A Machine's Doing That For You

I'll write about our (mostly) very awesome weekend of wedding fun and weather adventures tomorrow, when I have time to do it justice. For today I'd just like to wish everyone a Happy Halloween even though we're humbugging the shit out of it this year. It just crept up, calendar-wise. Plus nobody we know was having a party, and HR doesn't eat candy yet so trick or treating wouldn't do much for him. This is my roundabout way of saying the second Halloween of HR's life will pass without him wearing a costume, and though I'm missing out on the chance for a even-cuter-than-usual photo op, I don't harbor a drop of mama guilt. I'll be observing on my own terms, while Mike is at work and the boy sleeps, with some decidedly non-scary books and DVR'd shows and a beer. I'll make it a pumpkin beer at least-- I have to make it different from other nights somehow. We've never gotten many trick-or-treaters, which is usually a disappointment, but now I don't need to worry about being the dark-house candy scrooge just beggin' for an eggin'.

In honor of this scariest of nights, here's the spookiest song of all time:

18!

Here's something deserving of a real, written paragraph: baby boy is 18 months old today. That's a year-and-a-half, for those who don't like to do math in their heads. I can hardly believe it. He had a fitful night's sleep last night, and awoke with a runny nose so I guess his little body's celebrating with either a new tooth or a cold - time will tell. But all in all though he's the best. Snuggling and reading together before bed is the highlight of my day. Seeing him smile just kills me every time. Yeah he's still taking his time, verbally, but added a new word, "another," pronounced "an-nud-DURR." Not sure what he thinks it means, but it makes me smile every time I hear it come out of his mouth. This weekend he's being left with grandma for a full 24 hours while we go to a wedding in Manhattan. This is only the second time I've spent a night away from him and even though I'm looking forward to the prospect of a full night's sleep, I am a little nervous. I'm sure he and grandma will do wonderfully, but you know how it is with your babies, even grown-up 18-month-olds. Anyway, that's the big doings round our house. Those 18 months sure flew, they brought so much with them. I can't even imagine the crazy joy awaiting us.

Everything else gets a bullet:

-Mike managed to locate and procure a pint of Ben & Jerry's Schweddy Balls ice cream. Verdict: awesome. It's worth seeking out.

-Last night I watched Battle Royale which I've been meaning to see for ages and it was a blast. For a violent, gritty, distopian film, it had a lot of heart and all the kids were so, so cute. I enjoyed it on its own merits, but it also really whet my appetite for The Hunger Games films, which I've decided to think of as more of an homage an less of a rip-off. I recommend it especially for HG fans who haven't already seen it.

-Back when I was writing my hair critique, I forgot to mention the biggest current offender: Laura Dern in Enlightened. Cut those bangs, girl! If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people with hair constantly in their eyes. How can they function like that? Get off my lawn! But seriously, the show's growing on me - last week's final scene made me bawl. Just cut the bangs and I'll be even more of a fan.

-I really am looking forward to our whirlwind trip to New York, getting dolled up, dancing and partying with good friends and getting the night off from being parents. Mike and I will do our best to not let our good time be spoiled with senseless worrying. I think alcohol will come in quite handy, there.

Life - she's-a pretty decent. And I'm choosing to close out my week's musical theme on this note. Jennifer Holliday, my word.

Too Old to Just Break Free and Run?

I'm lucky in a billion and ten ways, but one of my special blessings is genetics. I'm not talking about the cute genes (though a quick look at my family photo album on either side would attest to that), but about longevity and health. I never met my paternal grandfather, he died when my dad was a teenager, and the other one I was privileged to have in my life until three years ago before he passed away due to Alzheimer's. Other than that--though of course we have had some devastating losses in the immediate and extended family--I, in my mid-to-late 30s can make the remarkable claim of having two grandmothers. And unbelievably robust grandmothers they are, let me tell you. Plus a lot of great-aunts and uncles who are mainly 80 and older, with a fair handful being in their 90s. I'm thinking of this because I saw a picture from a surprise 90th for my great-aunt--my maternal grandmother's sister--that took place this past weekend and two of her even older sisters were in attendance. They all look amazing for any age, and for the most part their health has been consistently great. My paternal grandmother, who will turn 90 this March, just as she is scheduled to become a great-great grandmother, takes one baby aspirin per day at last count, and that was it.

So what I'm getting at, I guess, is that as long as I continue to look both ways when I cross the street and eat the minimum of leafy greens, I have a fairly good shot of being a proper old broad. Nothing's guaranteed, obviously. But it's cool to have empirical data on my side. Not that I want to live forever or even until 100, but I have a lot I want to do still in life and it's a true comfort to have the conceptual luxury of time being on my side, as much as it is for anyone. Of course to a lifelong procrastinator (also genetic, on one side) this is a dangerous concept to have in-pocket, but if it's delicious enough of a thing I can usually go against that nature and do what I want to do as soon as possible. Like go to Mexico next year. And take breakdancing lessons as soon as time and finances allow. And yes, be a writer. But most importantly spend time with and cherish the people I have in my life, the 90 + ones, and the wee squishy ones, because I bear witness every day to how there are no guarantees.

I guess this is ending a positive entry on a maudlin note, but really I want to celebrate one example of a life cut short. There are so many Jeff Buckley performances that go beyond beyond (it's practically cheating to add him to this category) but his voice was from a different planet and this is my favorite example of how pain can translate beauty and how a brilliant vocal can transport the listener.

Sooo Not Proud

I've been watching a lot of TV lately, judge away I don't care. The point I want to make in relation to that is that I realize I'm very opinionated about hairstyles. I don't have great hair myself, I mean it's OK and I'm glad I have it at all, but I am not exactly an exemplary headsuit-wearer. I dust off my hairdryer approximately twice a year. Still I feel qualified to get involved with the follicles of fictional characters and the actors responsible for growing them.

To wit, on Dexter: Deb Morgan, you are awesome, I love you and I love your new professional wardrobe now that you've been promoted but for the love of GAHD you've got to cut that hair. It's pretty and shiny and all, but you could stand to lose a foot of it, at least. Nobody needs hair that long, particularly not grown women (this is one of my own stubborn biases) and in practical terms, in your line of work it's actually a liability. You could get it caught in the trees while chasing a perp! One false move and you're scalped, you know?

Gossip Girl: This show has gotten turrible this season, and if you don't watch it you probably guessed it was turrible all along. I used to get a kick out of its ludicrous plotlines because I thought the overall writing was pretty sharp. Now it turns out the only reason I still watch is so I can see if Dan ever gets rid of the animal that died on his head. You're walking a fine line of attractiveness to begin with lonelyboy, don't think that bringing back the male perm look is doing you any favors. For all I know it's intentional that he's looking so rough, since he's on a downward spiral of likability, but more likely it's an experiment gone wrong. Lily - you're kind of a bad person but I love you nonetheless and your hair, as always, is perfect. If I had your money, I'd have your stylist.

When anyone inquires about the progress of my novel, do you think I can just point them to this entry and they'll understand why it's not getting done? I'm not proud, really I'm not.

So I find I'm missing yoga again. I know I am capable of getting my practice back, particularly now that my wrist is better, it's just a matter of doing it. You'll know if and when I do because I tend to not be able to stop babbling about it when I find my groove.

Today's auracular spectacular: U2's "Red Hill Mining Town." Full disclosure: I'm not a U2 fan, I like some of their songs, but eh. I feel like this performance is just really out-of-the-park. I heard on the radio that this was supposed to be the second single from the J-Tree but they scrubbed it, publicity wise, because Bono couldn't consistently hit the notes and they decided it wouldn't be worth it to bring it on tour. So there you go, if that's true.

By Which I Mean TOTALLY

Ah, fall in New England. This past weekend was the first one where the nip in the air could really be felt, and I swooned as I chose a sweater before leaving the house. Not that we went leaf peeping or pumpkin picking or cider tasting or anything, we didn't even check out the regatta on the Charles, but we did get outside a lot, to the park and such. Mike roasted a chicken (such a lovely thing in chilly weather) and we went to swimming lessons and had an out-of-town visitor and now suddenly it's Monday, as that tends to happen. I'm anticipating a chill but productive week. We'll see it that comes true in any way.

In my mind there's a category of music that I call "impressive vocal performances." They're just that: some kind of vocal that impresses me in a particular way. This one I like so much because, though I know Boz Skaggs wrote the song, I grew up with the still nice but unremarkable-to-me Rita Coolidge version. It takes on a whole new interesting life, to me, with the male vocal.



What? I'm old. I totally embrace it. So much so that it doesn't bother me AT ALL that someone Mike knows told him that The Velvet Goldmine was her favorite movie when she was, "like, 12." AT ALL.

Buddy Report

My favorite thing these days is observing HR while he plays independently. The fact that he plays by himself at all for a sustained amount of time is relatively new, and I find myself sort of holding my breath as I watch him, not wanting to disturb him by reminding him of my presence. He's been really into gathering up all his little people and cars and putting them on a table, then arranging and rearranging them and putting them on the floor, then back up. Sometimes he just knocks them all to the ground. I realize it doesn't sound very entertaining but watching him use his imagination--to know that something is going on inside that little brain that is not transparent to me--is amazing. He is becoming a real person, so fast, right before my eyes. He's still a boy of few words (the latest is "magnet" which brings us up to five, maybe six in his repertoire?) but he understands commands and requests, and he can point to any thing or person when asked. Today he apparently pointed to the phone repeatedly and said "Dada" until Mike surmised he was asking for me. So they called me at work and he got on and said "Mama."

Obviously I'm not saying I have a wee genius here, just that my baby is leaping into little-boy-hood and I thought I was ready for that but it is going a bit too quickly for my taste. In some ways of course he's still very much a baby, and quite the mama's boy at that, but I'm finding I'm not so anxious as I used to be regarding what he should be doing and when. He's my baby, he's going to be how he's going to be, and of course he needs our guidance and discipline and Mike and I are doing our best to do what we think is best and important, but I just feel OK about it all in a way I certainly did not a year ago. Above all I want him to be secure in the knowledge that he's loved, and at this point it wouldn't occur to him to think otherwise, so I guess we're doing our jobs. Through it all, this little life is my privilege to witness and have a hand in shaping. Just in case you were wondering.

The F-Word

You may have noticed that I'm going through a decidedly un-writerly phase. These are the times when it's most important to buckle down and force the writing, of course, but it's the least fun. Any successful author will tell you that this is 99% of the deal when it comes to writing, it's what I knowingly signed up for the second I identified as a writer. So I won't complain about having the blahs today, or deflect with links and space-fillers. Instead I'll blather on until I feel I've warmed up my creative muscles. I'm not saying it's going to be pretty or any good, just that I'm going to keep going until... something.

I've been reading a lot lately, which is great. I'm most of the way through Jean Thompson's The Year We Left Home which is excellent, and I just started Aimee Bender's The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake as well. I'm looking forward to seeing where it goes. Before that I finished off yet another Elizabeth Berg, her newest called Once Upon A Time There Was You. I went through my usual push-pull with it, but I mostly enjoyed it. Not for nothing: the book's publication date is 2011, who knows how long ago it was actually written, but there's a part in the story where she actually uses the phrase "joy berries." I'm not crying plagiarism, especially since I think five people read this and they're all my relatives, but it's a mighty interesting coincidence.

My real point though is that in their own way, each of the books I've chosen recently is about family. I always marvel about how unique the treatment of family is with each author, even from book to book in their respective catalogs. It amazes me in real life as well as fiction how the concept of what constitutes family is ever fluid. The word seems inadequate as a catch-all, it can mean so many things. There are so many ways to be someone's family. I know about mine, (the one I grew up with, and the one I married into, and the one I've made of friends, the one I've made with my husband and son, and the way all the different ones overlap and bleed into each other) and I think my experience has colored how I create families when I write about them (close, loving, reasonably exasperating but always in a positive light), but it doesn't necessarily mean the family in my novel represents my own. So it's unfair of me to assume that the other authors came from families like the ones they write about, even though I sometimes do. And then I get to thinking, are all stories about family in one way or another? Probably not, but I guess I just seek them out or am drawn to them above all others.

Now the word "family" just looks and sounds funny to me, I've used it so much. So I'm going to stop. But I'll just keep thinking about it, I suppose. I'm always thinking about it.

I don't much care for "children's music." But this is an exception.

Glorious Cop-Out

I've got a belly full of Thai food and too much to do so for today, here are some randomly remembered credits to some shows I have loved across the ages.

And As Promised - Bowtie Baby

I say this every time, but every time it remains true: I'm useless when it comes to writing about the good times in life. I can't wrap my brain around these happy events and frame them in a way that translates into something that might interest a person who wasn't there. Time and reflection might help in this respect, I could probably look back on some joyful events of my past and make a nice blog entry about it but the fact is my brother's wedding just happened and it's still so excitingly fresh in my brain that I want to write about it so I'll co-opt other media to tell the story. Pictures and music, where would I be without you?

Here's the happy couple on their recessional walk. 

Professor HR decked out in his best nerd-chic finery, getting some love from his grandfather.

When the boy wasn't chowing down on cupcakes, he could be found on the dance floor with his new girlfriends. Sorry Mike, all signs point to this kid being a Perry to the core.

As a nod to the obsessions of our childhood, the reception couldn't go by without a Pee Wee Herman dance to "Tequila."

Did I mention there was dancing?

What a family, I mean, who enjoys each other's company this much? We're not rich, we're not industrious, but we will have a legacy and that is LOVE and FUN. We're like the Rockefellers of celebration. I marvel at the luck of my birthright every day.

All in all, the day was beautiful, the bride was beautiful, the groom was beautiful. It was a great party, a wonderful time and just day one of what I hope will be a long and love-filled marriage. Congratulations Nick and Whitney, I love you.

I have no explanation as to why, but based on the last two weddings, here's one that always packs the dance floor.

Lunatic Fringe May Be a More Fitting Choice

SERIOUSLY. The continual full moon at work needs to just get to waning already. As of yesterday I've moved beyond whatever was making me sad and into a straight plea to the universe for the increasingly bizarre madness to dissipate before we all lose it. We've had some times here, oh children, but this week takes the cake. That's a lot of mental stress packed into three days. Lucky for me I am off tomorrow to begin the second stellar wedding weekend of '11. And I've got an all-important mani/pedi appointment in a couple of hours, if I can just make it until then. I'm holding out hope for me as well as my coworkers that we've seen the worst of it, but I know better than to rely on that idea.

I will now attempt to shift my focus to how excited I am to get up to Maine tomorrow and get the festivities started.



Better, or at least happier, entries next week. You may even get a glimpse of HR wearing a bow tie, stay tuned.

Circle Game

These are some bittersweet times. I have so, so much for which to be grateful and to enjoy. My little brother is getting married this weekend and he and his fiancee will be joined in matrimony and I'll get to see pretty much my whole family and it'll  be an all-out Perry-style dance party, which is about my favorite thing on earth. HR is not only thriving but he's getting to be such a personality. He's a lot more of a different kind of work as he gets older and his mischief quotient goes up, but he's so much fun and so happy and loving, I'm truly digging this stage. I got to hold a one-day-old baby this weekend and though the baby fever spiked like crazy--I was suddenly so nostalgic for the wee diapers and receiving blankets and nursing and teeny tiny toes--I remembered all the decidedly non-magic parts of having a newborn and felt pretty good about where we are right now. The idea of getting another shot at labor and of trying the infant thing again when I would halfway know what I'm doing and would be therefore less stressed is tempting, but not so tempting that I want to shake up what's really, really wonderful right now. What I'm saying that personally, it's all about as good as can be and as always I feel incredibly lucky.

Then there are some really painful things going on that don't involve me directly but are affecting some people I love dearly and my heart goes out to them. And work, the job itself is just fine, but we have some kids who are having a really rough go and it's impossible not to grieve for them and their families. It's enough to make me feel guilty about the relative ease and happiness of my little life, but I know that's useless. I'll get my turn on the wheel, I have before, it's just the way it is. Just be thankful, just be mindful, just be. It doesn't help any of the bad go away, it can't ward off any unknown future hurt and sadness, but it's a way to process it.

My pick today represents the kind of explosive joy and catharsis that helps me in the down times. It might not be for everyone, but boy howdy it's for me.

Thirteens Across the Board

I have a wicked, wicked lot to write about today and wicked, wicked little time in which to do it so I'm focusing on one thing and it's this: Happy 13th (!!!) anniversary to my pal, my best friend, my partner-in-crime-and-baby-rearing and the greatest guy I ever met. Marrying you was one of the top two decisions I've made in my life, and in my advanced years, that encompasses a LOT of decisions.

Love you, Mikey.

It is So Choice

This is my favorite kind of morning, the kind when you need a sweater and hot coffee is just *the* thing, cup after cup. The only thing that could have added to my bliss would be more time to snuggle up to my boys. Maybe tomorrow.

Date night was a huge success, we got to sit out in the patio and because it was a nippy evening we were nearly the only people out there, happily chowing down between the breeze and the heat lamps. It felt like we were miles from the city, talking and enjoying some seriously great food. Yes, I got the baked alaska. No, I did not get a picture because it got in my belly too fast.

Today is my last day in the office until Tuesday and the long weekend before me is a stretch of promise, a tease of unclaimed time waiting to be filled. Here's hoping we do it justice.

As for today's selection, some of you may know that I have a wee obsession with Steely Dan, and I only recently realized that Michael McDonald jammed with them on occasion. This revelation could be a dealbreaker for some people who not only think that Steely Dan is lame, but that M McD is even lamer. To those people I say, YOU are lame. This musical partnering is sheer bloody brilliance. For me, Bad Sneakers is the golden apple of their combined labor, but youtube let me down in this regard. So here's Do It Again, which is OK for a stand-in, but do seek out the album version of Bad Sneakers if you get a chance.

Without Love, It Ain't Much

I'm very excited because tonight is a long-awaited date night and we got a babysitter and everything. Mike got a very generous gift certificate to a neighborhood place we love (but are unable to frequent due to us not being millionaires) so we decided to just use the thing already before the romantical patio closes for the season, and we're so fixing to get down with some crazy good food and drink and adult conversation. I mean we'll probably talk about farts like always, but we won't be doing it amid doling out cheerios so that makes it adult. Plus there are no nachos on the menu and I'm planning to put on jewelry and mascara so you know this is not our typical date. Depending on how much room I leave, there could also be a baked alaska involved! Actually I don't care if there's room or not - how many baked alaskas come into your life in this day and age? It's not like it's the 1950s. I'll be sure to take a picture.

In all actuality, I'm really just looking forward to having an unbroken amount of time to spend with Mike, where he doesn't have to be doing any kind of work. Because of the choices we made to run our little family the way we do, these times are so few and far between. It's been worth it, absolutely. But Dada really deserves a break and a little decadence, and I'm happy to be along for the ride.



As an aside, never forget that Sheila E is the bomb bomb bomb.

Hooray! For...

I'm compiling a little hooray list, and so far I've got:

-Workdays like this one that fly by because they are filled with the best kind of work (writing original content, in this case).

-Getting apples in our farm share tomorrow! Truth, I sort of hate apples, but this time of year I always revisit that stance.

-Dexter starting up again. This is the first season I've watched in real time, and the suspense of waiting a week really adds to the appeal.

-My baby boy feeling better, thus sleeping better, and getting to spend the day hanging out with Dada and his favorite stuffed pals. It took us awhile to find a toy to which he made a true attachment, but I think we've found him.

So hooray for Bert and Ernie! (Ernie not pictured, except for his shoes.)

And of course, hooray for Peter Pumpkinhead.

Not-So-Secret October

October, you're the best. So happy you're here again! Bring on the mums on the doorstep and tea and blankets on chilly chilly nights, I'm more than ready. Not to mention the mellowcreme pumpkins and pumpkin beers and pumpkin pie and assorted gourd themed loveliness specific to the orangey-brown months.

Our weekend was rather packed, with the celebration of Rosh Hashanah and HR's first trip to the pumpkin patch with aunt, grandma and big cousins, then a Saturday full of swimming lessons and a first birthday party for a special baby friend. I'm not surprised, following it all, that HR was under the weather yesterday. We spent a not-so-fun night last night soothing our feverish boy, but he seems to be doing lots better in the light of day. I'm faring amazingly well for running on so few hours' sleep and worry fatigue... obviously the the crash is imminent so I'd better keep in making hay.

But like I said, it's October, time to hunker down and sweater up and let your musical selections take a decidedly melodic turn.