AliThinks

Creative Little So-andSos

Last night I was in bed by 10:30, asleep by 11. And guess who had a "party" and stayed up way past their bedtime?

My kids, bien sûr. Sneaky little suckers they are, too. The only reason I know they were up late is because Allan heard a THUMP around 2:00.

Well, there's also the fact that they slept until noon. That, and the magic marker mustache-n-brows that my daughter was sporting as she ate her brunch.

Time Travel Music

Mike started a meme! I quote:

List five songs that, when you hear them now, transport you back to a specific place and time.  You can explain why, or not.

Elton John - Bennie and the Jets - driving down Route 19 (Perry Highway) to the grocery store. My mother was driving, and I was in the back seat. Or maybe I was in the front. In any case, I was a small child.

Cutting Crew - (I Just) Died In Your Arms - my friend Denise and I were at a coveted outdoor party in high school. Someone had a boombox, and this song came on. I'd seen the video once or twice on MTV, so I sang the opening lyrics. Denise was incredulous. "How do you know that?!!!" She hadn't heard the song before. It was a source of laughter for us afterwards.

Tears For Fears - Sowing The Seeds of Love - A certain person, a certain bedroom, a certain house, a certain feeling, a certain year.

Deep Forest - Marta's Song - Sitting in my apartment by myself, pregnant with my first child, and reading Madeleine L'Engle's Summer of the Great-Grandmother.

Turin Brakes - Summer Rain (Painkiller) - This represents the moment I knew I was in love with Allan. :)

Now, consider thyself tagged.

If

...my kids were not here right now, you know I'd be at BlogHer.

Parental Guilt

It hit me last night, something fierce. What have I done to my children?

The trigger may have been my daughter's question: why did you divorce? She told me I didn't have to answer if I didn't want to, then handed me a tissue when I squeaked "I just wasn't happy with daddy." I elaborated slightly to give her a time frame, and she looked shocked as she calculated the number of years.

We talked a bit more, and I asked if she had noticed that I seemed happier now. "It's like you're a different person," she replied. "I became myself again. This is how I used to be. Do you like this 'new' me?"

Sort of. That was her answer. She "sort of" likes this new-ish mother of hers.

Well. I am trying not to dwell on that.

It is hard to not feel guilty about it all: the leaving, the separation of the kids from their father and home, their return a few months later to both (what was I thinking, taking them away? Oh yeah, I remember now. It's a story for another time), the short weekends, then the very hard decision to live here, without them.

And so after this conversation with my daughter, I worried about what I have done to my kids. Of course, I might be dead now if I had stayed in the marriage (I exaggerate for effect, but I really was dying inside). If momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. This remains my mantra. This is why I did it all. And yet the guilt seeps in.

Overheard

Two college-age women were  discussing their coursework behind the counter at a small bookstore:

Cashier One: I'm like not taking AP English anymore.

Cashier Two: Omigod, I took AP English last semester and like I got a 92. That was like my lowest grade the whole semester!

There was more to it, but that's the gist. They carried on while one of them rang up a customer.

Customer: You're taking AP English?

Cashier: Uh, yeah?

Customer: Try looking up the word "like" in the dictionary.

Cashier: Wha?

Customer: Look up the word "like" in the dictionary. Thanks. Have a nice day.

The cashier didn't get it. Went right over her head, it did. But I giggled, like, to myself.

Written On Sunday

In the summer of 1992, I was a fresh-faced -- I think -- college graduate who had a big decision to make. For almost my entire senior year, I had dated the French teaching assistant, and had spent the two and a half months following graduation with him in France. I came home to the States for my brother's wedding; otherwise I might have tried to stay in France, hard as it would have been to get a work visa.

I can't remember if this was before or after the wedding, but I visited the magical place where I'd worked the two previous summers. Chautauqua Institution is an indescribable place. You just can't explain it to someone who's never been there. My job in the independent, arty cinema there was one of the best jobs I have ever had in my life.

I also can't remember who was with me at Chautauqua that day. I'm inclined to think it was my parents. We went there to see the Democratic nominee for President. I speak, of course, of Bill Clinton. He came to Chautauqua with his wife Hillary, his running mate Al Gore, and Gore's wife Tipper (for whom I didn't have much respect at the time, because all I knew about her was her lobbying to have warning labels put on album covers when I was a teenager, and I was a serious music fan, even back then).

I already knew then that I would most likely vote for Mr. Clinton, but seeing him speak (and then Al Gore, Hillary Clinton, and Tipper Gore afterwards) banished any doubts I might have had. I even forgave Tipper for her PMRC crap.

All this is a preface to this past weekend. Six of us saw An Inconvenient Truth last night. I'd wanted to see it; I was interested in seeing Al Gore now that he has no office to run for. The six of us agreed that the audience for this documentary is people who already are concerned about global warming. People with a liberal bent, perhaps. People who have respect for Al Gore.

Well, I don't really care about your politics right now, or what you think of Mr. Gore. I'm just going to recommend this film to everyone. If you care about humankind, see it. If you have children, see it. If you are an educator, see it (and when it comes out on DVD, show it to your students).

Any attempt I could make at describing the film would fall short right now, just as I would fall short in describing the Chautauqua Institution to you.

Speaking of which, a few of us are going to Chautauqua tomorrow to hear Mr. Gore speak. Perhaps we will hear the same things we heard last night. It doesn't matter. It will be good to hear it again. And I'm especially looking forward to visiting Chautauqua again. I've racked my brain, and I'm pretty sure that the last time I was there was the summer of 1992, not long before I decided to move to France to marry that teaching assistant.

Edit, Tuesday, July 25th: We are back in Kentucky, and I wanted to add that Mr. Gore's presentation in the Chautauqua Amphitheater yesterday was standing room only. And we had no seats. We listened to his introduction, then when he started the slideshow, which we'd essentially seen two nights before, I went for a walk with Allan, my (impatient) kids, and my nephew. It was wonderful to be back there, even for just a short time.

Blogging Will Be Light

...for the next week or so. We're headed back to the sticks. We may find wi-fi in town. We may occasionally use my brother's dial-up connection. We may get eaten by bears.

Have a great week!

We Really Are Crazy

On Thursday we were supposed to meet my friend Denise for lunch, but she had to cancel at the last minute. Faced with a day when everyone else we know in the Pittsburgh area had plans, we decided to drive north to my family's ancestral home. One of my brothers lives there in our grandparents' old house, and the other was staying at our family's house on an adjacent property. The houses are about 600 feet apart as the crow flies. A dirt road leads from one to the other, or you can walk through the woods and across the creek. It is home to me.

It's a two-hour trip up there from the 'Burgh, but the kids were excited with the prospect of seeing cousins. And I was excited about seeing my own cousin, who was visiting there, and whom I didn't expect to see at all.

It was a great day, filled with creek-and-woods exploring, pool splashing, beer drinking, fire building, meat grilling, and story telling. We got back to the hotel at 1:30 in the morning. The kids didn't want to come back (since we are going back up there tomorrow for a week -- are you confused yet?), but yesterday we had a date with my dad at Kennywood. And that's a subject for another blog entry.

Road Pop

...makes traveling with kids SO much easier.

The Comments Have Left The Building!

Yesterday Typepad went for a colonic irrigation, which means it was pretty much out all day. I checked my blog last night, and read your comments. This morning they were gone, due to Typepad's invasive procedure.

However, I did see them, as you know, because if you left a comment, I've written back. Your words just don't show up here anymore. Sorry about that. As always, thank you for your feedback.

We made it to Pennsylvania without killing each other. Allan is my hero, because he drove the whole way. Now? It's time for breakfast. See yinz guys later.

"Are You Crazy?"

That's what my sister said when I told her we were leaving for Pennsylvania at midnight.

Maybe we are crazy. Maybe I just don't feel like hearing my kids complain about being bored and asking "when are we there?" in their French-influenced syntax. Maybe I think Ohio will be better in the dark. Less wide. Less flat. Less boring. Less likely to spark the desire to  commit a crime.

Yeah, so. We're off to Yinzerville Pittsburgh tonight. Allan has more.

Lurve

   

    Clicketh to better vieweth.

These are my feet in their new homes. (Those are my legs in my Old Navy jammie bottoms).

My feet are happy. They lurve the Crocs. Lurve, lurve, lurve.

But, my feet are asking me one question: why so long, Alison? Why so long for these small havens, these slices of paradise for us?

The only answer I have is Birkenstock, feet. Be ye not so ungrateful.

Lucky

   

    Click it. You won't be sorry.

Quote(s) Of The Day

Both the kids had cereal for breakfast this morning, albeit at different times. I handed them the gallon jug of skim milk without thinking too much about it.

The 8-year old said "Mom! Who put water in the milk?"

Later, the 11-year old said "Mom, why is the milk transpaaarent?"

Rock On, Sister

Yesterday the four of us were walking around the Arboretum. Suddenly my daughter said to me, "Hey mom, can we go to Old Navy today?" She made her puppy-eyes, praying-hands, quivering-lower-lip face at me. And that, of course, made me laugh.

It's no hardship for me to go to Old Navy. Nope, no hardship at all. And the kids need some new clothes. Their suitcase was light; the packing job had been hasty and not necessarily well-thought out. Besides, my children, they grow like weeds.

So I asked my 11-year old daughter: what do you need?

Her reply: everything.

Then she elaborated with a long list of apparel. Again, I had to laugh. But I couldn't believe that, when faced with the rainbow of flip-flops, she didn't see any that she liked.

We had to go to Target for those.

Shameless Plug

I got some cool wishes, cards, and presents today, but the best gift is to have my kids sitting next to me. 

Head's All Empty

And I REALLY don't care. I am a little peeved that I seem to think I'm typing on a French keyboard again. Or still. Whatever.

We are back, the kids and I. They crashed about 20 minutes ago; I seem to be heading that way myself.

Heh heh. She said beheading.

Good Morning, Jetlag!

I've been awake for 45 minutes. It's 6:30 in the blessed morning. I'm trying to stream some music here, but it just ain't workin', and I'm thinking I should just go back.to.bed.

Nope. There's the music. RealPlayer. Who knew it actually worked?

So. I arrived safely, but I'll tell you, getting here was quite the series of bumbles and comic events. I can't remember a single damn thing, either, except the mess of chewing gum on my wallet. Caterpillar-gut green chewing gum, stuck to my wallet, because I'd placed the wad of it in my luggage tag from the flight. I wrapped it up, stuck it in my purse, because hello, this is France; good luck finding a garbage can when you need one. Well, my wallet fell on top of the tag in just the right position to "open" the fold I'd made in it. Gum. All over the corner of the wallet. 32° heat. Sticky!

The good news is that Hertz gave me a really hott car to drive. I'm the proud renter of a Peugeot 1007. (Entre parenthèses, why did Google default to a search in Brazilian Portuguese? Um, whaaaa?). This car was designed for apes and creatures with superperipheral vision. I kid you not, to put on the seat belt, I have to turn around, get on my knees, and reach back for the strap. I can reach the gears okay, but that drink I put in the cup-holder? Not. (I know, I know -- it's more important to shift than to drink). And the windshield? Has these things in the corners that make it hard to see. Unless you're an ape with super-peripheral vision. 

Oh, remember the bumbling and comic part? I remembered another thing: at the toll-booth, I couldn't see how to open the window. So I opened the space-age sliding door and took my ticket. Fortunately, no one saw me, ass. Unfortunately, the surveillance cemeras probably did. Fortunately, I figured out how to put down the window before I got to the next tollbooth.

But I made it here in one piece, and have had a lovely weekend with my friends. I hope you are having a good one, too.