Car Talk

April 20, 2012 //

I have never been one for cars, at least in the everyday sense. As a result of my addiction to old movies in high school, I developed a love of cars from the 1930’s and 40’s, but never believed I’d own one. As I neared the dreaded age of 30 (I was sooooo young then) I thought it would be awesome to have a car from the year of my birth (talkin’ to you, Tbird!) that would always look great, no matter what happened to me, but I never realized that dream.

Jags, Bentleys- I loved the look, but that was not my life.

My first car was a Mustang ll- I really wish someone had told me that you need to check the oil.

Next, a Datsun (remember, I am old) 210. Reliable and dull, just like the years I drove it.

After that, my favorite to that point- a Suzuki Sidekick, So cheap, so fun (convertible! 4 wheel drive!) I was in my early 30’s, but it was really the car of my youth.

The Sidekick was the last car I bought as a single person. We traded it in at some point for a very sensible little truck, to go along with our Camry. (Those were really the years I did not care about cars, other than to notice that after driving the Camry, I realized that my beloved Sidekick handled something like a kitchen table.)

After years of disinterested driving, I prevailed upon TMIM to consider a Volvo C70 Convertible. THAT was a car I loved. Of course, I ended up driving it far less often than anyone else in the family.

Recently, we traded in the Volvo. It was aging, and was never the same after severe damage sustained when Dr. T was the filling in a multi-car collision sandwich. The plan was to replace it with a smaller, more energy-efficient car.

I remembered driving a Ford Focus for work at my last job. It was compact, handled well, and easy to park (a real plus in San Francisco.) We discussed it, and decided to take a look. We took a quick spin on one at the closest dealership. The car felt fine to both of us. The numbers worked. We did the deal.

Our salesman, Tim, walked me out to my new ride. We sat in the front seats. He connected my phone to the Bluetooth. (The what now?) Then, he showed me the voice controls for the phone, the sound system, the AC, and for all I know, the Meaning of Life. I have several manuals to read through before I can fully appreciate just what I have gotten myself into. (There is a palette for ambient lighting, for crying out loud.)

I thought I was buying a modest, bare-bones, suburban car. Turns out I am bad ass. (Did I mention all the speakers and the subwoofer in the trunk?)

What I really wonder is, if this sort of thing is available at the Focus level, what the heck do the fancy cars have?

Tags badass, Bluetooth, cars, Datsun, Focus, Volvo

Categories Uncategorized

Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

April 15, 2012 //

Two weeks since I’ve posted? Yikes!

It’s not that I have nothing to say; I’ve got at least a half dozen half-written posts, lined up on the tarmac like so many little planes, waiting for a little fuel here, a safety check there, before taking off to the great wide world.

It’s not that I have no time. Sure, I’ve been working more, and trying to be more disciplined about my house projects (upper kitchen cabinets are moving along, thank you) but I still manage to have more than enough time to feed my Lexulous addiction (the best on-line word game around, in my opinion) and daydream of future home improvements, often involving a catalogue from a store that once had a featured role on an episode of “Friends.”

I was doing most of my writing early in the morning, while the rest of my family slept. That worked very well until a couple of weeks ago, when we brought home a puppy. I write in our guest room/office/craft spot/storageforeverythingweareambivalentaboutunit. It is no place for an inquisitive creature with a burning desire to chew. I have spent so little time there lately that the poor plants on the shelves over my desk required urgent care this week.

My early mornings now go something like this:

6:00 a.m.: get up, let Waldo out of his crate, go to the back yard and praise him enthusiastically for urinating and defecating. Go inside, feed him. Go back outside, and repeat step one.

Then we hang around until someone else gets up so I can take a shower. By this time, I either have to go to work, or someone wants me to do something or go somewhere, and the writing doesn’t happen. It’s been swell so far, but it can’t last. Even if no one else misses my posts, I do.

I certainly don’t regret the puppy. He hasn’t kept me from writing; my reliance on my old routine has. It was great while it lasted, but things must change. I can: a) find another time to write (like now, while everyone is asleep late at night) or: b) I can straighten up the room. Or both. The thing is, what once worked no longer does, and I must take some action.

(Consider yourselves warned- when I get back into the swing of things, you will be hearing a lot about this puppy.)

Tags friends, home improvement, Lexulous, puppy

Categories Uncategorized

If I Only Had a Heart

April 2, 2012 //

If the kitchen is, as many say, the heart of the home, our house truly is on life support. Our kitchen is barren and ugly, and has been since I’ve known it. When we first moved in, TMIM was in graduate school, and The Kid was in elementary school, with weekends full of sports. Due to a combined lack of disposable income and time, the kitchen remained as we found it, a pass through to the other rooms, where Dr. T. labored alone to provide us delicious food.

Hamburger Helper reigned supreme when our house was built in 1972. Although it was originally occupied by one of the neighborhood’s developers, and features many upgrades throughout, the kitchen is bare-bones basic. I don’t think there was a lot of cooking going on then. But now there is, and TMIM deserves better. I have painted almost every other room in the house at least once, and we’ve made some other improvements, but we have been as guilty of kitchen neglect as previous owners, except for installing a restaurant style pot rack when we first lived here. A series of increasingly undesirable tenants hasn’t helped. That pot rack is long gone, replaced by lumpy patches of what I assume is spackle (which for some reason does not cover the nearby holes.) The only good thing that happened in our absence was someone priming the walls, covering the 80’s style country print wallpaper.

I’ve been stewing over the issue of the kitchen since we reclaimed our turf in 2008, intensely since I came back for good last June. In the abstract, I know what I want: a friendly, useful space that accommodates more than one cook, and maybe a guest or two. Specifically, I want to replace almost everything- the dilapidated cabinets, the ancient faux brick vinyl floor (with a seam right in the middle of it-what’s up with that?!) and our ancient stove. I want to add a bar/workspace big enough for two stools, and improve our storage. I would also dearly love to open the kitchen to the family and dining rooms. Is that too much to ask? (Fortunately, our refrigerator and dishwasher are new, energy-efficient, and fairly attractive. Just don’t fall for the term “stainless” steel- it’s not- at least in my house.)

True to my status as a graduate of the Rube Goldberg School of Project Management, I actually started my kitchen rehab the same day I started the cushion cover for the recliner in my living room (Let’s not talk about that right now) by finally buying the paint I needed for a little project I found on Pinterest. I painted the side of one of our cabinets with blackboard paint, and trimmed the edges with the paint I bought to perk up the window sill and frame. The best thing about our kitchen is the pair of south-facing windows over the sink, looking to our front yard and deep wooded lots across the street. The worst thing is the cabinetry- it’s dark oak and seems impossible to really clean, and it’s the first thing you notice. The doors are solid wood, but the frames are not. In a perfect world, we could tear them out and start over. Maybe someday we will. For now,inspired by the immediate improvement my other painting offered, I am extending the same coat of glossy light color to the uppers, starting with the pair flanking the window. Pre-paint, my view seemed to stop at those oppressive cabinets; now, I walk in and see the trees, almost fully leafed out now, and the white blooms of the dogwood across the street.

Suddenly, I am full ideas for the rest of the room. I won’t start anything else until I finish those upper cabinets, which may take a week or two. I’ve decided to attack them in sections, in order to be able to contain the mess and leave Dr. T room to operate. The “before” is so bad I am reluctant to post pictures. If all goes according to plan, I will proudly post “afters.”

Tags Hamburger Helper, home improvement, kitchen, project management, projects, Rube Goldberg

Categories Slap-happy Homemaker

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

March 26, 2012 //

Quite a number of years ago, I was sitting in the backyard of my friend Lynda’s house, after a high school reunion. Lynda was there, of course, as was my friend Carol. (Carol is a sage, by the way, and as you may have guessed, she, Lynda, and I attended high school together.) Carol was holding forth on the subject of “gifts”, as in the sort you are born with. She identified hers, and I asked her, “what about mine?” (I have to confess that at this point, I do not remember whether Diane, who deserves her own post, was still with us or whether she had headed home to her family.)

I may not recognize all of them, but my best gift has been apparent to me for a long time: I have been blessed with the ability to make and keep friends. Like it or not, once you are my friend, you are my friend until you officially resign. The first person to bring this to my attention was my mom; she was visiting me in San Diego while I was still in my 20s, and observed, ” You make friends wherever you go.” I remember thinking at the time, “Why wouldn’t I?” In my youth, I took friendship for granted in the same way I regarded oxygen.

My friends are my oxygen. They sustain me. No joy, no sorrow, no aggravation or amusement would mean anything without them to share it. My worst job was made tolerable by my friendship with Thu. My best job was made better because of friendships with too many folks to name. (ok, except maybe Jill. And Phong. And Jen. Oh hell- so many great people there!)

And then there’s Missy, who uses a grown up name now. We’ve been friends for 45 years (Missy was pre-embryonic when we met.)

I am grateful to have maintained friendships with the neighbors I had when we were here in Durham for the first time, and to have recently made my first “work friend” at my part-time job. Tonight at my literacy class, I ran into a woman I trained with, and we made a plan to connect soon.

Tomorrow I will walk the neighborhood trail with my next-door neighbor. She was there when I moved into this house in 1997, and I am so glad she was still here when I came back last June. We will walk and talk about our other friends, and I will just keep being grateful.

Tags friendship, high school, work

Categories Uncategorized

Where Have I Been?

March 25, 2012 //

It feels like forever since I’ve posted. Even though I sat down to write several times in the last week or so, I couldn’t seem to generate anything worthy of a reader’s time. Now suddenly, I’m ready to write again- was it an attack of short-term ADD? Who knows?

I’ve spent the last 10 days watching basketball, in person and on TV. Between games, I’ve finished one of my household projects and started another. (Of course, not the dreaded chair cushion.) I’ve been working more hours at my part time job, and starting to get a handle on that. I’ve been walking the trail with my neighbor and getting to my literacy sessions. (Let me say that BR and I are killing it on the multi-syllable words!) Things around here are in bloom, including my forsythia and azaleas. TMIM and I are plotting our yard strategy. The Kid and I enjoyed an evening together in Raleigh, which included a pedicab ride through downtown at twilight, a concert by Ben Folds and the NC Symphony, and hours of talk after. I’m infatuated with a loopy little spaniel mix foster dog who will be meeting the rest of my family soon. I have a coffee date with a new friend from work today and a phone date with a dear friend of longstanding (I dare not call her old!) tomorrow night. I spent part of one late night crying for my mom. Unavoidably, I’ve spent other bits of time contemplating the imponderable behavior of my brother and his family, and trying to accept that some situations simply do not offer the hope of a good outcome.

The family thing is too big not to acknowledge, but it is nebulous and oddly remote. I prefer to concentrate on the dozens of small and tangible gifts I have experienced recently, and the dozens of small and tangible tasks before me.

Categories Uncategorized

Wearing My Heels on My Sleeve

March 15, 2012 //

You may have heard that I am a pretty big fan of a certain ACC basketball team, and that I am lucky enough to be going to see them play in the NCAA tournament. I am also a grown woman. I want to show my colors without wearing them on my face or my head. I strongly suspect that no blue-wigged fanatic will be any more excited than I am during the games, but I want to pass for normal and sane on my way to and from the coliseum.

What to do, what to wear? Any decent (superstitious) fan knows that apparel is all. The wrong choice=defeat.

I have team branded T-shirts, which I wear at home on game days, during chores, or when I exercise. The tournament, however, is the Prom of games, and I am, as I said a grown woman. I’m looking for grown-up clothes, but I refuse to wear a sweater bearing various campus landmarks, in the same way I do not wear sweaters commemorating Halloween or Christmas. It would be good if I could find something I could use during the rest of my life, and did not cost too much (I have so many other things on my list before clothes at the moment.) I don’t hate the team color by any measure, but it is not one of my core colors.

And oops, I waited until the day before the first game to act on this. I’m happy to report that today I found a boat neck “designer” T-shirt with cuffed sleeves in an appropriate shade of blue. (Had I been a bit more conscientious, I’d have been able to find my preferred blue and white striped version in the right size.) I’ll attach my “Tar Heel” foot applique, and be good to go. Whatever happens next will not be my fault.

Tags style, superstition, Tar Heels

Categories Uncategorized

Am I Blue? (College Basketball Edition)

March 14, 2012 //

It crept up on me fairly late in life. In 1995, when I told my boss I was leaving in order to accompany my husband to Chapel Hill for his graduate program, he replied, “Dean Smith territory.” I looked back at him in polite blankness. It’s hard now to believe that ever happened.

The first year in our new home, I was preoccupied with a pre-schooler, looking for work, and generally acclimating to our environment. As far as sports, I knew about the Durham Bulls Baseball team from the movie “Bull Durham,” and we wasted no time enjoying games at their new field that summer. (Did you know that the “home run” bull in the movie was constructed for the movie, and left with the team afterwards? I didn’t.) But I digress.

Basketball seeped slowly into my consciousness. Suddenly, I knew who Jerry Stackhouse and Antwan Jamison were, and fretted about their early departure to the NBA, without really knowing why. I was gradually developing a distaste for anything Duke, also absent rational consideration. We started following the games on TV, earlier each passing season. My fanhood remained at an appropriate level for a non-alum, middle-aged woman from California. I was interested enough to hold up my end of a conversation with another UNC fan, but relatively detached. Until we moved away in 2001.

The Tarheels became an embodiment of my homesickness. I watched all the games, enjoying them enough to include the women’s team in my routine. (Women’s games are harder to find on TV, but that is a whole other post.) I started reading. I knew who was hurt, and how long he was expected to be out. I watched Matt Doherty’s standing go from “God” (as seen painted on the concrete of “The Pit” on campus) to persona non grata within a few short years. I rejoiced with the rest of the Tarheel Nation when Roy Williams came home in 2003.

Five years later, when we became a bi-coastal family, the games became another way to feel close for TMIM and me. We’d check in before the tip-off, touch base at half time, and debrief at game’s end. Last spring, before the decision for me to come home had been made, Dr. T was visiting me during the NCAA tournament. We drank our beers from our magic “He’s Not Here” cups, and talked about how nice it would be when I was finally in North Carolina for the whole season.

And here I am, looking forward to a “bucket list” trip to Greensboro on Friday to see our guys compete in the second, and, I hope, third rounds of the NCAA tournament. We bought the tickets long ago, when we still had two healthy paychecks, knowing that we weren’t guaranteed to see the team, and thinking that I would have to save some vacation time and book a flight to be here. Sometimes faith is rewarded. Go Heels!

Tags basketball, Bull Durham, Roy Williams, Tar Heels, UNC

Categories Uncategorized

Going Back and Moving On

March 11, 2012 //

At the end of February, I was feeling spring-like symptoms: a little more energy, a much greater sense of enthusiasm and purpose, increased optimism. Then I heard about my mom, and, like a recalcitrant groundhog, I re-entered hibernation. Sure, I did what I had to do, but not much more. The air was out of my metaphorical tires.

My relationship with my mother can best be described as “fraught” and would require a book to examine, rather than a blog post. I won’t be talking about it much here, except for an occasional positive memory or appreciation.

The death of a relative can of course affect relationships with other family members. Bonds can be strengthened or severed. In my case, the tenuous connection I had with my birth family has apparently unravelled. I’ve spent the last 10 days or so feeling disoriented and disconnected, and worse, impotent.

My husband and I have talked and talked. (I am so grateful to have him, and The Kid, who really got me through the first, worst, night.) I keep coming back to something he said almost in passing: “We were so much happier on Monday,” referring to the day before I got the call. And we were. I am going back there.

I cannot do anything about losing my mother, or the behavior of the rest of my family. I can appreciate my happy memories. I can also appreciate what I had on that Monday and what I still have: a family of my own, a home, and amazing friends.

I also have a job to find, projects to finish (oh, the projects!) and things to look forward to- brunch with friends today, big-time college basketball this weekend (you will be hearing about that soon, at greater length than you might wish) and a concert with The Kid next week.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and life will go on whether I choose to participate or not. I choose to participate.

Categories Uncategorized

It Would Be Wrong…

March 2, 2012 //

…not to note that on February 28, at the end of an otherwise fun and productive day, I learned of my mother’s death. Even though I have been writing about her in my head forever, I will only say this for now:

She was, and will doubtless be, a dominant and nearly constant force in my life, and I wish that her own life had not been so difficult and disappointing.

Tags death, love and loss, mother

Categories Uncategorized

They Say the Darndest Things

February 28, 2012 //

The Kid is out back with her laptop, enjoying a hint of spring in the sunshine. I went out to check in with her, and we spent a few minutes chatting pleasantly. Perhaps the computer open on her lap prompted me to ask, “Do you read my blog?”

“No,” she replied. “I’ve seen it. It’s wordy.”

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