A long strange wonderful trip it's been

Thirty years in, we still find time and pleasure in getting together to laugh and shop and play games and craft and read trashy magazines and drink froofy drinks, as we've always done. It's natural to us, like sisters or cousins who've spent uncounted hours just chillin'. It's definitely a Depends weekend. We crack each other up, laughing mostly at one another, but ultimately remembering to laugh at ourselves. Nothing more boring than a woman of a certain age who takes herself too seriously or tries to hide her insecurities or her violent fantasies about killing people in the grocery check out line. These thoughts must be aired! There's no hiding from one's true self in this group. We revert to our adolescence, but in a good way! Now I recognize that nobody else wants to be with us, and that spouses, male children and brothers-in-law flee in terror at the mere prospect of the coven coming together. We ARE the obnoxious table of women that annoy so in restaurants (as seen in commercials for products like Pol-i-dent and Depends) who cackle too loudly and try to order stuff not listed on the menu. But we can always be ourselves without fear of rejection and being one's authentic self twice a year with someone other than your mom or husband is invaluable to the psyche.

Someone once pointed out to me how unusual she thought it was to be friends with people from high school. Her reaction left me feeling I had strange priorities and unrealistic expectations for my children around having friends. I grew to hate her for that comment and set my phaser to kill...as I do...she was sneakily and vindictively excised from our life--vengeful and immature...-eh, I'll discuss it with my maker at some point if necessary. I think I feel almost patriotic about girlfriends as an entity...like the flag...and she was a traitorous voice. She had to go.

Over the years, we ladies wrote letters, we called, we visited, we were present at important times in each other's lives and just resisted the easy path of losing touch because "life is too busy". Life marches on, but from my perspective, it just doesn't take much effort to stay in touch unless one of the parties isn't pulling her weight. Then it falls on one set of shoulders and that becomes frustrating, then tedious and finally defeating. So the relationship dies a quiet death.

But these women have always pulled their share of the weight in keeping the friendship fires burning and the rewards are huge. I wish it for my daughters. It makes me a better person to have nurtured these relationships to maturity. There's nothing more comforting than knowing these women stand with me through all life has to offer up, good or bad. Here's to the next generation of girlfriends.

Good golly, Miss Mollie

Ten years ago, she said, "If I'm celebrating my birthday with you again next year, I'm just going to kill myself." We laughed and laughed, but we wondered. From what emotional place did that joke come? A place of trust certainly and long, long friendship but also a place of restlessness and uncertainty about the directions our lives had taken at that point, divergent and disconnected both within and beyond our control. We were in our thirties, a difficult decade for any women worth knowing. The "angst-y years" where we watched our youth ship sail for the sunset as we stood on the shore crying and stamping our feet for it to come back.

Today. We've settled into our forties with humor, patience and purpose of heart. No more dilly dallying about what we want and not being afraid to ask for it, no more silly spats, no more hurt feelings. Lots of caretaking, lots of laughs, lots of shorthand, lots of emotional reliance on one another as we realize we're each other's past and future, even though we're not always each other's present.

The first time we met was the first time I ever tasted chocolate mousse. How could that NOT go splendidly forward? We had a 12 hour meet and greet, staying up until 5am talking and laughing as only kids can. I'm not sure she remembers it as well as I do, but that would be natural since she was my first and only friend at that point and I was just one of many for her. But her generosity of friendship and loyalty gave me the hope I needed to keep going through a very difficult transition in my life.

We share so many memories I consider worth recounting. Opening that overflowing drawer of memories would be tedious to all but about 10 people on Earth. We've never lived farther than a long car ride until the last six years and that's been a difficult adjustment for me and probably her, too. Tonight though, we get together with the other "gigglers" as my mom dubbed us almost thirty years ago, and we'll reminisce and laugh hysterically and pull obscure stuff out of that drawer at random. Never a script, it's always improvisational when we get together.

I'm lucky to have found another sister in the randomness and whims of life's journey. These deep and abiding relationships outside of marriage and family that are worth slogging it out for, well, they don't have a name; "friendship" doesn't pack enough oomph to describe it. More family than real family philosophically, because it's been her choice to be tied to me. It takes a lot of work to keep relationships going, whatever their definition, and she is a workhorse where friends are concerned. I'm just one of many friends who can claim thirty plus years with her.

Happy Birthday, Mol. I truly can't imagine chocolate mousse without you.

Soup Night 2009

Soup night is a tradition for the "yards". Our immediate gaggle of neighbors with yards that touch get together annually for a group feed of homemade soups. Usually it's a mid-winter gathering, but as this winter will never end and it's still soup weather in April, the delay was inconsequential this year. We're a fair weather commune otherwise. There are no fences and kids wander through all yards with full rights and privileges of ownership. Adults have discovered over the years that wandering the yards often can lead to a beer being thrust in their hands, so there are a lot of adults running through the yards as well.




It's been a strangely important priority for me that kids feel safe cutting through my yard. I'm not a fence person. We've considered it to contain the runaway artist-in-residence, but it's too critical to my "takes a village" parenting philosophy to be one of those family houses where kids know the "Mrs." is cool with the cut through. I was a big cut through kid and I ran with a merry band. We were always running through yards as kids to get to where we needed to go, scaling fences if needed. Occasionally some cranky neighbor would yell at us, but it was worth it for the economy of traveling as the crow flies.

Even though the snow came and my bitter Easter egg throw was implemented, the snow didn't pack much power at this time of the year and has mostly melted since. More bad weather on its way this week, but it's all good now. Spring break is almost here and the more miserable the weather the week before, the sweeter the trip south becomes. We aren't headed south but we are headed to friends in St. Paul, someplace warm in spirit.

Spring thaw? Not yet

Snow again. Wisconsin oldtimers never count on winter being over before May 1st. The past six or so years, winter did always wrap up well before May and I chalked up the negativity to fogeyism. But this year maybe they'll be right and I'll have to admit they aren't fogeys. The first year we lived here, I gardened on Mother's Day as I had always done in Philly and was warned off it due to occasional May frosts. But Mother's Day gardening had always been my day of escape! "Sorry, honey, mommy's hands are too dirty. I can't.... hold you, feed you, change you, help you, read to you, play a game with you, fix that, put a band aid on that.....go ask Daddy."


A little flock of baffled juncos at the feeder

Granted it's nowhere near May, but everybody's done with winter. This storm is going to be wet and heavy snow. Chip and Allison are running the tryouts for girls Little League this evening--softball means spring! Outdoor practice on Monday obviously will need rethinking.

Bruce hiding from the weather

A few years ago, we were leaving for China in late March and as it does the night before anyone leaves southern Wisconsin for warmer temperatures, a snowstorm rolled in overnight. We had had about enough of winter that year as well, so Chip and I looked at each other in the garage that morning and with few words exchanged, told the kids to get in the car and gunned it full speed in reverse out of the driveway through the seven inch base and just left the mess behind. It's simply not done here in our neighborhood to leave walks and driveways unshoveled, but we figured anybody who had a problem with it could try to come find us in Shanghai. When we returned, the forsythia was blooming and the snow was gone-problem solved.

Chip vows it's the Shanghai plan tomorrow morning-Mr. Shovel is retired for the season. My therapy will be to decorate for Easter tomorrow. I fight the late winter snows with well placed stuffed bunnies and plastic eggs hurled from the front steps in disgust across the snow covered lawn. Oh, and I'll medicate with pastel foiled Hershey kisses.
Minnie cannot believe her eyes

Hip mama dog walk

Walking the dog late morning today in my UW baseball cap and my "mom sweatpants" and with my harnessed dog on her retractable leash, I looked to be what I am....a suburban lady of leisure doing my lame power walk around the neighborhood to work off the Easter Hershey's kisses I had with my grape nuts. It was a peaceful walk interrupted only by an errant Yorkie which I initially took for a giant rabbit...clearly an escapee as I've never seen a Yorkie without its human attached. He headed south, yapping in rejoice of his freedom.

The last stragglers had made it to school, the working folks had gone to work. It was just me and the dog and the geese and the squirrels and the Yorkie. I was wearing my iPod and normally I have to stifle myself for fear of others hearing my atonal belting. But today, I cut loose to my jams given the empty streets and closed windows. I presume anybody who drove by and noticed my S.L.L. uniform might have thought me listening to Josh Groban or Michael Buble. I know that's what O and A wish I would listen to and stay away from their music as it leads to my singing and dancing to it. (mom, stop)

"....'cause my grandmama hate it, but my lil mama love it...smile for me daddy...whatcha lookin at?...i wanna see ya grill......ya wanna see my what?...ya ya grill ya ya ya grill.... "

No way! I like to work it out! I'm hip hop mom! (mom, really, you're not...please stop) I'm going to continue to walk the dog later in the mornings from now on and express myself through my music as I was clearly born to do, without interference from daughters, the public or Simon Cowell judging me.



The dryer is fixed. We're lucky we didn't have a fire. There was fifteen feet of knitted felt lining the inside of our dryer vent. I haven't ever cleaned the duct myself so I shouldn't be surprised. But the denial fairy assured me that the lint elves would take care of it. The Kenmore guy gave me an excellent tutorial on dryer safety which every person should get along with driver's education and subsequent license renewals.

Many fluffy clumps of gray lint have blown around the yard from the vent cleaning out back. I hope the Hunter lint clumps nurture a few baby birds in their nests, maybe somehow mitigating the losses mercilessly meted out by the Hunter cat over the years. He's tired of trying to snuggle the dog and wants to get back outside to the killing fields.

Ironically...

My beloved dryer that I pined for in England has quite literally left me hangin'. The Kenmore man comes Thursday. The clothes pile up and back to being an English washer woman I go. It feels completely non-urgent and that would not have been true a year ago. But the dryer is a luxury so the English tell me, and I can certainly do without for a few days, especially after a master class in hanging laundry to dry on radiators for five months. Life is easy.

The questionnaire

I completed an application today and part of the application process was to fill out a 120 item work style questionnaire. As numerous characters in numerous movies have said, "I'm gettin' too old for this shit." I've taken enough of these little tests and I'm smart enough to know that HR is making an attempt to get my personality boiled down to a few notes, without locking eyes on me.... for KEY-riiist sake! So, I answer honestly but with some care not to sound too needy or too bossy or too dependent or too inflexible...and I know that they know that I know that they know that these surveys are somewhat effective so....yeah. Why not just meet me? I'm old school. It feels a little amateurish to be interviewed in this fashion for a professional job. But for my first advanced practice job, I had to pee in a cup for a drug test and go to an orientation where they reviewed the importance of handwashing. Meanwhile the new doctors did not have to do either such thing. So I''m not surprised by the process...it just makes another age line on my forehead but whatever. However, it feels unbecoming at my age having to flap my arms and do a soft shoe to say "Look at me! I have some skills and actually you would be lucky to get me!"

I've established a work pattern throughout my career of roughly five years on, one year off. The college tuitions are approaching and my clock is running down. I considered a big job change at this point, but the economy is telling me that this is not the time. Nursing is still the best paying gig. Blogging is fun but it doesn't pay the tuition man. But part time work does pay the tuition man somewhat and leaves time for blogging. Ergo...

A friend told a friend, "I'm just better at work than I am at home." And there is some truth in that statement for me although I think I'm at my best when I do both. I'm actually pretty good at staying home and I don't dislike it. I love my quiet days alone. But my days are incompletely filled and the things that would fill my day completely like exercise or hobbies or volunteerism are like my worst nightmares come true. In England, it took so long to do everything without the car, the garage, the appliances and the one-stop supermarkets so my days were full full full and I miss that a bit. I'm a little adrift with my chores easily distilled down to one or two trips a week. So, back to paid work it must be. That's what I've concluded this week anyway.

The next job after this one, they'll need to come looking for me. Beware whomever hires me, I'm never leaving.