Results tagged "New Jersey"

It all seemed innocent enough. Apples. Picking. Outdoors….

But then the woman guarding the gates at the strategically placed playground area at Seven Pond’s Farm charged us $14 to allow for my three year old son and one adult to enter. Reading the rules, while slowly chewing my nails off — “Entry fee $7 per person. Children under the age of 14 must be accompanied by an adult.” As if any 14 year old would want to have anything to do with it. My son oogaling the possibilities. Are they insane? Charging such a ridiculous amount of money for a playground that any kid would grow tired of after about 20 minutes… And no, if we don’t want to pay, we don’t have to — but then my son is going to throw himself down on this very ground and totally lose his shit. Because you’re a money grubbing bastard, and you’re damn right I’m paying the inflated price.

Wooden structures in all their awesome glory — an airplane, pirate ship, and tractors — children arriving at the very same gate in droves, drooling — LET THEM PLAY. But no. Many parents refused, while I didn’t want to risk the upset. Too expensive — are they kidding, as their little ones melt into puddles of sobs? But they were right — as I sat with my sister on the bench on the outside area of the gates… kids were pushing their heads through the fencing in an attempt to breach the play-yard security. While my brother-in-law played with Will — sad children watched, begging their parents to dish it out — PLEASE, MOMMY PLEASE. Playground price gouging — private property or not, should be illegal. But regardless, we’d been had.

And how dare they… the powers that be among the family owned farm. Dangle the playground in front of the tourists and (AHEM) locals that dare to take you up on your “pick your own” apple orchard. The apples being tasty and whatever — $14 dollars to allow kids to PLAY? Twisting it all around — only $7 per person BUT you have to be a ridiculously old kid to venture in alone. IT ISN’T DISNEY WORLD! You own a farm in Water Mill, NY — and life IS GOOD. Do you hear the tantrums from the many that don’t get to play? AND WHY? The apples are practically the same price–AND we picked them ourselves. But, right. That’s right. You don’t care. And therein lies the shame. The hypocrisy. DO YOU EVEN LIKE PEOPLE? Apparently not.

And there wasn’t a silver lining to this 15 minute adventure. Nope. There was a cash only entry fee for the lucky ones and a good ol’TOO BAD for the parents that refused to join us on the SUCKER list. Damn you giant farm owner. DAMN YOU.

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…

So here we are! I can just hear you… Gushing with anticipation.

Thanksgiving is upon us. And I know that sounds as heavy as it really is. Heavy — food, family, home, food, friends, relationships, news, football, politics, food. I know, WHATEVER. Almost everyone has that stuff. Or if it isn’t blood relation, its a family of friends — its a group… but most importantly.. its a COMFORT ZONE. I, in particular, have only spent one Thanksgiving really really away from my family. I mean there have been years where I have sat among in-laws and or other additions to my family — my zone-o-comfort, but only once was I really far away — and dudes, it sucked.

Yeah, no. Not going to sugar coat this one. Years upon years ago — another lifetime, even — I spent a college break over Thanksgiving with the family of a boyfriend… the ever DOOMED relationship that every other girl in existence has locked away somewhere… only to pull out for gasps and shrieks of OH MY GOLDEN BAKED BIRD, WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?. But that’s all I can say about that….for now.

I spent this one Thanksgiving among a group of über dysfunctionals, while my own family, displaced for a brief year-long stint in Atlanta, enjoyed in splendor among each other. And whatever — I’m sure it wasn’t awesome — both of my sisters were at great ages in Jr. High & High School… TONS OF FUN, right?!? But had I known what I was in for, I would have driven nonstop from Philly to be there with them… Instead, I went to New Jersey (and I’m not knocking, Jeerz). I’m not going to lie. I couldn’t eat. I didn’t want to — everything was gross to me — AND I was hideously uncomfortable — calling every friend I could think of on the phone… if only to interrupt the fun they were having with their own families. Tears burning behind my eyes, and this had been MY CHOICE. I’m sure there are pictures out there somewhere of me at this affair… my hair standing on end, hives all over my body — shoulders resting at complete tension by my ears. The very brush of another’s arm against mine made me flinch… just forget about the nice hello hugs and cheek kissing… I was completely standoffish and impolite… which, given that GRUNGE was so IN — I was probably way hot.

But that was then, and this is now. Now is when I get so juiced up about Thanksgiving that I run outside and cut dried berries to decorate the front door wreath (above.. — shut it, Martha.)… Imagine if I had allowed more experiences such as the one non-family Thanksgiving into my life… Just think about how balls out freaky I’d be. I allowed myself to think about this over this past weekend while my husband and I celebrated our 6th Wedding Anniversary… I know, SIX is so nothing in the scope of a lifetime… but when you add on another 10+ non-married years, things start to sound a little more permanent. We celebrated by actually GOING OUT TO DINNER, which — if you haven’t heard, is this new trend where you leave the house, sit down in a public establishment and allow someone to wait on you… There are a few bumps in the road… like having to sit near OTHER PEOPLE, but as we giggled our way through the idea of being adults, we were able to drown out the others… that is with the exception of the woman looking for dental floss. Now that was just unforgivable.

In short, the weekend was really nice. We had lovely guests — who were gracious enough to allow us out of the house… I remembered my hideous nightmare of a Thanksgiving on the eve of Thanksgiving… while on our Anniversary — making me beyond grateful for where I am now… and (OMG!) where I most certainly AM NOT. And while it all comes and goes so fast — Christmas is next week, right? — It was so nice to just think about the comfort of  what’s to come this week — even if it equals something… heavy.

Happy Thanksgiving my Friends!

What couldn’t one do with a Flying Car?

Okay… so flying overseas — the big seas — is out of the question, but puddle jumping on indispensable day trips could become a new favorite past time. I know… it is a bit of a big ticket item, but I really feel that it will be put to good use. Think about it while I draw a 425 mile circumference of where I sit now. If I had a flying plane, I could hop, skip, jump right on up to good ol’ Worcester Massachusetts to visit one of my bestest girlfriends, who happens to have FOUR KIDS. And obviously, I have to go all caps when typing FOUR KIDS, because there really isn’t any way to understand the magnitude of having FOUR KIDS… that is unless you are her… in which case you are awesome. Traveling up to the Berks will never be easier… seeing family and a much needed visit with another real blond.

But that isn’t it. I could puddle over to Hoboken to see whom I can find… jump down to Philadelphia for some serious old friend stalking… not having to worry about housing the plane as I slowly drive the Schuylkill — which is all stop and go anyway… paying some love over the Betsy Ross in New Jersey and then buckling in to go blogger stalking down in Metro DC… she’ll never know what hit her.

After some serious schooling on the ’80s and how to do it right, its back on the jet over to Ohio — landing on my Cousin Aislinn’s college campus… only to walk away from the plane so excited that I hit my head on the wing–falling into a mild hour-long coma — surviving, but causing such embarrassment among the student body that my cousin completely denies knowing me. I end up in a minimum security facility where I pretend to be Martha Stewart (the blond hair will help) — making my second penitentiary visit in hopes of ridding dairy and eggs from the food pyramid.  Before I am released, I will make one more plea of innocence as I’m escorted out of the state of Ohio on a promise to never return… I do, however, under the guise of the “car” feature… still finding time to visit Cousin Eric and his gorgeous family, trying to lay low, but eventually causing embarrassment of epic proportions. I’ll never learn.

After Ohio, I still have a great distance to travel… good thing that the air speed is relatively high… too bad that I’m afraid to elevate above 50 feet due to a self diagnoses case of vertigo (aka complete denial over a fear of heights). Chicago, for Udon and Vodka… Kentucky, for art lovers and lord knows what else… Durango Colorado, FINALLY… And while completely avoiding Vegas (for obvious reasons) I’ll jump over to New Mexico for some more old friend stalking (are you sensing a pattern?) and then back in the air until I hit Long Beach… where I can finally meet the daughter of another dear friend…

On my way home later that day, because this is just an indispensable day trip after all — and I only have a babysitter for 3 hours, two days a week, I’ll plan on blowing through Texas (that should only take about 20 minutes, right?) — High fashion in North Carolina, of all places… Savannah and then Atlanta — if only to cause further unrest among the cousin collection…Whatever, they’re family — they can learn to love me.

In the end, you will see that the Flying Car will probably be the best possible thing that anyone could ever give me. I’m not too worried about the licensing situation, I mean they DO let me drive a car, so… Just let me know when the shipping is scheduled… I’m not too trustworthy of UPS these days and who knows what their rules are about shipping flying cars. Just consider this money well spent… change banked away for just the occasion… you know, so that I’m just around the corner…. for realssssssssssss.

Sometimes the best made plans will still fall into place despite certain disaster… aka – There is a W in Mount Laurel, Exit 4 — New Jersey.

[I DIDN'T TAKE ANY PICTURES!!!]

And that’s not really telling the truth. It isn’t really a W… And, there wasn’t a disaster… although I felt for sure there would be. And I knew that traveling south, dangerously close to my old haven of Main Line Philadelphia might be taking a huge chance… but flying under the radar is easy when no one is looking for you anyway… As I preface with a bleeding heart that I miss everyone in the vicinity beyond comprehension but we only had 24ish hours for the trip so I chose to not let anyone know… Because, YOU KNOW — It never would have been enough… I never would have wanted to leave. And it almost didn’t happen. Because Will woke up several times on Friday night with a terrible cough… you know the kind that sounds like there’s a serious coffee brew taking place in the confines of the rib cage… I knew it. I said it at about 3am — there is no way I can go to the wedding. There is no way that I can leave this little boy coughing while I run off to Mid-South Jersey to participate in the nuptials of our great friend that has only always dropped everything for us… and he would understand, right? I mean we only made him travel to Montauk and stand up among the best of the best for our wedding… I told Mr. Sal that he would have to go it alone… But then the cough slowed to a wheeze, and with an extreme bought of suspicion, I decided to call the doctor.

The doctor was fine…. really — perhaps a few too many cups of coffee to elicit the permagrin, but she too heard the wheezing — sending us home with a Nebulizer to prevent any possible asthma attacks and cease the coughing that was most likely brought on by the week before’s cold that everyone was sharing… For some reason, doctors that are always right irritate me beyond rational explanation. I mean really…  Have you seen a Nebulizer? Fancy word for an oversized inhaler with tubes and plugs — seeing how most almost-three-year-olds are not skilled in the verse of inhale, exhale. But they are intimidating… especially with a name like NEBULIZER….May I *please* see the storage facility, Dr. Venkman?, I was a mess — Will was totally fine. My parents were here, lined up for the overnight babysitting extravaganza… Mr. Sal was ready. I was a pin prick away from spontaneous combustion…. I mean I was only going 2000 or so 166 miles away, right? Mount Laurel, New Jersey….  The infamous strip of Route 73 before the Betsy Ross to Philly… I think I’ve stayed in every other hotel along the route for one wedding or another… But here I was introducing a NEBULIZER to the household while packing furiously to leave for a fun night away… it just didn’t feel right. Not to mention that Will had totally forgotten about my existence at this point and was happily playing outside.

It took one quick look from my Dad accompanying a short “You’re Going.” along with my Mom’s calming “He’s fine”. I was in the car. Three hours later we were still on Long Island, but not without hope that the New Jersey International Speedway (Turnpike for short) would find us smooth sailing to meet the 4pm ceremony. Which it would have… if W Hotels hadn’t sidelined me by updating an older hotel on the 73 strip into an “a loft” (lowercase because it’s cool) establishment. Sitting in the eurocentric minimalist meets Frank Lloyd Wright on an acid trip with the alphabet hotel room, I felt cold and outdated. I wasn’t prepared for this. Upon entering we were greeted with “Aloha” as we looked at each other – “what the f?”. Neon blue floor tiles, electric fire place and puffy walls… dimmed elevators to the 5th floor… Where was my hotel art? Where was the horribly mismatched decor of someone out there likes florals with golds and stripes along maroon and faux plated mirrors. There were only two pillows on the king size bed. There were two towels. AND, with a flashback to Italy, the bathroom shower was in the same tiled room as the toilet… Steel grey interiors. No drawers to speak of — although I never unpack. While I rushed to shower and dress I kept trying to put my finger on the complete description of this abode… It could work, if it wasn’t trying so desperately hard to not be a hotel, when – - Ohhhh, Bliss products! Spin, Wired and Dwell magazines were the reading options vs. the usual New Jersey and Philadelphia tourist options… but what if I wanted to know? And… how far removed I was from reality to realize that HAD I brought my laptop, I could have probably run the universe from room 527… If only I had known I was staying in the mind of an intellectual snob.

(I stole these pictures from other websites)

And the wedding was lovely. There was extreme love in the air as we laughed and enjoyed the usual mixed religion confusions between Christians marrying Jews…and who cares? The Ketubah combined with St. Francis… Sacraments followed by the Hora mixed with who is who and where do we all know that person from? Vodka and Mashed potato bars — teenagers getting away with stuff because no one was watching. And as we returned to our “I do not want what I have not got” grey hotel room with the lime green chair and black leather benches, we crashed comfortably in front of the wall size television and slept in preparation for the 2000 or so 166 mile ride home.

I guess the time has come for reality to finally hit the Hamptons. I mean really. Those of us that live here know how tough it can be… I mean just now I had to lift a finger. I was thinking yesterday about how what we need is a serious reality check. Out here, sitting in the Atlantic Ocean — just a barrier for the Connecticut coastline… the tip of the sandbar, if you will. Not unlike the beacon  of light that shoots from the Vegas skyline… And then, as it comes to pass–and before I get all existential…because it is Groundhog Day… starring Bill Murray, and I’m in no mood for chitchat–The Jersey Shore is thinking about paying us a visit.

I know.
I didn’t know who they were either until I decided to roll off my pedestal and get a clue.

Because I know the Jersey Shore cast members are all REALITY professionals that will treat the Hamptons like their very own stomping ground… Not having watched MTV in a really long time… and then sitting glued with eyes peeled open in mesmerizing awe… Coming to the realization that there is hope for mental dullness…. in a really REAL way.

This is Mia – or as my son recently renamed her “Meow”.