Recently in Spending it all Category

In keeping with last week’s post on things I want to accomplish in 2012 — I started reading Savor, by Thich Nhat Hana and Dr. Lilian Cheung.

And, although I have already broken my code of not buying any more new books until I have read all of the ones that currently reside in my house (#1 on the list), I’m really happy that this is the book that I started with. Because, you see, I think I only purchased this book because of it’s beautifully designed cover. That and Amazon’s oh-so clever marketing skills in the “Recommended Items” department. I couldn’t resist. I bet, because you know I don’t even really remember buying this book, that I didn’t really know what it was about at the time of purchase. Yes. I am that easy. And, if I’m not a Buddhist by the time I finish reading this sweet little 237 page paperback, there must be all kinds of things wrong with me, and I already have a somewhat healthy relationship with food. It’s my book buying habit that I’m worried about.

But you see, as it turns out, this is a dieting book. Hidden behind the beautiful language and holistic nuances, the sole purpose of this book’s existence is to help people lose weight, which is something that I might like to do, but I’m not hardcore into needing to lose poundage. What I am into is enjoying the act of eating (#2 on the list). Thinking about the food as I am enjoying it is something that I am also trying to accomplish this year — breathing while I eat. Not allowing the stress of people behaving at dinner time or the baby’s fussiness make me inhale my food as an act of desperation. As if I’m never going to have the opportunity to eat again. It only breeds bad habits and makes it appear to be okay as I shovel toast into my mouth while running out the door. Because being late for Nursery School is totally going to make him miss the bus in another 5 years. Not.

And as I breeze through this lovely book about dieting and having patience with one’s self. I am finding that reading truths that I already know, need some reminding. Who knows — perhaps there’s some additional enjoyment to be found as we relearn how to relax, chew our food and maybe drop a few pounds.

“Mindfulness.
Mindfulness is a way of living that has been practiced over twenty-six hundred years by millions of people to help them transform their suffering into peace and joy. Applying mindfulness to your suffering with weight gives you catalyst that you can draw on at will to change your behavior. Consider mindfulness as your ally to help you get out of your own way, change your habits that are counterproductive, and overcome the obstacles and difficulties that led you to be overweight.” – page 34

Now, if I can only apply this to buying books… Then, maybe I can start to work on #8 from the 2012 list: Not so much spending.

And here we are. A new year.

Fresh. New. Untouched. Unaffected. And oddly — feeling almost exactly like it did last year.

But that’s not reason to worry. Feeling the same as it did less than a week ago isn’t a bad thing, right? We aren’t supposed to run around changing EVERYTHING immediately, right? I mean… I suppose there are freaks people out there that say “I’M CHANGING, DAMMIT” and then, BOOM, everything is different. There’s nothing seemingly wrong with taking our time. Deciding that we want to do something, think about it… patiently… toil over the details while moving in slow motion. Quietly making the necessary adjustments before we LEAP FORWARD into new things. And I know you were picturing a graceful gazelle just now as I said ‘LEAP FORWARD’… because we are talking about the visions in my mind — and you need to see things as I’m seeing them if we are going to embark on anything together — and in no way am I referencing a leap “year”. Because I don’t think I could handle losing one entire day in 2012. No. No empty, invisible, take-away days — because this is going to be the YEAR OF ME. And you’re coming too.

I’m thinking about making some changes, and since these are life long — they do NOT fall into the evil and ever-failing RESOLUTIONS category. And — I’m not just talking about the small stuff, like this is the last Coca Cola I will EVER drink. No. I’m talking about things that would normally fall on a “Life List”, which is something that I have mentioned in “They’re safe easy to clean and do not cause unpleasant buffeting”, (those were the days)… I’m talking about speeding up the process and, for almost the first time ever, TAKING MYSELF SERIOUSLY. Like — No more soda really means NO MORE HIGH FRUCTOSE ANYTHING…. And, while we’re at it, LEARN TO WINDSURF. But there really isn’t a rhyme or reason to any of this. AND I’m going big, at least for me. Way beyond the Ten Its. My attempts to formulate a list of things that I want to accomplish in the next 40-50 years (if I’m lucky) ranges from the absurd — Sleep through the night… to the mundane — Put Christmas away… to the balls out impossible — DO SOMETHING BIGger than before (I’m open for suggestions). So, I’m speeding it up and giving myself 365 days — although I’ve already lost 4 in the planning stage. So, starting NOW. Okay. After I finish this coke.

And I know. YEAR OF ME, sounds kind of selfish and completely unoriginal. And I totally agree. I completely ripped the idea off from The Summer of George on a Seinfeld rerun the other night. Only — as we all know, the Summer of George was a failed endeavor which saw Mr. Costanza in rehabilitation to regain his ability to walk. I know. NOT FUNNY. But it totally was. Even after watching it for the 40,000th time. His only mistake was that he attempted to do it all alone. Of which, I would never do. Because, yes. I love you too.

And so… as I need to get going on a few things. I am starting the list right now. Please note that this list will change — grow and hopefully shrink with cross-outs as I SUCCEED AT EVERYTHING I TRY. Also, please note that from the boring to the laugh your ass off NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN items all fall in no particular order. Because, that, my friends is life.

• Read all the books in my house before buying new ones
• Quit High Fructose Everything
• Breathe while eating and enjoy every bite
• Walks
• Share a picture everyday
• Teach Will to read
• Teach Jo to walk AND talk
• Not so much spending
• Learn to Windsurf
• Redesign this Blog
• Travel with the Kids
• Relearn CPR
• More NYC
• Go fishing
• Will’s Kitchen, the book
• Bronx Zoo
• Write a Screenplay
• Find the right babysitter (and hire her/him)
• Find my Medium
• Garden. For real.
• Go to the Openings
• Turn conversational Spanish into fluent
• Make edible egg free pasta
• Meet Martha
• Get Jo to sleep in her own bed
• Take more pictures
• Find the right, regular, paying gig

I’m alone currently. No really — Mr. Sal is in the city and both of my children are apparently sleeping. I say apparently because, really — who knows. And when my husband complained about having to spend the evening among adults at some fabulous dinner for business, I imagined myself inhaling a self-rolled ciggy, exhaling while speaking in a British accent “I cannot imagine anything more exhilarating (emphasis on the ‘EXXXHHHHIL‘) than a trip to the city”…. which is a scene that I totally ripped from the Virginia Wolf thriller of a movie, The Hours…. Starring Nicole Kidman…. Regarding several decades of women that seem to be going through unbelievable bouts of self-exploration… which is a nicer way of saying ‘depression’. And, although I am not depressed, or anywhere near the idea of going through a ’bout’ of anything — I do have to say that it’s getting harder and harder for me to remember what it was like to not have kids. To be able to just go. Just decide to do something and then do it….ALONE. ALOOOONE… And, considering this is the second time I’ve been alone in 2011, and most likely the last — what better time to run wild with abandon and go — GO — on 2011. On the other hand, it may have been a mistake to leave me alone, and this glass of wine is delicious…. I’ll wait until morning before I publish this.

Because 2011,
CHANGED MY LIFE.
AGAIN.
(sorry, that was loud. and this post is rather long.)

In 2011, we had a 2nd baby. We had a 2nd baby just when the first baby, now 4 years old, seemed well on his way to independence. And when I think about the dramatic and early entrance that Josephine made into our lives, paired with her current ability to get pretty much anything she wants — at 7.5 months old, it’s hard not to predict that we are in it for a lifetime. And again, NOT TO WORRY, when I say ‘in it’, I am of course referring to the bliss and unbridled happiness that comes with being Josephine’s Mom. The smiles. The heart-melting coos and squeals that make up for the refusal to sleep in her own bed. Or how she spits the baby food back out at you and then laughs at your reaction. But that’s okay, as you wipe the spring vegetable surprise from your face, just LOOK at how cute she is covered in puree…. and whatever, you can just forget about your hair — you aren’t going anywhere anyway.

But I know, having just done this for the past 4 years. This time is fleeting. It really is hard to believe that she’s 7.5 months old and that Will just completed his first semester of preschool. I mean… remember back when he was two and he quit napping and I thought my life was over? I mean… it really was over, but the realization was astounding… WHAT DO YOU MEAN I don’t have time to myself anymore? That I had to put my design ‘career’ (I know, don’t laugh) on hold, sit on the floor and PLAY? I mean REALLY. I’M EDUCATED — and LOOK, now I’m playing TRUCKS? But then it stopped. He did what most do and started playing BY HIMSELF. And then I was sad, alone… sitting on the floor with my trucks (not really). And now Jo — as demanding and irresistible a baby as there ever was…. tomorrow she’ll be kicking me out of her room and demanding to pierce something.

And, I know. I’m going to get to all of the other things that happened in 2011 — I’m just taking my time because I’m still alone. That, and I just can’t get over how pleased I am with everything in my life these days. The fun little boy I have. The food allergies that he seems to be growing out of (!) paired with his need to wear a fire helmet to the grocery store. The sweetest little girl I could have ever imagined — it’s even cute when she’s slapping my face and ripping my earrings out. I’ve even been working on a few design projects that seem to be moving along nicely, and I’m happy to report that things are calm both on the friend and family fronts.

All in all, while tooting my own horn from atop the highest pedestal, 2011 was a really good year all-around.

January… My sister Annie was married to her longtime love, Rob… Which led to a reunion of sorts in seeing friends and family that I haven’t seen in years, some of which read this bloggedy blog and therefore knew way more than I did about myself…. Later, I started reading an absurd amount of anything I could get my hands on, books – magazines, newspapers, a MANUSCRIPT written by a brilliantly talented individual that also had a baby in 2011… January was also the month when I started having Braxton Hicks otherwise known as false and not funny contractions even though I wasn’t due until the end of May. Good Times.

February found Mr. Sal and I returning to Portsmouth, NH where I took this picture whist Braxton Hicking all over New England:

I may never understand why I love this picture so much other than the fact that I was a giant pregnant lady salivating over the whole idea behind this window.

Nothing happened in March.
NOTHING.
Oh come on. It’s not like I was sitting on my hands or anything, although I was waiting for something to happen. Really, nothing happened and honestly, your bravado is rather rude.
FINE. Go see for YOURSELF.

April was one of the scariest months of my ENTIRE LIFE, although it started and ended with a blessing. I kicked the month off by opening the front section of the New York Times to see a 1937 picture of my long-passed Grandaddy on page A12 (with the crooked hat). This was a HUGE surprise and one that I will never forget… It made me feel individual and incognito all at the same time…. Here was this image of a man that all but a hand-full of us recognized thus giving the paper that day an entire different meaning than anyone in the world expected it to. And while there are pictures of people in newspapers everyday, this was a once in a hundred million lives, lifetime treat.

April was going to be a great month.

It was, however, only a few weeks into the month that Josephine decided to start her attempts of escaping from my belly — one of which found me in the hospital under the guise of false appendicitis. Her Alcatraz-like plan was foiled however, mostly due in part by the numerous prayers that were heard by the powers that be. But she didn’t hesitate to try again and five weeks before her due date, Josephine Dwyer was born. After a quick incubation, she arrived home healthy and happy — that is just as long as you are doing exactly what she wants you to. April was also the month when I read a book by Sammy Hagar (hangs head in shame) in approximately 2.5 hours — an amount of time that I will always regret losing…

The rest of the year has been a bit of a sleepless/timeless/listless haze filled with the closeness of growing and playtimes. There have been moments when I stop, clear my head and listen to the news or something, but for the most part I have been in an 8 month hibernation as a full time Mom. Two kids, as I am discovering, is intense. Beyond the trip that I thought I was signing up for, but also filled with an extraordinary balance and calm. Trying to make time for myself has proved to be near impossible, but when I feel the pull and struggle to do more, I come back around. This time is precious and I’d rather be here, experiencing the lives of my kids…. A pedicure would be nice though.

And, to just sum up the rest of the year, because OMG – I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU’RE STILL READING THIS!
June – …the must in the air was a really choice herb…
July – …SOYLENT GREEN, SOYLENT GREEN…
August – …They don’t hate you…
September – …EVACUATION...
October – …Allergy kids and Lepers having so much in common…
November – …let’s all damn the man by smelling really bad…
And, December, Well. We’re here, aren’t we?

So, while not everything that happened in 2011 contributed to the life-changing handle that I’ve given it, the few things that did happen were quite large. [abundant, ample, barn door, blimp, booming, broad, bulky, capacious, colossal, comprehensive, considerable, copious, enormous, excessive, exorbitant, extensive, extravagant, full, generous, giant, gigantic, goodly, grand, grandiose, great, gross, hefty, huge, humongous, immeasurable, immense, jumbo, liberal, massive, monumental, mountainous, plentiful, populous, roomy, sizable, spacious, stupendous, substantial, super, sweeping, thumping, tidy, vast, voluminous, whopping, wide]. It’s amazing how two tiny people can pack such a punch.

And in ending, Merry Christmas my Friends — Happy Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, Bodhi Day, Boxing Day, Hogmanay, Koleda, and Festivus, etc. Happy New Year. I will see you when things are fresh and new, 2012!

Anyone can call themselves anything, but it doesn’t make it so…

To begin with, I’m a Designer — a title that I’d like to think that I earned while climbing the somewhat thankless rungs of a career that requires a certain amount of skill that, on occasion, borrows from bursts of talent. To say this talent is consistent is a brilliant lie — no one is perfect and being “right” about how things should appear is one of those “grey areas” that we can all role our eyes at while pretending that we don’t really love Rob Lowe and {TOTALLY} can’t wait to read his auto-pilot book about being a man-slut. Regardless, along this path I’ve had the occasion to design a laundry list of things — for a laundry list of people and companies that have either led to pride beaming successes or unfortunate and mismanaged disasters, but each experience has led birth to something concrete that I can walk away with. AND, while I typically win in the end, I’ve worked hard  — sometimes designs are easy and others impossible, but they all deserve the same respect — anything less would be unheard of. Many times I’ve felt that falling into this career was by way of not being very good at other things. Starving, for instance, wouldn’t ever work for me, so being a traditional Art for Art’s Sake Artist was a little out of the question… I really didn’t have any hope when it came to a money management role (obviously — let them eat cake!) and, by way of a complete lack of interest, all things politics, law, religion and science were totally out of the question… that’s not to say, however, that they aren’t {TOTALLY INSIDE}. Because, when it comes to knowing right and wrong — what works and what doesn’t… what SELLS and what DISTURBS, it only makes COMMON SENSE that when putting IT OUT THERE, some things, you just shouldn’t do.

{IN OTHER WORDS, YOU SUCK.}
{THIS DESIGN IS BAD. EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS WRONG. YOU MAKE ME SICK. GO AWAY. DO IT OVER. OPEN APPLE Q. GET A LIFE. STOP. DON’T EVER DO THIS AGAIN. POWERPOINT. WRONG. ANTI. AMATEUR. THROWING UP. GET OUT. JUST LOOK AWAY}

BUT, aside from my vast expertise as a full-time resident of the Hamptons and self-proclaimed design guru, who am I to critique the work of another, right? Where is my license to point out the obvious — Another new free Hamptons publication, The Daily Dan… Published and produced entirely somewhere else by another “local-yet-not” publication, Dan’s Papers — Aimed at making life between Westhampton and Montauk look ridiculous. Obscene. Absurd. Retarded. And, they employ an Art Director – Photography Director, Designers and probably a whole swarm of freelancers — all of which I’m sure have EYES. Because, yes… When I step out of a fake pool with an airbrushed body and horribly photoshopped jewels, overlaying typography that drips and oozes with amateur monkey brains… I {TOTALLY} know that you need to see what’s INSIDE. AND — I will tell you how to buy a husband, live on a mere $1.3M — WHO TO CALL WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK. Because I need you to know all of these things… while my legs and hand get chopped off at the water line and my head might not even be my own… I’m not questioning your intelligence AT ALL… Or blaming you for picking up the magazine — while the gooey airbrained contents barely stick to the pages of Über-gloss and canned editorial, leaving slime and stain on your hands as if a crime was committed. Because this is {TOTALLY} what you need to understand life in the Hamptons.

And while the opportunity to share the real Hamptons with, albeit, the people that already LIVE HERE, has officially been snuffed out like an obnoxiously cheap cigar, I can only react from the sidelines — turning my nose up and looking away from the waste and disaster as the contents start to leak out all over the summer’s beginning…  Because someone obviously doesn’t care about looking good — especially the powers that be at The Daily Dan.

Hey Martha,

It’s been a few months since I’ve communicated with you in such a public format, but after reading your help wanted ad this morning, it might be time for us to have a Pow-Wow. And no, I don’t mean that in some sort of Pow-Wow The Indian Boy way… because this is anything BUT politically correct. What I’d like to say is that although the Hallmark Channel is a soft porn version of fabulous, it is time to step up the game. And I KNOW. You have the corner on every possible street in America and beyond when it comes to BEING THE BRAND. From Home Depot to KMart to that weird Home Decorators catalog, I don’t even think it’s possible for you to know your actual reach on a daily basis… But time is short, my sweets. Oprah has left the building.

BUT NOT FOR LONG. It’s only a matter of days… MINUTES, SECONDS in fact before the big O walks right around the corner (with your name on it by the way) and into her own fledgeling cable network, OWN, where she will set her laser beamed gold fingers on the buttons of SUCCESS. Only tiny pixels of color and black and white space before she launches her own line of every product known to man. AND only shards of left over fabric projects before she picks up a glue gun and realizes that, not only has she accomplished everything one can possibly reach for, BUT she’s also rather CRAFTY. Did you NOT see the truffles on her last show?

So, yes. Yadda yadda, whatever. Oprah might not be of the same BREED when it comes to STANDARDS, but dude — there are others snapping at your heels and NO, they are not all guns out Mrs. Fields (who failed, by the way).. Ignoring the idea of competition when in fact there is none. No. These ‘everyday’ women have been watching. They’ve been filing your road map, AND — while you were out collecting the morning dew for this weekend’s spring chicken recipe, THEY HAVE BEEN FLUFFING. I mean really. Gwenyth Paltrow on the cover of the new trashy Bon Appetite screaming about how when she puts pasta in boiling water it becomes edible… Jennifer Lopez, “toning down”… And MY GOD, PIPPA MIDDLETON — DON’T EVEN let her near a sewing machine as she sets the “spring time trends”…

I hear you. I hear you almost as clear as the ice cracking as it wears thin. You are turning 70 soon. You work 7 days a week as it is, and (despite the trail you’ve burned) you can’t do it all. AND WHY SHOULD YOU? But here’s the thing. Looking for a big money investor isn’t the answer… No. All that is going to do is fuel an already overgrown empire. What you need, if you don’t mind a little advice, is to partner with someone that has some but can offer more. Yes. That’s right. Without pointing to the obvious or, better yet, running out on Main Street to prostitute myself as the next game in town (again), my qualifications and life practices are seemingly endless:

Procreation of the cutest kids only.
Complete and total financial dependence.
If you can read, you can cook.
Traditional design theories paired with lots and lots of alcohol.
Anything in excess is bad, unless it makes you disgustingly happy.
Wisteria.
Shallow, but down right Honest.
All eating issues, self-image and PTSD are completely kept in the closet. Locked.
Being a Bitch is OKAY.
When running through the Louvre, take very little seriously.
And of course, on paper I look even smarter and more creative than I think I am…

So, without being too pathetic… I think that this might work out for both of us. I really need someone to complete everything that I don’t finish, and you obviously need someone that can only best be described as ME. I’m easy to reach. Somewhat affordable, and boast an ego equal to whatever you want it to be… That is, unless, you question anything I say or do. AND, without being too repetitive, because you already know all of these things about me, there is a very good chance that I will preach more than I practice, speak in hushed insinuations, AND assume that you are constantly OKAY with any decision I make on behalf of Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia. Because that’s what you’re looking for. Trust me.

Related articles

• Is Martha Stewart For Sale? (blogs.wsj.com)
• Martha Stewart Company Announcement Triggers Sale Speculation (huffingtonpost.com)

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…

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.

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…

I had a little time to myself yesterday morning, so I decided to finally retouch this picture I took over the weekend. Once that was done I blew it up to a completely obnoxious size, printed it out on seriously nice watercolor paper and then sent it out to be framed. I’m calling it art. And when a few generations pass, I can’t wait for my great great great grandkids to question… what the F is so great about this manhole cover, and isn’t retouching so eighty years ago…  Because there really isn’t an answer.

So after I finished with my little art project, I moved on to editing (laughable) yesterday’s post, of which I actually wrote on Tuesday. I was also waiting for a delivery of the baby’s crib to arrive somewhere between 11 and 1. The editing process (I know, again — laughable) began around 10am after Will had gone off to work with Mr. Sal. I was enjoying this free time when noticed a drunk possum meandering through the backyard…. in broad daylight– sick as can be. And I know — possums are harmless. They eat fruit and berries and whatnot.. But let me not hesitate a minute more to tell you that I HATE POSSUMS… with their albino white coats and rat tails… red eyes and ((shudder)) uncanny silence. And this one was clearly rabid. While I was calling someone to come and assist in the removal of said ghostly rodent, Mr. Sal had returned with a rather unhappy Will — apparently someone at the office had haphazardly left things out of place and a piece of EQUIPMENT had fallen on the boy. What? Equipment — as I visualize a 800 ton John Deere tractor dropping out of midair — EQUIPMENT??! You mean like a fax machine or can opener or something, right… something tiny like a coffee bean grinder or pencil sharpener… with my list of tiny office equipment options growing smaller and smaller… But before I could get my answer — the doorbell rang with the crib delivery.

Will was fine (first of all) with only ONE scratch — that I will never forget. But the whole incident had been sidetracked by the delivery guys that had taken over the upstairs in the assembly of the crib. And I know — but Will’s crib was recalled, so we had to buy a new one. It’s white, and I’m totally aware of the ramifications of owning a white crib. BECAUSE the baby is going to have to sleep somewhere and it sure as hell isn’t with us. AND YES, I just SAID THAT. Will is a perfectly adjusted 3 year old despite always having had his own bed. AND REALLY – — Like this is of ANY importance… POTTERY BARN. Okay? Rude, much?

Will and I caught up with the two delivery guys just as they were finishing when I noticed that the piece of furniture was not the same crib as the one we had ordered… Immediately annoyed, one of the men asked to use the bathroom, while I started going through the order and SKU numbers etc… The other delivery guy was already on his way out to the truck saying, in limited English, for us to keep the crib — that he wasn’t going to take it apart… it was nicer, anyway — don’t I want it? But that wasn’t the point… and so as Will started riding his big wheel around the house, I picked up the phone to call Pottery Barn… I was about 15 minutes into holding for the first available operator (because my call was important to them)…while unwillingly chatting with the delivery man about the new baby in my limited Spanish…  When BANG BANG — two shots were fired in the backyard… I jumped, hanging up the phone… Will, myself and the lone delivery man ran to the back of the house to see the exterminator removing the beast of a possum. And as the guilt for the dead possum started to sink into my consciousness, the delivery guy started yelling up the stairs to his partner that had been in the bathroom for about a half an hour. It was noon — Will asked me for lunch.

Today I have an actual human foot sticking out of my belly. And if that’s too much information for you, how about that man-hole cover?