There's No Place Like Home

I really enjoyed this article about living in San Francisco I was alerted to via Kottke.org.

I'm working on a post about my restless spirit and how I'm not one of those people who could ever, nor was I- born, raised, lived and died all in the same place. I get itchy and ironically, the minute we moved back to the Bay Area (a place I'd been pining for from the moment we left) I felt my affection start to rise for the East Coast, specifically NYC. Go figure.

So the article has a set of rules that can be applied to almost any city. I'm all for taking advantage of what's in your own backyard. Let's see how I'm doing:

1. Live in San Francisco.

Well, we're not in SF proper. I wish we were. The school situation is a bit tricky in SF, it's not as simple as moving into a neighborhood with a good school and being guaranteed that your kids can go to that school. There was a more than likely chance that the girls would have to attend different schools in the city or be bussed across town. This fact made me uncomfortable. We choose Alameda for the schools and the beach. If it's any consolation, we can SEE San Francisco from essentially our front yard.

2. Jump in the water.

We've been out to Pt. Reyes, Kirby Cove, Angel Island and Crown Memorial Beach is out our front door. A few people have asked me if I let the girls "swim in the Bay". I discussed this with their pediatrician and am happy to report that her only concern was swimmers itch - the same affliction swimmers are susceptible to in the pristine waters of Lake Champlain. We need some improvement on hitting the Sierras and getting our mountain on.

3. Eat the food.

More sushi. More berries. Practically vegans. I'd say we've got this one covered.

4. Get a bike

I'm still trying to recover from losing my beloved Felt Cruiser. Seriously, that bike was so good looking it turned heads. Last week I tried to buy a hot pink burning man special. Yesterday, I went to look at a two cruisers from craigslist. And today, I forked over my debit card for this beauty.



Isn't it gorgeous? Looks like candy.

5. Make real friends

I'm working on this. We've done pretty good, but there's room for improvement. On the 4th, I attended two separate parties where I knew more than the hosts at both and I met a bunch of new friends.

6. Be real yourself

I love the description of "San Francisco is the kind of place where nobody will tell you when you have a bad idea". I think this may apply to every other place in the world. It's hard to squelch enthusiasm. I'm happy to report, I still have it in spades.

Tell me -how are you doing in your hometown?

Guess What Time It is?

It's that time of the year when my family leaves me and heads to Vermont and I panic. And you didn't even notice. See how good I am? That's right, they've been gone for over a week and you have not had to hear a whimper or whine or nary a whisper about it. People will often say, "oh you'll get a break" which I guess I do, but I don't really feel like I need one. This year instead of packing and selling our worldly belongings, I have practically reorganized and rearranged the whole house. (I still have our two biggest pieces of living room furniture to relocate, I just haven't figured out who I'm going to prey on to assist.)

My biggest accomplishment has been the restructuring of the girls' room. For most of this year (and their lives) they've shared a bed. A few weeks ago, Hazel decided she'd had enough and began sleeping on the floor. For a few days, I thought it was a phase she would grow tired of, but after a week I began to worry that this would be added to my already growing list of sins tucked inside a thick folder down at CPS.

There was discussion of possible new furniture. Round two of bunk beds? Maybe a loft bed. Maybe my family would come home and find me frail and weak and buried under lists of IKEA instructions. Instead, I found a similar white wood twin that would work with their existing suite and then proceeded to push and pull the beds, desk and armoire around until I figured out a suitable configuration. I'm anxious to see how it works for them, but for the better part of the last week I've been taking it for a test drive. (Translation: I've been sleeping in my kids' room while they are all out of town.) Is that weird?

The new bed.



The room.



The Namaste Sign.



I love that Namaste sign. If you come over, avert your eyes to the places where it's had to be glued back together because it wasn't secured properly, fell and broke. Just focus on the sparkly purpleness and the special light in me, that sees the special light in you.

A Turn For The Worse

Yesterday, I met my cousin in Santa Cruz. We decided to ride the Giant Dipper. The eighty-five year old wooden roller coaster on the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk.

I really didn't know what I was getting myself into, I had a bit of trepidation, but glancing at the historical posters detailing the ride, I thought 'no big whoop'. The speed was listed at a mild fifty-five miles per hour. I could handle this. It was eighty-five years old -for crying out loud.

From the first jerk I knew I had bitten off more than I could chew. Instantly you're whipped into a pitch black, dark tunnel. Instead of the usual slow, anxiety building climb that scares you silly but reassures you that it's all down hill from here; we were whisked into complete darkness twisted about, turned, churned and finally spit out to the sun.

Without even realizing it, I'd grabbed on to the seat in front of me, locked my elbows and was pushing with every muscle in my body attempting to press myself further into my chair. The coaster jerked and kicked, my eyes were shut tight and my mind reeled with the unexpectedness of it all.

Even though the ride appeared unassuming from the outside (by comparison to something like...oh, say- The Pacific Ocean), this was by far, the scariest roller coaster I had ever been on. And it seemed to go on forever. I remember noticing the people getting off before us. No one was white with fright. Puking from pure terror. A pooled up puddle of shrieking hysterics. All reactions I was mulling over as my life flashed before my eyes. What the hell was happening? And why wasn't it over yet? I gripped the seat in front of me tighter and pushed my arms out as hard as I could.

When the ride finally came to an end, they stopped the car 10 yards in front of the holding barn of others waiting to meet the same fate. I thought this was a ploy to allow people time to recover. Even with the pause I was completely speechless. Slowly, I unclenched my hands and turned to talk to my cousin. That's when it hit me -excruciating pain. Like a bolt of lightening shooting down the right side of my neck into shoulder and upper back. It's the kind of pain that makes you reconsider thinking nothing is worse than contractions. I was instantly stiff. One of those poor saps, that has to turn their whole body in order to see what's going on right beside them. And the salt in my wound, was that I did all of this in front of my twenty-two year old cousin.

How could I be so stupid, I thought. I knew that the locked arms and forceful bracing had played a part in the injury. 'Going with the flow' and 'enjoying the ride' never entered my mind. I was faced with the unexpected and instinctively my intention was to hold on as tight as I could, open my eyes for a brief bit every once in awhile and just make it to the end. And where did that get me?

In a world of pain.

I slowly walked to my car. Concerned about how I was going change lanes during the long freeway drive home with what was sure to be a bona-fide case of whiplash. I thought about my tight fisted reaction, the way I'd resisted ever movement of the amusement and wondered if the whole experience was a metaphor for how I live my life.

I Laughed And Then We Cleaned

Sometimes I get all flustered when I read other people professing love for their husbands. Apparently there are quite a few 'best man in the whole world' running around out there. What draws me to Erik is that we have fun together. He makes me laugh. Case in point, after working a few days of extra long hours and not being home for much of the girls waking hours, he walked into their room accessed their game playing looked around for a bit and uttered:

"Did you girls get a gerbil?"

A Slap In The Facebook: Part 2

Long story short: My fourteen year-old cousin has been peppering her Facebook status updates with the 'f'word. And as fourteen year-olds do, she changes her status quite frequently. It's bothered me and I was thinking how I would approach her. I'm sure it's impossible for kids (and adults) to understand the reach and permanency of the internet. So I wanted to offer a kind word of caution.

My concern was two fold. Not only that a future employer, college admissions counselor or the like might take offense to her flowery language, but also what is going to happen to a small town girl that easily uses such an adjective when hormones, boredom and rebellion escalate over the next few years.

So while I was having some phone conversation with her father, I casually mentioned what I had read. He had no idea and was surprised. We discussed and decided that I would send her an email and he would talk to her about it as well. Less than an hour later I sat down with my laptop to compose a quick message and guess what happened?

She deleted me as her friend.

She also deleted every other adult family member from her profile.

Problem solved, at least in the mind of a fourteen year old.

'F'me.

I said the wrong thing

I said something inappropriate, I confessed.

I know, said my husband. You blogged about it.

No. I did not. You must have been reading my iChats, I surmised.

Guess who was right?

A few weeks ago, I kind of snarkely let something sarcastic slip off my tongue. I totally blame the fact that I was nose deep in Bitter is the New Black by Jen Lancaster. That and the economic down turn has been particularly cruel to California. But none the less, I should have kept my trap shut. Lesson learned.

Today, I finally mustered the courage to tell my father that his addiction to internet dating is totally out of control. He didn't take it so well. Again, I wish I'd kept my trap shut.

Who's Bad?

So, that sucks. That Michael Jackson died. Shocking really.

Now back to me.

I haven't been posting a lot because I've been wrought with anxiety over my father's visit. My dad arrived on Tuesday for an indefinite and uncomfortable stay. MJ's passing got me to thinking about Michael and his songs. In honor of one of my favorite I present:


The Incomplete List Of My Father's Complaints
(Muttered over the course of time. Only about half were mentioned today.)

Bad waitress.
Bad food.
Bad service.
Bad foot.
Bad elbow.
Bad eye.
Bad teeth.
Bad knee.
Bad ankle.
Bad hair.
Bad back.
Bad dates.
Bad wives.
Bad weather.
Bad sign.
Bad storm.
Bad wind.
Bad childhood.
Bad attitude.
Bad jokes.
Bad ideas.
Bad cars.
Bad bikes.
Bad vacations.
Bad boats.
Bad timing.
More bad wives.
Bad sisters.
One very bad father.
Bad taste.
Bad glasses.
Bad medicine.
Bad music.
Bad connection.
Bad gas prices.