Tuesday, December 22, 2009

the off season

I took the kids to the cold and forgotten zoo last week and we were nearly the only visitors there.  But the zoo keeps on keepin' on.  Even in the winter months.  The animals all still have to eat and sleep and care for their babies and be silly.  It's just that nobody's watching.  If there were parents and children standing outside my habitat, watching my day, they'd have to eat a lot of Crack Jacks before they'd find me where we found her--at the top of her perch, bathing in the last of the day's light.

Here's hoping we all can get to the top of our perches this week and let the sun shine on our face with our hair looking as perfect as hers.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009


Quick.  It's a test.  Are the stairs going up or down?

They're from the water tower on Alcatraz.  What does it say about our lives that we all sort of stood, looking at the miniscule prison cell with only a sink, bed and toilet and didn't think it seemed half bad?  Is it that grotesque, our over consumption?  My ten year old wondered how one might arrange those living conditions these days, without armed guards and violent roommates.  I told her she could be a hermit.  That's it, she said.  A hermit who occasionally sings in bars and acts in the theatre.  On the other hand, my seven year old wants to live in a camper in the parking lot of Costco, where he'll also work because they make a lot of money, that Costco.

Full or empty, big or small, dream or nightmare, up or down--it's all about perspective, isn't it?        

Sunday, December 13, 2009

call me crazy

I think this bird knows a thing or two.  How about you?  I think she knows above fierce love--the kind that knocks you in the stomach and curls your toes.  I think she sees that building a nest is one thing, but sitting on those eggs is what counts.  I think she knows that the avian ability to soar makes our human ability to alphabetize and debate seems useless.  I think she knows me and you in a way that has nothing to do with our names or our faces.  I think that if she flew over my head and I looked up at her and screeched that she would screech right back, full of compassion for the wingless, featherless creature who cannot see what she sees.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

what's it gonna be?

We were in San Francisco for the Thanksgiving holiday.  These doors belong to someone there.  To a house.  Just a regular, very fancy house.  Yes, they're gorgeous, but really, could you face that everyday?  Door number one, number two, or number three?  

Yesterday at 4am our little one awoke with a tummy ache.  His lovely, sweet father cuddled him in our bed and after a brief consultation with his groggy mother, offered him a banana.  This sufficed until about 5:30am, when he vomited the banana into the waste bin, right on top of its peel.  Perfect.  The vomiting continued about every 10 minutes for just over two hours.  Poor little shaking boy.

The brief consultation at 4am had been about Diatomaceous earth (basically ground up seashells used for killing snails and fighting nausea) and whether or not to give it to him.  I've used it three times, and twice it's completely stopped whatever viscious stomach cramps have begun.  But for some reason, we went with door number 2, the banana.  And as I stood in the shower I couldn't help but wonder if a different choice would have saved him from all that wretching.

Fancy house in San Francisco:   You can keep your three doors.  I've got all the woulda, coulda, shouldas I need.    

P.S. Does it reveal too much about my cheese quotient to tell you how much I LOVED the Will Smith movie, Hancock?  I had no intention of liking it.  Come on, the premise seems like a horrible idea.  A drunk superhero with a PR problem?  But it's perfect.  Absolutely beautiful.

Sunday, December 6, 2009

job performance

It's expected that your personal life will sometimes seep into the job, right?  But what about when you live with the job(s)?  And they don't take kindly to long coffee breaks and grunts for replies?  The poor children, I think, knowing that sometimes I should just stay home from work.  Call the temp. agency.  Instead, I bring my dark mood to the office.  I slouch around and bah humbug their party.  Tomorrow I'll arrive with a fresh sense of purpose and duty.  But when can we talk about that raise?