All of the children are gone for a while tonight and I'm left with myself. Wow. I've forgotten what that feels like and I'm reminded tonight...liberating. So much of my time is spent doing for them. I get so tired. So bored. So wrapped up in routine. Sigh. It's just the season that I'm in.
Some thoughts that pertain to me...apparently, I'm more into fashion than I ever dreamed I'd be. Weird, most of the time I wear jeans, t-shirts and flipflops. Hair piled up on top of my head, little make-up and I use a purse until the straps come apart, but yet...Project Runway is my favorite show, next to Top Chef. I long for a night where I can spend two hours getting ready, a symphony opening, a play...just something where I can shine. Is that narcissistic? Maybe shining isn't the right verb, maybe just feeling like I'm doing something that I ENJOY is enough. What's that like?
I watched an excellent movie tonight while the kids are away...The Visitor. Check it out. Awesome movie. And it's funny, it expresses exactly how I feel lately. I love when that happens. An older guy, bored with his life, going through the same old routine, playing a part he feels he has to play, but longing for something more. Something passionate, something that he loves and believes in. Beautiful movie. BEAUTIFUL. And he plays hand-drums. Actually, he learns to play them. I play the hand-drums, but I think too much when I play. There's a new building down the street that they just put a sign out for this week, the sign says "Lotus Studios...Belly Dancing, Yoga, Hand Drums, Karate". Think I'll check into hand drums.
That's all. Just feeling melancholy lately that I'm not doing what I want to do. Think I've said that before.
When will I start?
Too many thoughts going 'round in my head to reign in. Thinking about the possibility of opening a book store...hmmm....
Friday, October 17, 2008
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Ode to a Friend
I have a friend.
She's been my friend for 28 years. Just to write that number makes me catch my breath, to realize that I, and my friend, have been around for that long, and longer. Let me recount....2008 minus 1980...yes, that's right. 28 years. Wow.
Not to sound cliche, but it certainly doesn't seem that long. We've been through many jilted boyfriends, an untimely death of someone very close to both of us, college, drunken binges, a few disagreements, children, husbands, and many, many, many pets.
We only see each other a couple of times a year, and talk about once a month but each time I hear her voice, it feels like home.
She's always in control while she's out of control, that is who she is. Always questioning and never settling for ordinary, still she loves the mundane. She's somewhat of a contradiction, my friend, which is what makes her so interesting.
Happy 28th anniversary...you know who you are.
She's been my friend for 28 years. Just to write that number makes me catch my breath, to realize that I, and my friend, have been around for that long, and longer. Let me recount....2008 minus 1980...yes, that's right. 28 years. Wow.
Not to sound cliche, but it certainly doesn't seem that long. We've been through many jilted boyfriends, an untimely death of someone very close to both of us, college, drunken binges, a few disagreements, children, husbands, and many, many, many pets.
We only see each other a couple of times a year, and talk about once a month but each time I hear her voice, it feels like home.
She's always in control while she's out of control, that is who she is. Always questioning and never settling for ordinary, still she loves the mundane. She's somewhat of a contradiction, my friend, which is what makes her so interesting.
Happy 28th anniversary...you know who you are.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Snails and Puppy Dog Tails Rock
Girls.
So much to say about this gentle gender. I'm raising two teenage daughters and for the most part, they are the light of my life. Opposites in every way, they are in the 10th and 9th grade and growing up. Or not. Growing down? Stagnant? Filling out by the bust and booty but not in the brain? Moodier than a woman in the cruel throes of menopause. So smart sometimes in their insight to the human condition that I'm amazed, and other times, dumber than a pile of dirt. And just as unsightly. How can a teenage girl's very countenance change from one of bright, yellow sunshine to odorous, green dung in less than a second?
All I can say, is thank heaven for little boys. And men. If it weren't for my husband, Roberto, and my grandson, Mr. Wapkaplet, I'd lose my mind. As I type this, Roberto is behind me, playing COD on the XBox. Completely at ease with his geek factor, he's got more gadgets to this machine than I knew existed. I can't hear anything from the TV because of the full headphones he wears but at any given moment, he explodes with random comments that mean nothing to me but everything to his twelve-year old Internet comrades..."I'm in Grandma's house" or "They're in the conference room, dude!" and then there's "Watch the cave!" or "There's still one ON THE BALCONY!", and my all time personal favorite, "WHAT? NO WAY! I JUST UNLOADED A FULL CLIP ON HIS ASS! NO WAY HE'S NOT DEAD!"
Gotta love him. Simple creature that he is. He works, he eats, he sleeps, he poops, he plays. Just like my grandson, minus the work. And at the end of the day, he smiles at me, hugs me and tells me he loves me. Just like my grandson, minus the telling me he loves me. But only because he can't talk. I'm sure though, that when he says, "gleekumblakeoopuuu", that's exactly what he means. Because he's cool like that.
Ten minutes with the guys is like a band-aid coated with neosporin for my wounded, teenage girl inflicted, tortured soul.
So much to say about this gentle gender. I'm raising two teenage daughters and for the most part, they are the light of my life. Opposites in every way, they are in the 10th and 9th grade and growing up. Or not. Growing down? Stagnant? Filling out by the bust and booty but not in the brain? Moodier than a woman in the cruel throes of menopause. So smart sometimes in their insight to the human condition that I'm amazed, and other times, dumber than a pile of dirt. And just as unsightly. How can a teenage girl's very countenance change from one of bright, yellow sunshine to odorous, green dung in less than a second?
All I can say, is thank heaven for little boys. And men. If it weren't for my husband, Roberto, and my grandson, Mr. Wapkaplet, I'd lose my mind. As I type this, Roberto is behind me, playing COD on the XBox. Completely at ease with his geek factor, he's got more gadgets to this machine than I knew existed. I can't hear anything from the TV because of the full headphones he wears but at any given moment, he explodes with random comments that mean nothing to me but everything to his twelve-year old Internet comrades..."I'm in Grandma's house" or "They're in the conference room, dude!" and then there's "Watch the cave!" or "There's still one ON THE BALCONY!", and my all time personal favorite, "WHAT? NO WAY! I JUST UNLOADED A FULL CLIP ON HIS ASS! NO WAY HE'S NOT DEAD!"
Gotta love him. Simple creature that he is. He works, he eats, he sleeps, he poops, he plays. Just like my grandson, minus the work. And at the end of the day, he smiles at me, hugs me and tells me he loves me. Just like my grandson, minus the telling me he loves me. But only because he can't talk. I'm sure though, that when he says, "gleekumblakeoopuuu", that's exactly what he means. Because he's cool like that.
Ten minutes with the guys is like a band-aid coated with neosporin for my wounded, teenage girl inflicted, tortured soul.
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