Drove with my sis to Brooklyn last weekend. FUN. My uber-generous mom is there staying at a friend's apartment and treating us to all sorts of goodies; my nephew, also in Brooklyn, hosted us, took us to restaurants and basically catered to our every whim. He's a keeper.
My favorite stop: The Brooklyn Flea Market. Check out the ornate ceiling!
I wanted everything there. Instead, I bought a few metal letters that I plan to affix to the bathroom wall and spell a nice little reminder to the fresh batch of boys that visit on a continual basis, "Wash your hands."
We had fun with these letters over lunch making all sorts of useless phrases.
We bought lottery tix (fingers crossed!) and picked out houses that we wanted in my girlfriend Abby's neighborhood where my mom is staying. My mom and sis are going to split the brick duplex. I'll take the white townhouse, thank you very much.
Had fun shopping, eating and just spending time with family. So so so so awesome.
The only drawback was the complimentary Sopranos tour of NJ that our GPS unexpectedly provided on the way home. Hello industrial park . . . hey, what are those Hefty bags scattered across the road filled with? Body parts?
Oh, and looky here: it says "Child Molester" on the green fence. Lovely. Let's stop and take a picture!
All in all, a great weekend. Ah Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in.
Tis the season to decorate the Christmas tree. As such, it's that time of the year when I open a box filled with my very own, unique ornaments. Ornaments that my loving friends and family created and hung on the tree at a surprise party for my 30th birthday 17 years ago this month. (Sheesh!) You know that you're loved when everyone, bar one, selected the worst possible pictures of me. (It's really not that hard.) Ornaments of me as a baby with food all over my face. Looking miserable as a kid. Kicking my leg in the air at parties (i.e., knickers shot) as an adult. Holding cocktails at parties. You name it, I have it.
After almost two decades in a box, they're not faring so well so I decided to capture a few on "film." Today's image may explain why I am shorter than the rest of my 6' tall family.
Our final stop on Summer Vacation 2011 was spent at a beautiful resort in the mountains of PA: the Bedford Springs Hotel. It turned out to be a great place to explore. I started immediately upon check-in by heading to the tavern with Grannie and Son #2 in tow. We also found the game room with giant puzzles, chess boards, books, etc. Every room was so well appointed.
And there were little surprises hidden throughout. Nooks and crannies to escape and read a book. It had the requisite gift and pro shops but also a candy store as well as this sweet (!) ice cream and cupcake shop.
Pretty sure I could live here--especially if we could have hot chocolate for breakfast every morning!
We had the luxuriously warm, spring-fed, indoor pool to ourselves. That's me impersonating a jumbo shrimp.
Thanks to Hurricane Irene, we had the dark, overcast, outdoor pool to ourselves, as well.
Time to leave the pools, go back to the room to change and start driving home.
The only wave of "can we go now?" boredom struck as we waited for the car. Hey, that's what the large ottomans in the lobby are for, right?
Stop #4 was not originally in our plan. It wasn't until we spent over two hours stuck in traffic on I-95 heading out of DC earlier in the week that my VA-based brother suggested we take an alternate route home and stop at their place in Charlottesville, VA. A little off-track but likely to be roughly the same length of time. Sounded good to us!
Although we didn't stay overnight, we had a wonderful afternoon visiting them, touring Thomas Jefferson's Monticello and having a bite to eat. Thanks to my bro for taking the time off for us and to both him and my sister-in-law for running around gathering necessities for our stay (e.g., air mattresses, chocolate and pop-tarts) only to realize we were motoring on.
Grannie and Aunt Sue (a.k.a. Jackie O) in front of the flowers that were stunningly gorgeous but said flowers look more like weeds on this pic from my iPhone. (But Grannie and Sue still look lovely!)
Little man sitting outside the west front of the home wearing his new, 70s-inspired, Save the Endangered Sea Turtles t-shirt from Grannie.
Our week-long stay at Ocean Isle Beach, NC was so awesome. Church on the beach. Swimming in the waaaaaarm ocean. Swimming in the pool. Renting bicycles. Relaxing. Learning about sea turtles and their nesting patterns. No pressure. No laptop. Just the chance to hang with my NC brother and his adorable family for the first time in a couple of years.
My sister-in-law found a great little condo right on the beach. Here is our backyard.
Here are some men fishing on the sound (on the other side of our condo) taken from where Grannie and I were sitting on a bench and meditating (or chatting, you decide).
So peaceful. Actually, the entire island was fairly deserted. Probably because schools in the South start earlier than those of their northern kinfolk. Possibly because of the impending hurricane. Either way, it was great.
My kids got a chance to spend time with their youngest cousin. So blinkin' cute. They also got a chance to hear his sweet lil' Southern accent and learn some new phrases of their own. "Don't you backjaw me boy."
The best part for me, other than being all snugly with the family, is always the beach.
Goodbye Ocean Isle Beach. You were very good to us.
Son #1 with Billy Idol-styled hair courtesy of high speed tubing on choppy waters earlier this afternoon. We called it quits not after Son #1 was thrown from the tube but approximately 10 minute later when both kids flew roughly six feet in the air, landed with a thud but somehow, miraculously, remained in the inner tube.
Son #2 gazing at the lake and wondering how, against all odds, did his two loose teeth remain in his jaw after taking a beating while tubing. Behind the lens, me (tooth fairy on standby), wondering how, against all odds, did we all forget to make them put on their life vests after stopping at the Pier House for lunch.
The well-decorated shed behind the cottage bearing my bro-in-law's name and, I'm guessing, remnants of a few of the herd he so mercilessly turned into venison chili. (Yum! Sorry Tim.)
A tribute to a (clearly much loved) dog, Pa Pa's Boy, who died almost 100 years ago, marking the entrance to the driveway to the cottage. Most weekends he's donning Mardi Gras beads or a sombrero or basically anything festive. Today, he was naked. For whatever the reason, I love him.
With my Mother's Day overnight trip with my girlfriends to the spa at Mirbeau? Waiting in line just to gorge ourselves on steamers and shrimp kebabs at Doug's Fish Fry in Skaneateles? Sipping champagne cocktails with the Daytona Beach-like Moms Gone Wild crowd at the waterfall-fireplaced-grotto-like-outdoor hot tub? Trying to relax (with a pillow over my head) in the "quiet room" while some loud-mouthed chick told the whole room about her husband's celiac disease? Enjoying a fabulous but lengthy, three-hour dinner at the inn complete with capon magro (yummy lobster, shrimp, crab and capon crostini), venison tenderloin (delicious but so not a typical choice for me) and fork-fulls of my girlfriend's hummingbird cake (i.e., a hybrid, cream cheese frosted carrot/banana cake)? Waking up to a full clay body wrap treatment with head massage? Shopping in town the next day -- where timely Christmas music, including the Little Drummer Boy, played in the antique store? Coming home to the hammock and blowing off work for the day?
Where do I end?
With a visit from my mom's much loved, best friend from childhood, Joanne, and her husband John? With the, as always, wonderful barbecue at my sister's house? Or with Joanne carrying on a tradition that my Grandpa Jack established with our families many moons ago: handing my kids $$ as we left to go home? (They were so psyched.)
I guess a few days bookmarked on either end by friends from a) my childhood and b) my mom's childhood is a few days well spent. All in all, a great week with one major sadness thrown in the mix: my favorite uncle on my father's side, Ed, passed away in California. Truly heart wrenching. Our world lost a beautiful soul with sparkling eyes, an infectious laugh and a kind heart. He will be sorely missed.
In yesterday's blog, I wrote, "Time to put everything back together again" which reminded me of poor little Humpty Dumpty. Humpty Dumpty, in turn, reminded me of an English-to-French homophonic translation that my languages teacher in High School shared with our class and I've never forgotten.
This, in turn, reminded me of a small, weathered, paperback collection of nursery rhymes that my dad had when I was young. It contained a German homophonic translation of Little Bo Peep that went something like "Leiter Bo Piepen bin losen der schepen."
I wonder what ever happened to that little book? Even Google, the font of all knowledge, has no such entry. A one-of-a-kind family *heirloom* gone missing! I'm sure it would bring at least $1 on the Antiques Roadshow or Pawn Stars and would fall in the "at that nominal value, I think I'll hold onto it" category.
Somehow methinks it ended up in a giant dumpster never to be seen again.
I've decided that if you list all of the attributes of the perfect spouse (e.g., rich, handsome, kind, generous, pleasant, tidy, faithful), not only should "funny" be at the top of the list, it should be weighted more heavily than all of the other attributes combined--especially if you're like I am and take life a bit too seriously at times. Because when life hands you lemons, you may as well have someone beside you to unexpectedly squeeze them into your face and make you laugh.
Last week, I went to Stein Mart, home of the epic sale, and bought a slew of black sweaters, black skirts, black dresses, gray dresses, and so on (i.e., my daily work wardrobe) and only spent $200. I was soooo proud of myself. (Aside: I love how the Stein Mart receipt tallies your supposed savings! What a psychological boost to see that I presumably saved over $950.)
Hubby: Congratulations! You just spent $200 buying stuff you already own!
Last night, our family was watching a Nova episode entitled "Can We Live Forever?" in which they profiled the 13-lined ground squirrel -- an animal that can survive an experience which should have left him for dead: hibernation.
Hubby: Oh! I thought they were going to say "marriage."
Ha. Good for an unexpected laugh out of me and the thumbs-up from Son #1.
Short story long. It reminded me of a day spent, many moons ago, in pre-cana (i.e., mandatory premarital counseling for those being wed in the Catholic church). Our guide for the day was a deacon of the church and his wife, a woman of considerable heft. You could hide a Twinkie in her folds if she didn't get to it first. My most vivid memory of the day was when he talked about how he found God whenever he and his wife made love. Seriously. T! M! I!
Anyhoo, at our table were three women named Laura and Cathy Turner, local Olympic gold medalist in speed skating, along with their soon-to-be spouses. Each couple received a workbook that had a picture of a happy couple doing a crossword puzzle together. The first word, horizontal, was being filled in by the dude holding a pencil with the word "marriage." How sweet, right?
While the rest of the room was taking their partnering exercises very seriously, our whole table was cracking jokes. Turned out to be a pretty fun day, all things considered. At one point, I glanced at the cover of our workbook and noticed that my lovely boyfriend had drawn a speech bubble over the guy's photo and written, "Honey, what's an eight-letter word for incarceration?"
Upon reflection, I think that may have set the tone for our far-from-perfect but still funny marriage. I wonder how the rest of the couples in that room fared?
Went out to meet my niece, in town from DC, for a drink tonight at the pub. Thankfully my girlfriend came with me because my niece didn't show for another 1.5 hours. So we went home. Beforehand, we had these.
A Jack Johnson song was playing last Saturday at the Crow's Nest as we ate lunch on the patio and watched the boats pass by.
Perfect music for a perfect summer day. Sunshine. Tubing. Swimming.
Now I can't stop listening to him as I sit in my sunshine-y office and write pages upon pages of copy for a client's website. And I love, love, love this client. So maybe I can inject a warm summer breeze into the mission critical, MIL-spec, JIT, lean six sigma gobbledygook that I'm spewing?
Cause you and your heart
Shouldn't feel so far apart
You can choose what you take
Why you gotta break and make it feel so hard
Packed the kids in the car the day after school got out for the summer and headed on a little road trip. Two of my girlfriends had babies over the past year and I needed to meet their sweet little girls. And while in the area, loosely defined, why not stop and see everyone else I love? Five stops in five days: a whirlwind tour of the MidAtlantic.
I packed the usual stuff for a traveling family: toothbrushes and swim suits. Nintendo DS coupled with hours and hours of Green Day DVD concert footage to keep little rockers occupied (and me insane). Son #2 packed his skateboard and helmet and announced while we were driving that he was planning to hit a bunch of skate parks in Philadelphia. Oh really? Don't get your hopes up . . .
Stop #1/Baby #1: Jacque & Sean (long-term friends from my NYC days) and their growing brood of gorgeous children in West Chester, PA including the always smiling baby Callie. We hung out, went for lunch and a swim at their country club and then Armageddon began. The sky turned black . . . the wind began to switch, the pool to pitch and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch. Thankfully we got to the car just in time. On the way home, Jacque tried to show us their beautiful town but street lights were out, branches were flying into the street, trees were falling down on top of cars (literally), thick planks were flying off of building sites and mayhem ensued. Um, maybe we should just head home? So we went back to the house, Jacque made cosmos and later they treated us to a giant, charcuterie-laden dinner at the Four Dogs Tavern. Delicious.
I've decided that, with its rolling country hills, thriving town center, nice restaurants, old row houses and picturesque farmhouses, I could live here. Oh and what else is in West Chester you may ask? Why a Skate Park, of course. For a mere $5 (all you can skate), Son #2's wishes fulfilled. Both boys agreed they could live here, too. (Backup plan #1 for my next so-called career.)
Stop #2: My college roommate Berrie's house in Media, PA -- a mere 20 minute drive. Another sweet little town; another great little family. Here we went to their pool and Berrie packed a picnic dinner. We experienced a minor setback when Son #2, who refuses to take swimming lessons while his brother is actively pursuing his Junior Lifeguard certificate, went off the diving board and then doggy paddled his way back to the edge. Both kids were then approached by the lifeguard who made them take a swimming test which Son #1 passed and Son #2 failed. So much for that diving board-related fun. He proceeded to sit in my lap crying and refused to go back into the pool for hours. As luck would have it, there was a slide in the shallow end that finally coaxed him back in. Fun reinstated.
Stop #3: To visit my brother Kevin and his family in Charlottesville, VA. They're in the process of buying a house, and currently in a nice little apartment, so we stayed at the ever-so-swanky Boar's Head Inn where they are members. What did we do there? Shocking but true: we went swimming. And then what? My Jackie-O-esque sister-in-law and I took Son #2 to, yes, a skate park. Free skating. Free pads. Hotter than hell.
What else was really nice? My other brother Markie, his wife and cute baby Sully drove up from NC to see us, too. We went to dinner at a Wild Wings joint and generally just hung out. Now that Son #1 is ten (!), he refuses to order off the children's menu and is mortified during basically every event in life. That night the trigger was the plastic cup and straw. Instead of taking matters into his own hands, he begins stewing and you can see the anger building. Here, let me take that up to the bar and get you a glass. Calmness reinstated.
Stop #4: My girlfriend Kristy's house in Northern VA (a really good friend from our short but interminable life in the area). She and her Fabio-esque hubby (who just cut his hair short!) had just thrown a big party the night before so we arrived and immediately launched into a giant helping of five-star, Iron Chef worthy leftovers complete with margaritas. And then? Ah yes, into the pool where Kristy tried to teach me how to dive. Later, as the kids played Guitar Hero, she and I sat together chatting and detoxifying in her dry sauna -- just like two old ladies waiting for a bus. It was just perfect.
Stop #5/Baby #2: Last stop, Kim y Alex's home in DC to meet the lovely baby Madeleine. Here we hung in their fenced-in backyard and had a barbecue. Drank champagne. Called the cops on the juvenile delinquents next door. The usual. The next day was hot, hot, hot so we stayed inside and played with the baby. We listened to baby songs and danced. So stinkin' cute. Right when it was time to start the long trek home, the skies darkened. We ran through the pouring rain to get to the car. Armageddon #2. Fire trucks and sirens everywhere. Massive floods pouring down the streets. Cars asunder. Pavement upheavals. Police blockades. Traffic jams. Perfect timing. It took almost seven hours for a 5.5 hour drive.
Next time, I'm renting a house on the beach for a week. If anyone wants to see me, they're welcome to visit.
For a long time, I've wished that I could have a job that allowed me to live in the hinterlands and commute to the city. Not so much anymore. While I love catching up with everyone, albeit much too briefly, I really miss my family and don't like being away from them for even a few, short days. And I cannot afford to live here with exorbitant property costs, maintenance fees, private schools, etc. But I saw a 7-8 year old boy guiding his soccer ball through the lobby yesterday and later spied a few, free-range, ten(ish) year old boys goofing off as they walked up Broadway together (sans parents) and I thought, "What if?"
In the midst of running around, meeting Janette at Rosa Mexicano for lunch and Melissa for dinner at some sushi joint near her apartment in Brooklyn, we ended up at a bar called Spike Hill to see Melissa's friend Pete Sinjin's band. Instead of really enjoying the music, and they were good, I stood out on the sidewalk in front and called my little guys. Son #2 kept calling me "Mommy Mommy" as if he were two years old and saying, "I'm hugging the phone right now." Me tooooo. (Insert aching heart here.)
There we were, uptown girl, podunk girl and artsy girl hanging together, having fun and watching an appropriately mismatched, but talented, band. The drummer looked like Ty Webb, the bass player like a trendy jazz accompanist, the lead singer like a hulking (but cute) lumberjack and the hillbilly-hip-grunge lap steel guitarist (who apparently is quite accomplished judging by the "discography" page on his site) like Dwight Yoakam meets Vincent Gallo. They looked like they played in entirely different bands but they sounded great together.
And that, the bizzare confluence of craziness, the huddled masses, the friends thrown together from all stages of life is what makes NYC so great. Next time, I'm bringing my family.
Last night our family stretched out on a blanket in the yard and watched for falling stars. Some were brilliant with long-fiery tails; others were vague wisps that briefly illuminated the darkness. I was trying to make a wish but they were too quick for me. It was a tad too cool but otherwise the night just felt right.
It reminded me of a Bing Crosby song my mom used to sing when I was little:
Oh would you like to swing on a star carry moonbeams home in a jar and be better off than you are or would you rather be a fish?
Signing off now, I think, for over a week of sun, fun, hugs and relaxation. Ahhhhhhhhhh.
My mom's friends are trying to convince her to get on Facebook.
Me: Mom, I love you and you pretty much know everything there is to know about me but, if you sign up, I don't want you as my Facebook friend. It feels too weird.
Mom: I don't want you, or anyone, as my Facebook friend. If you have something to tell me, call me or send me an email.
Me: But it's fun to see what people are up to everyday.
