Out With A Whimper

Looking blearily through my over-the-counter drug induced haze I realize I am seeing the tail end of another year. My 2014 body arrived in good health and is exiting with a nasty head cold.

The first indication of doom is a little niggle at the back of the throat on Christmas Day. My sister encouraged me to take zinc tablets. "It will reduce the severity and make whatever it is you have last a shorter time," she declared.  She works in the local pharmacy so it must be true. Now I think it is not. I wanted a miracle cure, not a degree of harshness. I wanted to NOT be getting a cold.

I want to not run across the room hoping my dripping nose will hold on until I can reach that lotion laden tissue. I want to not hold my head when I feel a cough coming on that will make my head ache and my stomach muscles contract. I want to not feel like I can't keep my eyes open so that I can read my book or watch TV. It's only fair that I should be able to distract myself from this crummy malady isn't it?

Looking on the bright side. It is only 12 degrees outside, I do have a fireplace, and my subscription to Netflix can be put to good use. I don't have any social commitments (well, except for lunch today with a good friend I haven't seen in years. She is sympathetic when I postpone, she suffered through her own version of this last week). My tea supply is in good shape as well as chocolate/ginger bars. I don't have to cook, there are lots of eating options nearby and I have a husband willing (eager?) to leave my sniffling side to run those errands. Funny how that works.

And then there is always the motivation to get better. My hair dresser just called to confirm my appointment for cut and color later in the week. Oh yes ma'am, I will absolutely be there. I may be ailing but I am not dead. I would never go to my colorist with a fever but Kleenex, cough drops, and day-time cold medicine will travel.

I am not one to blow horns, drink champagne, and participate in raucous revelry on New Year's Eve anyway but tonight I will only be blowing my nose, toasting with hot chicken broth, and shuffling back to bed around 10pm. Someone else will have to usher in 2015. I'll catch up around Jan 3rd.

The Lovely Lady in Pink

Red and blue were the accessory colors I chose for my wedding. Being married in January of the Bicentennial year simply demanded I be patriotic in my choices. My future mother-in-law, J., chose to wear pale pink. She simply could not have picked another color. It was so her. 

I don't remember exactly when J. started her passion for all shades pink but when she committed she committed fully. Bathroom towels, picture frames, rugs, blankets, pillows, planters, all sorts of decor were purchased in mauve, raspberry, light pink, and dark pink. Toothbrushes, hair brushes, dishes, glasses, and lamps. Green was her accent color, but pink was her primary. It could have been so Pepto Bismol but she would insert just enough to make it sweetly feminine but not saccharin. A perfect balance.

She also balanced her life as a mother, a career woman, a homemaker, and an artist. I still use her recipes for homemade ice cream and Company Chicken. Deciding that stained glass was a medium she might enjoy she enrolled in a class and ended up designing a beautiful window for a consignment job. Naturally the design incorporated pink roses. Her watercolors of prairie lands and wildflower fields were framed with love and distributed to family members. Some were sold to admirers of her work. She took aerobics classes with me and remembered the exercise dance routine we performed to the song MacArthur Park for years after the classes disbanded.  She enjoyed music, embraced new technology, loved a good laugh (many times at her own expense), and adored having her family around her. 

Even though my marriage to her son did not last, our friendship endured. I would soon forgo introducing her as my ex mother-in-law and simply say she was a friend. She was always there for me to talk to, preferably while soaking in her hot tub on a cold, snowy night with Amaretto Sours in hand. We went to movies together, ate out, commiserated about our jobs, and, awkwardly enough, talked about relationships after her marriage ended a year later than mine. When she was able to make a long desired move to the warm climate of Florida and to be near her oldest daughter she asked if I would drive her down so that she would have her vehicle. I don't remember what we talked about during that three day trip but I'm fairly certain it was how she was going to decorate her new condo, using various shades of pink.

Over the years we kept in touch though not as much as we would have liked. I visited her in Florida once and we exchanged phone calls occasionally. I was so happy to be back in the Midwest because she had recently moved back here too so she could be in managed care. There would be an opportunity to reconnect. 

Sadly, that was not to be. J. passed away this morning after a brief illness. We will celebrate her full life with a gathering of family and friends in a couple of weeks. 

I need to go shopping for something to wear, preferably in a shade of pink.

If I Had Known Then......

Random thoughts on turning sixty today.

Sixty years ago the supermodel Christy Brinkley and I were born. And there the similarity ends. Well no, wait a minute. In an interview earlier this year she conceded as she gingerly rose from a couch and stretched back and forth, "I'm greasing the joints, trying to get them going....I do feel old when my hips act up!" Now she is talking my language.

Had this younger version of me known then what I know now I would have followed up my helping of birthday cake and punch with a chaser of bran, fish, ginkgo biloba, and green tea. Instead of playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey my group of friends would have done some yoga. At that age (about nine or ten based on the candles) standing on our heads would have been easy. When we went outside to play Tag we would have slathered on zinc oxide ointment instead of the baby oil we would use for years to encourage tanning. I would have told her that having a group of friends around to celebrate birthdays is going to be one of the best things about growing older.

These days there are limitations on the amount of food I want to ingest at one sitting, knowing I don't want to be miserable for hours after a meal. I hesitate more before stepping off a curb, knowing I don't want to be laid up for weeks with an injury. I want a good seven to eight hours of sleep every night, knowing less will make me cranky for a good twenty four hours. Clothes shopping takes less time these days, knowing current styles aren't for my body shape so why agonize? Sunday evening has become my favorite time of the week, knowing a little grandson and his family will be popping in for a Facetime visit.

Now, if my 80 (90?) year old self could just come give my sixty year old self some insights into the next twenty years that would be a very nice birthday present indeed.

Deliver Me From Delivery

My cooking skills are shot. I packed up fifteen cookbooks today and can't remember the last time I consulted one. Guys on bicycles delivering food to my door have ruined me. Delivery menus have become my recipe books.

My Y and I have completely different tastes in food. He loves seafood, I would eat chicken for every meal every day if I could. He enjoys cucumbers and tomatoes soaked in Italian salad dressing, I like plain celery sticks. He likes street vendor lamb kabobs, mmmm, I don't? Anyway, the point is that requesting food delivery becomes very appealing. We can both order what we want and even if we are not eating the same food at least we are still eating together. 

I already know I am going to miss this aspect of living in a big city. I've never ordered breakfast to be delivered to my door but that's not really the point is it? I COULD have breakfast delivered to my door if I wanted it. French toast, bagels, eggs over medium with a side of crispy bacon, anything that is on the menu a bicyclist will weave through traffic to bring me. It gives a little punch to breakfast in bed doesn't it?

It doesn't really matter that we aren't ordering in anything exotic. It's usually chicken pot pie, roasted chicken, pasta dishes, pizza, salads, or some variation of Chinese food. What matters is that it shows up hot and ready to eat, there are no pots and pans to wash, and if we want to really to save the planet, no dishes to wash.  In addition to anything delivered there comes a minimum of four to six packets of plastic ware (really, the servings large enough to feed that many people), fifteen packets of whatever condiment they deem appropriate, and a huge stack of thin napkins that equals one good Bounty napkin. Once you're finished eating you now have plastic leftover containers for all those meals you aren't preparing.

Chinese food and pizza are the only two types of food that will show up at my door in the smallish town where I am moving. I will know those menus by heart within two weeks of turning the key in the door of my new delivery address. Eating food from a variety of restaurants will require me to jump in the car, pull into the "Take Out Parking Only" spots, and wait for a car hop to deliver food to my window.

No, I just need to unpack those cookbooks, fire up the search engines for recipes sites, and flip through some magazines for enticing meals that include seafood and chicken.

A Cow Bell Day

Go to any type of outdoor sporting event where friends and family attend for the purpose of encouraging and inspiring their favorite participant and you will hear cow bells. Hopefully lots and lots of cow bells.

When Mr. Y participated in a 102 mile bike event that required him to ride up and down three mountain passes in one day he was happy to have a small band of supporters yelling out messages of hope and assurance all while vigorously clanging cow bells. All the other participants also seemed to enjoy that we popped up at strategic spots along the route ("You guys again!?") and would shout out their request for "More cow bells!"  Their pace would pick up, we would get smiles and a thank you, and we knew we had lifted their spirits when they needed it most.

As I cleaned out the back of my closet and came across my set of cow bells (What? You don't keep cow bells around?) I thought today might be a good day to give them a good shaking before I pack them away. Who needs an athletic event to justify a good cow bell ringing? My frowny face from yesterday has been replaced with a little bit of anticipation as I tape shut some more packing boxes, but I could still use a little uplift. I found out this morning that dear friends who participated in our little support group in the mountains will be facing surgeries over the next few weeks to address potentially serious health issues. I'm thinking a cow bell ringing video would at least divert their thoughts from what lies ahead for a few minutes. The world as a whole seems to be in a bit of a mess right now and could certainly use a good cow bell event.

While I complete my short cow bell ringing session (VERY short considering I have apartment neighbors) I leave you with a video (More Cow Bell) of the now classic SNL skit that inspired the requests for more cow bell.

That completes my Cow Bell Day.

A Different Move

I figure I might as well write this while I can. By this time next week it will be just too difficult. I'm preparing myself for the move back to the Midwest. Moves for me have always been easy, but not this one.

It seems every move until now has been more exciting than the last. I was eighteen when I moved out of my parent's home and, as with most teenagers I was excited to be on my own. Not going to college made my first move away a permanent one. I was moving to a big city (well, big to me) to take my first full time job. No moving back home for summer or winter breaks. Even though that first move was to a spare bedroom in the home of a Methodist minister and his wife (funny story for another time), I loved that big sunny corner bedroom.

Subsequent moves coincided with different life events. Moving into my first apartment with roommates, a little bungalow after getting married, a bigger house and a new baby, purchasing my first home after a divorce, a temporary apartment while building a new home with a new husband, moving into that new home thinking we would be there a long time, moving to new jobs 3 years later in a new city then upsizing 2 years after that to accommodate a blended family, and finally to downsizing here in NYC. Every time my general mood has been upbeat, excited, with a sense of adventure thrown in.

I have talked to people who are just contemplating a move and are reduced to tears talking about it. They are living in their dream home, or all their babies were brought home to that house, the pets are buried in the back yard, they have spent hours doing projects together to get it just like they want it. I couldn't understand what the emotion was all about.  I've loved my homes, spent hours decorating them, documented wonderful family times in them, but I've not been sad upon leaving them. At least not until now.

As I remove art from the walls, gather up knick knacks, throw away delivery menus for our favorite restaurants, and look out at the cityscape I am filled with an overwhelming sadness. The Wee One learned to walk around the ottoman, the sectional has slept many dear friends and family, I found I really like a galley kitchen, and I have appreciated that every kind of culture is right outside my door. I've loved handing over my keys so friends can explore the city even while we were away having an adventure of our own. I don't know that I will ever live in a place like this again.

Yes, this move is different. There is something about this home, this city, and this experience that will stay with me for a very long time.

Hard to Deny

   

                 
Yesterday I happened to come across this picture of my maternal grandparents and their four tow headed daughters. I have seen the picture before many times but yesterday it stopped me in my tracks. Sitting on my grandmother's lap was my grandson. No, not really my grandson, but my mother's version of my grandson.

Children can't just be themselves can they? They must resemble someone up the family tree and we will study and scrutinize until we see it. Oh yes, there is my dad's smile or my mother's chin. We immediately check to see if their eyes are going to be blue or brown, whether their ears are going to stick out like this uncle or that aunt, and hoping the cowlick you have fought for years doesn't present itself in this generation. Other times you look at a child and for the life of you cannot figure out how those two parents came up with that little person.Yesterday the shape of my mother's face, her nose, and her eyes all were reflected in recent pictures of The Wee One's face. At least I think so.  

I can remember looking at my young son and thinking he certainly is a miniature version of his father. He didn't look like me and in no way did he look like my mother and yet here my son has a son and his great grandmother's features appear. At least he has that in common with Prince George. As Prince George turns one there are lots of pictures of him matched up with his great grandmother Queen Elizabeth, each with expressions that mimic the other. (Then again, how many pictures of Kate's grandmother do we have to make comparisons to? I'm sure given the chance a case could be make for him having features of the Middleton family line.)

Sometimes I think we see what we hope to see. As The Wee One matures I am sure he will outgrow some of the facial landmarks that make him look so familiar to his dad's maternal side of the family. Goodness knows what will happen when we start to see characteristics of my dad's side of the family, or my son's paternal side, or his mother's maternal and paternal side! But no matter what the gene combinations for looks and personality he ultimately ends up with he will still be a unique person. Right now it will just be hard for him to deny a link to a certain great grandmother. (Let's just hope his barber is always better than her hairdresser!)

                                                  

While We Are Here........

I love a good road trip. But living in NYC has put a real crimp in any spontaneous decision to jump in a car and put the city in our rearview mirror. It now takes a little more planning and time constraints, as in renting a car in advance and committing to a specific timeframe for the journey. All that aside, we have managed to visit several sites over the last two years we likely would not have made a special trip from the Midwest to explore. Niagara Falls, Newport R.I., Philadelphia, and Gettysburg have been some of our destinations. This past weekend it was The Hamptons and Montauk on Long Island.

The trip planner (me) decided the best plan was to leave Friday morning, drive to the farthest point, spend the night, then work our way back to the city on Saturday. According to my electronic lap map (I am proficient with paper maps but when I can have a chap with an English accent directing my every turn over my iPad, well.....) the trip should take about three hours to get to Montauk. As with all well planned trips we reached our destination six hours later. Stopping at a funky beach town diner for lunch, a Carvel ice cream stop (a NY ice cream that in no way rivals Dairy Queen but my husband will argue differently), and bumper to bumper traffic through South Hampton, East Hampton, and Montauk made our trip more leisurely than we intended. It is hard to know where each hamlet, village, or burg ends and the next one begins. The foliage is all planted as a screen to keep properties private and you get the sense the only people on the island are those on the roads within your sight. Finally, the end of our day trip is a cul-de-sac with a lighthouse. An beautiful exclamation point on the end of Long Island.

The rest of the trip is pretty standard for an East Coast summer hot spot. Beautiful over-the-top beach houses, coves with boats, excuse me, yachts that rival the size of small islands, pretty people lunching outdoors, little shore towns with designer stores, and roadside crab shacks. The weather was perfect so we extended our second day to include a side trip to Oyster Bay, another quiet, picturesque shore town that is the final resting place of Teddy Roosevelt. It was hard to believe we were only 25 miles outside of New York City. 

Driving back into the city we both know these recent road trips have been very different than the long haul trips we tend to take in the Midwest. There it takes miles and miles for the scenery to change. The views are expansive, the towns are further apart, and the fast food calls to us from most every exit. But while we were here it's been nice to experience something different.......

Shades of Grey

Ah ha! Gotcha. No, this will not be a discourse on the appropriateness of a certain trilogy of books that recently spent a bazillion weeks on the best seller list. This is about picking the right shade of grey for a house, loving grey days, and trying to get rid of a certain grey area in my life. 

The Paint

Long story short: The two glorious years in NCY are coming to an end. We are scheduled to arrive back in The Midwest on July 30th. A new residence has been purchased and plans to prepare the new

nest were discussed during the last trip "home".  Bathroom cabinets will be raised, sconces will be removed (who uses sconces in every room of a house as their only light source!?), a shower door will be added, and every wall will be freshly painted. But what color to paint? Oh my, the choices.

I have always loved using the color grey as my neutral when decorating. Peach and grey were the interior colors of my very first home lots of years ago and since then I do believe every paint company has added thousands of grey shades to their color pallets. I'm taking the plunge and painting all the walls in our new house some variation of grey. I am hoping I do not walk in and think that I have just entered a prison cell. It would make me very sad to feel like I am carrying out some type of prison sentence. Jail cells are not known for making a person feel warm and fuzzy but I'm convinced it's going to be all about the accessories. I'll let you know.

The Weather

Mmmmmm. Today has been one of those fantastically rainy, dreary, grey days. This type of weather is my favorite. Not that I don't like fresh spring days and colorful fall days, but there is just something about the grey days that make me fell cocooned. It's a nap day, a reading day, a chore day. These are the days I feel like I am living in a black and white photo. There is just something nostalgic about a grey day.

And Finally.........

I began to notice the roots of my hair becoming much more grey a few weeks ago and decided to ignore it. Yesterday I realized it had been ten weeks since the last visit to a colorist and what I was seeing was not going to go away and wasn't going to blend in. Now matter how I combed, tucked, or fluffed my hair there was a significant portion of grey showing. Since the cost to visit a NYC hairdresser is equal to a car payment (and I'm talking about a nice car, not a clunker) I'm thinking it is a task I should take over. After all, what are all those boxed hair color aisles at the pharmacy for? I picked a shade I thought would cover nicely and figured worst case I would be wearing a hat, a big hat, until I could get in to see my much more reasonably priced hairdresser at home. It turned out not bad, but not great either. Maybe I should consider which shade of grey I can live with and just give in.

Nah.

An Off Year

Yesterday was our 17th wedding anniversary.

Traditionally, according to reliable website sources, we are suppose to give crystal gifts for our fifteenth anniversary and silver for our twentieth. Nothing is noted for the seventeenth. Well, there IS a gift of furniture mentioned for the seventeenth if you are checking the "Modern" gift list and given that we will be in the process of moving soon that might have been a good idea, but no recliners or lamps or bedside tables were exchanged.

I think it's nice when you are at the point in a relationship when a non-celebration becomes a celebration. Not that I would want that every year but we decided early in the day, after seeing four visiting family members off in a cab to the airport, that an agenda of doing nothing would be a great gift to give each other. Since late April we had either had guests here or traveled ourselves. We bought a house in the Midwest (Midwest to Midtown.....and Back), graduated the youngest from college, apartment hunted with that graduate for his post college abode, traded cars, visited with friends and family, picked paint colors and carpet for the new house, and arranged for a contractor to tweak a few things before we go back in July. We both needed a breather.

We caught up on a little TV, I washed up guest bedding, he sat and researched ancestry at the computer. I read newspapers that had piled up during the week of entertaining, he ran out to bring back lunch and a few groceries. We ordered take-out for dinner. No angst of what to buy each other, no budgeting for elaborate trips or champagne meals, no perusing the card section for that perfectly versed card. Just a comfortable sharing of our special day.

Off years are good!

Good Intentions

We had such good intentions.

Knowing we would be back in NYC for New Year's Eve this year Mr. Y and I decided this would be the year to be in Time's Square. Won't ever be here again. How could we miss this opportunity? We will be SO sorry if we don't go. Won't we?

The day started out clear and bright, then spit snow in the afternoon, and finally cleared for a reveal a cloudless, cold night. Reports started coming in of people (and by that I mean young people) beginning to stake out their spots around noon. Oh gosh, really? They are going to stand outside in twenty degree weather for twelve hours!? No restrooms, no chairs, no food. Back packs and packages were not being allowed into the secured areas so unless you could stuff a whole lot of goods into your pockets it was going to be a very long day. And then there were the posts about adult diapers being needed, and, well, you see where this is going.....

Right to our couch. Sitting in front our of TV with thousands (though more than one announcer referred to billions) of people doing the same thing. We saw the entertainment, such as it was, and had a helicopter view of the crowd. Plus we had ready access to our facilities and could pop our popcorn and eat it hot. Oh, we could have made a mad dash to midtown around ten and hoped for the best but it was more fun to dash to our rooftop at midnight and see the fireworks in Central Park and Brooklyn going off. The dash back downstairs to a warm cozy bed by 12:20am was even better. No subway ride required.

I didn't make any resolutions for 2014 but I've already paved the way for good intentions.