Koyaanisqatsi

What the hell is going on?

Melky was using.  He's out for the rest of the season, taking with him the hopes of all the Giants fans out there.  Will the rest of the team step up?  I hope so, but the thing that rankles in my mind is the fact that management knew this was coming down the pike back in July.  I'm sure that's one of the reasons that they pursued Hunter Pence so aggressively.  And why, just last week, in an interview, Brian Sabean said they were putting further contract negotiations with Melky on hold.  At the time, I discussed it with my boyfriend.  I couldn't understand why they would hesitate to re-sign one of the National League's leading hitters.   Guess what- the boy's been juicing.  The only good thing I can see out of this whole mess is that Melky owned up to it, admitted he made a mistake.  Consider this:  he told the truth.

Nevertheless- I'm not sure what's going to happen to the rest of the Giants season.  They lost yesterday and the Dodgers won, so the Giants have fallen to second place, with a cloud over them.

I'm really sad about all of this.

Another headline caught my eye this morning:  One of the Nob Hill Twins has Alzheimer's, and is hospitalized.  The remaining twin is in financial hardship, but still goes everyday to visit her sister.
I loved those women, they brightened my day when I would see them in the City.

Everything is going up- gas, food, just plain living.

What do we possibly have to look forward to? 

"Softball," my boyfriend told me helpfully.  "My win/loss record.  The Coneheads in the playoffs.  The A's and the Cards in the World Series."

Well, there you have it.  Go, Coneheads.

It Looks Like a WHAT????

This morning in the pool I was talking with a friend as we kicked alongside each other.
"My boyfriend," I said, "grew a tomato with a penis."  She looked at me incredulously.  "Honestly," she replied.  "Anyone else would see a nose, and you see a penis." 

Maybe.  But I'm serious, here.

My boyfriend is a successful gardener.  He is also a fabulous cook, and he assured me, that from the bounty of his garden, we would feast royally all summer.  We were having a discussion in early Spring about how many tomato plants to buy.  I wanted half a dozen.  He decided on two.  "You have no idea how many tomatoes they will produce," he said.  He also got a bell pepper plant, some basil and oregano.  I was in heaven, already tasting the Caprese in my mind, smelling the simmering Bolongnese sauce.

So, he planted, and fussed, and watered, and weeded, and worried.  I waited, plate in hand.  It took months.  Finally- some tomatoes emerged.  Not nearly the bounty I had been expecting, however.  Just a few.  This bothered him;  why was it the tomatoes weren't growing as they should?  Why did we not have a bushel full?  I'm not going to say which one of us wanted to buy more plants.  I'll just say, it's the same person who would have killed even the two he planted.  Black-thumbed-food-sluts can't be choosers.  That in mind, I am grateful for the ones we got.  However, one of them had a little extra growth that grew along with it.

What you call it is a matter of semantics.

Ultimately, the tomato with a penis came to a bad end.  We ate him.  He was delicious.

Water

A shameful secret has come to light.

I admit it, I have two black thumbs, and my fingers and palms are pretty black as well.  Most of my plants are fakes.  I have two live plants, outside in pots.  One is a Christmas Cactus, the other is a Jade Plant.  They belonged to my mother, and I've had them both for twenty years, and they are still alive.  In fact, when I moved, I transplanted them into bigger pots, and not only did they survive, they thrived!  Considering you have to be a hardy plant to survive my talents, I feel I've done well, with no real effort.  This morning I discovered why they are thriving.

My neighbor waters them regularly.

I caught her in the act.  She is a lovely woman, and she twinkled at me as I thanked her.  "Oh,"
she said.  "Not a problem!  I know you're busy." 

Succulents and Cacti need water.  Who knew?

I crave water, myself- I love to swim, and I love to be out on the water.  Any kind- lake, ocean, pond, river, whatever I can get.

I had a date once who decided that I should learn to sail one of those one-man sailboats.  Off we went to a local lake.  The water was a bit chilly, so we put on wetsuits.

Really, is there anything less flattering than neoprene?  The thicker suits, the kind you wear for scuba, they at least hide everything, but the thinner ones, made for  swimming and surfing and kayaking, just accentuate every single bump, wrinkle and flesh-fold.  You feel like a sausage, squeezed into casing, all your fat squishing out above and below.  Not attractive.  Why is it that men, on the other hand, look okay in their wetsuits?  Another inequity between the sexes.

So, there I was, a blob in a shorty suit, fat squishing out above and below the line of the material on my thighs.  Just great.  (My thighs are one of the banes of my existence, anyway, but encased in neoprene.....  run.   Run for the hills.  Whatever you do, don't look back.)  And this damn boat seemed to have a life of it's own.  I could not make the thing listen to me.  It brought to mind a family vacation to Belize, in which my daughter and I went tubing down a river in the rain forest, got separated from the rest of our party, got stuck on some rocks in a swiftly moving current, and had to be rescued.  Our rescuer was the incredibly handsome guide, and we couldn't even enjoy him helping us because we were so embarrassed that we actually had to be rescued.   AND we ripped open one of the tubes.

My very helpful date, no doubt starstruck by my grace and beauty, kept barking out commands.
"Windward!  You're supposed to turn into the wind!  No!  Upwind!  The other way!"

Ever obedient, and gifted with a stellar sense of direction and knowing right from left,  I turned downwind.  That's Leeward.  I tipped that damn boat completely over.

It was quite cold.

At least I can swim well.  And laugh like no one's business.  My date, he didn't have a very good sense of humor about the whole thing.

That was the last date I ever had with that guy, but really, I know the truth.  It was the neoprene that ruined it all for me.

Labels and the Perfect Wedding

I am finally dating a man who calls me his girlfriend.

This is new territory for me.  I'm used to commitment-phobes.  I once dated a man who, after six months, referred to me as his "very, very, very very good friend." I dated another who said that one couldn't just call someone a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, that you had to come to some kind of consensus about it all, that it took time, and that we had only been seeing each other for a year.  And, I've had many bad dates that really went nowhere.  So putting a name on anything is a huge development for me.  And, here I am with a man who is secure enough and committed enough in our relationship to give me a label.  What a feeling!

A couple of weeks ago, we both attended one of the biggest labels of all- a wedding.

The wedding was at a beautiful winery in the wine country.  The bride is a good friend of mine; the bride's sister/maid of honor is a good friend of mine, and their Dad is a good friend of mine.   My boyfriend came along for the party.

The weather was perfect.  Sunny, warm but not sweltering, breezy at first but the wind eventually died down.  The setting was spectacular;  shuttle buses picked us up at the parking lot of the winery, and transported us up to the top of this magical hill, where everything was set up:  a place for the service, lots of comfy chairs and couches with a bar nearby, tables for dinner, a dance floor with a DJ.  Even the bathrooms were perfect, at least on the women's side, because inside was a huge case full of anything you might need- hairspray, bobby pins, safety pins, double tape, feminine protection, breath mints, Kleenex, hand creme, etc.  You name it, it was probably in there.   The view from the hilltop was amazing; 360 degrees of rolling hills and vineyards stretching away into the distance.

The ceremony was perfect.  Just long enough to be meaningful, but thankfully not a full-blown Catholic Mass,  which, when attached to a wedding can take several hours.  The bride was absolutely gorgeous, and when I saw the way she and the groom looked at each other I started to cry. 

The whole day was perfect.  The service, the wedding dress, the bridesmaid's gown, the wine, the food, the cake and gelato, the coffee. 

The groom got up and made a speech about how peaceful and beautiful our surroundings were, and how his bride made him feel like that at the end of every day, no matter how crazy it had been and how much his head was spinning.  And if we should find a person like that, we should hang on to them.

When the groom made his speech, there was a collective sigh from the entire assemblage.  The women all sighed, because it was quite possibly the most romantic thing any of us had ever heard.  The men all sighed because now they all had to live up to impossible standards; the ante had been upped.
My boyfriend turned to me and held my hand.

As the twilight descended, lanterns came on, and a roaring fire was started in the fire pit.  Lots of dancing.  The party went on until long after dark.  It was the best wedding I've ever been to- in fact, it was perfect.

I saw the father of the bride yesterday.  He asked after my boyfriend, remarked that he seemed like a really nice guy, wanted to know his intentions, and was I planning to move in with him soon?

Don't rush things, here.  I'm still getting used to calling him my boyfriend.

Road Trip

After almost a year of living in her own apartment, my daughter called me the other day and asked me how to clean a bathroom.

Well.  No sense in being hasty about these things.

I'm sure this impromptu housekeeping was due to the fact that I recently visited her.  I really, really tried to restrain myself but after viewing the kitchen and bathroom the words just exploded out of me, much like the new life forms growing in the kitchen trashcan, which, judging from the smell, was apparently last emptied the week the girls moved into the place.  She has a kitchen door that leads to a porch;  she could bag the trash and leave it out there until she puts it in the trash can.  Someone might think it's valuable and steal it, and boy, what a shock that would be for the thief.
But at least it would be out of the house. 

We were there because my boyfriend and I decided to take a road trip.  Stay with a friend of his from high school, visit my daughter.  Use the back roads instead of the major freeways, pack lots of snacks, stop at obscure landmarks, take many pictures.

It was rather impromptu.
Off we went.  Our first stop was this cave, Black Chasm Cavern, located in Volcano, CA.  I just love stuff like this.  Then we took off down highway 49, through the Gold Country on the way to LA.  We stopped in Sonora, and picked this hotel at random.  Turned out to be a great place, old, full of antiques, nice little pool, absolutely fabulous breakfast.  I took plenty of notes and pictures, because my ultimate goal, aside from writing THE definitive novel of our lifetime is to own and run a bed and breakfast.

The weather in LA was perfect.   His musician friend's beautiful British girlfriend was visiting.   The boys caught up.  We girls got acquainted and became friends.  We had a blast together.  Mornings were spent in the enchanting garden, wearing our "guest robes," drinking coffee,  chatting, laughing.   

What is it about accents?  The beautiful Brit would have been charming anyway, but even more so with the accent.  She's also blonde, smart, successful. And really, really nice.   All that and an accent, too, it's just not fair.  I've been trying to develop one, but being a California girl, it's just not easy.

I caught up with my daughter, who becomes nicer every time I see her, in spite of her lack of cleaning skills.  I figure it's all okay, because someday when she's famous she can hire someone to do the cleaning for her. 

The most astonishing discovery of the road trip was the fact that my boyfriend and I actually get along.  We can spend hours in a car, driving along, talking, and even listening to each other's music without too much issue.  Even our silences are comfortable and unforced.

Now, if I could only get him to admit that he loves Eminem.  Give him a few more roadtrips, he'll come around.

Whatdya Mean, There's No Santa Claus?

"At some point, Santa needs to die.  Because, there is no Santa Claus."  The psychologist was quite emphatic on this point, insisting that part of the problem with our children today is that they are too coddled, that they need to be allowed to make mistakes, to screw up all by themselves.  We as parents can't keep rescuing them. 

Ok, so I completely agree.  While not a completely hands-off mother, I have nevertheless let my children fall down and pick themselves up.  The watching is painful, but the life lesson is invaluable.

This phenomenon is still happening for me.  I trip, fall down, bloody my knees, pick myself painfully up, do it again.  It has happened in every part of my life- spiritual, personal, and professional.  Achieving balance is hard.

Recent events have thrown the balance off, all over again.  My health benefits were abruptly cancelled.  My employer decided that the expense was too much, in fact he insisted that I consider applying for Medi-Cal.  Seriously.  That was the final straw in a process that has been going on for years.  No raise for five years, never a cost of living increase, no flexibility in work hours, no paid holidays, no sick leave, pretty much nothing.  What I had was a convenient job, close to my kids when they were small.  Hell, what I had was a job. But with one child in college and the other one almost finished with high school, the time has come to move on, if indeed there is something out there in this grim job market.  Updating my resume and searching is time consuming, and pretty much a part time job, much like my predilection for swimming and weight training.

My spiritual life took an unexpected turn this week when I discovered that a priest died of brain cancer.  She was very important in my life in my early years as a new mom.  She helped me understand and get through my own mother dying of cancer.  For the last three years I've been planning to get together with her- now it's too late.  I've missed the boat.  And- I will miss her.  She was a wonderful human being who really made the world a better place.  She didn't just talk about it, she did it daily.  May she rest in peace.

My personal life is bright.  I have great kids in spite of my mothering skills, or lack therof.  I have dear friends.  I have- dare I say it- a really great relationship with a guy who not only gets me, he doesn't run screaming from me once he realizes what I am all about.  For my age, I'm hanging in there, physically- I'm strong, and thankfully, healthy, since I can no longer afford to go to the doctor.  I'm in pretty good shape.  Mentally, I'm completely nuts but what do you expect from someone who's idea of a great night is flannel jammies, Uggs, a baseball game, a glass of wine and my boyfriend?

The other night I was putting recycling in the outside bins, when I noticed a twenty-something in a pickup next door looking at me.  Turns out he was one of my 7th graders, when I taught middle school.  He was delighted to see me.  He wanted to know was I still teaching, because he thought I was an "awesome" teacher, and that schools needed more educators like me.  I was of course in jammies, and Uggs, and my hair was wet and screwed up all funny.  As I usually am after coming home from the gym and taking a shower.

So the bad thing is, I live next door to one of my ex-students, who saw me looking really scary.  The good thing is, I was his favorite teacher, and, apparently, still am.  And he's turned out well.

Who says Santa is dead? 

Grace, Part 3

In honor of summer, I bought a new pair of sandals.

They are absolutely adorable, as far as summer sandals go.  Lilac blue, and actually comfortable as well as cute.  I figured they would go with everything- jeans, dresses, shorts.

So I wore them yesterday to a softball game in which the man I'm dating was playing.  It was a beautiful afternoon- sunny, warm, a slight breeze so it wouldn't get too hot.  I sat there all afternoon, watching a double-header.  His team stomped both opponents, and came home with a trophy.

I came home with a sunburn- on my feet, because it never occured to me to put sunscreen on them.  So now I can't wear those cute new sandals, because the straps rub right where the burn happened. 

I am not the only graceful one in my family.

My son, the-pitcher-who-wasn't, recently went to his Junior Prom.  He and his friends were all done up in Tuxes.  They looked quite smashing, very James Bond.  My son has a girlfriend, and so they were a couple, but they all went as a group, he being one of three young men escorting five beautiful young women.  A fabulous time was had by all.

My son dropped his cell phone over the course of the evening,  breaking the screen.  It could still make and receive calls, but was rendered useless for texting.  For a teenager, this is a disaster.  I mean, no one uses their phone for making calls.  My son's last cell phone was rendered useless when he carefully put it in his pocket and then went swimming with it.  After the water phone, I must have bought insurance for their cell phones, because I was able to replace the prom-dropped one, free of charge.

You learn a lot from having teenagers.   I  discovered You Tube, a bunch of really great bad pop music, and refurbished electronics.

My son carefully returned his rented tux, on time.  Unfortunately, when he did, he left his wallet in the jacket pocket.

The apple does not fall far from the tree, in the grace department.