Suburban Island

Eating Out

This is my first ever post from a mobile device. I am writing from a local restaurant that serves great curry puffs. I have time to write this post because my daughter had to go home to get the bankcard. I must have put the card in a jacket pocket. I forgot to look for it this afternoon and used the card my daughter has that is linked to the account. I gave it back to her right before we left to put back in her wallet. Little did I know she would decide to leave her wallet at home. She went home to get the card and I am left to look innocuous and write this blog post while I wait for her return. The price of a good dinner might be higher than you think. Lesson learned. At least I have leftovers for lunch tomorrow.

A Tisket, A Tasket

I love Easter weekend even though every year I become less prepared for it. It is the herald of the start of that time of year that I love best - spring and summer.

And we still do Easter baskets. My kids - at 18 and 21 - still love them. Frankly, I do too. Even though every year my husband gets me Mound bars (which, don't get me wrong - I do like) instead of pecan eggs and those little chocolate and coconut birds nest with the jelly bean eggs. I told him outright this year - no candy bars. We'll see what that gets me.

So I requested the Easter baskets to be pulled out of the shed. This is always the first part of any holiday adventure in this house because whatever it is, my husband really would prefer we skip the baskets, the decorations, or anything of the sort. Poor man. He is always out in the shed swearing he has no idea where the stuff is or insisting what we want is buried in the back of the shed and too hard to get to under any circumstances. We ignore him. Eventually, the Easter baskets, Christmas decorations, ect. come out of the shed.

Holiday on.

When the kids were younger there were egg hunts too. Stuffed bunnies and Pez dispensers in the shape of rabbits and such would surely make an appearance as well. Plastic eggs filled with jelly beans were scattered around the house. It was more of a production. I can't say that I am unhappy that we have boiled all of this down to Easter baskets and a nice dinner.

This year, I had to reconsider the traditional Easter basket content. Gone are the days of chocolate bunnies and chocolate eggs spilling from each basket. Everyone is watching their diet, or at least thinking about it (that would be me). Since an outpouring of chocolate and sugar was not an option, I tweaked the Easter basket so now there is a gift for each person that is not food-based and everyone gets a little sugar/chocolate but not enough to create devastating guilt or annoying sugar highs. It is all still nested in that wonderful fake grass. Some things never change. 

I thought about going to church this morning but it just didn't happen. After I made the decision to blow off Easter Mass, I knocked over a heavy paper shredder on my feet causing serious pain but luckily no broken bones. I guess I shouldn't have skipped Mass after all. Sorry about being a slacker, God. Point taken.

I went to the Honey Baked Ham store yesterday and stood in a crazy long line in the pursuit of the perfect Easter dinner. There is a giddy frenzy about honey-baked ham at Easter and purchasing a honey-baked ham on Easter weekend is not for the faint of heart. I came away with a huge ham (these hams are the best of any I have every had in my life), potatoes au gratin, sweet potato souffle, and a carrot cake. When you round that off with bake in the oven biscuits, dinner is served.

I am sipping on a Caribou orange mocha but I am longing for an early Easter dinner.

Happy Easter!

Suburban Island Is Trying to Relax

Sometimes it's hard to really relax on Suburban Island. I know that sounds strange but it's true. There's something about this island that isn't very island-y sometimes. Where is my lei? Where is my mai-tai? Where is my beach chair and paperback novel?  Why are the only ocean waves I hear coming from the sound machine that I got at Brookstone?

And perhaps more to the point... Why am I working late every night? Why is the dryer making those dire clanking sounds? Why does my husband keep calling my name from other floors of the house? Why is there a mostly-empty styrofoam box of carryout food in the bathroom trash can?  Why are there more glasses upstairs in the bedrooms than downstairs in the cabinets?

I could go on but you get the idea.

I have to find a few ways to relax once in awhile so I can continue working too hard, using the loud dryer, shouting back up the steps to any and all who care to bellow my name, retrieving the styrofoam boxes and the glasses from where they nestle in fear of being washing or tossed, and other sundry chores as they present themselves. It's only fair since there are no beach chairs, mai-tais, leis, and so on to be found around here. How I am doing it right now is by dosing myself with Jane Austen and shoe-gazing tracks from i-Tunes.

I know. It's weird, isn't it? But it works. Who am I to argue with a winning formula.

Give me a playlist filled with some drony, swirl-y guitars and float-on-the-air vocals such as can be found in the music of My Bloody Valentine, Fleeting Joys, The Daysleepers, Stella Luna, Amusement Parks on Fire, Highsphire, Lilys, Airiel, and the like and I'm immediately chilling. My playlist is called GAZE ME. I've been listening to it a lot lately.

And then there is Jane. If you check out my reading list on the sidebar you will see I am on a Jane Austen bender. I love Jane Austen. Reading anything by her or derivative of her works relaxes me. Thank Heaven there is a boatload of Jane Austen derived fiction out there to sink into after a stressful day because I have already read all her original stuff and am still hungry for more.

Last winter, I read Pride and Prejudice once again, but this time with my iPod playlist set to maximum Collide. If you haven't heard Collide, go listen. A lot of their music has that that drift-away feeling to it that I love and the vocals are beautiful. Since Collide has a bunch of remixes of some of their songs that I like best such as Euphoria and Tempted, it's easy to build a remix playlist that allows you to get into a kind of reading groove with their music. Other songs like Collide's Frozen and Dreamsleep found their way onto my JUST FLOAT playlist along with Ultrashiver (you'll recognize the voice from Collide), Autumn's Grey Solace, a smattering of what tends to be called World Music, and just for fun, some Nicole Conte. I believe music does sooth the savage beast and the weary suburbanite.

So, my prescription for relaxation is simple and has an edge of elegance derived from its Austen component. It is: read Jane Austen whenever you can and pump up the music while you are at it.

And if you can find a Mai Tai, it wouldn't hurt.

Calling All Wrong

Who would think that such a simple thing as calling your mom to say goodnight could be fraught with adversity?

I discovered it was just so tonight when my father, aka the gatekeeper, got on the phone to tell me that my mother was not available as she was taking a shower. That's cool. I'll check in later.

Not so fast.

My dad cannot rest until he has brought the error of my ways to my attention. I'm getting the whole thing wrong. Why don't I call in the middle of the day instead. That would be much better.

Maybe. I am doing a lot of things in the middle of the day that preclude me being on the phone with my mom. Furthermore, many is the time that I call earlier in the day to be told they are: eating lunch, eating dinner, watching something together, and so on. I am told to call back later. I am not insane - well, at least I don't think I am - but my father insists that this is just not true. She is ever available to me.

Sometimes my parents live in a sort of alternate universe.

I try to explain to my father what I think he ought to know already - I am not a lady of leisure. I work full time and my job is very demanding. I have both my kids still home. I have a household to run - even if not run all that well. And some social obligations are required of me as well. Furthermore, as selfish as it is, I would like a few minutes to my own devices so I could do some things that I truly love such as writing here or downloading music on iTunes. (I don't tell him about the badly run household, the occasional dinner or communication with a friend, the writing or music downloading though. One lecture a night is enough, thank you very much.)

His response to my explanation regarding the timing of my call - read this in a voice dripping heavy with irony - we know you are a very, very busy person.

Whatever. I just called and asked to talk to my mother. Do I really need a lecture and sarcasm?

Evidently so. As he next suggests that if I would just act like a good daughter and call at my mother's convenience (although I can never quite identify when that exactly would be from day to day) all would be well. I know this is a scam. But my dad is enjoying scolding me and pointing out my many failings so much that it is hopeless to believe that I can change his mind or his opinion of me as a very disappointing sort of daughter. Besides, I feel my dad is spoiling for a little argument. I am always ready to engage in one with him for some reason. He really knows how to get a big bang for the buck during these types of calls. Maybe I really am a much better daughter than he thinks because I always oblige him in rising to the bait.

Coming back to the lecture which he swear he is not giving, I insist that he really can't deny that he is lecturing. He is telling me that I am doing something wrong and that I should really do it as he thinks I should do it. He has to admit it because when he does admit it, he gets to tell me with great delight - Yes. You are doing it all wrong. You should do it the way I told you instead.

I don't know why he really wants me to do this as then all his fun would be at an end.

I think it would be much better for all involved if he would just take a message and let me live my ridiculously error-riddled life. That way he can shake his head about my failings to his heart's content and we will both be quite happy.

Time Stops in Grand Central Station

NYC finally takes a break. I find this video most amazing because I could never stand still for 5 minutes.