Life of Wry

 

Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is the noble art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of nonessentials.

-Lin Yutang, writer and translator (1895-1976)

Well, well, what have we got here?

Even without my contacts in yet, I spotted the spot in the sink the instant I walked into the bathroom this morning.  But… wait..

I know it was early, and I wasn’t fully functioning yet, but spiders… eight legs, right?  Is there such thing as a spider with six legs?

Okay, so he was missing a couple legs.  I didn’t do it, I promise.

In fact, I escorted Mr. Double Amputee out on a flying carpet of toilet paper. Catch and release all the way. So he’s back in a more natural (if colder) habitat. Hopefully those above him in the food chain will just let him be.

Looks like he’s been through plenty already.

In a funny bubble right now.

This picture has bounty written all over it.. so I’m calling the question. Thinking about whether I’m in a time of bounty or not.

If you’re not up for my rambling, stream-of-conscious introspection, now would be a good time to close this tab and move on.  I’ll totally understand.

Here’s the thing: I don’t really have a lot to say or do these days.  Cases in point:

-Most blog entries for quite a long time have been a struggle. Not much burning a hole in the right side of my brain. I haven’t wanted to force words and thoughts where there are none, so have just been uploading a picture-of-the-day with very little commentary.

-Once a month, I get together with a handful of other women–my women’s group. We’re seven women of varying ages, stages of life, and experiences. We drink wine or tea, depending, and talk about our lives, our challenges, our joys. Wisdom flies. I get a super lot out of it..except I haven’t had a lot to say there, either. I’m listening a lot and enjoying it.. just coming up empty on something to say about me.  Nobody doesn’t have issues (aware of, and loving, my double negative, in case you’re wondering), and I’m sure stuff’s there… but… nothing comes.

-Jim and I go to weekly-couples-counseling-for-life… and lately I don’t have much to say there either.  I’ve been lobbying for a break, which, how often does that happen?  Not to go all sexist on myself here, but women loooove couples counseling, or this one always has anyway.  Endless material.  But, not lately.  No one’s buying my argument that we’re cured, but really, what is there left to talk about?

-I have run out of questions for my physical therapist, too.  (I’m embarrassed to add here that I also see a massage therapist, and I have had little to say to her lately, as well.) I’m out of problems for which I seek a solution.  I still have problems, but I know the solutions. I don’t think I have anything more to talk about. No more talk.

-I was even quiet during my haircut today–with my haircutter of 25-plus years. We always have plenty to gab about.  Love haircuts, love C, just… do I have to talk?

-I actually said these words to someone the other day: “I’m all cafe’d out.”  I’m not tired of coffee or poppyseed muffins or the company I keep.  I just feel sort of antsy.  Expect it to pass, of course, but what does it mean?

-My to-do list is short. The filing’s done. The drawers and closets and refrigerator.. they’re all pretty much purged, cleaned, organized.  Hell, my laundry’s even done. Nothing to plan or do or say about any of that.  I mean, there’s always more to do, more projects to work on, more to throw out, more to sort. But right now, it’s all pretty good.

So.

Is this a bounty or the opposite of a bounty?  Nothing to say, nothing to do.. Is that good? Is there some relationship going on here between my state of mind and my state of being?  Is there some obvious cause and effect? Are the proverbial decks now cleared, and does that mean I’m ready for the next thing?  Have I arrived at that elusive there? Or.. is this just a fleeting moment of calm?

Going into the season of lights here pretty soon. Hoping some is shed on me.

Downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown, no finer place for sure,
Downtown, everything's waiting for you

You’re going to have to have been born a long time ago to get this, since it was top of the charts in about 1965..

She’s not exactly singing about our sleepy little downtown on a Sunday morning (which, that’s 3rd Street, above, between E and D on the way home from brunch).

It was a good day for pie.

Ran across this clever little graphic this morning:

Which put me in the mood to make one of these:

Peter’s room.

I know I’ve written about this before. But I guess that’s life with a teenager.

Really, you just can’t appreciate the mess in this picture, as so much of it is off camera.  But trust me, it’s a disaster.  And much of it is manmade, as in, “I’m so mad at you, Mom, I’m going to drive you batshit crazy by throwing this exercise ball against the wall 24,837 times and if it knocks over stuff on the shelves, well that’s just too damn bad, because I’m bored and you shouldn’t have taken away my media for the weekend, the LONG THREE DAY weekend, and I know how you hate it when my room’s all messy and stuff, so I’m going to throw some books around and empty my backpack and upend my laundry basket and scatter some money and unmake my bed and whatever else I can think of to make you regret ever following through with these so-called consequences.”   

Not regretting it one bit, my dear dramatic son.

I am glad it was only a moratorium on media and not a grounding.  Thanking goodness for that, because after a difficult night that turned into a tedious morning, he’s off with friends, a sleepover to boot, and we have some peace and quiet around here.  Good lord.

After a long evening of calm and reasoned responses to why it was to be a media-free weekend, my patience had run dry by this morning.  Last night it was a whole lot of “I understand it’s hard. I can see you’re very disappointed. I appreciate that you tried. I’m sorry you didn’t bring it home, too.”

This morning it was more like, “Do you realize there are children all over the world who have no food, no home, and have to work instead of go to school? They don’t have what you have, and they certainly aren’t crying over losing media for the weekend! You screwed up, now figure out how you’re not going to do it again! Man-up and make something out of this weekend instead of wasting all your energy complaining! Maturity is learning how to deal with disappointment. I’m done listening to you whine.”

You know, standbys like that. And yes, I evoked Africa.

Now I’m just looking forward to a grown up night that starts in a bar over a large glass of wine.

The season of fallen leaves.

Sometimes, you have a lot to say. Sometimes not so much. Today’s just a picture and caption day.

My lack of creativity today seems not only to have affected my writing, but also, apparently, my dinner choice. To wit: tonight’s menu consisted of [way too many] Trader Joe’s roasted gorgonzola crackers and a Bison organic chocolate stout (found at the Davis Food Coop). Dinner of champions.

(I promise, this only happens when the boys are gone for the evening.)

But… I guess, as long as I’m here, I can comment on this: Whole Foods? They say they’re coming to town, but rilly Mr. Whole Foods? Rilly!? When we already have our long-awaited, just-opened TJ’s and our loyal neighborhood market and political favorite DFC? Much as I’ve loved my occasional visits to Whole Foods when in other peoples’ towns, I can’t imagine, in my wildest dreams, ever needing or wanting to shop there, given we’ve already got the Davis Food Coop, Nugget and Trader Joe’s.  In that order.

I’d much rather have an Apple Store.

Sigh.

Anyway, the picture? Shot down by the creek on a cold, crispy fall day.

In a fall kind of way.

I don’t know what others call this.. I call it the middle lake.  On Putah Creek, of course.

Was walking in this very spot this morning, having a soul-searching conversation with a friend and fellow mom about kids, about letting go of our own ideas about who they are, who they might become, what their interests, tastes and values are, how they view the world.

We talked about how much we know, how much we can teach them, how great our choices are for them.. and yet, how determined they are about choosing their own paths, if lacking judgment or missing the big picture. There can be a lot of heartache in that, even loss.  And lots of questions about whose needs are being fulfilled, or not, as parents’ desires go one way, and kids’ go the other.

She said, “the buddha taught that human suffering is caused by the desire for life to be different from the way it is… and so the key to peace and happiness is letting go of the desires, the longing…  it’s also in paying attention to what is sweet and precious and insanely beautiful in the kid right in front of us, right now.”

Smart girl.

I found myself achingly in love with my kid this afternoon.  Happens sometimes, today after: an uncharacteristic phone interaction and two icky pratfall-like incidents:

1. I tried not to listen, but heard every word of a phone conversation–actually, just his side –with a woman who will tutor him in spanish for the rest of this school year. He’s not taking spanish this year, but doesn’t want to lose all the proficiency gained during his seven years of spanish immersion.  (Don’t get me started about his experience last year in his first non-immersion spanish class, which lead to his opting out altogether from spanish this year).  In any case, he was having a phone interview of sorts with this tutor to determine if she would be a good fit for his needs and it was as though I was listening to somebody else’s polite, mature, and respectful child.  The conversation lasted about twenty minutes, during which time I heard thoughtful answers to hard questions, careful consideration of logistical details, and even some good humor and laughing.  He was focused and self-aware, offered reflective analysis of his experiences with spanish, good and bad, and clarity about what he wanted. (Wow, I thought to myself.)

2. Later this afternoon, he was standing just outside my office talking to me (about the spanish thing, actually) and began to do pull-ups on the bar that hangs in my doorway.  He got a little overzealous and the bar dislodged, sending him crashing to the floor, back first.  It was a horrible thing to watch, but he scrambled up quickly, like a cat that doesn’t stick its landing, saying he was alright.  But he wasn’t.  He agreed to lie down and seemed suddenly shaken and near tears.  For the next half hour we talked on the bed and pretty soon he felt okay. Nothing makes a kid more endearing than an injury, right? Or being brave in the face of an injury.

Then he wanted to do his homework. Not the usual. I think it was the conversation with the spanish tutor that made him feel responsible.

Now he’s endearing and responsible.

3. After dinner, I was doing dishes and he came up with a load from the table.  After depositing them in the sink, he turned abruptly to leave the kitchen and fell, a la Dick Van Dyke, right over the open dishwasher door.  It was an even more spectacular crash than the fall from the pull-up bar, and again he quickly got up and this time disappeared into the bathroom.  Came out a few minutes later with an embarrassed smile, saying he was ok.

All I wanted to do was hold him …and keep him from hurting himself yet again.

It was all funny, but not so funny. Painful, but okay in the end.  He’s earnest, independent, finding his way. Clumsy. Awkward. Embarrassed, yet okay with a little mom attention (definitely not always the case, but sometimes you score). He’s so in transition, so unrecognizable sometimes.  But so crazy lovable.

As my good bud said this morning: our “sweet and precious and insanely beautiful”  kids..