Birdie Love

"What Spring Means To Me" by Ellie Corey.

 1. Birdie Love.

  See those two? Chasing eachother in the tree?

. . .  and around the yard?

And by "chasing" I mean "eager to make the birdie love".

Oh, spring.
 
 2. Our Deck.

 . . . aka Trailer Park Nation. Do not judge, just understand. It has been a long winter around these parts. It is warm way down low, on la playa....er.....la plywood . . .

3. Lovelies.

My sister Jane and her posse were over there across The Bridge for the weekend.

Mistah and I secretly kidnapped Jane's coat so we could triumphantly and majestically return said coat, under the guise of being super-heroes, and got to hug all her lovely girls from back in their college days

Adante Cavalier!

4. Joyrides.

The joyride there and back, coat aboard?

. . . was awesome.

5. Front Porch. 

It's coming back to life. Wind chimes, mermaids . . .  it's all coming back to Life.

6. Let's Go Mets.

Boy, is it great to be a Mets fan. Man, is it terrible to lose two crucial guys to broken bones in one game.

Buy hey. It's spring. Baseball and windchimes and joyrides and lovelies and deck time and birdie love?

That is What Spring Means to Me.

The End.

Happy Blog Birthday!

This weekend marks the auspicious occasion of our blog's 7th birthday! Who'da thunk it? To honor the milestone, I give you my very first evah blog post... it's colorful! Not very good in terms of composition and grammar and whatnot, but colorful:

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Ice Cubes.

My kids just learned how to make ice cubes. Isn’t that shocking? I guess it’s really not, since they’ve only known ice to come out of the freezer door or the cooler for the duration of their short lives. But what a childhood memory not to have! The old metal ice cube trays with that treacherous lever to disengage the cubes? Then the stack of perpetually cracked, mismatched blue plastic trays that had to be filled even though it took forever?

Kids these days.

But I digress. They are here in my workplace with me today, getting into trouble while I struggle valiantly to stay on task with the writing of my stupid-ass portfolio, which is due in two weeks. My workplace is pretty fun – not so much for ME, but for anyone else under age 10 with time to kill on a Saturday afternoon. So the kids are running from place to place (walking is so dull) on some class of mission, and I bust them going into our deep freezer. I assume that they are stealing popsicles, which has been specifically forbidden today. By me. For no reason other than that mommy is a pre-menstrual bitch so NO. They insist that they were not after popsicles, just ice cubes! Sheesh, mom! I told them where to go for ice cubes – in the regular kitchen freezer. Off they ran.

A few minutes later, they ran by again, with a bucket full of ice cubes. I stopped them to ask if it was hard. It was. I asked them what they had done with the ice cube trays, they said they had put them back in the freezer. Empty? Yeah. I directed them to go back and fill them with water before putting them in the freezer.

pause……...................

CLICK!

THE WATER FREEZES INTO ICE CUBES?!

Oh my God, what a world.

*******
I showed this entry to Ellie, and she said it screamed for a photo.
I'm not yet sure about posting photos of my kids,
so I went with an ice cube.

Trust the people

I was watching a workshop video the other night titled Awakening Relating, part of the larger yoga immersion I'm doing.

I got a lot out of it, but the thing that impacted me the most, the one tidbit that really helped me to recast a stuck feeling I was having was this: YOU CAN TRUST EVERYONE TO BE EXACTLY WHO THEY ARE.

Bam! It hit me. I mean, is there a truer statement? Maybe, but this is really really true true.

You can 100% trust people to be exactly who they are. This is not always going to be something that you like. Their being-exactly-who-they-are-ness might piss the hell out of you, in fact, or make you uncomfortable, or frustrated, or scared, or myriad other emotions, but you CAN trust that they will be who they are.

I got some nasty emails from my ex last week, prior to seeing this video. They hit my buttons. I remained relatively un-defensive in my replies to the ugly things that were written, but I did not remain undefensive or okay inside, in my reactive mind. I was offended and mad and having thoughts like, "Omg, who is HE to talk?"...."Doesn't he see the glaring hypocrisy in all this?"....  "This is unbelievable!"...."Am I crazy?"

I was so stirred up by the words he had written, that I actually crafted an email to a friend. I wanted to (a) check in to make sure I wasn't, in fact, crazy and (b) (and this is not fun to admit) let her know just how bat shit coo coo my ex is, what nonsense and hate spews forth from his mouth and fingertips. I wanted her to validate my feelings of rage and defensiveness.I wanted her to tell me that he shouldn't be exactly who he is. (Although I didn't realize it at the time.) (note: I did not send the email.)

Here's the rub. He is exactly who he is and "shoulds" suck. He is always going to be exactly who he is, and that is that.

I'm not claiming that I won't get turned around when he lashes out the next time, but this realization, this coming to terms with the fact that we are all who we are, chock full of flaws and grace alike, has provided some solace. You aren't going to change people. To think you can, or to wish that they were otherwise, is really a big fat waste of time and energy, an exercise in crazy.

And I'm trying to cut down on that.

Back In The Day

Back in the old days . . .

. . . way back when . . .

. . . way, way back when . . .

. . .  back in the day, we were very tiny little miniature baby tots . . .

But just now look us!

Now we have Opening Day International Hot Dog Day Extravaganza.

 And now we have gorgeous cousins-and-cousin's-nieces-and aunties. . .

Did somebody say gorgeous aunties?

 And now we have gorgeous friends-and-family-and-Easter-combination-thereof . . .

 Did somebody say fantabulous?

Back in the Day? Back in the Day's got nuthin' on us now.

and then Connecticut

So, after the miraculous mimosas on the final day of my conference, I made my way up to GCC in the rain with my stupid rolly bag and empty metro card, because I'm just really good at life. I eventually arrived, and while texting with MB about ticket purchases and meeting spots and current locations, we realized that we were in the exact same spot so looked up and said hi. Then we went downstairs so I could buy chug sized Stellas and french fries for my very strict diet.

The train ride was weirdly awesome. I mean sure, the fries and Stella helped, and when Ellie showed up with Heineken it was clear that we were destined for greatness. At one point we lamented that we had forgotten to bring cups, but then Hedwig saved the day. Oh my God, that is a whole other post, right? Let's see how talky I get in this one. The Hedwig cups are a beautiful story.

Anyway. The train! The train!

Smiles, everyone.

Mom picked us up at the station, and we headed home with her to settle in for a little while before the Big Night we had ahead. It was so great to see my mom, I miss that woman something fierce. I loved seeing the improvements she's made to the abode (wow!) and the little touches she always has at the ready that make me feel like she was excited for me to come. That's a good feeling, you know? That's a good mom.

A short time later, we made our way up to the clubhouse for the Chinese Auction. When mom had emailed weeks earlier that there was a chinese auction planned for the very night we'd all be in town, she asked if we might want to go. I was all HELL YEAH because I'm a joiner. It took some time to work out who was where and when and why before discovering that the stars would indeed align for our places to be firmly ensconced at Table Numero Uno (or however you say that in Chinese).

We headed up to the place where the cannonballs happen

The pool! I definitely have another whole post with comparative photos from this very angle.

But tonight, the evening belonged to Chia Obama. I mean, c'mon.

Cheer up, El. Also: spoiler alert... see that eyeball thing in Ellie's left hand? Take note.

The Chinese Auction was hilariously entertaining and we at the head table reveled fully in every single moment. Mom's good friend David was the auctioneer, and his husband Elliott tried to win everything, but it turns out we treehugging Coreys are more competitive than you've been led to believe, as evidenced by the above photo.   

David was the quintessential professional, modeling options for what each wrapped treasure could possibly be

Would you look at that crowd? Riveted.

The table decor made for fabulous headgear, I wore this until it was quite literally taken from my head for storage until next year's event.

You think I won't be there? Incorrect.

My lovely, lovely, loves.

But what lurks beneath the adjoining lamp?

Oh dear. Here comes trouble.

This is the part with the montage of awful photos. This is what I said drove me to make Connecticut its own post. And here I am droning on and on about all that OTHER great stuff.

So here's the story. It's our tradition to walk over to the neighborhood bar when visiting mom's. She lives in a great little community with an adorable downtown concentration of establishments roughly surrounding the train station where MB and Mark are often taking their leave, so we usually walk over en masse until departure time, then whomever does not hop on a train walks back. This time we were all sleeping over, so there were no deadlines. It had been such a fun day and night - you guys, this is the SAME DAY that I trudged out in the rain and Ellie went to brunch at Kelly's.  How can it was?

We were in it to win it, man. We decided to take some photos.

Okay, so we started off okay. Happy, love each other, yada.

Then Mark and I decided we should be photographed separately because we were Uconn twins, and.. well. See for yourself:

Oh my God, I die laughing every time. My hair! My face! The photographer's finger! It's just so freaking funny/awful, and guess what? There is video. Not fit for public consumption video, but video nonetheless.

We ended the night on a high note, surreptitiously swiping some St. Paddy's day decor for mom out of the goodness of our Irish hearts.

Which made the perfect backdrop for mom's mimosa the following morning.

Did you take note of the eyeball?

And then, before that eye could even blink, I was on the road to home, and away from home.

Bye, NYC. I heart you.

And that, my friends, concludes part 1 of Jacquie's Excellent March Forth Adventure. 

Next stop: Chicago!

Keeping it weird

I read a book a while back that suggested that you keep a "weirdness journal" to help you become more aware of what's really going on -- to help you get out of your small self-focused mode and awaken to the bigger picture. The idea is to have a little notebook, or list on your phone, or even an  audio app where you can describe "all the strange, inexplicable things that happen in your life." You know, all those serendipitous, amazing coincidences that occur, ie, the universe talking to you.

Here are mine from last week....

(1) Once upon a time my mother suggested to my brother that when he had kids he should name his son Benjamin Joseph and his daughter Amanda Lynn. She is a very clever woman and thought it would be great fun to have a grandson and daughter named Banjo and Mandolin (or Ben Jo and Mandy Lynn as the case may be). My brother went on to have both a son and a daughter, but alas, he did not name them Banjo and Mandolin. Bastid! Regardless, I love this story, and sometimes share it with people, as I did a early last week with a musician friend of mine, who also got a laugh out of it.

Fast forward to later in the week when I received instructions from the leader of a yoga immersion that I am currently doing to find my buddy on the list of all other immersioners and contact him or her to set up a time to connect. My first  surprise was that there was another participant in San Diego -- how cool! (I don't know about you, but I would rather meet in person than via Skype or Facetime.) My second surprise was to discover that he was a man. (I don't have anything against women, but it is year of the man, so I'm happy to connect with one in this completely platonic and educational way.) Thirdly, I was delighted and surprised to see that he used his entire name in his email address, and, I kid you not, it was benjaminjosephxxxxxxx@xxxx.com. Benjamin Joseph?!  For real? Mom, I found your Banjo!

But honestly, who does that? Your entire name in your email addy? Not many people; I can't think of anyone else I know, actually, but lucky for me Banjo does.

I can't wait to meet Amanda Lynn!

(2) On Saturday I sent a message to a woman, Casey, whom I did a yoga training with in San Francisco last summer, who lives in Denver. We will both be assisting our teacher Janet Stone at a yoga festival in Boulder in June, and I was asking for her help with something. I'd never messaged her before, and other than being included on a group text inviting us to assist Janet about a month back, I've not been in contact with her at all, other than the occasional "like" on Facebook.

A few hours later I got this photo via text from my girlfriend Carlee who was vacationing in Aspen.

Carlee & Casey

"Holy shit! That is fantastic!!!!" was my reply to her text.

I mean, what the? how the? what are the odds? Carlee lives in Santa Monica and was in Aspen for a week, Casey lives in Denver but happened to be up there that weekend too. So there's that, but, that they were together in Aspen, for whatever reason, and somehow realized that they both knew me, from totally different parts of my life, and then snapped a photo and sent it to me? Well that is just pure delight.

That ol' Cosmic Waitress was serving up some very tasty morsels last week, and the fact is that she usually is, if you simply take the time to tune in.

Play Ball!

We have a couple more ball games of the exciting, fast-faced, nerve-wracking kind. Tonight, Wisconsin vs. Duke, in the men's final:

Go Badgers.

But much more importantly, tomorrow night:

Go Huskies!!

In the meantime, though, today is Opening Day of that other kind of ball game. The first day of Baseball Season. Number 1 of 162. One of the very best days of the year, with its promise of spring and summer and grass and sunshine.

And, of course . . .

 . . . hot dogs.

If today isn't International Hot Dog Day, it should be. In fact, I declare it so.

Happy International Hot Dog Day, everybody!

Now get out there and Play Ball!

Let's Go Mets!

So, where was I?

The first day/night dayish in NYC set a perfect tone for the remainder of the trip. That first bit was all Wednesday, from 4:58 am until 1:00 am on Thursday (according to the taxi receipt). Having left San Diego on the redeye Tuesday night, a mere 72 hours after 60 whole minutes had been viciously stolen from me during the night by Daylight Savings Time, I was in a bit of a state on Thursday morning. I woke to find enthusiastic emails from my family, anxious to hear how my trip was going. In response to Ellie's adorable: "This is such an exciting day!" I replied: "I might puke."

I found salvation in a strategic strike through Duane Reed. I bought: pop chips, carmex, a 16 oz coke, peppermint altoids, and a bottle of tums. I was saved! There was no room for error, people. It was Hedwig day!

The conference was great, I had a delicious nap, went to Brooklyn for a little while, then hot stepped it uptown to meet my gorgeous sisters in Times Square. It was time.

You know how sometimes you build something up so much in your mind that it can't possibly live up to the unrealistic nature of your expectations?

Me either.

There's a fine line between fangirl and stalker. Let's just say that I danced upon that line. Not pictured, autographed cast page. I have pride. (no I don't).

Ah, Hedwig.

The next morning, I had a break in the conference proceedings AND I had a super hot chick in my hotel room, so we took it upon ourselves to walk to Chinatown. Having endured more than several missteps in my navigation skillz thus far, I sat back (while walking?) and let Ellie lead the parade.

First we made our way down the block to visit the site of the World Trade Center.

It's beautiful and awful and heavy. I think it is exactly as it should be and exactly how it never should have been. 

We spent some time there, and then we moved on. That's what we do, right? Right. We walk to Chinatown. 

Where happiness can be found in the form of a soup dumpling

Some might say we were bursting with love and joy. Deluxe. 

Many, many hours later, after my afternoon conference and a hilariously dysfunctional night with Kelly on the upper west side, Ellie and I found ourselves walking back to the hotel, back past ground zero.

The scorched metal, bent in impossible angles. Impossible. Art from the ashes.

Oh God, and then it was morning again. And it was raining. I had to pack up my rolly bag and go out in the rain. The horror! The injustice! Ellie was lying there in the lovely bed acting like it wasn't pure bliss. Har-fucking-umph, man. I trudged through the downpour with my stupid broken rolly bag and not-umbrella, and charged into the conference room resigned to soldier through. I noted the good smell of coffee in the room and looked to the refreshment table to see what was what. I saw orange juice, and thought that actually sounded pretty good. I parked my rolly, unbuttoned my wet coat, and headed over. 

Cue angel choir

I survived. 

And then, after swiping from all four corners of the box lunch set up, I headed up to Grand Central to be reunited with my peeps. 

This is a place I am always pleased to find myself. 

And here's where I will tell you, I was going to go ahead and finish up the East Coast leg of Jacquie's Excellent March Forth Adventure. But alas, I shall not. Because the Connecticut part was just too good, and there are too many truly awful photos of me and Mark Dowd to not dedicate an entire post to that last 24 hours. 

So, next stop:Connecticut!

Love, loss and what we wear

My lovely and local co-blogger, Jacquie, and I went to a short  5-woman play downtown a few weeks back, titled "Love, Loss and What I Wore," written by Nora and Delia Ephron, and based on a 1995 book of the same name by IIene Beckerman.

It was short and sweet and often funny -- sometimes to the point of an actual lol. There were more poignant moments, I may have teared up at one point, and overall it was a very enjoyable way to spend an early Sunday evening. It will not go down as one of the best performances I've ever seen, but I have thought about it -- its theme and various contents -- more than once since exiting the theater. (And not only when I was using the program to wipe off guacamole that got on "what I wore" to Chipotle with the kids because there was no other suitable napkin-like item in the car....)

During the performance the 5 women shared the events and memories surrounding various items of clothing, from first bras, to wedding dresses, to T-shirts that they couldn't let go of because they were so reminiscent of the boyfriend who got away. Via fashion faux pas, power suits, and cavernous purses we saw into the lives and dreams of these women.

Fast forward to the clothes swap I had at my house a few Sundays later, my dining room transformed into a second-hand store front... Twelve women combing through one another's castoffs looking for  suitable exchanges.  It was great fun, and when someone scored something they particularly liked, it was joyful for both the new and original owner. It feels great to have that rarely-used item go to a new home where the owner is excited about it, and on whom it looks much better than it ever did on you. I heard various explanations from people about when and where and why they bought a specific item that they were now offering up; and I like knowing that my friend bought the black J Crew dress that I now have for a wedding and only wore it that one time. (Score!) I kid.

Mt first pick was the necklace pictured below (because Jacquie laid claim to the jacket I was eyeing by putting it on and wearing it until it was her turn).

It's sterling silver and snowflake obsidian. You know how I love my stones, right? This one is a stone of purity, which brings balance and draws emotions to the surface; it's grounding and protective and helps to remove negative energy. And.... it used to be Katarina's.

Wow, can you say sun damage? Let's just look at the stone, k?

I actually didn't know who brought it to the swap until the next day, when I wore it while dropping off my youngest at school. I ran into Kati, and she said something like, "Oh, great, I'm so glad you ended up with that!" She then proceeded to tell me the story of this necklace.

She and her husband had recently wed in Greece, where she's originally from, but they were up in Mendocino County to hold a US reception for family and friends who didn't make it to the Grecian wedding.

The morning of the reception her helpful new husband offered to iron the gorgeous and beloved dress that she was to wear. I could tell from her description that it was a very special dress, one that made her feel beautiful and very much herself. One that had been worn in Greece and was perfect for the special day ahead. Helpful husband, as you may have guessed, somehow managed to burn that dress past the point of repair that morning, and there was poor Kati, in rural Mendocino, with nothing to wear.

Luckily one of the guests owned a small boutique not too far away and she managed to find a dress for the occasion. It was not an especially special dress, but it would do (and Kati looks amazing in everything she wears). It needed something at the neckline though, so the necklace above was secured and worn on this very momentous day.

Kati is still happily married, many years later, and she and her helpful husband have two beautiful sons.

So how lucky am I to have the stone above, passed on by my lovely friend Kati, to wear while loving and losing and living my life?