When I was a young adult, every Saturday after my mom got her hair done, we went shopping. We had a window of time. We had to leave before my dad got up and before anyone decided to stop by and just hang out at the 5058 kitchen table. Usually it was with both my sisters. Sometimes there was an agenda, but most times it was pure retail therapy. Tina and I both worked and we always needed work clothes. Gina at 7 and 8 years old HATED to shop, but she had to go with us because she was a child and she was not going to stay home with Dad and Grandpa. Almost always, we were on the hunt for sale clothes, shoes, purses, bras..The category being "things you wear on your body".
My mom led the charge. She drove, she directed, she settled disagreements between us, she gave us her opinion whether we wanted it or not and shopping got done. Power shopping. With lunch and then more shopping. My mom would encourage us to buy things if it was a good deal and if we wavered, she bought it for us. She rarely bought things for herself. Looking back I'm not sure when she shopped for herself.
This tradition went on for many years past when I lived in Cincinnati. Eventually Gina loved to shop and the 3 of them would go every Saturday. Sometimes they would shop for house wares or antiques or they would have to stop at Home Depot or Target.
Now that my mom was a little older, lunch was first, then shopping. Now they had to bring Leah, who HATES shopping because she is not staying home with her Dad or by herself.
And when Gina moved here, we continued the tradition at least one day on the weekend, time permitting. We shopped for all kinds of stuff. We expanded! We would go to swap meets, outlet stores, Ikea, and the old favs like Sam's Club, Ross, TJ MAXX and Target. There was always something we needed, wanted, had to have.
We took it for granted, that time together.
This week my mom and Gina flew in for a Thanksgiving visit. Although I love seeing them, and being with them I mostly felt sad.
My mom cannot shop at all. She's lost her ability to walk, the most critical of all shopping attributes. She still has the desire and we try, but the real truth is that most stores are not set up for the disabled. Only a few have motorized carts. And in my mom's case, we have to be right near her because in addition to not being able to walk, she has a sight limitation; so driving the cart is iffy at best. And the acceptance of her owning a wheelchair or a motorized craft is something she has not yet been able to get her arms around. On more than one attempt to shop we have had to clear off a shelf so she could sit down because her legs have given out and she is in PAIN.
Perhaps for her, it feels like she is like giving in to it. Honestly, I don't know the answer. All I know for sure is that now it's so very stressful to shop at all if my mom is around. She does not want to stay home and miss out, but she knows that going with us is not going to work.
Of course, she still wants to go. Its that power shopper that still lives inside her.
And I know this for sure: now my sisters and I spend most of our time discussing what to do about mom, how to make it better, less humiliating, less boring, less lonely. That is how we spend our sister time. If we shop together, we are guilt ridden that we have been gone too long. The joy of our group "retail therapy" has temporarily been suspended for us.
Time and aging have stepped in and adjusted our tradition. I am trying to get to that "evolved" place in my head.
The one that allows me to want to subscribe to the idea that just spending time with my mom is enough. It seems all she has now is time, memories and Gina's list of things to buy.
Because old habits die-hard. And once you are a power shopper, it seems it stays with you, no matter what.
For all those years and years of tradition, I want to say thank you. And I am hoping we can start a new tradition, where we are happy with talking about shopping, and just having a little lunch.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Writing Craze
I think I must have a ton of stories in me because all I want to do is write. Maybe its because I spend so much time alone and all I do is observe, or maybe it's just time for my stories to be told. Perhaps I am only writing to the void of cyberspace. Heaven knows, I have no one to pass things on to. No one to really cherish my history. And in a way, that is very liberating. Because I can write from my heart, I don't have to worry about having hurt anyone's feelings or that I forgot to mention someone or something. I can pick any subject and write my angle. Sometimes it takes doing that to see that some things actually were pretty funny, even though at the time it was an annoying or painful event.
I've been talking about writing for a very long time. So now, at least I am taking action!
Write on!
I've been talking about writing for a very long time. So now, at least I am taking action!
Write on!
Monday, November 12, 2007
Salsa Sundays
Last week my friend Juli and I decided to try sunday salsa with the salsa lessons at at Harvelles in Redondo Beach at the pier.
Juli is new to salsa and she did enjoy her class, but mine was not so great. I don't like classes and I particularly don't like some weird guy telling me I'm doing it wrong. I don't think there is "wrong" in recreational dancing! So we agreed that this week we would go again with my friend Luis, just for the dancing and skip the class. I have known Luis since I started dancing salsa in 1988. I know more than a few moves and grooves, but I would not classify my style as athlelic, "dancing with the stars" type of dancing. Luis has the same sensibility and so I figured with the 3 of us, it could be fun and good exercise!!
We used to dance at a place called Miami Spice in Venice. It has since been replaced with a Three Day Blinds or maybe a 99 cent store, but in its heyday, that place rocked! My friend Dianne and I, both from Ohio, used to love our cast of regulars.
We had the cha cha girls- these were the girls who dressed the part. They came in a trio, with high heel strappy sandals, short skirts, and usually a ruffled something or other. And big hair, lots of dramatic hair and makeup. We, on the other end of the spectrum were in jeans and cowboy boots.
All the men were heavy in the fragrance department. After a night of dancing, I HAD to shower before I went to bed.
Thier was one guy we called the Indian because he did look just like the Indian who was in One Flew Over the KooKoo's Nest- he barely moved his lips when he spoke and was a pretty smooth dancer. Then there was Tino the Latino--he had a mighty crush on Dianne and he counted when he danced and made a tisking noise with his mouth. After either of us danced with him, we could not look at each other for fear of laughing. And my personal favorite, Joe Mambo (yes, that's what he said his name was), right from Cuba. He was a little scary and he liked me a little more than I was comfortable with. One time he followed me outside and asked me if I wanted to have some pizza at the beach...but it came out like pitza at the bitch...it was with this accent that I can't explain..and such a wierd request!!
There was one guy named George. He was a little old bald man (I'm talking in his 60's in 1989) who came every week, stood on the sidelines and just clapped out the mambo beat with an amazing look of joy on his face. Every once in a while one of the women would dance with him. It seemed to be just enough for the old guy!
And I would be remiss if I did not mention the 2 guys who worked the door, Jose Luis and his brother Luis Jose. No kidding, I could not make that up. To know them was to get in. In fact, at one point Luis Jose became my car mechanic. And I always got moved to the front of the line!
There were many more but here is my point.
I have come to realize that the in Latin club culture, there is always a "Lucy and Ricky Ricardo" vibe, the characters are always there. Last night was great fun and I found a few new ones: hat guy who danced the enire night with his cap on and actually worked it into his moves, no matter who he danced with, drunk Columbian guy with the extra large gold cross...he was someone to stay away from and then us, my friend Juli, Luis and I, two white chicks from Redondo Beach and a guy from Panama who sort of looks like Lionel Ritchie. Because in case anyone else is keeping track, we too, are a part of the scene.
And for the record, George is now nearing 80, still going to the clubs, still joyfully clapping out that mambo beat.
Juli is new to salsa and she did enjoy her class, but mine was not so great. I don't like classes and I particularly don't like some weird guy telling me I'm doing it wrong. I don't think there is "wrong" in recreational dancing! So we agreed that this week we would go again with my friend Luis, just for the dancing and skip the class. I have known Luis since I started dancing salsa in 1988. I know more than a few moves and grooves, but I would not classify my style as athlelic, "dancing with the stars" type of dancing. Luis has the same sensibility and so I figured with the 3 of us, it could be fun and good exercise!!
We used to dance at a place called Miami Spice in Venice. It has since been replaced with a Three Day Blinds or maybe a 99 cent store, but in its heyday, that place rocked! My friend Dianne and I, both from Ohio, used to love our cast of regulars.
We had the cha cha girls- these were the girls who dressed the part. They came in a trio, with high heel strappy sandals, short skirts, and usually a ruffled something or other. And big hair, lots of dramatic hair and makeup. We, on the other end of the spectrum were in jeans and cowboy boots.
All the men were heavy in the fragrance department. After a night of dancing, I HAD to shower before I went to bed.
Thier was one guy we called the Indian because he did look just like the Indian who was in One Flew Over the KooKoo's Nest- he barely moved his lips when he spoke and was a pretty smooth dancer. Then there was Tino the Latino--he had a mighty crush on Dianne and he counted when he danced and made a tisking noise with his mouth. After either of us danced with him, we could not look at each other for fear of laughing. And my personal favorite, Joe Mambo (yes, that's what he said his name was), right from Cuba. He was a little scary and he liked me a little more than I was comfortable with. One time he followed me outside and asked me if I wanted to have some pizza at the beach...but it came out like pitza at the bitch...it was with this accent that I can't explain..and such a wierd request!!
There was one guy named George. He was a little old bald man (I'm talking in his 60's in 1989) who came every week, stood on the sidelines and just clapped out the mambo beat with an amazing look of joy on his face. Every once in a while one of the women would dance with him. It seemed to be just enough for the old guy!
And I would be remiss if I did not mention the 2 guys who worked the door, Jose Luis and his brother Luis Jose. No kidding, I could not make that up. To know them was to get in. In fact, at one point Luis Jose became my car mechanic. And I always got moved to the front of the line!
There were many more but here is my point.
I have come to realize that the in Latin club culture, there is always a "Lucy and Ricky Ricardo" vibe, the characters are always there. Last night was great fun and I found a few new ones: hat guy who danced the enire night with his cap on and actually worked it into his moves, no matter who he danced with, drunk Columbian guy with the extra large gold cross...he was someone to stay away from and then us, my friend Juli, Luis and I, two white chicks from Redondo Beach and a guy from Panama who sort of looks like Lionel Ritchie. Because in case anyone else is keeping track, we too, are a part of the scene.
And for the record, George is now nearing 80, still going to the clubs, still joyfully clapping out that mambo beat.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Dad
Tomorrow is the anniversary of the death of my Dad. I could write about how its hard to beleieve that 7 years have passed, but really, I don't feel that way. Many, many things have changed in our family during that time and it does feel like seven long years to me.
Dad images come to me at the wierdest times. Today I was cleaning out a drawer and an old wooden ruler, his old wooden ruler feel to the floor. And his entire ritual with that ruler came flooding into my mind like a little slide show. First he went into the kitchen and got himself a little snack. Now that could range between a stack of really cheap cookies and a cup of coffee or sometimes, if was later in the day, a diet pepsi and whatever was left on the stove, nothing too chewy--his teeth were at a minimum.
He then got himself situated at the table with the phone behind him (a wall phone with, yes, a cord!!) Then he got out a pad of paper and the wooden ruler and he made his columns (yes, like a human Excel spread sheet). He then listed all the games for that day and the point spreads and dollars and whatever else. It was all color coded.
Next the phone starts to ring. Call waiting was the best thing that ever happened to my dad. Each time another call came in he would reach behind him to the wall phone and hit the cradle to get the call on the other line. And he would write and spoke in short sentences, "yeah, yeah, ok, I gotta take this call, no , yeah, Hammy what's the point spread on Miami..." and it would go on for a few hours like that, the bang of the reciever to switch to the other line, the "yeah, yeah, ok, and so on".
His whole business was in that 3 foot span of our kitchen.
You had to pass under the phone wire to get to the steps or to the refrigerator. That was ok. But heaven forbid if anyone else got a call on that line. Eventually we had two lines, but there was always someone who didn't know the house rules...
Cell phones had just started to get popular when he passed, but I know he would of loved that technology. I can just see him with a diet pepsi, bluetooth attached! Now that makes me laugh!!
Dad images come to me at the wierdest times. Today I was cleaning out a drawer and an old wooden ruler, his old wooden ruler feel to the floor. And his entire ritual with that ruler came flooding into my mind like a little slide show. First he went into the kitchen and got himself a little snack. Now that could range between a stack of really cheap cookies and a cup of coffee or sometimes, if was later in the day, a diet pepsi and whatever was left on the stove, nothing too chewy--his teeth were at a minimum.
He then got himself situated at the table with the phone behind him (a wall phone with, yes, a cord!!) Then he got out a pad of paper and the wooden ruler and he made his columns (yes, like a human Excel spread sheet). He then listed all the games for that day and the point spreads and dollars and whatever else. It was all color coded.
Next the phone starts to ring. Call waiting was the best thing that ever happened to my dad. Each time another call came in he would reach behind him to the wall phone and hit the cradle to get the call on the other line. And he would write and spoke in short sentences, "yeah, yeah, ok, I gotta take this call, no , yeah, Hammy what's the point spread on Miami..." and it would go on for a few hours like that, the bang of the reciever to switch to the other line, the "yeah, yeah, ok, and so on".
His whole business was in that 3 foot span of our kitchen.
You had to pass under the phone wire to get to the steps or to the refrigerator. That was ok. But heaven forbid if anyone else got a call on that line. Eventually we had two lines, but there was always someone who didn't know the house rules...
Cell phones had just started to get popular when he passed, but I know he would of loved that technology. I can just see him with a diet pepsi, bluetooth attached! Now that makes me laugh!!
Saturday Symphony of Sounds
Its quiet here today..just the sound of my 1971 oven timer softly buzzing. I have no idea how to turn it off. Funny thing when you have really old appliances. They make little sounds almost all the time. My refrigerator (circa 1984) has a beat all its own. Its random and I refer to it as the bass section. My dryer squeaks. The downstairs toilet hums a high pitch. And although I can totally block it all out, when people are here, its common for me to hear a "whats that noise?"
What noise? I usually respond because I have to REALLY LISTEN to figure out what appliance is performing at that time.
I think its the same thing with that little voice inside you. Over the past few months I have been testing out various workouts trying to find the right fit for myself. Since the beginning of Oct I have been what I like to refer as a freshman pilates student.
Now I have a dance background (way, way in the background, when I was a teenager!) so my muscles remember some of the things you are supposed to do. There is a variety of moves and positions and equipment looks like either wierd sex or S and M could be done on it. The entire time you are in the class your stomache muscles, the ones you had no idea were there, have to be sucked in...all things from your core. Its just you, the instructor and your body, at attention trying to, yes, breathe properly at the same time. And the thing that really sealed the deal was the arm work. Honestly, its like torture.
Is this fun? No, not even a little. Does this have a beat? Can you dance to it with abandon? No.
I was having a love hate relationship with it so it's taken me awhile to figure it out. I will finish out my classes, I have 8 left and one private session.
But this experience did bring to mind why I did not continue with my ballet as a teenager. It became not fun. It was a chore. I liked to perform. I liked to dance -it makes me happy, but you couldn't just dance without the barr work.
I love to dance. Sometimes I have dance breaks during the day, sometimes I like to salsa. My little voice is telling me I DO like to shake my groove thing, I DO like music, no matter what form, the quiet torture of a pilates practice is a really loud NO.
Dance on!!
What noise? I usually respond because I have to REALLY LISTEN to figure out what appliance is performing at that time.
I think its the same thing with that little voice inside you. Over the past few months I have been testing out various workouts trying to find the right fit for myself. Since the beginning of Oct I have been what I like to refer as a freshman pilates student.
Now I have a dance background (way, way in the background, when I was a teenager!) so my muscles remember some of the things you are supposed to do. There is a variety of moves and positions and equipment looks like either wierd sex or S and M could be done on it. The entire time you are in the class your stomache muscles, the ones you had no idea were there, have to be sucked in...all things from your core. Its just you, the instructor and your body, at attention trying to, yes, breathe properly at the same time. And the thing that really sealed the deal was the arm work. Honestly, its like torture.
Is this fun? No, not even a little. Does this have a beat? Can you dance to it with abandon? No.
I was having a love hate relationship with it so it's taken me awhile to figure it out. I will finish out my classes, I have 8 left and one private session.
But this experience did bring to mind why I did not continue with my ballet as a teenager. It became not fun. It was a chore. I liked to perform. I liked to dance -it makes me happy, but you couldn't just dance without the barr work.
I love to dance. Sometimes I have dance breaks during the day, sometimes I like to salsa. My little voice is telling me I DO like to shake my groove thing, I DO like music, no matter what form, the quiet torture of a pilates practice is a really loud NO.
Dance on!!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
My first post...Nov 7, 2007
Wow! this was so easy to set up!
I have been thinking that since I am not so slammed with work that perhaps I should get a few thoughts out there.
Today I had lunch with my friend Syd. In the 80's, at the beginning of our careers, we were the dynamic duo, the guerilla graphics team, we invented the wheel (or so we thought), went thruough the invasion of MAC technology (starting with the Lisa...cmon, some of you recall), traveled, and made great moola. Unfortunately all for someone else...Ahh but live and learn.
Here we are 20 years later, she at 47 with 2 kids, a great career and an unexpected child on the way and myself, still forging ahead with graphics, still putting on foot in front of the other.
Still friends.
Its a nice thing. We don't often have the time to sit and have lunch, but the moment we sit down its like no time at all has passed. Somehow I know it will always be this way. So thanks syd, for a great day!
I have been thinking that since I am not so slammed with work that perhaps I should get a few thoughts out there.
Today I had lunch with my friend Syd. In the 80's, at the beginning of our careers, we were the dynamic duo, the guerilla graphics team, we invented the wheel (or so we thought), went thruough the invasion of MAC technology (starting with the Lisa...cmon, some of you recall), traveled, and made great moola. Unfortunately all for someone else...Ahh but live and learn.
Here we are 20 years later, she at 47 with 2 kids, a great career and an unexpected child on the way and myself, still forging ahead with graphics, still putting on foot in front of the other.
Still friends.
Its a nice thing. We don't often have the time to sit and have lunch, but the moment we sit down its like no time at all has passed. Somehow I know it will always be this way. So thanks syd, for a great day!
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