Late for Work

Yesterday, I came into work a half-hour late and said to my boss, “Sorry. I had to play an emergency game of Chutes and Ladders.” She responded sincerely, “Well, it’s good that you know your priorities.”

After working 12 hours the day before and barely seeing my kids before they went to bed, yes, a last minute detour to appease a pleading kid was fine by me. I didn’t even mind that, just when he or I was about to win, we kept sliding back. I did have fleeting thoughts of, “I’m never going to get to work at this rate” but I also knew that there was nowhere I would rather be at that moment than sitting on my child’s bedroom floor playing a game.

Today, late again. Not only does our little guy need daily hugs and consoling because school is too hard, his day is too long, and he misses daddy and monkey but I apparently need fashion advice.

In my black lace top: “Are you seeing any clients today?”

In my new white blouse: “Planning to take an art class in that 50’s smock Holly Go?”

Finally, in my thin, gray, pinstripe skirt: “She shoots; she scores.”

As much as it’s time consuming, I appreciate that I have a hubby who can deter me from looking like a total idiot as I walk out the door. Some guys barely look up; others think their wives look good in anything. While there are benefits to the latter mindset, I prefer the honesty.

I also appreciate that I have a husband who makes my kids laugh. A lot. If I were a stay-at-home mom, Son #2 would have to be dragged on that bus kicking and screaming because I was still comforting and cajoling him. Instead, his tears only last a few minutes and then he’s cracking up over something daddy is saying or doing in order to encourage him to lighten up and move on.

Travel Writing

It only took seven months for me to get my act together but I finally submitted my review of our February trip to the Dominican Republic to Trip Advisor. Not sure it was needed because most of the reviews for this hotel were glowing and it's currently ranked #1 of the 55 hotels in Punta Cana but what the hey? Every review helps, right?

I would also offer up my review of my trip last summer to Jersey, Channel Islands in the UK but I think it may frighten most tourists. Unless, of course, they enjoy drinking to excess with girlfriends, smoking cigarettes, and hanging out at surf clubs. We did somehow manage a day of shopping in St. Helier but a) most things were imported from the US and b) I couldn't afford anything anyway. But sightseeing? Hmmm. I guess so in the sense that, as long as you have your eyes open and you're relatively sober, you can't help but sight see.

The island is a gorgeous mix of English countryside, tan cows with long eyelashes, lavender fields, old castles, tiny roads flanked by cobblestone walls, and miles and miles of beaches. All of this seen mainly from the road betwixt pubs. There was time spent at Jersey pottery, a frigidly windy hike up to the lighthouse at Le Hocq and a day spent basking on the beach (with horrific hangovers) at St. Brelade's Bay.

But, the best part, was simply being with friends with a bit of reminiscing thrown in given that I lived there for five months after graduating from college in '86.

One night, as we were sitting outside at a pub in St. Aubin, a homeless-looking young guy walked past. Gail, my girlfriend who lives on the island, immediately said, "I'm a magnet for derelicts." Sure enough, this destitute man with long hair, wearing all camouflage, came in, sat with us, and told us about his boat, life at sea, rich ex-girlfriend and children. Yes, children. And then he began singing a song with the melodious refrain: "life seeds I sow." Just before he peed in his pants all over the floor under our table and we all ran for the next stop on our drinking tour, he said that he sat down with us because he is always drawn to spiritual people. And he pointed at me.

Later, this led to an interesting (and at times heated) discussion about Christianity. One friend was mostly ambivalent about the topic, one took exception to something I had said to her on a prior occasion and the third surprisingly seemed somewhat interested. We agreed, as one does when drinking too much, to go to church on Sunday -- except the ambivalent friend who said, "I'm not stepping foot in a church unless they're serving alcohol."

The next day, as we were driving out of town, we noticed a church that was advertising something akin to a "sermon and cider" series (cider being an alcoholic drink in England). Per usual, I took it as a sign from God. Look! Now we can all go! We all laughed. But alas, twas not meant to be . . .

When September Ends

Whenever this time of year rolls around, I want to make a big change in my life. I’m guessing it comes from years of going back to school in September after a glorious summer off. My body, my psyche, is conditioned to change. The trip to FL, albeit brief, satiated my hunger slightly. And the fact that the sun is pouring in my window right now helps curb my need to move on.

But, the truth is, I have wanderlust. I was born with it. My godmother, who was my father’s sister, was a world traveler in the era when it was much more expensive to travel than it is today. And my maternal grandmother picked up and traveled to Europe as a young nurse which was then unheard of in her family. Neither of these women came from money; they just had traveling souls. I definitely inherited that gene from both sides.

In direct contrast to my desire to pick up and move all the time, I want to put down roots everywhere. Experience everything. And I’m not just talking about my desire to travel to Thailand or learn to surf in Costa Rica. I’m talking about living in every cute neighborhood in Rochester or tiny town in the countryside. It drives my mother crazy.

“You want to live everywhere you go.”

I want to watch my husband thrive in the Austin music scene. I want to breathe in the crisp Maine air every morning. I want to wake up and swim in the warm FL ocean waters. I want to live in an old home, with architectural integrity, on Park Ave. in Rochester and walk to local restaurants. I want to live on Gramercy Park and sit on a park bench in the afternoon and read. I want summers in Quogue. Or the south of France. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

But, for now, my kids are happy and surrounded by friends and my hubby is playing with a number of fun, local bands. So I have to remind myself that I actually have roots here and enjoy the evening chill as we sit around the fire pit drinking wine with our neighbors.

Benefit Concerts

While watching Son #2's Little League game yesterday, Son #1 said to me, "One of the three bands I'm going to be in when I'm older is going to make it big. I want to be so famous that we can put on benefit concerts for the poor. And teach people who don't know English how to read and write. I'm also going to take a lot of the money that I make when I'm rich and build houses for the homeless."

I told him that he had complete support for that venture.

Later, we went to see daddy play a benefit concert for a local lumberjack celebrity, Dave Jewett, who is trying to raise funds for his recent kidney transplant and the long-term costs associated with a lifetime of cost-prohibitive medication.

When we didn't win anything in the raffle and some lucky man outbid me in the final throes of the silent auction for the villa in Cabo, Son #1 was dismayed. Then the hubby informed him that the money went to a good cause and he relaxed. I then wondered if he knew about today's benefit concert when he made the comment in the morning . . .

Regardless, I hope that as a family, we can become more altruistic. We have a lot to be thankful for.

eat pray love

I spent yesterday in the lap of luxury.

My girlfriend dropped me off at her mom's house for the day which is right in Palm Beach and closer to the airport. I took a walk along a path that runs along the inter coastal, walked to the beach, swam in the ocean for at least three hours (with the water to myself -- definitely the right time of year for solitude), and I finally read Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert which scores of people have been telling me I had to read. And I chatted with God all day.

Eat, Pray, Love is the perfect beach read for any one who is stressed out by life and needs time to reflect on life, love and relationship with God. I swear, it was the first time I felt a deep, kindred spirit with another writer since I read The Catcher in the Rye what seemed like 700 times in junior high. Although, now that I mention it, Holden Caulfield was a character; whereas, this book chronicled the real-life story of a NY writer seeking her spiritual path.

As an aside, there were so many times over the past decade where people would tell me how much they loved Sex and the City because it reminded them of themselves and their friends. As much as I found it somewhat interesting in a trainwreck-ish way when I did watch, it really wasn't my thing. I could never relate to any of those characters and not one reminded me of any of my friends. They were too over-the-top. Samantha? Come on. What the . . . ?

Liz, the author of this book, is much more like me and my closest girlfriends. And, like them, she is funny as hell. I couldn't put the book down.

In any event, you'll have to read the book to understand the following references, but God and I signed a contract yesterday on the beach. (I asked Him if others needed to sign with us and He didn't think so but said they were welcome to. Martin Scorsese chimed right in as the first to agree to sign. Thank you Martin!) And I found "my word": believe. It doesn't match the word for Rochester (which I still can't quite figure out but is definitely something more secondrate and underdog-ish but also explains why I don't feel as if I belong here) but I'm hoping, with time, it'll match, or become, the word for my family.

I went to visit my girlfriend Laura to relax, go to temple for Rosh Hashanah, commune with God and attempt, in the course of three days, like someone who agrees to close her eyes and fall backwards into the arms of her newfound compatriots at rehab, to learn how to relax and trust in God. It was a big Mission, but I returned with a tagline: experience, enjoy, extend. In other words, I need to begin accepting God's blessings, taking more pleasure in life, savoring every moment and sharing this with others.

Greetings from Delray Beach

Growing up, we were not encouraged to relax. "Don't just watch TV; fold some laundry while you're sitting there." It was truly decadent when we went up the stairs without carrying something that needed to go up.

Today, it's hard for me to simply go on vacation without feeling pangs of insecurity. As much as I love lounging in the sun, reading books, swimming in the ocean (which is, by the way, the perfect temp right now) and pretty much doing nothing, I feel guilty. Not that it stops me from doing it; it just stops me from fully enjoying it.

Yesterday, I noticed that I was practically levitating while I was on the beach. My body was so taut that it wasn't even sinking into the sand. I physically had to keep relaxing my body: one part at a time.

When my girlfriend told me that it might rain tomorrow, my initial thought was, "That would be kind of cool because I have a company valuation that I need to complete before Monday." And, yes, with only a small carry on to my name, I still brought the financials with me. No need to pack cute clothes when I can carry work with me.

The worst part is that I offered to cancel my trip last minute if my boss would pay the cancellation fee. Why? Because I think I need to drop dead first before I am entitled to a vacation. This was offered even after my acupuncturist told me last week that she could barely find a pulse and my vital signs were worse than in all the years she's known me.

So here's my prayer for continued sunshine tomorrow. A work-free day filled with solitude and gratitude.

Doomed to Ugliness?

Just when I thought my oldest brother had sent me a link regarding a (what some may find interesting) hypothesis that prettier people were more likely to have daughters than sons, he redeemed himself by presenting evidence to the contrary by economist Andrew Gelmen.

Amen!

Apparently, by charting the offspring of People magazine's 50 most beautiful people over a five-year time frame (1995-2000), out of 329 children, Gelmen found there were only 47.7% girls (with standard error 2.8%) which is a statistically insignificant 0.8% percentage points lower than the population frequency.

As a horrific statistician myself, and one who was never "on the bus" during grad school, I'm taking this opportunity to cash in on being statistically challenged in order to consider the higher percentage of boys in this select set (vs. the average populous) as a confirmation of my extraordinary beauty. And since few people who know me actually tend to comment on this site, I feel very comfortable that I won't be called out.