My Love-Hate Relationships

Ruby-Crowned Kinglet?

I’m so grateful to have my J - O - B, but I'm not so much lovin' on it right now. In today’s economy, it makes little sense to spew "I hate my job" tirades when I have friends who don’t have them or have one that doesn’t pay half of what they previously earned. This caused me to start thinking of the many love-hate relationships in my dolce vita.  Or is it dulce vita? No, it’s dolce vita and dulce de leche – either way – they both translate to excellente!

Let’s take birds for example. In general, I would have to say that I love, Love, LOVE birds. Just this week I spotted the above bird that everyone believes is a ruby-crowned kinglet. I specifically ended my 40 minute jog with a stop at the Sugarcreek garden just to see if I might stand still for a few moments and greet a sparrow, a wren, or a chicken hawk. Within minutes, my ears were drawn to rooting-around sounds in a pile of brush. My eyes then focused on lovely shades of green reflecting off of the cutest little bird.  He had a red spot on the nape of his neck. I say "he" and "his" because for some reason, unlike with humans, male birds get to be pretty. The little guy even stalled long enough for me to get out my iPhone and snap his picture. So when I say I love birds, I think you get it. And right at this very moment, I love that there’s a bright-red boy cardinal sitting in the bird bath...sharing space with a little girl house finch.

So with all this birdie, birdie affection, what on terra firma could be my love-hate relationship with them? One word – STARLINGS. I hate that these ugly, mean, flying and screeching machines that use and abuse the eaves of our home to get it on, hire a doula, and ultimately birth more devil Starlings (and for those of you in therapy now, or in the recent past, is this shadow-self stuff?). When I say eaves I really mean attic. And when I say attic, I really mean the spot directly above Doc. B’s meditation space. There is absolutely no way I could muster the equanimity, let alone the concentration, required to emit thoughts of loving kindness with Starlings feeding their spawn directly above my freshly cut and colored head of hair. Yes, there’s room in the inn but this ain’t no nativity scene.  They're supposed to eat insects but apparently they don't even do that - we were still "forced" to build a screened porch to keep them AND the skeeters away.

Perhaps as I begin to mellow in my old age I’ll find the patience to share square footage with these annoying creatures. After all, they and their ancestors have resided here longer than we have.  Our contractor's carpenter had to scare them out of the house over ten years ago during our renovation…yet they keep coming back...damn squatters (or are we the squatters?). Plus, I’d bet one year’s worth of my J – O – B salary that there are, and will continue to be, days when I’ve been described as an annoying creature.




Clarice the Starling


More of my love-hate relationships:

• I love Elizabeth Gilbert and Hollis Gillespie but hate that I covet their writing skills.

• Along those same lines, I love writing (including this blog), but hate that I can’t get it together to write a book.

• I Love the cats but hate scooping the poop.

• Along those same lines, I love going to the hair salon to hear the joke of the month, but hate that I’ll be paying for it until I decide it’s okay to be gray. Joke of the month: knock, knock…who’s there?... smell mop…smell mop who?

• I love that we have a housekeeper for the first time in my life but hate that we clean before she visits.

• I love that Doc. B is a vegetarian, but hate that it means we don't cook a juicy steak on the Weber grill every now and again. Oh wait, I can do that when I go out to eat when Doc. B. is off on a meditation retreat.

Hope you're lovin' on what you're hatin' on!

"Mindless Break"

Come on people, it's just basil!

Yeah, I know, we've all seen these questionnaires before - but they're fun!  Well, they're fun when you have all the time in the world, like when you are on your third snow day!  A new friend of mine sent this out with the following perfect intro:

"This is a mindless break from other activities.  And a perfect day to receive/send because all we can do in Atlanta is rattle around and keep checking the temperature on our cabin fever..."

So now that I've finished cleaning out the spice rack, I can take a mindless break to answer a few questions (I had "high" hopes that Doc. B. had forgotten about a certain "spice", but it really is just basil).   Enough with the fanfare, read on! 

1.     What color are your socks right now?  They’re blue at the moment but they're mood socks so I expect they’ll change colors by the time I finish completing this assignment.

2.     What are you listening to right now? The sounds of silence – Doc. B. left me, to go to work, says she couldn’t stand to be in this snowbound state any longer.

3.     What was the last thing you ate?  Besides crow?  The second to last chip in the basket – at the U-Joint.  I always leave the last bite for Doc. B. – isn’t that sick!

4.     Can you drive a stick shift?  Yes, but would prefer that the stick be attached to a Porsche Carrera GTS Cabriolet vs. our Ford Ranger.  It’s hard enough to shift, let alone roll the windows up and down manually.  Plus, did you ever notice how hard it is to drink coffee and shift at the same time?

5.     Last person you spoke to on the phone?  The RCI salesperson.  No sir, I really DO NOT want to trade in my week at Hilton Head for a cruise!

6.     Do you like the person who sent this to you?  She made me laugh my butt off the first time I met her, so YES!

7.     How old are you today?  16,911 days old – there’s an app for that!

8.     What is your favorite sport to watch on TV?  I could really go down in the dirt to answer this one but I’ll stick with women’s college basketball and March madness men’s basketball.

9.     What is your favorite drink?  Yesterday it was the spicy orange/lime margarita that Doc. B. created with what we had in the house.  Today it was the Founders Red Rye Pale Ale at the U-Joint.  If this weather continues, it maybe the Wild Irish Rose from the corner store – complete with the ubiquitous black plastic bag.  Favorites change daily so check back often!


10.     Have you dyed your hair?  I anticipate paying at least $18,000 to Pam, at the hair salon, over the next 15 years – enough said.


11.     Favorite food?  Just give me a pizza, topped with extra cheese and green olives, and you’ve got a happy me.


12.     What is the last movie you watched?  “The Kids are Alright.’  I know, stereotypical but the Joni Mitchell sing-along alone was worth it.  Oh wait, that’s stereotypical too!


13.     Favorite day of the year? Any moon day because that means Doc. B. is not going to yoga and we get to sleep in!


14.     How do you vent?  Usually with Mrs. T. since most of what I vent about is related to work.  But I also vent by getting my butt to the gym as often as possible.  And it’s not been possible since Sunday!


15.     What was your favorite toy as a child?  Anything that belonged to my Uncle Al.  I loved all of his stuff – snowmobiles, Atari Pong, BB guns, and burning barrels.  “Let’s light some stuff on fire after we shoot at some empty pop cans!”


16.     What is your favorite season?  No hesitation on this one – the fall!


17.     Cherries of blueberries?  Any kind of fruit!  Overhiser Orchards – we’ve got the ripe stuff!


18.   Do you want your friends to e-mail you back?  Only if they so choose.  Despite what many of them think, I don’t hold grudges, really I don’t!


19.   Who is the most likely to respond?  Ted Nugent.  He’ll like the BB gun comment.


20.   Who is least likely to respond? Ted Nugent.  I guess I’d need his address in order for him to respond – oh well.


21.   Living situation?  It’s all good!


22.   When was the last time you cried?  Do I really have to answer that one?  How about the last time I teared up? Can I answer that one instead?


23.   What is in your closet right now? Lots of jeans and comfortable shoes.


24.   What are you most afraid of?  Right now, running out of food and booze – this snow storm stuff is for the Yankee Birds!


25.Plain, cheese, or spicy hamburgers?  Everything Spicy!


26.   Favorite dog breed?  I’m a cat person, but I do like dogs if they are somewhat bigger than a cat, don’t bark, don’t shed, don’t poop and don’t have to be walked.


27.   How many states have you lived in?  Besides a state of fear and loathing, I’ll say three and one district.


28.   Diamonds of pearls?  I thought the question was Diamonds or rust?  Where is Joan Baez when you need her?


29.   What is your favorite flour?  I like Martha White the best.  The label is so inviting and seems like it would make good pancake.  

...This is my brain on basil.

Adults Will Be Adults

Last night I playfully busted the neighbor girls playing ding, dong ditch.  Here’s the routine: they ring the bell and I open the door to quiet giggles in the distance - but of course no one is in view.  So I hide patiently behind the front door, with a smile on my face, waiting for them to tip-toe up the front steps to try it again.  When the bell rings this time, I fling open the front door to catch them in the act and yuck it up with them for a bit on the front porch.  They seem to love it and their obvious goal - to get caught.  I hope these girls are as friendly and chatty when they enter high school but unfortunately, I’m not counting their chickens before they hatch.  These young ladies will probably have to go through an ornery phase, like I did, and do some stupid stuff, like I did, before they turn out to be perfect adults, like I did.  In the meantime, we were able to chat about what they were having for dinner and “weather” or not they’d have school on Monday morning.  4-6 inches of snow and ice falling on Atlanta usually means a day off.  Their fingers, inside their mittens, were crossed.

Even though I’ve never wanted children of my own, I at least try to be supportive and nice to the kids I know.  Okay, maybe I haven’t always wanted them in the house with their grimy paws (just ask Kali), but I’ll eat pizza and play video games with kids (at their parents’ houses) any day of the week. I generally like pre-teens the best - they’re still at that age where they’ll laugh at my Grandpa O. corny jokes and they aren’t too cool for school…yet.

I used to love playing games like ding, dong ditch; kick the can; kickball; Annie, Annie over; spin the bottle (only once Mom!), lets skip school (only a few times Mom!) and of course I loved ALL sports.  Most of the time, the adults in my life encouraged most of these activities.  My parents would let us run free through the neighborhoods – it was safe back then.  We’d meet up with our friends to play street hockey, baseball, go skateboarding and dad would even make us an ice rink in the winter.  My dad also coached my losing 5^th grade basketball team without making us feel bad for not winning.  And my mom cheered for my teammates and me from high up in the bleachers whenever there was a basketball game in the Twin Valley conference (what are the twin valleys anyway?).  Several adults adopted our teams and made sure our pictures got in the local paper.  Numerous teachers gave me breaks because they knew I had a game the next day.  The list of caring adults involved in my youth was thankfully long.

But there are those few adults who I let ruin things for me. 

Could have been my spiritual doorway - but no...(plus, this is not really me)

Like the first time I ever went downhill skiing.  I’m going to guess that I was in 4^th grade yet it seems like just yesterday that I was coming off of my first exhilarating run down the bunny hill.  I was so excited that I wanted to go again and with that, my dad helped me over to the rope tow that pulls you up to the top of the slope.  Apparently I was a bit too anxious and accidentally bumped the man on the tow line in front of me.  "Be careful; you could have hurt me!" he said in a gruff voice - and that was it for me and skiing.  The adult me knows that he was probably having his own insecurities about learning to ski – it didn’t matter then.  I took up cross country skiing later in life but have never been downhill skiing again. 

I prefer strips and no gut, thank you very much

Then there was the time that I went golfing with my baby sister and her then boyfriend.  We were young and new to the game but were careful not to leave too many divots, and we followed the rules of etiquette to the best of our knowledge and ability.  We purposely picked an unpopular time so that we wouldn’t be holding anyone up while we took our extra swings and putts.  Like good sportswomen (and man), we slowed down our play when we came up behind a foursome leaving our putting green for the next hole.  Little did we know there were annoyed adults behind us. From their bloated beer bellies, under the waistlines of plaid pants, they yelled "Hit the ball!  What do you think; you’re going to drive the green?"  So much for etiquette.  I’ve put the faces of those men on many a golf ball at the driving range but haven’t played a game of golf since.  Probably best since it’s so dang expensive not to mention stereotypical (See you at the Dinah Shore in Palm Springs - March 30, 2011?).

He's making 5 million a year, but we're getting a housekeeper, so there!

And finally there was swimming class in Junior High.  The gym teachers would make us strip down, put our clothes in a locker and then get in line outside the swimsuit storage room.  They would eyeball our naked bodies (up, down and around) and then toss each of us a well-worn, navy blue, one-piece tank suit.  My locker room and bathing suit issues started at a very young age thanks to some uncaring adult gym teachers.  From that point on, it always seemed to be "that time of the month," before I even knew what that meant, because that was the only way we could get out of swimming.  But I did, on occasion, swim with Jim Harbaugh, a Tappan Junior High classmate and the new 25 million dollar coach of the San Fran 49ers.  Guess he doesn't have locker room issues.

Time to watch the snow fall!

Don't Tell Doc. B. but...

Lose weight, blah blah blah, drink less, blah blah blah, exercise more, blah blah blah, be more mindful, blah blah blah, don’t agree to your partner going on a week-long silent meditation retreat over new year’s eve, blah blah blah. Sounds like a pretty standard set of 2011 resolutions, eh?

It’s strange and unsettling enough that January 1, 2011 marked the first time since 1776 that there has NOT been a Kennedy in Washington (well, it’s really only since 1947 but either way it’s like having a 22 year old cat – it seems like forever).  But not having Doc. B. in the house on 1/1/11 is a bit odd.

Neither one of us really had anything in mind for Christmas presents this year.  We'd had the screened porch built and that was all I really wanted besides my two front teeth.  But since I'd received the latter many Christmases ago after sending a letter to Santa asking for them of course (and promptly placing them in Towne Club pop to see what chemical reaction would take place), Doc. B. inquired as to whether there might be something else I'd like to see under the lamp table this year? I'll admit it; we didn't put up a tree.  All of our pagan ornaments stayed in the attic and any gifts that made it into our household went under the lamp table to patiently await Christmas morning.

After thinking about it a while, I settled on two things that I really did want for Christmas.  I wanted a specific Christmas brunch of Irish coffee, bagels and lox, cream cheese and capers AND I wanted Doc. B. to figure out the exact date on which Maddie the cat will have lived for half my life.  Doc. B. thought about it too and settled on a request that I go with her to her parent’s house for lunch on Christmas Eve AND she wanted to go on a meditation retreat in Texas for the week between Christmas and New Year’s.

Meditation Building

We both got what we wanted.  And that’s why Rumi the cat and I are sitting out on the screened porch drinking champagne (well, sparkling wine since it’s not from that special region in France) and writing a blog about the holidays without the presence of Doc. B. who's been gone for a week now but will be home this evening.

Don’t tell Doc. B. but over the past week:

• ·         I spent way too much at the grocery store and it wasn’t even on organic stuff,
• ·         I watched a ton of Glee, Twilight Zone and Mad Men Re-runs,
• ·         I’ve been listening to 1980’s hair band music rather loudly and regularly (Rumi likes it!),
• ·         I cleaned in preparation for the interview we have on Monday with a prospective housekeeper.
• ·         I threw away the Omaha Steaks gift certificate she received in the mail (interesting tidbit – Omaha Steaks has a mailing address on John Galt Blvd. – who is John Galt?)
• ·         Several of us decided that if Doc. B. goes on a retreat in the future, it shouldn’t be a silent retreat since that’s not a challenge for her.  Rather it should be a hang out and talk with other people 24/7 retreat.
• ·         I’ve had cereal for dinner at least twice.

Happy New Year Beloved Reader(s?)!

Post Script

Below is a copy of how Doc. B. started calculating the date when Maddie will have lived for half my life.  This was before she quickly came to the realization that all she had to do was double how old I was on the day Maddie was born.  That Doc. B. IS a smart one.  Heck, I couldn't even get into the University of Michigan let alone Georgia Tech (well, U of M did say I could feel free to pay their high tuition rates in the fall of 1982 so long as I agreed to be there on academic probation - that was too much pressure for a 17 year old Social "Scientist.").  And so the question is finally answered, "yes little miss no dress wearin', tennis shoe-lovin', math hatin' girl in the 8^th grade, you could actually need algebra in your day-to-day adult life."  My response, "or you could find a partner to figure out (math) problems for you."

Mark your calendars for December 29^th 2011.  If Maddie and I make it that long, that’s when she will have lived for half of my life.