"There is no evidence of its past charm," announces Bennett. Barren and blank, it has what he accurately describes as "an Eastern bloc vibe." A bland concrete hotel that looks like a Soviet apartment building (and not in a good way) hovers over a boardwalk scattered with benches, also concrete, which sounds cordial enough, except these benches, also concrete, look like you are supposed to rest on them on the walk home from standing in a nine-hour bread line while being tailed by the KGB."
"He [the author's 3-year-old nephew, Owen] means tombstones," I told her. "When you were off parking the car at the cemetery in Cleveland, Owen and I walked around looking for John Hay's grave. Owen climbed on top of it and hollered, 'This is a nice Halloween park!' "(That's what he calls cemeteries.)"
"Owen is the most Hitchcockian preschooler I ever met. He's three. He knows maybe ninety words and one of them is "crypt"?"
Photos by Amanda Naylor, PThreePhoto.com
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Shockingly Funny: The Book, Assasination Vacation, by Sarah Vowell
To say that I love to read would be a complete understatement. I am obsessed with reading. There is just something about escaping into other people's writing... Obviously, you guys get it, because you like to read blogs. (Thanks again!)
I pretty much enjoy everything that I read in one way or another. To me, reading is like eating--all foods have their place. Sometimes I desire a cheap-o, preservative-laden, orange cheese-y Cheetos puff with the same voracity that I might crave a perfectly marbled, finely prepared fillet mignon. Don't scoff! You know you like Cheetos, too!!
Anyway~I recently saw a random book lying on my mom's bedspread. I had no idea where it came from, whose it was (except that it sure wasn't mine)... It's topic--presidential assassination--wasn't even of initial interest to me, or seemingly anyone in our household. Buuuut, it did have pages...with words written on them, and so I picked it up and begin to read it. Finders keepers, losers weepers.
This book is "[p]art history lesson, part hilarious travelogue," according to one reviewer, Elissa Schappell of Vanity Fair. The author is obsessed with dead presidents and basically goes on pilgrimages to visit the locations of various presidential assassinations and subsequent memorials. Sounds hysterical, right? But, it so is!! She discusses the friends and family members that she ropes into these journeys and the people that she meets along the way, and her sense of humor is just perfect. Her enthusiasm for the subject, and especially the witty, pithy way that she describes both historical information and the details of her trips makes this book so, so funny.
Sarah Vowell, as a writer, is such an inspiration to me. Her passion for the subject on which she writes is not unlike mine here on this little bloggy. I can only hope to make you laugh the way she made me laugh...and to think of things in a new light as this book made me do. Presentation really is everything: If you can entertain as you instruct or inform or impart, you really have done a great service to others.
I'm so glad that I found that book! I still wonder how it got there...? Such an inspiring little nugget of good writing, right when I needed it... Very mysterious indeed.
I pretty much enjoy everything that I read in one way or another. To me, reading is like eating--all foods have their place. Sometimes I desire a cheap-o, preservative-laden, orange cheese-y Cheetos puff with the same voracity that I might crave a perfectly marbled, finely prepared fillet mignon. Don't scoff! You know you like Cheetos, too!!
Anyway~I recently saw a random book lying on my mom's bedspread. I had no idea where it came from, whose it was (except that it sure wasn't mine)... It's topic--presidential assassination--wasn't even of initial interest to me, or seemingly anyone in our household. Buuuut, it did have pages...with words written on them, and so I picked it up and begin to read it. Finders keepers, losers weepers.
This book is "[p]art history lesson, part hilarious travelogue," according to one reviewer, Elissa Schappell of Vanity Fair. The author is obsessed with dead presidents and basically goes on pilgrimages to visit the locations of various presidential assassinations and subsequent memorials. Sounds hysterical, right? But, it so is!! She discusses the friends and family members that she ropes into these journeys and the people that she meets along the way, and her sense of humor is just perfect. Her enthusiasm for the subject, and especially the witty, pithy way that she describes both historical information and the details of her trips makes this book so, so funny.
Sarah Vowell, as a writer, is such an inspiration to me. Her passion for the subject on which she writes is not unlike mine here on this little bloggy. I can only hope to make you laugh the way she made me laugh...and to think of things in a new light as this book made me do. Presentation really is everything: If you can entertain as you instruct or inform or impart, you really have done a great service to others.
I'm so glad that I found that book! I still wonder how it got there...? Such an inspiring little nugget of good writing, right when I needed it... Very mysterious indeed.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Grand Gestures Are Overrated
Some women (and men) crave grand romantic gestures: dozens of red roses, champagne, stretch limousines, gourmet dinners eaten by candlelight, bedspreads covered in flower petals, sky-writing, Jumbotron proposals, and so on and so forth. Call me low-maintenance, but what really gets me are the simple gestures of love and partnership. Case in point, in our household, nothing is more of a turn-on to me than waking up to an unstacked dishwasher and a hastily scrawled note: "Already fed the CAT! Love you."
Back off ladies!! He's mine, all mine. ;-)
But seriously. I cherish that note, written on a scrap of recyclable paper sitting on top of the dog's crate. That is REAL love. Just like the note I received almost four years ago (just before our wedding) that said, in foam kids shower-wall letters sticking on the wall of my shower: CANT WAIT 2 WED U.
Well, today, I'd marry him all over again!
(...He doesn't even like the cat!)
Back off ladies!! He's mine, all mine. ;-)
But seriously. I cherish that note, written on a scrap of recyclable paper sitting on top of the dog's crate. That is REAL love. Just like the note I received almost four years ago (just before our wedding) that said, in foam kids shower-wall letters sticking on the wall of my shower: CANT WAIT 2 WED U.
Well, today, I'd marry him all over again!
(...He doesn't even like the cat!)
Needles on Beaches and Whiskers on Kittens!! My Parents Are Celebrities!
Please visit this link to an article that features a picture of my mom, Beth Yost, and quotes http://www.wboc.com/story/15516126/needles-on-beaches.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Why Am I Applying for Jobs When I'm Double-Booked for the Next EIGHTEEN ODD YEARS??
Someone call Dr. Phil--and Debi Pearl--STAT!
All moms work 24/7, whether they stay at home or have jobs outside of the home. It is, I'd wager, the hardest job and also the most rewarding. (I feel more like Oprah, right now, than Debi or Phil....but O.W. is off the air, and therefore, no longer able to assist me.)
It logically follows that, since I'm a mom, I, too, am working around the clock for my family in one way or another. What I do has value. It is not easy raising kids well, especially if they are BROOKE. I have little to no "down time." Why is it then, that I have been applying for jobs lately?
Count 'em: I have applied for two transcribing jobs, one editing job (for an erotic novel, no less!), and one job as a part-time support instructor at Alyssa's school. (All over the proverbial map, no?) It should be noted that I have heard nothing back from any, but still... I'm basically applying for positions that I cannot possibly fill. Who is going to wrangle Brooke-the-destroyer while I'm working? Who will drop off and pick up Alyssa...and volunteer in her classroom in between?
The sickest part is that I'm disappointed that I'm not getting calls for these jobs, even though I'd be in serious trouble if I did get a call back for an interview. What is wrong with me???
I clearly have a raging guilt-complex about staying home and thusly not "contributing" to the family funds, that's what's freaking wrong with me! I value the hard work of all mothers...unless that mother is me, it would seem... :-( I'm losing my marbles, here.
Does anyone else make a hobby of applying for jobs that are untenable? Is there a scientific name for this sickness yet? How many steps away am I from making up a 22-year-old, Harvard-educated, double D, single, childless pseudo-me on eHarmony and fake dating?
It is a slippery slope. S C A R Y.
All moms work 24/7, whether they stay at home or have jobs outside of the home. It is, I'd wager, the hardest job and also the most rewarding. (I feel more like Oprah, right now, than Debi or Phil....but O.W. is off the air, and therefore, no longer able to assist me.)
It logically follows that, since I'm a mom, I, too, am working around the clock for my family in one way or another. What I do has value. It is not easy raising kids well, especially if they are BROOKE. I have little to no "down time." Why is it then, that I have been applying for jobs lately?
Count 'em: I have applied for two transcribing jobs, one editing job (for an erotic novel, no less!), and one job as a part-time support instructor at Alyssa's school. (All over the proverbial map, no?) It should be noted that I have heard nothing back from any, but still... I'm basically applying for positions that I cannot possibly fill. Who is going to wrangle Brooke-the-destroyer while I'm working? Who will drop off and pick up Alyssa...and volunteer in her classroom in between?
The sickest part is that I'm disappointed that I'm not getting calls for these jobs, even though I'd be in serious trouble if I did get a call back for an interview. What is wrong with me???
I clearly have a raging guilt-complex about staying home and thusly not "contributing" to the family funds, that's what's freaking wrong with me! I value the hard work of all mothers...unless that mother is me, it would seem... :-( I'm losing my marbles, here.
Does anyone else make a hobby of applying for jobs that are untenable? Is there a scientific name for this sickness yet? How many steps away am I from making up a 22-year-old, Harvard-educated, double D, single, childless pseudo-me on eHarmony and fake dating?
It is a slippery slope. S C A R Y.
Monday, September 19, 2011
A Hair Off Plumb
Well, it's official: Pretty much my whole home-to-be is now painted yellow; and if a yellow house is a crazy house, then ours is going to be committed!!
At first, it is a little bit shocking. I'll give you that. But~ it is a very pretty, very unique, and very cheerful color. I think that a little extra dose (or SO) of sunshine could do everyone* in my family some good! *Especially me in the winter...I am such a seasonal affect dysphoric disorder poster-child!
Today the hardwood floors arrived to acclimate to our house. They are GORGEOUS! reclaimed red oak barn flooring, complete with knots, swirls, and worm holes. I am thrilled with them; to me, they are the highlight of the house. They will give our brand-spanking-new house some much needed homey character and charm.
I can tell that some of the guys who are working on the house think that my bubble is a hair off plumb. They are used to working in houses that are painted pristine contractor's white--off-white if the owner is really adventurous. In those houses, if there was an imperfection on the freshly milled and sanded hardwood, it would be a disaster. Here in my house....the world is yellow-licious and the floors are second-hand. I actually got excited about the "worm holes" and other *authentic* dings and patinas from the planks' previous lives as a barn floor.
"Perhaps yellow is the favorite color of insane people," they must be thinking. "And that lady (me!) is exhibit A."
(I am going to try to take pictures and send them to the blog.)
At first, it is a little bit shocking. I'll give you that. But~ it is a very pretty, very unique, and very cheerful color. I think that a little extra dose (or SO) of sunshine could do everyone* in my family some good! *Especially me in the winter...I am such a seasonal affect dysphoric disorder poster-child!
Today the hardwood floors arrived to acclimate to our house. They are GORGEOUS! reclaimed red oak barn flooring, complete with knots, swirls, and worm holes. I am thrilled with them; to me, they are the highlight of the house. They will give our brand-spanking-new house some much needed homey character and charm.
I can tell that some of the guys who are working on the house think that my bubble is a hair off plumb. They are used to working in houses that are painted pristine contractor's white--off-white if the owner is really adventurous. In those houses, if there was an imperfection on the freshly milled and sanded hardwood, it would be a disaster. Here in my house....the world is yellow-licious and the floors are second-hand. I actually got excited about the "worm holes" and other *authentic* dings and patinas from the planks' previous lives as a barn floor.
"Perhaps yellow is the favorite color of insane people," they must be thinking. "And that lady (me!) is exhibit A."
(I am going to try to take pictures and send them to the blog.)
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Nurse Doctor-Sausage-Fingers "Clinical Scenario" Continued
Today I took Brooke for a follow up at a pediatric ophthalmologist. The doctor and her staff were absolutely lovely. They were--gasp--polite to us! They were also familiar with retinal blastoma and considered our concerns quite reasonable and valid. After all, we are talking about the vision of a CHILD! We spent two hours having a very thorough exam that relieved our fears about retinal blastoma~ but that showed astigmatism. We are due back in a year to begin an early course of treatment for that. (It's not like Brooke's going to wear a pair of glasses...heck, I can't even keep a sunhat--with a chin strap--on her head or shoes--with double knots--on her feet!)
The experience of actually receiving thoughtful, caring service at the ophthalmologist's was a stark contrast to our visit to the ER, where Nurse Doctor-Sausage-Fingers was dismissive and careless. When I was reviewing our discharge summary before taking it along to the ophthalmologist appointment today, I discovered that he simply gave us a templated form for a "WELL BABY EXAM" for "[under 2 years of age]." It was completely impersonal to Brooke and our concerns, and it made no mention of an eye exam at all. Nothing about red reflexes, tracking, alignment, anything! To my surprise, the packet also contained an x-ray of a joint. Brooke, obviously, did not get an x-ray during her so-called "eye exam." No...It was another patient's x-ray! The page contained her name, birthdate, and account number (in addition to a lovely picture of her fractured joint, of course). Hello, HIPAA, anyone??
So, I await a bill in the mail from the Emergency Room for their *awesome* services. I'm sure it will be jaw-dropping. And, maybe, instead of paying it, I will (as my mom suggested after a glass of her "special water," I'm guessing) write on it: "NOT PAYING. DID NOT DO SQUAT." Perhaps I will accompany my unpaid bill with a formal complaint letter...and a carbon copy of the letter that I send to x-ray lady, whose protected health information I am now privvy to thanks to carelessness in the ER.
I get that the ER is a tough place to work. I understand that people probably come in there all of the time faking injury/illness to score prescription drugs. But honestly people, let's do a little profiling: when a panicky mother comes in with a squirmy 16-month-old at naptime requesting treatment (after being referred by another doctor, mind you), I doubt she is trying to buck the system to get a fix! Did they think that I brought her in there for attention? For my health? Because I had money burning a hole in my pocket? Because maybe, just maybe they were going to prescribe my 20-pound freaking baby Percocets, steroids, Oxycodone, Valium, or Xanax?? I think no-ot! Trust me: IT WOULDN'T BE NEARLY WORTH THE TROUBLE OF WRANGLING AN OVERLY-TIRED BABY-MONSTER FOR 3 HOURS IN A GERM-INFESTED CUBICLE FILLED WITH SHARP AND POINTY "DANGER!" BREAKABLES TO SCORE SOME BLANKITY-BLANK DRUGS. (Yes, ALL CAPS!)
The experience of actually receiving thoughtful, caring service at the ophthalmologist's was a stark contrast to our visit to the ER, where Nurse Doctor-Sausage-Fingers was dismissive and careless. When I was reviewing our discharge summary before taking it along to the ophthalmologist appointment today, I discovered that he simply gave us a templated form for a "WELL BABY EXAM" for "[under 2 years of age]." It was completely impersonal to Brooke and our concerns, and it made no mention of an eye exam at all. Nothing about red reflexes, tracking, alignment, anything! To my surprise, the packet also contained an x-ray of a joint. Brooke, obviously, did not get an x-ray during her so-called "eye exam." No...It was another patient's x-ray! The page contained her name, birthdate, and account number (in addition to a lovely picture of her fractured joint, of course). Hello, HIPAA, anyone??
So, I await a bill in the mail from the Emergency Room for their *awesome* services. I'm sure it will be jaw-dropping. And, maybe, instead of paying it, I will (as my mom suggested after a glass of her "special water," I'm guessing) write on it: "NOT PAYING. DID NOT DO SQUAT." Perhaps I will accompany my unpaid bill with a formal complaint letter...and a carbon copy of the letter that I send to x-ray lady, whose protected health information I am now privvy to thanks to carelessness in the ER.
I get that the ER is a tough place to work. I understand that people probably come in there all of the time faking injury/illness to score prescription drugs. But honestly people, let's do a little profiling: when a panicky mother comes in with a squirmy 16-month-old at naptime requesting treatment (after being referred by another doctor, mind you), I doubt she is trying to buck the system to get a fix! Did they think that I brought her in there for attention? For my health? Because I had money burning a hole in my pocket? Because maybe, just maybe they were going to prescribe my 20-pound freaking baby Percocets, steroids, Oxycodone, Valium, or Xanax?? I think no-ot! Trust me: IT WOULDN'T BE NEARLY WORTH THE TROUBLE OF WRANGLING AN OVERLY-TIRED BABY-MONSTER FOR 3 HOURS IN A GERM-INFESTED CUBICLE FILLED WITH SHARP AND POINTY "DANGER!" BREAKABLES TO SCORE SOME BLANKITY-BLANK DRUGS. (Yes, ALL CAPS!)
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