March 2011 Archives

So, these past few months I’ve been on a reading binge. Mostly due to the fact that in a few short weeks (or days, who knows!) I’ll have two kids demanding every second they can squeeze out of my body. Combine that with a need to cram as much useless knowledge into my brain before it becomes fried for the same reason, and you have me reading everything I can get my hands on… Because I love being a Mom. I never said I didn’t.

But I’ve been reading… and reading… sometimes more than one book at a time. Sometimes, I’ve started reading something that I wouldn’t ordinarily have an interest in — but once I get into it I can’t stop… But isn’t that how useless knowledge is generated? Not to mention the inconvenience of the timing of — well, everything… I’ve been hesitant to take on any design projects because I know that I will be unavailable once the baby arrives, so I’ve been declining and handing things off — it pains me to do so, but the thought of leaving something unfinished bothers me even more… And wouldn’t you know it, but after months and months of silence, the projects have been calling…. as I wring my hands in a warped, jealous internal conflict filled with creative rage and ego… If I wasn’t pregnant… BUT I WANT TO BE…Oh yeah, right. But, I just WANT IT ALL, IS THAT SO WRONG?

So whatever, I just bury my head in a book and move on. With life that is… This post, I’m afraid, is quite hopeless. But the fact of the matter is that I’m not one to quit. I’ve quit before — softball in Jr. High School; Smoking; Dating intellectual snobs that over-utilize the word ‘Awesome’ …. AND NONE OF IT FELT GOOD… so I’ll just keep going…

I love tugboats. (There. I finally said it.)

I love tugboats for probably the same reason that I obsess about not working for a while — they just never seem to stop going, and someone — usually much bigger and more intimidating is always depending on them despite their small and unique design. I haven’t always loved them… No. It really started when I live in Portsmouth and walked by Tugboat Alley on an almost daily basis. They really are quite spectacular… either docked or in action as they race out into the big open waters to latch onto tankers the size of city blocks. I haven’t had the pleasure of riding on a tugboat yet… but after reading My River Chronicles, by Jessica DuLong — I have a new-found goal.

(the book does not come with the toy tugboat — sorry folks, you’re gonna haveta go buy your own)

Jessica, as I have elected to call her now that I’ve read her tugboat tell-all, is a former New Englander slaving away as a dot-commer, pre- 9-11, when she becomes so consumed by a fireboat and tugboat obsession that she breaks all the rules of the typical male-driven occupation and becomes a TUGBOAT CAPTAIN. But it wasn’t easy, you know… because she is a WOMAN… A woman of higher education that falls in love with the nuts and bolts of the history and mechanics involved with operating these timeless boats… Not to mention the appreciation she finds for the Hudson River… which, if you haven’t paid homage to yet — is a NOT MISS when it comes to the rivers of the Northeast…. even if you’re looking at it from New Jersey.

“Gliding back to the surface in what seems like slow motion, I feel the diesel heat drain away, drawn from my body by the coolness of the river. Air bubbles tickle my skin on their way up to the sky. When my face breaks through to the air, I wipe my eyes and mouth. Wow. The water is fresh here. We’re far enough north that the runoff from the mountains has dominion over the salt from the sea. I won’t say I’m not worried about whether the water is clean enough for swimming, but now that I’m in it, the river is delicious, irresistible. ” pg. 50

Jessica, my new BFF, also takes the opportunity to bring up other topics that I love… things like over-consumption and the world vs. technology  — laying blame to this very computer for taking the intelligence factor out of the everyday… “Seems like the more technology we have, the more we lose our grip on common sense… It’s almost like those muscles that used to get flexed all the time start to atrophy from our lack of use. Everything’s gotten so virtual that we’re losing our ability to deal with the physical world around us. Now all of life seems to happen through a screen.”… Sentiments that I hypocritically agree with 96% of the time. The other 4% is all for viral ruling the universe.

At any rate, as the story goes, Jess finds herself completely removed from the world she was in at the beginning of the book. And for a young woman, starting out in New York City — leaving behind the life of endless hours of desk time for the waters, oil and sweat that comes with operating a “tug”, she takes an enormous leap that most would never even begin to fathom. Admittedly, there were times when she became a little too technical and I would find myself reading while thinking about the next episode of America’s Next Top Model, but it wasn’t long before she drew me right back in with terms like “thwarted by power struggles” or, my personal favorite, “Your body is not meant to sit in a damn chair”… Inspiring, I know.

And so, in an effort to finally bring this to an end, while I’m not throwing it all in, climbing to the HULL of the nearest TUG shouting I AM WOMAN, YOU ARE NOT, despite my desperate urges to do just that… I have instead moved on to other books that either will or will not inspire the way that this one has, we’ll just have to wait and see… In the meantime, if you’re looking for a little ‘you can do it’ in your day to day, I highly recommend you pick this one up… My River Chronicles, Rediscovering America on the Hudson, by Jessica DuLong. You can thank me later as you quit your job or day-to-day to launch your own personal claim to One small step for WOMAN…

I keep my socks in a hat box.

And last week, when I had to buy new socks, I had to go through the great sock reorganization… You know, the tossing of the old into the scrap pile — the searching through for the elusive missing socks… always leaving you in wonder as to how or where they escaped to… It might just be me (most likely) playing out the Alcatraz-like break-out from the sock box scene in my head… as the deceivingly warm but thin black pant socks form a union in the planning stage but then realize that they might need a bright white sneaker sock, one that isn’t afraid to get it’s hands dirty in the execution phase… And the constant secrecy to keep the big fat winter sleep socks out of the loop — there’s no way they are getting through the tunnel that they were in the process of digging… with their teeth.

And I know — SO WHAT? Who cares? I’ve never been one for hats — not the kind of hat that would live in a box, anyway, and from one end of the body to the other, keeping my socks in a deep round box just seemed — RIGHT. But that’s not entirely it… Oh no. That isn’t what this is about.

It all started eons ago when I spent a few months living with my Grandma in her apartment on the the Hudson — Irvington on the Hudson, to be exact (not to be confused with my Nana, who was equally sock conscious but lived in a warmer climate…). My Grandma was the master organizer, and socks were one of her specialties. She kept some of hers in a hat box in the little room that I stayed in. She also kept some in her file cabinet, hallway closet, laundry basket, sewing box, AND a sock drawer — which I’m sure was only for the really really good socks. None of these socks had holes in them. None of them even had a thread out of place, and she would check in with them whenever she had a little free time… unrolling them, rolling them back-up. It was great if you were there for this — sitting next to her — something about the socks made her talk about her life… questions came up — like would I evah wear heels with jeans?… No.. Grandma, no I wouldn’t.

I’m not sure where the fascination with socks came from, or perhaps it was just the comfort of organizing that made it such a ritual. She also loved to empty out her pocket book for the same reason. She kept her make-up in the freezer next to the coffee, weeded the cracks in her patio with a silver spoon AND wouldn’t let me leave the house without a full screening for wrinkles. It was perhaps the most organized few months of my life — and when I left, I immediately bought a hat box.

Yum.
(click here for the recipe)

In other completely unrelated yet related news, Pregnant Women ARE smug… it’s true. Elly posted this on her site yesterday… I thought it was worth the repost in case you missed it.

Subtitle: Ryan doesn’t get her shopping center…

via Curbed Hamptons

But, believe it or not, this really wasn’t about me. I know, it really is hard to believe that a town as large as Southampton could turn its back on someone with such clout and circumstance as myself, but sadly, its true. And who cares that the developer is a really genuine business man that I know personally…. Someone that has built his independent wealth BY HIMSELF (gasp) and gives graciously to local charities. They still held the door open for his departure without giving him the respect of a blink. But, believe it or not, this really isn’t about him either.

No. This is about change. Period.

And I’m really really tired. I went to one meeting as an advocate of the Tuckahoe Main Street project, as some of you may recall, and I would have gone to more — but not only were they strategically scheduled at the absolute most inconvenient times, I also didn’t want to return to that oh-so-unfresh feeling of a recently soiled diaper being wrapped around my naked body as I gurgled and crawled on the floor, whining in order to bring attention to myself by acting like the rest of the town’s anti-change committee… That being the wall between old and new. Because SOMETHING has to change.

So while I might be at fault for not voicing my opinion as graciously those that have perfected the art of spitting on the floor and acting like a crowd of heckling fifth graders — especially when good intentions rear their ugly heads, I also didn’t feel that making myself the pregnant housewife poster child for a new grocery store was really a good look for me. Although, yes, I do have the spatula and apron collection to pull it off in fabulous and unabashed grandeur. And while you may think that I’m just whispering here on my own personal blog that only a few thousand might stumble upon, nationally… Locally, we have serious problems.

I’m not a sociologist (gasp). I’m not even into politics other than what makes for common sense, but I did own a small business once upon a time which has to qualify me for some level of the SAVVE, so bear with me while I lay it out…. Progress equals jobs, which equals revenue, which equals ECONOMIC RECOVERY. So while the current year-round residents of Southampton sit here, watching our neighbors attempt to sell their homes to move to OTHER cities and towns where OPPORTUNITIES are being CREATED, we get to see every other business closing its door due to JUST THAT. Not to mention the hypocrites that seat themselves in opposition to change — as each designer or specialty boutique in the village closes it’s doors for months at a time or indefinitely… How many of them are actually PATRONS or better yet… HOW MANY EVEN NOTICE? Or, how many of them are just like me? Shopping online or packing up on an almost daily basis to head to OTHER cities and towns where shopping is actually affordable?

WHEW, and while I catch my breath… (I said lemon in my iced water, please!) I knew this would happen. It was beyond predictable that the powers that be in our little WORLDWIDE VACATION DESTINATION would clutch the edges of their seats until the whites of their knuckles matched the hideous March snow outside. I mean, REALLY. They won’t even allow for new trees to be planted at the park in town — who was I to get my hopes up that dangerous and trouble attracting VACANT LOTS would be dealt with in such positive and hopeful dreams of infrastructure when the typical attitude takes over …“if it ain’t broke, I don’t know what is broke.” (via 27east.com) — Now that mind is just WIDE open.

Now with added personality so that your bugs can accessorize too!
Those crazy toy makers. The minds on them.

Hello there… won’t you please come in.

I’ve been hoping that you would stop by — there are so many things going on these days that its hard to keep track — What haven’t I told you lately?

Did I tell you about how inconvenient it is that I moved my computer to the basement? Yes. It was a bad idea. Now almost every time I need or want to compute, I have to slink off under the guise of doing laundry. It was also rather inconvenient that my accountant moved his office from the neighboring town of Hampton Bays to a place called Aquebogue…. Which makes me think that I have to borrow Mr. Sal’s thigh high fishing waders and head out into the bogs of Long Island while carrying peace offerings so as not to upset the natives. What’s that? Long Island doesn’t have any bogs? Really. ARE YOU SURE? Because I just googled it and therefore must BEG TO DIFFER.

Do you know what else Long Island has? PINE BARRENS…. Masses of pine trees huddled and mopped together to form clumps of forestry so thick that if you were to stick your hand in, it might just take DAYS to pull it back out. Right? Although I’ve never actually tried this, as I drive to places like AQUEBOGUE, I can envision this happening. Which is not only why I’m more afraid of Pine Barrens than I am of a bullet riddled Hood — But ALSO why I’ve chosen to write a blog post that seems to be about nothing. Because I spent a good part of the past few days reading through Mommy Blogs and I have to say that writing about nothing might be a better choice for time well spent.

It all started rather innocently, with my perusal of a few really good blogs that I enjoy on an almost daily basis. I would never consider these blogs to be “Mom Blogs” because they don’t focus solely on the lives of the writer’s children. Instead they blather on about idiosyncratic topics OF WHICH I feel compelled to compare my own life with and THEREFORE consider to be nothing short of GENIUS. At one point, as is what usually happens here in this conundrum of the internet, I clicked on a link… and then another… and another… and another until I was lost and wandering aimlessly through a sea of angry and heavily drinking Moms that seem to not only loathe their daily lives, but also have no qualms about sharing these rather sad and insecure feelings about their kids, husbands and general STATI-Q in life.

A lot of these blogs, of which I’m too nice to actually link to so that the Moms don’t hunt me down and force me into the Pine Barrens, focus on really personal things… like cute pictures of kids coinciding with posts about not having enough time to ones self anymore… or how so-in-such’s life could be so much different today had she not married while pregnant and, yadda 3 more kids later, she’s lucky to get one night out a week away from the dirty bastards. The bastards, of course, being her kids… not the chain gang of friends that she also has photographs of on her blog, in what I can only assume is her home, doing keg stands and smoking butts–Blindingly F’d up, while the kids, I mean BASTARDS, hang around at knee high vantage. And, while I am sitting here, beating myself up for inconveniencing myself by moving my computer to a place in my house that is seemingly impossible to get to… I would MUCH rather hang out with my kid, not complaining.

SO, what’s going on here? I mean, aside from the good Mom Bloggers — of which I liken to Gilda the Good Witch, there are also some rather talented writers out there that AREN’T MOMS and also know that this is ALL WRONG. Could it be that the lives of other semi-celebrity, self-proclaimed Mommy Bloggers have made it such that others feel the need to TELL ALL online? Do they think that there is the same status waiting for them at the end — along with SWAG and personal assistants? Fame & Fortune… And her little dog too! And when exactly DOES IT END? When the dirty bastards, aka CHILDREN, finally escape from the lives that their Moms have told us all about in some aspect of pride? REALLY? And is it worth it? Because, even though I’m writing this from the TALLEST PEDESTAL IN EXISTENCE,  if attempting to write seriously about hating motherhood is the new white, then I remain cloaked in BLACK (seeing how it’s spring-n-all).

Earlier this week I went to Target. As many of you can imagine, I have very little patience for stores that liken themselves to the size and variety of the Atlantic Ocean, but my shopping list included such a range of items that it seemed silly to not go for the convenience factor. Because, obviously, it isn’t the conformity that makes me uncomfortable… no, it’s merely the options and amount of STUFF available for consumption… that and the logo, but who am I to critique the masses?

And so, as we wound are way around shoes and into sporting goods, pausing for a sec to wonder in awe at the new Apple counter, we suddenly found ourselves amid a tizzy of frantic patio and garden enthusiasts… Intrigued, we wandered a little closer to find the seasonal garden department in shambles… hoses all over the place, terracotta pots strewn among the plastics, watering cans and muck boots mingling amongst each other, and the worst — little bags of plant seeds, completely uncategorized… just laying all over the place like no one CARED TO NOTICE…. CUCUMBERS ARE NOT PERENNIALS!!  My head was going to explode. Backing out of this maze of discontent was my only option for escape… And as the hives slowly began to surface on the back of my neck… I suddenly caught sight of a relatively organized seed console. Bags of mixed wild flower seeds at a $1 each. Needless to say, my reaction was gluttonous. Who says anything in excess is bad?

As custom for the first weekend of Spring, this weather is playing tricks on us…

Our yard is not ready….

But we can still look back at last year… waiting, waiting, waiting…

Despite the rash of recent art thefts in Southampton, and apparently elsewhere on the East End, the season for art openings is HERE! [insert a ridiculous amount of applause] Kicking it all off (for me at least) are my good friends Dan Gonzalez and Raun Norquist, along with painter Joe Barnes.

If you are in the area, I highly encourage that you to stop in — if not for the serious creativity, then simply to make yourself more well-rounded. And by that I mean mentally.. not physically, like me. I do hope to attend the event (this Saturday, March 19th @ 6pm) but given my current spherical pregnant state, that may not be possible…. that is unless rolling as a form of STRUT is suddenly in fashion. I have also considered sending someone in LIEU of myself, but the last time I did that the result was this…

via guestofaguest.com

Perhaps sending a regret is more appropriate…. Regardless, I will be popping in to see the show even if I miss the opening…

As for the STEALING, one can only hope that the thefts remain purely residential, and that the taste of the robbers has improved. Otherwise, stealing bad art is just a big-0l’ waste of time…. Not to mention that the local authorities are ON THEIR GAME, “This office is assisting the ongoing police investigation,” Bob Clifford, a spokesman for District Attorney Thomas A. Spota, said in an e-mail this week, declining further comment….” via 27east.com –WE’RE WAITING.

There are a few things in life that you have to wait for. Off the top of my head — The DMV. The weather. The train that seems to be running late. The ice to melt on the wings of the plane taking you far far away. Santa. Restaurant service…The price of Saffron,  AND apparently, this post.

Because although it has almost been a YEAR, I finally have an update on our little monster of a house project up in the Berkshires. If you don’t feel like going back in time to read parts I-III, please know that while I question your intentions, I will also try to maintain the understanding that you might just have a few other things to do today. Like taking that paperclip that’s hanging on your pencil holder and flinging it over the wall of your cubicle with that random rubber band over there. Or staring out the window in mortal yearning for spring while the three-year-old wreaks havoc on his drum set — talented, yet way too young to know those AC/DC riffs by heart…. Whatever, at least he’s got rhythm. Otherwise, I have repeated the slideshows below and you are free to peruse the antiquities here:

Part I
Part II
Part III

SO… A major part of our delay on the house renovations have been due in part to having a dearly loved family member actually LIVING within it’s walls. She happens to have great taste and doesn’t seem to mind that we wander through every once in a while with paint brushes and ladders. She’s even helped a bit on some of the updates, which has been great — NOT TO MENTION that she’s living proof that one can live there comfortably even though she is still hanging around in one of the rooms we have yet to touch (of which there are several).

And, considering that we are rapidly outgrowing most of our accommodations in the Berks, we are currently moving full steam ahead on renovations. The kitchen, which we plan to eventually blow the back wall off of to allow for a giant sun room, is, in the interim, undergoing minor updates — wallpaper, paint, faux tin, flooring and new appliances. Meanwhile, plans are being made to also increase the living spaces upstairs, turning tiny rooms into larger bathrooms while somehow tiptoeing around Ms. Miss up there so as to not upset the natives… in full on political correctness,  of course.

Our hope (and we use that term as loosely as our uptight little bodies will allow) is to have the house up for rent by this summer… And if that plan isn’t grandiose, then turning this ground turkey into something delicious and savory for dinner in two hours is the only thing saving me from the depths of being UNORIGINAL. Because, really, what could be worse?