Tuesday, September 08, 2015


The thing to know about my eldest daughter is that when she is excited and nervous, she becomes a dick. 

The thing to know about me, is that when I am tired and hungry orwhen you talk to me while I am driving (it is my favorite thinking time) I become a dick

The car making its way through early morning traffic to Boston, so Lyd could catch a flight, was full of dicks.

After parking in the lot and finding where the fuck we were supposed to be, we limped our way to her terminal. Driving so far hurts my still healing foot.

Lyd is afraid of escalators and we only had the escalator option at one point. I won't deny that I was frustrated and did refer to the escalator as a "motherfucking escalator" as I urged her to get on it.

The other escalators we had to take had a steep stair option running along side them. While taking the escalator, when I passed Lyd as she trudged up the stairs, it was very difficult for me not to smile at her and give her the finger as I smoothly moved past her and up.

I didn't do it, but the thought made me laugh. The laughter turned my morning around. I stopped feeling like a dick.

It has been a rough summer in many ways despite her any achievements. Sometimes I firmly believe that the human animal is wired for hardcore parenting for about 16 years. After that you really start to understand why some creatures eat their offspring. 

I have been hardcore parenting Lyd for 21 years at the end of this month.

I am sitting in a little cafe overlooking the plane she is on while I write this. She will be gone for a week and it will be a much needed break for all of us. 

I will sit here until the plane takes off. Although I need this break, although I am tired and although have entertained the thought of driving her off in a snarling rage or even perhaps consuming her (actually no) I will never stop being her parent. 

So I sit here and wait

Friday, September 04, 2015


In some traditions, at a birth, an important family member will whisper some special first words into the child's ear.

Usually they are certain prayers or words of welcome.

At this moment in my life I would not be at all surprised if the first words to be reverently uttered into my newborn ear was the phrase,

"Deflated balls."

Seriously, all I have been hearing about for the past several months, almost constantly, has to do with Tom Brady and the deflated balls.

I have become a pro at conversational detachment-I am Horst's daughter after all.

If a person makes mention of Minecraft you tube videos, Star Wars the Old Republic, any sport, politics or whenever Horst starts to talk,  my brain automatically defaults into detachment mode.

I may look interested. I will nod in all the right places, but in my head I will be doing other things, creating stories, planning a hair washing or praying to whatever deity that may be listening that the speaker will be stricken with a sudden case of pharyngitis.

I believe that this is why after all these months of deflated ball talk, it was just last night during dinner, B at it again about Tom's deflated balls, I finally put two and two together and snickered.

"It's not funny!" B snarled icily.

Months of enduring talks about deflated balls in silence,  I laugh for the first and only time.

He will not even give me that.

In my family, hearing loss is common later in life.

I do so look forward to my dotage.

Sunday, August 16, 2015


Some fun quotes from the last few days.

"G, you haven't lived until you've peed in a parking lot!"

"I don't think I can have faith in a God who made monkey asses so red."

"Ham me!"*

*B has very large hands. I have often said that when he rubs sunblock onto my shoulders and back it's like being slapped repeatedly on the back with a couple of wet ham steaks. Every year, during vacation, getting ready for the beach, I hand B a bottle of sunblock turn around and tell him to "Ham me!"
Brian says it's still not funny after all these years but I disagree.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Hello Again

We are on vacation again. Back in NJ for the final trip of the summer. 

My broken foot, though very stiff, is healing well. A week from this coming Monday it will be back to work for me after being out for over 2 months. 

I really need to see about winning the lottery or becoming the sole beneficiary of some wealthy old dowager. 

I like not working.

The kids are enjoying their last week of unlimited screen time. The weather is beautiful, the grass is green and the air is fresh. 
They are holed up in my mother in law's office, which is also serving as their bedroom for the week, staring intently at their screens. 

We dragged them to the beach earlier so they feel perfectly justified in burning their brains out on their devices.

To keep them on their toes, aka. to completely annoy the shit out of them, I walk into their room every 10 minutes and say "I just wanted to tell you both good luck, we're all counting on you."

They are forbidden to swear aloud while at Grandmom's
Let's see how far I can push it.

Saturday, July 04, 2015

The 4th and the 24th

The Fourth of July has to be my least favorite holiday.

Crowds and explosions put me into a full blown panic.

Last night, while driving slowly through a congested neighborhood looking for a good parking spot to watch fireworks, I was reminded of how badly I handled fireworks as a child.

Every year, I would freak the fuck out.

Because of the crowded streets, I was on the verge of freaking out last night. I couldn't stop imagining all of those cars and people suddenly panicking because of a bomb, or maybe aliens or zombies and a wave of humanity and metal crashing over the hood of our car as everyone tried to flee like lemmings.

Needless to say we decided to watch the fireworks at a nice pedestrian bridge several miles away.

Fireworks as a child. Every year I was certain that this would be the one. The year I could actually sit through an entire Fireworks event.

Every year had me bolting for the nearest parking lot to hide under a car.

We would go to this fair around the Fourth. They had games and music. Then fireworks.

My parents would want to go home before, but I always insisted..promised.. that this time I wouldn't freak out.

Memories of running from explosions while a band plays a cover of "Another One Bites The Dust."

I think the music, specifically that number, came on either before or after the fireworks display, but in my memory I flee, terrified, with that song playing.

I recall one year, sitting on a causeway watching them from miles away, still terrified, crouching behind the concrete side of the bridge, barely peeping over.

 I recall another year going to see fireworks with my friends at a park just yards away from the barge where they set them off.
My friend's mother had to sit with me, cowering under a blanket in a lawn chair, talking me through the whole thing. Maybe she heard that I ran for the parking lot. Maybe my parents warned her.

I still don't like them although I can bear them. In this city, around the fourth, it sounds like a war zone. Pick a war zone, any war zone. We put the air condition in around the fourth just to drown out the sound.

You can count on me and every dog in the country freaking the fuck out on the Fourth of July.

Not to mention, people get drunk and do dumb things. Someone left a corn studded diarrhea at the top of my driveway a few years back around the fourth. No, it was not a dog, dogs don't wipe their ass and leave the paper.

And to end my hated holiday rant. Today is the 24th anniversary of Concert Ed puking in my bed.

Here is that story if you want to go back for a read:

Ok I don't know how to wrap this up. My foot hurts, I'm getting tired and I just want to wrap this up before the Fourth Of July is officially over.

So if you get a moment, raise a glass, plastic cup or can to Concert Ed. If you can, listen to The Boxer. It was Ed's favorite and he played a mean air cymbal to that song.

If you really felt the urge, vomit in a stranger's bed, blame it on getting bad water instead of the booze and 15 aspirin! that would be really getting into the spirit!

Happy 4th!!

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Holding Court

I am on vacation at the moment. The usual New Jersey trip.

This year, I wasn't really looking forward to it so much because of the broken foot.
It's slowly getting better, but I can barely put weight on it. I still need the crutches and the walking boot.

I had a dream last night that I was walking around barefoot.  It was both thrilling and frightening at the same time.

So far, I have been here 2 full days and its quite nice.
B goes out and gets me a Turkish coffee first thing every morning.
There is a patio with a lounge seat and an awning.
I can sit in the shade to read and write while everyone else goes to the beach.

My mother in law has hibiscus plants so I can watch the hummingbirds and butterflies visit and the neighbors have a bird feeder so I get to watch the happenings there as well.

Firefly season is just starting around here. Last night we went up the street after going out for ice cream (yes ice cream every night too) and watched the fireflies in the dark meadow.
To the West Venus and Jupiter were bright above the horizon, colored a wash of pinks and orange.
To the East floated the gibbous moon above the where the ocean was.

Pretty moments that are not to be missed. My favorite thing about June is visiting that meadow at twilight.

I am thankful for another June to enjoy the moment.

Life is precious, people!

It's time for a book review. Book #20 for the year so far.

The Scarlet Gospels by Clive Barker.

Very exciting for us fans of Pinhead and the whole Hellraiser franchise. Movies one and two were really good. That ended it for me as far as the movies. I never realized there were more beyond those.

I have read more than a few of Clive Barker's books over the years and have loved many of them.  Weaveworld and Imagica are on my list of security blanket books and I re-read them at least once every few years.

Scarlet Gospels. First book of the summer for me. I bring two to vacation in New Jersey every year.

I will write this without too many spoilers if I can.

Pinhead. The mighty Cenobite.

Reading Pinhead's inner dialogue and learning that he has motivations, aside from making people who open Lemarchand's box writhe in exquisite pain.

For me,  I can only describe it as (please bear with me)
It was like hearing and then walking in on your ideal person, your perfect God/Goddess, person of your dreams, that you hold in the highest regard, taking a very loud and very messy diarrhea.

You are kind of horrified. You say to yourself, "No. No. No. this doesn't work. Not at all."

They are supposed to be wonderful and amazing, not squatting over the can like everyone else.

But you don't go running out the door because they are who they are.

Your ideal.

They just have become a tiny bit more human, more real so to speak. They have their origins and inner workings and desires,  no matter how gross.

So you stick around and you are happy you did.

They are still really great. Everyone has a bad bout of diarrhea, including you. Then you move on.

In the end, you get some great perspective from some new characters that show up to save the day (not really for those in the book, but for you, the reader).

Everything gets wrapped up nice and neat. There things to ponder on that venture into possible new stories, even if they are only in your head and never written.

 Then you close the book with a contented sigh, satisfied.

Clive Barker-I am so sorry that I doubted you, even for a second.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

Pause for a Brief Eulogy

There are certain people who come into your life, for however long, be they friends, lovers or family and by virtue of your relationship with that person, the choices you make because of them,
you are pushed, pulled and shaped into the person that you are today.

Everyone has at least a handful.

Jon was such a person for me.

We briefly dated when I was 16 and he was 19.

I won't go into details except that like many relationships when you are young, it ended very very messy.

Everyone has at least one or two of those, I am sure.

It took years to pull myself out of that experience and I shall spare you the details.

I'm sure some of you who were there are already quite familiar with them.

We had closure though, good closure. We talked one evening a few years afterwards and sorted out our business.

We parted on good terms.

I have not seen Jon for 16 years and only spoke to him occasionally on Facebook.

But when I got the news yesterday that he had died suddenly, it brought me to my knees.

Not literally. I am happy to report that I was in fact, sitting and that was a good thing.

I went to his Facebook page and wrote that I was crying and yelling "Asshole" at the sky for making me feel that way.

I wrote that I was sure that if there was an afterlife, he is there, having a laugh at us all.

I then deleted it-thinking that it's probably not a good thing to refer to the dead party as an asshole.

At least not this early in the game.

There are people in our lives that shape and pull us, leading us to make choices based on our relationships with them.

They make us into the people we are at the moment.

 Everyone has at least a handful, be they friends, lovers or family.

Jon was one of those people for me.

We dated when I was 16 and he was 19.

I say again that I will not go into details except that we were together briefly,  but the aftermath of those months took years to get through.

I last saw him perhaps 16 years ago.

I ran into him at a restaurant while out on a date with the man I ended up marrying. The man who I am still married to and still truly in love with to this day.

But one never forgets first love, no matter how it turns out in the end.

You just don't forget.

I am not entirely comfortable with my reaction when I heard and how I am feeling right now.

My experience of his death will be quite small compared to the others who are close to him, who will miss his presence. Who will feel that empty space.

My heart is heavy for them.

When I called him "asshole" on his page, I meant something else entirely.

What I really meant to say was:

I am really really sad that you are gone.

I truly hope that you were able to find whatever you were looking for.

I regret nothing.

And thank you.