* Today I took a day off. Yup. I haven’t had one of those in a very long time. My lovely husband stayed home and watched the kids (sort of, he drove them all over the place in their wagon and spent hours at the park) and I took off to the woods. This is our new plan to give each other a break. We each get a day every other week to do with what we choose. Sleep, catch up on e-mails, shop, go to a Yankees game (as Tom did last weekend), sleep, read, play scrabble at the bar, did I mention sleep, whatever you like. I chose to hike in the woods alone. I drove north up the Palisades Parkway in NJ, careful to avoid Manhattan and multiple traffic obstruction protests going on because of the verdict in the Sean Bell trial. I got to NY’s Harriman State Park in an hour and ten minutes and drove through 7 Lakes Drive until I found a hiker’s parking lot. Most people would have spent the day at the beach (and the beach at the lake was really nice too) or at the spa, but I chose to walk uphill on a craggy, rocky, mossy path for about an hour or so. I sat on a rock and had lunch. Two wet golden retrievers jumped up and tried to eat my sandwich (no they are not wild in these parts, a hiker was walking them), then looked convincingly starving but in vain. I only saw a couple more people on the trail early on but most of the day allowed me my seclusion fix.

I took this from my cell phone camera today.

I don’t walk and talk to myself aloud, but hiking alone allows me the chance to have uninterrupted frank conversations with myself. And as the meters pass under my feet and my blood runs rich with oxygen and my muscles warm, I begin to feel more at peace and my head becomes a quieter place. I stopped at a stream and listened for a long, long time and felt grateful for the opportunity to be there at that moment and grateful for the love of the woods my parents instilled in me as a kid when we hiked all over Europe. This is my church, this is where I feel closest to my definition of God. I fantasized about camping trips and hikes I might one day have with my children, and then started to miss them, checked the position of the sun in the sky and headed back. Even rush hour through Newark didn’t bug me, I was so happy to have my family to return home to and proud of myself for making the effort to get to the woods.

* Tom and I took the babies to the Museum of Natural History this week. We decided that we were going to make this place a date destination. We tend to stop and kiss each other a lot in museums for some reason. The kids loved it and I think ill drag my sister here next week for their new exhibit on the horse. (She might not get Jeff Koons at the Met). She is a scientist and had horses as a teenager so I think she will dig it. J & M loved the dioramas of African and North American Mammals. They never seem to loose their appeal. I remember walking through the halls as a kid, everything exactly the same. The fighting moose, the wolves in mid stride in the moonlight, the imposing Elephants (stuffed in the 20’s!). It must have been an enormous undertaking and a revolutionary concept when they constructed these exhibits. Taxidermy, model making and paint meets science. So captivating that there has never been a call to replace them with more modern images. Thats the thing I noticed about them, there was no trace of human existence painted in the background. No Landrover behind the zebra, no airplanes behind the ibex’ spiraled horns (antlers?). That in itself is something that contributes to its curiosity. Its as if you are peering back into time, before man arrived and messed it all up.

* One thing you see a lot of in the city of Brooklyn’s skyline is church steeples. There are some very old churches here, the biggest concentration in Brooklyn Heights. But one that sticks out in my local landscape is a church that sits on 4th Avenue somewhere around 34th Street, it is seen easily from the Gowanus (Expressway) and most points in Sunset Park. This church has a huge pink (did they paint it pink?) steeple that sits over the brick bell house. Tom and I drove past it the other day as we do often and he noticed that it was now adorned with four new cell phone jumper boxes. OK, I understand that the congregation may not be able to raise the funds needed to maintain the church through its usual rummage sale, but this was in very bad taste. I don’t know if there were desperate measures needed at all really but I am assuming a vote was had and whatever ruling power of the church (God told me to) decided it was a good idea. Can you imagine Mr. cell phone jumper box salesperson knocking on the rectory door asking if they could put up a few inconspicuous boxes. At least the towers I saw along the highway today tried to disguise themselves as a tree (but looked more like an overgrown mangy fake christmas tree from the 50’s), can they make them any more obvious really? One day we will look back and laugh at those things like we do when we see someone with an ariel antenna on their roof. Perhaps the priests thought they would be able to reach God more easily if not just with better reception. Who cares that the congregation suffers from horrible headaches and have all gone sterile. Its $60 bucks a month baby! I once rode with a car service driver who was complaining about all of the steeples in Brooklyn. He said in his thick Trinidadian accent that they were polluting the sky. He asked if they were trying to get closer to God with their steeples, or were they an advertisement like a billboard for people all around to choose their church. He decided on his own that it was a pissing contest to see who could build the higher steeple. I wonder what he would have thought of the cell phone jumper box on one. Maybe now all the other churches will want one too.

I haven’t blogged at all this week. My head is in a writing project that has been all-consuming. I am not complaining though, I really enjoy writing and I think of it like a puzzle, each little piece coming together at a time. I do suffer from not-posting guilt which I am sure many other bloggers do. I forgive myself for not being super human and do what I can. I love to write and have been known to stand up and celebrate when something comes together. But I like blogging too, and have at least given myself some time to check in on some of my favorite other writers out there.

I have never considered myself a writer before, I think that I was never in a place where I felt I could be open with that side of myself. Now, even with people I don’t trust on the periphery of my life, I don’t care anymore what they say and feel happy not to have their voices have any weight anymore. Stifling ones spirit for pleasure is a pathetic thing. Anyway, I have come a long way from that hell and am finally enjoying being creative again. That predator has been de-clawed.

Last week I went to a meeting at my daughters school given by the head of the cyber crimes unit in Brooklyn. Well, I was one of a handful of parents who showed up which seemed sad considering the amount of parents it had been advertised to (in the thousands). The presentation was on “Internet Safety”. It was interesting to see what videos and statistics they chose to show the kids that week. But they didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. I didn’t gain much confidence in the Chief of Police either who even with 8 years as head of the cyber crimes unit “didn’t know much about how IM worked”. He mentioned blogging and said that when he was a kid, a journal was good enough, and he didn’t understand why people would put their thoughts on the internet. This seemed a little old fashioned to me. Blogging is now a powerful marketing tool and an extremely popular way to exchange ideas, news and opinions. It isn’t going to go away and will only get to be more popular, especially since there are ways to earn money from blogging. It really isn’t going to help him much in his job if he just scratches his head about it.

Posting your thoughts and ideas on the web for family, friends and total strangers to see does seem like a strange thing at first and I think people do it for many different reasons. A blogger must have his or her own boundaries too: are you comfortable using real names?, are you comfortable posting photos?, are you comfortable speaking out against a topic or person? I know that for me, I have gone back and forth. At one point I considered not posting any photos of my kids. Then I thought about using nicknames. There were a few reports out there of sites stealing photos (babble.com) from flicker. And other bloggers reporting unauthorized use of their photos (rockstarmommy.com and sweetjuniper.com). And the ugly legal battles that followed. I know that someone using photos of my kids at all crosses a line for me, so why would I put it out there? I think that I am still undecided about this. And like many, many, many bloggers who do (and these bloggers get WAY more traffic than I do) wrestle with this question too. It seems a little naive to think that everyone out there has only the upmost respect for your personal info and would never take a photo without permission much less use it in a cruel and disgusting way. They are out there, many, many, many predators. And now that I have a teenage daughter, I need to be very careful with the info I share about her. Not that my little ones are less important, just less vulnerable.

It seems that with my history, I would not go near the idea of revealing anything personal. Or making myself be “found” by certain people. As a 6th grader. I helped the local police find and convict a man who was calling girls and getting them to speak dirty to him on the phone. He gained their trust and got more names and numbers out of them. I was always afraid that he would come to kill us one day as he promised he would… As a teenager, I was preyed on sexually by my brother-in law…And from when I was 14 for 9 years, a man would call me at various places every few weeks just to let me know he was watching me. I never found out who he was for sure, but I am pretty sure he revealed himself in the end. A huge guy in military fatigues followed me to the corner store, waited out front and stared at me while inside, was a pretty good candidate. Even more so when I walked passed him I looked at him and he had red eyes as if he was really high or had been crying and said “bye Kristin”. I ran home and never heard from him again. And in my early 20’s, I also had a creepilly possessive guy who sent postcards that would make Uma Thurman’s stalker look like Captain Kangaroo. All of those things don’t even compare to what it was like living in a relationship with a psychological predator. Verbal abuse is an elusive thing. It took me years to figure it out how it worked and to admit to myself that I was a victim. Pride can protect you and also keep you in a toxic situation. The abuser preys on that, and challenges you to endure more. I could write a lot about this subject, but for this post ill keep it short. Just know that in every situation listed here, I didn’t deserve any of it. (hows that for some personal info!)

I think that part of my blogging is a reaction to all of that. It is my way of saying that I am not going to live in fear. I didn’t know what blogging would be like when I first started. I thought it was just a place to write. But then I found that it connected me to some amazing people I wouldn’t have met otherwise. Yes, they are “internet friends”, but real people just the same. And I get all kinds of encouragement and support that I didn’t expect. More about why I love my blog here.

My daughter is am amazing writer. She started blogging but homework became the priority and she let it lag. Thats fine with me. She has recently come to me with a couple of story ideas and writing she has done just for fun outside of the required stuff in school. I want her to write freely. I don’t want her to feel she has to hold back and hope she will feel comfortable being a little vulnerable too. Weather you publish or make music for people to hear, or art for people to see, you put a little of yourself out there. And the best art is when it comes from you honestly. (um, I don’t think blogging is art btw) I have rules for her about using the computer (with the door open) and about what sites she can visit. It is only a matter of time that she says her restrictions on the internet and computer are stifling her creative expression. She needs to be safe first. My parenting tends to go on the side of explaining what is out there and how to deal with it, not just saying No (thanks Nancy Reagan for that piece of brilliance). But that doesn’t mean opening the door and creating the scenario for predators to come in. I haven’t talked to her much about the experiences I had mentioned above but we have an internet safety discussion coming and I will add it in if appropriate at the time. Someone once asked me if I thought it was good parenting to tell my daughter that I was in an abusive relationship. I thought a lot about this and the answer is that it is my job to teach my daughter. And I believe teaching her about negative relationships and about what abuse really is and using my experiences as an example is a good thing. Ruby is a mature and perceptive kid with an extraordinary memory. There is no fooling her and she deserves to be spoken to honestly. So my answer to the ignorant cow who asked me this question is “Yes”, I think it is really good parenting.

So, until I decide on changing my boundaries on this blog, it will stay as it is. The tattoo on my arm is of an owl and a rabbit. It signifies fear and the balance between not being fearless and having enough fear to protect you. And right now I am pretty happy with where I stand between the two.

Went to the Jersey Shore with the kiddles. Despite dirty looks from the patchwork plaid shorts and embroidered ducks on a kelley green polo set. We figured out it was much easier to bury our children halfway in the sand than to keep chasing them down to the water line.

They lasted all of about 30 seconds like this. They loved the water (we just let them get their feet wet) and even though it was still freezing, they didn’t seem to mind and just howled with laughter. We flew a kite and made some sandcastles. But nothing was more fun than digging a big hole and jumping in it face first. What is it about a big hole in the sand? They were squealing and laughing and covered with sand. Nothing like a warm sudsy bath and a long nap to follow fun at the beach. Way better than Ft. Lauderdale I’m sure.

I wrote about people who are not embarrassed last week. Well I am not one of those people. Tom and I brought the kids to Snug Harbor in Staten Island. Its a defunct Merchant Marine retirement center that now houses art galleries, dance and art studios, a children’s museum, playhouse, wedding hall, and expansive gardens including a beautiful Japanese Garden. We spent some time playing in the grass. Jack and Marlowe had their first taste of running in the grass with bare feet this summer.
Because it is Passover and the Jewish schools are on holiday. There were many Hasidic families there walking in groups admiring the surrounds. Tom and I had the kids in the wagon and were pulling Jack and Marlowe all around, at one point were followed by a large family group of about 10 Hasidim. I pulled the wagon over and looked in the bag we had brought and pulled out two sippy cups. Reached down and handed them to the babies and said loudly “Look sweeties, Juice!” Tom looked at me mortified. And the family of Hasidic Jews walking right next to us looked at me as if I were the rudest person alive. Perhaps they figured out that I meant “juice”, not “Jews”. Ugh… nice one. I was totally embarrassed. Can you imagine if I said that? “Look sweetie, Jews!” like we were tourists. Oh my God, horrible. We live in a neighborhood that borders where many of them live, so its no big deal to us, we see them all the time. Totally embarrassing.

This compares nicely to the embarrassing thing Tom did recently. We were traveling in the car and stopped at a rest stop along the highway to stretch our legs and grab some snacks. Ruby was in the way back of the car and Jack and Marlowe were with us. Jack was munching on something in his car seat. As Tom opened the door he looked back at Jack and said lovingly “You are a fat, fat man!” and then turned to his left to see a very very large man getting out of the car in the parking space next to ours. He gave Tom an angry look, and Tom turned red. Ruby sunk in her seat laughing hysterically. What can you say to that? …”um, no, I didn’t mean you!’? There is nothing you can say, really.

I love to people watch. There are so many amazing characters out there. I love to walk around the park. Its a 3.5 mile loop and many people run it daily so you see a lot of the same people. My favorite lady is a woman who must be in her 80’s, wears a purple puffy shouldered coat, a braided headband a-la 1980 Pat Benatar, full make-up and walks with ski poles. She is amazing. I also love this amazing African American woman who is really quite large. She wears foam headphones and completely color coordinated brightly colored (bordering on florescent) outfits with matching sneakers. She talks to herself out loud the whole time saying inspirational or motivational things. Like “You go girl”, but I have also heard her be her worst enemy and say “Oh, no, Im not goin’ down there, thats too steep, thats not for this girl, oh no.” She is wonderful. I am so inspired by these women. They may look a little outlandish, but at least they are getting out and exercising and doing something to stay healthy.

I didn’t have Ruby all week, she is with her Father for Spring Break this year. She says she dyed her hair red, I am sure she looks cute. I am all for doing whatever you want with it. Its hair, it grows back. We will see her on Thursday, we are excited to see her. Its a long block without her (3 weeks) because Spring Break fell on a week I would have usually had her and her father and I alternate (yeah, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me either). I have to take more photos of her. I have all of these baby photos of her, and everything from this age is her giving either a funny face or a peace or devil sign. Anyway, we missed her. She texted asking if she could go to a co-ed sleepover (um, no). I am sure I am not the only person who feels they are parenting via text messaging sometimes.

I have lost the battle over the coffee table. I was pretty sure I was going to be able to secure that territory for awhile longer, but they divided and conquered. My forces were weak after loosing the battle of the armchair and the overthrow of the couch. I have been dethroned. My toddlers have become part monkey and must climb whatever there is to climb. Maybe its all of the bananas I feed them, they have awoken masked genes of their ancestors. This wouldn’t be a problem except that they seem to lack all depth perception. So head first off the couch, or walking off the coffee table as if walking the plank seems like the way to go. Tom and I decided that we really couldn’t live without furniture in the room at all and the best way to handle this was to teach them how to get down. This is harder than it seems because they will get frustrated if you tell them what to do and how to do it when they are in the middle of trying to do something all on their own. And who wants to be flipped around and made to go feet first when head first gets you there so much quicker? I knew that I had lost the battle with the coffee table when I walked into the living room and saw jack standing on it (after being told he couldn’t a few minutes earlier) with a candle in his hand banging on our very expensive turntable like a drum leaving waxy gashes on the cover. It was the look of sheer devilish joy on his face that made me realize that I was beat. The table went on its side and now looks like a makeshift barricade in a country and western saloon shoot out scene. Esthetics went out the window the day the babies arrived. Function over form. Most of our breakables are packed away but we are still holding on to a few placed up high on top of a couple of pieces of furniture. But the kids are eyeballing them, and I can tell they are in cahoots to build a contraption that gets to them soon.

The King

I read an interview with Keith Richards of The Rolling Stones today that made me laugh. He said “I can’t wait to get on stage so that I can get some fucking peace and quiet”. I know what he means. If I am making art or building or making something, I no longer “…think, I feel”. It is where I find peace and I can not ever imagine living without it. I never thought of myself as an artist before, I didn’t like the title. But I can say that creating is something I am compelled to do. It is my meditation, and where I can stop the endless dialog in my head and around me and just feel.

Have you ever met someone who could not be embarrassed? They are people who have no problem stepping in front of you, pushing, taking up space and sound with themselves and their needs. I am talking about the people who do not stop to let you cross at the sidewalk with your kids. The people who stand in line behind you and brush against you to try and get you to move forward. The people who when they cut you off and you say sarcastically “After you!”, they say “Oh, thank you!”. They are not embarrassed by this behavior. I know that culturally there are many differences, but I am not comparing them here. I have seen this in every culture. I mention in my “about” page that I hate people with a sense of entitlement. But I think I have to add that I hate people who do not feel embarrassment for their appalling and selfish actions. Truly these people must be miserable. I mention really small examples but of course there are huge atrocities that happen in the world everyday where the person committing them feels no regret or self conscience. But the little everyday courtesies to others should be important too. Were these people never taught by their parents? Were their parents assholes too? Do these people take satisfaction in this behavior? It seems like such a low class achievement. There may be a name for this trait in psychology (and maybe even a gene for it), it is selfishness… but with a notion that one is better than all others, and that any lack of respect, lack of kindness or compassion for others is nothing one feels any embarrassment for. A total lack of a self-conscious. There must be a technical name for this. For now I will call it selfishjerkism.

It has finally warmed up here. We were stuck inside for 4 days straight last week and I was ready to go buy baby all-weather gear and head out no matter what. Tom’s schedule had a lot to do with it too. I need another set of hands at a play-space at this age. Yesterday we went to the park and kicked the ball around. Marlowe turned out to be an excellent soccer player. She kicked it around all on her own and the girl only learned to walk a month ago. Jack walked under the tree and sat down and played with the sticks and grass and looked around like he was Ferdinand the bull who just wanted to sit and smell the flowers. We talked with a woman who had a one and a half year old for awhile and a woman came up to us who recognized us, her husband went to high school with Tom and they had just moved back from Colorado. The sun felt so good. Tom has been making a point of introducing us or himself when we are talking to other parents. You can be talking for 5 minutes or a half an hour and you usually only know the kids names. So far it is met with a surprised but pleased reaction. There is a big parents of twins meet-up in the park tomorrow. It really is amazing to see how many there are in such a close proximity. I call this the “fertility belt” of Brooklyn. I think its mostly the demographic - upper middle class late 20, 30’s & early 40-somethingers. It is so many names to remember at these things…but I am going to try and catch the parents names too this time. We really don’t loose ourselves when we have kids although we loose our last names. I have been called Kristin Ruby’sMom for the last 12 years.

* Its warm here finally. 75 degrees today. This means the Mr. Softee trucks are out playing that infernal jingle again and again and again! The jingle was almost banned in 05′ under a Mayor Bloomberg noise ordinance. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall at the meeting of the mayor, Mr. Softee vendors and night club owners. In the end the noise police had to stop chasing the ice cream trucks and put away their decibel meters as a compromise was had which involved hours and duration the jingle was allowed.

About 10 years ago in Manhattan an ice cream truck company was owned by the Hell’s Angels and they parked their trucks in a lot next to their NY headquarters on east 5th Street. Needless to say they didn’t have a lot of competition in the neighborhood. I don’t think they do it anymore though. Today a Mr. Softee truck drove past us and the driver looked as though he could be an axe murderer. Tom said “There is a snow-cone’s chance in hell that I would let THAT guy serve my kids an ice cream.” Hey, its a tough job, I would look a little disheveled too if I had to listen to that racket all day long. It must ring in their heads eternally. Thankfully NY has a law prohibiting sex offenders from driving and serving ice cream from trucks. I should hope so! Mr. Softee looks like a pretty shady character too come to think of it.

* Ruby went to see a scary movie with some friends tonight. This is the first year I am allowing her to go to the movies without a chaperone. I am there when she gets out of the theater so it isn’t that big of a deal. I recall sneaking in to see Stuntman (rated R) in 6th grade with a boy. I had taken the bus with him to the mall. I remember getting a huge soft drink and eating way too much sugar and having to pee the whole time and being completely freaked out by the movie. Every summer we would sneak into the movies by transferring hand stamps. We got into Great Adventure that way too. My Mom would just drop us off at the gate. I saw my first concert there: Rick James and the Mary Jane Girls.

* The commercials played during the TV show American Idol must be paying a pretty penny for the exposure, so you would think that the companies would put forth the most attractive image for the company possible. I was watching it with Tom and Ruby the other night and a Wendy’s Hamburgers commercial came on. It was a close-up of a spatula placing a hamburger down on a grill. Then a voice said “If hamburgers were meant to be frozen, then cows would come from Antarctica.” I almost fell out of my chair. Are you kidding? After I laughed and said “ppppfffttt!” I said “Well, if hamburgers were meant to be eaten, then cows wouldn’t scream when you killed them.”, to which Tom replied “…if meat were meant to be frozen, we should all be eating penguin-burgers.”, to which I replied “…if hamburger wasn’t frozen, billions of people would die of salmonella.”, to which he replied “…if hamburgers were meant to be frozen then do you then fed-ex the meat somewhere or do you use local beef?” to which I replied “…if hamburgers were meant to be frozen, wouldn’t potatoes used for french fries grow in Antarctica?…does Ore Ida have a farm there?” Ugh!
It is just so sad.
So is the idea that the guy who wrote this genius line will, on his death bed, look up at the fluorescent lights and think to himself that this was his contribution while here on earth.

* We took Jack and Marlowe to ride the carousel in Prospect Park today. It was their first time. A few days ago we took them to pet some real horses at Kensington Stables in Brooklyn so it was a little confusing that we called the carousel horses “horses” too. Jack looked very serious about it the whole time. Marlowe tried to do acrobatics on it. Neither Tom or I would call it a “galloper”, a “merry-go-round” or a “roundabout”.
It was originally carved in 1912 and spun around at its home in Coney Island until 1952 where it was moved to the park. After 70 years it stopped working and was finally restored in 87′. They took off around 20 layers of paint and uncovered original paintings on it. It has an old working Wurlitzer Band Organ in the middle that sounded great. Tom of course spoke to the old Italian guy who ran it for awhile. He bragged that he keeps it tuned up and that we should go to the one in Central Park and compare, “it sounds-a very bad-a next to this-a one.”. It was the most fun Ive had for $1.50 in a long time.

Then we let J & M run around in a field next to the carousel, all of the trees surrounding it were in bloom and smelled amazing. The kids didn’t know what to do with all of that space.

Today Marlowe smacked Jack on the head after he took her toy. This happens often and lately we have been doing time-outs for a minute and then showing how to be gentle. This is our job as parents. To show our children the way to be good to others right? In our home Tom and I are good to each other with the understanding that everything we do affects our children and we can not be careless with that responsibility. Even on a beautiful day at the playground you can witness many children learning the lessons the hard way and it makes you cringe and wish that they would just comprehend the bigger picture sooner. I watch this sometimes in Jack and Marlowe and wish that I could shield them from all of the bumps and bruises they will have to endure to somehow get to a place where they can be….what? Good people. Yes, thats it. I want my kids to be good people. Never mind being functional members of society or have acceptable behavior so they can excel socially and professionally. What I want and expect most in my children is that they are each good people. What this is exactly I can not put my finger on. I guess a combination of being polite, nice, kind and unselfish, honest and trustworthy and not harmful and ignorant and deceptive, greedy and rude.

My Mother told me that I could be anything I wanted to be when I grew up. This wasn’t her instilling feminist views in me at a young age, nor was it her telling me that I was talented at everything. It was some strange notion that everything just worked out great and that I was going to walk into the sunset. It was a harsh taste of reality when I learned that I really didn’t have the opportunity to do whatever I wanted. Outside of any cultural glass ceilings, my parents claimed me as a dependent on their taxes long after I had moved out and wouldn’t co-sign a student loan for me so I was off to work. I did excel and often but often the only choice I had was to do what I had to do to survive. My older daughter is someone who excels at many things. She gets great grades and is talented in dance, theater, art, writing, and on and on. She probably could get to wherever she wants to go. But I am not going to say that to her. Not in the way my Mother did. I am going to remind her of her strengths, encourage her to try and give her as much support as possible with whatever path or paths she chooses. But I will be honest with her about the realities of those paths. I tell her that I don’t care what she is as long as she is happy, and that the only thing I expect out of her is to be a good & kind person.

But lately it has been hard for her and myself to keep the faith. Middle school is brutal and she has recently been begging not to go and says that “people are mean” as one of the reasons why she hates it. Living in the city with so many diverse cultures and economic classes means that you are exposed to many different definitions of how to behave appropriately to others. Parents pass on to their kids this way of looking at others and treating others through the way they treat the child and their own outward behavior to the world. Subtle things get through to kids such as watching their parents sense of entitlement to space, sound, money, attention, and respect to how they compare that to the entitlements of others. I suppose I think I am a good role model. I try and be polite and kind to people as much as I can. Even after a life where I have been burned for it many times, I don’t let that change what I feel is the right thing to do. I take this very seriously sometimes in that if someone acts rudely or selfishly and it effects me I let them know loud and clear. I have been known to say things to total strangers about it in a loud voice. Such as not too long ago in the supermarket.

Ruby understands that she gets in trouble for: being rude, being disrespectful, or being deceitful and manipulative. Being hurtful hasn’t come into it, she is not built that way. I have a great kid and she doesn’t get in trouble much but I make sure she knows where the line is and knows I expect her to behave with it in mind. This is really hard to do when she watches kids get away with being horrible to each other. Within middle school social structure (especially with girls) there is always a shift in power. Almost daily. But when someone abuses that power it becomes very hurtful and there is shunning and abusiveness that can get out of control. Thankfully I have a kid who talks to me. And from what I am hearing, she is a lot like me and just does not understand how some people can be so mean. I am 38 years old and I still have no idea.

I have been fortunate to have friends in my life who I trust with everything. I tell them about my worst fears, insecurities and fuck-ups and I never question if they will use these things against me. I have felt that the fact that I have such good people as friends is a testament to the fact that I am also a good person. Although I am the type of friend who will be honest with you and tell you when you are wrong and not everyone can handle that. Like my friend Josh said “Over time, you realize that it’s important to have, not just friends who are there to support you, but friends who aren’t afraid to stand up to you when you’re wrong.” I know I have pushed a few friendships to the edge with my brutal honesty. It is my best and worst trait. In fact I get really mad at people who I feel let me down. This almost never happens because the people that I have as my close friends have read the terms and conditions a long time ago and it never comes up and is never an issue. I suppose I am the type of person who has expectations on people. I expect them to keep promises and do what they say they are going to do and be kind. Which makes you think …What am I the good person police? I suppose maybe I might be. I may sound a little righteous maybe, but don’t get me wrong. I have made p-lenty of mistakes. But I expect my friends to point them out to me. And people who are my real friends know that I have a big heart and know that my honesty is with good intention.

I guess at this age I also felt that I had cleared the crappy friends out of my life. But strangely enough this week I had a falling out with an old friend. It was actually the finalization of a falling out that happened last year. I had asked someone to be there for me for something that was really important to me and they let me down. It turned out that they really weren’t the friend I thought they were and didn’t like these expectations (kindness, honesty, being there when needed) of mine on them. So I got an e-mail that basically said that we were no longer friends. Which makes you think… “What grade are we in?” I just would never do that to someone. Even if someone I knew cared about me more than I did them, I would never ever say anything. I think that this person couldn’t deal with my expectations and she got “called on her shit” as they say… and didn’t like that. I know it is their loss, but for a second there it made me want to call all of my friends up and ask them if they were really my friends. (I didn’t do it though.) I honestly don’t know what is going on in this woman’s life and for whatever reason my kind of honesty is something that doesn’t work for her right now. Its a shame but I am glad I know. “Some people just suck” as my husband put it, and for lack of a more direct way to explain it, he is right. Luckily I am blessed with many real friends who are really great people that are always there for me and know that it is likewise. And any effort and energy spent on the friendship does not have to meet a quota or be matched by the other.

Loosing a friend or someone you thought was your friend can be painful. For me, it just made me doubt my ability to see what was so obvious. And made me mad that I had put trust and faith in a person undeserving again. It has also made me think more about how people get away with being unkind in this world. Many, many people live every day with themselves as top agenda and everyone below them is stepped on if not serving that same agenda. I could never ever live like that. Also it would be insanely frustrating to see the people who had done wrong and acted abusively get away with it again and again. I take comfort in knowing that even though it may seem like they do, they don’t really get away with it. They have to live every day being slimy or miserable and that is punishment enough.

But it is hard to explain that to a 12 year old who is expected to act one way and live amongst another. Ruby is a kind soul and I have raised her well and I think she will pull through. She is so much like me. Sensitive on the inside and always shocked when people are mean. In this tiny amount of time I have to raise her (with one hand tied behind my back), I hope to be able to give her the tools to figure out who is a healthy person to have near you and put ones trust in and who is someone that is toxic and only takes. And I hope she will watch and see real rewards for being kind and being a good person who doesn’t cause harm intentionally. And that even though you trust and are good to people and get disappointed sometimes, there is no other way to be. And put in simple terms: That it is worse to be the person who has to live as a bad person than it is to be hurt or let down as a good person. The same with my two little ones, although it would seem that I have a better shot [at teaching that] with them since I have them full time and know now what I wish I knew then.

For Jack and Marlowe they will have to learn to be kind and play nice because they are always together (and one gets a time-out). And although I am not for treating both of them the same just because they are twins, I am for giving them an equal amount of love and support and expectation to be good and kind people.

I on the other hand need to not have such high expectations of people before I really get to know them and should be more careful where I put my trust. Maybe I am the one who is learning a hard lesson at the playground.

We took a trip to the Manhattan Children’s Museum. The little ones were a little too little to enjoy the exhibit on Greek Mythology (although the huge climb-onable trojan horse looked cool), so we headed to the little kids floor. We put them down and they both ran ahead, not looking back to see if we were there once. Because it was rainy this day, the place was packed. There were also a lot of upper west side checked out nannys looking glassy-eyed into the distance. It was total mayhem and I was pretty sure I saw some kid in a loin-cloth and a spear made out of a stick calling some kid “piggy”. Props were strewn about, you could find the plastic groceries in the fire truck, the science tubes of feathers and seeds in the baby ball pit and alphabet letters that the plastic alligator was supposed to eat on the slide. My kids didn’t care, it all made no sense anyway.

Jack and Marlowe both loved the fire truck and it brought a tear to my eye when I saw it was dedicated to a firefighter lost in 9/11. They did a lot of climbing and just walking around aimlessly letting out little cackles of excitement. Some older boys were getting rowdy and were behind an exhibit meant for babies and were throwing plastic balls at each other and diving into each other. Marlowe crawled right up to them and sat observing them intensely, happy to be within the biggest chaos. Jack couldn’t care less if anyone else was there and just focused on whatever task was at hand.

It was interesting to watch parents with their kids here. Most kids were with a nanny and every once in a while you would see one grab them by the arm and say something in a thick islands accent. There were a few Moms and a couple of Dad’s. It is often painful to watch them act so afraid of their own children sometimes. I just want to grab them and say “It is not your job to make them like you, its your job to parent them…trust me, they will be happier with some boundries!” But I would never tell anyone how to raise their kid, nor would I want someone telling me. People always have something to say however and I usually tell people to mind their own business or take a flying leap (but in french). I felt sorry for some of these kids with the checked out nannies though, maybe they were royal terrors and their nanny’s brain had to go on reserve mode for a minute or so.

I told my Mother later on that night where we had been and she said something like “Wow, you have all kinds of interesting stuff to do there, we just have the park.” like she lives in Saskatchewan (she lives in Jersey). True, there is a lot to choose from and there are a lot of child friendly places to go to. But you also have to share the space with lots and lots of other people, and not many things are free (um, expensive). We have done a lot with the kids this week. The zoo, an indoor gym class, its nice to have options. We left the museum’s gift shop with a basket of fake plastic sandwich fixen’s, a small stuffed animal tiger for Marlowe that is now wearing her doll’s dress and a fireman’s hat for Jack (although he is still partial to his sister’s purple Easter hat that is shaped like a little safari hat).

Marlowe in the driver’s seat of course. Jack pressed the botton to make the siren and light go off over their heads like 100 times…excited every time.

J & M wished they had the one where one drives the back of the fire truck.

In the bin of cars while wearing the purple Easter hat that he donned himself.

I did it again.I spent WAY too much time futzing around on the internet tonight when I should have been sleeping or blogging. Cleaning wasn’t an option. I got sucked into my new favorite site called goodreads.com. Thanks to this site I have a HUGE list of books that I want to read now and perhaps I will never blog again since I will be holed up in my room in absorption mode, unable to string a sentence together and I will forget what letters are next to what on the keyboard.

my ‘currently-reading’ shelf:

I am a seasonal and cyclical reader. I go on big book binges and then take a break from it for awhile. These days I have not been too into writing in my blog (if you haven’t noticed…3 posts in friggin’ March, geesh!), and I don’t feel guilty about it honestly. Blogging thankfully is something without a deadline (well that is unless you have an obligation to your advertisers or membership which I don’t). I know that I may have lost some readers through my lull, but I don’t really worry about it. If they liked it well enough, they will check back in later. I stopped any series I was doing, and stopped creating tags and stopped commenting on other people’s blogs. I even took down my most popular posts strangely enough. I think I got a little freaked out at how exposed I was in them, and wasn’t sure that I wanted such personal stuff revealed to those who found me the way some did. Yes, I write for people to read it, but I find that like-minded people tend to find each other through blog-land, and I write for myself first and foremost, the readers are just a plus (usually). Blogging is not like writing a book. You can edit and delete comments and posts and have a bit of control. And you often get out of it whatever you put in. I discovered that to get a lot of readers you have to read and comment on a lot of blogs. And honestly I don’t have the time or inclination lately. Perhaps I will someday, but right now my hands are pretty full and I can’t give myself specific guidelines for posts or comments or I will just start to resent blogging.

Once upon a time and for a long, long time everything I did was all about survival or for the desire to achieve. This is the first time that I don’t need to do any of that. I read because I like to read, I draw because I like to draw and write because I like to write. I am able to put down the weapons and just play. It is not like it was before children of course. I do not have the luxury of being able to act on an impulse to be creative whenever it strikes me. I have to plan out times or grab them whenever I can. This makes inspiration tough sometimes. The “hurry up and relax” feeling you get as a parent is often “hurry up and create” for me. It just isn’t fun. So lately I have just let it go and written in the blog whenever the planets have aligned and I have had inspiration to write along with the time to write. Yes, that was a total of three times in March. I guess you can say that I have scaled back my efforts to make this blog a big read. Instead, I just want to use it to write. Thats it…and visit my favorite other bloggers and comment if I feel like it. The blogging community is a really great thing and something I love about blogging. Its the stat reading and husstle for blog friends that I couldn’t justify spending my time on. Id rather read a book, or draw or see a movie. I know it sounds like I am being a non-joiner/hater here. I just don’t want blogging to be about
me being accepted, or popular or achieving any big goal. I just want it to be a place that I write when I want to. I take this as a good sign. It always amazes me how I can take anything that needs to be done and outline it and delegate and manage it in two seconds flat…the music biz has trained me well. My head has been so trained to be task oriented it is nice to just let that go for a change and have a space to be Lebowski about it. Thats me in blog-land these days. Stumbling into the supermarket in my robe, writing a post-dated check for a quart of milk, driving a LeBaron. I am not one of the Junior Achievers. Instead I am finding that playing and reading good books and just being happy with where I am is the biggest step I have taken in a long time.

Well, now I have a list of books I want to read and have no excuse for brain freeze/title and author amnesia at the book store. Use up that $2.83 left on the ol’ B & N gift card leftover from Christmas. So many blogs do book reviews now. And reviews of everything from kids toys to other web-sites. I hate to say it, but where’s the writing? I guess the web-log part of it can be whatever little scrapbook type of thing you want to put up there. Can I put my grocery list up there then? Maybe I can scan in my cell-phone bill. Yup, all this criticism from someone who posted this photo a few months back:

Its whatever you want it to be I guess. If Oprah can have a talk show that also reviews products and books, well I guess my blog can too. Well, sort of. Its just a link to my page on goodreads.com but thats as far as ill go I think.

Well here is my public service announcement for the day. We have recently signed up for a free service that stops catalogs from coming to you in the mail. CatalogChoice.org has only been around for a short while but has already eliminated 9 million + catalogs from being delivered. Its not just the paper that is wasted, its the environmental impact and energy used to print them and get them to you, and then get them to the landfill. Each year 19 BILLION catalogs are mailed to American consumers each year. An effect on global warming equal to two million cars. Now that we can purchase most goods on-line, there is no need for catalogs.

We read our news on-line (no paper) but I have yet to make that crossover to magazines (I love my National Geographic) but should do that too. (Unfortunately one of the biggest money-earning fundraisers for schools are magazine subscriptions.) But I can live without it as I can also live without my bi-weekly Victoria’s Secret (holy airbrushing!) and LL Bean (holy high waisted, pleated kacki slacks!) catalogs.

Don’t forget to turn off your lights from 8pm - 9pm tonight! Make it an excuse for a candlelight dinner. Google Israel went with a black background in honor of the lights out theme (although it takes more energy to generate the black background over a white one).

St. Patricks Day and the drink-fest that happens in the days before it were fun this year. We went to see The Pogues at Roseland Ballroom in Manhattan. Tom is friends with the singer-guitar/tin whistle/beer tray player Spider and he was kind enough to put us on the list. It was a sea of mostly guys, which holds true for most live concerts (unless you are seeing Avril Levine) And there was, I can safely say a lot of beer drunk that night. By the end of the show one is singing yelling the words with some strangers arm over your shoulder singing along with you, sloshing beers in multiple cheers. Tom has said to Spider that it seems like bands usually have an audience sing along to them, but with the Pogues, it seems as if the band is sometimes playing along with the audience. They are definitely songs to be sung along to and Tom’s voice was in sorry shape the next day. Shane MacGowan was amazingly alive and his liver really must be put in the Mutter Museum when he dies after all of that abuse. They were really good and we had a lot of fun. There were quite a few people who had overdone it, at one point a kid staggered toward the side of the crowd and stopped to fall asleep on Tom’s back. Tom woke him up, pushed him on his way where he took two steps and fell flat on his face. Many a big Irish man was looking a little over-sauced in the peripherals. I drove, so no $8 MGDs in a can for me. The Pogues got their name from the Irish “póg mo thóin” meaning “Kiss my arse”.
The next day we watched our local parade. The parade lasts about 10 minutes but the Irish Bar up in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn had a crowd outside all night long. Jack and Marlowe watched the pipers and the drummers and got to see horses with green tails. Jack’s eyes grew so big when he watched the drummers walking by. Tom called his brother in Boulder and talked to him about what he had planned. Bill said that in Boulder their local parade starts at the pub, walks two blocks then turns around and marches right back to the bar. I said “why mess around?”.
Tom left the house at 10am on Patty’s Day to met a bunch a friends at the K-Rose (aka The Kilarney), a small Irish bar at the bottom of Manhattan where Noel the bartender remembers Tom from when he was a teenager killing time until the next ferry (Staten Island Ferry). I loaded the kids in the car and dropped Ruby of at her Dad’s and drove into the city. We met Tom and friends at Swift’s, but the doorman wouldn’t let us in with the kids. I told him what the law was in NY, but he hadn’t ever worked the door at an Irish pub/restaurant before only nightclubs (I told him to do some research when he got home and learn the law, then to visit some Irish Bars that serve food during the day) so we went to another Irish pub/restaurant where the doorman was welcoming and even held a table for us. I had my one and only St. Patty’s Day pint while Jack pushed a chair around and flirted with the girls, I think he liked their long green necklaces (he insisted on wearing one around Target the other day). Marlowe doesn’t walk as well and I didn’t want her to crawl on the floor so she was buckled in a high chair and made faces at our friends. She has a new face where she looks like she is skeptical of something…like she should be saying “What you talkin’ about Willis?” Our friends who have kids a similar age were amazed at her personality showing through at 13 months. “You are going to have to keep an eye on this one.” We hear it all the time. I dunno’ , Marlowe is a handful, but is still a very sweet kid. She is just understands irony and comedy at a very young age. So we extracted Tom from the city and drove him and our friend Jim home where they talked about the day. I wish I could have made it to the parade in the city with everyone, I am a sucker for men in tassles, but was glad that I was there to take people home. I have been there, drunk as a skunk, standing in the fluorescent lights waiting forever for the subway to come. You have to be careful driving at this time of year. Not just the drunks but the hungoverds too, they are almost worse.

I have been in a bad mood all day. I was allowed to sleep in this morning and slept better than I have slept in weeks, but still I was unable to be anything but grouchy all day. I woke up to Marlowe crying because she was having her diaper changed and to the sound of garbage trucks screeching down my block while the garbage men threw off the lids off the pails and then threw the empty pails one by one. So, I thought I would focus on the sound of the wind and the windchimes in front of my neighbor’s house and meditate. Mrs. Healey decided that it was time to go wherever she goes at 10am and back her ber’luddy Volvo out of her driveway, high pitched breaks squeaking it an irritable tone. My dog was in her crate whining, and when I yelled at her she just whined softly which is just as irritating. I knew that I was incredibly lucky to wake up to two beautiful healthy kids and an amazing husband, but still I lay amongst my many pillows and under the feather quilt and brooded. I suffer from terrible insomnia, and because I fell asleep fairly easily the night before, I wondered if this was reverse insomnia. That you either sort through your shit the night before or leave it until morning. If I get to choose, ill take the night-time, mornings are difficult enough. I am usually not a morning person, but I have gotten better over time and am able to shake off the grouchiness fairly quickly. I thought some good stiff coffee might help but it just made it worse. Tom got the hint and stayed out of my way which was the best thing to do, but the silence made me feel angry and I snapped at him but it was really me that I was angry at. I was a dark cloud on the house and the fun and games took on a lighter volume and Tom scooped up whichever kid started heading my way. Everything made me annoyed. The dishes in the sink, the music playing on the babies toys, my clothes felt constrictive and I was unable to talk without sounding like a total downer. After about two hours, I apologized for being in a foul mood but then started to cry. I realized what my problem was. I needed a break from the babies that wasn’t filled with cleaning, running errands or sleeping. I had gone too many days in a row and needed a mental break and it needed to be something that fueled me. Tom’s vacation was almost over and I hadn’t had any time away from the babies other than a couple of appointments and some time after they go to bed and we have 2 days of visiting family ahead of us. Although one would think that when visiting family I would get a break and will be around people who can help with the child-care, but it ends up being more work for me as there is not a baby-proofed area, and the babies are off-schedule and become a crabby handful. Its also a collective 7 hours of driving over the next two days. I was also frustrated because I felt ashamed to ask for a break and therefore resentful. I have a hard time asking for one, I always feel guilty and most of the time I don’t enjoy i the time I get because I feel that I have to hurry up and can never fully relax. I wish I could just be automatically transported somewhere that allowed me to just fully check out for an hour. No, I don’t think ill start a drug habit now, I was thinking more like being transported like Spock like he did on an episode where he was beamed down to a planet that was like paradise. Actually I would be happy with an hour at the library. True, I did just get back from a week in Brazil with Ruby, but that was a few weeks ago and traveling has its stresses too. Ruby has already been in tears about how she is under so much pressure at school and at home, being away often gives you perspective on what your stress level really is. I need to start taking time for myself where I do not try and be uber-mom. Where I don’t do anything but decompress; no writing, no exercising, no cleaning, no shopping…just walk or read or meditate or do yoga or space out at a cafe or whatever. It seems strange to put this in your calendar but that is what I have to do at this point or it will never happen. My bad mood could have been avoided if I had such a thing in place that I could count on. Unfortunately my husband works on-call and it is impossible to plan anything. We will have to just do a plan A and a plan B & C.

So we are off for 2 days of Easter festivities, day 1 at Tom’s parents and day two at mine…a moveable feast. We dyed Easter eggs with Ruby last night which was fun. We all got into it like it was a science experiment. I had a great talk with Ruby about how Catholics banned the Pagan celebration of the Spring Equinox but then stole the Pagan symbolism of the rabbit and eggs and incorporating it into the Easter holiday. The rabbit and eggs referred to fertility and the pagan fertility goddess Eoestre. But what does that have to do with the resurrection of Christ and chocolate? Not much. Just that the holidays were close on the calendar and the Catholics wanted it all to themselves and well, hot cross buns and treats may have been the part of the celebration that over time turned into a basket of candy. She doesn’t care…she likes all holidays that have chocolate involved.

When we lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn we lived in a brownstone. Three story houses that are attached to each other on both sides, a row-house. Everyone owned tiny plots of land on the inside that some people used as a back-yard, or paved over or built a shack for storage on. Behind our little square plot, as we were on the avenue, was a plot of land that ran lengthwise to ours. The woman who lived in the attached house was named Maria and she was… I would guess… about 85 years old. She wore a full layer or two of make up every day, complete with very rouge-y cheeks. Her short helmet of candy spun hair was dyed red. The hairdresser would see her often and she ranged from an “oh my god is that woman’s head on fire?” flame red, to a more “oh my god is that woman’s head on fire?” cherry red. But whatever blinding hue it was, it looked ever brighter against her pale powdered skin. She was skinny as a rail and would wear these huge square black framed glasses. Apparently she was once a famous ballroom dancer and she would not be caught dead in public without her clunky heels, gloves and flesh toned knee-highs. She would hang these gloves and knee highs as well as her granny undies out to dry on the line behind her (and our) house. The line ran from next to her back door across the length of the yard up around a pulley wheel that was attached to a tall pole. My office used to be in the back room of our house and in the summer I would keep the back door open to let in a breeze. Every day I would hear a screeching sound that would make the hairs on my neck stand on end and make all of the local dogs howl in agony. Eventually I figured out that it was the damn wheel on Maria’s clothesline. It probably hadn’t been oiled since the dawn of time and one would have to be stone deaf not to hear it. I imagined myself in the stealth of night, walking on top of the stone walls and fences to climb the pole with a bottle of WD-40 on my mouth. But I never did. Somehow I just put up with it. The sight of those knee-highs and grandma undies was enough to make me run in the other direction. And as we end up doing here a lot in the city, all crammed up next to each other…we tuned it out. So when we moved to a new neighborhood in Brooklyn I commented to my friends and relatives on how quiet it was around here. No crazy Park Slope traffic, no school bus stop in front of my house, no honking of horns, no screeching pulley wheel. But it wasn’t long before I started noticing almost the same sound every morning at about 10am. Squeeeeek …wait a few seconds…squeeeeeek …wait a few seconds, repeat. It would go on for about 5 minutes. It drove me crazy and I wondered if Maria was haunting me from somewhere behind a tree near my house just do drive me over the edge. But Tom figured out what it was. Old Mrs. Healey from across the street backing her ancient Volvo out of her driveway. It was in bad need of a break job. I was amazed that she couldn’t hear it, or that no one had ever mentioned anything to her. Once she squeezed her car between the houses (I could drive a semi-truck through there at 55mph), the little silver box propelled her down my street at a whopping 15 miles an hour, annoyed motorists behind her, stopping at the stop sign with a screech so loud that all of the following annoyed motorists would clutch their ears and just stare agog at the miracle before them: that the vehicle in their way was able to stop at all.

Out our kitchen window gives full view of our neighbors we call “The Inflatables” (Like the movie The Incredibles). Their backyard has a small patio with a raised deck that surrounds a small oval shaped above-ground pool. The pool is maybe 10′ x 18′. Around the deck and hanging from different points in the back yard is a large assortment of inflatable swimming accessories. There is a killer whale and an alligator both about 7 ‘ long, two inflated palm-trees, a two-man donut, a one-man donut, a small yellow inflated boat with oars, a Scooby-Doo and a few random rafts with cup holders and several beach balls. All inflatables are at maximum inflation at all times and they remain so throughout the winter. The whole family is very wide, and the mother has very wide frizzy black Rosana Rosanadana hair and spends her time yelling at the wide son or tiny terrified dog. The Father drives a city bus and has the most enormous belly on a man I have ever seen. All of his bus riding must have made his ass permanently numb as he is unable to feel if his pants are pulled up or is hanging out. I do not mean a plumbers crack peek here. It is about half of his ass spilling out over the elastic. His son is a miniature version and walks around in his swim shorts half the ass in the wind just like his father. You often hear a splash that sound as if Shamu did the finale at Sea World. I have seen the son get into the small boat a few times, oars reaching over the deck area on both sides. I have to say that they get a lot of use out of their pool, they swim in it all summer long. There is always towels hanging up to dry and XXXL T-shirts hanging from the line. When the wife yells at her son it sounds something like “shadddahp” said in a gravely gin drinking Brooklyn accent. They seem like nice people though all in all, they decorate for the holidays by placing (what else) an inflatable holiday decoration in the ally that runs down the side of the house. The tall rod-iron fence in front of it on the street side. It is often too big for the alleyway as was their large inflatable snow-globe but they just shove it in there.

To our left is a woman we call “hi-howahya”. That is all she ever says to either Tom or I, and she will say it every time we see her. She did ask me once to move my recycling away from her steps and closer to mine as they were “touching her bricks”. She sweeps her front porch nearly every day although I think its just an excuse to poke in other people’s business. She is married to a man who shuffles home from his job as a security guard at ABC looking beaten. He will be halfway down the block and she will be yelling at him about something or other and he just hangs his head. Our friends who live above them say she goes crazy yelling at him and they never hear him say anything back, they think that one day they will just hear a gun go off as his response. Their daughter lives in the in-law apartment and she is studying to be a vet. She is a typical 20 something raised in Brooklyn Italian girl and I have never not seen her chewing gum. She is always in a tight white, pink or black sweat suit, carrying a tiny purse on her elbow wearing gold jewelry and light pink lipstick. She ignores her mother sweeping as she comes home and goes straight into her basement apartment. This is common in NY, living with the parents well into your college years. One day, she will live up-stairs and care for her surviving parent who will live below. Tom spoke to her once and said that she just giggled and he wondered what drugs she might be taking. He said that she answered every sentence with the question “i know, rieeeght?”

Across the street is a small house for sale on a plot of land about the size of the house itself. There is room for a small barbecue and a folding chair maybe. It has been for sale for a long time, they are asking too much for such a small house with no land. Basically the people on the corner sold their backyard and they built a house on it. It is listed now at around $700K. The agent has it listed on Craig’s List as a “Buccholic cottage by the park” (yes, spelling bucolic wrong). They will never get it.
When I was looking at my apartment to rent last summer, I pulled up to a parking spot in front of this house and started to back into it only to be met by the Kostanza-esque situation of a person pulling into the spot nose-first. I lost the spot and pulled up next to this guy (who was obviously an ass or an idiot) to let him know what I thought. But because I had to shout across my daughter to speak to him I took out the usual expletives this situation would have called for and said in a motherly scolding tone. “You are rude.” I have found that this usually works better than the “fuck you asshole” comment when talking to men. All of a sudden they feel like a little kid getting yelled at and they don’t talk back. His reply was “but this is my house”. I just shook my head at him. That was the last of my conversations with this guy because I am pretty sure he is an axe murderer. I see him walking his angry Miniature Pincher (well you can’t call it walking, he stands next to the tree across the street from his house) and I ignore him while his dog throws a miniature fit at the sight of my dog. He has a greasy comb-over and a mustache and wears acid washed shorts pulled up high with an ugly print golf shirt tucked in and high-top white sneakers with white socks pulled up to the knees. We were pretty sure he had his mother stuffed and he sits her in the attic and she talks to him. A photo posted on his realtor’s web-site gave us reason to believe it was truly possible.

Their plan is to buy a condo in Florida, like most people in this neighborhood who have inherited their houses from their parents. They figure they can sell to the encroaching yuppies for $8 - $9K and go live where its warm on the loot. Tom took a look during an open house. The whole family was there sitting on the couch. The large wife that doesn’t leave the house with the blond bee-hive hair-do and their fat teenage daughter looking bored smacking gum with herpes around her mouth. The house smelled of cat and was a shrine to cheap furniture and lizard atriums. The basement was the father’s lair. After stepping over the cat boxes you could sit on a black leather couch and watch the big-screen TV with the Miller Light neon above it. We could never live there, its too small and we would have to gut the place. Not worth it. I can’t imagine they will be flying off to sunny Florida any time soon.

Two houses down on the corner is Kristie who babysits Jack and Marlowe one day a week in her informal day-care/babysitting living room. She has an amazing Brooklyn accent and Tom and I will not pay attention to her when she is speaking as we are so mesmerized by it. She recently held a cookware party and explained to Tom how the casserole she made in it was “to die for”. She said this while making the hang-ten sign with her fingers while giving a knowing smirk. The frosting scoops in the cake mix recipe didn’t work out as well as she walked out back to put it out to cool and she tripped and it went flying breaking her new casserole dish and all. Everything ends with an extra “s”. For example she tells us to shop at “Supa Savez” (Super Savers), or tells us she went to “Barnes and Nobles” and her kids go to “PS 267’s” and she drives a “mini vans”. And if it already has an “s” on the end, it gets another “s” as in “I nevah shop at Key Foodses”. She has so much energy this woman. We will be there to pick up our kids and she will quickly whip us up a salad to go while holding a baby on one hip. She is always schlepping one of her 3 kids off to Karate or gymnastics or softball. She will come over to our house and babysit for us at night sometimes and when we will return from our night out she will have scrubbed our kitchen clean. All this after watching a house full of kids since 7am. Her husband’s ex and her three kids live across the street from us also. I ask her how she deals with that and she just rolls her eyes and says “In the summah, we’ll have some cocktails and we’ll tauk.”

There are a few honorable mentions too. Angel up the street “did some time” while he was “not such as great a guy” as he “is now”. Sandra who has the voice of a male transvestite, and an old lady who dresses in hot pants and has a voice that could take paint off the walls. She yells across the street to Sandra airing everyone’s personal business at top volume. I want to open the window and yell “Just go over and talk to her already!”. A woman named RS has a corgi so cleverly named “Corgi” and will yell “corgi!” whenever she sees us walking our corgi and talk to us endlessly about nothing else other than corgis. Unfortunately we don’t get on well with the renters who live downstairs from us. Four trust fund kids who recently graduated from Berkeley College of Music in Boston and are experiencing their first year in the real world. They have no concept that playing a free form jazz bass CD at 2am loud enough to vibrate the lamp off of my table is in anyway inconsiderate. They have parties throughout the summer. We don’t mind them, only when they all decide to jam in the basement at 4am. Tom went off on them one night about the noise and they have been on their best behavior since. They thought that they could use the basement for a rehearsal space but it is not soundproofed and I am sure they must have taken an acoustics class up there at Berkeley and have figured out that the sound carries all the way through our wooden framed house like it was a bell. Granted two little kids who love their ride on toys live above them, but it aint no blasting Yo Yo Ma. I am not sure they realized what type of neighborhood they moved to, they seem better suited for Williamsburg. But with the parents paying the rent, I suppose it was the trade-off. They have the words “All you need is love” painted in gold paint across their living room wall. Yeah, that and Daddy’s Am Ex. Its not that I resent their privilege or their combined smell of incense and ramen noodles, its their lack of a clue that they have people around them.

We love our neighborhood though. I love that I can walk to a playground, community garden or the park. And for all their eccentricities our neighbors look after each other and always say hello. We lived on 6th Ave in Park Slope for 5 years and it wasn’t until we were moving out that we met some of our neighbors. In suburbia you don’t get to pick your neighbors either, you just have a lot less of them and they are not so close. City living is hard, and in a city suburb, as much as you think you are living in a quiet residential neighborhood, its still the city and still a lot of people in a small area. I wonder what these neighbors think of us. Tom schlepping off to work in his giant float coat and heavy backpack at all hours, me a tattooed Mom juggling our babies. Who knows, ill just smile and wave I guess. This year we will have to attend the block party for the real scoop on everyone, ill bring my potato salad. Its to die for.

This week has been rough, as if I needed to loose even more weight since the fun we had here with the visiting rotovirus.. I returned from Brazil with a bacterial bug from hell. Ive been in bed fighting it with severe stomach cramps and the works, the low grade fever went away, but the rest is horrible. I found that I was super sensitive to the touch and felt as if someone had driven a spike into my lower back and my limbs were tingly. What crazy Brazilian bacteria did I pick up? (Better this then bed bugs from Miami I gotta tell ya.) We tried to be careful, I didn’t drink the water or drink anything with ice cubes in it. but it coulda’ been anything. It could have been worse, I could have gotten yellow fever. There is an outbreak there but I didn’t get the vaccine because , well, its a scary vaccine with risks vs. a chance in hell of getting it and that I had no plans of making it into the Amazon on this trip. I was paranoid that I got it, but I didn’t have the tell-tale sign of a fuzzy ring on my tongue (Yikes!). I have been downing Cipro like crazy (as prescribed mind you), and I am not a big fan of antibiotics. Anyone want to send me a giant tub of yogurt in sympathy?

Its was a really good idea of my husband to bring me flowers yesterday because he said to me later in the day “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but…” which automatically makes me skeptical. “…but I had this dream about you last night where you had this horrible virus and it made you a vampire but you had the claws of wolverine and you ran like him (note he plays the Marvel Comics game on x-box) and the city was deserted (like in the war game he plays on x-box) and I sent the family away and stayed behind because I was worried that you would die without anyone to feed off of, and i walked through Greenwood Cemetery and you were living on top of a house there in a big nest and you saw me and the dream ended with an arial view of you eating my chest (oh ok, this looks exactly like the movie I Am Legend), and I woke up thinking that I did the right thing” What do you possibly say to that? “Aw, thanks sweetheart, that was so kind of you to sacrifice yourself to me so I could continue my vampire/werewolf life” or “Don’t take it the wrong way? Naw, I don’t mind you thinking of me in such a beautiful light”. I was stumped. I think I said “oh, thats just great love, how romantic.” All that violent media is a bad influence.

So Tom got my bacterial bug from Brazil too (probably a cause for his crazy dreams). I don’t know how, but ill keep my guess to myself here. We both had the stomach virus a few days apart from each other recently too which brought to light the amazing difference between how a woman and a man behave when they are sick. I am not one to draw out these comparisons too often, but this has to be said that every man I have ever had any friendship or relationship with does not handle getting sick very well. They are big babies. My sister in-law sent us this link and it was well timed.

So I finally got a new cell phone. My old one was chewed and slobbered on so many times that a few of the numbers stopped working. I loved that thing, it lit up in goofy colors on the sides when it rang. And the choices for ringtones were the cheezyest. I wonder if those will be collectible someday…the muzak versions of songs in ringtone lengths. If gold Puma sneakers and leg-warmers could come back, its possible. I went to the cell phone store of my carrier, the one I am in it for life with because of the damn 2 year renewal contract thing they get me on every time my phone breaks. Ill have to will my contract to someone one day like an old macaw. So I broke down and bought the Blackberry Pearl. I don’t know what came over me, I really have no need for e-mail on the go now that I am not working. But I figured the internet access might be helpful so what the hay. I am surprised because I hated the Blackberry I got when I worked last. Probably because it squeezed out the 30 seconds of time I claimed for myself a day and replaced it with the “I am accessible pretty much all the time now so don’t pretend like you can’t be” kind of feeling, um er …guilt. I also hit morning sickness at this time in my pregnancy too. And like my aversions to coffee and doing the dishes at that time, I couldn’t stand to look at it…and now i have had to wean myself back into it and have changed the ring and the font hoping it helps. Why did I do this to myself? I didn’t need any help in the OCD department. But as an instrument for better stress management (if even if it creates some of that stress in which to manage), I like it ok so far. And of course my 12 year old figured it all out in two minutes, leaving me looking like an old timer scratching my head, talking loudly saying “now how does this damn thing work again?”. Its pretty cute as far as a piece of technology goes, except it has a tiny blinking light that is so bright I could navigate a 747 safely into its gate at JFK during a blizzard with it no problem. I gave the babies my old phone to play with, no baby slobber allowed on this one.

We brought Jack & Marlowe to the park today, the sun was finally out. This was the first time they were there and able to walk. They fall a lot but it was so cool to watch them with this new freedom. The playground has little plastic ride-on and push toys around and Jack pushed a plastic yellow shopping cart all over, so proud of himself. Marlowe isn’t walking as well, but has a lot of gumption to try and got up again and again. She had fun and was covered in genuine black NYC playground dirt by the time we left. I look forward to this summer, I am so glad that they are walking now. Soon though it will be all about climbing, and that will be tougher.

Ruby turned 12 this week! I can hardly believe it. I am writing a longer post about just her (and one about Jack too), but I wanted to mention that she is amazing. I sent her flowers (she was at her father’s house), I think I will do that from now on every year. She is having her big sleepover party this weekend (her father hosts it this year), but she will drop by on Sunday for a few hours when we have a small family thing for her over here. I am amazed at how big she is. We had dinner together tonight at a small local Italian joint. She ordered the spaghetti sans the meatballs. She is still holding out as a vegetarian despite the cravings and having only one veggie house (she lives 50/50 between 2 houses) and no friends who are. She told me that she wants to join the Peace Corps …in my head I flashed ahead to 10 years from now having a similar conversation, one where she really could act out this desire. I thought it was a great idea. My goals are of a similar humanitarian leaning so I could understand the drive. We talked about AIDS in Africa and about women’s health in underprivileged countries and societies. I could see her working for UNICEF, an organization that does amazing, amazing things (take some time to look at their site, they have an amazing link showing health and education statistics for children per country). But I could also see her running the dolphin show at Sea World so go figure…we will have to wait and see. She also told me at dinner that she has a great relationship with her reflection. I don’t think that was the right word but close. I think she meant with her inner self. There is a big mirror in the chorus room at her school and when the teacher asks the class if they can handle a particular type of song next year, she will say yes, and nod to herself in the mirror as if they share a private joke. She is not going to be in the chorus program next year and this is a way she enables herself to lie and feel ok with it, as she promised some people she wouldn’t tell anyone about it yet as to not create any drama for the teacher who is accepting her into a different program. We do all kinds of things to create balance I suppose and if it is to find lightheartedness in a white lie than that seems ok with me. Ruby is somehow built with this amazing sense of right and wrong and understands the rules of the world in a way that is beyond her years. I hope she never looses her child-like side of her though.

Speaking of AIDS in Africa and humanitarianism, take a look at Annie Lennox’s video for “Sing”. I love this woman. Her song “Why” is probably the most beautiful sad song I have ever heard, and I cry every time I hear it. It puts me back in a coffee shop in Berlin in 1994, looking at my coffee needing to make a decision about my path. The crack down my middle never to be glued water tight again, and the song represented to me all that I had held inside for a long long time. Annie has dedicated her time and efforts to drawing attention to AIDS affecting women in Africa. The statistics shown in the video are enough to make you run out into the street shouting.
Id post it here, but they don’t allow sharing off of YouTube in order to generate some iTunes sales. You can watch it here though: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0K2Q59eT2Us

So we are back in real life again, its amazing how easy it is to slip into what is familiar. Somehow I have managed to bring back from Brazil some of the calm I found there. I hope it doesn’t fade, but somehow I was able to drive around in the rain during rush hour in Brooklyn today and still sing along to the radio. I have been dreaming like crazy since I have been home. Vivid dreams that seem to go on and on, but I never recognize anyone in them. When we flew out of the clouds at sunrise and cruised over Sao Paulo, I got a swift reminder of how big this world is. Sao Paulo is the third largest city in the world and I was amazed at the miles of high-rise apartment buildings there were there. Not one light on in any of them made them look like a set in one of the trendy apocalypse themed films of late. My dreams thankfully are not apocalyptic but are full of interesting people with distinct personalities and places of intense detail. I believe the trip helped open up the flood gates of my imagination. I was having only anxiety dreams when I left. You know the ones where you repeat tasks and make lists over and over in your head.
I didn’t go on my trip in order to have an epiphany or work on a problem I had been trying to solve. I used to be the type of person who ran from themselves and would do anything to avoid depression and sitting still. I took many trips to distract me from any pain I was in and worked and worked. But this trip was different, I went to spend time with my daughter, and pay attention to her without interruption. I have a close relationship with her anyway, but experiencing something together is always something we can look back on and talk about. But even though my focus was on her, I ended up learning a great deal about myself.
I have spent countless hours in my life trying to choose my next move or path. I am a chronic indecisive, and over the years have lost trust in my ability to make a decision about myself and the direction I want to go in. It has literally been 20 years of this. I am addicted to it. I feel passionate about something for 2 days and then it fades. On one hand I am passionate about many things, and I have always said that the worst thing about me is that I am not passionate about just one thing. I was not one of those girls who in high school knew their career path already and would stay on it for life. That was just never going to be me. I had way too many other issues to sort through first, and much of my life after high school was just survival. I didn’t have a lot of choice sometimes. Ultimately I ended with a long career in the music business that I am very proud of and amazed at how fortunate I was in all of it. But I am not talking solely about career here, I mean things outside of it that we do like yoga, or riding motorcycles, or sewing or drawing or traveling or writing…there are a million things one could spend ones energy on. But you can’t do it all. And unfortunately we put labels on ourselves and each other and define ourselves by what we do. This is the first time I haven’t worked or been actively looking for work in a long time, like since I was 14. Yup, I know, I have two one year olds and a pre-teen, but thats different. I don’t consider that work…sorry feminist ladies who feel otherwise. I have met so many mom’s who within 5 minutes of meeting them want to know what I do. And it is still strange to say “yer lookin’ at it”. Then they want to know when you are returning to work and what is it you do when you DO work. I know that I am lucky to be able to be home with my kids, but I am vowing to never ask that question of another mom again. In mom’s groups I may be able to relate to a woman who dances burlesque in her working life than one who manages a hedge fund, but I will not pop the question “So what is it that you do?”. It shouldn’t matter so much. We are so much more right?
So on my trip I realized that this way that I think is a total crutch and I do it so that I can avoid committing to just one thing. I am afraid that if I do just one thing, I will be that thing. That will be my badge. Ill wear it like a “Hello my name is” sticker, it will say…hello my name is Kristin and I ski….no, that will be crossed out and replaced with ….speak German …bake …drive monster trucks …quilt ….live in an ashram ….do capoeira ….play the saxophone… Actually I have some desires make it to the top ten over and over again and always keep them around like warn shiny stones I have pet through the years. So en-route on this trip I decided to give this little addiction a rest. I was at the point where I was really needing a break from all of the continuous racket going on in my head. I wanted to feel passionate about nothing. I wanted quiet. I realized that I allow my thoughts to run around in my head without any supervision. They are like toddlers bouncing off the walls, faces smeared with chocolate, grabbing at whatever they want and fighting with each other like in the book The Lord of The Flies. I decided that I was going to be gentle with myself and like meditation I was going to calmly brush the thought aside leaving nothing to replace it but silence. I became like Russell Crowe in the film A Beautiful Mind. I could see them (the thoughts) but I did not pay them much attention and allowed them to fade on their own. After a week of not allowing myself to be anything when I grew up, I felt finally rested. I realized that when these thoughts were gone, what was left was just me, and I found that I was enough. I don’t really struggle with my identity really, even though this seems from this post like I do. I am very happy with who I am and feel self confident for the most part. I have long term goals for the future that don’t waiver and have been the direction I have wanted to go for a long long time, I have interests that are constant for years like writing and yoga and reading. But I needed a reminder about how great I was really I guess and I needed to sit out of the mad game of pong in my head for a match or two.
Funny enough that when I got to Brazil my friend Mimi and I were reading the same book Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert … we were pretty much on the same pages in more ways than the book so I knew I was somewhere I could fall on my face if need be. But I didn’t have a cell phone or a credit card that would work, I didn’t know the language in Brazil nor did I know many people. I was in a strange place and the rug was pulled out from underneath me and the training wheels taken off and I was pushed on my merry way, just me. At one point I found myself doing one of my favorite things…taking a walk in the woods (or jungle as the case may be) and no one can reach you on your cell phone or knows where you are exactly. So it made sense for me to leave behind an old habit and try for once to get my negative and repetitive thoughts out of my head. I highly recommend it. I didn’t need Brazil to do this, I hadn’t even planned it, but I made sense at the time. I think what spawned it all was when I had an anxiety attack at 6:30 am at the Sao Paulo airport when the lady behind the counter told me that our flights didn’t exist and we had to go upstairs and stand in the slowest moving line in all eternity. I have had anxiety attacks since I was a kid, and this wasn’t much of a surprise. They pass and I get through it. When you look at all of the things I have done in my life it doesn’t make a lot of sense that I would have this problem. I hid it well. I think a lot of it is hereditary, but it is a learned behavior too and I have been working hard on it this past year like never before. I have found that they come up moreso when I am feeling stuck in my life somewhere. I feel very happy in my relationship with my husband and happy to be a mom…its not that at all. Amazingly this is the first trip I took outside of work that I didn’t spend most of the time agonizing about my relationship, I didn’t think about it at all to tell the truth. So where am I stuck? Well folks, that is a much longer post, but I will say simply that it relates to me allowing my thoughts to run amok, and not allowing myself to let go and feel peaceful. My need for control has brought me further from it.
I have just started to explore meditation. It does not come easily for me which is a reminder of how much I need it. I always figured I needed an outlet for my anger but that never made me feel any better. I have blamed others for my discomfort and distracted myself from it and I have done all kinds of bends and twists in order to avoid sitting through it. It was nice to discover how much less painful it was once I let go. These few days since coming back have been really great. My husband and I have somehow grown fonder of each other if that was even possible and my relationship with Ruby has noticeably drawn closer too. But most amazingly I have found that I am much more peaceful. My head still tries to slip back into what is familiar and begin with self defeating, negative and distracting thoughts, but I just laugh at it and encourage it gently to pass. Its amazing how much room there is for other things, like vivid dreams. I am learning to be a better passenger, and anyone that knows me knows that I don’t do that easily, I have just always driven. I am not passionless now either. Instead I am not chasing them around anymore, I am going to let them come to me.

We made it back onto US soil last night after 19 hours of traveling home from Brazil. Our flight from Salvador to Sao Paulo had a stop over an Vitoria, a coastal city surrounded by mountains and the plane had to nearly drop from the sky at a 30 degree angle landing on a runway way too short for the size plane so we had to screech to a halt. When I peeled my face off of the chair in front of me I looked around and no one seemed to pay it much mind, I guess this was usual for this airport. I never knew this place existed and I watched commuters get on their busses and children go off to school probably without any idea that such a place as Brooklyn existed either.

It was so nice to come home. Jack looked cuter if that was even possible, and Marlowe smiled with her toothy grin and Ron Wood hair cut and made my heart melt. I missed Tom so much, there was so much I wanted him to see when I was there. We need a trip together and thankfully the in-laws are more comfortable with the babies from spending this week with them and would be willing to have them for a weekend in the future, so a weekend honeymoon might be the way to go.

Ruby has school tomorrow, she spent tons of time in Brazil doing the giant math packet her teacher gave her. She didn’t complain though. This morning in honor of Mark, we made ourselves a one egg cheese omlet each and had rolls with guava jelly as we had had them every day in Brazil. Ruby is insisting on wearing her Havianas (flip-flops) to school tomorrow, but thats not going to happen, she’s got gym. She has a bunch of bracelets to share with her friends, the ones you get in Brazil that you tie 3 times and make a wish at every knot. I didn’t explain the religious church that started this touristy thing, they are Catholicism meets West African Vodun. Either way, it is a cute idea and thats well enough.

I feel incredibly thankful that I was able to go and see some real life outside of the habit-trail I live in.
Here are some photos:

The chalet we stayed in down the hill a little from the main house (there are 2). Everyone washed laundry by hand here, and we sleep every night under mosquito netting.

The walkway up to the main house. Mimi’s little yellow building on the right past the arch is her yoga room. There are tiny monkeys and sloths here. Palms with leaves the size of my car.

Lunch was the big meal, we only had fruit for dinner. Lunch would usually last 2 - 3 hours. Ruby and I loved the breakfasts with the windows all open and the sounds of the jungle coming in. The cicada are loud at sunset, the only real time keepers here.

Ruby sipping a coconut from a bendy straw.

Some guys came and tried to dig out the owner’s boat. There was only one chance to get it out which was when the tide was high on the full moon. But in Brazillian fashion, they took a break to barbeque at this time, so it is there until the moon is full again.

The locals, Indians and hippies like to sell jewelry made from seeds, bone and feathers or home made pastries and empinadas on the beach. You learn how to say Nao Obrigade which means No thank you. There are a few scattered old fishing boats but thats it. No air traffic at all, no speedboats or anything going by, none on the horizon ever. It really felt that we were at the end of the world.

This guy sells pineapples that he trims with a machete and you hold by the spiney top.There are a couple of stands where you can get a SKOL beer which tastes like Miller Light, or a mixed drink with some of the scariest looking jug vodka ever. Another local favorite is roasted cheese on a stick. It is sprinkled with oregano, and roasted over coals burning in a coffee can. There are local cowboys with usually 2 horses that go up and down the beach giving rides to the tourists. All the female vacationers fall in love with them. It’s a rough job but someones got to do it.

This is the entrance of the ocean water into the River Trancoso that rushes into the mangrove forest. You can walk across it until high tide, then it becomes a swift current like a big wave pool. Ruby loved it and we couldn’t get her out of it every day (she got the nickname “flipper” while she was there). You can’t see the beach from your peripheral vision when you are looking out to sea so it looks like you are in the middle of the ocean. Its probably hard to see here, but there is a boat in the background that a local man makes money with by giving tourists a ride across the river. But most of them walk across laughing with their cameras held above their heads.

Ruby and I at the beach the day we left. Earlier she mentioned that she loved the saying about a tree that falls in the forest, and it asks if anyone hears it. I asked her what she thought it meant but told her I thought it was about needing to be heard in order to be valid. She said she thought it meant “that you should live out loud”. I just love this kid! As we were leaving the beach for the last time she said that she asked “What did the ocean say to Ruby when she said good-by?” and when we couldn’t guess she said, “Nothing. It just waved.”

…more on Brazil later, but now I’ve got to go thank my lucky stars.

Ruby and I are in Brasil, and I don’t think that I will be able to find the words to even discribe  it but ill try. We are in Trancoso a small town in the state of Bajia. We are staying with friends of ours at their huge house with 2 guest houses nestled at the end of a dirt road in the jungle. Sloths, monkeys, roosters, huge hairy spiders Oh my! The drive here was amazing, after our 24 hour trip to get here (thanks TAM airlines for forgetting to tell me at JFK that they had changed our flights causing a wild goose chace in Buenos Aires at 6:30am). When we arrived in Porto Seguro after travelling for about 20 hours, we still had to wait a couple of hours for our friends to pick us up and then another 2 hour drive to Trancoso. A hilly drive through Eucalyptus plantations (not the scrawny type you see in the US, but rows of huge trees about 7 stories high. It reminded me a bit of the backroads of texas where the side of the road you drive on here is optional. In town it is all dirt roads, and we arrived on Sunday where everything stops and the communal watching of the soccer game is an all-day event. Bars along the strip put their big screen TV’s outside and people say in chairs and on the sidewalk and stood in the street watching and yelling. Mimi and Mark’s house is amazing. It has huge open windows on all sides (no screens anywhere) and a tall roof. Their decore is antiques, Tibetan and Indian with some new-age thrown in there with all sorts of religious articles. The kitchen is big with hanging pots and everyone eats lunch (the biggest meal of the day) at a long wooden table next to big glass doors that open up to a view of the jungle. The warm air blows through the house despite it being humid. The chalet’s are cute and we feel at home right away despite a couple of Brasil usuals: a shower where the water is heated in a small water heater attached to where the water comes out, and a huge mosquito net we sleep under like we are princesses of the jungle.
Ruby and I have spent every day at the beach. Yes, that is all that you do here really which I can’t really complain about. We wake up when the sun gets a little hotter (no one has a watch here among us) and we go to the beach around what I would guess is around noon. The water is warm and the ocean is calm. The first day we park under some trees next to a guy they call Brama that sells cokes and beers and mixed vodka drinks and pineapples. Mark said it took him about 10 minutes to tell him his name, and he calls Mark Brama too. Aparently it is a name of a beer. If you aks him weather the tide is coming in or out, he will answer you later usually getting it wrong. It doesn’t seem to be important, and neither does his name or yours. The mentality here is possibly the polar oposite of New York’s uber-achiever mindset. Here you do not give times to show up specifically. You show up “later” or “tomorrow” which may mean the day after or the day after that. Its been nice to sleep in and wake up around 11 not knowing what time it is. Although the first couple of days adjusting to this whole way of thinking adds to the culture shock. Not only is everything unfamiliar, but it lacks the structure we cling to also. But it has been relaxing ultimately to let go of those little things like time and order for a week. As much as this does look like paradise here, the laid backness of it might drive me a little crazy.
The beach is amazing, lots of dark skinned Brazillian men riding on horses towing another horse giving rides to tourists. There are many tourists here, but not many Americans, its too long of a commute I guess. There is a club med here and they are building a Ritz-Carlton on the beach here soon. Most people hang out on the chairs and beds of a local restaurant drinking from coconuts from a bendy straw. The local Indians and hippies walk by trying to sell you cooked pastries and jewelry made from bone, feathers and seeds. We have learned to say “Nao Obrigarde” which means No thank you. Its been great to finally get some time with Ruby. Our lives have been so hectic and we have had a lot of great talks here.
Last night we walked to a house nearby where a band was rehearsing.. They play the local music for Bahia, lots of percussion and an amazingly seductive beat with an acordian and violin adding a Cuban flair. Mimi and Ruby went home as we had a small dinner party planned but I stayed on and watched as they all sung and swayed in this tiny dimply lit shack. The dinner was really great too, nice people a German and a Spaniard made us spanish tortillas and then played amazing Brazillian music for us on guitar and saxaphone. I went to sleep with the softest version of “the girl from impanema” going in my head.
We leave tonight and are off to the beach for one last time, and then to shop a bit in Porto Seguro before catching our 1am plane to Salvador and then to Sao Paolo. I can’t wait to get home, I miss Tom and Jack and Marlowe like crazy. But it was an amazing experience here, one I am sure we both won’t soon forget. Ill post some photos when i get home.