Suburban Island

Banking for Dummies

Sometimes bloggers are sitting there minding their own business when something so blog-able happens that it is all we can do not to jump up and push people out of the way so we can get to a keyboard. I had one of those moments today at the drive-in window of the bank.

I was glad for it because I have been bad about blogging and had been tossing around some potential posts for a while with no actual post to show for it. Yes, I do want to tell you about the cruise I took to Alaska, and the conference I went to in Seattle, and the earthquake that occurred in my quiet Virginia neighborhood, but I just couldn’t write about those things because life got in the way or the words could not congeal as they should into a proper post.

But this – this was perfect. Imagine a yellow Toyota MR2 Spyder shining in the summer sunshine – top down, guy with baseball cap sitting inside it. He is happy with the world, happy with himself, happy with himself in this yellow convertible. He’s feeling pretty damn good. Little does he know that life is going to rain on his parade before he can lift the top on his spiffy little car or even pull out a tiny umbrella such as the ones we sometimes stuff under car seats for emergencies.

He was sitting at the drive-in window in all his happy ignorance as I pulled up behind him in the happy knowledge that I was about to check off one of my must-do chores for the day from my list. It looks like he is finishing up when a pivotal event occurs that sets everything into motion and it occurs in a clumsy flash. Mr. Cool Sports Car Guy drops the canister that goes into the pneumatic tube on the ground. This is not any tube but one of the tubes that belongs to the brand new pneumatic tube system just installed by the bank to replace the old beat up stuff they had in place before.

My friends, in life it is the little things that bite you in the ass. And so it is for this gentleman. He now makes what I like to call “a lazy-ass decision”. He doesn’t really want to get out of his car to retrieve the canister and so he makes a half-hearted effort to find it and then begins to pull away. Crunch. Grind. Oh my!

I am pretty sure that it was stuck under his car. Now he has upped the ante because he has to get this canister out from under the vehicle after all. And besides, to make the whole thing even better, it turns out that he had not quite finished his transaction. My brain is screaming – Blog post! Blog post!

So he has to back up. And that means that I have to back up too. I don’t mind because after all, as entertaining as all of this is, I have to get some banking done too. I pull up into an empty drive-through lane and start my banking transaction. In the meantime the guy is out of his car and he is holding the shattered tube in his hand. He asks the teller, “Do you have any more of these? I’m not done with my transaction.” He takes the broken tube and stuffs it down on the side of the booth and begins to conduct his business standing in front of the glass window with a whole new little container. I’m sure that it’s pretty hard to do this without feeling like an ass. Finally, business transacted, he hops back into his car with a slightly hunted look and drives away like he is expecting to be stopped and made to pay up for damage done at any second. A moment later a bank teller appears and makes a visual sweep of the area with great dignity edged in disbelief until her eyes fix on the demolished tool of business that had been so cruelly crushed beneath the wheels of a bright yellow MR2 Spyder.

Knowing my bank as I do, once a friendly community member and now a grasping heartless business entity, I believe Mr. Cool Sports Car Guy should not be surprised to discover a charge on his account.

As the teller said to him as he pulled away: "Have a nice day, sir."

Desperate Pottery

One of my friends had a birthday party at one of those paint your own pottery places. She's innately creative and perhaps she also recognizes the need for stress reduction through art therapy in her community of friends as well.

I attend such events with a certain trepidation mixed with bravado. I am not good at painting, drawing, or anything crafty. I envy those who are. Those people seem to surround me. My best friend is felting. Her pieces are exquisite. Another friend at work in knitting the most intricate tops. Yet another is making blankets for the needy. I can't do that stuff.

Still a birthday party is a birthday party. I went. It was interesting to see the approach to the pottery painting taken by the group. Some of us were meticulous. Some of us undertook sweeping pottery projects. Others chose very small do-able projects and lavished loving care of the piece. Some of us just picked out a small round plate and hoped for the best as we jumped into what we knew would end up being another artistic cautionary tale. I fell into the artistic cautionary tale category as one can see from the results of my pottery painting efforts as shown in the photo below.

Note the underlying sunshiny Suburban Island feel that ozzed from my brush without any conscious effort.

One of us got her pottery project displayed in the window after it was fired. Others were relegated to "the shelf". Not only was mine not in the window, when one of my officemates picked some of the pieces up for us she said that my piece was in a bag UNDER the window of her office. It was an act of kindness.

Like many artistic endeavors by those of us who really haven't done anything since we wove potholders during summer camp, we think our little project is going to turn out better than it actually does. I was grateful that my sunshine face was wrapped in a lot of paper so I was able to smuggle it out of the office with no displaying required.

It's on my living room table right now. I want to see how long it is before someone asked me where the hell it came from and what in heaven's name I was thinking when I took brush and paints in hand.

My daughter just arrived home. She said in essence: Don't quite your day job.

Fashion and Coffee

Coffee is a sweet addiction and on the weekends going up to the coffee shop takes on a special significance because I get to get my coffee without rushing, in a t-shirt and jeans, and not on my way back or forth from work. I also get to stop in to see my daughter who works near the coffee shop at this very cool gift boutique. While there a man comes into the shop with his wife. They are about my age. He makes a comment about my t-shirt that says Rock Boat Alumni from the Rock Boat cruise I took this winter. He links it up with some crazy scandal about football - already he is losing me. His wife is shopping away so here I am trying to explain why they are two different things and I was not advertising my participation in this wacky event to which he is alluding. It's about music, my friend. JUST MUSIC.

Okay, that's cleared up.

Then that sets him on another track. He asks me if I was a hippy. I hated to break it to him but in the day I was a sorority girl. It is clear to me that his wife is the standard for how a woman "of a certain age" ought to look. Tailored shirt, nice pants, big jewelry, hair above the shoulder. Perfect southern belle. She's gorgeous but it's not my style. I don't want to be perfectly put together just to hang out on the weekend.

Evidently, there's a price for such fashion rebellion. And the line you have to cross to be considered as having committing such a crime is easier to skip obliviously over when you are 50 than when you are 20. Here's the thing. I'm cooler now than I was at 20. Trust me on this point. And, shocking as it may be, I still like t-shirts and jeans. I don't want to be tailored and coifed seven days a week. Furthermore, If I want to wear a damn t-shirt to get an expensive cup of coffee, I'm going to do it.

Luckily Clinton and Stacey didn't jump out from the back of the store to start my fashion intervention. However, I got an impromptu one without any credit cards of tv show appearance from this guy. I guess old guys in baseball caps with pretty wives that you have never meet before think that they should feel free to tell you in so many words that you are blowing it if Clinton and Stacey aren't available. This seems rather unfair when you think about it.

Oh well.

So there I stood in jeans and nice comfy t-shirt, long blond hair way falling down my back in curls I had to pay for, dangle earring that cost more than the more generic stuff she was wearing (I'm just saying), and silver shoes (my nod to dressing up when I shouldn't have to do it). I guess the silver shoes were not enough to override the other aspects of my outfit and he doesn't know enough about jewelry to realize I was holding my own and better in that area (I love nice jewelry).

Evidently it is a given that at my age you must switch from dressing however you want to being uncomfortable all day in the name of fashion sense so men you don't even know can give you the nod of approval - even though you didn't ask for it and don't care one way or another.

Can't a girl just relax?

No?

Excuse me, I'm going to go put on my Nickelback t-shirt and go shopping. If you are a guy wearing a baseball cap don't say a word unless you are a Nickelback fan.

And by the way, I'm not cutting my hair either.

A Rainy Weekend Is Better than No Weekend at All

Like lots of other people, my job sometimes heats up so much that there is little time to focus on anything else at all if I am going accomplish everything that is expected of me. The last few weeks have been especially tough. I am in charge of putting together a big client event every year and no matter how much of a head start I get on it, it always winds up taking up so much of my energy and attention that there is time for little else except other work stuff and absolutely must do personal tasks - picking up a few groceries (to stave off starvation), recording American Idol for later viewing (I'm betting on one of the Davids), laundry (to avoid laundry wars), paying bills (to keep the house), dishes (no one seems to know how to take dishes from sink and put them into dishwasher but me), etc. The event is a big deal and it is held at the National Press Club. So, it was pretty cool even though it was tons of work. When it was all done and all the pressure rolled off my shoulders, it was even cooler. I've gotten some really good feedback from some of the program attendees and that's the icing on the cake. It's a great feeling to be done with a huge project and feel all your work was worth it.

I also like to stay active in professional associations and that always mean extra work. It's been heating up lately too with a big deadline on a really interesting (but time-consuming) project. It's a good way to keep learning and share what I know but it means more work too - darn! I finally have my part done. It took a lot longer than I had imagined it would but I think my sections look pretty good.

This weekend is the first time in I don't know how long that I have been able to even breathe. The sad part is that it's Sunday afternoon and my weekend is almost done with me before I am done with it. My weekends tend to be a mixture of personal and professional tasks (and some stolen moments of relaxation and fun) and there's never enough time to actually do all the things I mean to do. I long for a weekend where I can just totally turn off every single chore (work and home) and dive into a few things that I find relaxing and rewarding: writing, reading, playing around on the web, maybe having a dinner out with a friend, and just relaxing a little with my family.

Today, I did a mix of chores but it was kind of fun because I did not feel super rushed - my natural state. I got a coffee, had 1/2 a bagel with cream cheese and bacon for lunch (alright that was on the run), and then hit the stores. First off, my daughter wanted to get Dead Like Me for us to watch but came home with Six Feet Under by accident. Not the same thing. I exchanged them. I also indulged in a wicked pleasure - the bookstore. I hit Barnes and Nobles and bought a couple books and some DVDs: a double disc set with Bram Stoker's Dracula (the version with Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder) and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (with De Niro). I also found the Dark Shadows Revival series that was based on the original soap opera (to which I was addicted as a kid). I really liked the remake and was sorry to see it go off the air. But through the magic of DVDs, here it is again, ready for me to watch at my leisure. I'm really in the mood for this stuff right now for some reason. Having gotten my B&N fix, I went grocery shopping. In between, I bought a new shower curtain and an iPod adapter for my car - I go through those iPod adapter things like crazy.

So, that is the excitement of my weekend: shower curtains, laundry, a few DVDs and books, loading the dishwasher, doing professional association stuff, and in between doing those work tasks that must be done or else.

And it's raining...

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.

Baby Steps

Like all working women with college-age kids under her roof and a husband who embraces stress with a vengance, I often have my work cut out for me. I want to be one of those organized women with a lovely orderly home, a daily exercise routine, a weekly menu of healthy meals, a set bedtime that provides me eight hours sleep, bills paid on time, laundry all done, and every creative effort addressed. I want a peaceful home, a serene respite for the whole family from the demands of the world, an island of serenity in the middle of 21st century suburbia.

Do you think I have that? Just in case you are unsure the answer is... Uh, no.

Do you think I am being a bit unrealistic? Of course.

I think so too but then sometimes I grow concerned that I am one of those people who just isn't getting it right and that everyone else is doing better than me at creating a clean, non-chaotic, charming home. It is not that I want to morph into June Cleaver and wear pearls and a shirt-dress while I vacuum and dust - although that is impressive. I just want to feel like I have things together enough that when I walk in the house I sigh with relief for being home instead of sigh with frustration at how much there is to do and how I will never be able to get it all done.

The thing is that I have a nice home. It is not the most orderly home in the world but it is not a case for the health department either. There's a lot to like about it but I just want to make it better - more pulled together with the goal of being a more enjoyable and pleasant home for all. I don't think I am alone in this desire. And all those others things - enough sleep, healthy meals, daily exercise, enough time for my creative projects, and the rest of it - we all need that. Like everyone else, I'm working on it. I think I am making some progress too.

I have been getting the digest emails from flylady.com. I refuse to wear my shoes in the house as she suggests but I love her suggestions for taking on tasks in 15 minute intervals. It has been working for me.

I am using this 15 minute approach to attack problem spots in my home (there are plenty of them too) - piles of papers, tables tops, the front entryway, etc. and it has been helping. It's going to take a while for it to transform my whole household but there are a few places around my house that we are seeing free and clear of clutter for the first time in quite a while. It's a small victory but it is a victory nevertheless.

In the meantime, I open up my work laptop and see the list of things I need to fit in this weekend. I was sure I would have time to do all these things and maybe more. There are 12 items on this list - TWELVE. And you might well ask - Have you done them? And I would have to answer - Well, not exactly. You might be drawn to further inquire if you are the hopeful type - Any of them? And I would have to burst your positive perception of Suburban Island living by responding - Well, not exactly.

Guess what I'm doing tonight.