Sticking to the Point

My Sacred Life Sunday :: in an instant

It was around this time last year. I remember that because we were meeting M and A at the town pub; a celebratory dinner in place of A's birthday party that M would miss.

A commotion at the table next to us, something was happening with the woman seated less than a foot away. I heard slurring. The man was quickly by the woman's side; catching her, setting her back into her seat. She seemed to be having a stroke, I was reaching for my phone as the paramedics arrived.

Trying to divert our children, we minimized what was happening.  We said the woman didn't feel well, and we assured the girls that the paramedics would help her.

Driving home A questioned whether the woman would be alright.

'mama she was like this', A said, demonstrating the woman's eye rolling back into her head, her body rigid.

Looking into the rear view mirror, I'm able to assuage my girl that the woman was going to be fine, trying to find solace in my own words. Trying to erase the haunting image of the woman with her face pressed into the man; a slight moan escaping her lips as big fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

This morning I learned that the woman died. She went into a coma and never came back.

In those moments before the paramedics arrived, I think she knew. There was recognition on her sad face; knowing and powerless to do anything.

My heart is heavy this afternoon with sadness for that woman. I remember the man saying to the paramedics that the woman spent the afternoon gardening. I remember thinking it was a lovely day to be in the garden, and I remember hoping against hope, that it was just a day of too much sun.

Last Friday

It's been awhile since I've spent significant time in the city, I realize that now. I go in every few weeks for a haircut, even an artist date. A few hours has always been enough; I'm always happy to retreat back into my suburban oasis.

Nina arrived on Thursday evening, after a tour of Newark Airport. I should have realized the parking attendant that couldn't figure out how to work the gate, blaming me for the mishap, would be the beginning of strange behavior everywhere.

Friday morning, we hit Manhattan running. We didn't have a specific route or itinerary for the weekend. We managed to see a couple landmarks and had our foot in almost every west side neighborhood below 14th street.

I felt a little off my game on Friday but by Saturday, I was back to my New York self, navigating the crowds and loogies; like salmon swimming upstream. We talked about that, the swimming upstream. Because Neen and I surely had some combined, invisible magnetic force that drove people with big teeth and a staggering walk, into our foot path every time. Seriously. Every. Time.

What is it about the need to hork? Women and men alike, everyone is projecting phlegm. One must be careful to watch where she steps, dog shit is not the worst thing you'll see or smell.

We milled about Union Square, watching pandemoneum break out on a busy street corner, a giveaway gone bad. We shopped a little, people watched a lot, and eventually made our way down to Soho, where Neen had plans.

Friday wasn't exactly walking around weather. Never one to miss a free hour in Soho, I set out down Greene Street, to freeze my fucking ass off, to kill time with my camera.

 

Later, we head towards Nolita, stopping along the way at a wine bar. A glass of red to warm our frigid bones.  It was bitter cold and windy all weekend. We forgot to bring hats.

Sake, hot or cold, is what you get at Chibi's, nothing more. How to describe the small cafe devoted to a Boston Terrier, with strange homo-erotic art displayed on the walls and the heady, intoxicating aroma of fresh hyacinth and incense?

In whispered tones Nina asked,

"kiki, is that a picture of a woman with a penis?"

On closer inspection, I couldn't really tell. 60/40 that the chick had a dick, but the artwork was an image of an artist drawing a woman, perhaps hermaphrodite. As I said, it was strange.

We sucked down our sake, inhaling delicious rice cracker nibbles and headed back out into the tundra, (me with a buzz), to my  favorite Thai restaurant, with the not-so original name.

Before the train home, we stopped at some crazy coffee bar on Houston for a night-cap favorite: bailey's and vodka.

Neen insisted on me taking photos when we arrived back in suburbia to the lightest of snow fall. I was a bitch about it, complained at the time, but she was right. The light really was perfect, even with my shaky hand.

The plan

When we first moved to our suburban oasis, there was a lot of planning involved in childcare. What facility (I was never the nanny-type) would best care for miss A and also give me a full day. Once A's 'school' was in place, I looked for office space that would accomodate a part-time schedule. I knew my hours would be a modified version of what they'd become in 2007, the year A entered first grade. 2007 became my gold standard. The year we would no longer need to pay for childcare. The year that A would be gone from 8:30 until 3:15, a full day. In early 2004 as I was choosing daycare options and office locations, 2007 was a very distant horizon. A rite of passage.

Suddenly (it really feels that abrupt), here I am. A started camp Monday and the camp schedule, replicates the school day. This is what my weekdays will look like for the next twelve years. I work Monday, Friday and Saturday and this schedule, in my current digs, won't change. Which leaves me a lot of time to myself. And that's what I need to figure out.

Suddenly (there's that word again), I won't have to cram laundry-groceries-errands into a frenzied 2 1/2 hour window. I can go to the gym regularly. I have time to be creative. I have time to work more. I have options. And frankly, I don't know what to do with myself. This week has been fine. The novelty of more time has allowed me to be uber-productive, a wrinkle of my old self. Eventually, the shine dulls and I will find myself needing more. I've volunteered to work in the school library starting in September, but that's one hour a week, hardly enough to fill the void. That's what it feels like, having my girl all grown up.

This week I've spent my days alone and I miss my side-kick, my companion. I knew having her home with me last year was really, the last year. And I appreciated our time together, even as she busted my butt to make playdates and entertain. I guess I didn't know how much I'd miss all that, but then I never do.

I've got options and I want to consider these thoughtfully, carefully. I'm going to take the summer and marinate on my choices, instead of my typical rash impulsivity. In my heart I'm a nomad, and in reality I'm firmly planted in routine. I shiver with excitement and fear.

Road Trip

I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd traveled with friends, at least 10 years, well before I was married. I didn't realize how easy it can be, to slip into yourself, the person you were before, when you are away.

Traveling to VA this weekend for derby was good. Really good. Arriving in Richmond Saturday night, we had dinner at a derby girl-owned vegetarian restaurant. Smoky white beans with collards, vegan sausage and pints of cold beer. Afterwards a late night skate vetoed by a full stomach, instead seven of us walked down the street to the local go-go bar (go-go bar equals strip club in VA). Half the group had never been, the rest seasoned pros. Very different from other venues, there were six individual stage and poles surrounded by chairs for the guests. I've seen better, but it was fun to watch the newly initiated squirm and gawk as the ladies worked their pole.

Sunday, game day, was spent hanging on the fire escape, talking, laughing and relaxing. I decided to walk over to Kmart in search of a hoodie or something long-sleeved, having traveled to the South with the misconception that it would be hot. Broad daylight and I was followed by a man on a motorcycle and 2 carloads of men into the parking lot and once inside, oogled by shoppers. Walking back a man on a bicycle trailed me and I considered my options of jumping into traffic or being dragged into the woods rimming the parking lot. I guess there aren't many women walking the roads in that part of town, I'm just glad I didn't have to pull a McGyver in three lanes of traffic.

The bout was a lot of fun. We won by a very small margin (166 to 160) and it was a good, tight game.

We all wanted to drink at the after party, so we took taxis back downtown. Somehow the taxis filled and my roommates and I found ourselves without a ride. Quickly jumping into the back of a open bed pick-up truck, we roared down the highway. As my ribs were battered by potholes, I realized how stupidly irresponsible I was to be lying down in the back of a truck bed. Arriving at the bar in one piece, I vowed to myself that future offers of truck bed rides in an urban environment will be politely declined. 3 pints of beer later (I never drink beer), I stagger into a side room where a rowdy group danced and sang with derby friends as they belted out songs on the karaoke machine.

 

Arriving home Monday evening, I stepped back into familiarity. Thankful to be home, I'm grateful for derby and a world that appeases my competitive nature and nurtures my soul.

Respite

Like everyone else this Memorial Day weekend, I went to Home Depot for gardening supplies. One hour later I trudge my way to the car with flats of petunias and four small shrubs, potting soil and sprinklers. Strapping the silver goddess to my waist, I plan my color scheme and dig in.

I'm soon covered in a fine dust, my garden gloves damp as I tamp down the wet earth.

The methodical task of planting affords me the time to marinate my thoughts about work. I plan a course of action as I fill the window boxes, slowly resolving the free-floating anxiety hovering since Friday afternoon.

Nature in the burbs

(Click for close-ups if you're curious.) Last night we decided to re-arrange the deck furniture, removing the kiddie table and slide to make room for more adult seating. Look what I found underneath A's picnic table! Come to think of it, there were a lot of bees around last summer. I had no idea that bees even made little honeycombs, much less in little plastic nooks.

Then we have this 8 legged freak. I can appreciate that it's nicer to look at than the black or brown varieties, I'd like to know why its body bulges (babies waiting to burst out?) and why the coloring. I thought that many insects match their surroundings, not drawing attention to themselves? This one, its hanging from the overhang ceiling and clearly isn't worried about danger; perhaps its bulging body is full of poison.