Finding Blanche
Nothing stays the same.Archive for October, 2009
Happy $%#*? Halloween.
It’s no secret that I’m not a Halloween lover.
The other day, I posted a cutie-pic photo of my boys as killer bees. It reminded me what I do like about the holiday.
Taking pictures.
So, without further ado….
Have fun tonight. (If you like that sort of thing.)
Dancerina
My sister had a Dancerina doll.
She loved that doll. And she let me play with it whenever I wanted.
She was very nice like that.
I acted like I didn’t care about the ballet doll. I mean, how juvenile.
But when she wasn’t home, I’d take it out of the closet (why did she keep it in the closet? Hmmm. Can’t remember) anyway, when she wasn’t home, I’d take it out and play with it. I’d watch it spin around and around.
We’re all grown up now. And I realize this was one of those things that we did have in common despite our age difference (which seemed much greater then) and I didn’t take advantage of it. I wish I’d spent more time being nice to her. She was always nice to me.
Last night at dinner my guys were picking on each other. Well two of them at least. It was normal sibling stuff. But it made me sad, remembering that I wasn’t the big sister that I wish I had been when I was young. I hope that when they grow up, my boys look back and know that they were the brothers they’d hope they had been.
Halloween
As many of you know, I hate Halloween.
But, looking at this picture from 2001, I can’t help but smile.
Dream until your dreams come true.
(photo from iphone backgrounds app. not sure who to credit. obviously common license of some sort.)
I’ve been having really strange dreams lately. The good news is that it means I’ve gotten some sleep. The bad news is that vivid, odd dreams make me wonder. And when I start wondering… well did you ever read the book about the mouse and the cookie?
I’ve always been a dreamer. And I’ve always been an optimist. So does that mean all my dreams are happy? Well, actually, yes it does.
In my personal life, I dreamed of a happy loving family. I dreamed that my sons grew to be responsible and amazing. So far, so good.
My dreams change sometimes though.
Recently, I thought I wanted a different house. We found a piece of property and even talked to the county and an architect to see if what we wanted to build – a more eco-friendly, responsible home – was feasible with our financial and personal resources.
I could see it.
I could walk through it.
I could see myself in it.
And so, I was sure it was going to happen and that it was what I wanted.
But I was wrong. I realized the resources needed were more than we would choose to spend – in sweat, time, and dollars. And more significantly, I realized that I did not want a different home. I love the home we’ve made.
Sure, we’re a little cozy here. But I like being with my guys.
And yes, it’s on a tiny piece of land in suburbia. But I hate yard work.
True, my office is in public space so it gets a little noisy after school. But I’m here for my kids if they need me.
We’ve decided that we’re putting our resources into creating more memories. We want to have some amazing experiences with our boys before they leave us for the big, scary world. I am beyond excited – reading travel sites, looking at maps, and…
I have a new dream.
Life’s a beach.
I’ve only been to Long Island 3 times.
1) At 17, to visit Hofstra University. Way too congested for my taste.
2) At 25, to go to my friend, Beth’s, wedding – not sure the town but I sure remember the traffic! (And I remember that my brand new car got scraped in the parking lot at the synagogue. No note, of course.)
3) With Liz when I was 31 (pictured here) with Davis at 15 months to Montauk.
My first brush with LI was at camp. (Incidentally, I took Andrew and the boys to see my camp last summer. One of my first years, there were girls in my bunk from Harrisburg, Lebanon PA, Hazelton, Philly, and one girl from Mineolalangilan. Everyone else seemed to know where that was so I didn’t dare ask. But when I went home and my parents asked about the bunk, I told them.
Imagine the belly laughter that ensued.
But I digress.
I love this photo of Davis and me on the beach. I love remembering. He laughed and ate champagne grapes and butter for dinner while Liz and I had a gourmet meal. If I recall, he ate some mussels and clams, too, neither of which he’ll eat now. On the other hand, his taste for butter has definitely maintained – possibly even grown.
The beach there was so peaceful. And while it’s never peaceful having a toddler, it was lovely.
My little baby is in high school. He’s as sweet as ever except for an occasional eye-roll.
Time flies when you’re having fun.
Life is a beach.
Baking and breaking bread.
I’m not much of a cook. I don’t have the patience. But there is something about baking that I really enjoy.
I don’t remember doing anything useful in the kitchen growing up except baking with my mom. (And seriously, that’s me up there. Get a load of our kitchen wall paper. It was blue and red with a white background. I am not kidding.)
Well, I rephrase that because I did clear the table, load the dishwasher, wash the pots and pans and sweet the kitchen floor every day. Actually I’m not sure if it was every day but it feels like every day. I should probably add that there was a little teeny TV – a Panasonic black & white with a pop up top and, I’m guessing, a 7″ screen on the counter. I remember days when I’d put on The Lucy Show and stand there and watch it, and then the next show, and sometimes the next before I really got around to cleaning the kitchen. So when I reminisce that I spent 2 hours to clean the kitchen every night, it might be a warped memory. Maybe it took 10 minutes and the rest was listening to Ricky say, “Lucy, I’m Home!” and to Bud Anderson say, “I think you look real young. Honest. Younger than Joe Phillips’ dad, younger than Claude Mesner’s uncle, why even younger than…” and to, well you get the point. But either way, I often start my homework until 8:00 or later.
It’s not like that at our house. My guys like to get their homework done after school so there’s more time to play. That is, unless it’s really nice outside, in which case they might play first.
But I digress.
Baking.
Baking Zen.
I love the feel of the dough when I knead it. I love knowing that the gluten strands stretch and expand, allowing the dough to hold in gas bubbles formed by the yeast, which will make it rise. I love knowing that the house will smell amazing as the bread bakes. I love the sound of the steam when I throw the water into the oven as the bread first starts to bake to help make the crust crustier.
And when I make challah on Friday afternoons, I love knowing that Andrew and the boys will stand around it with me in a few hours as we prepare for Shabbat dinner.
I remember making challah with my mom. Well, I remember bits of it. Mostly I remember braiding. And being together and talking. And the wonderful smell as it baked.
Baking bread = happiness
Breaking bread = family
My bread today did not come out all that well. I was rushed and distracted.
But even less than perfect homemade French bread is better than none. And the house does, in fact, smell amazing.
Old man look at my life, I’m a lot like you were.
I took this photo of Neil Young sometime between 1980 and 1982 – I think it was at The Mosque, but can find no proof of that right now. Where are those ticket stubs? They’re around here somewhere. I bet I paid over $10 to go to that show….
Anyway, the photo is not great; I got a mediocre grade on it for photography class. But I remember thinking he was amazing.
All this a long way from the impetus for this post.
We like to do some of our grocery shopping at Harris Teeter. And when I say we, I mean Andrew.
So he was shopping last week – Thursday I think it was. And as he walked out reading his receipt (as he always does), he noticed that the young whippersnapper who checked him out gave him the 5% Senior Discount.
Poor guy.
I don’t think he looks SIXTY for goodness sakes. But, in the kid’s defense, it’s hard to judge when you’re 18 or 20. Remember?
But still.
The 9th Grade Dance.
Last night, my oldest went to homecoming. Granted, when I was in 9th grade, it was the top of Junior High and not the bottom of High School. But still.
Still, memories flooded back to me.
Allow me to show you my dress. Lovely, no?
And my best friend at the time’s dress. Hmmm. You can see the problem.
(I hid the faces so I wouldn’t get in trouble. The guy in the burgundy crushed velvet is my date, by the way. Woot!)
So it was a big deal, the dance.
I mean, did you see the corsage? Love it!
The cafeteria was decorated with streamers and balloons and sets. The theme was under the sea. Honestly? I can’t believe I remember this, but I do. I had a great time, although my date didn’t really seem to be glad he was with me. I think the girl he liked had a date or something. Sad, but true. I think I danced with my girlfriends most of all.
I thought we were on our way to being grown up. And now I see what 14 looks like from an adult perspective.
I try to remember how I felt then when I make decisions and statements to my kid now. I try. I swear I do.
And occasionally, I succeed.
(My kid had fun at the dance last night, by the way! He hung with his friends. Like mother, like son.)
