Our House Is a Very, Very, Very Fine House

Our house has had 3 owners – us, the Longs, and Per and Anna Swenson according to the census records. We bought the house from the Longs who lived here for nearly 45 years, happily raising a family of 6 children. When we moved in, we found a handwritten note from one of the Long's kids, Jane. Here's what it said:

To: The new people who will live in this house.

My daughter told me to leave a note so you would know how important this house was to us all who lived and grew up here, the last forty-three years. There were nine of us originally and almost every night we sat down to dinner in the dining room together. My dad liked to talk politics which my mom hated, but the rest of us enjoyed talking about ideas – and I think this house will remain with us as an idea.

We loved, lived and lost while living in this house, or just visiting our parents. My youngest brother kept an alligator in the bathroom on the 3rd floor. My wedding reception(s) were here. All the holidays…

Best of luck. I hope you have an emotionally enriched time living here.

Sincerely,
Jane

Here's what we'll miss about this house that we have loved for 15 years:

1. Our wonderful neighbors who keep watch over us, who hired our kid to do odd jobs and gave him cards for birthdays and holidays. They all have interesting professions like professor, painter, engineer, coach, cop, lawyer and nurse. 
2. Will's many special events that began here like his concerts, proms, awards ceremonies, first days of school, movie nights--even the day he got his license and drove off on his own.
3. Welcoming our doodle dog Daisy here for the first time and watching her perch her chin on the window sill observing life. 
4. The seasons, and how the garden and landscape changes--waiting for first signs of spring, the first chilly fall day.
5. HALLOWEEN--with kids flocking here by the hundreds to safely trick or treat on our neighborhood sidewalks. Our neighbor screening the Great Pumpkin in the backyard.
6. It's still a "borrow a cup of sugar" type of place where we know the kindness will be reciprocated. We meet kids at the bus when parents are running late, we help shovel, we share plants in our gardens.
7. Wonderful schools where Will made many friends, got his start in music and was made to feel welcome. He went on school trips to China and DC among other highlights.
8. Riding the train into the City to take classes, attend lectures at the 92nd Street Y, eat wonderful food, and take in the Christmas tree and decorations every year.
9. Going to the beaches in the summer for cookouts or to the lake year round to hike and walk the dog off leash. 
10. The live music scene at FTC, the Klein and other venues plus great restaurants, 2 movie theatres and a cool downtown.

Jane Long was right. We had an emotionally enriching time here. We hope the same for the next family. 

NB: That's Will with his friends Jordan, Jake, Emmett and Pedro headed into the City for his 18th birthday.

Go Pokémon Go

I see them everywhere now. Young people roaming the streets like zombies trying to catch a Pokémon. I had this long conversation with my hair stylist about how you play. She explained PokéStops/Gyms to me and why so many people are wandering around aimlessly waving their phones in the air. Why they stand on street corners turning in circles looking for paw prints. 

I've never played the game, haven't downloaded the app. I like the idea of kids getting outside -- that's almost revolutionary thinking for gaming company Niantic. It feels like an old-school scavenger hunt with virtual creatures overlaid on the real outdoors. 

I know there have already been some stupid and tragic events that resulted from playing Pokémon Go. On the stupid front, two adults broke into the Toledo Zoo in the middle of the night and were later arrested. On the tragic front, Pokémon Go players are being robbed or worse of their expensive phones while out at night playing the game. 

A group of my son's friends have been going out at night in Mountain Grove Cemetery in Bridgeport to play Pokémon Go. I've been in Mountain Grove on my own during the day, and while beautiful, it's also a bit scary. Like "no one can hear your screams" scary. 

In two weeks, our son leaves for college at Loyola New Orleans. I told him, "Listen Will you need to be careful in New Orleans if you're playing that game. You can get in trouble quickly in a place like New Orleans."

He nodded his head as if in agreement. Then he said, referring to himself and another friend headed to Tulane as a freshman, "Me and George are going to Pokémon the shit out of New Orleans."

Great.  Another relaxing thought for me as Will heads to Loyola NOLA in the fall. Pikachu that!

A Short Blog About Responsibility at 15

Our neighbors and dear friends have two younger boys and we have an older boy. There was a a time when they were all sort of closer in age, but now that Will is 15 and they are still in elementary, the gap widens. For the most part, I think their kids have always viewed Will as a playmate or possibly a horse. Definitely not an authority figure. 

Of late, our boy Will is thinking constantly about making money to save up for games and sports stuff and a car. When I was 15, I made my money babysitting. Quite a good bit of money, less the stuff my bother "borrowed" from me. I don't know though, boy babysitters have a much harder time. You would probably leave your kids with a girl just because she's a girl. I mean she could have like a side job on the reality series Teen Mom, and you will still feel a little bit safer leaving your kids with a girl. I actually had a boy babysitter as a kid and he was kind of creepy. Plus his name was Skipper.

Anyway, our neighbors asked us one day for the number of the teenaged girl down the street. I had to ask Will for it because I didn't have it. He gave it to me and asked why. I said I think for babysitting the boys next door. At first he was sort of like what? I can do this. 

Eventually he texted me the number. I texted back, "Sorry bud." He replied, "It's okay. She'd be better at it than me." I thought that was some responsible shit. And honestly, I think he's right.

Update: My awesome neighbor read this blog and had no idea Will was interested in babysitting and he got his first job with her. There you go. 

My 13 Year-Old Loves a Refreshing Cocktail

Here's how it happened. As best I can recall. Our son is 13 this year and has led a kind of sheltered life. You really cling to the one, when he's the only one.

At any rate, my husband and I decided this summer, pretty much out of desperation, that Will needs to have more independence. He needs to take on some chores. He needs to have more room to roam about. He needs to stay busy because both of us are working full-time.

So I gave him a mission and a little cash, and sent him to the grocery store to pick up some of his favorite drink from his trips to Savannah - a bottle of Arnold Palmer. An Arnie Palmer is a mix of lemonade and iced tea. Very popular in the South / hot places.

Will rode his longboard to Stop and Shop and bought two big bottles of this concoction.

Then there was something about a lady yelling at him for riding his skateboard in the store. He couldn't remember exactly.

Moving on.

He made it home and brought my change back to me.

Mission accomplished! Well done!

AND he even remembered to put the first bottle he drank on the kitchen counter in the recycling area / next to the microwave. As I was taking the empty bottle out to the garage, I noticed the label read Arnold Palmer Cocktail Mix.

Cocktail mix?

Apparently Will didn't read the label closely or he would've seen he had a choice between the Arnie Cocktail just add one part vodka - and the Party Pitcher with 8 ounces of vodka.

On a positive note, it does contain 6% juice!

Allowance

Lately my son has been saying the most profound things to me. I want to write them down but he says them in the car or right before bed and I forget. About two weeks ago, I picked him up from jiu jitsu and he was explaining how he was wrestling with a girl named Gabby. She's 14 and she's the niece of the owner so clearly has a leg up. But she beat Will again tonight.

I asked Will what he thought about that.

And he said, "That's okay mom. I'm not some guy who thinks women can't do things. Women can do whatever they want."

Also this month my son decided he wanted to get back on the allowance thing. He kept saying I'll do whatever you want but make a list. And I kept saying you know the list. Make your bed. Put your dishes away. Blah, blah, blah ad nauseum.

I made a list. And he started doing the things on the list.

But, he doesn't necessarily do them first thing. Or the way I would. Or in the correct order according to my system. That's in my head. That must be correct. Because it's in my head that way.

So the other night I was clearing away dishes in his room. He said, "Mom, I'll do those things in my own time, if you let me."

And I thought, doesn't the meaning of allowance have something to do with allowing?

Digging in the Dirt

My son is digging for buried treasure in our yard. Muttering to himself, “Jewelry, rings, bracelet, something. I’ve got to find something so I can be rich.”

To say he is covered in dirt would be excessive. Dusting is too little. Patchy, mottled, spotted perhaps. It’s running the length of his shin from the one knee he is using to support his efforts. His shorts have a ring around the seat. Dirt is sticking to the green ice cream stain on the front of his shirt. The rims of his nostrils are brown.

“Mom, how come I can’t find any buried treasure?”
“Sometimes you have to switch locations.”
“What? What does that mean?”

“You know, change your spot.”

“Mom, I don’t need this stinkin’ shovel. I’ve got a great idea.”
The boy practically herniates himself trying to lift our broken garage door.

“Need some help?”

“Nope.”
Enter new pogo stick, gift from grandma for Christmas. “What’s he doing?” says my husband, who is bunched up on a short wicker settee. My husband loathes wicker.

Sticking the bottom of the pogo into the hole, my son begins to pump the handle up and down like a jackhammer.

“Well, mom, that flattens nothing out. Well mom, that flattens everything out. Yep, I just need these three things. The shovel, the clippers and the pogo.”
This conversation would go on whether or not I was present to hear it.

I’m tempted to bury some treasure in the hole when he runs inside for dinner. But what effect will that have? Maybe he’ll think there is treasure in every hole, reward from every effort. It will likely end this activity that has gone on successfully for about 1 ½ hours, giving me a chance to write. These are the things you think about as a parent, when you have a moment to think.

Keep digging Will. The digging is reward enough.

NB. I wrote this piece about 4 years ago but I liked thinking about that day. Especially my husband suffering in the wicker. Good times.

NB2: I just found this quote and love it for this story: "There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure." ~ Mark Twain.

Is This All There Is?

The eternal question. Things are not going my way right now and according to my astrological chart, according to my mom reading it, things won't be going my way for several months.

I'm sitting here, Will home again for another bogus school holiday, and his whistling is driving me nuts. I'm waiting for the contractors to show up. Angel with his sad face. Fred with his non-stop talking. Rock, a ginormous human being, who may be called Rock because of his stature or because of his specialty, sheetrock. All the noise, noise, noise, noise as the Grinch says.

I have to break it to Angel that my husband is still not happy with the paint job on the house. And he'll look at me with those sad eyes, wondering when the hell he's going to get paid. I'll have to listen to another story from Fred, in which, in general, he is the saviour of some homeowner like me who's been screwed three ways till Sunday by other contractors. Fred, not even Superman does that much saving.

They're all here, all the time. On ladders in my window, talking to me when I'm on the phone, leaving their crap everywhere. It's like having 10 children or 10 husbands.

One time I was taking a shower and walked out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. I thought they were all gone but Benjamin was still in the house. Thankfully, his back was turned and he's sort of hard of hearing so I don't think he saw me as I scampered away.

I sat down this morning to watch a 20 minute film, Helicopter by Ari Gold. In that short span of time, I was interrupted 6 times, Three phone calls. One I urgently need your help mom, because my video player won't rewind. One my cable modem is jittery and screwing up the video. And finally, Angel, breaking window glass in the backyard.

There was a chance I would go to Ethiopia with a client next week but they couldn't work out the plane tickets. Literally, I thought YES! The sweet release of flying 20 hours to Addis Ababa, landing in a place where no one knows me, without reliable phone or Internet. Just quiet.

There's another chance I can go in February and I am praying the travel gods will grant me permission to fly, fly away.

In this film Helicopter, the director's mother is killed in a helicopter crash. She was 47 years-old.

Follow this link to watch Helicopter: http://vimeo.com/6887916