Suburban Island

Turn on the Lights

It’s not always fun and games on Suburban Island. Sometimes things just go wrong. Sometimes I just have to turn off my Sunshine 24/7 sign and sigh repeatedly. On the tough streets of Suburban Island there is little room for more than that.

Like, for instance, this weekend. I had to teach a session of a grad school class. Now, I am happy to do such a thing because for that one tiny instant in which I say – yes, of course, it would be my pleasure to do that – I feel kind of cool and smart. Then reality kicks in. I just signed up for extra work – on the weekend. The day of the class I get all dressed up and head out. As usual, I get lost finding my way to the city campus of the school and wind up in a neighborhood so foreign to me that I will imagine I might have been abducted by aliens and beamed down in a totally different metropolitan area. I do not recognize the dean when introduced to her because no one told me I would meet her. I begin wishing I had had a coffee, or lunch, or even a breath mint as the 2 hour class turns into a marathon event spanning the entire afternoon instead of a short interruption in the course of my day. On the way back I get lost again. Eventually I arrived home weary but feeling I have done my duty.

The next day I do things I want to do – that means I do as few chore stuff as possible. Stuff like paying bills and such. That’s too bad because on Tuesday they will turn off the electricity. I knew I kept forgetting something – something big. Yes, I do know about setting up automatic payments. No, I did not set one up. It’s true, I should know better. Sometimes in life we just get dumb.

Last night I spent my evening basking in the warm glow of candlelight. Except around midnight when I went out and sat in the dark in my car (gas gauge on empty) in an effort to charge up my cell phone (battery low) so that I could contact the power company to find out where their technician had gotten to. Evidently the technician had gone home for the night because he never turned up as promised. I thin it is because he wanted to wait until all the food in my freezer was defrosted. Mission accomplished. Nice.

My family was very nice about it. When my husband had stopped weeping over the big garbage bags of stuff I had to trash from the fridge and freezer we sat down to dinner in front of Law and Order. He ate something that had thawed out. We are waiting to see if he contracts food poisoning. It also gave me a chance to consider the creativity quotient of my kids. My son likes the candlelight effect. Then he left the house for hours to eat out with pals. What could I say? My daughter trumped him – she had dinner with one et of friends, came home, decided that candlelight didn’t work for her, and went to sleep over at a girlfriend’s house. Yeah, I though, as I lit a few more candles to keep out the dark, it’s all good – for some of us at least.

I picked up a Big Mac for myself and one for my daughter once the electricity came back on today. Yes, it was time to celebrate in a big-time way. Until I found a long black hair in my sandwich. I do not have black hair. The sandwich went in the trash along with my appetite.

Hey, what’s going on here?

I’d tell you more but now that the power is back on again I have to go online to the DMV and find out about getting my son a new driver’s license. He lost it at the raceway along with the credit card we had given him and the bank card he had borrowed from me and not yet given back.

Yup, sometimes the streets of Suburban Island are tough streets. I will navigate them however. After all, I must. Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I'll just reach over and turn this neon Sunshine 24/7 sign again.

That’s better. A little sunshine always helps. And of course, a good dose of standard issue electricity doesn't hurt either.

Big Love

Let’s have a heart-to-heart talk today. I was wondering…

Have you ever had a big love?

You know the kind. Where you feel like you’ve been broadsided by the Mack truck of love. A real big truck – probably fire-engine red - going real fast and headed straight for you. Let’s face it. There’s no way to avoid getting smacked into the big fluffy-clouded perfectly bright blue sky of love when the big love Mack truck runs you down. You don’t even care. You’re in love. Real love. You’re wearing wings and singing all the time. It’s a pretty nice place to be.

I’m not talking about infatuation here. That’s not a Mack truck, that’s just someone knocking you over in a high speed tricycle with a loud horn. You may not be able to avoid the Mack truck of love but you can definitely step out of the way of the trike - and well you should. That way lies certain heartache. Forget about the trike and foolish infatuations. Big love is the real thing. I’m talking about one of those loves where you think about your life together down to the grey-haired years and you know it’s a real possibility. Not the way you do when you are in junior high school and write someone’s name in puffy letters with flowers all around it in all your notebooks. This is something else. Something bigger and much more intriguing.

With the big love, everything is clicked in just right, the sexual chemistry, the emotional attraction, and the hundreds of little aspects of each of you that works together in the right way so that you find yourself smiling as you walk around doing the same boring stuff you normally do and delighting in the fact that even that stuff has a brand new charm. You can’t buy the delightful effects of the big love. It’s not rushed or hurried as in the manner of a simple infatuation. It’s more of a path along which you both travel than a big bang and eventual disappointment (a la the major infatuation). It might be rocky at times but it’s worth it because you feel buoyed up in the best of big love moments. On the other hand, you’re left lying in the road just where the Mack truck of love smacked you if it doesn’t work out so well. It’s not anything like those damn e-Harmony commercials. But it could be.

In the midst of the big love, you don’t think you can live without them. Probably, you really can’t unless you have to do so. Then you will - of course, because after all you must. And it will kill you - or almost - if that is the way it goes. Anytime you are even on the outs your heart is broken. If it ends, you find it hard to move on because your deepest desire is that things will work out in the end and you hate to totally abandon the big love even when the break up is a done deal. Some day, after it is over and done for years, you may hear that your big love got engaged and you will feel a little sad even if you have gotten on with your life a long time ago. That’s the power of the big love. Over the years, you may still think about them once in awhile. How are they? What would happen if you ran into them? Would you have a nice talk? Would you tell them off? Would you be able to forgive them, or they you, for the heartache that you suffered in the name of the big love gone wrong? Would you still love them a little?

It’s an interesting question. I think that we never forget our big love(s) and I think that most likely we probably would be very ready to forgive them and/or ourselves for a good love lost if the right words were proffered on both side in the end. And I think we should do just that. It has to better for us on many different levels.

This has been something I have especially pondered as my own college-age daughter is going through a big love breakup. I don't know what will happen with regard to her big love in the end but I truly feel her pain and wish there was a way I could diminish it. But of course there is not. The power and pain of the big love breakup is inescapable - there is no way to avoid it. Perhaps she will find herself back on board with this big love one day. Maybe there is another big love  waiting in her future that is the final big love destination for her. The big love breakup stinks but there it is. She just has to push through it and see what's at the other end. I hope it is something wonderful. I feel like crying for her when I think about the hurt around the lost big love because I know that although she tries to overcome it, it still is there for her and will be for awhile. This is one of the hardest parts of being a parent - witnessing your child in pain and not really being able to do too much about it.

In the midst of all this, I heard from a big love of mine from my college days - just out of the blue. What's old is new again - or so they say. I was angry at him for years after we broke up – angry and hopeful at that same time that somehow, maybe we would work it out in the end. I told him off in make believe dialogues in my head a thousand times in those days. All the pain, all the heartache, all the tears, all the wishes torn asunder, and the disrespect to my heart – which was a very gentle heart. Frankly, dear readers, I was pissed. God, how did I survive all of that? How do any of us survive it?

Well, we are often stronger than we realize and if we work at it, we eventually rise out of the ashes of the big love gone wrong to proceed on with our lives – hopefully wiser than before. Maybe headed on a new path or armed with some school-of-hard-knocks learning that will impact our next big love experience, if it comes along, in a positive way. Indeed out of the pain of the lost big love can come many treasures that we have hidden within ourselves that are only in these moments can be discovered. We just may not recognize all of this at the time it is happening or maybe for a long time afterwards.

Ironically, when I finally heard from this big love again 30 years after the fact – it was all okay. I realized that I wasn’t really mad at him anymore. I mean, he was my college sweetheart and I really did love him madly so it was nice to hear from him and I was glad he had gone to the trouble of checked in with me. Actually it was kind of a surprise but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't nice to know that someone from so long ago still thought of me with some residual big love feelings. I have to admit that maybe there was just a little residual anger still in place on my side. I think I still needed an apology from him and didn’t even realize it myself. He gave me one without my asking which I truly appreciated. It took thirty years but I got closure. Maybe he did too.

Funny, I couldn’t remember the angry speeches I had prepared for him in my head so many years before. He hadn’t done right by me back in the day but that was a long time ago and in the end I was glad to hear from him because I realized with real clarity that having a big love – at least once in your life (or more) – is not a small thing. Even if it doesn’t go right. Because, at least you had it. It is my contention that even though it might turn out all wrong and break your heart, everyone should have at least one big love (or more) in their past or their present or their future. It is one of life's great adventures.

I’m glad that I was smacked by the big Mack truck of love back then. And I’m still glad now. It might not always have been fun but floating around in the fluffy clouds of love when it was all good with that relationship was something I wouldn’t have missed for the world.

And now, on with my ordinary suburban life. Thanks for the heart-to-heart.

Heart-Shaped Poo

Oh, snap! Nature loves me this week. At least that's what I think given recent indicators provided to me by Mother Nature herself. After all, Mother Nature has got to be the first to recognize that a mother needs some encouragement once in awhile. I knew for sure that Mother Nature was giving me some props for just managing to keep my head above water in daily life when the heart-shaped poo appeared on my front windshield. I tried to take a picture of it just because I thought that nobody would believe the heart-shaped bird poo decorating my windshield but I couldn't get a good photo and besides, I don't want to post a picture on the web of bird poop no matter what shape it is.

There's a few other things that have occurred that make me think that Mother Nature is checking in to give me boost this week. There are the mushrooms that have sprung up like crops of spaceships on the front yard. These things look weird and consequently they are retained on our lawn like cheesy lawn ornaments from the local discount store. It's not just me who finds them fascinating. One of my son's friends ran down the street carrying two of these huge mushrooms like Olympic torches just the way Rocky might after climbing one too many Philadelphia landmark steps in an unexpected sequel. I don't know what to say about the mushroom run except remember what happened to Alice and put the mushrooms down.

Best of all though, a beautiful tiny lavender-blue butterfly was flitting around the yard when I pulled up in my car - pre-heart-shaped poo - and landed right on the tassel of my teal and cream stadium pumps. I guess the tassel looks like an exotic flower. It stayed there until my foot started to go numb for all that standing still and then fluttered away into the big blue afternoon.

Thanks, Mother Nature, for these little pick me ups. Now If you could just arrange a field of diamonds in the backyard, I think we'd really be cooking. In the meantime, I sincerely appreciate the rain. It washed the heart-shaped poo away before I lost my love of nature.

The Chore-Maker

Is there a kind of helpfulness that is really just a way to get us to do stuff that other people think we should do?

I am beginning to suspect that perhaps there is.

Today my son and I went to see a movie and when we came home my husband had taken all my shoes and put them out in a bin in the garage. Now, I ask you - what woman wants her shoes in an open bin in the garage? There are sure to be a few silverfish in the garage. There are most likely crickets in the garage. There are probably a few spiders in the garage. There may be other yet unaccounted for things too - things that might scamper unbidden into our garage as the weather cools - like mice - that I'd rather not know about. I mean it's a garage and a woman's shoes - even if they are stinky and all tossed under the kitchen table - should not be removed to a place that she is not going to willing proceed each morning in bare feet in her quest for the appropriate footware in which she will march forth to meet her day. Furthermore, the idea of something jumping out of that bin at me as I paw through my shoe selection some random a.m. is enough to give me nightmares for weeks.

From his angle, he is just taking care of something that needed doing. He doesn't like shoes piled up under the dining room table. He thinks it is unsanitary and an unsightly mess. He's right - I'm sure - but if he knew how much some of these shoes cost I am confident he wouldn't be tossing them in the garage in an uncovered bin. I think I'll leave him in the dark about that part. I did explain to him about the general garage concerns, however. The result isn't really that satisfactory from my perspective.

He brought the bin inside.

Great.

It's down in my family room now. Just what I need. One more box of stuff in my family room that needs to organized somehow. That's why the damn shoes were under the kitchen table where at least they were out of sight yet still handy in the mornings. I know it's not ideal but our house isn't huge and storage space is at a minimum. And...I really do like shoes. Maybe a little too much.

I know I should be appreciative that my man is helping out around the house but it seems to me that what he is really doing is cutting into line with his list of chores for me - chores that really were much lower down on my own list - and forcing me to put these pre-started chores at the top of my list so that I have to do them ahead of what I really wanted to get done. Hey buddy - that's a form of line jumping.

For instance, last week - on Tuesday - he decided to help me out by scraping off the gem gel panorama that I had put on one of the set of big family room windows a couple years ago. They had slowly begun to look a bit the worse for wear - it's true. Essentially, some of them had started to melt due to the intense heat of the sun beating on those front windows. It didn't look very attractive anymore and I was working on getting the windows gem gel free again. I had already done the other set of windows last weekend. It took me hours. He did not help. Frankly, I was not ready to tackle the others for a while. It was not on my list this weekend.

Or so I thought.

I was wrong.

My husband decided to help me out by starting the other windows without asking me how that would work out from my side. Now there are no gem gels but it looks worse than with the gem gels in place. He did the simple part of the scraping (peeling off the big gem gels with a paint scraper) that I actually kind of like doing but not the real hard scraping (taking all the insets out of the window so that you can actually scrape off the really melted goo and then scrub down the glass inside and out) that I really hate doing. So now the project is started but I don't have time (or desire) to finish it. I guess he is being helpful but I didn't ask him to help because I really wasn't going to do that project for awhile. Now I have to do the project. I told him I would not be able to work on it for awhile and asked him if he could finish the effort he began. He told me - no.

Why do I feel like I have just been scammed? Now I am saddled with a chore I was trying to elude. Not being able to duck a chore really makes me grouchy and also reluctant to cooperate with the chore-maker.

I did not do the chores he whipped up for me this weekend. That will teach him. Tomorrow morning when I am looking out of that sticky window trying to find my shoes in a big plastic bin without any hope of success I will realize that neither one of us has won the battle. That'll teach me too.

Fried on Friday Night

I don’t know what it is – age, overwork, lack of imagination - but Friday nights are not as productive for me these days as they used to be. In the past I looked forward to Friday nights with great eagerness because I could cast off my work worries and everything else for that matter and just relax. I would spend a lot of time playing on my computer – writing, tiding up my blogs, visiting my favorite online reads, and generally just having fun. It was so relaxing. I could stay up until all hours goofing off in this manner. Of course, if my kids were around I would hang out with them (but at 17 and 20 you don’t usually see them sitting around the house with me on a Friday night much these days). I don’t take it personally. Usually, I am totally happy for some “me time”.

However, Friday nights have changed for me lately. I am still just as happy as always to see Friday evenings arrive but I can’t seem to squeeze as much out of those lovely Friday evenings nowadays. Last night for instance, I wanted to write a post or two, consider some new sidebar elements for my blogs, and catch up with every one of my online reads. Instead, I sat dazed and exhausted with not a drop of creative energy left in me or even the brain power to leave a comment in response to someone else’s efforts. I had my freedom from the workday demands – my Friday night – but my Friday night had lost its luster. The power of total exhaustion had claimed my evening.

By 9 PM I had turned the laptop off and found my way onto our nice soft sofa in the living room where I settled in to watch Court TV forensic shows and a special on women in prison somewhere in Tennessee. It’s serious entertainment… as they say on Court TV. It's also highly addictive to those settled on the sofa and a hard week of work just behind them. Besides, the new seasons of Monk and Psyched haven't started yet.

If this were a 3x5 index card I would write down my recipe for relaxation when in a state of exhaustion for you. It would boil down to this:

• One soft sofa
• The remote control all to myself
• Other household members otherwise engaged
• A blend of Court TV, the Food Network, and the Shopping channels
• A glass of wine
• Leftover Chinese food
• And after the TV is switched off – one good book to read in bed.

It’s not how I expected to spend my Friday night but it will do.

Has Anyone Seen My DSL?

My DSL was down most of the week. I soon realized that I was completely lost without access to the web. In fact, I found that everything that I needed to do seemed to be linked to some sort of online access. Kid’s college homework – need web access. White noise CDs I wanted to buy – need web access. Track down books not available at the bookstore – need web access. Check work email – need web access. Check bank balance – need web access. Cry big tears – the only thing I didn’t need DSL to accomplish last week.

My DSL is back again and it has put a smile on my face. The whole house is a happier place to be because the no-DSL blues is no longer being sung around here. I swear, dial-up has never been so slow or my need to get things done online so pressing as when my DSL went missing last week. Technology can be unkind - very unkind. Now that technology is in working order again - all is forgiven. I've ordered my white noise CDs and those books and my daughter submitted her assignment. I even checked my bank statement. If I could have hugged my errant DLS, I would have done so - and happily. Instead my daughter and I bring our computers upstairs and surf the web, listen to new music on iTunes, and general revel in our renewed online access. This euphoria was short-lived however.

We were feeling pretty good with the DSL back in place again when the scent of smoke got our attention.  Luckily, my daughter and I heard a funny noise and went to investigate. The smell of smoke in the family room was so strong that we finally woke my husband up and made him help us trace the source of the smell. Finally we discovered that a floor lamp had gone bad. The whole inside portion where the light bulb sits was charred and that was the source of smoky smell we were sniffing out. I’m glad we didn’t have to call the fire department as I need to straighten my family room before it is ready for an unexpected visit by anyone – even a nice fireman trying to save our house from burning down.

A miracle occurred this weekend when I came home Friday night to discover my husband laying down nice wood flooring in our teeny tiny entry. It looks great and I was impressed with his industriousness. No good deed goes unpunished however – I immediately suggested he do the family room too. That will teach him.

My son is at the beach with a friend and the kid’s family. I do not seem to be high on the phone call priority list. In fact, I am pretty sure that if I hadn’t called him this week, I would never have heard from him at all. Strange, considering that he was on the phone every night we were at the beach a few weeks ago for our family vacation and he was chatting it up with everyone he knew on the homefront for what seemed like hours every evening. Sometimes being a mother is not all it’s cracked up to be...

At least it’s the weekend.