Larry

I found out at the listserve at work that my old friend died on Sunday. We had lost touch, but he is someone I have thought of, for some reason, regularly, even though I hadn't seen him in--can it really be?--ten years. I am feeling regretful--what else is new? I wish I could have seen Larry again before receiving the harsh news via email.

Before I lived with the dudes and animals who are now my family, I lived in a second-floor studio apartment in what was known as a dangerous part of town. A shelter and a methadone clinic were in the neighborhood, so, true, drugged up and hopeless souls would be out and about, but decent people also dwelled on the block, and aside from someone breaking into my car and stealing some old boots, I never had a problem. Larry lived in a little house across the street, and we happened to work at the same establishment too.

The biggest problem I seemed to have then was my own feelings of loneliness. I had my little job, which was ok, to go to, I had my apartment, an old 76 Dodge Dart, and a few friends. Larry was in his late sixties and had a strong Brooklyn accent, revealing his early upbringing in Bwookwyn. He had a rough demeanor, overweight and disheveled, was a heavy smoker whose speech was peppered with swear words, and also a slumlord who spent his savings buying delapidated properties and renting them out to the unfortunate. But he was a real person, a character, full of contradictions, and disinterested in pretending to be categorized a certain way. He knew most of Shakespeare's plays by heart, and he had an incredible singing voice, operatic.

We used to stand on the sidewalk and chat. Some weekends I would buy deli sandwiches for us and we would stand there and eat our sandwiches and talk about Shakespeare or gossip about people at our work. After my boyfriend became a fixture in my life, the three of us would hang out by the street and gab. Larry had in common with my boyfriend a willingness to talk to anyone about anything.

After a few years of not being lonely anymore, the boyfriend and I decided to build a house and get married. Then we started having babies, and our first baby died. Baffled, devastated, having just given birth, I ended up planning a memorial service for the baby Emil. I wanted everyone to come and invited anyone I could think of. (Wow, I was so intense and emotional during that time, I have not thought of this in a while.) So Larry showed up at the graveside memorial, and he bawled during most of it. There was a moment in which the people there could say something about the deceased, whom nobody had known, and Larry sniffled a bit and started singing. He sang this beautiful aria that broke through my cloud of numbness like a silver arrow. It was a good song. He was a kind friend.

Soon after that Larry retired, he and I both moved away, and we chatted on the phone a few times. We said we would get together for coffee real soon.

Rest in peace.

Pure Protein!

Diet is a bad word now. Eating plan is what they call them these days. Back when I was ten (and chubby), I went to Weight Watchers, and dieting was harder back then--everything was harder back then--with the unappealing choices of diet 7-Up or celery as snacks. Trying to follow my little diet back in the day, I couldn't take it, and I would sneak to the shopping center to shoplift chocolate bars or buy these big fudge balls, covered with chocolate sprinkles, at the bakery. Once as I was doing so, in the fourth grade, I bumped into none other than my father at the shopping center. I had the fudge ball in hand, and he was very very disappointed, especially since sending me to Weight Watchers had been his bright idea. No matter how good I was at calculating the points for the different food offerings on the diet, and buying my own little packages of edibles, chocolate always did me in.

But ain't life grand in the 21st century? Now fat people have a whole industry offering them treats to help them skinny down. And I have discovered something delectable. It is PURE PROTEIN! (I read the package, so I know this.) It has 20 grams or protein in a little 4 oz bar. And, get this, it comes in chocolate fudge, or chocolate-chip cookie dough flavors. And the cookie dough tastes almost like real cookie dough, with just a slight aftertaste of chalk. So instead of sneaking mouthfuls from a tube of cookie dough for your lunch, you can eat one of these bars, and you get all that nice protein.

Braving the firemen at the gym, and my PURE PROTEIN are working, so don't knock them. I have lost five pounds! No, don't ask how many more pounds I have to go.

Blessings

On my eight minute break, I needed to make some copies for my next class. There are two copy machines, one of which was blinking "misfeed" with a digital diagram showing several areas (in red) of the machine needing attention. A chatty ESL teacher was making complex copies on the other machine. The ESL teachers supply a lot of their own materials, and xerox different parts of books or pictures to customize the class handouts. "I just want to finish this," she said.

The misfed machine was hot to the touch. I opened the appropriate areas indicated on the diagrams, pulled out several wrinkled math exams, and slammed the doors. The screen still was blinking. Four more minutes until class. Then two more rushed teachers arrived, papers in hand, hopeful for copies before the next class session.

Then is was my turn. "Oh, you are next," Renee said conscientiously.

One minute to go, I quickly copied the single page I needed. "It's all yours," I announced, gathering together papers.

"Bless you." Renee hurried to the machine, focused on the task at hand.

Years ago I was out with my Jewish grandmother, and a stranger said, "God bless you," in response to a small favor (not a sneeze).

"I never have figured out what I am supposed to say when they say that," I remember Grandma confessing. "What do you say? Thanks?" As far as gods go, I think the Old Testament and New Testament gods are the same; but "God bless you," does have a proselytizing Christian undertone to it. "God bless you, too"?

I accepted the blessings of my acquaintance, a little spark of heartfelt gratitude.

But if I ever try to cut in the xerox line during break, I know the comments coming my way would be equally intense, though on the negative end of the spectrum; I am sure people have been injured over lesser slights in the copy room.

Safe

I have been doing a resistance training program--weights. So I have my 7.5 pound little dumbbell that I do three sets of 12 lifts with. It is not very heavy, which of course means that my upper body strength is not great. The gym supplies some of these weights in a girly pink or girly lavender color, to remind you that you have the girl weights, not the real weights.

Members of the local fire department also work out at the gym. Yes, firemen. These are strong guys, and they are buff. None of them is slacking off on the fitness requirement; you can tell by the bulging biceps and pectorals. And they do not lift the 7.5 pound weights. They are challenging themselves, building muscles up, grunting, groaning, and sweating under huge dumbbells. Or they are running 100 mph on the teradmills, with beads of sweat flying. Well, I do not feel very feminine with my little pink dumbbell. When the fire department is on the floor, I bravely chant my positive affirmations: "I am strong!" Yeah, right. Dream on, weakling. Maybe I should join a gym for senior citizens so I can leave 'em in the dust. When I see the fire truck parked outside the gym, I am tempted to turn around and leave, but I drag myself in, all for the sake of physical fitness.

On the positive side, at least we are safe if the gym catches on fire. These big guys will be right on hand to rescue our fat butts.

What I Ate Today

1/2 cup cottage cheese
1 banana
half a bowl of soggy Cheerios*
2 cups coffee w cream

6 wheat thins*
half a chewed-on turkey sandwich (wheat bread)*
cup of skim milk

big salad at Souper Salad w peanuts and vinegar on top
onion soup
1 taco#

half a Hershey's chocolate bar#

* items are kids' leftovers that were just sitting there, so I ate them
# unapproved (high fat) items

Yes, I have taken the first steps (again) to lose a lot of weight. No, I won't tell you how much. I think I lost 3 pounds in the last few weeks. I just want to be healthy, age gracefully; I don't care anymore about fitting into a 2-piece bathing suit, and I don't know anyone else who cares what I look like in a bikini either (for better or worse).

I am meeting wiith a nutritionist in two weeks. I know I have to tell her about the mini-marshmallows (they ARE low fat); and I know what she is going to say about them, too.

You Should Try This at Home

Talk to your kids. They just might be listening!

After the Thing with the Pencil (see previous post), I knew I had to have a Talk with my eldest. Something along the lines of, "Kid, you are making this parenting thing hard. You need to listen. Other kids are not running away from their mothers and hiding at the supermarket. At eight years old, you need to follow some basic rules, or this is just going to be too difficult." I didn't really have an ultimatum, since I wasn't ready to quit my position as Mother-in-Chief, but shouldn't he be able to follow simple instructions? I mean, other kids, little kids, can resist grabbing things off shelves, can walk, not run inside; I know since I have seen them.

(Once a saw a mom with SIX kids, all of them under the age of ten, at a coffee shop. Each child's hair was neatly combed, and they filed into a booth like small soldiers, and sat together, quietly eating cookies. I was in awe, and I complimented the woman on her offsprings' behavior; I also had to check if they were all her own, and they were. Her secret? She said they just HAVE to behave.)

So, I had a heart to heart talk with my eldest. I explained that, especially if injured (cf the Thing w the Pencil), I could not be chasing him around stores. He needed to think of the whole picture, not just about how fun it would be to try to pull the bottom can out from a pyramid of stacked cans. He needed to think of trying to be helpful.

Dylan looked out the window as I elaborated, then he said, "Ok, I get it, I get it..."

Then the magical thing occurred: he really did get it. There was a transformation, and a polite, thoughtful child came out, asking me, "Is there anything you would like to me do?" and saying, "Excuse me, Ms. Mommy, if I bumped into you."

Then, his brother, always attuned to a nuance of change, picked up on the new attitude and started calling me alternately "your majesty" and "sir," as in "yes, sir!"

Well, I knew it was not going to last, but I have to say I liked the sound of "your majesty" for a change.

Don't Try This at Home

I am thrilled when my kids get out their art supplies, crayons, paints, magazines, and I forget about being The Enforcer, I let down my guard and desist with the dire warnings about why we need to pick up messes, why we don't run with scissors. Don't let this happen to you! The kids had just sharpened their pencils, were doodling away, when we had to take a break so they left the pencils--and everything else--lying on the floor. Coming into the hallway quickly, I tripped over a pencil and --voila--that is how I ended up with a pencil stuck in my foot. Of course I pulled it out, but then the whole pencil did not come out, so a good part of the lead stayed lodged in my foot. Yes, it hurt, and I also felt like a dunce for not being careful.

I took some alone time to work at removing the pencil out of my foot. I sterilized a needle, tweezers, and nail clippers, and started picking away with tweezers. I succeeded at not throwing up at the sight of the flesh--ouch!--but could not get the pencil lead out.

The next day was Birdie's turn to bring snacks for the kindergarten, so I put SHARP tweezers on the grocery list, grabbed the kids, and hobbled off to the store. As I do every time, I lectured Dylan about the rules for going to the store, the parts about staying with me, not grabbing things off the shelf. Once at the local Tweezer n Snack mart, however, Dylan was overwhelmed by the Christmas displays.

He gets credit for seeming to be trying to follow the rules--how does he manage to do this?--but it was too hard, and after three minutes I noticed an elfin figure whirring down a distant aisle, a Santa Claus hat on his head, pushing the shopping cart as fast as it would go and then jumping aboard for a thrill ride. I limped down to where my unruly son was. He was smiling hugely, and the passing customers were grinning at his impishness. When I caught him I stopped the cart with my foot (the one without the pencil in it) and I hissed, "You are being obnoxious..you are supposed to stay with me..."

A nice old lady came up to me admonishing, "Just let them be kids, they are only young once." I gritted my teeth.

Birdie said, "You're being obnoxious. I have to get my snacks."

Dylan took off at top speed down the aisle.

I limped after Birdie to select the junk foods that were not too junky for the kindergarten snack. Birdie and I found the tweezers, picked out the really sharp ones, and went to check out line.

Birdie was gripping the granola bars and cheese Pringles like a starving child. The checker had to come around to the other side of the counter to scan the food since this junk-food junkie would not let go of the boxes. Dylan was nowhere to be seen.

We waited around at the exit and then went for a search and found a weeping Dylan in the Christmas aisle. I had hurt his feelings; he felt very criticized. I gritted my teeth.

I hobbled out to the car, snapped in Birdie, and waited for Dylan to emerge. Eventually he came out, not kidnapped, but sulking and sniffling. We would have to discuss this later.

After the kids went to sleep I got out the really sharp tweezers, took several ibuprofren, and tried again: no luck.

"You have to get it out," DH told me in the morning. He said he had pulled plenty of spines and splinters out of his flesh. He told me he had lanced a cyst he had on his neck, once, using a needle. This is a guy who had operated on his cat, and closed the wound with superglue. I was not going to get a lot of sympathy from him. He did, however, agree to try to get it out, if I wanted, "but it will probably hurt." My foot was hurting enough anyway, so I said, "do it," and got out my little diy surgery kit, including the really sharp tweezers. Offering my foot, I closed my eyes, and began counting backwards from 100 as he started picking away. I made it to the count of 95, then I told him to stop. I was going to the doctor. I think Birdie was right when he said, "If you keep trying to get it out yourself, then you will really need to go to the doctor."

That afternoon at Urgent Care, I got a couple of numbing shots in the foot, and then finally Dr. Mogle-Lichten got a half-inch long pencil lead out. I was so relieved, and light-headed, and leaned back on the gurney. When the nurse said I could leave, I said I felt faint and I was going to sit there for a minute. "Does this happen to you often?" the nurse asked.

I turned the question over in my mind. Was she asking whether I had objects stuck in my foot often? Or whether I often felt faint after having my foot cut open? Was she just making conversation, as in, do you come here often, or was she trying to get me to vacate the gurney so another unlucky patient could take my spot behind the curtains? It didn't really matter which question she was asking, since the answer to each was the same: "No."

Bunco Gal

All right Bunco ladies, I am ready to play Bunco. By the time we meet, I will even have found out how to play Bunco. I was unduly excited when I was invited to Bunco night (yes, I have brought this up before).

Cheryl said, "I've been meaning to ask you what you are doing Monday nights? We've been getting together for bunco and it is really fun; food and drink and the kids always go to the babysitter."

Oh, thank you, yes, I would love to be in on bunco. Monday night. Oh dear, turns out I work on Monday night...maybe I can change my hours? I finally am invited, which is what I really wanted, but I can't even make it to the get together. The desire to be invited might even outweigh my ability to actually participate. I hope there will be other bunco nights.

Cheap & Easy

1. Have you ever had an Aveeno Oatmeal bath? Aveeno sells all natural oatmeal, ground finely, to put in warm bathwater. The bath helps rashes, itches, and just feels good. My kids get rashes, especially in the summer, and I had started buying the Aveeno Baby Oatmeal bath packets. They cost too much, but the indulgence was worth it, since it really seemed to work. Hey, it is just oatmeal, right? Well if you have ever tried to make your own oatmeal bath by putting plain oatmeal in water, your result will be slimy, your kids won't go in the water (and you can't really blame them), and afterward you have another gooey mess to clean up (or you could just leave it in the tub and clean it up when you are feeling more energetic).

If you want to make your own oatmeal bath without the mess and the expense, you need old pantyhose or an old sheer sock, and some oatmeal. You can use instant oatmeal if you want the bath thick and porridge-like, or you can use organic if you are feeling virtuous or prefer organic. The rest is obvious: put about a cup of oatmeal in the sock or cut-off leg of the pantyhose, tie it at the top part of the oatmeal, and throw "snakey" in the warm bath. Kids love to squeeze "snakey" and this does wonders for red, chapped hands teachers have been squirting with antibacterial gel all week. Your skin will feel moist and fresh, too...just like, well, a plump raisin in a bowl of oatmeal. You can also try grinding the oatmeal in a blender, to make it fine, and skip the sock, but that might not be as much fun and you may be accused of killing "snakey".



2. I have been making salmon burgers, a good way to get your Omega 3's without dealing with finding, buying, and cooking fresh fish. The mess is not worse than garden burgers, and you don't have the smell from cooking fresh fish. This is a forgiving recipe: amounts can be altered, and you can throw in whatever fresh veggies you have on hand. You need a can of salmon, 1/2 cup torn up bread, 2 eggs, 2 tsp lemon juice (or Dr. Bragg's Apple Cider Vinegar), some parsley, and a little mayonnaise. I added fresh spinach and chopped onions, yum. You can also add garlic or garlic salt. You just mix up all the ingredients, shape burgers, and fry them in a tiny bit of oil.

A variation: put canned salmon in a can of clam chowder, and you have instant salmon chowder--which sounds so classy. Your friends will think you have been cooking all day, instead of just opening a couple of cans. Ok, this is degenerating from easy to sleazy, reminds me of a cookbook for guys, based on canned food, I saw titled: "A Man, A Can, A Plan." On a final note, if anyone has a tip on getting YOUR man to open a can, let me know.

"I Know a Song that Gets on Everybody's Nerves

..everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves;
I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, and this is how it goes:

I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves,
I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, and this is how it goes:

I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves, everybody's nerves,
I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves, and this is how it goes..."

D'Lyon learned this song on the school bus, and it is the newest sensation, which he enjoys singing at high decibels (I never realized how high little kids can shriek) while banging his feet. This is repeated indefinitely until I NEED TIME OUT.

So DH took the rugrats to visit his parents in Colorado, and I decided to stay home alone. I do have a hundred things to do--from giving blood pressure medicine to my elderly cat to filling out tax forms from several years ago--and yes, I love my kids, but I am really looking forward to having some time to myself.

One of my eldest's New Year's resolutions: "Maybe I can be politer?"

"Politer?" I comment to the kid who is a card-carrying member of the grammar police.

"And use better grammar."

Like I say, I love my kids. And I know they are having a great time driving with Dad for eight hours, since they always do have a great time.