Sunday, March 16, 2014

A sighting in Connecticut

"It might seem crazy what I'm about to say."

So the other day, a strange, nondescript gray minivan pulled into my driveway. Since I wasn't expecting anyone and our neighborhood is infested with Jehovah's Witnesses, I did what any normal, mature adult would do.
I slipped into Ninja mode, dropped to the floor and crawled under the windowsill to scope it out.
The van had no signage on it, so that narrowed it down - either someone looking for directions or Jesus was off the leash again.
From my vantage point under the window, I saw a skinny dude with a tall hat and a neon green vest get out of the van and jog up my front walk.
As I stumbled to the front door, I heard a *thump* on the porch.  I opened the door just as he jumped back into the van and drove away.
I opened the door and looked down and that's when the magnitude of what I'd just witnessed hit me. 

Drone Droppings
That's right. 

I had just seen with my own two eyes, the mysterious and elusive Amazon Drone! 

This is epic. This is the technological equivalent of Bigfoot, Yeti and the Chupacabra. This is like the Terminator only better.

They took something that originally looks like this:


And they camouflaged it to look like this:

Happy Drone

So keep your eyes peeled and listen for the clapping.  You just might spot him too.

This has all the makings of a blockbuster reality show.  I need to organize a drone-tracking team.

"I hear claaaaaaaaaapping..."

Saturday, February 1, 2014

Faking Football No More

For the past 30 years I faked football.

You see, I married into a family that enjoys sports. Correction: they do not enjoy sports, they obsess over sports. In all those years, I can't recall more than a handful of conversations that didn't revolve around football, softball, baseball, basketball or someotherkindofball. And those conversations that were about other topics quickly turned into a sports analogy followed by "did you see that game...?"

And we're back to sports.

So I learned to fake it.

When my 9 year old son played football it was relatively easy to fake it. There are very specific rules that Moms of football players must follow.

  • Once he has the uniform on absolutely no touching. Don't fix his hair, don't tuck his jersey in and under no circumstances do you tie his shoelaces. 
  • Absolutely no public displays of affection.
  • Refrain from vaulting over the other spectators to jack up the kid who tackled your baby. 
At this stage, you don't need to know the rules of the game, you only need to learn the Mom dance:
  • Keep your eyes on your own kid at all times 
  • When he falls down - you stand up.
  • When he gets up - you sit down. 
And that's all you need to know to be a successful football Mom. 

Luckily for me, when he hit high school, Son O'Mine's focus turned to Art School and I no longer had to do the Mom dance every Sunday afternoon. 

Unfortunately, his father did not lose interest. Coaching became his obsession. And I do mean obsession.  All football, all day, all week, all year round.  And the Coach's wife isn't just watching one kid - no, she's expected to remember every kid, his number, what position he plays, his life history, his shoe size and what he had for breakfast.  Sweet Mother of God, now I had to actually pay attention to the game. And as soon as the game was over, he would recap every friggin' minute of the game in excruciating detail.  In our home, there was no such thing as football season. As soon as the last game was over, he would be working 24/7 planning plays and recruiting players for the next year. 

I think it's some bizarre genetic brain mutation  - This man could recall with perfect clarity, every play of every game he'd ever seen or played in the past 50 years, yet he could never remember where the hell he left his glasses. Go figure.

This year, I did not watch one football game all year. Not from the bleachers or the couch, live or televised. Not interested, don't care. Really, Really don't care.

But tomorrow,  I will be watching a bowl game - The Puppy Bowl. Penguin cheerleaders, puppy tailgaters, kitty half-time. It doesn't get any better than that. 

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

You'll never believe what I saw this weekend...

Trick or Treat!
So this past Saturday, Son O'Mine and I went on a bus trip to Salem, MA.  It's something we've talked about for a while now, and the scheduling finally worked so we could make it happen. So for those of you who've considered going, here are some tips:

  1. If you're going for the first time, the Saturday before Halloween is probably not the best idea unless you enjoy waiting in line for everything. 
  2. For first timers, a bus trip is the way to go. There is a shit-ton of traffic in and around Salem so hop on the bus, bring your NOOK or tablet and chill. It took us about 45 minutes to travel a few miles from the town line to where the action was. 
  3. Wear comfortable shoes. You will do a lot of walking. And some of the sidewalks are wonky, wavy brick so leave the heels at home. 
  4. Buy the discount exhibit ticket combo (Pirate Museum, Witch Village, Wax Museum, etc). Once you go through one of them, you're bound to want more. Save a buck or two.  (FYI - I am a self-professed weenie when it comes to gory scary things, so if I can emerge without trauma, so can your 7 year old)
  5.  Each exhibit has its own gift shop - almost all carry the same touristy junk. The most interesting booty was found in the artisan tents set up in front of the Peabody. If you appreciate hand-made jewelry (I do) you'll find some beautiful pieces (I did) and you can chat with the artists. 
  6. Don't be afraid to wander. It's pretty easy to find your way around the town and sometimes you have the most interesting adventures when you stray from the path. 
Son O'Mine and I had a great lunch at a bar called "In a Pig's Eye" on Derby Street.  It's a bit of a walk, but worth the trip. And on the way back, we passed this place:

'Nuff said
Tell me you could pass this place and *not* take a picture.  I dare you. It's not every day you see one of these in neon. And we passed another one on the way out of town.

Apparently it's a chain.

Sunday, July 7, 2013

"Let go or be dragged"

When I was a child, I lost all of the people closest to me within the space of one year.  Consequently, I've always had a difficult time letting go of people.  Even those who were toxic and hurtful and damaging. I clung to them fiercely because my biggest fear was being left alone.
Over the past several weeks I have reconnected with some old friends that I'd lost touch with.  They reminded me that my personhood isn't lost, she's simply been buried for a long time. 

The Me I once was

Yes, that was me at age 26. She was an individual - a person. She was bright and loving and strong and wild and brave. Most of all, she was fearless.  And I miss her.

I see now that what I once believed was a safety net, was actually an anchor dragging me down.  Because I was too afraid to let go.

So this is me... letting go. 

It may take me a while to dig my way out, but I intend to fly.

Sunday, June 30, 2013

She can shove a plant through concrete

With all the changes going on in my life lately, I haven't been doing as much (well, none at all) gardening as I did last summer. I planted a few things, but nothing close to the gardening frenzy I slipped into last year.  Each day as I leave for work, I glance to the right of the porch, hoping for a sign that the concrete-busting columbine is reappearing.

But, so far, nothing.

Yesterday, the masochist in me decided it would be a good idea to spend a couple hours in the scorching heat, weeding the shade beds I planted last year. Today, when I went out to weed the front walk, I found this little beauty smiling up at me.


I like to think it's MMN (Mistress Mother Nature)'s way of showing her appreciation. But then again, it could just be her way of saying "Take care of my babies, or I'll shove a plant up your crack."

Either way, message received loud and clear.

Yes, Ma'am.