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Archive for the ‘Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country’ Category

Did you hear the horrible news? A famous high end retailer of yoga wear, Lululemon, a store I’ve visited in Green Hills once or twice with the Bride, is recalling its pants. It seems they are too see-through for the average yogini!

I’ve often felt like yoga pants aka sweat pants was my uniform of choice. I’m not proud. I like the elastic waistband – best invention since, or before, Velcro. They never require dry cleaning or ironing. They come in a wide range of dark colors. And most importantly, there’s a little spandex and something called dri-weave. Pants that stretch and breath, what liberated 21st century female would ask for more?

Yoga pants are equivalent to the perennial housecoat my foster mother Nell wore in the 50s. Made of cotton with maybe a touch of that newfangled polyester, with snaps up the front, what could be easier? Especially when you never learned to drive, so the “house” coat was aptly named. Still I always thought donning an apron on top of the housecoat was redundant.

I nominate yoga pants to be the official fashion statement for Women’s History Month! After all, you can always show up at a meeting, go to the grocery store or pop into a gym (or yoga studio) at anytime. It literally means freedom for millions of women around the world. Unless you’re French. Then you must dress on your way to and from the gym.

Here is the beautiful little Bug with her favorite toy right now. She is my workout this week; I lift her, I tote her, and get down on the floor and do yoga stretches with her. What would I do without my yoga pants? Which are thankfully not opaque. Vraiment.

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It’s all coming back to me now. You’ve managed to get your 6 month old on a pretty good schedule. She wakes up with the birds, breakfast nursing and then a seamless day of fun and learning with a scattering of naps in-between.

But wait, something happens; she gets a cold or maybe a grandparent comes to visit.

Bob tells me it’s my duty to spoil the Love Bug. I can play by the grandparent rule of non-stop indulgence. I remember when Grandma Ada would visit, or maybe we’d leave the Bride with her for a stolen weekend. It would always take a few days to get her back on that schedule.

Cut to the year 2013. And I have morphed into my Mother-in-Law. Would you like to wake earlier, go to bed later, fine no problem. You want to be held ALL the time? Why not. It’s all become clear to me now. Ada was raised with a “governess.” That’s what we now call a nanny, although i always think of Julie Andrews when she talks about her childhood. The Sound of Music in Brooklyn.

Ada also had live-in help while raising her 3 young sons. So actually, she got to be the spoiler early on. She lived on an Army base in Alabama, all the officers’ wives lived a charmed life. Today, the charm lies in getting enough sleep.

This Tuesday the Bride is working a 9 to 5 shift. Highly unusual in the life of a young ER doc, a normal weekday shift. It’s her least favorite because it’s the one shift that equates to less time with her baby Bug. But that’s OK with me, more time to cuddle and sing, more time to play and try some more new foods. Like mashed potatoes and avocado!

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May the wind be at your back, and all that. I’m keeping it short today since I’m back in the Music City. We’ve got our green on and I cooked up some corned beef and cabbage for the medical duo. Our mission for today is to find this little Love Bug a high chair. Could a baked potato be in her future?

The Flapper gave me many tips for baby care when she came to visit the newborn Bride. The one I took to heart was that you should feed a baby a potato a day. I figure that one got off the boat from County Mayo with an Irish ancestor.

So top ‘o the mornin to you and yours. It seems our little Bug is settling into a pair of big Irish green eyes, and her hair is turning copper if you ask me. We’re letting her Mama finish her charts from yesterday. Waiting patiently since we’re headed to brunch with the girls.

Happy Saint Paddy’s day! Go get your green on and do a little jig!

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This may be hard for our Western minds to grasp, but in order to find our bliss we need to abandon hope. I know, it’s not very intuitive, not even very Obama-friendly, but this is what Pema Chodron, a famous American Buddhist nun has to say about it:

“Hope and fear is a feeling with two sides. As long as there’s one, there’s always the other. This is the root of our pain. In the world of hope and fear, we always have to change the channel, change the temperature, change the music, because something is getting uneasy, something is getting restless, something is beginning to hurt, and we keep looking for alternatives.”

This was the place I was stuck in for a year between the births of my two children. I experienced 3 miscarriages in 1 year, the last after 20 weeks. There is no real way to explain it, the feeling that your world has shifted, that your body can’t be trusted. I was adrift in a world of hope for a new baby, and the fear that I would lose another. I stopped driving over bridges.

Let me step back and explain. The Bride’s friend from medical school, married a woman who then decided to enter medical school; they are a lovely young couple with a new baby just a couple of month’s younger than the Bug. Anna started blogging about being a new mom in medical school, about her decision to start a family in order to get the jump on fertility. It’s a lively and compelling read. http://annainmedschool.com She was recently published in the New York Times – bravo Anna!

Now Anna has written about her friend Julie. Julie has also experienced 3 miscarriages, she writes eloquently about her decision to adopt here http://julienapearphotography.com/blog/?p=1126. She and her husband are sending the word out into the universe and I was humbled by her proactive and personal blog post:

They were told “…that the most successful way adoptive parents are matched with birth mothers is through word of mouth. So today’s post is my plea to you: please help us grow our family! We have been through hell, and have come back from it stronger and more capable than ever. Erik and I are madly in love (together eight years this month!), we have supportive families and friends, a beautiful home to grow in, and we’ve learned through brutal experience that we can make it through a crisis without completely falling apart.”

Between hope and fear is resilience, is never giving up. Julie has stepped bravely into that space. They will make wonderful parents one day. If you know of a woman who may be looking for a loving home for her unborn child, here is Julie’s contact info: erikandjulieadopt@gmail.com

My rabbi told me to imagine that I was a trapeze artist, and God was my net. He helped me to let go and abandon fear.
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Let’s be clear. We’ve had this debate before, and it just leaves us with bad feelings. What is the future of feminism? Why do we women always want to be so darn likable?

The latest slant to this round of “Pin the blame on the woman,” comes from Sheryl Sandberg in her new book, Lean In. Granted she is speaking to a certain class of women; those on their way up the business school food chain, graduates of the Ivy League with plenty of support and mentorship. She wants little girls who were previously called “bossy” in preschool, to be acclaimed for leadership skills instead. I get that. The Bride’s preschool teacher pulled me aside one day and gently asked me to talk with her about her tendency to “lean over” to her seatmate’s art work and offer help and criticism. She was supposed to adhere to the rules, only care about her own work. Harumph.

What was i supposed to do when her Grandma Ada offered her money whenever the elementary teacher checked the box that read something like, “Always raising her hand, too talkative.” Don’t you know children were to be seen and not heard, that being quiet and still was the goal? Things hadn’t changed much from my Sacred Heart days of carefully folded hands on the desk in fear of a smack to the knuckles. Sandberg stresses the importance of choosing the right life partner, and wants you to ask, “What would I do if I weren’t afraid?”
http://www.theatlantic.com/sexes/archive/2013/03/many-working-class-women-are-already-leaning-in/273948/

I was talking to Grandma Ada about this and she said “Oy.” The day before she had attended a lecture with a man talking about his philanthropic work and his travels around the world. Ada was sitting next to his wife, and asked her the loaded, mind-boogling question of the century – “Do you work?” Now my MIL received her PhD at age 65 and is still counseling patients at age 88. Softening the question she added “outside the home” and the young woman (who was my age) turned to her and said. “No.” She took care of the children and the home so that Mr Wonderful could do what he did…well she didn’t phrase it that way exactly.

Let’s be clear. I graduated high school 3 years after Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique. She too was criticized for speaking to the well-educated, suburban woman. Men had returned from WWII and women went back into their homes and felt something was missing. This growing discontent sparked the second wave of feminism, after all we had the vote, what more could we want? Young women today are surprised to learn that we couldn’t wear pants on the streets of Boston, that we had to get a credit card in our husband’s name, that we were asked how fast we could type at every job interview. That we couldn’t even get a prescription for the new wonder drug…the birth control pill, unless we were married. We wanted our daughters to have it all, and now that they can, some are just saying, “No Thanks!”

Along with the increase in pay, they may not want to sacrifice time with their families. Many of the Bride’s Duke alums have opted to stay-at-home with their children, for now. Lucky for them, they can afford to do this. When my daughter was considering her medical specialty, the ability to have more time at home for her future family was a factor. I wonder how many men consider this when they choose a speciality? And just why is this a crime, leaning out for awhile? These women with a full-time 24/7 staff at home (nanny,cook,maid), a loving husband who does laundry, should not be saying to our daughters, “Look at me, I went back to the office 2 weeks after my baby was born.” Well la dee (expletive) da!

It’s about time for feminism’s third wave. Equal pay for equal work, it’s not really too much to ask. If working women, from the cleaning staff, to hospital corridors, from teachers to the board room keep pushing the envelope, if they learn how to negotiate for family leave along with pay hikes, if they keep raising their hands that glass ceiling will be shattering all over this country.
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Today is day 4. My hope is running out since we live on the borderline of 2 counties, deep in the woods at the end of a power grid that supports 7 homes. Obviously, those big white Rappahanock and Dominion power trucks are busy servicing developments with hundreds of homes, so we sit and wait.

The good news is that we installed a generator right next to the heat pump when we built this house. So really I can’t complain. We have heat, hot water and even lights in certain rooms. My refrigerator is still running and so is the microwave; I can even cook on top of the gas range once we light a match. What isn’t hooked up to the generator? The laundry room, the ovens, the outside lights, my office. You might say the soul of the house is in stasis – my aviary. So I plug in the laptop in the kitchen overnight, and write upstairs on battery power.

We adjust, we accommodate in a crisis. I asked Bob if the dogs slept with us in Rumson after the NoName storm, when we lost power for 6 days in December. I remember the kids piled into our big bed since we had an electric blanket hooked up to a portable generator. Did the Corgis jump up and snuggle with us on those 2 dog nights? It was an adventure when we were living in the Berkshires and a Noreaster swept through. Cooking on the woodstove, cross country skiing in the backyard, we felt like pioneers, like rugged, sturdy New Englanders, even though we were both suburbanite refugees.

When the Bride was born, the Flapper came to stay for awhile. I proudly told her that we have this ingenious, solar powered clothes dryer. It was the 70s, passive solar was all the rage, along with woodstoves for ex-hippies. My Mother looked at my clothes line, and promptly called up the hardware store and ordered a Maytag clothes dryer. That’s the way she was, in fact listening to all the latest interviews with Sandra Day O’Connor on her book tour, I am reminded of the Flapper. Yes, she was that acerbic, that opinionated, that sure of herself.

Listening to the Justice tell Terry Gross that “NO” being discriminated against as a woman lawyer, being told by the 40 law firms she called out of law school that they didn’t hire women, and then taking a job for no pay and being put in the same office as the secretary had absolutely no effect on her deliberations as a Supreme Court Justice was downright stunning. Did you hear this on NPR? I loved this lady, she doesn’t look back.
http://www.npr.org/2013/03/05/172982275/out-of-order-at-the-court-oconnor-on-being-the-first-female-justice

This weekend it’s supposed to be somewhere in the 60s, and the crocus that had just popped up before the snowfall, will open their pretty blue flowers to an early spring. Bob said the Corgis didn’t sleep with us, that we invited them but they eventually jumped down. I guess it was too crowded. Since I was behind on the laundry when the storm hit, today I’ll be collecting quarters and heading to the nearest laundromat. I wonder how the Flapper did all the laundry for a family of 7 (not counting me in this) on a Monday, and the ironing on Tuesday. Do I even know where my iron is? I need to start packing for my next trip to the Music City, where I will whisper to the Love Bug about her tenacious and powerful Great Grandmother.

Here is the view since the storm hit:
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“There’s Sir Dosser the Convict, Chango the Beast…” If you’re not getting the reference, this is a part of a radio interview done in Britain, gone viral with Mila Kunis. Highly entertaining, we learn they don’t have Blue Moon beer overseas and we Yanks don’t normally “…drop trout” at weddings. Here is the recap, the on-air reaction of the young guy, Chris Stark’s, boss – “Why are you going on about your mates again?”

Poor Mila, you can tell she has a cold and she’s enjoying this break from the ordinary slew of questions about her new movie with James Franco, a prequel to the Wizard of Oz. It’s a Sam Raimi production, who sounds like a reincarnation of Hitchcock. Animation mixed with live action is normally not my cup of tea (though I did enjoy Jessica Rabbit, she’s just drawn that way). But one of my Kindle downloads on this last trip was a mixture of fantasy and fiction, The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. Le Cirque des Rêves appears without warning and only opens at night. It too is about a charlatan, an illusionist, or two. And so I’m intrigued by the new Oz and just may dig my way out of this snow to see it!

From wanting to drink Yager Bombs with Mila, to the real world of droning on about bombs in a Senate filibuster. I thought you might like to know that our little city, Charlottesville, VA is the first in the nation to outright ban drones from roaming all over our backyards. Yes, for two years we can’t buy, borrow or test any drones and the ultrasound Governor is now considering a bill on his desk to make this a state-wide condition. http://www.usnews.com/news/articles/2013/02/05/city-in-virginia-becomes-first-to-pass-anti-drone-legislation-

City Councilor, my Facebook buddy and former Mayor Dave Norris says, :…the city has a “long tradition of promoting civil liberties – ‘It’s just part of our culture here.'”

It’s a bit scary to me to think that we have been giving up so many of our civil liberties so freely. The right to vote, the right to govern our own bodies without government interference, the right of privacy, etc. The question about drones speaks to a much larger issue. It’s not so much catching the marijuana grower in his backyard, as it is:
When is it OK to kill anyone?
American or not?
With or without a drone? since this is just another instrument of death…a flying, remote-control-game-like tool of destruction. Let’s not stay up all night talking about whether its target is a US citizen on this soil or that. When do we as a nation say that this is OK?
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Two things happened to collide in my first week home. One was our overabundance – how big America is, how wide our roads, how many choices we have for cereal. And “B” (it’s a family joke) was a New Yorker article I was reading at the gym about Walmart art. http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/culture/2013/02/walmart-art.html#ixzz2MfZBirVd

Artist Brendan O’Connell worked for the Winn Dixie as a teenager when he had the brilliant idea that he wanted to paint the patterns and colors of store shelves. He saw beauty in the endless void of our material world, someone called him the Warhol of this generation. But he didn’t actually start painting until he started to photograph shoppers and shelves in Walmart. Imagine, Cheeto bags inspired passion; well actually he hasn’t painted a Cheeto bag, yet…

Now, his is the only art hung in Walmart’s corporate headquarters in Arkansas, and Alec Baldwin is a collector. “A company executive said, (O’Connell is) capturing ‘the art in the Wonderbread; the art in the Jif.'”

I like to think that’s about how I write. Something ordinary, or maybe newsworthy, might catch my eye and off I’ll run with words. Seeing something extraordinary in everyday things. The Flapper and my beautiful sister Kay were the artists in my family, so drawing was out of the question for me, but painting a picture with words and metaphor seemed doable. Still, I can appreciate art when I see it.

Like the lovely Art in Place project that has sculpture and murals popping up all over Cville. http://www.artinplace.org I am consistently  delighted to see ever-changing roadscapes while I drive around town.The fin of a giant whale, a zipper being unzipped, a harried commuter with his tie flying in the wind, or even a butterfly made out of stone by Philip Kyle Hathcock hathcock  

Since I don’t go to Walmarts, here is my photo montage of O’Connell-like shelves I found intriguing after getting through customs, my dignity somewhat intact and my avocat lotion not confiscated:
A still life of 100 calorie snack packs at a Harris Teeter grocery store. The French do not have a word for “snack.” photo copy
The Starbucks mermaid.photo copy 3
A favorite chip for teens in Target photo copy
And a woman looking for beauty products photo copy 3

What is art, what is beauty? Discuss.

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A six picture memoir for SBH. Did you notice the matching polka dot bikinis? We noticed the Love Bug pursing her lips. The opposite of her reverse Elvis pout. And sure enough, she said, “Mama.”

 

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Lots of firsts on this trip: a dip into the aquamarine Caribbean Sea; a sail to a secluded island; a bath in the open-air kitchen sink; organic French baby food, “Legumes et cereal.”
We are ready for her first Spring!

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Seems the you tube piece didn’t translate, sorry y’all

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