Juggling Life

No, Gary, I Won't . . .

Gary asked, in the comment's on Monday's post, if I would consider moving. I would never say never, but I will say it is highly unlikely.

I am lucky to love not only my city and my neighborhood, but also my house. Though living through two major remodels was a little rough, the result is a home that is perfectly suited to my family. I have plans for some changes that will make it perfect for years to come. Plus, we just refinanced and we were able to do the 15-year loan, so we got the lower rate without having to add years to our mortgage.

Our neighbors and friends that are a  year ahead of us on the empty nest dropped by on Sunday to tell us they were selling their house and moving to the beach. We are sad to see them go--though happy to have a house four blocks from the beach to go visit--but as they pointed out, their house wasn't a "homestead" house the way ours is. Which brings me to my big plans . . .

(These are long-term plans--I won't have money to buy a new candle for the next five years!)

A pool. I never wanted a pool when my own children were young because I have always been terrified of the drowning risk and it's really difficult to watch your kids 100% of the time. With grandchildren though, I will be able to watch over them while they play while their parents do the work part of the child-rearing. I'm going to have the pool separately fenced and every other safety feature you can buy.

Room makeovers. Once everyone is really and truly gone and they start their own families, I'm going to redecorate all four kids' bedrooms and put a queen size bed and bunk beds in each room, so that each family has their own space. The two bedrooms that have their own bathrooms will rotate from family to family by some yet-to-be-designed, but very fair system.

I already live in a vacation paradise and I figure that by making my house as comfy and attractive to young families as possible, I will ensure that Grammy and Gramp's, or Nonna and Poppa's, or Grandma and Grandpa's (or whatever they end up calling us) place is where everyone wants to go.

I'm sure some of you will read this and think, "Wow! That's really planning ahead. Nobody is even married yet." You are absolutely right. I am a long-term planner from the word go and I've been mocked for it more than once--but so far it's been working for me, so I'm going to keep right on planning.

What about you--do you fly by the seat of your pants or have a one-year, five-year and twenty-year plan like I do?

 

 

This Blog has been Interrupted . . .

by Downton Abbey mania. I know that I am more than fashionably late to this party, but I've finally arrived. I Netflixed season one and season two is only available on PBS.org for a couple of more weeks, so viewing has taken top priority.

We will return to our regularly scheduled programming shortly.

Yours,

Lady Eugenie, Marchioness of Weobly Marsh.

(Okay, I confess. I've been of Facebook getting my Downton Abbey name generated as well as watching the show.)

P.S. Has anyone else noticed that the weather in England seems to be just like that of San Diego?

 

 

 

 

 

Nesting

Mr. Fix-it flew in Friday and San Diego put on its best performance of an early spring day to greet him. The sky was bright blue and a warm breeze was blowing. I had on stylish earrings and smelled nice; it was a lovely homecoming.

Social Butterfly stayed home while I went to the airport so she could time her banana bread (his absolute favorite baked good) to come out of the oven right when he got home.

Saturday we made last-minute plans with our friends Jim and Sandra. Last-minute plans are pretty much the only kind that work with the four of us due to MFI's schedule and the fact that Jim is an airline pilot and is on call or gone on many weekends.

Because we've crossed over to the slightly older side of middle age, we saw a movie at 4:45 and then had dinner after the movie. The movie was "This Means War" and while it started slowly and was really predictable, I did laugh quite a bit--I'll take that. Dinner was sushi and it was fantastic food at a really reasonable price-especially considering the amount of Kirin on the tab. The evening was over at 9; 25 years ago that would have meant the evening was a bust, but now it means it was a wonderful time.

Sunday was laundry, yard work, baking, lesson prep and the gym; the three of us did various combinations of the aforementioned; I love that kind of day.

My life definitely has a rhythm that varies with whether or not my husband is home. I tend to go out a lot when he's not home and then I'm happy to settle in and be a homebody when he returns. He's starting to find more things to do on his weekend in Salt Lake City, which is great. It's still not the schedule we'd prefer, but I do think we make it work fairly well.

Most of you are off today for President's Day, so enjoy! I'll be working, but that's okay--I had Valentine's Day off while everyone else worked, so fair is fair.

How was your weekend? What are your plans for today?

 

 

 

 

It's a Wonderful Day in the Neighborhood . . .

Saturday was grey and cloudy. As a native San Diegan I don’t really do grey and cloudy—I’m outside on enough sunny days that a grey day is a signal to stay inside with the Internet or a good book. That’s what I did with the first few hours of my day. Then, at one o’clock, Social Butterfly and I headed to the mall. We had some money on a Sears gift card to spin (Sears truly sucks, by the way*) and I also wanted to make sure to spend a few dollars at JC Penney to let them know I appreciate their decision to act with integrity in the Ellen Degeneres situation.

SB took off with Peanut to go catch a water polo game in Irvine (somebody asked SB if it was a girls’ game or guys’ game and she said, “Guys, duh.”). I decided that I would brave the overcast to walk the dog before cooking dinner for my friend Heidi. I wrangled the dog into the harness—she gets excited when the leash comes out-- then put on a warm coat, and off we went.

The thing about a grey day in San Diego is that often times the sun will peak out for part of the day; I stepped outside to a sun-bathed suburbanscape, mellow in the late afternoon light. February begins spring for us, so flowers are beginning to bloom.

I catalogued the delights of my walk because I felt myself a latter-day, and female, Mr. Rogers—lightly tripping down the street exchanging pleasantries with all and sundry.

Our mail carrier of many years, Dave, had just returned to our route after having left due to being bumped in some seniority realignment. I felt lucky to be able to flag him down and tell him how I overjoyed I was to have him back. I think he was appropriately delighted to hear that.

I got to admire and coo over the neighbor’s new(ish) baby and let her know how much I love it when her older son comes down to the cul-de-sac to shoot hoops in the basketball net Santa brought the kids in 1995, our first Christmas in this house.

My dog got to sniff around four other dogs—as is her personality, she let each one of them know right off the bet that she understood he/she to be the alpha dog and that was okay by her.

At one house, a couple of blocks from home, a darling little girl, in her garage watching her father work on her bike, yelled, “Your dog sure is cute!”

As I hung up the leash and contemplated the dinner preparations I was set to commence, and the evening to follow with a good friend, a bottle of Champagne, and the episodes of Downton Abbey (thank you, Netflix) I was quite satisfied with my quiet, suburban life.

 Dinner was wonderful if I do say so myself--a whole wheat pizza with hummus instead of red sauce and red pepper, onion, sun-dried tomatoes with light mozzarella, a green salad and a fruit salad for dessert with a greek yogurt with brown sugar dressing.

Happy Valentine's Day from SB and Me

Actually, pretty much just from Social Butterfly. She's been a baking fool--if you are one of her 50 closest friends this is what you get on V-Day.

 
Happy Valentine's Day!

To Answer your Question . . .

Mrs. G. asked, in of her question posts, about if/when you’ve ever feared for your life. I felt my answer deserved its own post. Here it is.

Our home was a one-bedroom duplex in the sketchiest section of Venice Beach, California. This was in 1968 or 69, and the difference between Venice now and Venice then was like Times Square today and in the seventies. That is to say, not Disneyland.

Outside was peeling stucco, cracked pavement and grass that was at once dying and overgrown (I plagiarized the last half of that sentence from a book, I’m reading; review coming soon).  It was homeless men; we called them winos. It was not a place my single mother planned on staying very long, but when you’re on welfare, with your kids in Head Start while you take secretarial classes, it’s what you can afford.

Inside were an Indian bedspread, a few throw pillows, and lots of Mexican pottery. The furniture, like our clothes, came from Goodwill. It was sparse, but homey and always clean.  My sister and I were asleep in our bunk bed, while my mom slumbered in her bed next to ours the night it happened.

I woke to the sound of pounding and the sight of my mother, with a butcher knife in one hand and the telephone in the other. My sister and I ran to her and, with the third hand that mothers seem to acquire when the need arises, she held us tight and smoothed our hair to comfort us.

“I don’t KNOW who it is. There are two men—they’re trying to break down the door. You need to get here NOW. I have two little girls!”

She was on the phone with a police dispatcher, screaming, pleading for help. We could see the shadow of one of the men as he rattled the window. My sister and I sobbed hysterically.

As the minutes—agonizingly long, a lifetime in each one--ticked by, my mother’s fear turned to rage as the police still did not arrive.

“If I was calling from F***KING Beverly Hills the police would be here by now! If anything happens to us, the Los Angeles Police Department is to blame. I cannot believe this!”

The men gave up before the police got there. It took them twenty minutes. The police were very apologetic to the beautiful white woman with the blonde, blue-eyed daughters. We weren’t what they were expecting.

Turnabout is Fair Play

I was watching The View the other day (I TiVo it and just watch Hot Topics) and Elisabeth Hasselback was up in arms because President Obama had suggested, at the National Prayer Breakfast, that Jesus would support raising taxes on the rich.

Elisabeth was FLABBERGASTED and OUTRAGED that the President would DARE to bring religion into the political realm.

This was the part where I stood in front of the TV in my bedroom, hairbrush in hand, screaming "Are you f****ing KIDDING me?!"

Luckily, I can always count on Joy Behar to be just as outraged as I am. She did not disappoint. For years I have been wondering when the Democrats were going to wise up and quit letting the Republicans have the corner on the God/Jesus angle. In addition, I pretty much agree with him. "For me as a Christian, it also coincides with Jesus's teaching that for unto whom much is given, much shall be required," Obama said, quoting the Gospel of Luke.

If the above didn't have me riled enough, I was listening to NPR the morning after Rick Santorum won all the "beauty pageants" and other primary contests and they played the snippet where he promised that if elected he would "return your freedom to you."

This time I was alone in my car when I screamed "Are you f***ing kidding me?!

Why is it that his idea of freedom is predicated on denying freedoms to others? How does being anti-gay marriage and anti-choice promote freedom? It seems to me (and granted I am using logic and reason in my thought process, so that might be the problem) that the aforementioned are antithetical to freedom.

It's going to be a looooong election year, methinks.

 

In Honor of the 9th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals . . .

This is the gluten-free cake Social Butterfly made for a friend's birthday--but it would be perfect to celebrate the decision to rule Proposition 8 unconstitutional. It would be even better if the cake was heart-shaped!

Scenes from a random winter weekend . . .

Friday night: Makeup and sushi party for my friend T's 45th birthday. If T didn't feel she looked good for her age before I told her Callista Gingrich is also 45, she did after seeing this . . .

Saturday morning: The monthly beagle brigade at the dog park. You can't help but smile when surrounded by so many beagles.

Saturday afternoon: Rode my bike around the lake while SB rollerbladed--it seemed like the whole world was out soaking up the sun.

Saturday night: A movie (One for the Money) and Indian food with OMomK. The highlight of the evening had to be when neither waiter could open our bottle of Champagne. They wouldn't let one of us do it even after we assured them that we have many years of cork-popping experience between the two of us. I think it was a male pride thing.

Sunday morning: Kayaking with my friend Heidi. See Saturday morning re: soaking up sun and crowds.

Sunday afternoon: Errands with SB, followed by our own little un-Superbowl party for two. We watched Soul Surfer and Country Strong and she went a little crazy baking for her brothers' care packages and her friends.

The downside to all that baking is that she doesn't actually eat that type of food, so I have to be the taste tester. Sigh.

How was your weekend?

 

 

What IS Hard?

Like many liberal Democrats I can't tear my eyes away from the Republican nominating race. As much as I would have loved to see Newt be the nominee, it would appear that cooler heads have prevailed and the non-certifiably crazy Mitt Romney will prevail. Why the Republicans chose to pay no-nevermind to the reasonable Jon Huntsman, I do not know.

Back to Mitt . . .

What absolutely drives me nuts about him is that I think he is 100% disconnected from any sort of awareness or knowledge of how many people make their way through their lives.

The "safety net" comment sent me over the edge. I will tell you that the single mom in my class (whose husband left her and their two kids and isn't paying child support) and is having to take loans to finance her education because she doesn't qualify for grants is not feeling the safety net. Neither is the student whose wife's cervical cancer was just diagnosed because she hasn't had a pap smear in the three years since her husband lost his job and insurance. As another student pointed out, "the very fact that we need a safety net shows that we're walking a high wire."

The other thing (besides the above and the dog on the car roof) that chaps my hide is how he goes on and on about how he knows how to work hard. Bullshit. He knows how to work hard at easy work. That is a totally different thing from working hard at hard work. I feel absolutely justified in saying that because it's true of me as well--and probably some of you, too.

The type of work that upper-middle class, or even middle-class, people do and the hours we invest in that work pale in comparison to what so many struggling Americans go through.

My student that gets up at 4 a.m. to use public transportation that gets her to class at 8 am. and then she stays at school until 4 (class is over at 1) because that's the only way she can have computer access and then turns around and spends another 3 hours getting home to her unheated trailer--while getting top grades--that's hard. By the way, she is 50 years old and her old career was as a pilot. She would readily admit that what she thought was hard in her former life wasn't that hard in retrospect.

I'm not going to apologize for the life I have, but I'm also not going to pretend it's HARD work. I believe that is because I have empathy and I can use that empathy and my imagination to gain an idea of what other's lives are like.

I don't want or expect Mitt Romney to apologize for his life, and there are things he's done that are accomplishments of which he can be proud, but working HARD? I don't think so. And I think it would show some empathy if he was aware of that reality.