80's Flashback

This past weekend there was a countdown of the top 100 songs of the 80s. On some channel. Don't know which. In my house we never watch a TV show when it's actually on. It started years ago with video tapes and the VCR. There is still a pile of unwatched tapes somewhere. The fact that we have graduated to a DVR that only records two programs at a time, has not lessened our need to play TV catch-up. Because the DVR has limited space and it's almost always full. There are programs on there that have cycled through the last 12 months so that they look current again.

At some point this weekend there was enough space on the DVR to record five hours of the countdown show, various children's shows and the beginnings of Ken Burns' "National Parks" series.

The culprit responsible for all of this non-viewable recording (how much tv CAN one person watch in a day or a week... or a month?) actually started a discussion with me this morning about what we could record, and when; and what we should delete.

Sometimes, I truly miss having only13 channels and the seven that actually got reception. Along with being cell-phone free, and playing  records that were actually vinyl.

Speaking of vinyl (reminds me of a diner in NYC), I was talking about the 80s. We watched the first four hours of the countdown and made it to 21. There was only one hour left to watch. The top 20 -- best of the best. Until the remote-jock himself deleted the final hour of the countdown.

Now I will never know which songs from the 80s are the top 20. My life may never be complete. I will not be able to relive those glorious, promising days of my youth when my life was before me and I was talented. And thin.

Nevermind. I have my memories.

bwahahahahahahaha

Is It Home Yet?

I just saw an ad on another blogsite with the tagline "Is it Home yet?" with a picture of a sunburst clock. As in, "our-accessories-will-make-your-house-a-home".

It's a subject that's been much on my mind lately. I moved, with my husband and offspring, into this house a little over three years ago, and dove head-first into the excitement of making a house a home. Only to hit a major roadblock. My husband. He has very different ideas about decorating than I have.

Granted, I watch a little too much HGTV, but here I have this blank canvas with a wealth possibilities that I could fill with the ideas I get from tv designers. Oh the painting I could do. The rugs I could use to define spaces. The art I could hang. The closets I could reorganize.

I love to organize. I have organized many things around this house and it always feels so good when some things find a home. I love the sense of order. But I'm not the only one who lives here.

Alas, my live-in roadblock. Whose idea of decorating is living out of the boxes that moved his belongings here three years ago. But that's not entirely true. He's unpacked a lot of stuff. It's sitting on the floor. In the office, in the bedroom, sometimes in the kitchen and most definitely in the basement. Piles of paper, boxes, purchases still in their bags.

And the light and bathroom fixtures? They're still cluttering up the place too. Not in any way that's useful, however.

So, when I saw the ad "is it Home yet?" I thought to myself, sadly, "No. No it's not."

And at this rate one wonders if it ever will be.

Sunday On The River

We live in what is considered the "shoreline" area, in spite of the fact that we are miles from the shoreline. Being miles from the shoreline, however, does not preclude our ability to take advantage of the local water and wildlife.

Yesterday we attended an open house at a facility which provides incredible summer camp opportunities for local kids as well as inner city kids. The focus of this camp is marine environment and the life it supports. My son spent an entirely enjoyable week there in July and wanted to go back rather than moving on to a different, more traditional camp.

The weather yesterday was perfect. Blue sky, no clouds, low humidity and mildy warm. Perfect day to be outside. One of the activites provided at the open house was a boat ride on the river. We signed up to go with some friends.

At our appointed time we headed down to the doc and met up with Captain Tom. Captain Tom took the five us out for a short trip up river and around one of the smaller islands just off the shore.

I'm not a boat person. I love the water in all it's forms but I've never learned to sail and don't know the first thing about boating safety. But yesterday, out there on the river, I understood the desire, the drive to have a boat, and spend summer weekend days with the wind and the spray in your face.  Beats the hell out of being parked on the couch and catching up on saved tv.

Our ride was short. Maybe 30 minutes all told. But it was the first time in a long time that I have enoyed something so simple and unexpected so thoroughly. 

I want to go again.

Catching Up

I have been off-world and due to technical difficulties was unable to access this lovely blog site.

But I'm back. Had a lovely trip. Not sure I'd do it again.

Although there is a quick journey awaiting me. I have to go in search of locomotive power.

Wish me luck. I'll be back soon.

The Day After

In the horror of the moment, I heard phantom voices in my head saying they remembered exactly where they were when another national tragedy happened. Where were you when Kennedy was shot? Most people who were sentient at the time do recall where they were when they heard the news.

September 11, 2001 was much like that for me. I will never forget where I was and what I was doing. The feeling of abject horror and disbelief that this could be happening.

Even now, sitting here writing about it, it has the power to reduce me to tears. Which may be why I chose not to write about it yesterday.

The pain of those images, the loss of friends and colleagues, the change in the status of our personal freedoms... these are things I can never forget. True, I go through my daily life with my head down and plowing ahead. Still, when it's time to stop and take a moment and to pay our respects to those we lost, I willingly pause, reflect and give thanks.

Yesterday we made the effort to find a broadcast of memorial services. There were none to speak of. We felt it was important to talk about it with our son, share our experiences of the day and make ourselves available to any questions he might have. His Dad found a ceremony of the reading of the names on streaming video. We watched a little.

Since that day, I have not returned to where the Towers once stood. Perhaps someday I will. But not today.

Kirk vs Bond

We're already counting down to Halloween. A little more than seven weeks to go. I have found that, for my own peace of mind, I need to try to pin down costume preferences by early September. Yes, I hate seeing the candy on shelves in August. But I'm one of those people who tries to avoid things like running out of milk. Which translates into "I'm not going into a party store the week before Halloween to pick out a costume."

We've already ordered Captain Kirk's uniform for Halloween. I do still need to find black pants, but the key components are on their way.

Manifest:
(1) Star Trek original series captain's uniform shirt
(1) Star Trek original series phaser
(1) Star Trek original series communicator

It's all about authenticity.

But here's the thing. Where we live it's not just about Halloween night and the annual trick-or-treat. It's also about the Pumpkin Festival the Saturday before Halloween (costumes optional, except in our case where they are mandatory), and let us not forget about the costume parade at school in the days leading up to Halloween.

All of this makes for too many opportunities to changes one's outfit. Like at a Cher concert - every time she comes onstage she's wearing something else.

In the case of my son, Captain Kirk was one of his two final costume choices. The other thing he wants to be for Halloween is a spy. Not sure which spy - maybe Perry the Platypus. Be that as it may, his spy costume requires purchase of a suit. Preferably black. White shirt, black tie. The key piece here, though, will be the dark glasses. You can't be a spy without them.

But I will still need to purchase a suit.

Personally, I think the kid just wants a suit. He likes to dress up. And it will look good with his black cowboy hat.

Coming Clean

Once upon a youth, I was an actor.  An actor/singer. An actor/singer/mover-weller (read: non-dancer). After years of trying to be blonder, brunetter, taller, shorter, a soprano, a bass, a ballerina (painful), older and younger, I got tired of the grind and turned my performing focus elsewhere.

It florished elsewhere for a few years. And then it floundered when I had my Boy. He became the focus of my life as happens to an older mother with only one child. When he was a baby, I'd often thought he'd be a good candidate for print work. He was such a happy, good natured little guy. And he loved (loves) interacting with people.

I'd been to auditions where there was a casting call for children going on in the same space. Being in close quarters like that, when you're trying to prepare for your own audition, is enough to make you want to have your tubes tied.  There were kids there who wanted to be there, kids who weren't sure if they wanted to be there, and kids whose parents wanted them to be there. They were wound up, cranky, tired and probably scared.

It's why people become substance abusers.

So here was my conundrum: actor parent with happy, laid-back kid. To take on rounds or not to take on rounds.

The decision was to not inflict the child with any additional neuroses he might already have acquired from us. A friend who has been in several national commercials with "child actors" has commented that these kids are constantly seeking approval in a high-pressure situation.

My kid is an approval seeker and I fear what would become of him, if he were in a position of having to repeat his work over and over again until he got director approval. It's painful to think about.

But now he's eight and a local professional theatre company is casting their Christmas show. I asked him the other day if he'd be interested in auditioning. His first question was: "Will I get paid?" In the end he decided to "think about it" and I haven't heard back from him. I think that's a good thing.

We like to say that our son has gotten the "ham" gene, and perhaps he has. But it appears that he's going to save it for when he gets older. Maybe for college. He'll have access to a much bigger Greek chorus then.

A Cricket For Luck

We got home late from the library this evening and were greeted with chirping. Cricket-type chirping (as opposed to the bird variety). Which leads me to ask myself: Do crickets "chirp?"

At first I thought it was outside, but if it was, it was either really big, or really loud. I was leaning toward the loud. We live in the country and I do not relish the prospect of a close encounter with an oversized cricket.

Finally, after some fine-tuned listening we figured out it was in the front hallway. We might have left it there, but it was loud. It would probably have gotten louder as the night wore on. There's already one insomniac in the house and we don't need any additional tossing and turning. It might wake me up.

Boys being boys and, bugs not being a problem (unless they're flying around the bedroom), our Boy located the cricket in a sneaker. Poor thing was probably sending an SOS to Its Kind declaring it had been abducted by a large, white, stinky alien, and it was being kept in a dark, scary place.

Not being of a mind to disprove the abduction theory, the insomniac got the "Bug Vacuum" and sucked it up in true alien fashion. After a little brainwashing, we sent the cricket back to be with his own kind.

The house is quiet now. At least for the moment. Until the insomniac goes to bed, when the place will echo with the sound of his snoring.

A snoring insomniac... an oxymoron, or just bad luck?

A Labor of Love

Happy Labor Day.

This weekend, which should be the weekend that leads us into the first day of school, but isn't (because last week was), has been a lovely, lazy end-of-summer weekend nonetheless.

The boy was encouraged by his father to help "clean up" in the garden and around the house. This is how he earns his spending money. The clean up turned into a secret place, just by removing a few weeds and overgrown things. I couldn't say what any of the overgrown things might have been because I was born without a gardening gene.

Suffice to say, there is a dirt path going through the middle of the garden that some industrious soul planted years ago. At the front of the garden is a leafy, low-hanging tree that creates a canopy over the dirt path. Underneath the tree is a bushy thing that is evergreen and turns yellow-gold in the summer. This completes the privacy screen to the road.

On the house side of the garden are beautiful tall flower things that attract butterflies and bees. The insect life seems very happy there, and the flowers smell really good to humans.

After running some train track through the newly excavated secret garden area, we had a ribbon ceremony, invited a few neighbors over for a peak, and ended up having dinner out there yesterday and lunch out there today.

It's a lovely little place to hang out. Especially if you are under five feet tall. I am not, but that Boy is so proud of his work, and he loves it in there. And that makes me very happy.

A little labor of love for Labor Day.

September Already?

Yes, yes, I know. It was September already three days ago. I haven't been getting regular caffeine injections and when that happens I lose days.

It's May, right?

Spent the last few days of August doing a little road trip and visiting the in-laws. We also went to the fair. The State Fair. It's a big one. Lots of cows, horses, pigs, sheep, bunnies, chickens and carnival rides. Oh, and let's not forget the food in all of it's fried glory.

Isn't it amazing that you can find almost any kind of food you can imagine, breaded/battered and fried, at the state fair? And plenty of beer to wash it down. A state fair without deep fried food and beer is just a farm with a lot of people wandering aimlessly about.

A big first for the boy happened with me at the fair. I took him on the rollercoaster. Four times. Or maybe it was five. We sat in the front. He'd get all excited as the ride started, but would put his head down for the first big hill. And grab my arm. And we laughed and laughed. It was the best kind of fun. And we made sure we went on BEFORE we had any fried food or beer.

The big draw was the Lego Robotics club in the 4-H building. Do urban dwellers even know what 4-H is anymore? Just wondering. The Lego Robotics club members were great and our creative, imaginative kid was mentally building all sorts of things while he experimented with the robots. There's a robotics club in his future. We need to find one or start one for him.

But we had to hurry home from the fair to start school. BEFORE Labor Day. What's that all about? It's just wrong. School is not supposed to start until after Labor Day. Especially here in the northeast. It's bad enough that the Halloween candy is already on the shelves. And has been. For weeks.

That was my rant for the day.

Thank you for listening.