Fake families & bottles of pee.

I was going to blog today about a story I heard on NPR this morning about a new way to sell houses. Homelife is a performance consisting of 4 actors playing the mom, dad and 2 kids. The actors “live” in the model home and talk to the prospects as they look around. This totally made me laugh. And evidently, it’s working like a charm.

But then, Andrew sent me this article, “Trucker Bombs” Pose Health Hazard Along Roads, which points out that in Utah alone, maintenance crews pick up over 20-thousand urine bottles a year from the state’s roads. (I’m not saying that my guys don’t occasionally pee in a bottle on a road trip. But I don’t throw it out the window, for goodness sakes!)

Oh, but there’s more. Evidently, road crews also find ziploc bags full of urine, feces, drug paraphernalia, used needles, blood. Sure it’s illegal. But more than that, it’s just gross.

Blech.

Cousins.

I had dinner tonight with my mother, her 2 sisters, and 4 of my first cousins – all female. One just married into our family and this dinner was to welcome her. We’re not kids. The youngest in the group is just over 30. I think. The oldest is just over 50. Our children range from 24 down to 1. There are mostly boys, with a couple girls sprinkled in.

We all grew up within 2 blocks of each other. And my grandparents lived in the middle. So we saw each other a lot. We passed clothes to each other (that’s how I got go-go boots and peanut pants!), babysat for each other, and had all our holidays together.

The years passed. Some of us moved away and then back. Some married young. Some divorced and remarried. Some have careers and some don’t. We’ve all taken different paths. Or maybe we’ve taken different versions of the same path. I think most of us are happy.

Tonight, we had grilled chicken sandwiches, casear salad, that corn I mentioned earlier, fruit, and lots of sangria. My aunt put strawberries in it. Nice touch. And we talked.

And laughed. We talked about our grandparents in their last years. We told stories about them and about our kids. We laughed about the resemblance between our children and our siblings. We didn’t talk about anything particularly deep or telling. But, at least on the surface, we had fun.

But the years have changed things. We should know each others’ children better. We should know more. It doesn’t seem right. It just seems so wrong to me that girls that grew up together – right there – right in each others’ backyards – know so little about each other as adults. And that when we see each other – at a funeral or a bar mitzvah or at a dinner like this – that we act like we have a bond.

But it’s only held together with scotch tape.

Gratitude.

Today, Kristin posted about starting a Gratitude Journal. Since I lost my entire thoughtful post, and don’t have the time or energy to recreate it right now, I’m going to borrow her idea for the day….

Today, I’m grateful for:

Andrew’s creamless creamed corn. OMG. I’m taking it to a dinner at my aunt’s house tonight. It’s mighty good.

Max slipped and fell at camp today and has a huge bump on his head. But he seems fine. I’m grateful he’s fine. (and a bit annoyed they didn’t call me when it happened. But that’s not in the spirit of this list, so scratch that.)

Rockstar Supernova. We’ve been watching as a family and the boys are really getting a great feel for serious rock & roll. Fun stuff! Go Dilana!

The temperature only hit 90 today. Compared to the past few days, it was a bit chilly!

Time to read a book. Andrew is taking the boys to dinner and I have a little time to read before leaving for my evening out.

The internet. I am trying to get some details together for my upcoming road trip (NJ, Maine, upstate NY, NJ) and it sure is great having everything I need at my fingertips! Go Roadside America!

Have a great night, y’all!

*$#(%@

I know I’ve been MIA a couple days. I just spent an eternity writing a pithy post — and blogger blipped. It’s gone. The whole thing.

Argh.

Dictionary.

sec·ond1 ( P ) Pronunciation Key (sknd)n.
Abbr. sec.
A unit of time equal to one sixtieth of a minute.
The time needed for a cesium-133 atom to perform 9,192,631,770 complete oscillations. See table at measurement.

So we’re driving down the road and I asked Max a question. “Just a second, Mom,” said Max. About 2 minutes later, Max asked, “What did you want, Mom?”

Have you noticed that in our busy, overloaded world that “just a second” has just about supplanted “just a minute” because a minute just seems entirely too long to wait for anything?

I commented to Andrew that it was a very long second. His answer made me laugh. He said (and I quote), “[these days] a second isn’t a precise measurement of time but rather indicates a short interval of time.”

Who talks like that? So I’m considering a new nickname for him. Dictionary. Maybe Dic for short.

Kick it.

I’ve been down lately. A good friend sent me this card. Sweet, huh?
(credit to Hallmark Fresh Ink.)

Daydream.

Lately, I’ve had this daydream. As I’ve been taking the nine (really, not kidding here) pillows off my beautifully appointed bed, I imagine that one day if I try very, very hard I can make it through the day without making my bed. Think of the time I’ll save preparing to go to sleep at night.

Our house.

Yesterday I wrote about hoarding memories. Well, today, I saw my friend’s little brother buried. Unfortunately, that is a memory I would rather not save. But it’s not optional.

So I’ve been working on pulling up good memories. Like this one. We bought this little house when Davis was almost two. It was from Big Lots – you know one of those close-out stores with no service? I was 9 months pregnant with Reed. And Andrew was in Calipatria, CA (He spent a lot of time there – not a lot of excitement there!) Anyway, I bought the house. I guess I thought they’d bring it to the car. I mean, you should have seen me! But no. And it weighed over 100 lbs. I cried. Not for effect. It was the hormones, I guess. They still wouldn’t help me, but they agreed to hold it for me until Andrew got home.

From the minute we put it together, it was a hit. Davis and his friends would have snacks in there. They played for hours.

This photo is at Reed’s bris - and Davis (now 11) is in the groovy blue outfit in front. My niece Emily (now 16) is to the left. Hannah (now 12) is on the right. Isaac (now 11) is in the doorway and Jamie (now 10) is in the window. The 9 year old in the window is my niece Betsy who is going to college in the fall.

Except for Reed (who might not have enjoyed the day all that much), this day was really a kids’ dream. The weather was perfect. The cousins were all there. What a nice memory.

The world is flat.

The mural is an early work by William Cochran, who is known for his public art. (Those are my boys and the Simon boys.) We saw one of his more recent works, The Community Bridge in Frederick, Maryland for the first time this weekend. Check out the link, click on the photo and then use the arrow to the right to see some close ups. It’s all faux painting. Totally 2 dimensional. Trust me. You’ll be amazed. It is truly awesome.

But the coolest thing is that I called a number I found online to get directions to the bridge and it turns out it was his home. Yikes. I hung up, naturally. (I was mortified! I meant to call the Visitor’s Center!)

But he called me back. Damn Caller ID! Anyway, he was so nice and so helpful and really down to earth.

Packrats.

I know some people who can’t, really can’t, throw things away. Call it being a packrat. Call it hoarding. It’s not harmful, but it can be overwhelming. Too much stuff can get in the way.

I do not suffer from this ailment. However, I do have my doll collection from growing up. And I have mementos from many important (and not so important) times in my life. I have the Esskay penny that my great-grandfather gave me dated 1964. I have my girl scout wings from when I was flown up. And I have lots of pictures. But I easily and readily keep the stuff around here in check.

But what I do hoard is memories. Though I know I can always find more room up there, I am chocked full of visions and sounds and smells of the 44 years leading up to now. Some are lovely. Some are really sad. But for what it’s worth, I remember everything.

Frequently, I feel extremely lucky to have this ability. I can share stories with my kids. I can use past experiences to help me make better choices. I can recreate a happy feeling just by going back there. But other times, it’s painful. Because the memories of the sad and hurtful and disappointing things in life are there too. Just as vivid.

I suppose having the good outweighs the bad.

Most of the time, at least.