Brain Fog and The Perfect Cup

My dearest girlfriend took me out for a birthday dinner the other night…and she gave me,  as is her custom, a wonderful selection of  fun and useful gifties – one of which was a lovely new coffee mug…so pretty and just “our style” (which means it involves cupcakes). Now – honestly, I have absolutely no recollection as to how cupcakes became out style….but I love it anyway and simply chalk that gap in memory up to having a case of menopausal brain fog (ah…the brain fogs – you see they evolve is like this: before menopause comes pre-menopausal brain fog; before that, just a general state of what I like to call motherhood brain fog, this comes from juggling too many things and burning the midnight oil; but w-a-y- before all of that, it all begins with milk brain fog, caused from living in  a constant sate of sleeplessness coupled with the ongoing nursing/feeding of a new baby).

Now the thing with the mug is…she asked me “Do you remember what you once said?” (Oh Dear God, Woman! I’ve said a lot of things! No, of course I don’t remember…one of my fog moments obviously)…she went on to remind me; “You once said that a cup has to feel “just right” when you hold it.”  Ok – I do remember saying that and I still hold that belief. She then presented me with the perfect coffee /tea-cup. Pretty and cupcake-y in design with a comfortable, yet stylish handle  and slightly unusual shape  – I like that!

What I don’t like – as I christened the mug this morning with its first cup of weekend coffee…is the combination of round low bowl and my own, clearly clumsy early morning blur fog (Oh yeah – there’s a “fog” for that too!). As I was walking into the living room to check on the dog who  I believed might be considering hopping onto our new red couch with his wet spring paws, what to you think I did? “Hey dog – what is that big west splat on our new couch?” I asked out loud, curious at it the spot’s size and shape…..Hmm….. looks more like….OH MY GOD!  COFFEE HAS SLOOSHED OUT OF MY NEW CUPCAKE (be damned) MUG!!!  I shriek this all in my head of course as my heart is pounding…not because I’m a neat freak – oh heaven’s no! But because this couch is exactly 2 months old – still at the “try not to sit on it, kids!” stage, let alone the thought that the dog might ever get up on there for a snooze. I feverishly begin to dab it with my dressing gown (hey – desperate times=desperate measures) as I try to remember the vague and minimal instructions that the young man gave me as he was applying the protective sealant on my sacred new couches. Dab or don’t dab? Water or no water? Oh dammit…I’m just going to have to wait to see how it dries.

…may as well pour myself another cup of coffee.

Staying in Touch

I was out for dinner the other night with one of my oldest and dearest friends. We sat at a cozy table for two by a window, sipping a perfectly chilled glass of wine and caught up on each others’ lives. As close as we are (both in life and proximity) we don’t see each other every day…or even every week, for that matter – nor do we call that often. Yet we somehow always manage to stay in touch – to check in on each other…and it goes without saying that we are “there” for each other – at the drop of a hat!

One of the topics that we re-visited was People who don’t stay in touch. This has always been a sore spot for both of us…one of those things that we just can’t wrap our head around. We both know friends/family members who don’t stay in touch….you can be as close as can be, sharing so many wonderful moments on a regular basis and then, either they move or something comes along in life that interrupts the relationship and suddenly, you are incommunicado…Helllloooo out there…e-mails and letters remain un-returned (not bounced back- there’s a difference) and phone calls too. You keep trying and trying but after a while you just have to stop…at some point you go from feeling like an integral part of someone’s life to somehow being invisible. My friend and I have tossed around the “whys” of this for years and suddenly, last night – we both kind of hit on it…the reason was so simple…some people are not the Staying in Touch kind of people….Perhaps all along they were just the People for Right Now.…not the friends/family relationships that last a lifetime. I think the hard part for both of us is the swift and blunt “cut” – the silence on the other end where there had been so much laughter and joy before.There has never been any “break-up” in any of these relationships, no arguments or leaving on bad terms…just a silent cut. So we concluded that we were simply in another group – the Staying in Touch group, and we always would be…and we decided that the only thing to do was to take our hearts out of these other relationships because our hearts were the only ones floating around out there anymore…it  just took us this long to realize it. We’ll never really understand it – but then, it’s always hard to see a perspective that is so different from your own….and although it feels wrong, it really isn’t…it’s just different that’s all.

So we clinked out glasses and smiled at each other…at least we are both still in the same game….and I’m grateful for that.

Passion not permitted

There has been a hot sociopolitical issue going on in my city (but then, hey – what city doesn’t have one of these going on). Now this one pits the youth against “The Man” which of course is the very group they will inevitably become a part of, if the world is going to continue to turn.

So, I had an opinion. Wow. God forbid.  Now I happen to be passionate person – so I generally express my opinions…well, passionately, but I do make an effort to be fair, which somehow goes unnoticed, but somehow when it rubs against the younger generation (yes – I went there), my opinion suddenly becomes old-fashioned in its thought and execution. Funny how that works – when I’m the one paying the taxes that are inevitably raised as a consequence of these events…funny as I am the one who is late for my job because I am taking the time to drive my kids to school so that they can make class/not lose marks/get to work on  time and avoid the situation…funny how I am one of the people making the effort to pick up friends to help out because the situation has them trapped with no way to get home that doesn’t involve a hassle, a hassle  that they don’t need at the end of long hard day of contributing to society.

I remember being young and passionate about issues….I also look back and see that I couldn’t see the whole picture because I wasn’t able yet – I wasn’t at the point of being able to draw on years of experience. But what burns me the most is that I am somewhat not allowed to feel passionately about an issue with out judgement….and the ironic thing is that if I were to judge in that same way – I would be blasted for being old-fashioned and not forward thinking, not being able to see both sides….it’s the old Damned if you do – damned if you don’t.

When did being a grown-up get to be such hard place to stand? After all those years of making mistakes (still making mistakes!) and learning something along the way, didn’t I earn some sort of reprieve?

Spring’s Fling

Spring has been an elusive lover this year, surprising us early by bringing some of her cousin’s (Summer) heat and parading around, and rather scantily clad, I might add. Hey there Spring – put your sweater back on! I won’t lie – we all enjoyed the show and shrugging off all reasonable responsibility we put on our shorts and t-shirts and fired up our BBQ’s, unabashedly using up the remnants of  year’s propane.

Then came the rain, a few snowflakes and then one day there was an even a brief event when tiny hail-spit balls  were being shot down from the sky above . Hmmm.. that’ll learn us! So now, here we are, waiting patiently for our girl Spring. Obviously  Mother nature obviously talked some sense into her seasonally wild child and Spring is now arriving a little more buttoned-down…as we would expect. In fact, I’ve felt appropriately damp over the last couple of weeks and have pulled out my spring jacket and scarf for those early morning shivers. I know that summer has booked her trip and is well on the way..and being a gal who doesn’t like heat and humidity – I am steadying myself for what’s to come. A/C is standing by and yes, I know all about the freon etc. -  but living with a wild, menopausal beast of a woman who seems to only suffer from Hot Flashes in summertime; two months proves too difficult – and scary – for my family!

I am poised to plant my countless annuals and look forward to sitting back, when it’s all done , in my backyard which has been affectionately christened (more times that I can count!) Narnia. Close the door to the wardrobe and bring out the park bench….I’m ready for you now, Spring!

Strike Here

Over the years, I’ve come to learn that being a wife and mother is like being the captain of the  ship called Family…and my son would generally attest to the fact that I am unequivocally at the helm and yet for some time now I’ve felt as though I’m just hanging onto the edge of the sail as it  flaps in the breeze of inevitable change. Living with two young women – one teen/one pre-teen/and then of course, throwing  into the mix, emotions can sometimes run unpredictably high. While I can relate and understand it all intellectually, it doesn’t take away from the fact that I feel as though I am sometimes living with a box matches, and as the mother, I am the flint. So no matter how far back I stand, once struck – poof! It all goes up in flames. Now, of course, it all quickly dies down as I try to make every effort to toss a bucket of soothing water on things, having been there as a young woman not so long ago (or so it feels!)… and yet, although a sense of calm and gentle voices and smiles quickly return…somehow,  I still feel slightly burned.

My women friends who have survived this time in their mothering  careers are always quick to remind me that “this too shall pass” and that’s it’s just a phase…and I get that, I really do. But I think that for me it goes deeper than just teen angst – I think it gets all wrapped up into the ball that my own mother and certain close friends who older warned of. They spoke about losing their sense of self; their personal identity – a notion that I pish-poshed years ago….but now, standing in my kitchen and catching a glimpse of my reflection in the microwave oven door as the smoke dissipates, I look at the woman with the fabulous new hair cut (just had it done) and wonder how it is that I can look so fabulously fresh and young and feel so worn at this moment.

My husband, who is always the voice of reason both inside and out of my head, most definitely supports me yet at the same time somehow manages to have the clarity to see the alternative way that I could have handled things…and he’s right….he’s always quite truly and absolutely right. I can be too emotional….but then again, I am the one holding the matchbox.

I guess I have to learn to hold the “strike here” side away from myself.

Glasses – not a Hair Accessory!

Middle Age should be the Renaissance of our lives – a time of re-birth and adventure…well, I suppose everyday is an adventure – especially when you refuse to succumb to wearing those reading glasses you are supposed to wear (and not just as a hair band – like me). Yesterday, while prepping for Easter, I was gleefully wearing my  hair band (strength #2) to keep my bangs out of my eyes while I poured the noodles into the sieve…or rather, ON TOP of the sieve and consequently, into the sink. I had been holding it the wrong way around because I wasn’t wearing my glasses on my eyes – where they belong!

A couple of weeks ago, I met two girlfriends for a drink and forgot my glasses. Actually, to be honest, I had just done my hair and didn’t want to stick my glasses on top. So there I was, standing on the street, completely unable to read the parking meter. I tried squinting  and then zooming in and out on the meter, thinking I might find a sweet spot.Wrong.  I had to go inside the bar and drag one of my friends out to not only read the meter but to help me put in the right change (hey – silver coins are silver coins – right?). Then, because I couldn’t read the menu and couldn’t see the specials, I ended up with a nine dollar glass of wine….serves me right.

Now I have to add, in my defence, that even with my glasses on – I can’t seem to read most labels on medication or on the back of some food packages…why do they make the print so small today (I know, I know – because they can). Nothing quite as ridiculous as catching myself in the mirror – wearing my glasses and holding a magnifying glass to read the back of a soup package. Mind you, even my kids say the print is small…although with their super human  (read, young) eyesight, they can still read it.

Well, I’m happy to say that today, I will wear my glasses. They are a purple-blue color – so they’ll make a terrific Easter hair band.

Ladies Who Lunch

One of the nicest things about Facebook is the re-connection with yourself. Last week, someone who had been a part of my social circle seventeen years ago, reminded me of  my famous luncheons – something that I had completely forgotten about.

Back then, our children were all very small and most of us stayed home with them. Our lives  were an intense circle of caring for babies and trying to keep our homes from looking like an episode of Hoarders. Any remnants of the women we had been and the careers we had cultivated were mere memories, awash with sticky fingers and Cheerios. I remember thinking one day, as I picked up Child #1 from nursery school, we ladies needed a little something…a little reminder of ourselves…a little get-away of sorts. So, I came up with the elaborate lunch idea (well, elaborate at that time in my life!). I invited a group of mothers to come for a brunch during the couple of hours that our children were all in nursery school. All they had to bring was themselves and the infant that they were probably toting on their hips – and lipstick was a must!

I would decorate the diningroom according to the season – flowers, fancy tablecloths and napkins and place cards. I pulled out whatever china and silver I owned to give the feeling of luxe which was a thrill, seeing as most of us were accustomed to eating our lunches on plastic plates adorned with Big Bird. Often, I would even have little loot bags (hey – why should kids get all the treats?) that would hold a little lip gloss or purse-sized hand cream. It was never  a complicated  meal – often bagels, cheeses, fruit salad, dessert treats and of course – a glass of wine.

Well, that first lunch for six ladies turned into several lunches in a year and became so popular that at one point I was organizing two sittings to accommodate the new friends I was making – a morning brunch and an afternoon lunch (for those of us that had children in elementary school). What a great time that was….we would come together to talk, exchange ideas, laugh and, of course, eat. When people left they told me that they felt refreshed – as though they had been whisked away – which had been my whole intention.

Those were fun years – I got so much pleasure from creating those events and had long since forgotten about them…until last week when reminded by someone who had been touched by the experience. Makes me think that perhaps it’s time to throw a party again…

The Holiday Train

My oldest daughter just turned 19 and her group of her friends are coming over this weekend to celebrate, a big group of teens, all in the same art program that she’s in at college and new to me when she started two years ago. Since then, they’ve graced our home many times – arriving for the day to play video games, watch animated films (they are art students, remember!) eat and laugh at incredible and infectious levels.They are polite and not afraid to make conversation with me – making me feel like a respected person and not an intrusive annoyance.

Last November, they were over for the usual games/films/dinner – I was preparing a mass of burgers in the kitchen when my husband burst in the front door from work, breathless and excited, calling out to everyone “The Holiday Train is here! The Holiday Train is here!”

The railroad tracks run behind our house and so does the Holiday Train, a long train that travels across the country, each boxcar decorated with Christmas lights and trees. It’s quite a sight, like a shining  jewel in the dark winter night. In the past, we’ve never seemed to know when it was scheduled to come by, and yet each year our family has been fortunate enough to accidentally see the last half of it puff past our kitchen window. On this particular evening, it was “parked” at the nearby junction and he had seen it getting off the bus on his way home from work and, like a kid – ran all the way home to let us know.

I excitedly explained to all the kids what was coming and all fifteen of us ran outside to stand in the cold to await the train. We had to wait for a while – but then….the whistle blew…the train was coming! What a crowd we were – standing on our back stoop! Shivering gave way to screaming and cheering as each illuminated boxcar passed by…. shouts of “there’s a snowman!” or “look at the Christmas trees on top!” sprinkled between the ooohs and ahhhhs.

Finally, the caboose passed by – signalling the end, and the whole group broke out into applause. A funny thought occurred to me…I realised that – although aged between 11 and 52,  we were all suddenly…. magically…..5 years old, together.

So, You’re a Nurse?

Today, while waiting in line at the pharmacy, I watched as a small group of high school boys were valiantly trying to charm the pretty, new cashier…needless to say it was a cross between being both sweet and painful to witness. After they left, she complained to me about what a drag it was, being hit on…every day. As I listened to her lamentations, I fondly remembered when that used to a problem for me too – about a hundred years ago. Now – it seems that any flirtatious advances  that might come my way generally involve men who are either elderly or have been drinking. As I pondered that somber realization, I flashed back to a scant few years ago where, while waiting to meet a friend in the lobby/lounge of my local YMCA , an elderly gentleman walked up to me and asked if I could explain the signs with balloons attached – advertising an event. I told him it was promoting an open house meeting for their nursery school. His eyes lit up – “Oh! You’re a nurse!” he said with a little too much enthusiasm. No – no, I assured; it was a meeting for the nursery school.

“So – you nurses are having a meeting here.” Again, a little too much glow going on in his expression. Once again, I reinforced the nursery school/children fact. Clearly listening (not), he begins to tell me about some of the surgical procedures that he’s had, at which point I smile and, again remind him that I am NOT a nurse. He goes on to tell me, in detail, about his most recent surgery – something to do with his abdomen and then (thank goodness I was sitting down already), asks me “Would you like to see the scar?” and he winks.

I – am – NOT – a – NURSE! I tell him for the fifth or sixth time to which he responds, with a smile…..

“So,what you’re telling me is, that you’re a nurse.”

Sigh.

Back Off – Back Pain!

I stretched, that’s all I did. I had a good long morning stretch (or at least I think that’s how it happened) and then, ping! – out went my back. Are you serious?! I am starting Day Three of the Hobble (not to be confused with 70s dance move -  The Hustle). I am not a back person – you know what I mean? We all have our “thing” – mine is my throat…..but my back never goes out. Although, as a sweet young co-worker pointed out, not realizing the possible impact  his statement “it’s about getting older.”   I have to admit I was mumbling – no,more like  growling, the “I know” response under my breath as I was supporting myself by holding onto the counter.

I’ve spent the last two days shuffling, trying to remember to breathe and taking the necessary anti-inflammatories – just getting into the car is ridiculous. I sit in the seat and then hoist my body and try to swing my legs in….it takes a moment or two. Yesterday, I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror – mascara smudged around my eyes, hair all caught up in my glasses (that I wear on my head like a headband all day) – good heavens – I looked like I was on my way to the circus!

I slammed the car door – hit the gas and headed home for a heating pad and a glass of wine….it has to get better by today – right?