are things complicated yet?

On this Veteran's Day, I hope you don't mind a re-run

I published this last year on Veteran's Day and it's still one of my favorite posts that I've ever written.  Veteran's Day is such a community event, but my favorite veteran is the one that always offers me a glass of wine when I arrive at his house on the weekends.

Thank you, Dad.

***

When I was in sixth grade I heard a voice on the radio telling us something that we'd all known was going to happen.  I think the way he phrased it was something like,

"Well, we're really at war now folks.  It's started.  It's official.  War..."

War.  His voice was heavy with concern and anticipation.  I briefly wondered if our family was going to plant a Victory Garden, like I'd seen the families in my textbooks do.

I remember standing there and thinking,

"Oh.  This is kind of a big deal.  And my Dad is probably going to war.  My dad is going to war.  AAAUUUGHHH MY DAD IS GOING TO WAAAAARRRRRRR."

The last military engagement authorized by Congress had been Vietnam.  The Korean War ended in 1953.  In 1991, we had not kicked Saddam Hussien's ass even once yet. The limited context I had wasn't very positive.  It would be later that evening or maybe the next day before we saw missiles light up the Iraqi sky like fireworks on CNN.  It would be several more days before everyone started to make jokes about how much Iraqi ass our military was kicking.

Point being, on January 17, 1991 it had been a while since widespread scary shit had happened to the Marines.  But all of the previous scary shit from WWII, Vietnam and Korea had made its way into my textbooks in all of the 4-color glory that McGraw-Hill could get the State of California to sign off on. 

It wasn't gory but, you know, message received: War is some scary shit, it'll last a long time and a lot of people will probably die.

At least, that's what my 12-year-old brain got out of it.  Up until that point, I'd never really considered that my father might actually see combat during his tenure in the Marine Corps.  I'd never had any reason to think otherwise.

Besides a lack of recent war, January 17, 1991 was before the modern day crazies and terrorists started showing up.  It was before Columbine, Oklahoma City, September 11, Virginia Tech and the horror that happened just days ago at Ft. Hood. 

Can you even remember what it was like to feel insulated like I did in 1991?  Can you recall what it felt like to not be on edge and wonder about that freaky dude you just saw?  Do you remember a time when you thought everything was gonna be ok - no matter what? 

Sure, I was young and naive, but compared to today's 12-year old?  I might as well have had the worldview of Bubble Girl.  There was no internet.  We didn't have cable.  I wasn't allowed to watch PG-13 movies (As my mother so pointedly reminded me, I was not 13 yet.)  War-wise, life had been good in the United States for a while in 1991.  

War, an official, real WAR felt very disconcerting to pre-teen me.

I often toggle between my 12-year-old self and my 30-year-old self when I hear people, the media and politicians talk about our current war.  What I often consider is that it hasn't been 8 years; it's really been 18.  Our troops and their families have been invested in this for 18 years - long enough to turn a newborn into a college freshman.

That's an awful lot of troops and families to thank today for their recent service, in addition to those who have served in the past.  Thank you.

***

My father was deployed from May 1990 to March 1991. He was supposed to go to Okinawa for 6 months but that didn't really play out as planned.

In July he performed rescue operations in Manila after a 7.7 magnitude earthquake.  He assisted primarily at Christian College, where a six-story building completely collapsed and approximately 250 students and teachers were trapped inside. 

Nope, no cell phones.

He was in Saudi Arabia by January 1991 and led ground combat operations as part of Task Force Grizzly. 

Their mission was to be a foot-mobile infiltration force tasked with breaching enemy minefields.  This means they spent a lot of time walking, in the desert, with a full pack, sleeping in holes and trying not to step on mines.

The sign says, "Better Holes and Gardens, Hole of the Month." 

They made their jokes where they could.

They covered approximately 45 miles, carrying a combat load, over eight days.  They took 68 prisoners of war when an entire company of Iraqis surrendered to them.  When it was time to come home, two Marines had been killed in action and 14 wounded.  A very detailed description of the entire mission can be found here.

When he finally came home, safe and sound, in March 1991 it took all day for the battalion to make the few hours drive back to the base.  We thought they'd be there by lunch but it was long after dark when they arrived. 

The cause of the massive delay?  The highway between the base and airport was jammed with joyful, thankful, ebullient people who reached into the bus to shake their hands and say thank you.  FOR MILES AND MILES.

These thankful people passed buckets of fried chicken, cases of beer, bags of potato chips, dozens of cookies and whole cakes into the buses for the Marines.  Keep in mind that they had been in the desert for months with no television, internet or newspapers, fighting a war on foot.  They had no idea what the mood was at home or how they would be received upon their return. 

To say they were surprised by the reception would be a massive understatement.

***

I know that almost every family has a service member they're proud of.  As the great military tradition in this country continues, there are very few families out there who don't have a somebody deserving of great thanks and respect on this Veteran's Day.

It's just that I am so privileged to claim him as our Marine. 

Thank you, Dad.  Thanks for spending your career, the prime of your life, working to save and better the lives of so many people who may never know the freedoms that I do, but are perhaps a little bit closer after you crossed their path. 

Thank you.

The chill of an early fall

After we made pancakes and bid farewell to our friends that visited this weekend, we let Claire run around the dewy grass in her pajamas (at her very loud insistence) while we stared dumbfounded at each other because dude, it did not feel horrible to be outside.  It is not a furnace.  It is not like standing in front of a hair dryer.  It was cool, breezy and downright pleasant.  

We came inside and pushed open the first-floor windows and felt the refreshing and cool breeze waft through the house.  I could hear the lawnmowers and birds (geese, even!) and the leaves on the live oak tree next door rustle and sway. It had been a long time since I'd listened to the neighborhood. I've spent the past few months actively avoiding the outdoors and here I was now, welcoming it into my home.

It is so fantastic to feel like it's okay to go outside again.  Sometimes I think that Texans get a sort of reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder.  The summer can be so brutally unpleasant and suffocating with overnight lows that remain in the 90s, humidity that soars past 80% and weeks and weeks of 100+ degree days.  It feels like there's no break and like it might never end.  It is hot and suffocating twenty-four hours a day for MONTHS.  It can often remain hot until October.  It makes me hide inside and steers me off of the most mundane of activities, like going to the grocery store because I would have to walk in a parking lot to do that and it will be a million degrees and NO THANKS we'll have cereal tonight.  It might be sunny and gorgeous out but we are staying inside all summer because it is just too hot.  It is too hot to go to the pool even because I just BAKE on the cement and since it never gets cool at night the pool stays hot and is just barely more refreshing than a lukewarm bathtub.  I spend a lot of time in the summer just trying to avoid sweating while keeping the AC set to an affordable level. 

This cool weather is so different.  It is so welcoming. It is "let's go get some nachos on a patio" weather.  It is evenings of "let's take a walk around the neighborhood after dinner."  It feels like a world of activities are suddenly options to us again.  I have even allowed myself to consider taking Claire to an outdoor playground instead of Chick-fil-A, which is where we've been camped out all summer.  The slides at outdoor playgrounds are way too hot in June, July and August.  They burn little legs.

I think what is most insulting to me is that our crap summer does not come with a side of Awesome, like other places have with their versions of crap weather.

Snow is a giant pain in the ass to shovel, and it gets dirty and slushy fast, but at least it's pretty while it's falling and in the mornings when it's undisturbed.  You can't gaze at Hot while it's beating down on you mid-day.  You don't take pictures of Hot and put them in your Christmas cards.  You can't play with Hot.

Or those of you in the Pacific Northwest where it rains so much? At least you have mountains close by.  Mountains are pretty.  You can also drive up a mountain and it gets colder, like some magic trick of the most amazing sort.  Here's it's just flat and wide and it goes on for miles and there's a reason settlers called the middle of the country The Great Plains.  There are no geographic features to look at, meditate on or climb that make the heat escapable or tolerable.

Those of you in Florida, poor Florida, with the hurricanes and humidity and constant stream of political ads trashing up your televisions, the hurricanes are horrible but at least there's a beach close by all of the other days of the year and you never, ever have to wear a heavy jacket. 

Most of you in California can bite me.  (Earthquakes are not a meteorological event.)

It's not even that I want to move somewhere else or that I really think *everyone* has it better than we do.  It's just that summer is so particularly awful on the thermometer where I live and I hate it. From where I sit there's not much to look forward to as the season changes from spring to summer.

So, you can see why I was delighted to learn yesterday that fall is here, finally, after a very long summer indoors with a toddler. It feels like the pause button had been finally been let go and we're free to enjoy the fresh air now.

Helloooooo September!

Gosh, August was a bitch this year, wasn't it?  I mean, it's always the worst month of the year in my eyes, no contest, but this year it just seemed to go ON AND ON AND ON.  31 days is a lot of days for a month as bitchy and empty and hot as August.

It's gone until next year though and it's time to focus on the TRA-LA-LA giddy joy that is September.  September can be tricky since it's still really hot, but somehow 100 degrees in September isn't nearly as soul-crushing as it is in August.  At least in September you are safe in the knowledge that maybe this 100-degree day is the last one until next year.  September brings football and school and a whole new crop of clothes to the stores.  September is glorious.  September STARTS with a 3-day weekend so right off the bat, September wants you to like him and is already making Grand Gestures to win your affections.

We are so busy this September.  We have something planned for each and every weekend and not at all  in an "Oh crap, we have something planned for each and every weekend" kind of way.  Our weekends are filled with football, friends and family at Aggie football games. I adore, simply ADORE, everything about college football.  I love the outfits I get to wear and the ones I can dress Claire up in.  I love the giant cups of Coke and the too-much walking and the insane highs and lows that come with cheering for my team.  I love spending time with my family and old friends and revisiting all of the bars from my twenties.  I love playing dominoes at midnight and drinking cheap beer from a plastic cup while I sing (badly) to songs by Charley Pride, Waylon Jennings and the Bellamy Brothers.

And just like that, September will be over and it will be October.

October!  Even better than September!  It's one of the two months a year where our weather mimics that of Southern California.  It's nice outside.  You find yourself saying things like, "Let's go to a restaurant with a patio and just sit outside."  Texans never want to sit outside.  We like to sit INSIDE, in the air conditioning.  Sitting outside is a huge, huge, huge treat.  We also have Claire's 2nd birthday party in October (an epic ocean-themed bash) and more football and then, oh my gosh, THEN? 

WE ARE GOING TO MAUI.

We're dropping the dog and the child off with my parents and Chris and I will be in Maui for a week. A week of beaches and mai tais and tuna and wine and lava flows and the best sushi ever and sleeping in and staying up late ohmygosh it's so fabulous that just thinking about it makes me hoppy.  Maui! The beach! We used every single last one of our miles and are flying First Class so it's DOUBLY exciting.  Champagne! Leg room! Snacks! Not paying for checked bags!  Did I mention the part about the Champagne?  UNLIMITED CHAMPAGNE.

Then it will be November and I'll have a little tan and be really relaxed and it will be colder (mmmm, cold weather) and I'll start thinking about Thanksgiving and pie.  It will be time to wear sweaters and jeans and boots.  I'll finally be able to stop sweating.  There will be more football and hopefully I'll have lots of housey-type projects finished by then (ha-ha, right?) since I'll be inviting oodles of people over in December.  9 months after moving in I'll finally feel like my house is organized and "together." 

And December is the best month of all.  It will be time to figure out where the tree goes in this new house and plan parties with friends and the 4th annual Cookie Day on the 23rd of December.  We can start new traditions and try new recipes.  It will be time to shop and wrap and talk about Santa and how if you don't stop doing that right this minute young lady Santa will bring you NOTHING.  It has happened to other children I know.

The relief I feel now that August is behind me is palpable. I'm really thinking about just skipping it entirely next year. August. BLARGH.

This is my obligatory Happy New Year! post and YES it has poetry in it. But, not mine. (I'd never do that to you.)

It's really the small things in life that make it worth living.  Worth remembering.  Worth sharing. 

It's these small slices of ordinary that we'll all look back on when we're older and I know that sometimes (oftentimes) I forget that.  It is easy for me to get caught up in things that aren't really all that important (in a big picture kind of way) and I need to be reminded every now and then to chill the hell out and enjoy each moment I'm blessed to have.

The poem below was written by one very, very talented Maya Stein.  She is officially one of my new favorite writers.  If you have a few minutes, a stopover at her site is a mighty fine idea.

I hope you have a 2010 worth sharing, remembering and living with the people you love most.  There is joy and value to be had in even the most simple of experiences and tasks. 

Happy New Year.

***

something for everyone

by Maya Stein

I want the water to fill your glass the moment
it sees your thirst.
I want the staircase to meet your footfalls.
I want the line to the freeway to move like breath.
I want the wind flattering your hairline, the rainshower
a welcome refreshment. I want the parking space to fit your car.
I want the birds on your back deck to warble in the exact way
they did during your childhood. I want the photographs
of all your holiday dinners buzzing with a certain unnamable
happiness. I want the dry cleaners to understand
your outrageous requests.
I want the man calling your house to survey
your thoughts on phone companies to remember
the evening is precious as silk. I want your new jeans to not
come undone in the wash. I want snow to land on your eyelashes
like it does in the movies, an etheric, slow-moving kiss.
I want a letter to arrive the moment
you feel most unwelcome of your own company.
I want the scent of lemons in the air. I want the power lines
overshadowed by the view your neighborhood offers at twilight.
I want the downtown ice rink to keep your fantasies aloft.
I want the moon to articulate your most punishing silence.
I want the willow tree revived and teeming, the broken daisies
resurrected and obstinate with brightness.
I want the labyrinth of what ifs narrowed
to a single, poignant sentence.
I want the tulips to be wild as clover, as fog, as good intentions.
I want your heart to cut through its own brutality,
for your body to see everything about you that’s beautiful.
I want love to come at you in thick pats of butter,
in strands of spun sugar, heavy and light as cream.
I want it to bathe your skin until you are nothing
but forgiveness, until your shadows have disappeared,
until all of your perfect right angles have collapsed,
until you are a curve of a curve,
and your hands slide forward and open
and are able, at last, to feel everything.

This is just one of my many bad fashion decisions from the 80's

I've been wearing glasses since the second grade.  When my mother first noticed that perhaps her darling daughter couldn't see, she took me to the optometrist in the mall (Pearl Vision yo!) to get checked out. 

I did not want glasses.  At all.  It probably didn't help that my mom started the conversation with, "Hmm, I think you might need glasses."  I swore up and down that I could see just FINE and I didn't need any geeky, nerdy stupid glasses.

I was also about 8 years old and didn't know any better.

We went and confirmed that I was not anywhere close to 20/20 vision.  I was really upset.   Looking back, I'm not really sure why I was so upset but I think it had something to do with the fact that anyone on TV who wore glasses was a stereotypical nerdy character like that Velma girl on Scooby-Doo.

Anyway, to soften the blow my mother told me that I could have any frames I wanted.  Any!  In the whole store!  And you know what I said?

"I can?!  You mean....they don't have to be on sale?"

We were a family that preferred to buy things on sale.  Even at the age of 8 I knew that a sure way to get my mom to buy me something was if I said, "But Mom.  It's ON SALE."  When she told me I could have full price glasses I knew this was a special day.

And what did I choose with all of that buying power?  Something snazzy?  Stylish?  Flattering?  Maybe even bedazzled?

NO.  I DID NOT CHOOSE ANY OF THOSE.

I chose a licensed pair of glasses by Pink Panther (????) that were pink and white and very big and round.  Granted, I loved pink.  (To my credit, big and round glasses were sort of in in the 80's.) But someone should have told me that Pepto-pink is not for glasses and definitely not for glasses on me.  Have you ever seen a more awkward second grader with reading skills far above her grade level?

I mean, REALLY. 

When we went to get the glasses I was startled at how much I could actually see.  You have to remember, up until then I didn't know that the way I saw the world wasn't normal.  My mother walked me out of that place and I just kept exclaiming over and over again,

"Mom!  I can SEE!!!  I can SEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" 

The way I was prancing out of that mall with my Pink Panther glasses you would have thought I was a miracle Helen Keller or something.

My parents thankfully let me wear contacts in the 7th grade (which also mysteriously coincided with my rise in popularity at school) and I've been wearing them ever since.  I don't wear glasses often and don't have too many problems with contacts. 

(I've never really believed the hype about laser surgery.  I know far too many people who had to wear contacts at a lower prescription afterwards or even had the surgery slowly wear off over the years.  Also, the idea of lasers on my eyes give me nervous tummy - thanksbutno.)

I had several different frames through grade school and most were big and round with brown/pink colors.

Allow me to present the third grade and my awesome ponytails:

 

And, the sixth grade: 

(Shut up, you know you had awesome bangs like this too.) 

(And NO, I will not post a picture from the seventh grade when I got a perm the summer before.  Just....no.)

Finally, in about 1995 I got some very simple wire frames and I never strayed back to thick plastic frames.  HOORAY FOR ME.  Ever since, the biggish plasticky frames have always carried a nuance of,

"Don't go back there.  It's like the bangs and the purple legwarmers and jelly shoes.  Don't even think about doing that again.  The 80's are O-V-E-R."

Flash forward to today - more than 20 years later.  Last week when I was choosing frames for the 8th or 9th time, I paused.  My first instinct was to go for another version of simple wire frames. 

But since all the cool kids are finally wearing them, I felt like it was time to take another look at plastic and try some of those edgy, chunky styles that everyone seems to loving.  I couldn't go all the way with some really squared off, thick frames but I like these well enough. (And thank you to everyone who said I should go for it.  You totally pushed me over the edge.)

For a person who comes from a scary history with big, thick, plastic pink glasses I think these are a HUGE improvement from the Pink Panther frames.  It only took me 22 years to get here.  Phew. 

Kicking 30's ass...easier than it looks

I turned 30 last week.

It seems so...momentous, doesn't it?  Like it's SUCH A BIG DEAL.  As if I should either be in the midst of mid-life crisis or celebrating in an extreme fashion with a grand soiree and a new party dress.  30 is, after all, a BIG birthday.  It merits attention.

30. 

To tell you the truth, I hadn't been contemplating my thirtieth birthday very much.  I've had other things going on in my life (um, BABY comes to mind).  About two weeks ago I thought, "HEY!  I have a birthday coming up!  That means I get a cake!"  A few hours later it dawned on me that I would be 30 and perhaps I ought to make a bigger deal.

Maybe a big cake?

Perhaps it doesn't really mean much to me in a hyperventilating kind of way because, and I can't believe I'm putting in print and thereby jinxing it, I have everything I've ever wanted.

Yes, I am that bitch who brags. (Don't hate!)

But really, I have things I wasn't sure I would ever have in my life and I feel so incredibly blessed.  I am truly beyond thankful for the joys in my life.  I have an amazing husband, who loves me in spite of my many flaws.  I have a daughter who is more gorgeous and wonderful and funny than I ever thought a baby could be.  We have a roof over our heads.  Our dog is hilarious.  And sometimes?  I turn our house all kinds of Norman Rockwell and I bake cookies.  Good ones.

30 isn't kicking me in the butt.  I'm kicking 30's ass.  I welcome 30.  I even vacuumed and tidied up the house for its arrival. 

The truth is that I enjoyed my twenties immensely and I don't feel like I've left anything on the table.  Everything a person could do in her twenties?  I did it.  I kissed my twenties goodbye without any reservations or regrets.  I had an awful lot of fun in my twenties. (Some might say it was too much fun.) 

I went to bars.  After looking at some pictures it would seem that I went to lot of bars.  (Ok, maybe TOO MANY bars but we're not going to talk about that part.) I wore skirts that were a little too short.  I actually invested in a wide variety of clothes suitable ONLY for bars.  They were either skimpy, glittery, strappy or all of those qualities at the same time.  Almost all of them were black.

I wore very high, tippy heels almost everywhere I went, including work.  I traveled maniacally and without concern for the fact that I was spending money meant for car insurance on airfare.  I ate rice and noodles a lot for dinner.

I also did not-so-fun things everyone does in their 20's:  I lived in cheap apartments.  I drove an old car.  I worked a shit job.  I frequently was the owner of a single-digit checking account balance.  (In my early 20's.  Not two weeks ago.)  I didn't even own a computer or have internet at my apartment until 2005.  (But I was FAMILIAR with the internet and used it at work.  OF COURSE.)

So, Hello Thirty.  Welcome.  Let's have a good decade.  Claire will be 10 when I'm 40 and who knows what life will look like then?  Hopefully, less bar-y.  I have a kid.  I can't go to the bar every night anymore. 

Didn't you hear?  I'M THIRTY.

(One thing's for sure:  Barack Obama will not be the President in 10 years.  See?  Already something to look forward to at my next Big Birthday.)

And now, I give you some photos that I have scrounged from a pile of burned CDs that I found in a drawer that say things like, "Jenn's Party!!!!!!" on them in sharpie. 

Memories!

*************

I don't know what's going on here, but I thought it was a funny picture.  I think I'm about 23.

Remember when I said I went to a lot of bars and traveled?  Here I am dancing in a bar in Maui.  I'm 23 or 24.

Hey look!  Another bar!  Another city!  This time I'm in New Orleans.  I'm 25.  I'm the one in the big hat.  (Man, I love big hats.)  We are holding Hurricanes in to-go cups.  Because they let you do that in New Orleans:  just walk around the city with really boozy drinks in paper cups.

One of the things about your 20's is that most of the moments you want to take pictures are when you're IN A BAR. 

Coincide that with the era when digital cameras got affordable and, well, I have a lot of pictures of me in bars in my 20's.

I wouldn't have it any other way.  Dude, bars are fun.

 

I wish to tell you this purely as a matter of Public Information

Did you know that if you order something that is monogrammed or personalized from Pottery Barn Kids and it shows up and there's something screwy with it, that if it's less than $50 YOU GET TO KEEP IT?!

Yes.

The policy is apparently if something is engraved/monogrammed/whatever and it shows up with "poor workmanship" you just have to call, say it looks bad and they'll send you a replacement.

"You can keep the seconds since it's less than $50."

So, now I have TWO "Claire's First Christmas" stockings.  (I know, how utterly useless.)  But the point is that if you were a devious sort of person you could conceivably order something and then just say that it's messed up and get another for free.

If you were a devious person.  Which I know you are not.  I'm just saying.  PBK has some great customer service on that one.

In other news, Claire has taken to catnapping for twenty minutes, is wearing size two diapers, and is two months old yesterday. 

Claire:  Taking the whole theme of TWO a little too far, aren't we?  Maybe we can sleep for two hours at a time?  That would fit within your theme and work out better for Mommy.

Aaaand that's all the blogging I'm allowed to do right now apparently.  So instead of letting this post sit in my drafts folder I'll go ahead and publish it and hope I can write some more later.  Because there is LOADS to tell.

Being selfish for all the right reasons

We travel a lot.  At least twice a month - often more.  Our "season" starts up in September with college football games, transitions quickly to Thanksgiving and Christmas and then January with an always-much-needed vacation.

But the weekend road trips, quick getaways, impromptu visits to see family a few hours down the highway - they were taking a toll on us.  In a way it was exciting to use our glorious, semi-newlywed, child-free time this way.  We were doing whatever we wanted, just because we can.

We were the envy of our friends with children.  I admit, I might have been obnoxious about it a few times to a few people I don't care for.   But there's no denying that two incomes, no kids and a very self-sufficient dog leaves us flexible with our time.  Why not travel?  Why not have fun?

The glut of opportunity was far too much for us to handle.  During the work week we raced about trying to do all of the things that should have happened over the weekend: laundry, yard work, errands, grocery shopping, bill paying and playing with the dog.

Traveling so much really made it hard to keep our household running in anything that even resembled a semi-orderly fashion.  The dishes piled up, soon there were only condiments left in the fridge and there was often the cry of "I only have one clean sock!"  Emergency Laundry on Sunday was the (terribly painful) norm.

Clearly we needed to change our habits.  Dramatically.

In February we decided that we simply weren't going to travel as much.  We would refuse invitations and opportunities, stand our ground when someone tried to guilt us into a several-hours drive and we would even take fewer vacations.  (Gasp!)

The weekends suddenly appeared before us as a long string of newly discovered pearls.  We gleefully turned page after page in the calendar and were jointly thrilled with the seemingly endless blank squares.  With nothing planned we reveled in exactly that: doing nothing. 

We laid in the hammock, grilled steaks, took naps, made pancakes (oh so many pancakes), organized our belongings and got ahead on the laundry for the first time in months.  We planned healthy meals to cook, got caught up in Lost again (such a bad idea) and took Jake for regular jaunts around the block.

As it turns out, shunning everyone we know was a marvelous idea.  Who knew?

We're slowly falling back into to our old ways though.  A wedding here.  A weekend at the lake there.  Plus a weekend getaway for our 2-year anniversary.  Plans to go to an Astros game with the family.  Oh - and also to Iowa to see the family there too.  Can't leave them out. 

It's like a progressive addiction - the more we start traveling, the more excuses we find to do it more often. 

It's tough to find an appropriate balance.  Besides the trips that we want to take, there are also the trips that we're not-so-excited about but feel that we have to embark on.

I often find that our DINK status makes us presumed travelers in these situations.  Many people think it's easier for us (our responsibility even) to visit them since we have a seemingly endless supply of time and no college educations to save for just yet.

It's an unspoken one-way street.  If we don't make an effort to see certain people, well then, we just don't get to see them at all.  They won't come visit us. (It makes me wonder why we want to see them in the first place.)

This completely infuriates me - especially if I get a guilt trip about it. 

Our decision to dramatically scale back was in part derived from this predicament.  Now that we've tasted the sweet freedom that is the luxury of our own time, we're hesitant to share again.

It was a long way (literally) to learn the lesson about balancing a surfeit of time.  After actually living in our house for an entire month it has become painfully clear that this new routine is waaaaay more fun than a sack of tacos and a weekend in the car.

So, we're going to try and stick with the original plan:  don't travel as much and don't make up reasons to travel just because we can.  Enjoy the comfortable life we've created for ourselves and spend less time in the airport.  Sounds like a good plan to me.

As a bonus to this decision, Jake ought to be pleased that we're not planning on any more road trips for a while since he pretty much has a panic attack any time he's put in a vehicle.  And, keeping this animal happy is, of course, my life's goal.

(Not really.  That would make me one of those weird animal ladies who gives her dog bottled water and makes him wear clothes.)

Enlighten me.

There is something about New York City that I don't quite get. I'm missing whatever it is about this city that makes people write songs and wax poetic and perhaps most puzzling of all, want to live here.

Every time I come to this city I am initially excited.  About what I have no idea.  The excitement always fades quickly to flat out frustration once I get on the plane.

Flights to New York City are a bit, um, different.  Have you noticed?

First of all, about 70% of the passengers are elite members.  They all try to board at the same time, thus eliminating any perceived privilege of boarding early and in peace.  Everyone also feels that they are The Most Important Passenger On Board Today.  I've never seen so many egos crammed into such a small area; it's a wonder they fit in the first place.

Which brings us to another matter of space - everyone on flights to New York also carries on too much baggage.  I saw a man carry on a rolling hanging bag that was the size of Jake!  I am not exaggerating!  It was a full size bag!  And they let him take it on board!

It took 90 minutes for our bags to arrive to the carousel.  (So that's why everyone carried their bags on.)  I was treated to my second ever celebrity sighting at bag claim though - Donald Sutherland.  I would have enjoyed it more if it was J. Lo or an Olsen twin rather than a creepy old man with too-long white hair but I'll take what I can get.

(By the way, Donald Sutherland uses a Motorola Razr, was traveling with a very sassy looking Asian woman who is not his wife and was much younger than him and a troop of helpers to attend to the bags.)

The rest of our days in New York were predictable: chilly weather, strange taxi drivers, good meals, sporadic bouts of fluffy snow that turned into dirty mush.  There was also the delightful feeling that we were bleeding large amounts of money from the soles of our feet wherever we went.  Because DAMN this city is expensive!

To wit:  I ordered up some room service and the bottle of water?  Is one liter and cost $7.50.

For my money I can have a much better time elsewhere.  (I'm thinking....Maui!)  I think I'm done with New York for good this time.  Bleh.

Losing my digital self

Have you ever lost your digital self?  That is - dropped your mobile phone in a cup of beer, lost it in a parking lot or even managing to drop the thing in a chemical toilet?  (Not me - but all true stories!) 

That stretched-out-in-slow-motion scene that follows is awful.  It's the moment when the gravity of the situation washes over you and you fully comprehend what has just happened.

Everything is gone.  I don't even know my own mother's telephone number.  Shiiiiit.  This is bad.  Badbadbadbadbadbad!!!!!

A few weeks ago I was in the middle of just such a moment.

It was iPhone 1.1.3 Release Day.  I was Very Excited About This Release.  (!!!!!)  The release offered a few new tweaks and upgrades that basically allow me to act cooler than other people even more than I already do. (Which is very often/all the time.)

For instance, my iPhone will freaking triangulate me with this release!  Did you hear that?  TRIANGULATION IN MY POCKET.

(Am imagining scenario where someone says "Where are we?" and I respond, "Hang on, let me triangulate our location."  It's the closest I will ever get to being a covert agent and I will gladly take advantage of it.  Please, I am begging you, ASK ME THIS QUESTION when I next see you.)

So, I eagerly followed along with the live blogging that day when Steve Jobs had his big moment.  I watched the new video on all the new bells and whistles and by the time I got home I was practically rabid with anticipation. 

Chris plugged it in for me while I made dinner and the update downloaded.  After dinner we were greeted with an error message of the most panic-inducing sort: it basically said that while upgrading my phone, ALL DATA WAS LOST and the upgrade didn't even take.  Something about "software failure" was even mentioned.

It took me a full thirty seconds to mentally catalogue all of the wonderful tidbits of information iPhone held for me: all the phone numbers, addresses, birthdays and personal details I had painstakingly entered over the past few months.  All of the too-cute photos of Jake that I had taken in the kitchen.  ALL OF IT WAS GONE. 

F!!

Chris set about fixing it - first trying to internet sleuth his way to success.  I had issues with this course of action since the iPhone is the first Apple product he has ever owned.  My husband is a Linux and open source king.  He knows nothing about the inner workings of Apple-dom. Neither do I.  In fact, Jake probably knows more about Apple products than we do.

I encouraged him to just get on the phone - surely this is release related and they will know how to fix it.  Or at least make it WORK again - I didn't care about the release at this point.  After all, the thing was in "recovery mode" and wouldn't function at all.  JUST MAKE IT HAPPY AGAIN!

Panic was beginning to set in.  I was envisioning an iPhone free life and I didn't like what I was seeing.  No instant email, no playful Marimba ring.  No triangulation.  No internet to solve arguments instantly.  No weather updates for Maui.  No, an iPhone-free life is not the life for me.

Thankfully, after only a few minutes on hold a chatty man in Pittsburgh set about fixing precious iPhone.  He and Chris talked computer-geek and Presto!  My iPhone worked.  And it had phone numbers in it!  Hallelujah!

The only problem is that every bit of information I'd entered since the last time I plugged in it was gone.  I hadn't backed it up since early December.  I had about 80% of what I started with.

80% is better than nothing.  I guess.   I'm still pissed off about it.  Eventually the Pittsburgh man blamed the problem on my old laptop.  My vintage 2004 laptop is apparently too dated for all of the sparkles and glitter that Apple has to offer.  My archaic Dell machine makes iTunes vomit and they said that I shouldn't connect my iPhone to this computer again.

Fabulous.