The Family (torture) Picnic

Every few months I put my foot down and require that we all go on a "family picnic." This usually requires a time committment of about 4-5 hours, that includes the commute. We pack a light lunch, drive to a park, eat, walk for an hour or so, and drive home. You'd think I was taking the boys to Gitmo. They whine, they complain, they sulk, but they go. And somewhere about halfway to the park they start to turn. The whines become more teasing, the sulking becomes more of an act. After the meal they trudge dutifully down a path, then spot a deer or chipmunk, or hear a woodpecker and search the trees. Gradually they let down their guard and seem to enjoy themselves. Of course all the way home I hear again about the torture I've inflicted (and usually they bring up any other recent events to bolster their argument that my goal in life is to make them miserable.) But the evenings after these trips are always a little more friendly and calm. The extra exercise and fresh air has done everyone good, including me.

The organization of care

So, may family is embarking upon a new adventure--braces. I never had them, my husband never had them, our older son never had them, but Evan got his put on today. I am fascinated with the orthodonist's office. They clearly know their clientele--kids ages 12-16. The whole office is organized around kids--their interests, their tastes, their size. But the staff also treats them as responsible, smart, and capable. The directions are given to the kids, the supplies are kept in a closet and kids are expected to take what they need, the kids are allowed to make decisions about their care. The office is efficiency to the max, everything is orderly and ordered. I just find it an interesting set-up.

On a whole different note, in the waiting room was a mom with two young kids, waiting while an older daughter was cared for. The younger boy, about 3 or so, was getting bored and antsy. Finally the mom said, "pick out a book and I'll read you a story." The boy brought over a few books and the mom said, "would you like to sit in my lap?" The boy's face lit up as if this was the biggest wish he could ever have. He climbed up into his mom's lap and snuggled in for a story. What an incredible power we have when we allow such physical contact.

The Great NY State Fair

Went to the fair tonight. I've gone for the last 4 or 5 years, usually just my younger son and I go, but this year hubby tagged along. We are pretty low key fairgoers. We go to see the butter sculpture and DEC fish tanks, we go on the giant ferris wheel (well, Craig doesn't go on that one), have a corn dog, play some midway games, and then head home. In and out in about 3 hours. It is just enough to get a feel for the place, but not long enough to get weirded out--which is easy to do there.

Working on Sunday

I am always more productive when I work on Sundays. Why? I used to think it was the lack of distractions, and that is certainly part of the answer, but I think it has more to do with a mindset: "I'm here to work." I guess if I come in to work on a Sunday I feel obligated to make it worthwhile. I also feel like any work I do get done is a "bonus," work I hadn't planned on finishing. When I come to work on Sunday, I generally have a specific task that I want to accomplish as well, so I am focused on just one thing, not a million little tasks. Why doesn't that happen on a regular workday? Got me, but I've decided I'm better off to take a day off during the week and come in on Sunday than to work a straight week. Works for me.

Water

What is it about moving water that is so mesmerizing and calming? Yesterday I took Evan and his friend Sam to the Ithaca Sciencenter. Outdoors they have a small waterfall and watertable with sand and blocks. I could have sat for hours playing in the water. Listening to the falls was relaxing, but pushing the sand through the water, building and rebuilding dams and shorelines, that was really relaxing. Just the feel of the water over my fingers and the flow of the sand was calming. Just the sort of time I needed.

Foreign Words and Sad Places

In high school I studied Spanish for 5-6 years and spent a month one summer in Mexico. In college I studied Russian and spent a semester in Moscow. I was never that proficient at either one, although I actually have a bachelor’s degree in Russian (it got me an interview with the National Security Agency, too!) Unfortunately I never studied German, nor did Craig, so when we were living in Germany on sabbatical his French and my Russian and Spanish were almost useless. Of course, there was the driver who met us at the airport who did not speak English, but had learned Russian in school (we were in the former East Germany part of Germany) so we managed to communicate that way—both in our rusty Russian. But what I found amazing was that my brain seemed to have some part dedicated to “foreign languages” that was activated while we were there. So in a store I was just as likely to come up with a Spanish or Russian word as I was a German word. It’s like I knew I need something other than English, but all those “foreign” words were just lumped together in one place in my brain.

I guess that is a little bit like how I’m feeling now. I’m leaving a group that I've been a part of for about a year, but that seems to have just triggered a whole host of other “sad” places in my mind. Add to that the acknowledgement that tomorrow would have been my sister’s birthday, and I find that I am back grieving about losses—losing my mom, losing my sister, losing what I had hoped for in this group, and losing the people in the group that I cared about on whatever level. It’s funny that last night I found I really wanted to talk to my Mom, even though I would have never in her lifetime gone to her with those kinds of feelings, which then also makes me sad. So, I end up just feeling sad in general, which maybe is not a bad thing, just a “thing”.

I think it has always been hard for me to leave things. When I would be at summer camps I was never really homesick, but I would be heartbroken at the end when I had to go home. Not because I dreaded something back home, but because I felt I was losing something I had gotten there. Maybe because for that week or whatever I had felt a sense of “belonging.” You know how camps really push that sense of community and fellowship, so even if it is hokey it was something to be a part of. Even though I didn’t get the sense of belonging I was looking for from this particular group, it was still something. And that is hard to give up.

Friendly People

What makes some people friendly and talkative? Today I went for a routine mammogram. In the waiting room an older woman commented, "you look so calm! How do you manage?" I pointed out that I was just there for a screening, so I wasn't expecting any bad news. She, on the other hand, is a 25 year breast cancer survivor. We chatted briefly, were both called in for x-rays, and then met again while we waited to hear that our films were readable. I swear we did not spend more than 5 minutes together, but in that time I learned:
she is a breast cancer survivor
she only has sons, the youngest is 50
her daughter in law won't let her see her two adopted grandkids (one of whom turned 22 yesterday) but she still sends them cards, presents, and birthday checks (well, they used to send bonds, but now they send checks)
her 90 year old friend had breast cancer 30 years ago and now has cancer in her spine. She is going through chemo and worried about losing her hair.
she is a perfectionist.
she hurt her hand a week ago making dinner
she is Catholic

I don't know if I would ever talk like that to a stranger. Why? I was happy to listen, to distract her a little bit (she was really nervous), and to wish her well. But, would I want to share all of that with a complete stranger? Just makes me wonder.