It's all relative...

Here we go! A post a day for 365 days... How hard can it be? ;)

This is a photo of Ryan's Grandma Pearl's cousin. I found it in a box of old photos at Pearl's place when we moved her to the retirement community.

This woman is from the same area in Illinois as my mom's family, and her last name is Clifford. My mom's maiden name is Clifford...

In short, that means that my husband and I could be distantly related. That's all I need to say about that.

Motorcycle Mama

We made it back alive. That's the good news.

Vacation in the Caribbean. We had stops in St. Thomas, St. Kitts, St. Maarten, St. Lucia, Barbados. All beautiful. But they weren't without their dangers. Let's talk about Barbados.

We decided to rent a motorcycle and tour Barbados with the wind in our hair. It sounds romantic, and Ryan has been riding a motorcycle almost as long as he has been walking. What could go wrong?

Did you know that people in Barbados drive on the other (read "wrong") side of the road? Do you know how hard it is to change something you've been doing for 25 years?

We should have realized. The signs were there. Not literally--literally, there were no signs. None at all. No road signs, no directions, no arrows, nada. But figuratively, we should have realized.

We had reserved a motorcycle, but when we arrived, no one knew anything about it. We finally managed to arrange for one (everyone in Barbados, it seems, is willing to give advice). The rental operator told us that she would have to drive us over to pick up the bike. On the ride over, I was in the back seat (which, in retrospect, was probably a great idea). At one point, Ryan asked the gal if she'd ever thought of driving for NASCAR. We were weaving in and out of traffic, starting and stopping without any warning, swerving around and through places that I wasn't sure a person could walk, let alone drive. People would step off the curb as if in a game of chicken, and everyone there was honking from every direction. At this point, we probably should have jumped from the moving car, but we soldiered on.

As we pulled into the rental shop, Ryan and I spotted the bike. Clearly ours...with a flat tire. I had heard that was a common problem in Barbados. (I now know why.) Because of the flat, we were put on a different bike, one decked out with flames. A Honda-wanna-be-Harley. And I thought, here we go.

Where did we go? Around in circles, for the most part. Between the road signs and the round-a-bouts, navigation was nearly impossible. We asked for directions. We followed the map. We asked for directions again. And what was that, up in the distance? The same tiny strip mall we had passed 20 minutes earlier. Once, after asking a taxi driver for directions (he should know where to go, right?), we ended up back in our port city--the exact opposite of where we wanted to be. In retrospect, I think he might have just wanted us to get back on the ship.

And that was the easy part. I need not mention again, the "wrong" side of the road, or how many times we found ourselves there, headed into oncoming traffic. Or the rattle of the bike as it vibrated itself into pieces. Or the huge, double-decker buses, that were too large for the narrow roads of Barbados, and that have killed (we found out later) dozens of motorists, over-turn regularly, and are a definite hazard throughout the country.  But it was lovely, really.

The weather was a balmy 80 degrees. The smell of the ocean wafted up toward us, even when we were inland. The tiny little towns were filled with school-children in uniforms, tiny shops, people headed here and there. Much of our drive was along the ocean, waves lapping just a dozen feet from the road. Ah heck, I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Resolutions

It's hard to believe it has been a year since I've been here. Typically, I associate these feelings of guilt with people--I haven't called like I said I would, I didn't follow up with something I really should have...but a blog? Really? Psshhh. Give myself a break.

How is it that we let life get so busy that we don't have time to do the things we like most? And one day you wake up and think, "It's time to retire!" And possibly, the next day, you die because, well, all of that procrastination has taken its toll. Geesh, scary story. I'm done procrastinating.

I freekin' hate New Year's resolutions. I think they foster the mentality of "why do today what you can put off until New Year's?" Or even longer if you wait until the true resolution date (after the superbowl). But I'm going to put aside all of that hatred and make a resolution...I'm going to blog. Often.

Watch out world. I'm back.

Here's what you missed in 2012...

I used my children as an excuse to swim with the dolphins in Cozumel. Amazing experience, even with all of the commercialism that comes along with it. We also got to swim with a manatee. Those lettuce eating mammals weigh as much as 1300 pounds. I couldn't stop thinking about how much lettuce I would have to eat to weigh 1300 pounds..

We took our first cruise. It was fantastic--so much so that we are headed back out next month. Without the kids and the in-laws this time.

Took the kiddos scuba diving for the very first time...

Checked in on our friend, Harry Potter...

Sifted through thousands of my husband's family photographs...

And spent time with my best friend; working or playing, we are the perfect team.

Basketball fun

Emily and Matt played a little bit of basketball after Matt's practice today...

"Did you have fun?" I asked.

"Yeah," Em said without hesitating. Then she thought for a second and said, "but Matt kept claustrophobicating me!"

"She may not be a basketball player, but she's definitely a wordsmith...

Leaving Las Vegas...For Good

Why does experience have to take the shine off the penny? How amazing would it be if every time we looked at something beautiful, we felt as we did when we saw it for the first time?

I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and it's one of many things that makes me sad. Take this last trip to Las Vegas, for example. We have been there a half a dozen times, and each time we go, we try to see something different, do something unusual. But each visit brings a little more distance, a little more disdain. The easy answer is that we are getting to old too enjoy it. But it's more than that. We see the same people, sitting at the same slot machines; the same dealers, handing out the same cards, killing themselves via their environment. We see the same casinos, the same peddlers with cards promising naked women and good times. I'm ready to leave after three days, and these people are living it every single day of their lives. But it's not all the same. We travelled from one end of the strip to the other to see the Star Trek Hilton, only to find that they had given up their rights to Star Trek and converted their casino into something much more ordinary. A sad day for us Star Trek fans. The amount of money that moves around in Las Vegas is beyond my comprehension. A friend explained that a new casino had been started, but when they got half way finished, they discovered that the builders had used the wrong kind of rebar, and the 40 story building would not be sound. So they stopped at 20 stories, and there the building sits, right in the middle of the strip, empty. Broke, they sold the building. The new owners liquidated the furniture, sold that furniture to another casino in a town up north (I had no idea they furnished these buildings as they build, but it makes sense, if you think about it...) and made back the ENTIRE cost of the building. Now, our friend says, the owner is thinking of flattening the building to free up the real estate. Incredible, when you think about how many people could eat for the cost of the supplies to build that mistake. Maybe it's knowledge that makes the familiar less beautiful. Knowing what I do about Vegas, and comparing that to my naivete the first time I visited, I can see that something is definitely lost. I suppose it's like a kid at Disneyland: part of the wonder is the lack of understanding and the lack of suspicion and doubt.

I guess wisdom hurts a little. And it's a real party pooper.

Broken for You

Thank you, thank you to my book club friends for introducing me to the novel Broken for You by Stephanie Kallos. What an amazing read. I stayed up late last night to finish it, then couldn't sleep afterward.

I enjoyed the tiny little things, like the odd change in perspective (the narrator brings the reader into the novel occationally by using "you," an unusual but interesting approach) and the well-placed quotes which caused me to stop and think: "Whether the stone hits the pitcher, or the pitcher hits the stone, it's going to be hard for the pitcher."

Even more, I enjoyed the big things--the integration of the Hollocaust and remembering those who lost their lives there; the ecclectic mix of characters, and the way their lives were intertwined (sometimes without the characters' knowledge); the relationships that develop in the novel, unpredicatable, necessary, lovely.

And, of course, to me, the main point:

Look then at the faces and bodies of people you love. The explicit beauty that comes not from the smoothness of skin or neutrality of espression, but from the web of experiences that has left its mark. Each face, each body is its own living fossilized record. A record of cats, combatants, difficult births; of accidents, cruelties, blessings. Reminders of folly, greeed indiscretion, impatience. A moment of time, of memory, preserved, internalized, and enshrined within and upon the body. You need not be told that these records are what render your beloved beautiful. If God exists, He is there, in the small, cast-off pieces, rough and random and no two alike.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig

Why is it we can go to the most amazing places on earth, yet still yearn to come home again after only a short stay?

Matt kissed the house when he got out of the car last evening. Excited to be home? Obviously. Most of us are after a stay away. But this kid was coming home from Disneyworld...

We had an amazing trip, despite lost luggage, freezing (Florida) temperatures, and various layovers. Both Disneyworld and Universal Studios Orlando helped us create great memories.

There is a Girl Inside

by Lucille Clifton

there is a girl inside.

she is randy as a wolf.

she will not walk away

and leave these bones

to an old woman.

she is a green tree

in a forest of kindling.

she is a green girl

in a used poet.

she has waited

patient as a nun

for the second coming,

when she can break through gray hairs

into blossom

and her lovers will harvest

honey and thyme

and the woods will be wild

with the damn wonder of it.

Baseball Boo Boos

When the kids were a couple of years younger, we were lucky enough to have them on the same "little guy" baseball team. It was fabulous...only one schedule for practices and games, and all of that time to sit back and reflect on how clever we were to have them both in the same program.

As most parents do, we got sucked in to the parent-as-coach world and ended up running the team. My husband, Ryan, coached, and because I couldn't throw a baseball as far as my then 6-year-old son, I was the team mom (read: book keeper, band-aid carrier, bag girl). As coaching gigs go, it wasn't too shabby. A group of 6 and 7 year old boys (and one 8-year-old girl) can test the fortitude of a single mom, but not the armor of the united Dad and Mom army. We were invincible. Snotty noses, lost mitts, and boo boos were no match for this pair.

As we were just finishing up the season, Ryan was coaching from behind the batter (rookie move) when, as luck would have it, a foul ball bounced right into his face...

We were scheduled to leave for Kauaii three days later.

To make matters worse, our son Matt got hit in the face with a baseball on the very same night...

Seriously, what are the chances of that?

But they made quite a pair, united in misery...

They had battle scars, war wounds, proof that, while the rest of us were taking life easy, they were out there, taking one for the team. Literally.

So a couple of fat lips and a few chilly afternoon games, and the season was over as quickly as it had started. We said good bye to the munchkins and moved on. Now, two years later, and many miles away, I'm missing those little dudes who filled those cloudy spring afternoons with sunshine...

Luckily, one of the little dudes (and the little princess on Daddy's shoulder) is upstairs asleep in his bed.

High Anxiety

I hate downhills. It's the story of my life. Whether I'm on a dirtbike or a snowmobile, skis or a sled, put me at the top of a hill and push, and I start screaming like a child who has just found out he's headed to Disneyland. But not in a good way.

I suppose some psycho-babble-ologist would say I have control issues. After all, in most of those situations, a person flying down the side of a mountain doesn't have a lot of control. And probably wants control. But I would argue that it's really more about...well, dying. Downhill=fast=painful crash=well, you can finish that equation.

But lately, I've been a little more than facinated with high places. Notice the distinction: I still hate downhills, but I don't mind the view from way up yonder. Our new home is at the top of a big downhill, and I don't like many things better than just sitting outside and looking.

This summer we ventured to a few 8,000 ft. peaks and were rewarded with spectacular views. I've been hankering for a trip to something higher. I think Everest is probably outside of my comfort zone (someone might give me a push, and that would be a super scary downhill). But maybe Pike's Peak or something in the 13,000 ft range. I could do that.

Perhaps it's age and relativity. When I was young, I was bigger than my body (to steal from John Mayer). I was so important to myself, and that outweighed everything around me. "Sure, yeah, that's a high mountain, a beautiful view," I would think.

But now, I am, if anything, smaller than my body (and I'm not even accounting for the middle age spread). The world seems so big to me, the universe unimaginable. I am stifled by the thought of everyone and everything existing at the same time. I am in awe of the view.

Bunny Love

Today is Easter. Last night, when I was tucking Matt in, he said, "Mom, I know you are tricking me. Dad told me to 'SLEEP IN' tomorrow, and here you are closing the blinds. I know what you are doing."

Matt was up at 6 a.m. and the Easter bunny was sleeping soundly in her warm bed. He tromped through the house, woke everyone up, and decided that the Easter bunny had missed our house this year. Nothing outside. Nothing. He had checked.

I grumbled and rolled out of bed. "I'm sure he's just behind."

Ryan found a chore that he and Matt just had to do before breakfast, and off they went. (Of course, just as they left, Emily jumped up--I sent her back to bed with a conspirator's wink and she did a quick about-face. If you want candy, you gotta play along.) I hopped around like a good Easter bunny and got things ready so that, by the time they got back, voila, the eggs were all hidden and the baskets were waiting. Problem solved.

It was perfect, as usual. Matt charged around, crazy with excitement, while Em followed and picked up the eggs he had dashed past. It's a comedy every year.

And after almost a decade of mistakes, I've learned the real prize-winners in the Easter baskets. Bubbles. Music. Gumballs. Simple really is better.

And now here we sit, waiting for relatives to arrive, and I can't help but think about the miracle of children's minds . I so admire their ability to suspend their disbelief, to suspend logic, and to let their love of the moment overpower doubt and suspicion.

Just let it be. And it will be wonderful.

April Fool's Day

Matt loves April Fool's Day. Loves it. Can't wait. In fact, during the last week of March, he asked 1) how many days were in March, and 2) what day it was.

The morning came and I had hardly gotten out of bed when Matt said, "Mom! Your car is rolling!" Good one. Before breakfast, Matt had pranked everyone (albeit not completely successfully) in our family. And it continued all day.

And I wonder, what makes him love April Fool's Day? I think I know. It's the pure, simple joy of knowing that you can tell someone you love something, and she will believe you. Because that's how life is. Or that's the way it should be.

"A teachable moment"

I love the saying, "What you do stands above you and shouts so loudly I cannot hear what you are saying" (Emerson). To me, this epitomizes the way I want to live my life. I suppose that might seem a little odd coming from a writer, but Emerson said it, so why can't I? I believe a person should show their values and morals through their actions, not their words.

What good does it do to tell me how much you support me when, in the 11th hour, I am dangling over a precipice, hanging on with the tips of my fingers and you are nowhere to be found?

Why speak of morals and values when you apply a double standard with your own family?

How can you support someone with your words and NOT your actions?

I sincerely believe this is a problem with our society. When you say, "We should get together some time," do you mean it? "I'll call you." Do you call? We're all guilty of these little sins. I used to teach ESL, and I would make off-handed comments like "We should get together and make sushi!" What I didn't realize was that people didn't suggest such get togethers in other countries unless they meant it. So my students were waiting for their invitation. I had suggested we get together--why didn't I call to set a time? It was a humbling--if teachable--moment, and not something I am particularly proud of... "Oh, let me explain American culture to you...we say things we don't really mean."

Sure, those are little sins. But what about the bigger ones? How many things have you said that you didn't mean, or that you didn't follow up with actions? It's sobering and sad, but possibly a teachable moment for us all.

Matthew-isms

I realize I haven't written a Matthew-ism for a while. I'm not sure if it's because I'm lazy or if he's just growing up, but I suppose it's a little bit of both. Yesterday, though, he had one I had to share...

We were driving up 21st Street and came to the stop light near Taco Time and the shopping center. A guy was standing on the corner with a sign. Matt said, "Mommy, stop and give him money!" I looked over and the guy was carrying a Jiffy Lube sign advertising a special for oil changes.

"He's working, Matt. That's his job."

"Yeah," he said, "He's trying to make money. So give him some!"

I know he was remembering the smattering of people who sit at the entrance to Walmart, hoping for some spare change. I didn't bother to correct him.

I hope he keeps that genuine concern for others into adulthood. We should all be so concerned.

Halloween Tales

For the first time ever, I had sick kids on Halloween. What a terrible time to be sick...Em missed her Halloween party at school; Matt pooped out on trick-or-treating about half way through. And in the end, neither one of them had much fun.

Our neighbor, who is such a genuinely good person in any case, heard the kids were feeling bad on Halloween day and brought them each a candy bar--just in case they didn't get out to trick-or-treating. I love it when people affirm my belief that there is still much good left in the world. My charming boy-child has decided that if a costume isn't scary, it isn't worth putting on. This year, that philosophy resulted in a grim reaper who was put down by a tummy ache.

My precious girl-child is precisely the opposite. She believes in all things beautiful; it is still possible to be a princess, and if your costume is soft AND lovely, you couldn't ask for more.

Every once in a while, I wonder if I had realized how much joy my kids would bring me, would I have started sooner and had more of them? Other times, like this morning when they were screaming and fighting with each other, I thank goodness that I had the good sense to know my own limits.

In any case, our days of trick-or-treating are limited. In my own case, I went for the last time in 6th grade. At that age, I had reached my full height, and I got strange looks from some of the older folks who clearly thought I was too old to be out trick-or-treating. I say let a kid be a kid--and if that means trick-or-treating into your teens, so be it. I hope my kids continue to want to go long after they get "too old."

Car Talk

Today, as we were walking to school, a man drove by in a small pickup. "Toyota," Matt said. "I like Toyotas."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because they are a toy for Yoda. That's so cool."
Of course.
Not one minute later, we passed a larger pickup in a drive way. "Ford." Then, "For-D."
"Hmmm?"
"For-D. That one's for Dad, because he's 40."
I wish, I wish, I wish I could see the world the way I did as a child again.

Coming Home

When I graduated from high school at 17, I was absolutely certain of one thing: I would not live in that same small town as an adult. I had nothing against the town or the people. I suppose it was fear which followed this logic: 1) my parents were there, 2) my parents were old and ready to die (in retrospect I realize that my mother was younger than I am now), ergo 3) if I lived there, I would be old and almost dead. What would be left of life?

I remember clearly my young perception of age. People in their teens were the "right" age, and people in their 20's were getting old. During my first year of college, I met a young man who was living in the dorm at the ripe age of 23. His hairline was receding, and I let my gaze linger when I looked at him. He probably thought I had a crush. The truth was I was having trouble imagining ever being that old.

As a kid, one of my favorite movies was Logan's Run. If you don't remember, when a member of the society turned thirty, they were cast out and allowed to run away from the group, only to be hunted down and killed. This was how the society dealt with the burden of the elderly. I thought it was practical. What do people really do after 30 anyway?

There's nothing like the passage of time to set one straight--that and knowing that I would have been dead over a decade if those Logan's Run people got a hold of me. I can't help but wonder if we aren't doing our kids a disservice by allowing them to think this way. How can a child plan for her future when she can't see past 30? Still, maybe there is nothing we can do. Kids will be kids.

This kid is tasting humble pie. I've eaten my words and moved back to the small town where I grew up. And you know what? I'm not here to die; I'm here to live.

A Playground for All Ages

This is where we jumped off the waterfall....so fun!

A Day of Rest

Yesterday, we rested mostly... spent a little time at the beach, then went over to the mall for lunch. A local recommended this little place called Sone's, and we tried it the other day. It was SO good that we went back. It was really hot here mid-day (for the first time since we got here), so after lunch, we went to the new Terminator movie. When we came out, it had rained and cooled off. We went back over to the mall where they were having a farmer's market in the parking lot. We picked up all kinds of interesting vegetables (some of them weren't what we thought they were!) and brought them back to our hotel for a stir fry. It was delicious!

On the way home, we stopped at Wialua Falls (which up until this moment we thought was Opaeka'a Falls again, just from the other side of the canyon). They were very pretty and the lookout was quite close. I think it's hard to tell how much water was moving over the waterfall.

Another Day of Hiking

What a hike! We took the Kalalau Trail on the North Shore today. This is the part of the island that you can't get to by car. If you want to see it, you have to hike or pay for a helicopter ride ($250 per person). We opted to do the damage to our bodies. Even so, the trail is a whopping 11 miles long, so we didn't see all there was to see. In fact, if you want to go past a certain point on the trail, you have to have a permit to camp...it's that far (and difficult).

Two miles in, we arrived at Hanakapi'ai Beach, and all along the trail just before the beach are signs saying "Don't swim!" and "Dangerous Undercurrents!" Another sign said, "Be careful! This many people have died on this beach!" followed by dozens of slash marks and room for more. You get the point...

Of course, Ryan went swimming. I stood on the edge of the surf and still got knocked on my butt.

After a rest at the beach, we headed up to the Hanakapi'ai Waterfalls, which was a gruelling hike over boulders and sliding along the side of cliffs (well, maybe not quite that bad), but it was worth it. It started to rain about a quarter of the way up, which made the trail and the rocks super slick.

We ate lunch right next to the falls, then headed back to the beach for a swim in the rain. (That's the beautiful thing about the weather here: even if it's raining, it's so warm that the rain is more of an annoyance than anything. Sometimes it comes at just the right moment, when you're sweating and just need to cool off.)

6 hours later, we were back at the car and didn't even have the energy to go out to dinner like we had planned. Still, so worth it.

I know it looks like Daddy drowned, but he's just fine, I promise. :0)