.
I thought she would never learn to walk, which was actually okay with me at the time. When she did start standing and walking, she would never just fall on her bottom when she started to topple. No, my stubborn little child would fight to hold on until the very end, keeping her back straight so that she always landed flat and on the back of her head. I didn't want to be one of those moms that always ran to their crying child. She's a girl and I'm very conscious of the feeling that she needs to be tougher than a little teardrop to make it in the world. So she cried the first few times, figured out that wouldn't get her anywhere, and then got up and started over again.
Some of these lessons have backfired as she now fights to the end for everything with me. She has gotten to be quite adept at negotiating. This must work better on her father, sometimes dads can be easy that way. I can't blame her for trying though. I'd be so proud of her if only she would use this skill for good and not her own evil desires.
And now I feel like we have entered the Milestone years. Elementary school has come and gone. Middle school and every frightening thing that entails has started. She got braces last fall. I have glimpses of the beginnings of hormones with eye rolls and heavy sighs. Her good grades didn't come as easy this year as social activities took prevalence over being a "good girl." It seemed easier when I only had to worry about her falling on her head. The fall now is so much farther and potentially so much more painful, for both of us.
I sometimes forget how much fun she is, which breaks my heart every time I think that. Yesterday was a good day. We went to Portland to get her feet fitted for her first pair of pointe shoes. As she stood at the bar on the tips of her toes in her little dancer pose, the muscles in her legs trembling, I was surprised to find a tear had escaped and was slipping down my cheek. I forget sometimes too, how much pride I take in her achievements. She was absolutely glowing all day, gazing lovingly at her silky pink shoes.
Afterwards, we went to lunch to celebrate. She decided to try the snow crab legs, which isn't a surprise as her tastes lean towards the more expensive end of the menu. Corn dogs? Grilled cheese? No thank you. But steak, salmon, sushi or calamari she will eat any day of the week. She learns how to crack open the shells to find the sweet, tender crab meat inside. Some people find this process too laborious and not worth it. Not my daughter. As she's cracking the last leg she says, "I think my heart chose this for me because it knew I would like it." Why yes, my little epicurean apprentice, some foods do feed our hearts and souls as well as our stomachs. My heart and my stomach both were full on the drive home.
So on this, your 12th birthday, my darling, loving, exasperating, frustrating, silly child, I don't think I could have said it better than that. I think that my heart chose you for me because it knew I would love you.
Happy Birthday.
I have never been more in love with anyone than I was with that child the minute she was born. It wasn't an easy birth either. She wasn't ready to be born and fought it for 52 hours. It was exhausting and at one point I was ready to agree with her and postpone it, if only to get a few hours of sleep. Sleep now, have baby another day. And then there she was - this miraculous, wondrous, tiny little creature. I would have cried had there been any amount of moisture left in my body with which to create a tear or two. She cried for both of us, although she really meant it as a complaint at being pushed out into the brightness of the outside world.
I couldn't get enough of her. When we were home, I placed her gently in her crib, with the chosen Winnie the Pooh blankets to soften her slumber. That lasted all of two minutes. I couldn't stand to have her in another room, away from me. It might as well have been another planet, that distance from her bedroom to the living room. So out she came, back into my arms, only so I could look at her for hours at a time. I was completely and utterly smitten.
It's not like I have grown less in love with her as she's grown. It's more like my love has had to accommodate itself to fit the person she is becoming. She's a lot like me, which has its good and bad points. I find that the things that I don't like in myself I abhor in her. Our likenesses cause us to clash, much in the way that like ends of a magnet will repel each other. Sometimes the pod is too close for the comfort of the two peas trying to exist in it.
I thought she would never learn to walk, which was actually okay with me at the time. When she did start standing and walking, she would never just fall on her bottom when she started to topple. No, my stubborn little child would fight to hold on until the very end, keeping her back straight so that she always landed flat and on the back of her head. I didn't want to be one of those moms that always ran to their crying child. She's a girl and I'm very conscious of the feeling that she needs to be tougher than a little teardrop to make it in the world. So she cried the first few times, figured out that wouldn't get her anywhere, and then got up and started over again.
Some of these lessons have backfired as she now fights to the end for everything with me. She has gotten to be quite adept at negotiating. This must work better on her father, sometimes dads can be easy that way. I can't blame her for trying though. I'd be so proud of her if only she would use this skill for good and not her own evil desires.
And now I feel like we have entered the Milestone years. Elementary school has come and gone. Middle school and every frightening thing that entails has started. She got braces last fall. I have glimpses of the beginnings of hormones with eye rolls and heavy sighs. Her good grades didn't come as easy this year as social activities took prevalence over being a "good girl." It seemed easier when I only had to worry about her falling on her head. The fall now is so much farther and potentially so much more painful, for both of us.
I sometimes forget how much fun she is, which breaks my heart every time I think that. Yesterday was a good day. We went to Portland to get her feet fitted for her first pair of pointe shoes. As she stood at the bar on the tips of her toes in her little dancer pose, the muscles in her legs trembling, I was surprised to find a tear had escaped and was slipping down my cheek. I forget sometimes too, how much pride I take in her achievements. She was absolutely glowing all day, gazing lovingly at her silky pink shoes.
Afterwards, we went to lunch to celebrate. She decided to try the snow crab legs, which isn't a surprise as her tastes lean towards the more expensive end of the menu. Corn dogs? Grilled cheese? No thank you. But steak, salmon, sushi or calamari she will eat any day of the week. She learns how to crack open the shells to find the sweet, tender crab meat inside. Some people find this process too laborious and not worth it. Not my daughter. As she's cracking the last leg she says, "I think my heart chose this for me because it knew I would like it." Why yes, my little epicurean apprentice, some foods do feed our hearts and souls as well as our stomachs. My heart and my stomach both were full on the drive home.
So on this, your 12th birthday, my darling, loving, exasperating, frustrating, silly child, I don't think I could have said it better than that. I think that my heart chose you for me because it knew I would love you.
Happy Birthday.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
On behalf of Bob Barker...
I took my little Ruby Tuesday in to be spayed today. She's 16 months old and I meant to have it done sooner, but I'm a bad mom. She has now been through two heats which makes her untouchable and unlovable to everyone but me and a virtual prisoner in her crate for two weeks plus. It makes her a very sad panda.
I was nervous dropping her off this morning. Yes, it's routine, but it's still surgery. I spared no expense - yes, do the blood work and physical beforehand. Yes, do the catheter. Whatever makes it easier and safer for her. Nothing is too good for my Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy.
The vet called twice. The first time she started off saying how cute little Ruby is, to which I responded with an unapologetic "I know." I mean, Duh. Anyone can see that. Of course now I realize she was just softening the blow of telling me that she needed two teeth pulled, baby teeth that hadn't come out on their own. Yes, yes, whatever my princess needs.
The second call was to tell me that surgery went well, but that her uterus and one of her ovaries was extremely larger than normal, most likely infected. She mentioned something about a pyometra, some condition that could possibly kill her if she was permitted to go into another heat. It's a little unsettling when your vet repeats "I'm so glad you brought her in when you did." I promptly looked up pyometra when I got back to the office (this link describes the condition fairly graphically - click at your own risk.) I cannot describe to you the depths of my mommy guilt now.
Oh, and remember the "no expenses spared"? Oh yes, one tooth pulled, one spay, one x-ray, one microchip, one catheter, one physical exam, one IV, two prescriptions and $476 later..... Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy indeed!
The moral of the story, boys and girls? "Help control the pet population; have your pet spayed or neutered." Good old Bob.
I was nervous dropping her off this morning. Yes, it's routine, but it's still surgery. I spared no expense - yes, do the blood work and physical beforehand. Yes, do the catheter. Whatever makes it easier and safer for her. Nothing is too good for my Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy.
The vet called twice. The first time she started off saying how cute little Ruby is, to which I responded with an unapologetic "I know." I mean, Duh. Anyone can see that. Of course now I realize she was just softening the blow of telling me that she needed two teeth pulled, baby teeth that hadn't come out on their own. Yes, yes, whatever my princess needs.
The second call was to tell me that surgery went well, but that her uterus and one of her ovaries was extremely larger than normal, most likely infected. She mentioned something about a pyometra, some condition that could possibly kill her if she was permitted to go into another heat. It's a little unsettling when your vet repeats "I'm so glad you brought her in when you did." I promptly looked up pyometra when I got back to the office (this link describes the condition fairly graphically - click at your own risk.) I cannot describe to you the depths of my mommy guilt now.
Oh, and remember the "no expenses spared"? Oh yes, one tooth pulled, one spay, one x-ray, one microchip, one catheter, one physical exam, one IV, two prescriptions and $476 later..... Pretty Pretty Princess Puppy indeed!
The moral of the story, boys and girls? "Help control the pet population; have your pet spayed or neutered." Good old Bob.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
¿Dónde está el baño?
As a woman, I spend much of my time in the restroom and always like to know where to find the closest, cleanest toilet. When I was pregnant, I was frequenting the ladies' room so often I could map out every one in town as well as along any route to Portland, including Washington Square.
Now, notice I said I like to find the 'cleanest.' This isn't always easy and there is a wide variety of hygienic standards, ranging across the board from gas station grossness to the posh powder room with rows of perfumes and the lady who sits there all day waiting to turn on the faucet for you. Personally, those are my least favorite. Knowing there's someone out there listening to me pee and then treating me like an invalid when I'm done. I can't look her in the eye, but that somehow makes me feel like an elitist old hag. And do I tip because she did something I'm perfectly capable of doing for myself? It's just uncomfortable all over the place for me.
Now, sometimes the restroom stereotype doesn't always hold true. Take, for example, the gas station we rolled into on our last trip to Victoria, somewhere in Washington. It was around 4 a.m. and the prospect of using a gas station restroom at that time wasn't exactly appealing. However, such a pleasant surprise awaited us. Clean! A lovely, burning scented candle! Pretty pictures! Bible verses on the mirror? On second thought.....
And then there are the places that one would expect much from only to be sorely disappointed. One restaurant in town, which shall remain nameless (just think of the place with notoriously bad service - aka snotty waiters), graced me with one of my worst experiences ever. It was a wine-tasting night out for the girls. Lovely evening - wine, cheese, chocolate. When we were done, of course a trip to the ladies' room was in order. The restroom, unfortunately, was out of order. Really out of order. The floor was flooded, the guilty toilet filled to the rim. We had to skip that one. I walked to my car in the cold, dreaming of my nice, warm, dry bathroom at home.
Finally, there is the Spoon. I am not a fan of the Spoon. Recently my girlfriends and I went to High Tides for lunch. A bottle of wine, some Thai soup, luxury on a Friday! Until I needed to use the restroom. With the key. Hanging on a spoon. Non-gender specific. I somehow don't feel clean carrying around the Spoon. Just because I wash my hands afterward and use a paper towel to open the door doesn't mean everyone else does. And the spoon negates any handwashing because who knows who had it before you? Yeah, not a fan.
Restaurants, please take notice. You are being judged on the quality of your restrooms. Please clean them. Make them smell pretty. And please, I beg of you. Eliminate the Spoon.
Now, notice I said I like to find the 'cleanest.' This isn't always easy and there is a wide variety of hygienic standards, ranging across the board from gas station grossness to the posh powder room with rows of perfumes and the lady who sits there all day waiting to turn on the faucet for you. Personally, those are my least favorite. Knowing there's someone out there listening to me pee and then treating me like an invalid when I'm done. I can't look her in the eye, but that somehow makes me feel like an elitist old hag. And do I tip because she did something I'm perfectly capable of doing for myself? It's just uncomfortable all over the place for me.
Now, sometimes the restroom stereotype doesn't always hold true. Take, for example, the gas station we rolled into on our last trip to Victoria, somewhere in Washington. It was around 4 a.m. and the prospect of using a gas station restroom at that time wasn't exactly appealing. However, such a pleasant surprise awaited us. Clean! A lovely, burning scented candle! Pretty pictures! Bible verses on the mirror? On second thought.....
And then there are the places that one would expect much from only to be sorely disappointed. One restaurant in town, which shall remain nameless (just think of the place with notoriously bad service - aka snotty waiters), graced me with one of my worst experiences ever. It was a wine-tasting night out for the girls. Lovely evening - wine, cheese, chocolate. When we were done, of course a trip to the ladies' room was in order. The restroom, unfortunately, was out of order. Really out of order. The floor was flooded, the guilty toilet filled to the rim. We had to skip that one. I walked to my car in the cold, dreaming of my nice, warm, dry bathroom at home.
Finally, there is the Spoon. I am not a fan of the Spoon. Recently my girlfriends and I went to High Tides for lunch. A bottle of wine, some Thai soup, luxury on a Friday! Until I needed to use the restroom. With the key. Hanging on a spoon. Non-gender specific. I somehow don't feel clean carrying around the Spoon. Just because I wash my hands afterward and use a paper towel to open the door doesn't mean everyone else does. And the spoon negates any handwashing because who knows who had it before you? Yeah, not a fan.
Restaurants, please take notice. You are being judged on the quality of your restrooms. Please clean them. Make them smell pretty. And please, I beg of you. Eliminate the Spoon.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
A Simple Request
I'm not antisocial and I'm not a hermit. I'm just not a fan of the spontaneous drop-by. I don't think it's so much to ask that someone call before they come over. Please, people. I'm giving you fair warning now - I won't answer the door if you just show up unannounced.
It's social etiquette, really. I might not have makeup on or have my hair done or don't feel like putting on my bra. If I'm not getting dressed to see people, I don't want to be seen by you at my front door. I might be in the middle of making dinner, which I don't want to have to let sit and get cold and dry because you have bad timing and don't observe normal dinner hours. I might be having a really bad day and don't feel like having to be unexpectedly cordial. I might be in the middle of a really great movie, or a much needed nap or yelling at my kid or having sex. It is my house, after all. And it's very rude to stand outside my door, ringing my doorbell multiple times because you hear my dogs barking and see my car outside. It's presumptuous to think that I'm going to drop whatever I'm doing because you want to insert yourself into my day.
So please. Heed my simple request. I appreciate the thought, but call first.
It's social etiquette, really. I might not have makeup on or have my hair done or don't feel like putting on my bra. If I'm not getting dressed to see people, I don't want to be seen by you at my front door. I might be in the middle of making dinner, which I don't want to have to let sit and get cold and dry because you have bad timing and don't observe normal dinner hours. I might be having a really bad day and don't feel like having to be unexpectedly cordial. I might be in the middle of a really great movie, or a much needed nap or yelling at my kid or having sex. It is my house, after all. And it's very rude to stand outside my door, ringing my doorbell multiple times because you hear my dogs barking and see my car outside. It's presumptuous to think that I'm going to drop whatever I'm doing because you want to insert yourself into my day.
So please. Heed my simple request. I appreciate the thought, but call first.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
The Tale of the Perfect Meal
Once upon a time there was a beautiful young woman who had her dining experience ruined by the evil waitress serving her. Okay, so I'm the beautiful young woman (because I am. Really!) and the woman wasn't evil so much as extremely inattentive.
You see, it was my friend J's birthday. Now, birthdays aren't as fun for us as they used to be. It's that slow climb towards middle age that sometimes feels like it's happening at the speed of light, mostly when an unwanted gray hair pops up out of seemingly nowhere. She chose Staccato for her birthday dinner, the benefit of being older that you can afford to treat yourself when you want. We'd been there before, both for dinner and just for drinks or happy hour. L happens to think that their chicken pesto pizza is just about the Best Thing In Town while I am particularly fond of the Wiseguy cocktail. I highly recommend it if you are one who can handle your alcohol. It is instant happiness in a glass. On all of these occasions, we had perfectly pleasant experiences. The food is very good with excellent presentation and I'd never had a single complaint. Until the evening in question.
As I said, it was J's birthday. Now, we didn't mention this when making the reservation because we had no reason to expect that we'd enjoy our evening any less than we had on previous visits. How wrong we were. First, we were seated at the very first table behind the hostess station. Not the best place, rather disappointing, but someone has to sit there and it turned out to be us that night. We grumbled a little bit while we waited for our first drink.
Our server, who will be known hereafter as Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner, seemed nice enough at first. She came to take our drink order and took our appetizer order when she brought our drinks. And that was the end of that. She brought our appetizer and proceeded to ignore us for the rest of our meal. She didn't take our dinner order until we had eaten all of our appetizer. This made for a very long wait between courses. She neglected to let us know what the specials were, we had to ask. She was very slow in asking if we'd like a second drink and never asked if we'd like a third. She never came to check on us or ask if we needed anything else. There was a young girl who brought us water and we ended up asking her if she could bring our check and box our leftovers as she was more attentive to us than Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner.
Something you should know about me is that I might complain to my dinner companions about the service we receive but I truly do try to give someone the benefit of the doubt. There is a reason that waiting tables isn't my job. Maybe she was having a bad day/her dog was sick/her boyfriend just left her. But we watched her and every other table got her prompt attention. She walked past us dozens of times while serving them and completely ignored us. Wouldn't even look at us. It was like we were invisible to her. Or else a really dirty pile of laundry in the corner that she'd rather not deal with.
Needless to say, her poor service and inattentiveness ruined our dinner experience. J was especially unhappy since it was her birthday and this was supposed to be a treat to make her feel better. We had planned on splurging on dessert even, but by the time our dinner finally arrived we only wanted to leave and it couldn't happen fast enough.
And here we come to the part of the story where I did something I've never done before. I wrote a complaint to the restaurant. I have friends who have complained very publicly about poor service and rude restaurant staff. Some of you may be familiar with the Kanpai Incident from a couple of years ago. I never felt that any experience warranted that much attention. And I didn't this time either. After thinking about it, the real reason I wrote to Staccato is because I really like it there. I had enjoyed all of my visits up until this one and I thought that if that evening had been my first visit, I would never have gone back. And I didn't want someone else to feel this way about 'my' restaurant. It actually mattered to me, odd as that sounds.
So I sat down with my friend the laptop and sent off a quick email to Staccato Management. I really didn't expect a reply. I suppose I'm used to the attitude that people don't care anymore. "So what." "Who cares about you." "We have a full house tonight so you must be wrong." I certainly didn't expect the response I got. Susan Pasquetti, co-owner of Staccato, wrote me back personally and quickly. She sincerely apologized, and seemed honestly surprised by Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner's service as she was one of the original staff members and apparently had the reputation of being "extremely attentive to every detail." It was a surprisingly heartfelt and much appreciated response.
Fast forward three months to last night. A rare night out with L. An actual Date Night. I decided to give Staccato another try. As much as L loves the pizza, he'd never actually been there for dinner and, although aware of my previous bad experience, had no expectations of his own. It turned out to be one of the Absolute Best Dinners Ever.
We were seated at a cozy table in front of the fireplace. Our server this time was Amy. She introduced herself to us right away and took our drink order. Throughout the entire meal she was prompt, courteous and attentive. She answered questions about the food knowledgeably and complimented my choice of entree. (I don't know why I get such a kick out of it when they do that. I just do.) She brought us more bread to dip in the delicious tomato broth that the clams and mussels came in. She brought L more coffee. She boxed our leftovers neatly. She was absolutely perfect.
The surprise of the evening came when Susan Pasquetti herself brought my entree out personally to meet me. She is a lovely woman. And before you say anything, Amy asked at the end of our meal if I know Susan. I replied that we had just met, having the impression that Amy wasn't aware of my complaint letter. I believe her wonderful service was indicative of how she treats all of her customers.
And now I must take a moment to tell you about our meal because it was that good. I'm not a restaurant critic, I just like good food and this was exceptional. We started with the clams and mussels. I told you that Amy brought extra bread to go with it. This is because the tomato broth is so good I wanted to soak up every last little drop of it. The bread is also worth mentioning. Crispy, crunchy crust with a soft, pillowy inside. I am somewhat of a bread connoisseur and this is really excellent bread. If I had to choose only one type of food to eat for the rest of my life it would probably be bread and cheese. See? I'm really a simple girl.
Next, I knew I wanted the Caesar Roulade salad. Similar to the traditional Caesar, it is served as a heart of romaine with goat cheese stuffed inside the leaves. I happen to have an obsession with goat cheese lately so I really just love this salad. L chose the same and was also pleased.
For my entree I had a bit of a debate with myself. I've had the Mock Beef Tender before and loved it. Bread, cheese, meat - simple girl, remember? No comments from the peanut gallery necessary. But then Amy came to inform us of the evening's specials. Staccato has a risotto special every night. I've seen other people order it before and while the presentation was beautiful, I was only briefly tempted to try it. Last night's risotto consisted of duck, roasted red pepper, a goat cheese mousse and shaved truffles. Then she told us about the mahi mahi with two kinds of sauces and an apple-crab salad on top. Darn. Steak? Duck? Mahi mahi? I normally go with what I know, but threw caution to the wind last night and went with the risotto. When duck is done right, there's not much that beats it. And this was certainly done right. I expected a few pieces of duck with mostly rice. I got a moist, delicious duck morsel in every bite. And the risotto? Just the perfect amount of cheese, not overwhelmingly rich, like the kind of rich where you have two bites and you're done. I wanted to eat all of it but after the clams and mussels, extra bread and salad I just couldn't do it. Which just means I have a delicious little lunch waiting for me today.
L went with the Mock Beef per my recommendation. This comes as beef medallions with the most delicious goat cheese gratin (obsesssion, remember?) and beautiful, flowery stems of broccolini. He loved it. Described the steak as "melt in your mouth." And it did. I stole a couple of bites. Little bites of heaven.
Last night being Date Night, and having such success so far, we went for it and ordered dessert. I was very disappointed to learn that they had run out of the creme brulee trio but L spotted the pumpkin cheesecake right away so I settled for that. Settled does not turn out to be the right description. I'm not even a big pumpkin fan, but this was as close to the perfect cheesecake as I have ever had. Topped with just the right amount of whipped cream, swirls of caramel on the plate and the prettiest and most delicious piece of pumpkin seed brittle on top. More bites of heaven. Four to be exact because I was absolutely stuffed. The cheesecake also ended up in a little box and is in the fridge waiting to be fought over later.
It was, in the end, The Perfect Meal. Impeccable service, exquisite food and the company? A Date Night to beat all date nights. I couldn't have been happier.
The moral of the story dear readers? Not everyone deserves second chances. Not what you thought I'd say? It's true. But anyone who honestly and sincerely tries to do their absolute best for you does deserve another chance. Susan Pasquetti and Staccato fit this category to a T. Thank you Susan, Amy and the Unseen Chef for an incredible meal and a truly remarkable evening! My love affair with Staccato will continue.
You see, it was my friend J's birthday. Now, birthdays aren't as fun for us as they used to be. It's that slow climb towards middle age that sometimes feels like it's happening at the speed of light, mostly when an unwanted gray hair pops up out of seemingly nowhere. She chose Staccato for her birthday dinner, the benefit of being older that you can afford to treat yourself when you want. We'd been there before, both for dinner and just for drinks or happy hour. L happens to think that their chicken pesto pizza is just about the Best Thing In Town while I am particularly fond of the Wiseguy cocktail. I highly recommend it if you are one who can handle your alcohol. It is instant happiness in a glass. On all of these occasions, we had perfectly pleasant experiences. The food is very good with excellent presentation and I'd never had a single complaint. Until the evening in question.
As I said, it was J's birthday. Now, we didn't mention this when making the reservation because we had no reason to expect that we'd enjoy our evening any less than we had on previous visits. How wrong we were. First, we were seated at the very first table behind the hostess station. Not the best place, rather disappointing, but someone has to sit there and it turned out to be us that night. We grumbled a little bit while we waited for our first drink.
Our server, who will be known hereafter as Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner, seemed nice enough at first. She came to take our drink order and took our appetizer order when she brought our drinks. And that was the end of that. She brought our appetizer and proceeded to ignore us for the rest of our meal. She didn't take our dinner order until we had eaten all of our appetizer. This made for a very long wait between courses. She neglected to let us know what the specials were, we had to ask. She was very slow in asking if we'd like a second drink and never asked if we'd like a third. She never came to check on us or ask if we needed anything else. There was a young girl who brought us water and we ended up asking her if she could bring our check and box our leftovers as she was more attentive to us than Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner.
Something you should know about me is that I might complain to my dinner companions about the service we receive but I truly do try to give someone the benefit of the doubt. There is a reason that waiting tables isn't my job. Maybe she was having a bad day/her dog was sick/her boyfriend just left her. But we watched her and every other table got her prompt attention. She walked past us dozens of times while serving them and completely ignored us. Wouldn't even look at us. It was like we were invisible to her. Or else a really dirty pile of laundry in the corner that she'd rather not deal with.
Needless to say, her poor service and inattentiveness ruined our dinner experience. J was especially unhappy since it was her birthday and this was supposed to be a treat to make her feel better. We had planned on splurging on dessert even, but by the time our dinner finally arrived we only wanted to leave and it couldn't happen fast enough.
And here we come to the part of the story where I did something I've never done before. I wrote a complaint to the restaurant. I have friends who have complained very publicly about poor service and rude restaurant staff. Some of you may be familiar with the Kanpai Incident from a couple of years ago. I never felt that any experience warranted that much attention. And I didn't this time either. After thinking about it, the real reason I wrote to Staccato is because I really like it there. I had enjoyed all of my visits up until this one and I thought that if that evening had been my first visit, I would never have gone back. And I didn't want someone else to feel this way about 'my' restaurant. It actually mattered to me, odd as that sounds.
So I sat down with my friend the laptop and sent off a quick email to Staccato Management. I really didn't expect a reply. I suppose I'm used to the attitude that people don't care anymore. "So what." "Who cares about you." "We have a full house tonight so you must be wrong." I certainly didn't expect the response I got. Susan Pasquetti, co-owner of Staccato, wrote me back personally and quickly. She sincerely apologized, and seemed honestly surprised by Ms. Ignore-the-Table-in-the-Corner's service as she was one of the original staff members and apparently had the reputation of being "extremely attentive to every detail." It was a surprisingly heartfelt and much appreciated response.
Fast forward three months to last night. A rare night out with L. An actual Date Night. I decided to give Staccato another try. As much as L loves the pizza, he'd never actually been there for dinner and, although aware of my previous bad experience, had no expectations of his own. It turned out to be one of the Absolute Best Dinners Ever.
We were seated at a cozy table in front of the fireplace. Our server this time was Amy. She introduced herself to us right away and took our drink order. Throughout the entire meal she was prompt, courteous and attentive. She answered questions about the food knowledgeably and complimented my choice of entree. (I don't know why I get such a kick out of it when they do that. I just do.) She brought us more bread to dip in the delicious tomato broth that the clams and mussels came in. She brought L more coffee. She boxed our leftovers neatly. She was absolutely perfect.
The surprise of the evening came when Susan Pasquetti herself brought my entree out personally to meet me. She is a lovely woman. And before you say anything, Amy asked at the end of our meal if I know Susan. I replied that we had just met, having the impression that Amy wasn't aware of my complaint letter. I believe her wonderful service was indicative of how she treats all of her customers.
And now I must take a moment to tell you about our meal because it was that good. I'm not a restaurant critic, I just like good food and this was exceptional. We started with the clams and mussels. I told you that Amy brought extra bread to go with it. This is because the tomato broth is so good I wanted to soak up every last little drop of it. The bread is also worth mentioning. Crispy, crunchy crust with a soft, pillowy inside. I am somewhat of a bread connoisseur and this is really excellent bread. If I had to choose only one type of food to eat for the rest of my life it would probably be bread and cheese. See? I'm really a simple girl.
Next, I knew I wanted the Caesar Roulade salad. Similar to the traditional Caesar, it is served as a heart of romaine with goat cheese stuffed inside the leaves. I happen to have an obsession with goat cheese lately so I really just love this salad. L chose the same and was also pleased.
For my entree I had a bit of a debate with myself. I've had the Mock Beef Tender before and loved it. Bread, cheese, meat - simple girl, remember? No comments from the peanut gallery necessary. But then Amy came to inform us of the evening's specials. Staccato has a risotto special every night. I've seen other people order it before and while the presentation was beautiful, I was only briefly tempted to try it. Last night's risotto consisted of duck, roasted red pepper, a goat cheese mousse and shaved truffles. Then she told us about the mahi mahi with two kinds of sauces and an apple-crab salad on top. Darn. Steak? Duck? Mahi mahi? I normally go with what I know, but threw caution to the wind last night and went with the risotto. When duck is done right, there's not much that beats it. And this was certainly done right. I expected a few pieces of duck with mostly rice. I got a moist, delicious duck morsel in every bite. And the risotto? Just the perfect amount of cheese, not overwhelmingly rich, like the kind of rich where you have two bites and you're done. I wanted to eat all of it but after the clams and mussels, extra bread and salad I just couldn't do it. Which just means I have a delicious little lunch waiting for me today.
L went with the Mock Beef per my recommendation. This comes as beef medallions with the most delicious goat cheese gratin (obsesssion, remember?) and beautiful, flowery stems of broccolini. He loved it. Described the steak as "melt in your mouth." And it did. I stole a couple of bites. Little bites of heaven.
Last night being Date Night, and having such success so far, we went for it and ordered dessert. I was very disappointed to learn that they had run out of the creme brulee trio but L spotted the pumpkin cheesecake right away so I settled for that. Settled does not turn out to be the right description. I'm not even a big pumpkin fan, but this was as close to the perfect cheesecake as I have ever had. Topped with just the right amount of whipped cream, swirls of caramel on the plate and the prettiest and most delicious piece of pumpkin seed brittle on top. More bites of heaven. Four to be exact because I was absolutely stuffed. The cheesecake also ended up in a little box and is in the fridge waiting to be fought over later.
It was, in the end, The Perfect Meal. Impeccable service, exquisite food and the company? A Date Night to beat all date nights. I couldn't have been happier.
The moral of the story dear readers? Not everyone deserves second chances. Not what you thought I'd say? It's true. But anyone who honestly and sincerely tries to do their absolute best for you does deserve another chance. Susan Pasquetti and Staccato fit this category to a T. Thank you Susan, Amy and the Unseen Chef for an incredible meal and a truly remarkable evening! My love affair with Staccato will continue.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Don't pee on your sister!
A few months ago I couldn't imagine why I would say this particular phrase. Now I say it all the time.
I have two dogs, which would normally require two leashes. But I'm a genius and got a double doggie harness, which hooks one leash to both of their harnesses. Now they are the ones fighting if they get tangled up instead of me wrestling with two leashes, switching hands, undoing the mess they get themselves in. Brilliant! Except for one thing.
Remy loves to stop and pee on every bush, tree and rock every 10 feet. Daddy encourages this behavior, probably because peeing outdoors is one of the few ways in which he can actually bond with said dog. Mommy thinks it's gross and says so. And little Ruby? Well, the poor little girl is often in Remy's line of fire even if she's not actually a target. He's somehow managed to miss her so far. Until today.
I decide it's a beautiful day, nice enough to go for a nice, long walk by the river. No stress, right? Wrong. Because here we are, strolling along, until I get stopped short by Remy sniffing a tree, a rock, a bush, a pine needle. And more often than not, Ruby is smack in the middle of Remy and his desired pee target. So I tug on the leash and say "Don't pee on your sister." We go on our merry way.
Until It happens. I don't catch him in time. He stops, sees a tree, doesn't even give the warning sniff. He just lifts his leg and marks his spot. His spot ends up being his sister's neck, because she is standing in the unfortunate location of Between Remy and the Tree. And it's the white part of her neck, so there's a nice yellow pee stain for the remainder of our walk. And I'm yelling at my dog, "I told you not to pee on your sister!!" like some crazy person.
Ruby is recovered now, even if I'm not. I got her all cleaned up and sprayed her with pretty puppy perfume for good measure. I sprayed Remy too, just because it scared him. That'll show him!
I have two dogs, which would normally require two leashes. But I'm a genius and got a double doggie harness, which hooks one leash to both of their harnesses. Now they are the ones fighting if they get tangled up instead of me wrestling with two leashes, switching hands, undoing the mess they get themselves in. Brilliant! Except for one thing.
Remy loves to stop and pee on every bush, tree and rock every 10 feet. Daddy encourages this behavior, probably because peeing outdoors is one of the few ways in which he can actually bond with said dog. Mommy thinks it's gross and says so. And little Ruby? Well, the poor little girl is often in Remy's line of fire even if she's not actually a target. He's somehow managed to miss her so far. Until today.
I decide it's a beautiful day, nice enough to go for a nice, long walk by the river. No stress, right? Wrong. Because here we are, strolling along, until I get stopped short by Remy sniffing a tree, a rock, a bush, a pine needle. And more often than not, Ruby is smack in the middle of Remy and his desired pee target. So I tug on the leash and say "Don't pee on your sister." We go on our merry way.
Until It happens. I don't catch him in time. He stops, sees a tree, doesn't even give the warning sniff. He just lifts his leg and marks his spot. His spot ends up being his sister's neck, because she is standing in the unfortunate location of Between Remy and the Tree. And it's the white part of her neck, so there's a nice yellow pee stain for the remainder of our walk. And I'm yelling at my dog, "I told you not to pee on your sister!!" like some crazy person.
Ruby is recovered now, even if I'm not. I got her all cleaned up and sprayed her with pretty puppy perfume for good measure. I sprayed Remy too, just because it scared him. That'll show him!
Monday, October 29, 2007
If I could spin a cocoon....
I would wrap one tightly, securely, insistently around my daughter. Just like a caterpillar she is undergoing a transformation. Sometimes dramatic, other times more subtle, always mesmerizing, amazing and frightening at the same time. I'm not always sure what my role should be or what to expect at the end, so I'd like to cocoon her and tuck her away in a safe place until she emerges miraculously as the butterfly she is meant to become.
I've said this before to any poor soul who will listen to me, but I really hate that middle school starts at 6th grade here. I don't think she's ready. She's still so small, the 8th grade boys tower over her. She is only just barely beginning to develop but insists on wearing a bra because she has to undress in the locker room and needs that tiny little undergarment for security.
And it's not just the physical differences that I am on the constant lookout for. She's much more focused on her social life this year. She's had a cell phone for the last year, but I've had to take it away twice in the last month for excessive use. If I gave her free reign, she'd rack up more minutes the rest of us combined. She's even more boy-crazy than before and unabashedly so. It's very disconcerting for a parent. I'm choosing my battles, and so far I think I'm winning more than I'm losing, but I just may be losing my sanity in the process.
Her social ambitions are now being reflected in her grades. In elementary school, she was used to being the queen bee. She garnered the attentions of both her classmates and her teachers effortlessly. This affection, and lack of having to work for it, was reflected in her school performance. She was able to focus more on schoolwork and was rewarded handsomely by her teachers. She basically only needed to show up, smile, pay a modicum amount of attention and she coasted her way through the introductory phase of her education.
Now she is realizing the harsh reality of having to work to reach goals. There have been a few disappointing test scores and quiz results. The notion of actually studying in order to do well is a jarring wake up call. To both of us, really. I've always taken for granted the fact that she is intelligent and I didn't expect that would ever change. I guess I hadn't thought to factor in the hormonal impacts of puberty. The fact that, for her, a math quiz just isn't as exciting as the upcoming dance or that being able to spell "occurrence" correctly isn't as satisfying as having That Boy talk to you.
Puberty. What an ugly word. It's turning my child into an almost unrecognizable being. Not to say she's been perfect to this point. This little person has always had her own ideas, her own agenda about her life and is always pushing the boundaries of her small existence. If this translates into her ability to stand up for herself and her beliefs and not take "no" for an answer, then I will be very proud indeed. But when I am the one saying "no", it's a somewhat bitter pill to swallow. Asking her to fold the laundry results in an eye roll, denying her request to spend the night at a friend's house turns into a 10 minute attempt at negotiation to get her way. It's exhausting sometimes.
I have to admit this isn't my favorite part of parenting. I'm not fully prepared for this phase. It's a little like that dream I have where it's finals time and I haven't studied all semester so I have to go in and just wing it. I wing it a lot these days. I guess she is too. She's just trying to find her way in the world and I need to step back and give her some room to grow. She's actually a really cool kid and I have to trust that at least that won't change about her.
It would just be so much easier to wrap her up and hide her away until I'm ready to let her fly out into the world on her own.
I've said this before to any poor soul who will listen to me, but I really hate that middle school starts at 6th grade here. I don't think she's ready. She's still so small, the 8th grade boys tower over her. She is only just barely beginning to develop but insists on wearing a bra because she has to undress in the locker room and needs that tiny little undergarment for security.
And it's not just the physical differences that I am on the constant lookout for. She's much more focused on her social life this year. She's had a cell phone for the last year, but I've had to take it away twice in the last month for excessive use. If I gave her free reign, she'd rack up more minutes the rest of us combined. She's even more boy-crazy than before and unabashedly so. It's very disconcerting for a parent. I'm choosing my battles, and so far I think I'm winning more than I'm losing, but I just may be losing my sanity in the process.
Her social ambitions are now being reflected in her grades. In elementary school, she was used to being the queen bee. She garnered the attentions of both her classmates and her teachers effortlessly. This affection, and lack of having to work for it, was reflected in her school performance. She was able to focus more on schoolwork and was rewarded handsomely by her teachers. She basically only needed to show up, smile, pay a modicum amount of attention and she coasted her way through the introductory phase of her education.
Now she is realizing the harsh reality of having to work to reach goals. There have been a few disappointing test scores and quiz results. The notion of actually studying in order to do well is a jarring wake up call. To both of us, really. I've always taken for granted the fact that she is intelligent and I didn't expect that would ever change. I guess I hadn't thought to factor in the hormonal impacts of puberty. The fact that, for her, a math quiz just isn't as exciting as the upcoming dance or that being able to spell "occurrence" correctly isn't as satisfying as having That Boy talk to you.
Puberty. What an ugly word. It's turning my child into an almost unrecognizable being. Not to say she's been perfect to this point. This little person has always had her own ideas, her own agenda about her life and is always pushing the boundaries of her small existence. If this translates into her ability to stand up for herself and her beliefs and not take "no" for an answer, then I will be very proud indeed. But when I am the one saying "no", it's a somewhat bitter pill to swallow. Asking her to fold the laundry results in an eye roll, denying her request to spend the night at a friend's house turns into a 10 minute attempt at negotiation to get her way. It's exhausting sometimes.
I have to admit this isn't my favorite part of parenting. I'm not fully prepared for this phase. It's a little like that dream I have where it's finals time and I haven't studied all semester so I have to go in and just wing it. I wing it a lot these days. I guess she is too. She's just trying to find her way in the world and I need to step back and give her some room to grow. She's actually a really cool kid and I have to trust that at least that won't change about her.
It would just be so much easier to wrap her up and hide her away until I'm ready to let her fly out into the world on her own.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
The Internet is THIS big....
There are days that I am so in love with the internet I can't tell you! Today is one of those days. Yes, me and WWW are having ourselves an Affair!! I'm pre-planning for Halloween. (And those of you who have been to our parties, THIS year is going to be a doozy!) So I'm looking for a costume and a mask (party-goers, stay tuned. Ya'll will be filled in soon enough). The combinations I am finding are limitless. I can't choose just one! The colors, the textures - I am on sensory overload!! Even if it is only my visual sense. Shush, I'm in some kind of trance right now...
On the other hand, this World Wide Web thing terrifies me. Because I am a parent. Of a girl-child. When I was a child, my parents had to worry only about our neighbors, maybe a teacher once in a while, and a random stranger driving down our street. Today the Radius of Danger is so much larger. My daughter now plays on-line games. Made for kids. Should be safe, right? I'm not so sure. She has admitted to 'pretending' to be 15 to boys she has 'met' online. She is 11. She's not 15. What are the chances that these 'boys' are 15?
I'm torn on this issue. I may be an 'old woman' now, but I remember those days. I remember wearing extra makeup in the hopes I might score a margarita in the local Mexican restaurant. I succeeded, by the way. At 16. I remember the pangs of puberty. I may not have known exactly what I wanted or how to get it, but I knew there was a goal in there somewhere. So I can't completely blame my daughter. She's having the same feelings, the same thoughts, that girls have had forever. Blame it on the hormones. I'm going to.
My dilemma is this -
I don't have to worry only about the next door neighbor, or her math teacher, or her tennis coach. I have to worry about the random 42-year-old man who lives in Poughkeepsie. The one who has an interest in my child that, if I knew what it was and who he was, I would, without a doubt, without hesitation, pull his testicles through his throat. What I'm saying is, our children are exposed to a hundred thousand times the dangers that we were. I'm often accused of exaggerating this point, but I don't think I am. When I was a child, the people that could hurt me were limited to maybe a 10 mile radius. The people that can hurt my daughter are limited by their internet access. This is the entire world. Leaving out the third world countries only. Maybe.
What's the solution? I don't know. Open communication? Web Nanny? I don't know. I don't have all the answers. This is new territory for me. I don't think I'm alone in this. I will be over-vigilant. I will be nosy. I will probably, unfortunately, spy on my child. In the name of safety. I hope it's enough. If anyone has a suggestion, I'm open.
In the meantime, WWW and I have some more dresses to look at. And shoes. Maybe some gloves. The night is young and I'm feeling frisky....
On the other hand, this World Wide Web thing terrifies me. Because I am a parent. Of a girl-child. When I was a child, my parents had to worry only about our neighbors, maybe a teacher once in a while, and a random stranger driving down our street. Today the Radius of Danger is so much larger. My daughter now plays on-line games. Made for kids. Should be safe, right? I'm not so sure. She has admitted to 'pretending' to be 15 to boys she has 'met' online. She is 11. She's not 15. What are the chances that these 'boys' are 15?
I'm torn on this issue. I may be an 'old woman' now, but I remember those days. I remember wearing extra makeup in the hopes I might score a margarita in the local Mexican restaurant. I succeeded, by the way. At 16. I remember the pangs of puberty. I may not have known exactly what I wanted or how to get it, but I knew there was a goal in there somewhere. So I can't completely blame my daughter. She's having the same feelings, the same thoughts, that girls have had forever. Blame it on the hormones. I'm going to.
My dilemma is this -
I don't have to worry only about the next door neighbor, or her math teacher, or her tennis coach. I have to worry about the random 42-year-old man who lives in Poughkeepsie. The one who has an interest in my child that, if I knew what it was and who he was, I would, without a doubt, without hesitation, pull his testicles through his throat. What I'm saying is, our children are exposed to a hundred thousand times the dangers that we were. I'm often accused of exaggerating this point, but I don't think I am. When I was a child, the people that could hurt me were limited to maybe a 10 mile radius. The people that can hurt my daughter are limited by their internet access. This is the entire world. Leaving out the third world countries only. Maybe.
What's the solution? I don't know. Open communication? Web Nanny? I don't know. I don't have all the answers. This is new territory for me. I don't think I'm alone in this. I will be over-vigilant. I will be nosy. I will probably, unfortunately, spy on my child. In the name of safety. I hope it's enough. If anyone has a suggestion, I'm open.
In the meantime, WWW and I have some more dresses to look at. And shoes. Maybe some gloves. The night is young and I'm feeling frisky....
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Crazy Dog Lady
Yes, I am THAT crazy dog lady. Sir Rembrandt owns no less than two sweaters, three collars, sunglasses and a bathrobe. He also recognizes me as That Crazy Dog Lady and refuses to wear the sunglasses and insists on looking humiliated when required to wear his bathrobe. He does, however, absolutely adore his black Rock Star t-shirt. I swear he'd wear it every day if I let him. He knows that it makes him Cool.
After tomorrow I will be even Crazier. I am going to pick up the newest addition to our little fur family. Her name is Ruby and she is 12 weeks old. She is beautiful, she is adorable, she is the Future Diva.
Since I was already at Target buying the obviously-needed supply of carpet cleaner, I checked out their Doggy section. I was quite disappointed, as it seemed bare compared to the usual supply of designer duds, toys and bowls they usually carry. Although they did have the most precious pink velvet collar I've ever seen. I also purchased a rubber chewy shaped like a diamond ring. Pink of course. I was very tempted to buy the eyelet lace dress, but as I don't know her exact size yet, I had to pass it up. Fear not, she will own her first Diva dress in a matter of days.
Next I stopped at Petsmart since Target was so low in their selection of leashes. I selected a pink harness with rhinestones and matching leash. This girl will be in style, let me tell you. I also picked up a cute little stuffed dog for her to cuddle with, perfectly soft and snuggly.
I am a little concerned that Remy will feel Less Than and Forgotten About but I know if he does, it won't last long. He's very intelligent and I think he already understands. He assumes that all stuffed animals belong to him, as they should, but he's really not interested in the one I brought home today. I think he will make the best big brother around and love his little Ruby almost as much as I will.
The thought of the two of them snuggled together in front of the fireplace just warms my Crazy Dog Lady heart.
After tomorrow I will be even Crazier. I am going to pick up the newest addition to our little fur family. Her name is Ruby and she is 12 weeks old. She is beautiful, she is adorable, she is the Future Diva.
Since I was already at Target buying the obviously-needed supply of carpet cleaner, I checked out their Doggy section. I was quite disappointed, as it seemed bare compared to the usual supply of designer duds, toys and bowls they usually carry. Although they did have the most precious pink velvet collar I've ever seen. I also purchased a rubber chewy shaped like a diamond ring. Pink of course. I was very tempted to buy the eyelet lace dress, but as I don't know her exact size yet, I had to pass it up. Fear not, she will own her first Diva dress in a matter of days.
Next I stopped at Petsmart since Target was so low in their selection of leashes. I selected a pink harness with rhinestones and matching leash. This girl will be in style, let me tell you. I also picked up a cute little stuffed dog for her to cuddle with, perfectly soft and snuggly.
I am a little concerned that Remy will feel Less Than and Forgotten About but I know if he does, it won't last long. He's very intelligent and I think he already understands. He assumes that all stuffed animals belong to him, as they should, but he's really not interested in the one I brought home today. I think he will make the best big brother around and love his little Ruby almost as much as I will.
The thought of the two of them snuggled together in front of the fireplace just warms my Crazy Dog Lady heart.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Mood of Melancholy With a Side of Reflection
Yes, I realize that it has been months. I would resolve to write for you more frequently, but I'm a really bad liar. I'm afraid you'll just have to take what you can get at this point, with my sincerest apologies. Thank you for understanding my neuroses.
Why the melancholy you ask? Oh, well, what could it be? Possibly the fact that I probably hate winter more than anyone else I know. After almost 15 years of living here I am still dumbfounded that my windshield can require this 'object' to scrape 'ice' before I can drive away.
But besides that, I've undergone a few changes in the last few months. My mom and dad decided to retire and move to some God-forsaken town in Mississippi. (M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-Humpback-Humpback-I) that only has dial-up internet. Horror of all horrors -can you even imagine such a thing?
Now I know that I'm an adult, and have separated psychologically appropriately from my mother's apron strings, but I cried like a baby when she told me she would be moving. And I had over a year to prepare, as they had a business here and my brother was finishing high school. But it wasn't enough. And, oddly, the closer to the day that we got, the farther I pushed away. I couldn't handle it. I could not imagine not being in the same town as my mom. She's the reason I've stayed in the Land of Long Winters for as long as I have. I wanted my daughter to be close to her grandparents, I had a convenient back-up babysitter. True, I rarely saw my mom, but she was here when I needed her. Or just wanted to see her. She was here.
They ended up leaving at the end of October. That made this the first Christmas in my whole life that I have not spent with my family. And it truly is the family as my 18 year old baby brother and 29 year old baby sister moved with the parental units as well. I may have cried like a baby over the move, but that's where my babyness ended. (Apart from the whining that I'm doing now.) It seemed as if all the traditions from all the years just evaporated. Like they too had been packed in a box and put on the moving truck. I believe this holds true for a lot of families, the Mom is the glue. The Mom makes It happen. Without Mom, there would be no Christmas. There have been some adjustments over the years, as I've grown up, divorced, started a new relationship. But the basics were always there. And so was Mom.
This was also the first year that I allowed my daughter to be with her dad on Christmas Eve. Which meant no Kid in additon to no Mom. I almost did not know what to do with myself. So I baked cookies and pretended Santa was still coming. It was nice, just me and L. I made filet mignon for dinner. It just wasn't the same. There were two pieces of me missing. Physical, literal pieces - the part I came from and the part that came from me.
By default, I am now the glue. For my new family and for my old family. My Mom is sort of a weirdo. I can tell you 5 times in my life that I've seen her cry. I have probably cried at least once in the last 5 days. We are opposites. I am sentimental and "dramatic", she is practical and stable, consistent in her inconsistencies. She is the one now breaking away and leaving me behind. I'm not sure, but I think she has it backwards. At any rate, I am the New Glue. I am now responsible for holding my new family together and maintaining the connection between my parents for my daughter. And myself.
So there is sadness. It makes the New Year something else for me. Some relationships mean more to me than others. I want to make the most of what I have, and less of what I don't need. Cleaning out my closet. Dropping dead weight. Glue can only hold so much. I don't feel that I've achieved Super Glue status yet, it's all still so new to me. I'm practicing with paper, I can't do anything fancy like china teacups yet.
There are other changes I've gone through recently. One in particular that I chose. But it will have to wait as there is a bottle of wine and a boyfriend calling my name. So dear reader, to be continued...
Oh, resolutions you ask? I detest them, but if you insist.
I resolve to take better care of my skin.
I resolve to drink more.
I know there is a very real possibility that number one could be negated by number two, but there you go. It is what it is.
Why the melancholy you ask? Oh, well, what could it be? Possibly the fact that I probably hate winter more than anyone else I know. After almost 15 years of living here I am still dumbfounded that my windshield can require this 'object' to scrape 'ice' before I can drive away.
But besides that, I've undergone a few changes in the last few months. My mom and dad decided to retire and move to some God-forsaken town in Mississippi. (M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-I-Humpback-Humpback-I) that only has dial-up internet. Horror of all horrors -can you even imagine such a thing?
Now I know that I'm an adult, and have separated psychologically appropriately from my mother's apron strings, but I cried like a baby when she told me she would be moving. And I had over a year to prepare, as they had a business here and my brother was finishing high school. But it wasn't enough. And, oddly, the closer to the day that we got, the farther I pushed away. I couldn't handle it. I could not imagine not being in the same town as my mom. She's the reason I've stayed in the Land of Long Winters for as long as I have. I wanted my daughter to be close to her grandparents, I had a convenient back-up babysitter. True, I rarely saw my mom, but she was here when I needed her. Or just wanted to see her. She was here.
They ended up leaving at the end of October. That made this the first Christmas in my whole life that I have not spent with my family. And it truly is the family as my 18 year old baby brother and 29 year old baby sister moved with the parental units as well. I may have cried like a baby over the move, but that's where my babyness ended. (Apart from the whining that I'm doing now.) It seemed as if all the traditions from all the years just evaporated. Like they too had been packed in a box and put on the moving truck. I believe this holds true for a lot of families, the Mom is the glue. The Mom makes It happen. Without Mom, there would be no Christmas. There have been some adjustments over the years, as I've grown up, divorced, started a new relationship. But the basics were always there. And so was Mom.
This was also the first year that I allowed my daughter to be with her dad on Christmas Eve. Which meant no Kid in additon to no Mom. I almost did not know what to do with myself. So I baked cookies and pretended Santa was still coming. It was nice, just me and L. I made filet mignon for dinner. It just wasn't the same. There were two pieces of me missing. Physical, literal pieces - the part I came from and the part that came from me.
By default, I am now the glue. For my new family and for my old family. My Mom is sort of a weirdo. I can tell you 5 times in my life that I've seen her cry. I have probably cried at least once in the last 5 days. We are opposites. I am sentimental and "dramatic", she is practical and stable, consistent in her inconsistencies. She is the one now breaking away and leaving me behind. I'm not sure, but I think she has it backwards. At any rate, I am the New Glue. I am now responsible for holding my new family together and maintaining the connection between my parents for my daughter. And myself.
So there is sadness. It makes the New Year something else for me. Some relationships mean more to me than others. I want to make the most of what I have, and less of what I don't need. Cleaning out my closet. Dropping dead weight. Glue can only hold so much. I don't feel that I've achieved Super Glue status yet, it's all still so new to me. I'm practicing with paper, I can't do anything fancy like china teacups yet.
There are other changes I've gone through recently. One in particular that I chose. But it will have to wait as there is a bottle of wine and a boyfriend calling my name. So dear reader, to be continued...
Oh, resolutions you ask? I detest them, but if you insist.
I resolve to take better care of my skin.
I resolve to drink more.
I know there is a very real possibility that number one could be negated by number two, but there you go. It is what it is.
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