Once I Rose Above the Noise and Confusion

As part of our city's Picnic With the Pops series, we went to see Kansas last night backed by the Columbus Symphony Orchestra. When I heard about the show, I thought it would be an interesting experience for Lea, who plays in an orchestra but loves rock - yes even classic rock. EsPECially classic rock. So we purchased lawn seats and marked the calendar.

The weather yesterday was oppressive. It was really hard to even move. But we carried on, like the wayward sons that we are. (I stretched for that one. Sorry.)

Gates opened at 6 and the show was scheduled to begin at 8:15. Since we just had lawn seats, we wanted to be there as early as possible. We packed up our chairs and our coolers, consulted the interwebs as to how to best avoid orange barrels, and off we went. Just as we were about to hit sit still traffic anyway, I turned to my handsome husband and I said, "Did you bring the tickets?" I usually don't even ask things like that because I am SO fearful of being perceived as a nag, but the look on his face when I queried proved that it was a valid question. And that he had not. So we took the next exit, went home for the tickets, and headed out with a new plan of action that would have us hopefully avoiding further delays. We would not be standing there, waiting for the gates to open, at 6:00, though, as is our usual way.

We actually don't even refer to being early (or PROMPT, for that matter) as being early, we refer to it as being Howardly. And since we are all Howards, when we are not Howardly, we get a little uneasy.

When we finally arrived on the scene, the lawn was quite full already. Groups of people were set up with picnics that put our coolers of beer and water to shame. I passed a group who had a beautiful rose and hydrangea centerpiece on a white tablecloth that was otherwise covered with rather gorgeous looking canapes. They were drinking white wine. Lots of people were drinking white wine. Damn. White wine would've been a WAY better choice. We were newbies. What can I say?

We found a spot behind a party that said things like, "Would anyone care for more shrimp roll?"

We said things like, "How 'bout a beer?"

"Soitenly!"

"Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk."

(It's because Tom has a Three Stooges bottle opener. We're elegant that way. *belch*)

I mentioned the oppressive heat, right? I don't want to be one of those people who constantly bitches about the weather (some of you may remember my SAD winter), but it would be difficult to talk about the evening without at least giving it a mention. It was definitely a factor. I raided the cooler and tucked an ice cube into my ponytail (which had started out low and age appropriate, but when even that much hair on my neck became unbearable, it went high). That helped, a little. So I took another and rubbed my arms and then my girls' arms. And then I tucked one discretely into my brassiere. Decorum is highly overrated - I achieved a little comfort on an otherwise relentlessly uncomfortable day.

When I slipped my shoes off to try to cool my feet a little bit, my daughter commented on how swollen they were. I had that momentary panic wherein I envisioned myself not being able to put them back on again. "Your feet are so swollen - they're HUGE!" One daughter said, poking them.

"And you have hair on your toes."

Shoot. I'd been meaning to take care of that...

"You're like a Hobbit." This from my loving husband.

Some women's lovers compare them to a summer's day... Mine? A fictional creature with large, furry feet. I am livin' the dream, I tells ya. Livin' the dream.

The orchestra took the stage promptly at 8:15. Why have I not heard the Columbus Symphony Orchestra before? Oh. Probably because I am not a huge fan of orchestra music and I usually respond to the prospect of it by wrapping an air noose around my neck and pulling it taut until my tongue protrudes and my eyes cross. Mime is money. But this (because of the 'pops' element, I'm sure) was very accessible, even to an oaf like me. The conductor, Albert-George Schram, was supremely entertaining - I'm tempted to even call him - oh, what the heck - he was adorable.

When they broke for intermission, the sun had almost set. The evening became downright pleasant, with a gentle breeze. More talking about the weather. I'm sorry. When did I turn into the sort of person who talks about the weather? Ugh.

When they took the stage again, it was with Kansas. I really enjoyed the show - the full orchestra was really suited to their prog-rock sound. During one of the first songs they played, Liv compared them to Nightwish (as per Wiki: an award winning Finnish symphonic metal band). That's a high compliment from her, as she digs them a lot. It is a testament to my age, no doubt, that I really enjoyed sitting in my chair the whole time and clapping politely at the end of each song. That was - new - for this squealy fangirl, and I didn't hate it at all. Now I told you about the weather, right? It's not so much the heat, it's the humidity. Now get off m'lawn, y'damn hoodlums.

Kansas. Their music was an integral part of my high school years. It was wonderful to get those memories flowing - just in time for my high school reunion next week...

Kansas: I close my eyes - only for a moment, and the moment's gone...

Liv: It's called blinking, dude. People do it all the time. Drama much?

Kids today. No sense of romance. No thirst for enlightenment.

Dude.

Winter Fashion? No Thank You.

I do not have a good winter wardrobe. I don't even think I have a passable winter wardrobe. I live in Ohio, where we have relatively miserable winters (I say relatively because I've lived in places that are worse. But it's still bad. Just sayin'. Relatively). I do not own snow boots. I have a couple pairs of fashion boots, but they're not easy to come by (thick calves, dontcha know) and not fun to buy. I've had the same couple pairs for years. I don't have a proper winter coat. I have a leather swing coat that was handed down to me by my mother when she got sick and lost a lot of weight. That's right. A hand-me-down. From my mom. It has neither buttons nor a zipper. That's right. It doesn't close in the front.

None of this is, by the way, because I cannot afford to buy clothes. Just so you know. Things are tight, but not quite that tight. I just don't want to use what little fashion budget there is on ugly winter ugliness. Buying snow boots would acknowledge the snow, and I have no plans to do so. A coat with a closure would acknowledge the cold, something else I have no plans to do. If I ignore them, perhaps they'll go away. (fingers in ears, lalalalalala)

I have a lot of scarves. I have a few hats. I have a pair of gloves somewhere...

I realized that if the opportunity suddenly arose for me to go somewhere warmer for a couple days I would be in the store buying all kinds of cute things for my vacation. Even if it was only for a weekend. But for winter? Which lasts a good three months? Nah - I can get by. I don't need to throw any money at THAT.

I was thinking that it's a similar mentality that drives us when we have a special occassion. We'll spend money on a special occassion dress that we'll only wear once - and accessories for same - that we would never dream of spending on clothes we'll wear over and over and over. Why? Special occassions are fun! We need to adorn ourselves appropriately - give the special occassion it's due. Everyday is not fun. We don't want to invest in everyday. Winter is not fun. I don't want to invest in winter.

I used the plural tense (predominately) in that last paragraph - was that presumptuous? Is this just me, or is there something to it?

We're supposed to get a wintry mix tonight - whatever the hekyll and jekyll that is. I'll be greeting it in mesh sneakers and a T-shirt. And maybe a scarf. Probably a scarf. If I don't fully acknowledge it, it isn't really there, right? RIGHT?

Force of Habit

When I was still hanging on to my twenties by a thread, I dated a marine-biologist. He watched fishing shows for hours every weekend morning (and well into the afternoon sometimes). After he broke my heart (in the middle of a James Bond marathon - something I have yet to regain my taste for thanks to him...) I found myself watching fishing shows all by myself on the weekends after Pee-Wee's Playhouse was over, because I just couldn't remember what else to do.

I got over it, eventually. The boy AND the fishing shows.

This morning I woke up on the couch at 5:00 am with the TV still on. I'd fallen asleep trying to get through a particularly dismal SNL. Athletes are not funny, ya'll. Stop booking athletes. Except Peyton Manning. Book him a lot; he's the lone exception. But I've digressed. I woke up to a fishing show. As I reached for the remote to turn the TV off so I could roll over and go back to sleep, I realized that I couldn't stop looking at the screen. The volume was down to next to nothing and I know next to nothing about fish and/or fishing, so it wasn't the content of the show that had me mesmerized. The show appeared to be about two grizzly looking old dudes pulling ugly ass fish out of a murky lake. Nope. It wasn't that. It was the sky. The sky behind them was clear and blue and bright. I could not peel my eyes from it.

Just looking at a blue sky on TV was having an effect. Whoda thunk?

Tom? He doesn't watch fishing shows. He watches Ninja Warrior. One weekend a couple weekends ago he watched Ninja Warrior for ten hours straight. I shit thee not. I roll my eyes. I make fun of him. Sometimes I even get full on angry. But I have to wonder - if he went away for a weekend, would I watch it anyway? Probably not. It always appears to be rainy and gray on Mount Midoriyama.

Just Shoveling the - um - Snow

When I was pregnant with Lea, Tom and I were newlyweds renting a home in South Jersey. I was on bed rest due to pre-eclampsia. I was bored. It was a lonely winter. Friends and family called or stopped in when they could, but their lives were going on. We lived a couple miles down an old country road. We were isolated. When Tom left for work every morning, I would start counting the hours until he'd return. When he did come home, of course, he had to cook and do laundry and clean - he didn't really have the time or energy to socialize with me. Plus, as I may have mentioned, I was isolated and starved for human contact. Many of my attempts at interaction began with, "Today on Ricki Lake..." Yep. It was a lonely winter.

During that winter, we were hit with a big snow storm - the likes of which South Jersey hadn't seen in decades, if John Bathke, local anchorman extraordinaire, was to be believed. Tom was at work while Days of Our Lives was continually being interrupted with reports of the incoming inclement weather. I was secretly pleased. Not, you know, that m'stories were being interrupted - that part sucked - but that it looked like we were going to be snowed in.

I envisioned a long weekend curled up next to my honey - drinking hot chocolate, talking, maybe playing some cards - candles lit in case of a power outage, blankets wrapped around us to fend off the cold - it would be romantic. I entertained this fantasy while I watched the first tentative flakes begin to fall. There was no wind, so they fell straight down, sparkling as they landed and stuck to the already cold ground. It was beautiful. I couldn't wait for Tom to get home and share it with me. This was going to be great - a last shot at being a couple before the baby arrived.

By the time he got home, a few inches had already accumulated. He did not seem to be as excited about the prospect of being snowed in as I was. He threw together a quick dinner, then immediately donned snow gear and headed out with a spade - because we didn't have a snow shovel. (This was the first winter either of us had lived anywhere but in an apartment where snow removal was part of the contract - it hadn't occurred to us.)

We had a long circular gravel driveway.

The snow continued to fall as he shoveled. As the sun set, he came in the house and collapsed, prone on the floor, exhausted. The snow continued to fall. It was the weekend, so I figured the romantic portion of the snowstorm would begin the next day. I was mistaken. The next morning, he got up, had a cup of coffee, and headed straight back outside with the shovel. He would come in for breaks from time to time - to thaw his fingers or to grab something warm to eat or drink - then he'd head right back outside. The snow was relentless, but so was my man. He was gonna beat this mutha.

The next day I begged him to let it be. He was sore and tired and grumpy. But he went right back out in it. Part of his reasoning was that he was going to need to get out Monday morning for work and that would be much easier if he kept up with it.

"Much harder if you break your back."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Monday morning, of course, our little country road still hadn't been plowed. Our driveway was clear, but it was as far as he was gonna get. This was before the days when telecommuting was an option, so he was left with no choice but to call in, explain his situation, and let them know that he'd be there as soon as the plow hit our street.

It could've been a lovely weekend.

It was not.

That was fourteen years ago. Things change. Things stay the same.

We're under a couple few inches of snow now. Tom worked from home the last two days. The kids have been home from school. Once again, it was a perfectly lovely snow - white and fluffy and sparkling. Removing even a flake of it didn't occur to one of the four of us. Because we were huddled together under blankets around the fire drinking hot chocolate and playing cards? Hardly. Everyone is doing their own thing in the four corners of the house. It's the only way we can stay off of each others nerves. Plus, our fireplace has been out of commission for two years. People are particularly staying clear of me, because when the sky matches the landscape, and both are white, I tend to turn into the Wicked Bitch of the Midwest.

Shoveling seems futile.

Everything seems futile.

Most of my neighbors seem to be in agreement.

Most, but not one. She was shoveling when I went to bed last night at 10:30 and she was shoveling when I woke up this morning at 6:00. When the whole neighborhood is quiet - as it tends to be at those two times - it is extraordinarily loud and annoying; her diligence a judgment on our laziness. Last night I told Tom it sounded like someone playing drums - no - someone LEARNING to play drums. She is working my last nerve and I'm about to set my Flying Monkeys loose on her. I don't know where she thinks she's going anyway - our street has not been plowed.

Now would it kill somebody to bring me some damn hot chocolate?

I'm working on another novel this winter, and I thought I'd share a representative exerpt:

All work and no play makes Tammy a dull girl.

Something like seventy days till Spring. I can do this...

Good Day, Sunshine

It's time I came to terms with something - a truism that has been in place since my infancy. an addiction, an affliction, a compulsion, an obsession.

My name is Tammy, and I'm a sun-worshiper.

I rise with the sun, and start my existence. ~ The Partridge Family

Mom says from the time I was wee, I was an early riser. It didn't matter if she put me to bed early or late. If the sun was up; so was I. It's still so. It took me a while to figure out what Mom figured out in my infancy. I'm getting up with the sun no matter what time I go to bed. I'm in a much better mood for this if I go to bed earlier.


When I was a youngin and the collective consciousness did not include terms like SPF and melanoma I played happily from sun-up to sundown sans sunscreen. True - Dad didn't allow us to be out in the 11-2 sun at the beach, but that wasn't to fend off skin cancer. That was just so no one got a bad burn and ruined our whole vacation. I never burned. I went increasingly yummy shades of brown. My Teutonic mother called me her little brown bean.

As a teen I was out by 10 wearing as little as the law (and my mom) would allow. Soaking up that Vitamin D and helping it along with baby oil.

It's a sunshine day - everybody's smilin'. ~ The Brady Bunch

As a young adult I tried really hard to become a night owl, but the pull of the sun was too strong. It never really took.

(Sorry Twilighters, Interview was the shiz!)

Up all night, sleep all day. ~ Slaughter

Big surprise to anyone that I developed SAD (seasonal affect disorder) as an adult? I thought not.

Sunshine go away today. I don't feel much like dancin'. ~ Jonathon Edwards

But hey! None of that now! On accounta today we'll see more sun than any other day this year. Happy Summer Solstice, ya'll!

I'm walkin' on sunshine - and don't it feel good? ~ Katrina and the Waves

***I know, I know, it's Father's Day, too, but my Daddy's (80th, holy cow!) birthday is just a little more than a week away and I've planned to do an homage of sorts to him, then.

Here Comes the Sun

What a difference a day makes.

Yesterday I was whining about needing to get away.

Yesterday it was cold and gray and rainy and it felt like it had been forever and would be for another forever and maybe another forever after that.

Yesterday sucked.

But then there were margaritas and hope.

This morning there was a thick fog. The girls complained about it on their way to the bus stop, but I knew it was gonna burn off. It was a very optimistic fog.

Oh, in case there was any confusion, the fog was a real weather condition. Not the condition of my own sorry brain on account of the margaritas. Just saying.

So it burned off, as I knew it would, and as the day went on, the chill burned off, too.

Soon the pull was too strong. Housework be damned, prematurely aging skin be damned, Momma's gettin' her some Vitamin D.

So I stepped out onto the deck and I let the sunshine hit my face for the first time in days. What my neighbors saw:

A middle-aged fat chick in a T-shirt and jeans. And rollers. I was gonna let that sunshine heat set my hair. God's blow dryer.

What my minds eye saw:

A nubile young goddess emerging from a cave and basking in the first true golden rays of spring. And even though she was previously ensconced in a cave, her long hair is perfect and smooth and her gauze gown has nary a wrinkle. Both billow gently around her in the warm spring breeze.

Both of us, the middle-aged fat chick and the nubile goddess settled into the chaise lounge for a very brief nap before the Jr. High bus would arrive to bring an end to this quiet communion with the sun.

As we - I - closed my eyes, the rays felt even more intense.

I listened to the sounds of birds heralding the arrival of spring. And also cars and dogs and motorcycles. Because the cave opens out on the suburbs. It didn't matter. It was all good.

I allowed myself to sink deeper into it - allowed the warm sun on my skin to push me into a deeper sense of hypnotic bliss. Now many, in this state, might have imagined themselves back in goddess form. Or perhaps they'd transport themselves to an exotic isle. Or both. Truth be told, sitting here in my conscious mind, I'm surprised I didn't do the same thing. But in the state of complete submission to the rays and their will that I found myself in, that's not where I went.

I went to my mom's house. My parents house. The house in which I grew up.

A different suburb. A smaller, quieter suburb. The lounge was on the side of the house because there were woods in the back. And that nubile young goddess thing? Well, two out of three ain't bad. Not bad at all. The bikini was red, the belly was taut and tan. The boobs were perky and stayed in place even though I was lying down. Cellulite was not in my vocabulary. And my biggest concerns - well - hell - all these years later I can't remember a one of 'em. So they must not have been very important. And I soaked up the sun. Melanoma wasn't in the collective vocabulary then, either. I was probably slathered in baby oil. The portable radio was tuned to my favorite AM station and I would roll over to turn it up when 'my song' came on.

So real was this transportation to the past that - even once I was awake and knew I had to head back into the house to greet the kids as they came in from school - I was a little taken aback by my reflection in the patio door.

A middle-aged fat chick in jeans and a T-shirt and rollers.

Sigh.

It was nice to be a young nubile bikini babe goddess for a little while. Maybe the sun gods will see fit to let that dream visit again.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meatloaf that needs to be put in the oven.

In Like a Lion, Out Like a ... Chihuahua?

My sister has 3 dogs. A Weimaraner puppy who is already quite large and ridiculously exuberant, a medium-sized mixed breed rescue who is sweet and gentle - as long as you're not a young boy, and a Chihuahua. Guess who makes his presence known most loudly and aggressively when you visit their home?

Did you guess the Chihuahua? Good for you! (There is no prize. Sorry.)

In a house where he is by far the smallest soul with free rein he needs, I suppose, to do what he can to make his mark. So to speak. Ahem.

So he is loud, and he is mean, and he growls and barks very loudly at anyone who enters his home, jumping up to take a swipe at their ankles. I always assure him, in a tone that could probably be interpreted as condescending, that he is indeed bad and mean and very very scary.

When, in reality, he's actually just sort of cute.

The weather over the last couple days has had the same effect.

It got very cold, after the nice spring thaw. There was hail and wind and cold and even a few sputters of snow. Winter wanted to let us know that it was still here, and it was still mean, and it was still a force to be reckoned with.

The spring sun smiled in a manner that might be interpreted as condescending, cutting through all the nastiness winter was trying to throw. Yes, yes, Old Man Winter. You are very bad, and very mean, and very very scary. Now go lay down like a good boy and maybe I'll give you a treat.

Spring rocks.

Festival Season (Part 4)

Labor Day weekend has meant Folkfest in my hometown of Johnstown, PA since 1992, if memory serves me correctly. It was a pretty neat concept and it really breathed some life into the depressed but beautiful town I'll probably always refer to as home. It is currently being threatened by town/church politics, and that's an interesting story, too, but not the one I want to tell today.

First of all, my birthday usually falls over Labor Day weekend, so I always feel like this is a big ole party just for me. Every year we get the opportunity to listen to a LOT of free music from national and international acts that we wouldn't otherwise be exposed to. It's also a great way to introduce the kids to a variety of genres. Almost every year we hear something that just knocks us on our asses and we can't wait to turn everyone we know on to it.

This year, for me, that act was Jason Ricci and New Blood. This was a really cool eclectic show. Click on the link now and thank me later. Let me know if I haven't turned you on to something swell.

Unfortunately, Olivia did not share my exuberance for Mr. Ricci and his band. When we went to see them Saturday night, Miss Liv was with us. She kept turning around and saying things like, "This is loud." "Why does it have to be loud?" "I hate this." "I hate this so much." "I can't hear myself think." "It's very loud." "When can we leave?" In her defense, she never raised her voice. But she was relentless. She just kept poking me and poking me with a little more desperation in her voice every time. If I wasn't digging the band so much I would have removed her after a song or two and taken her to sit somewhere quieter. Again, in fairness to her, a precedent had been set. I do that a lot, actually, and let Tom watch the rest of the set. But I was really enjoying this band and I had no intention of leaving. So she kept poking. And poking. And I finally lost my temper. In fairness to myself, I never raised my voice (too much) myself - just did the patented mom-hissing thing. Don't worry - I didn't do it in the middle of their set or anything - I marched her - and everyone else with us - outside the immediate performance area.

Then we went back to my parents house. At 7:30. On a festival night. I was an unhappy camper indeed.

Liv and Lea enjoying a happier (quieter) moment by the river.

The next night went better. A lot better.

Mom offered to keep Olivia occupied and that meant I got to hear a lot more of Jason Ricci and New Blood. We also listened to an excellent set by Jason and the Scorchers. And Lea got to listen to her favorite band from this years festival, Red Collar. There was a lot of energy in their set and frankly, I don't know which I enjoyed more - listening to and watching the band, or watching Lea watch the band. She was just digging on it so much, and it was so fun to watch her just being so moved - just - getting it. Red Collar had a female bass player. (Lea has recently rejected her guitar in favor of a bass, so this was really inspirational for her.) Lea approached her after the set and she talked with her at length, a festival highpoint for Miss Lea.

My father loves this festival, if it's possible, even more than I do. Mom likes it too, but she doesn't feel the need to be there from open to close all three days. Dad does. I like to pace myself, check a few things out, then really spend a nice chunk of time listening to the bands I really like. Dad looks at at more like a game he must win. He wears a little schedule around his neck and carefully plots his course so that he is sure to see every band there at least for a little while. He will leave in the middle of a set he is enjoying because he's scheduled to be at another stage in 5 minutes. I love that we "do" the festival so differently, but still manage to run into him and Mom a lot. And we're always happy to see each other.

My guys - Dad and Tom

Concurrently there is an Arts Festival that takes within walking distance from my parents house. Traditionally we start each morning there, then head down to the festival via the Johnstown Inclined Plane. I had been a little disappointed with the Arts Festival last year, I think it had become a little stale for me, but this year there were a lot of new vendors and I enjoyed it a lot. Dropped a little cash there, for sure. I did some Christmas shopping - nothing like a unique handmade gift, in my book - but I didn't exactly neglect myself, either. If the Folkfest is my birthday party, the Arts Festival is my birthday present.

The weather for both festivals was perfection - clear, dry, sunny and warm.

Labor Day weekend is my favorite.

Here Comes the Rain Again

I love to sleep in the rain.

Last night we had the most wonderful sleeping storm. It started with rolling thunder that sounded gentle as a lullaby. As the thunder began to reach its crescendo, the rain slowly and softly crept in. As the rain increased in tempo and strength, I began my rainy night mantra: I am warm and safe and dry. Outside is a tempest, but here in my bed I am warm and safe and dry.

I love to sleep in the rain.

If My Arms Were Big Enough (and, you know, abstract), I'd Give This Day a Hug

Every day should be like this. The temperature in the mid-70's, the sun shining, the birds singing, the flowers blooming, the sun roof open and the music blaring. Life? She is good.

The students in my diversity class are thoughtful and open-minded and willing to share their personal experiences. I repeat, good, good, good.

So good, in fact, that I'm not even angry at Skybus anymore for having the audacity to go under and take not one but 2 of my planned vacations with it. That's bad. But I still feel good! Beautiful weather is a tonic!

stepping into the 21st century

I figured it was time to step into the 21st century - only a couple years late - and put my thoughts out there for public consumption. I've kept a private journal (sporadically) for years and have always found writing to be cathartic, so this seems like a pretty obvious venue to explore.

Things I'm thinking about today:

The Weather: Is Spring EVER going to come? The little tease last week was almost cruel. I need me some sunshine!!!!!

School: Finals are right around the corner - have I taught my material well? Will my students grades reflect this? But mostly - how the hell am I gonna manage next quarter with all this new technology? I fear change. Mostly I fear it will take a course I really love and turn it into something I don't recognize.

My Health/Body: Okay, get used to this topic - I've been obsessing on it a lot lately. I'm so angry with the changes age has made/is making. I can't think of a single thing about the physical me right now that makes me happy. I used to be happy when I went to the gym, but after over a year of REALLY hard work with barely negligible results, it just feels like a waste of time. I just am having a very hard time making it make sense. I don't feel (on the inside) like the person I present as (on the outside). It's so frustrating.