New York New York

I have not been to NYC in a few years. The last time I was there was just for an evening and we spent our time in SoHo. How pretentious does that sound? Well it is about to get worse. This time I actually stayed the night (well three to be exact) in Chelsea at the Hotel Indigo. I had a wonderful time. There are things about the city that I love but for the most part, I frickin hate NYC. There I said it. My relatives (my mother's side goes back for generations in NY) are spinning in their graves (to be fair, they were still spinning from me marrying a Southern protestant AND choosing to live in the South). My mother's family was old NY money (not Vanderbilt old, but Irish old) - they had what today would be a mansion complete with wrap around porch in Riverdale. They finally moved out to Long Island and then dispersed as the money had long since run out. If I lived there, I would soon run out of money as well. So I was in Chelsea. It is a cute little neighborhood rich in history and well situated to everything from Herald Square to Broadway to Penn Station and the Empire State Building. You can get to everything fairly easily. We walked to Chelsea Pier and back in the rain. Lovely time for real. What I hate are the rats, the fact that our hotel room was the size of my bathroom at home, that Central Park smells like bum piss and has rats instead of squirrels, and that everything is so crowded and confined. After traveling thru airports and being on an airplane, I nearly had a panic attack when I got the hotel and there was no sprawling lobby space and our hotel room had room enough for an almost king sized bed and a chair. I need space. And I need green. The only thing that saved our street was the fact that there were a bunch of flower shops on it and one exotic plant store that had its wares out along the sidewalk. Otherwise I may have lost my mind completely. Too many people. Way too many rats (I like mine dead or at the very least completely out of sight). Way too little space. And $60 for two drinks is outrageous.

I Hate Helicopter Parents or Why Gen X Should Not Have Had Kids

I work at a University in the South. I was born in the early 70s. I have witnessed first hand my generation go from disenfranchised slackers to insane helicopter parents. It is a sad and frightful thing. My generation should have not had children. It is a simple thing. We (and I use this term to own up to the fact that had I had children in my 20s I might be this sort of person now)felt so neglected and alienated from our own parents that we coddle our children to the point of unhealthy enablement. They cannot ride their bikes unescorted down the street. They cannot go out without GPS enabled on their cell phones. Yes, we were all scared shitless when little Adam was kidnapped from the shopping center and this traumatized us to the point that we become uber-protective. I will allow that children ought to be protected. I think children should be coddled and feel important. However there is a line and that line is the magical age of 18. Cut the apron (and purse strings) Gen X parents! Sure we were shoved off into the scary world all on our own without direction. Sure we wondered around experimenting with heroin and bathing in our ennui. So what? Every generation has to find themselves and that is messy. Let your children wander free. Disengage. Their lives are not yours to run. Find a new hobby. Perhaps train a dog in agility? Build a kit car to tool around town in. Stop hovering over your grown children. They need guidance from afar when requested. You do not need to hold their hands through college. And you certainly do not need to call their places of employment and advocate on their behalf. Let your kids fight their own battles now. They are grown up physically. They will never emotionally mature if you continue to run their lives!

I Understand You Are a Dirty Hippy

Look, I understand that you are a dirty hippy. You can still smell like a civilized human being and not a Big Mac. Yes, you have a hipster persona that you must maintain. You don't want to poison your temple of a body with toxic antiperspirants. Fine. I get that. I am not happy about the aluminum in my Secret. However, I must interact with other humans and I don't want to offend them by smelling bad. You know, like you. There are many options that you should explore especially since you live in a swamp and it is June. You don't want your dog think it should roll around on you instead of the dead squirrel carcass in the back yard because you smell worse. Here are my suggestions: 1.) Get rid of your hippy soap and regularly wash (twice a day during the summer please) with a stronger soap like Dial. 2.) Invest in wet wipes. Scrub those arm pits periodically throughout the day (especially while at work) 3.) Buy some deodorant. It does not contain the poisonous chemicals of an antiperspirant. 4.) Try to keep fresh and dry by applying baby powder to those trouble areas. I want you to succeed hipster. But more importantly, I want to be able to stand next you without my eyes watering.

Embarrass Me

So I was doing a portion of my grocery shopping at Albertson's this weekend. For the record, I buy most of our groceries at Whole Foods. I buy toilet paper(because softness has not been fully achieved by green products), peanut butter (we only eat Peter Pan Peanut Butter), paper towels, detergents, cat litter, coffee (because it is cheaper), sausage, cheese sticks, and any other major brand items that WF does not carry. That said, I thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and purchase several pregnancy tests so I would have them on hand (see Peter Wentz post for rationale). Albertson's keeps pregnancy tests in a locked glass case along with every other embarrassing thing you would ever have to purchase (bar hemorrhoid cream): yeast infection cures, condoms, female birth control, ky lubricants, fresh wipes for down there, douches, etc). So if you are an Albertson's customer, you have to ask someone to unlock the cabinet and pull out what you need. As a customer I find this really inhospitable. So I find a friendly female staffer and ask her to unlock the case. She of course cannot do so. She has to contact the manager. The manager sends a fifteen year old boy to open the case. That's right, some pimply faced youngster would get to know the state of my vagina and/or sex life. I would have to admit to him that I was feeling less than fresh, needed some lubrication or was battling a nasty yeast infection. Customer service win! I explained that I needed some pregnancy tests. Whew! Dodged a bullet there. He went to open the case and the key broke off. I suppose some portion of their clientele must be too embarrassed to even bring these items to the counter so they steal them. You have to be confident (or desperate) enough to face a teenager to ensure you don't rob them. I went to CVS where you can buy products more discreetly.

Of course the real issue with buying pregnancy tests is that the cashier always feel compelled to comment. They don't comment on anything else. You never hear, hope you feel better soon when you stock up on cold/flu products but every time I buy a pregnancy test I hear, "Oh, I hope the result is what you want" or some derivation of that. It just seems intrusive. But obviously buying these products is some sort of public statement that simply cannot go unobserved.

Inspiration

When I was 17, my dad took the family to the coast of Maine. We stayed at the family home of Bob Buck. It was built in the early nineteenth century and was steps away from the beach. We spent an entire week without AC and without TV. I spent my days with my brothers and sisters walking the coastline, frolicking in the water and wondering about the lives of the people in the nearby mansion up the hill. I read classic gothic novels and Bob introduced me to Sarah Orne Jewett. He gifted me with a copy of Country of the Pointed Firs. Jewett spent time in his family's cottage working on the piece.

I learned some important lessons that summer: I never wanted to have to rely on a septic system, lobster tastes better in Maine than in New Hampshire, and I found my voice as a writer. Even now when I need to escape or seek inspiration, I take myself back to that magical place. I recall the isolation, the wet black rocks, the brush of the long grasses as we cut a path to the beach. I recall the ebb and flow of high and low tide coming in and going out. I see the small rocks and crustaceans beneath the clear grey water.

We never returned to Bob's house as a family. But I return there in my mind whenever possible. Rest in Peace Uncle Bob. And thank you.

DISCONTENT. (St. Nicholas text)

Down in a field, one day in June,
The flowers all bloomed together,
Save one, who tried to hide herself,
And drooped, that pleasant weather.

A robin who had soared too high,
And felt a little lazy,
Was resting near a buttercup
Who wished she were a daisy.

For daisies grow so trig and tall;
She always had a passion
For wearing frills about her neck
In just the daisies' fashion.

And buttercups must always be
The same old tiresome color,
While daisies dress in gold and white,
Although their gold is duller.

"Dear robin," said this sad young flower,
"Perhaps you'd not mind trying
To find a nice white frill for me,
Some day, when you are flying?"

"You silly thing!" the robin said;
"I think you must be crazy!
I'd rather be my honest self
Than any made-up daisy.

"You're nicer in your own bright gown,
The little children love you;
Be the best buttercup you can,
And think no flower above you.

"Though swallows leave me out of sight,
We'd better keep our places;
Perhaps the world would all go wrong
With one too many daisies.

"Look bravely up into the sky,
And be content with knowing
That God wished for a buttercup
Just here, where you are growing."

Endings

We said a very tearful good bye to Cixous a week ago yesterday. I still tear up thinking of it. After not eating and not wanting to walk for a couple days, we decided it was time. I scheduled her appointment. Almost immediately she took a few nibbles of food and walked the block. It was only a few nibbles and she stopped every 10 feet of the block to catch her breath. It was time. It didn't make it any easier. I still look for her every morning and the weekend was really hard. I swear I hear her. It will get better. She had a great life and made my life better for sharing it with me.

Wake Me when September Ends

Cixous, our beloved rottie mix came to live with us ten years ago tomorrow. It was the Saturday after 9/11 and Jeff and I wanted to do something positive to counter the wrongs that had just happened. We were with Jeff's cousin Stafford, her husband Jed and their then toddler Quinn. We had plans to stop by the Muslim owned Po-boy shop to purchase lunch. The owners had received death threats immediately after 9/11. Apparently everyone else in Baton Rouge had decided the same thing. We ran by PetSmart and the pound was there with animals for adoption. We had been talking about getting a second dog. Jeff found Cixous and was in love. I was not immediately sold on having a second dog let alone this one. I used the excuse that we did not have our checkbook. Stafford whipped hers out and we took home Cixous. We hadn't named het Cixous yet. We were intending to find a good Muslim name but nothing fit. I was working on my master's degree at the time and had been reading a bit of Helene Cixous. I had just butchered her name in class (Six Us) and thought Cixous would be appropriate. It fit. And I got to spend the next decade listening to our vet office butcher the name too. It was a small vindication.

She and our other dog Lillith did not actually get along. Cixous thought she should be the alpha despite the fact that our pitbull boxer was clearly in charge. The battles were scary. Lillith died of cancer (hemangiosarcoma) nearly four years ago. Cixous has been in her glory as bitch in charge ever since. Now the wheels have turned and Cixous has cancer (osteosarcoma). She was diagnosed the last week of April. We decided against amputation and treatments. She was ten years old (which is about right for a rottie) and had arthritis anyway. She has been on pain killers (three times a day) and Jeff and I have a quality of life checklist for her. So long as she continues to enjoy life (she still wants to go on walks - we went on two yesterday morning alone!, rolls around goofy on the sofa, grabs her purple man from time to time, and can sleep)n we will continue to be there with her. Once these things are gone, we will send her on her way.

There have been several days when I have thought - this is it. She is going. Then she bounces back. I just don't know how many more bounce backs she has in her. This morning she said no to grilled salmon ($22/lb at Whole Foods - spoiled much?) but she nibbled at her kibble and ground beef and ate some organic turkey and veggies babyfood. Her stomach is a bit upset right now (we go in phases) and her leg has swollen. It does not seem to be painful just a bit uncomfortable for her. She was up most of the night unable to settle. We are taking one day at a time and are grateful for every walk around around the block.

These days provide great lessons for living. Cixous likes to spend several moments after her morning walk just sitting in the sun and getting petted. Sitting quietly at the break of day, feeling the warmth of the sun - this is a great way to start a day. Cixous likes to meet up with other dogs and people on her walks - the lesson here being to treasure your friends and be open to new opportunities. These lessons will live on even tough she won't. Here's to another day!