Today is my glorious mother's birthday. My sister and I have planned a perfect night in; Scrabble, Velvet Chicken, Vaughn Monroe, and some chatting by the fire.
In honor of mom's birthday, Cole decided to write a special poem. I think it sums her up rather nicely:
For My Grandma
by Cole Wilson
Roses are Pink
Violets are Red
But everything is Grandma
The End
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Oops there goes another.....
My grandmother had a green thumb that may even put Mr. Green Jeans and Liberty Hyde Bailey, Jr. to shame. She was the type of gardener that would scout the local stores for the sickly sad little plants whose prices had been slashed for a quick sale. Lovingly and patiently she would nurse them into healthy and huge oxygen producers.
One of her largest success stories came in the form of a rubber tree plant, more like a sprig, that was purchased on sale from K-mart. It was the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree of rubber tree plants. She was able to take the little plant from a sparse twig to a tree that strained to escape the confines of her cathedral ceilings.
Over the years, my grandmother would give visiting family members and friends clippings from this prodigious plant. It was one of the only ways that she could keep the beast contained and she loved "passing it on". There are cuttings spattered across this coast from Florida to New Jersey.
My mother now has the largest surviving sprig of The Rubber Tree plant. Last night, Trey and I helped to re-locate the plant inside as the first of the winter frosts was set to descend upon Virginia Beach. Moving the tree takes two adults on the bottom, with the help of some well placed furniture movers, and a third adult positioned at the top of the plant to help coax the branches through the doorways. Now that we have the process down to a science, we can get the monster moved in under 10 minutes.
The Rubber Tree has become an odd tradition in our life. When we call mom, we usually ask about how the tree is faring. Does it seem happy in its new location? Has it been set a kilter by the wind? Clearly, this tree and its well-being intermingles with our happy memories of my grandmother.
Yesterday, my mother thoughtfully cut me a new sprig off the tree so that I could plant it here at our new place so I could have my own reminder of my grandmother at my own home. She carefully placed it in a bucket of water to root. She gently reminded me to remember to put it in the car before I left.
I forgot it...
One of her largest success stories came in the form of a rubber tree plant, more like a sprig, that was purchased on sale from K-mart. It was the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree of rubber tree plants. She was able to take the little plant from a sparse twig to a tree that strained to escape the confines of her cathedral ceilings.
Over the years, my grandmother would give visiting family members and friends clippings from this prodigious plant. It was one of the only ways that she could keep the beast contained and she loved "passing it on". There are cuttings spattered across this coast from Florida to New Jersey.
My mother now has the largest surviving sprig of The Rubber Tree plant. Last night, Trey and I helped to re-locate the plant inside as the first of the winter frosts was set to descend upon Virginia Beach. Moving the tree takes two adults on the bottom, with the help of some well placed furniture movers, and a third adult positioned at the top of the plant to help coax the branches through the doorways. Now that we have the process down to a science, we can get the monster moved in under 10 minutes.
The Rubber Tree has become an odd tradition in our life. When we call mom, we usually ask about how the tree is faring. Does it seem happy in its new location? Has it been set a kilter by the wind? Clearly, this tree and its well-being intermingles with our happy memories of my grandmother.
Yesterday, my mother thoughtfully cut me a new sprig off the tree so that I could plant it here at our new place so I could have my own reminder of my grandmother at my own home. She carefully placed it in a bucket of water to root. She gently reminded me to remember to put it in the car before I left.
I forgot it...
Another Departure
I love you.
I'll be back soon.
The deep sound of footsteps disrupt a dark day's start.
A kiss.
shallow silence
Awake again.
I'll take care of you.
I gaze at an image of a pasted face.
Which mask today?
simple survival
Come back.
I'll never leave.
Happiness may once again mingle with reality.
I remember who I am
with you
I'll be back soon.
The deep sound of footsteps disrupt a dark day's start.
A kiss.
shallow silence
Awake again.
I'll take care of you.
I gaze at an image of a pasted face.
Which mask today?
simple survival
Come back.
I'll never leave.
Happiness may once again mingle with reality.
I remember who I am
with you
Friday, November 14, 2008
Life is Beautiful
I am officially an adult child of divorce.
My absence from the world of blogging has been in large part due to the fact that my parents have decided to divorce after 37 years of marriage. I have no words to describe the bevy of emotions that I have been through recently. I have had to completely reorganize my own understanding of my identity and sense of self. I am sure that later blog entries will serve as a sort of therapy for some of the unresolved feelings. But, today, it struck me that it is high time to get back to the things I value in life.
Mostly, I value life. I want to enjoy this life I have been given, and recording the daily musings of my little life makes me feel happy. During my blog sabbatical, I took to writing in my bedside journal....it seemed less public and more appropriate for some of the things that were pouring forth from my heart and soul. This small act of 'journaling' is something that I have not done since I was pregnant with my first goon, and I found that I truly missed the intimate act of recording my thoughts with ink and paper. I can retrace my state of mind not only in the meaning of the words but in the handwriting, the strokes, the pressure to paper, and sometimes the occasional water mark. It has become a lost Art.
Here is to a new beginning. One that I promise to approach with honesty and a truer sense of self.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Pickles on the Porch
It's official. We are now Old Beach residents down here in the heart Virginia Beach.
We have moved in, and unpacked almost every box. Quite an undertaking, but we were motivated by sheer need to establish some sense of permanence for the goons.
Every sentimental piece of furniture we owned was damaged in some way in the move process. So what...no biggie. We are together for the meantime. All the material items that we did fine without for two months now seem superfluous. None of it is really important. Home is not made by the pictures on the wall and/or the seating arrangement in your living room. It is the memories, rituals and traditions that make your home a home.
Funny, with all the boxes unpacked and most of the pictures up on the walls I didn't feel like I was really home until I cracked open MY first jar of home-made icebox pickles (Uncle Elbert's recipe). Truth be known, I have had already had my fair share this summer albeit at my mom's house...so, they weren't really mine.
I enjoyed an entire mason jar of these perfect pickles while sitting on the back porch under the crepe myrtle tree.
I didn't feel the compulsive need to move or get something done. I only shifted ever so slightly every few minutes to catch the best whiff of the tangy saltiness in the ocean air.
Home sweet simple home.
We have moved in, and unpacked almost every box. Quite an undertaking, but we were motivated by sheer need to establish some sense of permanence for the goons.
Every sentimental piece of furniture we owned was damaged in some way in the move process. So what...no biggie. We are together for the meantime. All the material items that we did fine without for two months now seem superfluous. None of it is really important. Home is not made by the pictures on the wall and/or the seating arrangement in your living room. It is the memories, rituals and traditions that make your home a home.
Funny, with all the boxes unpacked and most of the pictures up on the walls I didn't feel like I was really home until I cracked open MY first jar of home-made icebox pickles (Uncle Elbert's recipe). Truth be known, I have had already had my fair share this summer albeit at my mom's house...so, they weren't really mine.
I enjoyed an entire mason jar of these perfect pickles while sitting on the back porch under the crepe myrtle tree.
I didn't feel the compulsive need to move or get something done. I only shifted ever so slightly every few minutes to catch the best whiff of the tangy saltiness in the ocean air.
Home sweet simple home.
Monday, July 21, 2008
I am crawling out of moving mayhem!
First, I want to apologize to all of my friends that have been so patiently waiting for me to reappear on the surface of the Earth. Most of you know that when the going gets tough for me, instead of reaching out to my friends for love and support I go into, "hunker down, get tough, and solve the problem" mode.
The simple and so called well planned move that I had meticulously mapped out for our transfer from Jacksonville to Virginia Beach hit the fan. The house that we had originally planned to move into (and signed a 2 year lease for) was un-safe for living conditions when we arrived. Needless to say, we broke the lease (with the moving truck en route), hired a lawyer and dickered with our less than human would-be-landlord. For about a week, Trey and I worked through our lawyer to recover, what is to us, a good deal of money all while trying to figure out how long me, the dog, Cole and Jack were going to live with my parents (who have been the most incredibly accommodating parents in the world). ((PS - I had to do this with only 3 days of supplies packed from our household goods as I had planned a door-to-door move. I should be committed1!!))
In addition, I had to buy a completely new wardrobe for our trip to England (which was incredible...more on the fun, camaraderie, insane amounts of booze, and patriotic partnerships on a future post). I know. It should have been wonderful. I love to shop. However, I hate to shop when I HAVE to find things for SPECIFIC events. (Megan, I couldn't stop thinking of you during these days!)
Okay, last part of the pity party...when we got home from England. I arrived to 3 exhausted grandparents and a dog with a chin three times it's original size. Yes, I know it is hard to believe, but my damn dog was sick again and required medical attention AND our home rented out to a nice family back in J-ville had lost air conditioning. Was this karma or Murphy's Law? Am still not sure...
This is all occurring as Trey is living out of the BOQ in Jacksonville while I am trying to find a new place to live.
Reading back through this, I realize that my tone may be misconstrued to some. I am completely aware that I am extremely lucky. We have food in our mouths and a nice roof over our heads, and we have love ones close to us to help us out in this "not really that bad" of times...and we are together. But it makes me think, "what would I have done if this happened when we were moving somewhere else other than our home base?". "Could I do this on my own if needed?". I went through a mini nervous breakdown during these events, would I truly have what it takes in me to make sure I stay strong when the going gets a little tough.
I have learned that a fun jar for kids is the best thing around. I have become seriously less attached to all of those material things in my life that I once thought I couldn't be without. My family is wonderful and I love them with all my heart, but MY family doesn't work without Trey. No matter how much help I had from the myriad of wonderful friends and family here at the beach, it never fit back into place until Trey was physically back with Cole, Jack and myself.
I am really scared. I have to make this family work without Trey. He can't be with us all the time..it's the nature of the Navy. And, this will be different from how he couldn't always be with us during his residency/intern training. If possible, it is even a bit more out of my control.
My heart, tears and love go out to all of my mom friends that are doing it alone now (Lucia, Emily P.), and those that have done it alone in the past (Kristen, Chenoa, Lucinda, Miste, my mother, my grandmother), and to those that know that they will have to do it again in the future. You all have my utmost respect not only for you as women, but for your family's center strength. Don't leave me when I finally pay my dues. (However, I am looking forward to not having to shave my legs for any length of time that I so choose.)
In conclusion, we are still living with my parents with an expected move in date to our new rental (a home that is exactly 2.5 blocks from the oceanfront- so please come visit us) on August 1st. Trey graduated from residency and joined us here on July 1st, and now we are trying to give our kids some sense of routine and consistency together. In the end, I can say that everything happens for a reason and someone out there thought there were some life lessons I needed to learn before we set about our new journey here in Virginia.
Well, I am listening...and learning...
PS: I will be sending out new contact information some time this week. I miss you guys that kept checking the blog for updates and sending me little "where are you" notes. Please know that I am getting back on track and you can count on a little-Nisha love coming to a theater near you sometime real soon.
The simple and so called well planned move that I had meticulously mapped out for our transfer from Jacksonville to Virginia Beach hit the fan. The house that we had originally planned to move into (and signed a 2 year lease for) was un-safe for living conditions when we arrived. Needless to say, we broke the lease (with the moving truck en route), hired a lawyer and dickered with our less than human would-be-landlord. For about a week, Trey and I worked through our lawyer to recover, what is to us, a good deal of money all while trying to figure out how long me, the dog, Cole and Jack were going to live with my parents (who have been the most incredibly accommodating parents in the world). ((PS - I had to do this with only 3 days of supplies packed from our household goods as I had planned a door-to-door move. I should be committed1!!))
In addition, I had to buy a completely new wardrobe for our trip to England (which was incredible...more on the fun, camaraderie, insane amounts of booze, and patriotic partnerships on a future post). I know. It should have been wonderful. I love to shop. However, I hate to shop when I HAVE to find things for SPECIFIC events. (Megan, I couldn't stop thinking of you during these days!)
Okay, last part of the pity party...when we got home from England. I arrived to 3 exhausted grandparents and a dog with a chin three times it's original size. Yes, I know it is hard to believe, but my damn dog was sick again and required medical attention AND our home rented out to a nice family back in J-ville had lost air conditioning. Was this karma or Murphy's Law? Am still not sure...
This is all occurring as Trey is living out of the BOQ in Jacksonville while I am trying to find a new place to live.
Reading back through this, I realize that my tone may be misconstrued to some. I am completely aware that I am extremely lucky. We have food in our mouths and a nice roof over our heads, and we have love ones close to us to help us out in this "not really that bad" of times...and we are together. But it makes me think, "what would I have done if this happened when we were moving somewhere else other than our home base?". "Could I do this on my own if needed?". I went through a mini nervous breakdown during these events, would I truly have what it takes in me to make sure I stay strong when the going gets a little tough.
I have learned that a fun jar for kids is the best thing around. I have become seriously less attached to all of those material things in my life that I once thought I couldn't be without. My family is wonderful and I love them with all my heart, but MY family doesn't work without Trey. No matter how much help I had from the myriad of wonderful friends and family here at the beach, it never fit back into place until Trey was physically back with Cole, Jack and myself.
I am really scared. I have to make this family work without Trey. He can't be with us all the time..it's the nature of the Navy. And, this will be different from how he couldn't always be with us during his residency/intern training. If possible, it is even a bit more out of my control.
My heart, tears and love go out to all of my mom friends that are doing it alone now (Lucia, Emily P.), and those that have done it alone in the past (Kristen, Chenoa, Lucinda, Miste, my mother, my grandmother), and to those that know that they will have to do it again in the future. You all have my utmost respect not only for you as women, but for your family's center strength. Don't leave me when I finally pay my dues. (However, I am looking forward to not having to shave my legs for any length of time that I so choose.)
In conclusion, we are still living with my parents with an expected move in date to our new rental (a home that is exactly 2.5 blocks from the oceanfront- so please come visit us) on August 1st. Trey graduated from residency and joined us here on July 1st, and now we are trying to give our kids some sense of routine and consistency together. In the end, I can say that everything happens for a reason and someone out there thought there were some life lessons I needed to learn before we set about our new journey here in Virginia.
Well, I am listening...and learning...
PS: I will be sending out new contact information some time this week. I miss you guys that kept checking the blog for updates and sending me little "where are you" notes. Please know that I am getting back on track and you can count on a little-Nisha love coming to a theater near you sometime real soon.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Did you know Satan lives at Chuck'e'Cheese's?
Tis the season of birthday parties.
Tonight we had a birthday party to attend which was being held at the scariest place on earth-----Chuck E. Cheese's.
I hate, hate, hate this place. (My mother taught me that you should never use this word when discussing a person or persons, but I think it is okay in this case as we are discussing a giant hip-hop mouse.)
I even hated this place when I was a kid. I got massive stomach cramps when we went there back in the days when I was a curtain climber, and I got stomach cramps tonight as an 'oh-so' worldly adult. I hated that grown adults became the root of evil as they let thier bully kids push in front of the younger ones to get on the rides or monopolize a given game. Of course, goon number one loves this place so he was completely oblivious to the nausea his mother was experiencing.
First off, the entrance into this joint is chained off and manned by some sweaty and not all-there teenager who is stamping the arms of the people that are looking to come in to spend thier hard earned cash on crap. What I find interesting is that the purpose of the stamping is to insure that the children and adults of a said group are all stamped with the same number so that no adult can leave with a child that is not of thier own group (i.e. we are trying to prevent child abduction crimes on the hallowed groud of Mr. Chuck E Cheese).
Well, as one astute parent pointed out to me over a sugary drink that I am sure is spiked with Ritalin, the teenager at the intake point can get a bit confused when the consumers start entering the establishment in droves. She noted that her child was stamped with the number that matched the adult standing in front of her which was not her child's guardian but was a school acquaintance, so she decided not to throw a fit. Good thing because I am sure her logic would have jolted this teenager back into a reality with which he surely couldn't cope.
So, we move on to the interior of hell. It contains an assortment of games and rides that target both children and adults. These games require special mouse/Satan tokens.
We were in luck as I had a number of tokens left over from our last visit two years ago. We had these tokens because the last time we were here we left in a mad panic because the joint had filled up quickly with the kid equivalent of the scum of the earth.
Cole and I had a bag full of tokens and I was determined to use them all so that we did not have any reason to visit this place again. (I learned at the end of our visit that there is no way to shake all the tokens because upon leaving Chuck E. Cheese there is a paid employee whose sole purpose is to place one last token into the hand of our innocent children so they can try and convince thier parents that they have to return to try thier fate.)
Anyway, given my efficient personality (with a tinge of bootlegger/gambling blood in me), I immediately scouted out the games that would give us the most bang (tickets) for our buck (stupid Satan tokens). You see, Chuck E. Cheese's gives thier patrons these precious tickets when you excel at or play a given game. These tickets can be used to buy incredible and momentously fun items (all made in China) from thier store before you exit through the chain monintored by the imbecile. And guess what? It only takes 4,000,000,000,000 tickets to buy a whistle. What a deal?!!!?
I decided the best place for me to covertly use up tokens was the Monopoly game (kind of ironic isn't it...see paragraph two).
Cole decided that he was really into the 'Deal or No Deal' game. (Give me a break!!!...of course Cole loved this game. Numbers, boxes opening to reveal more numbers, and hot chicks in low cut dresses.)
So, we comprimised. Cole played a few games of 'Deal or No Deal' with no real big ticket wins, and then I headed off to Monopoly. Cole could have cared less that I was using tokens out of my seemingly endless bag, so he headed for the play gym that is mounted into the ceiling of the establishment. (I actually imagined one of the many children that were obviously past the age limit for this play gym causing the ceiling to collapse upon the diners below. See...Satan was influencing my thoughts.)
I plugged my token into the game...waited...and pressed the button so the light would stop in the most adventageous spot.
I really didn't care.
Which is why I hit the frickin' jackpot.
Yes, I WON!!! I won big. Tickets, those useless tickets, came pouring out of the machine. I am talking about hundreds of tickets. Why, oh why couldn't I have been at the Beau Rivage!
People stopped and stared. My win enticed other patrons to play this big payoff game. Other mothers stopped and stared while thier children looked on with envy because I was holding a gold mine and the tickets kept coming.
I couldn't wait to show Cole.
Cole jumped out of the gym, looked at me and said:
"Yeah...that's nice. Ummm. Can I go ride the monster truck and then take another turn on the Deal game."
What the ....
Needless to say, we left with a whistle that Cole was not as proud of as I would have liked.
And...did you know...that people actually eat from the salad bar at Chuck E. Cheese. I am sorry, but if that isn't proof that Satan lives there than I don't know what it is!!!!
Tonight we had a birthday party to attend which was being held at the scariest place on earth-----Chuck E. Cheese's.
I hate, hate, hate this place. (My mother taught me that you should never use this word when discussing a person or persons, but I think it is okay in this case as we are discussing a giant hip-hop mouse.)
I even hated this place when I was a kid. I got massive stomach cramps when we went there back in the days when I was a curtain climber, and I got stomach cramps tonight as an 'oh-so' worldly adult. I hated that grown adults became the root of evil as they let thier bully kids push in front of the younger ones to get on the rides or monopolize a given game. Of course, goon number one loves this place so he was completely oblivious to the nausea his mother was experiencing.
First off, the entrance into this joint is chained off and manned by some sweaty and not all-there teenager who is stamping the arms of the people that are looking to come in to spend thier hard earned cash on crap. What I find interesting is that the purpose of the stamping is to insure that the children and adults of a said group are all stamped with the same number so that no adult can leave with a child that is not of thier own group (i.e. we are trying to prevent child abduction crimes on the hallowed groud of Mr. Chuck E Cheese).
Well, as one astute parent pointed out to me over a sugary drink that I am sure is spiked with Ritalin, the teenager at the intake point can get a bit confused when the consumers start entering the establishment in droves. She noted that her child was stamped with the number that matched the adult standing in front of her which was not her child's guardian but was a school acquaintance, so she decided not to throw a fit. Good thing because I am sure her logic would have jolted this teenager back into a reality with which he surely couldn't cope.
So, we move on to the interior of hell. It contains an assortment of games and rides that target both children and adults. These games require special mouse/Satan tokens.
We were in luck as I had a number of tokens left over from our last visit two years ago. We had these tokens because the last time we were here we left in a mad panic because the joint had filled up quickly with the kid equivalent of the scum of the earth.
Cole and I had a bag full of tokens and I was determined to use them all so that we did not have any reason to visit this place again. (I learned at the end of our visit that there is no way to shake all the tokens because upon leaving Chuck E. Cheese there is a paid employee whose sole purpose is to place one last token into the hand of our innocent children so they can try and convince thier parents that they have to return to try thier fate.)
Anyway, given my efficient personality (with a tinge of bootlegger/gambling blood in me), I immediately scouted out the games that would give us the most bang (tickets) for our buck (stupid Satan tokens). You see, Chuck E. Cheese's gives thier patrons these precious tickets when you excel at or play a given game. These tickets can be used to buy incredible and momentously fun items (all made in China) from thier store before you exit through the chain monintored by the imbecile. And guess what? It only takes 4,000,000,000,000 tickets to buy a whistle. What a deal?!!!?
I decided the best place for me to covertly use up tokens was the Monopoly game (kind of ironic isn't it...see paragraph two).
Cole decided that he was really into the 'Deal or No Deal' game. (Give me a break!!!...of course Cole loved this game. Numbers, boxes opening to reveal more numbers, and hot chicks in low cut dresses.)
So, we comprimised. Cole played a few games of 'Deal or No Deal' with no real big ticket wins, and then I headed off to Monopoly. Cole could have cared less that I was using tokens out of my seemingly endless bag, so he headed for the play gym that is mounted into the ceiling of the establishment. (I actually imagined one of the many children that were obviously past the age limit for this play gym causing the ceiling to collapse upon the diners below. See...Satan was influencing my thoughts.)
I plugged my token into the game...waited...and pressed the button so the light would stop in the most adventageous spot.
I really didn't care.
Which is why I hit the frickin' jackpot.
Yes, I WON!!! I won big. Tickets, those useless tickets, came pouring out of the machine. I am talking about hundreds of tickets. Why, oh why couldn't I have been at the Beau Rivage!
People stopped and stared. My win enticed other patrons to play this big payoff game. Other mothers stopped and stared while thier children looked on with envy because I was holding a gold mine and the tickets kept coming.
I couldn't wait to show Cole.
Cole jumped out of the gym, looked at me and said:
"Yeah...that's nice. Ummm. Can I go ride the monster truck and then take another turn on the Deal game."
What the ....
Needless to say, we left with a whistle that Cole was not as proud of as I would have liked.
And...did you know...that people actually eat from the salad bar at Chuck E. Cheese. I am sorry, but if that isn't proof that Satan lives there than I don't know what it is!!!!
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