We spoke of many things. We discussed impending death; we talked about final arrangements; we made plans. The one thing we never talked about was what he wanted for me in the future. Did he want me to meet someone else? Would that make him happy or not? I hate it when people justify their actions by saying so and so “would have wanted it.” But I do wonder sometimes what my direction should be. How do I honor him? Is it disrespectful to find happiness with someone else? At the moment the very idea of that is so foreign to me I almost can’t fathom it and have no desire to even think about it. But other people seem to think I should be looking to meet someone. I can’t imagine it. The funny thing is that when people I know find a new partner after losing their spouse, I am only happy for them; I think, good for him/her, people deserve to be happy. I wonder why I can’t think the same way for myself.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Florence Griswold Museum
Florence Griswold was the daughter of a wealthy sea merchant in Old Lyme. She survived her parents, her siblings, and her entire family. She inherited the family home, a grand house with spectacular gardens, but she had no income and began taking in boarders. Lucky for her: her home became the hub of artistic activity around the turn of the century. Important American artists came to stay with her and her home became a well known artists colony. Some of the most important American art, especially Impressionism, came from the people who stayed at the Griswold house. Today it is a museum and has an impressive collection of American art. The house itself is open to the public too, as are the gardens.
Small Victories
For whatever reason, some things seem easier on vacation than they do at home. While not exactly earth shattering, I’ve gone outside my comfort zone in some tiny ways. Twice now I’ve eaten lunch in restaurants without reading a book. Hey, we take our victories where we can. Admittedly, I ate at the bar both times, but I still think it counts. I also decided to take a scenic route home from Old Saybrook, got a little bit lost, and didn’t care one way or the other. I knew approximately what direction I needed to go, and as it turned out I ended up making a giant circle and ended up right where I started. From there I knew exactly how to get back.
I’m learning how to realize that I can take as long as I want to get somewhere; I can detour and go somewhere else; I can do whatever I damn well please because I’m on vacation: there is nothing I have to do. So this is what relaxing feels like. It’s also kind of fun to find out that I know my way around this area better than I thought I would.
You know how sometimes you remember a place, you can see it in your mind, but when you actually go there again it’s nothing like you remember? I had the pleasant experience of finding out that my memories of this resort and of the surrounding towns are precisely accurate. The minute I walked into my unit I recognized it immediately—it was exactly the same as the one we stayed in two years ago, and furthermore it was exactly as I remembered it.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
The Beach
I often have trouble reading while at the beach. Uncharacteristically, I don’t become engrossed in my book but find myself just watching and letting my mind wander. Today at the beach I realized that this is the one venue where I am truly able to be in the moment. It’s normally pretty difficult for me to do that, but at the beach what I have always dismissed as distraction is, I think, anything but. My mind is clear, I’m relaxed, I’m listening to the repetitive sound of the water and the various conversations and interactions taking place around me. I’m not really thinking about anything, and it always feels good. For some reason I have trouble doing this almost anywhere else. I’ll have to try and replicate it at other times in other places.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Rhythm and Blues
I had a pleasantly uneventful drive to Connecticut, with only a few sporadic rain showers. I was early but the unit was ready.
As I put all my stuff away, the notion of rhythms occurred to me. We fall into rhythms over time; even those people who perceive themselves as spontaneous and unstructured have rhythms. I’m pretty sure you can’t get away from it. People whose lives are disorganized and chaotic are not fostering this type of rhythm (I would call it a routine, but that word tends to raise red flags). It is simply a matter of trading one set of habits for another; but a lot of people have a hard time with that.
What stuck me was that when we are part of a couple, we adapt to each other’s rhythms and eventually something like a shared rhythm evolves. This is why some people can travel together effortlessly.
But it’s not only while traveling that we do this. Part of the essence of “getting” another person is the ability to understand how we do things. The give and take of this process is what makes a bond between people. I saw myself organizing my vacation villa exactly the same way Philip and I always did it; it felt comfortable and easy. He certainly adapted to my habits over time, and I know I adjusted to many of his. Hand in glove.
As I put all my stuff away, the notion of rhythms occurred to me. We fall into rhythms over time; even those people who perceive themselves as spontaneous and unstructured have rhythms. I’m pretty sure you can’t get away from it. People whose lives are disorganized and chaotic are not fostering this type of rhythm (I would call it a routine, but that word tends to raise red flags). It is simply a matter of trading one set of habits for another; but a lot of people have a hard time with that.
What stuck me was that when we are part of a couple, we adapt to each other’s rhythms and eventually something like a shared rhythm evolves. This is why some people can travel together effortlessly.
But it’s not only while traveling that we do this. Part of the essence of “getting” another person is the ability to understand how we do things. The give and take of this process is what makes a bond between people. I saw myself organizing my vacation villa exactly the same way Philip and I always did it; it felt comfortable and easy. He certainly adapted to my habits over time, and I know I adjusted to many of his. Hand in glove.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
On the Verge
Tomorrow I embark on my first solo vacation. I have no idea what it will feel like, but I am looking forward to it. The Therapist reminded me that because Philip and I went to this resort together I will probably have moments when I miss him pretty badly. But since I miss him badly most of the time, I think it will be ok–nothing out of the ordinary. Mostly I’m looking forward to being away, having some genuine quiet time and maybe trying to relax. I’ve been so stressed out about mom, worried about her health and safety, that I’m coming unraveled. The Therapist pointed out (how does he manage to be right and logical all the time? Oh yeah: that’s why I talk to him.) that there’s no reason to worry and that it won’t do me or her any good. She’s got support systems in place, and besides, bad things can happen whether I’m home or not. So I will go, have a good and relaxing time, and step a little bit out of my comfort zone.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
I am frequently amazed at my capacity for disappointment. I have long believed that people don't change, at least not in fundamental ways. Yet when people consistently behave badly it still pisses me off and disappoints me even though I have no reason at all to expect anything else.
After putting it off for way too long I finally cleaned out our storage unit, got rid of most everything and brought a small amount of stuff home. It' a great relief to be out from under the $80/month I've been spending for no good reason. Some of what I brought home were scrapbooks of old photos, including a truly wonderful book my grandmother kept of pictures of my father from birth through adulthood. It was meticulously captioned, and each page is full of pictures: "1 month." "2 months." "3 months." And on and on, right through college, and including pictures of him with my mother when they first met, when they married, when they had us kids. There were some framed pictures of his father, and of my grandmother.
So. I decided to try and do a nice thing. I didn't really want the clutter of more pictures, and there's not going to be anybody who wants them when I'm gone. But I thought maybe my brother would like to have them--I packed up and sent several scrapbooks, some award plaques given to my father for various achievements and contributions, and some of the framed photos.
I also had a large, framed montage of newspaper articles and obituaries that appeared in various papers when my father died. After my dad's death, Philip put all of that together and had it framed for me. I thought my nephew would like to have it, so I sent it to him with a note.
And the bottom line? Not a word from anybody. Not. One. Word. Why do I try to be nice?
After putting it off for way too long I finally cleaned out our storage unit, got rid of most everything and brought a small amount of stuff home. It' a great relief to be out from under the $80/month I've been spending for no good reason. Some of what I brought home were scrapbooks of old photos, including a truly wonderful book my grandmother kept of pictures of my father from birth through adulthood. It was meticulously captioned, and each page is full of pictures: "1 month." "2 months." "3 months." And on and on, right through college, and including pictures of him with my mother when they first met, when they married, when they had us kids. There were some framed pictures of his father, and of my grandmother.
So. I decided to try and do a nice thing. I didn't really want the clutter of more pictures, and there's not going to be anybody who wants them when I'm gone. But I thought maybe my brother would like to have them--I packed up and sent several scrapbooks, some award plaques given to my father for various achievements and contributions, and some of the framed photos.
I also had a large, framed montage of newspaper articles and obituaries that appeared in various papers when my father died. After my dad's death, Philip put all of that together and had it framed for me. I thought my nephew would like to have it, so I sent it to him with a note.
And the bottom line? Not a word from anybody. Not. One. Word. Why do I try to be nice?
Monday, April 11, 2011
Animal Instinct
Here's how I tell whether a person is someone with the right qualities: if they don't like animals, it's a total dealbreaker for me. I've said more than once that, in general, I like most animals better than I like most people. And I think people's attitudes toward animals tells a lot about them. I am automatically suspicious of someone who doesn't have an affinity for animals. Lots of people, for a variety of very good reasons, may not have a pet in the house. But they can still be "animal people."
For the past couple of weeks I have been watching a pair of eagles raise three chicks in a nest high above a property in Iowa. There is a 24-hour live camera feed, and it is fascinating and wonderful. I work for a person who has, as near as I can tell, the bare minimum of empathy and humanity required to be an actual person. This person has absolutely no sense of humor (another dealbreaker for me) and a sense of personal entitlement that is truly staggering. What brought it home for me was when this person asked what I and a couple of coworkers were looking at online. When we explained about the eagles, it was dismissed with a flick of the hand and an "oh," and that was it. No interest whatsoever. To me, that demonstrates the worst side of a person.
For the past couple of weeks I have been watching a pair of eagles raise three chicks in a nest high above a property in Iowa. There is a 24-hour live camera feed, and it is fascinating and wonderful. I work for a person who has, as near as I can tell, the bare minimum of empathy and humanity required to be an actual person. This person has absolutely no sense of humor (another dealbreaker for me) and a sense of personal entitlement that is truly staggering. What brought it home for me was when this person asked what I and a couple of coworkers were looking at online. When we explained about the eagles, it was dismissed with a flick of the hand and an "oh," and that was it. No interest whatsoever. To me, that demonstrates the worst side of a person.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Lost and Found
It's the little things that rattle me the most and upset my equilibrium. When is the last time I lost or misplaced something important? I just do not do things like that. I know where things are, I keep things where they belong.
Yesterday I took the car in for routine maintenance and the annual inspection. Late in the morning the service guy called to say they couldn't find my registration. The registration is always in the glove box; why would it be anywhere else? They took everything out of the glove box--no registration. I can't begin to think what could have happened to it. How long have I been driving around with no registration? Of course, my first thought was that Philip would surely know where it is. Instead, I ordered a replacement online for $25 and I still have to get my inspection done.
Every day seems to bring another unfamiliar path I have to navigate, more questions unanswered, things lost that I cannot find. I'm a competent, organized, capable person, but I feel as though I'm floundering. Who loses their car registration? Downright embarrassing. Nothing will be normal again.
Yesterday I took the car in for routine maintenance and the annual inspection. Late in the morning the service guy called to say they couldn't find my registration. The registration is always in the glove box; why would it be anywhere else? They took everything out of the glove box--no registration. I can't begin to think what could have happened to it. How long have I been driving around with no registration? Of course, my first thought was that Philip would surely know where it is. Instead, I ordered a replacement online for $25 and I still have to get my inspection done.
Every day seems to bring another unfamiliar path I have to navigate, more questions unanswered, things lost that I cannot find. I'm a competent, organized, capable person, but I feel as though I'm floundering. Who loses their car registration? Downright embarrassing. Nothing will be normal again.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Bargain Basement
For the past couple of weeks I have felt an (even more) oppressive grief. Why now? Over and over I replay those final days in the hospital--did I act too soon? Could I have waited, and perhaps he would have been able to come home? I asked the doctor directly to tell me if I was wrong, to tell me if she thought I was jumping the gun. I couldn't consult with Philip; I couldn't ask him what I should do. All I could do was to believe in myself, believe that Philip was clear about his wishes and that he was ready, believe the doctor when she said the antibiotics weren't working and that he was not going to get better. But still. Could we have had more time?
The Therapist says this is a form of bargaining as well as a sort of survivor guilt. He also said it's normal, which makes me feel marginally better. He said it's my way of (somewhat masochistically) keeping him alive and with me. I don't think I would have thought about the bargaining part, but it makes sense. I do want to keep him alive; but the thought that I actually hastened his death horrifies me. The Therapist assured me that I did the right thing--I made the only possible decision under the circumstances. My head knows this. My heart is a little behind the curve.
Why now? I feel as though I'm regressing. He says this, too, is pretty normal. If I've learned anything, it's that grief comes in waves, not in "stages." He surprised me by suggesting that this might be happening to me now because The Therapist is going on vacation for a couple of weeks, and it's entirely possible that I am, at some level, reacting to that; another interesting possibility that I'm willing to consider. I confide in very few people, and The Therapist is the only one I've really opened up to. My reptilian brain may be reacting to this short lived "abandonment." Meanwhile, I'm exhausted and two seconds away from crying most of the time.
On the good news front, I'm going to Waters Edge in Connecticut in June for a week. My first solo vacation, and I'm hoping it will be relaxing and restorative.
The Therapist says this is a form of bargaining as well as a sort of survivor guilt. He also said it's normal, which makes me feel marginally better. He said it's my way of (somewhat masochistically) keeping him alive and with me. I don't think I would have thought about the bargaining part, but it makes sense. I do want to keep him alive; but the thought that I actually hastened his death horrifies me. The Therapist assured me that I did the right thing--I made the only possible decision under the circumstances. My head knows this. My heart is a little behind the curve.
Why now? I feel as though I'm regressing. He says this, too, is pretty normal. If I've learned anything, it's that grief comes in waves, not in "stages." He surprised me by suggesting that this might be happening to me now because The Therapist is going on vacation for a couple of weeks, and it's entirely possible that I am, at some level, reacting to that; another interesting possibility that I'm willing to consider. I confide in very few people, and The Therapist is the only one I've really opened up to. My reptilian brain may be reacting to this short lived "abandonment." Meanwhile, I'm exhausted and two seconds away from crying most of the time.
On the good news front, I'm going to Waters Edge in Connecticut in June for a week. My first solo vacation, and I'm hoping it will be relaxing and restorative.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Vindicated!
Conventional wisdom holds that humans are social creatures; we need relationships, connections to other people, and associations with groups in order to live fully. Those of us who prefer time alone generate skepticism and suspicion. We're considered eccentric, or depressed, or alientated or lonely.
Finally there's evidence to support my proclivity toward solitude. The Boston Globe ran a story last Sunday about some important studies, including one from Harvard, that suggest solitude may actually be good for us. Apparently we do all sorts of things better when we take enough time alone. Hey--I could have told them that, and probably a lot quicker and cheaper. Things like creativity, memory, focus, imagination, empathy, and--get this--improved social relationships are all improved when we spend enough time alone.
I don't dispute for a minute that bonding relationships are important early in life. Children who don't form close relationships have problems later on. But for adults, even teens, these studies suggest that blocking off enough alone time makes everything work better.
This seems elementary to me. But I know lots of people who are almost never alone, usually on purpose. I've never quite understood people who schedule something every spare minute, or who make sure that every weekend is full of social plans, or who sleep with anyone they can find just so they don't have to be alone. For me, the priority always is: will I have enough time to go home and be by myself if I accept this invitation?
The Therapist has suggested several times that I try to schedule some things with friends that would be fun. It's hard to explain to people that most of the time what I honestly look forward to after work and on weekends is some time to myself. I don't think I'm misanthropic, and this Globe article vindicates me.
I do have friends. But I don't "collect" friends the way other people seem to. The ones I have, and the ones I keep, are few but precious. Most of them have stood the test of time and even distance. I guess I don't need a lot of friends, I just need good ones.
When Philip moved to Massachusetts, I panicked a little bit. Another human in my home? I'd gotten used to my solitary ways. Luckily, he understood. And, of course, over time we could happily be alone together. I think it was different with him. We did everything together, we enjoyed just being alone together. He used to say he didn't need any more friends because he had me. We kind of shared our solitude, our alone time.
So that may be why I'm comfortable spending most of my non-work time alone; it's not that different from my life before. As I said, I have friends who have to carefully schedule the times we get together, and basically squeeze me in, because they have scheduled every time slot and have none to spare. Frankly, that would drive me nuts.
According to the studies, even our memories are more robust, more lasting and more accurate when we spend enough time alone. When I'm by myself I can summon memories both good and bad and process them; I love the silence, the feeling that this time is mine and I can do my best thinking. We even do a better job on tasks when we're doing them alone, due to a phenomenon known as "social loafing." In short, if we know there's someone else doing the same task, we don't try as hard.
I love this. I have proof that I'm not alienated or suspect or somehow defective. I'm just doing what the psychology community is now saying we should all be doing: recharging my batteries, taking a breather, and in the process becoming a better social animal.
Finally there's evidence to support my proclivity toward solitude. The Boston Globe ran a story last Sunday about some important studies, including one from Harvard, that suggest solitude may actually be good for us. Apparently we do all sorts of things better when we take enough time alone. Hey--I could have told them that, and probably a lot quicker and cheaper. Things like creativity, memory, focus, imagination, empathy, and--get this--improved social relationships are all improved when we spend enough time alone.
I don't dispute for a minute that bonding relationships are important early in life. Children who don't form close relationships have problems later on. But for adults, even teens, these studies suggest that blocking off enough alone time makes everything work better.
This seems elementary to me. But I know lots of people who are almost never alone, usually on purpose. I've never quite understood people who schedule something every spare minute, or who make sure that every weekend is full of social plans, or who sleep with anyone they can find just so they don't have to be alone. For me, the priority always is: will I have enough time to go home and be by myself if I accept this invitation?
The Therapist has suggested several times that I try to schedule some things with friends that would be fun. It's hard to explain to people that most of the time what I honestly look forward to after work and on weekends is some time to myself. I don't think I'm misanthropic, and this Globe article vindicates me.
I do have friends. But I don't "collect" friends the way other people seem to. The ones I have, and the ones I keep, are few but precious. Most of them have stood the test of time and even distance. I guess I don't need a lot of friends, I just need good ones.
When Philip moved to Massachusetts, I panicked a little bit. Another human in my home? I'd gotten used to my solitary ways. Luckily, he understood. And, of course, over time we could happily be alone together. I think it was different with him. We did everything together, we enjoyed just being alone together. He used to say he didn't need any more friends because he had me. We kind of shared our solitude, our alone time.
So that may be why I'm comfortable spending most of my non-work time alone; it's not that different from my life before. As I said, I have friends who have to carefully schedule the times we get together, and basically squeeze me in, because they have scheduled every time slot and have none to spare. Frankly, that would drive me nuts.
According to the studies, even our memories are more robust, more lasting and more accurate when we spend enough time alone. When I'm by myself I can summon memories both good and bad and process them; I love the silence, the feeling that this time is mine and I can do my best thinking. We even do a better job on tasks when we're doing them alone, due to a phenomenon known as "social loafing." In short, if we know there's someone else doing the same task, we don't try as hard.
I love this. I have proof that I'm not alienated or suspect or somehow defective. I'm just doing what the psychology community is now saying we should all be doing: recharging my batteries, taking a breather, and in the process becoming a better social animal.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Back to our regularly scheduled life...
That vacation frame of mind is way too quick to disappear. Now that I remember how nice it is to get away both mentally and physically, I must do it more often.
The Therapist keeps trying to impress upon me that opening myself up to people who care about me will make me feel more connected and less emotionally adrift. And yet I persist in keeping my emotions in check, in maintaining the best facade of normalcy that I can. Honestly? I've been this way for most of my life; I've always found it somewhat embarrassing to show my emotions in public. Where this came from, I have no idea--certainly not from my parents. I can come up with lots of reasons (excuses?), many of which might actually be true. I also know that it mostly boils down to fear. I am trying my best to keep my equilibrium and I don't want to do anything that might disrupt my carefully constructed balance. Something like not looking directly into the sun.
Sometimes the full weight of what has happened to me hits me, and it's scary. I hate looking weak, so I try very hard to always be "fine." Reminds me of what Gil used to say when he asked me how I was doing, and I said, "fine." Fine: fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. That about says it all. And besides, I'm not really that sure other people want to hear about it. It must get boring after a while. And I sure as hell don't want to give my mother something else to worry about.
I've come through two pretty huge, life changing traumas and I think it's fair to say that I've been pretty resilient, at least I hope so. If I'm insulating myself as a protective measure, so be it.
I need more vacation!
The Therapist keeps trying to impress upon me that opening myself up to people who care about me will make me feel more connected and less emotionally adrift. And yet I persist in keeping my emotions in check, in maintaining the best facade of normalcy that I can. Honestly? I've been this way for most of my life; I've always found it somewhat embarrassing to show my emotions in public. Where this came from, I have no idea--certainly not from my parents. I can come up with lots of reasons (excuses?), many of which might actually be true. I also know that it mostly boils down to fear. I am trying my best to keep my equilibrium and I don't want to do anything that might disrupt my carefully constructed balance. Something like not looking directly into the sun.
Sometimes the full weight of what has happened to me hits me, and it's scary. I hate looking weak, so I try very hard to always be "fine." Reminds me of what Gil used to say when he asked me how I was doing, and I said, "fine." Fine: fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. That about says it all. And besides, I'm not really that sure other people want to hear about it. It must get boring after a while. And I sure as hell don't want to give my mother something else to worry about.
I've come through two pretty huge, life changing traumas and I think it's fair to say that I've been pretty resilient, at least I hope so. If I'm insulating myself as a protective measure, so be it.
I need more vacation!
Sunday, February 27, 2011
We pause for a few moments of sanity
In spite of my general dislike of all things Florida, Sanibel was truly lovely. I was thrilled when my cousin Julie invited me to go with her and her friend, Eileen, for the week. Our place was essentially right on the beach, and we took full advantage of that. Our biggest decision every day was: pool or beach? So we went with both--mornings on the beach, afternoons at the pool. I walked for miles, especially in the mornings at low tide.
Once I got over the morning pain in my knee, it felt surprisingly good walking on the sand. I wish we had "real" beaches in New England, because they are so nice for walking. I got lots of great photos, especially at the Darling National Wildlife Refuge. We saw spoonbills, a great blue heron, an anhinga, a reddish heron, even a couple of bald eagles.
We took a late afternoon cruise into Tarpon Bay (also part of the wildlife refuge), where there are huge rookeries for all kinds of birds: pelicans, egrets, ibis (ibii?), ospreys, you name it. And, right on schedule, they flew in to their nesting areas at sunset. The best part of this vacation was that we really didn't feel compelled to "do" something all the time. We did go to a marina where the manatees like to hang out, and saw about four of them, which was exciting.
We watched the sun set at the Mucky Duck, where, when I was working at Biogen, the executive team went during their executive retreat a few years ago. Hans Peter bought a baseball cap for me there, which I still have, and wear all the time.
I was able, for a few days, to clear my head. I couldn't help thinking how much Philip would have enjoyed the place, especially because there wasn't a speck of humidity in the air. Being away was exactly what I needed.
Once I got over the morning pain in my knee, it felt surprisingly good walking on the sand. I wish we had "real" beaches in New England, because they are so nice for walking. I got lots of great photos, especially at the Darling National Wildlife Refuge. We saw spoonbills, a great blue heron, an anhinga, a reddish heron, even a couple of bald eagles.
We took a late afternoon cruise into Tarpon Bay (also part of the wildlife refuge), where there are huge rookeries for all kinds of birds: pelicans, egrets, ibis (ibii?), ospreys, you name it. And, right on schedule, they flew in to their nesting areas at sunset. The best part of this vacation was that we really didn't feel compelled to "do" something all the time. We did go to a marina where the manatees like to hang out, and saw about four of them, which was exciting.
I was able, for a few days, to clear my head. I couldn't help thinking how much Philip would have enjoyed the place, especially because there wasn't a speck of humidity in the air. Being away was exactly what I needed.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Ok, now I'm pissed off
Maybe not in the full blown, raging eruption of temper way, but still. Anybody who knows me knows I'm a huge coward when it comes to medical procedures and especially dental ones. So now it turns out I need to have a tooth extracted. My dentist referred me to an oral surgeon who, thank goodness, is going to give me a general anesthesia. I'm a wreck. Of course, with a procedure like this, you can't exactly drive yourself to and from the appointment; they require that you have someone with you who can take you home. And who might that be? All my friends are working. Philip is gone. That leaves my mother, who, at 85, is great at moral support but not exactly in a position to do much in the way of physical assistance (should it be needed). If it was Philip having the procedure, J would be ready, willing and able to be his designated ride home if I wasn't able to do it. But J is not going to do that for me, and I feel funny asking him, anyway. We're good friends; but J has been having problems of his own lately, and recently admitted to me that he's been drinking again and avoiding everybody, including me. When I explained my predicament to the woman at the oral surgeon's office, she surprised me by asking me where I live. When I told her, she said that she, too, lives in Braintree and offered to take me home afterward. I was dumbfounded at what a nice gesture that was. So I'll take a cab to the appointment and get a ride home from this very nice woman. I will make sure to send flowers or something.
But he should have been here to help me and to hold my hand.
But he should have been here to help me and to hold my hand.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Nice moments can be brief, but they're still nice
I ran into Attorney X in the elevator today. He's a senior partner, and one of the nicest people I've had the privilege of working with at the firm. After Philip died, he took the time to commiserate with me; he lost his wife more than 20 years ago and is now happily remarried. He told me not to worry about following anybody's rules but my own, that "this is a very exclusive club, one that you didn't want to join." He even lent me his marked up copy of C.S. Lewis' A Grief Observed. Despite the Christian references (I just skipped over those parts) I found it a wonderful book and quite helpful.
In the elevator, he asked me how I was doing, to which I replied that I was doing all right, things were basically going pretty well. He said to me, "You look a lot better, like you're getting back into the swing of things. It takes a while, I know."
So nice.
In the elevator, he asked me how I was doing, to which I replied that I was doing all right, things were basically going pretty well. He said to me, "You look a lot better, like you're getting back into the swing of things. It takes a while, I know."
So nice.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
I'm Not Angry. Why Not?
What am I afraid of? Keeping myself under control feels like I'm protecting myself; but what am I protecting myself from? I like to think that I'm sparing other people from having to deal with an uncomfortable situation, that nobody really wants to see another person's pain. I definitely work hard to protect my mother, who worries too much anyway although she'd never own up to it. I have to be ok for her. I find it embarrassing and scary to allow other people to see weakness in me. I see myself as stronger than that.
Why am I not angry that he left me? I keep experiencing things that should have been shared, and it's just not fair, damn it. A hundred times a day something will remind me of a funny story about him, or something will make me think "he would have loved that." It's the essence of missing somebody. But am I angry? We spent so many years knowing that our time together would be short that maybe I got over being angry a long time ago. Am I disappointed to my core? Yes. Do I wish he had been here to help me when I broke my knee? You betcha. But I'm thinking that he probably didn't want to die any more than I want to live without him.
The truth is that my grief and sense of loss is all-encompassing. I'm not a spiritual person nor a religious person; it might be easier if I was. All I can rely on is my own control over how I present myself to the world, my own inner resources and my own ability to put one foot in front of the other and do what I need to do.
So: what would happen if I let a few people take a peek behind the curtain?
Why am I not angry that he left me? I keep experiencing things that should have been shared, and it's just not fair, damn it. A hundred times a day something will remind me of a funny story about him, or something will make me think "he would have loved that." It's the essence of missing somebody. But am I angry? We spent so many years knowing that our time together would be short that maybe I got over being angry a long time ago. Am I disappointed to my core? Yes. Do I wish he had been here to help me when I broke my knee? You betcha. But I'm thinking that he probably didn't want to die any more than I want to live without him.
The truth is that my grief and sense of loss is all-encompassing. I'm not a spiritual person nor a religious person; it might be easier if I was. All I can rely on is my own control over how I present myself to the world, my own inner resources and my own ability to put one foot in front of the other and do what I need to do.
So: what would happen if I let a few people take a peek behind the curtain?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Insanity
Just for the record, I will put aside my aversion to the tedium of talking about the weather to say, without qualification, that This Winter Sucks. 'Nuff said.
There are lots of forms of insanity. In my own little way I can qualify by my irrational inability to take his glasses off the dresser. The very day after the funeral I went through the closet, loaded up the car with all of his clothing and drove to Interfaith Social Services to donate everything. I knew if I waited it would never get done. What I did not do was to take his watch, glasses, and jewelry box off the top of his dresser. Joan Didion wrote about not being able to get rid of her husband's shoes--he might need them when he comes back. The top of Philip's dresser looked as it did every night when he put his glasses and watch there. Which is to say, it looked like his dresser.
After a little more than a year I took everything off the dresser, rearranged some things, put his watch away in the drawer with all the other watches (he collected watches the way some women collect shoes), moved some pictures over there, and generally changed the look. What I still have not done is remove the glasses. So sue me. I'm not making a shrine, I'm just, well, a teeny bit insane. At least I recognize it, so maybe I'm saner than I think.
There are lots of forms of insanity. In my own little way I can qualify by my irrational inability to take his glasses off the dresser. The very day after the funeral I went through the closet, loaded up the car with all of his clothing and drove to Interfaith Social Services to donate everything. I knew if I waited it would never get done. What I did not do was to take his watch, glasses, and jewelry box off the top of his dresser. Joan Didion wrote about not being able to get rid of her husband's shoes--he might need them when he comes back. The top of Philip's dresser looked as it did every night when he put his glasses and watch there. Which is to say, it looked like his dresser.
After a little more than a year I took everything off the dresser, rearranged some things, put his watch away in the drawer with all the other watches (he collected watches the way some women collect shoes), moved some pictures over there, and generally changed the look. What I still have not done is remove the glasses. So sue me. I'm not making a shrine, I'm just, well, a teeny bit insane. At least I recognize it, so maybe I'm saner than I think.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Pandora's Box
Ok, so it's no secret that I live inside my head, maybe a little too much. Just ask The Therapist, who would probably laugh out loud at the "little too much" part. No doubt I'm one of his more recalcitrant projects, not that I do it on purpose. (But you don't try not to do it on purpose, either, would be his reply.) Anyway.
My dad always said that feelings are neither right nor wrong--they're feelings. And I do have plenty of them, I'm not without emotion, I just don't parade them around like a personal billboard. At any given moment, for no apparent reason, I feel the tears pressing against the backs of my eyes. I don't cry. Especially in front of other people I don't cry. More than anything I don't want to appear weak; from the beginning I was determined to show strength and grace under pressure and not fall apart for others to see. It's possible (I haven't thought this out) that I think if I let the feelings out into the open, they can't be put back. The Therapist is trying to convince me otherwise; he's probably right, but it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff.
I've been rereading the older posts from our travels. I had forgotten that I didn't put any photographs into those posts, so I'm working on that now, bit by bit.
My dad always said that feelings are neither right nor wrong--they're feelings. And I do have plenty of them, I'm not without emotion, I just don't parade them around like a personal billboard. At any given moment, for no apparent reason, I feel the tears pressing against the backs of my eyes. I don't cry. Especially in front of other people I don't cry. More than anything I don't want to appear weak; from the beginning I was determined to show strength and grace under pressure and not fall apart for others to see. It's possible (I haven't thought this out) that I think if I let the feelings out into the open, they can't be put back. The Therapist is trying to convince me otherwise; he's probably right, but it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff.
I've been rereading the older posts from our travels. I had forgotten that I didn't put any photographs into those posts, so I'm working on that now, bit by bit.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Journeying in Two Directions
This journey I'm on often seems to go both forward and backward. I have to live my life, and adjust to my new normal. But I also look back, savoring the memories and finding surprisingly many things to be grateful for.
I still say "we." I worry that people will find it tiresome, but often it slips out before I can make the correction. I don't know if I should try consciously to break this habit, or whether it will work itself out over time. I don't want to pretend that "we" never existed; I don't want what I had with Philip to be put on a shelf, out of sight. I hate it when people say, "I can't help it," but sometimes, I just can't. Something to work on or at least think about.
I actually think I'm pretty lucky. My marriage, short as it was (12 years is pretty short, compared with many people's marriages) gave me much more than I ever expected. We had a wonderful time together. We had problems, to be sure, but even those taught me a lot about myself and what I'm capable of. Not everyone gets the kind of relationship we had. We had some serious obstacles to overcome before we got married, so I think we were always conscious of how valuable our time together was. We were, as Kurt Vonnegut said in "Mother Night," a nation of two.
I still say "we." I worry that people will find it tiresome, but often it slips out before I can make the correction. I don't know if I should try consciously to break this habit, or whether it will work itself out over time. I don't want to pretend that "we" never existed; I don't want what I had with Philip to be put on a shelf, out of sight. I hate it when people say, "I can't help it," but sometimes, I just can't. Something to work on or at least think about.I actually think I'm pretty lucky. My marriage, short as it was (12 years is pretty short, compared with many people's marriages) gave me much more than I ever expected. We had a wonderful time together. We had problems, to be sure, but even those taught me a lot about myself and what I'm capable of. Not everyone gets the kind of relationship we had. We had some serious obstacles to overcome before we got married, so I think we were always conscious of how valuable our time together was. We were, as Kurt Vonnegut said in "Mother Night," a nation of two.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Where have I been?
It is surprising, even to me, that it's been almost three years since my travels have prompted any narrative here. But I'm back, and will perhaps take this blog in some new directions.
After San Diego in 2008, we stuck a little closer to home due to Philip's health. I put him in charge of finding someplace for our next vacation and he came through with a winner. In June 2009 we went to Water's Edge Resort and Spa in Westbrook CT. Less than two hours away, and on a private beach on Long Island Sound. The place was gorgeous, and we had a wonderful week. And, almost exactly a week after we came home, my wonderful Philip, my best friend, my teacher, the love of my life, died at Mt. Auburn Hospital with me at his side. What a great journey we had together.
More to come.
After San Diego in 2008, we stuck a little closer to home due to Philip's health. I put him in charge of finding someplace for our next vacation and he came through with a winner. In June 2009 we went to Water's Edge Resort and Spa in Westbrook CT. Less than two hours away, and on a private beach on Long Island Sound. The place was gorgeous, and we had a wonderful week. And, almost exactly a week after we came home, my wonderful Philip, my best friend, my teacher, the love of my life, died at Mt. Auburn Hospital with me at his side. What a great journey we had together.
More to come.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Almost to the Border
There’s an outlet mall just on the border with Mexico, on the San Diego side, that we decided to check out. We really just wanted to see what’s going on down there. There are all kinds of signs warning you that if you don’t exit here, there will be NO RETURN to the US. And if you don’t have your passport with you, you are fucked. The Border Patrol was everywhere, and there were long lines of cars coming in from the Mexico side. When we left to go back, there were even bigger signs warning us NO RETURN TO US: MEXICO ONLY. As we headed back up the freeway we could see huge numbers of people walking toward the shopping area, presumably having walked over the border from Mexico. And even weirder were the yellow diamond shaped signs: you know the ones that have a picture of a deer, or a child? The ones that warn of “deer crossing” or “watch for children?” These signs had a picture of an entire family, walking with suitcases. Oy.
Gaslamp District
This area of town was first developed by William Heath Davis in the 1850s as “New Town” but his plan didn’t work out and it wasn’t until 20 years later that Alonzo Horton (who now has an upscale urban mall named after him—Horton Plaza) successfully transformed it into the city that is now San Diego. Most of the Victorian buildings are the result of Horton’s efforts to promote his city. Over time, this area became a haven for prostitution and crime; in the 1970s the area was slated to be bulldozed in the name of urban redevelopment, but was saved by a community group that made it into an historic district. Now known as the Gaslamp District, it has lots of restaurants, clubs, galleries, shops, etc. The buildings are quite remarkable and it’s possible to tell which ones were flophouses, hotels, and apartment buildings. There are several buildings being converted to luxury condos, and there seems to be a pretty good art scene going on. Pretty trendy and hip, but I couldn’t get enough of the fantastic architecture.
Old Town
Old Town is what remains of the original San Diego, the first European settlement in California. The first mission was established there in 1769 on the site of a Native American village. There’s a state park, with some original buildings, and plenty of Mexican restaurants. We’ve had some great Mexican food while we’re here, and we had another good meal in Old Town. I had what I think is the best mole sauce I’ve ever tasted. They even had an old guy with a guitar going around to the tables offering to serenade for tips. Philip was able to translate the song. It is fairly touristy, but you can still see some remnants of the original architecture of the old San Diego. Nearby is the Heritage County Park, which has some wonderful examples of Victorian homes that were saved from demolition and restored. Each of the buildings was relocated to this park and restored. They are now open to the public and are used for different purposes: one is a bed and breakfast, one offers high teas and one has shops. Also in this park is Temple Beth Israel, which was built in 1889 and was San Diego’s only synagogue until 1926. It’s a beautiful, simple building in the classic revival style. It was built as a Reform synagogue, so men and women were seated together and a balcony was installed for organ music and a choir. As coincidence would have it, one of the six prominent San Diegans who founded the congregation was Adolph Levi, the grandfather of our friend Don Levi.
High above Old Town are some of the most gorgeous homes in the city. The road winds up into the hills, where there is a beautiful park overlooking the city. Around the park are small side streets with huge homes. Some of them are Italianate villas, and some are really wonderful examples of mid-century modern architecture and Art Deco. There was one very modern home that had all glass on the side facing the view over the city.
High above Old Town are some of the most gorgeous homes in the city. The road winds up into the hills, where there is a beautiful park overlooking the city. Around the park are small side streets with huge homes. Some of them are Italianate villas, and some are really wonderful examples of mid-century modern architecture and Art Deco. There was one very modern home that had all glass on the side facing the view over the city.
Monday, March 3, 2008
A Brief Visit to the Gaslamp District
Although we're going back when we have more time, we made a brief stop in San Diego's Gaslamp District. It's the area with a lot of galleries, restaurants, etc. We didn't have enough time to see it all so we decided to just have lunch. We found a Mexican place that looked good and were waiting briefly for a table when a woman standing next to us with her friends asked us how long we were visiting the city. She said, "You flew here on Jet Blue, right?" It was our flight attendant--and she remembered how upset I was with the screaming toddler. She said apparently the kid had an ear infection and the parents decided to fly anyway. Great judgment. Anyway, it was very funny that she remembered us.
At this resort they have a theater and they produce plays with professional (all are members of Actors Equity) actors. Right now they're showing Oklahoma, so we decided to go. I was, frankly, very surprised at how good it was. The actors were all fantastic, the staging and music and all elements of the production were first rate. There was nothing amateurish about it. I've seen Oklahoma on Broadway and a couple of other places, and this production was every bit as good.
At this resort they have a theater and they produce plays with professional (all are members of Actors Equity) actors. Right now they're showing Oklahoma, so we decided to go. I was, frankly, very surprised at how good it was. The actors were all fantastic, the staging and music and all elements of the production were first rate. There was nothing amateurish about it. I've seen Oklahoma on Broadway and a couple of other places, and this production was every bit as good.
Harbor Cruise and Coronado
The San Diego Harbor area is quite beautiful. It's the US Navy's second largest port (after Norfolk VA) and there many ships there: aircraft carriers, supply ships, hospital ships, Coast Guard ships, armed frigates and cruisers. We took a 2-hour harbor cruise and were able to see them pretty closely. The USS Ronald Reagan is the Navy's newest, largest and most technologically up to date aircraft carrier. It holds 5800 people and is nuclear powered. Needless to say, it's immense. There are lots of Navy facilities in the harbor, such as dry docks, ship and helicopter maintenance, even a shipbuilding dock where the USS Amelia Earhart is being built. We also saw a couple of dolphins and a whole bunch of sea lions sunning themselves on a dock.
Later we took the ferry to Coronado Island. I wanted to see the Hotel Del Coronado, which I had seen more than 20 years ago. It was the set for the movie "Some Like it Hot," and is a gorgeous 19th century hotel. It was the first hotel west of the Mississippi to be wired for electricity--it had its own generator. It's a stunning hotel, and the beach is a perfect, white sand beach (see the movie and you'll see the beach).
Wild Animal Park
I"m way behind on this, so will try to catch up. Due to problems with the resort's internet access, I'm not able to post as regularly as I want.
The San Diego Wild Animal Park is part of the San Diego Zoo, although it's physically about 30 miles away. There are animals roaming almost freely throughout the park, and it's possible to see them close up and personal. The Lion Camp was very cool, with a family of one male, three females and several cubs lounging around and playing.
We took a tram ride around some of the more remote sections, and were able to see some very interesting animals in an unrestricted environment. We got another scooter for Philip, so we could see the entire park and he could enjoy even the uphill paths. We were there most of the day and it was great. In some ways I enjoyed it more than the zoo--there was something about the variety of animals, the foliage, and running into animals unexpectedly that I liked.
The San Diego Wild Animal Park is part of the San Diego Zoo, although it's physically about 30 miles away. There are animals roaming almost freely throughout the park, and it's possible to see them close up and personal. The Lion Camp was very cool, with a family of one male, three females and several cubs lounging around and playing.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
San Diego Zoo
This zoo is amazing. A world class zoo, to be sure. The weather was perfect--not too hot, not humid at all, and lots of sun. After the first half of our trek through the zoo, we discovered that they rent those motorized scooters. By this time Philip was really pooped and much of the walking is uphill. So we went back to the entrance and rented a scooter. With the scooter he was able to truly enjoy himself because he wasn't worrying about whether he could make it to the next exhibit. Next time, we'll know: if there's a lot of walking involved, we rent a scooter. We met a woman who works at the Air and Space Museum here and she told us they have them there, too, because it's very big.
Balboa Park
Balboa Park is the nation’s largest urban park, and only Central Park has been around longer. The gorgeous Spanish Colonial and Art Deco buildings were built in 1915 for the California-Panama International Exposition. Today they house most of the city’s major museums (15) and eight botanical gardens. The San Diego Zoo is in Balboa Park. The park is huge and beautiful. We didn’t see the entire park, but we did visit several museums (Museum of Photographic Arts, San Diego Museum of Art, San Diego Natural History Museum and the San Diego Model Railroad Museum) and the Botanical Garden and Lily Pond. We also want to go back and see the Air and Space Museum. The zoo we’ll save for another day all by itself.
We’re driving a Prius—thank you, Enterprise! It’s a great little car. We’re getting between 70-99 mpg. Gas prices here are very high, and in California you have to drive everywhere, so it’s fantastic. We’ve gone over 400 miles and we still have half a tank. The car is comfortable, the hatchback holds a ton of stuff, and it drives really well—very zippy and responsive. It’s so great to be riding along and see the display on the dash: “99.9 mpg.”
Monday, February 25, 2008
USS Midway
Today we went aboard the USS Midway, berthed in San Diego Harbor. The Midway is the Navy's longest-serving aircraft carrier. It was commissioned in 1945 and served until 1992 in nearly every war and conflict the US was involved in. It is immense. There are aircraft of all kinds (from WW II through the first Gulf War) on the flight deck.
Yesterday was a little rainy, but the sun is out today and the rest of the week will be sunny and warm.
One thing I find interesting: in Boston, the weather forecast is prominently displayed on the front page of the Globe every day in two places. There is a thumbnail forecast in the upper right hand corner, and at the bottom of the front page, in the index, the page number for the complete weather forecast is listed. In the San Diego paper, there is not a single mention of the weather report on the front page. Nothing. You have to page through the paper and find the weather map to discover it on your own. The fact is, they don't care very much about the weather here, becuase it's basically the same every day. When it rains, it's news.
Yesterday was a little rainy, but the sun is out today and the rest of the week will be sunny and warm.
One thing I find interesting: in Boston, the weather forecast is prominently displayed on the front page of the Globe every day in two places. There is a thumbnail forecast in the upper right hand corner, and at the bottom of the front page, in the index, the page number for the complete weather forecast is listed. In the San Diego paper, there is not a single mention of the weather report on the front page. Nothing. You have to page through the paper and find the weather map to discover it on your own. The fact is, they don't care very much about the weather here, becuase it's basically the same every day. When it rains, it's news.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Day One? Or Still Last Night?
It was after midnight when we checked in, which meant 3am as far as our bodies were concerned. Cranky doesn’t begin to cover it. But we are nothing if not anal, so we unpacked, put everything away and took showers before we finally passed out. Today we mostly slept late, got some info from the concierge and went grocery shopping while we learned our way around the immediate area. In another day or two I’ll start to relax and we’ll start getting our groove on.
The Great Escape
Despite steady snow, our plane did take off with only a small delay so the plane could be de-iced. I was actually looking forward to the flight, figuring I could get some sleep and maybe get rid of the sore throat thing I’ve had for the past week.
It was not to be.
Six hours nonstop to San Diego. Six hours of screaming toddler. ‘Nuff said.
It was not to be.
Six hours nonstop to San Diego. Six hours of screaming toddler. ‘Nuff said.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Omaha
Our trip to Omaha last weekend had been planned for several months, ever since Mom was asked to deliver a talk at services Friday night. The series consists of short talks given by members who describe a range of personal experiences, etc. relating to their particular relationship with Judaism and/or Temple Israel. So far it's been pretty interesting--I've been able to see a few of them on the Temple website. She asked me if she should accept, and I told her of course she should; I said we'd travel with her.
When Mom agreed to give a talk, she and I immediately began preparing, working out what she would say. I edited, she worked on it some more, I edited some more. In the end, it came out really well. We were all set to leave very early Thursday morning.
Wednesday evening as we were packing she called and said she had a problem. Turns out she tripped and broke her arm in two places. Off we all went to the emergency room, where we remained until nearly 2am. After x-rays, a painful reset of the bones, and a cast, we took her home. Clearly, she was not going to Omaha. I promised her I'd deliver the speech in her stead. This, by the way, was no small concession on my part: I am almost pathologically afraid of speaking in front of people.
But of course the weekend was a lot of fun. We already had dinner plans on Saturday night with Steve Perelman, Ralph Kellogg and Vicki Perlmeter.
We had dinner Thursday night with Shirley Kulakofsky, who was devastated that Mom wasn't there. Friday we went over to Bloomfield and spent a nice long time catching up with Cathy Stirts. Then we did a little shopping. Philip was in heaven when he found out there's a new Cabela's store in Omaha. We got a few Christmas presents out of the way and he got some real bargains, as they were having a huge sale. Services were early, and I delivered the speech. It was fun talking to so many people who had shown up to see Mom. The Omaha grapevine was running on all cylinders, however: by the time we got to Temple nearly everyone in the community already knew that Mom had broken her arm and wasn't going to be there. So they had to make do with the understudy. But it was a good crowd and I got to talk to lots of people. After services we went to dinner with Shirley, Dennis DePorte and Dennis' son, Alan. Really a good time. Shirley was furious with us because we picked up the tab.
Saturday we went to Lincoln, because Philip had never been there and I hadn't been there since high school. They have a wonderful farmer's market/street fair every Saturday and we walked around looking at everything. I only wished I could bring home some of the gorgeous produce. We picked up one more Christmas gift and headed back to Omaha.
Dinner with Steve, Ralph and Vicki was great. When we picked Vicki up at home I was surprised to find Nancy Kaplan (Marshall) there. She was in town for the weekend visiting her mother. We had a great time catching up. Steve had baked mandel bread, and gave us a huge bag. Unbelievably delicious. We ate it on the plane trip home, and there's still a ton left. I'm going to try my hand at it one of these days.
Our travel karma continues to be good, as there were no problems on the way home. Except for the kid who didn't stop screaming the entire trip. I would gladly pay any surcharge if only the airlines would institute child-free flights.
When Mom agreed to give a talk, she and I immediately began preparing, working out what she would say. I edited, she worked on it some more, I edited some more. In the end, it came out really well. We were all set to leave very early Thursday morning.
Wednesday evening as we were packing she called and said she had a problem. Turns out she tripped and broke her arm in two places. Off we all went to the emergency room, where we remained until nearly 2am. After x-rays, a painful reset of the bones, and a cast, we took her home. Clearly, she was not going to Omaha. I promised her I'd deliver the speech in her stead. This, by the way, was no small concession on my part: I am almost pathologically afraid of speaking in front of people.
But of course the weekend was a lot of fun. We already had dinner plans on Saturday night with Steve Perelman, Ralph Kellogg and Vicki Perlmeter.
We had dinner Thursday night with Shirley Kulakofsky, who was devastated that Mom wasn't there. Friday we went over to Bloomfield and spent a nice long time catching up with Cathy Stirts. Then we did a little shopping. Philip was in heaven when he found out there's a new Cabela's store in Omaha. We got a few Christmas presents out of the way and he got some real bargains, as they were having a huge sale. Services were early, and I delivered the speech. It was fun talking to so many people who had shown up to see Mom. The Omaha grapevine was running on all cylinders, however: by the time we got to Temple nearly everyone in the community already knew that Mom had broken her arm and wasn't going to be there. So they had to make do with the understudy. But it was a good crowd and I got to talk to lots of people. After services we went to dinner with Shirley, Dennis DePorte and Dennis' son, Alan. Really a good time. Shirley was furious with us because we picked up the tab.
Saturday we went to Lincoln, because Philip had never been there and I hadn't been there since high school. They have a wonderful farmer's market/street fair every Saturday and we walked around looking at everything. I only wished I could bring home some of the gorgeous produce. We picked up one more Christmas gift and headed back to Omaha.
Dinner with Steve, Ralph and Vicki was great. When we picked Vicki up at home I was surprised to find Nancy Kaplan (Marshall) there. She was in town for the weekend visiting her mother. We had a great time catching up. Steve had baked mandel bread, and gave us a huge bag. Unbelievably delicious. We ate it on the plane trip home, and there's still a ton left. I'm going to try my hand at it one of these days.
Our travel karma continues to be good, as there were no problems on the way home. Except for the kid who didn't stop screaming the entire trip. I would gladly pay any surcharge if only the airlines would institute child-free flights.
Friday, July 6, 2007
4th of July
Ok, so this isn't exactly a travel-related post, but I wanted to show the adorable dessert I made for our 4th of July barbeque:
Bratwurst (with sauteed peppers and onions), hamburgers, salad, chicken, cute cupcakes and ice cream: what could be better?
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Home
Got back last night around 11:30 and were home by midnight. When we walked out of the airport it felt like winter--it was in the 60s. Today was nice, in the 70s, but Philip is already feeling short of breath after one day and had to start nebulizing again. As usual we stayed up way too late last night due to the time change, and this morning I was pretty groggy, although I got up about 8:30 in an attempt to reset my body clock before work on Monday. Two weeks made for a perfect vacation; we're going to try to do it again in February!
Friday, June 15, 2007
No Free Lunch, But a Great Free Dinner
The Marriott people have been asking us to tour the other facility, Shadow Ridge. We stayed at Shadow Ridge last December and it is a beautiful resort. We didn't really have a need to take another tour, but they enticed us with a $100 cash voucher, good at any of the restaurants at the Desert Springs Hotel. We figured we'd have a nice dinner on our last night. We sat with a sales agent at Shadow Ridge, and finally extricated ourselves after about an hour. We have absolutely no need for a second time share, and we don't want to sell the one we have. So we promised her we'd think about it, and went to spend the rest of the afternoon at the pool.
We had a marvelous dinner at Tuscany, an extremely high priced restaurant at Desert Springs. Impeccable service, fantastic food, and prices that would have made me choke had the whole thing not been free. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, the bill came to $94.00, and we don't have to pay a dime of it.
We had a marvelous dinner at Tuscany, an extremely high priced restaurant at Desert Springs. Impeccable service, fantastic food, and prices that would have made me choke had the whole thing not been free. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, the bill came to $94.00, and we don't have to pay a dime of it.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Let's (Not) Talk About the Weather
Spending two weeks in perfect weather has made me think about how we let the weather dominate our lives on the east coast. Living in an area where the weather is extremely volatile all year long means that everyone feels the need to talk about it. Constantly. I find it more than tedious to hear everyone talking about the weather, all the time, whether they know what they're talking about or not. It will snow. It will rain. It will be cold. It will be hot. Let's move on, and live with it. If a severe storm is going to affect how or if I can get to a destination, then it matters to me that I get an accurate weather report. Other than that all I need to know is how to dress. There must be some other topic we can use for small talk!
Here in the desert you wake up to sunshine every day. Period. In the winter it's a little cooler and there may be some rain (about 5 days out of the year). No need to talk about it, the weather is pretty much always glorious. I have noticed, however, that the summer heat (every day is somewhere around 100 degrees, give or take) is the local residents' version of our winter: they talk about it (a little bit) and take measures to be comfortable and drink enough water. Many stores provide water and many of them provide fresh bowls of water for dogs. Beyond that, it's no big deal.
I do think, though, that the weather has a real effect on one's mood and outlook. Sunshine is relaxing and makes you feel good. It's obvious that our long, dark, cold winters take a toll on us; since we left home two weeks ago it hasn't stopped raining in Boston and even though it's the middle of June, temperatures are still in the 60s. No wonder we're cranky. There's something very energizing and uplifting about having an early morning cup of coffee on the patio all year round.
Here in the desert you wake up to sunshine every day. Period. In the winter it's a little cooler and there may be some rain (about 5 days out of the year). No need to talk about it, the weather is pretty much always glorious. I have noticed, however, that the summer heat (every day is somewhere around 100 degrees, give or take) is the local residents' version of our winter: they talk about it (a little bit) and take measures to be comfortable and drink enough water. Many stores provide water and many of them provide fresh bowls of water for dogs. Beyond that, it's no big deal.
I do think, though, that the weather has a real effect on one's mood and outlook. Sunshine is relaxing and makes you feel good. It's obvious that our long, dark, cold winters take a toll on us; since we left home two weeks ago it hasn't stopped raining in Boston and even though it's the middle of June, temperatures are still in the 60s. No wonder we're cranky. There's something very energizing and uplifting about having an early morning cup of coffee on the patio all year round.
Last Day
Our last day! Vacations are wonderful, but ending them is hard. It will be good to go home, though--we both miss Bob. And I guess work beckons. As I write this it's only 7:30am, and the ducks are looking at me through the screen door, quacking at me to come outside. The front page of today's paper says it may hit 110 degrees today, so I'm not sure how we'll spend the day.
Some observations about California vs Massachusetts:
- Traffic and driving
People here do not cut off other drivers. Everyone adheres to the rules of the road (in Massachusetts most people are unaware that there are rules of the road). We have yet to be tailgated; drivers do not do that here. Directional signals are used for both turns and lane changes, and when a lane is marked "right turn only," no one tries to cut off other drivers by going straight instead of turning. In two weeks we have not seen a single incident of aggressive or rude driving. Nobody honks--I don't think we heard a single car horn the whole two weeks. Everyone knows how to negotiate a four-way stop and knows who has the right of way when one car is turning left. Drivers do not pass on the right when the car ahead is trying to turn left. The culture here is courteous. On both highways and city streets merging is seamless, and people let other drivers merge or change lanes without trying to prevent them from doing so or cutting them off. Another interesting thing is that we haven't seen a single car accident since we got here; we see several a week at home. Accidents here are unusual enough that they're published in the paper when they do occur (I read the Desert Sun at home, and I can recall a very few accidents reported). We've been spending a lot of time in the car (this is California, after all, and not an urban area where walking is an option) and we don't have to be on the lookout every minute for someone to do something rude, aggressive or stupid. It just doesn't happen.
- Respect for surroundings
There is no litter here. People do not spit on the street. There are no old plastic bags, bottles, papers, etc. along the sides of highways or major streets. Even during Village Fest in Palm Springs the streets are kept clean because people here seem to want to keep their communities looking nice. I have not seen anyone throw anything on the street, not even a cigarette. When a street needs repair it's done immediately and quickly; the job isn't dragged out for a year or more. Granted, we're in Palm Desert, Rancho Mirage, Indian Wells and Palm Springs. California is a big place and every place is different. But here in the desert, at least, people care about where they live. You just don't see that in Massachusetts, not even in the wealthiest suburbs.
- People
People here are friendly, courteous, and helpful. We walked into a drug store and were looking around trying to find the right aisle for the item we were looking for. A store employee spotted us, walked up to us and asked if she could help us find something. Enough said. That has never happened to me in Massachusetts in the 30 years I've been living there.
Some observations about California vs Massachusetts:
- Traffic and driving
People here do not cut off other drivers. Everyone adheres to the rules of the road (in Massachusetts most people are unaware that there are rules of the road). We have yet to be tailgated; drivers do not do that here. Directional signals are used for both turns and lane changes, and when a lane is marked "right turn only," no one tries to cut off other drivers by going straight instead of turning. In two weeks we have not seen a single incident of aggressive or rude driving. Nobody honks--I don't think we heard a single car horn the whole two weeks. Everyone knows how to negotiate a four-way stop and knows who has the right of way when one car is turning left. Drivers do not pass on the right when the car ahead is trying to turn left. The culture here is courteous. On both highways and city streets merging is seamless, and people let other drivers merge or change lanes without trying to prevent them from doing so or cutting them off. Another interesting thing is that we haven't seen a single car accident since we got here; we see several a week at home. Accidents here are unusual enough that they're published in the paper when they do occur (I read the Desert Sun at home, and I can recall a very few accidents reported). We've been spending a lot of time in the car (this is California, after all, and not an urban area where walking is an option) and we don't have to be on the lookout every minute for someone to do something rude, aggressive or stupid. It just doesn't happen.
- Respect for surroundings
There is no litter here. People do not spit on the street. There are no old plastic bags, bottles, papers, etc. along the sides of highways or major streets. Even during Village Fest in Palm Springs the streets are kept clean because people here seem to want to keep their communities looking nice. I have not seen anyone throw anything on the street, not even a cigarette. When a street needs repair it's done immediately and quickly; the job isn't dragged out for a year or more. Granted, we're in Palm Desert, Rancho Mirage, Indian Wells and Palm Springs. California is a big place and every place is different. But here in the desert, at least, people care about where they live. You just don't see that in Massachusetts, not even in the wealthiest suburbs.
- People
People here are friendly, courteous, and helpful. We walked into a drug store and were looking around trying to find the right aisle for the item we were looking for. A store employee spotted us, walked up to us and asked if she could help us find something. Enough said. That has never happened to me in Massachusetts in the 30 years I've been living there.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Palm Springs Art Museum
The Palm Springs Art Museum is a wonderful place. The building itself is an architecturally important building designed by E. Stewart Williams. They have an outstanding permanent collection that includes photography, modern sculpture, pre-Columbian art, and art from the US West. Because there are some very deep pockets in the Palm Springs area the museum is well endowed and has a large number of active donors. The Sinatras, the Hopes, George Montgomery and others have made major contributions which enable the museum to mount some impressive shows. Last year we saw a major Roy Lichtenstein show, and today we saw the recently opened Russel Wright exhibit. And their museum store is one of our favorites, too.
Tomorrow is our last full day. Hard to believe we have to go back to our regular lives on Friday. Well, with luck we can look forward to coming back in the winter.
Tomorrow is our last full day. Hard to believe we have to go back to our regular lives on Friday. Well, with luck we can look forward to coming back in the winter.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
El Paseo
El Paseo is compared to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. It's a beautiful street with a wide grassy island in the middle filled with stunning original sculpture. Along each side are wonderful art galleries and high end shops. It's always fun to walk the length of each side of the street; we have a few favorite shops and galleries we like to visit. Today was hot, as it has been every day: probably hovering around 100 degrees. We ducked into air conditioning whenever possible, but all in all we weren't uncomfortable. In fact, one thing we need to be more mindful of is that we don't drink enough during our days outdoors, because we don't feel the heat and we don't sweat. During our almost 2 mile walk down El Paseo we remarked that Dr. Zorn either wouldn't believe or would be horrified that Philip did all this walking while we've been here.
We've spent some time during this visit discovering neighborhoods we've never seen before and exploring the area. There are so many places off the beaten path that locals know about but tourists generally don't see. We've gotten lots of tips from people we talk to; each time we come back we try to find places we're unfamiliar with.
Watching Philip play blackjack piqued my interest. At home I've been playing a little poker, trying to learn the game. But blackjack is easier and requires a little bit less skill and less memorization of the different hands. Philip and I played some blackjack when we got home, and I think I'm ready for the $2 table. Maybe I'll try my luck, if we have time.
We've spent some time during this visit discovering neighborhoods we've never seen before and exploring the area. There are so many places off the beaten path that locals know about but tourists generally don't see. We've gotten lots of tips from people we talk to; each time we come back we try to find places we're unfamiliar with.
Watching Philip play blackjack piqued my interest. At home I've been playing a little poker, trying to learn the game. But blackjack is easier and requires a little bit less skill and less memorization of the different hands. Philip and I played some blackjack when we got home, and I think I'm ready for the $2 table. Maybe I'll try my luck, if we have time.
Back to the Trough
When Philip gets hungry at lunchtime, it's always nice if there is a casino in the vicinity (there are four in this area). Cheap, all you can eat buffets are right up his alley. An added bonus is that we don't have to worry about dinner. While we were there he played a little bit and accumulated some more pocket cash.
As I said in an earlier post, we are not really casino people. It would never occur to us to seek one out (food notwithstanding) and neither one of us is a gambler. As for the clientele, Emma Lazarus would feel right at home here. But it's an interesting segment of society, and I guess a lot of people enjoy it. If Philip can play blackjack for a little while and win some money, who am I to argue? I still hope Massachusetts doesn't succumb to the casino temptation.
As I said in an earlier post, we are not really casino people. It would never occur to us to seek one out (food notwithstanding) and neither one of us is a gambler. As for the clientele, Emma Lazarus would feel right at home here. But it's an interesting segment of society, and I guess a lot of people enjoy it. If Philip can play blackjack for a little while and win some money, who am I to argue? I still hope Massachusetts doesn't succumb to the casino temptation.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Architecture Tour
Today we had a real treat. PS Modern Tours offers a 3-1/2 tour of some of the most important Modernist mid-century architecture in and around Palm Springs. Palm Springs is regarded as the epicenter of the movement, and has been the launching place for some of the most important architects in the world. The tour is a one-man operation, and Bob Imber is an expert on Palm Springs history and architecture and design. He took four of us on the tour today, and it was fascinating and entertaining. He's a wealth of information, and we saw parts of the city we had never seen before, despite lots of time driving around over the past few years. We saw some amazing buildings, both residential and commercial, and learned about their history, who the architects were, how they were built, who lived (or is living) in them, and much more. Bob knew several of the architects personally and knows many of the people who have bought and lived in the homes over the years. He explained the design of each one, how to spot certain design details, and why the buildings are important. Many of them would not be noteworthy to most people; unless you know, or care, what you're looking at you might drive right by some of these buildings. Many of them are in unprepossessing neighborhoods and some are in neighborhoods that were actually considered run down and are only now being recognized for the wealth of wonderful homes they contain. We also learned about how preservation of important architecture in Palm Springs is, surprisingly, an often uphill battle. Because of politics and special interests, many owners of architecturally important buildings actually fight being designated a Class 1 Historic Site. This was a fabulous experience, and now we know about a lot of hidden neighborhoods in the city.
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