Goodbye 2008, Hello 2009

Happy New Year!
As usual, I'll be celebrating with sand betwixt my toes.
Wish you were here!

Time Passages

I've only attended one RenFaire and it was when The Boy was this size:

Recognize him? Of course you do. Yes, it's been awhile. Wendy and I are going to another one this weekend. In North Carolina. With people we've not yet met but already know. Sans youngsters, it's bound to be a different experience on a number of levels. I shall swill beer and call it mead. I shall resist the temptation of cheesecake-on-a-stick. There will be jousting. And cleavage. Huzzah? Huzzah!

Carolina is gorgeous this time of year. I sort-of-but-not- really-because-time-passes-for-a-reason miss our periodic travels there while The Boy was in college. This trip is something else altogether.

But some things shouldn't change.
Here's to North Carolina barbeque.
And getting while the getting's good.

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"Don't You Fret"

I stared blankly at my computer screen as my mind wandered off as my mind tends to do. Worrying I was, as wont I am, this time contemplating whether The Boy will pack enough Immodium AD to last his entire trip. It's the one medication everyone agrees is essential for traveling in Asia. But how much is enough? I repeatedly attempted to devise a reasonable equation. The variables are too many and I obsessed with no success.

I thought of my sister. She offers a strategy for anxiety management I call the bubble technique. When something is worrying me, I imagine it tucked comfy-cozy inside a buoyant bubble. My bubbles are translucent with shimmery changing colors, prismatic soap bubbles on steroids. Often the size of my fist and never smaller than the average green grape, the bubble, once burdened with my worries, is imagined floating off into the netherland. I wave farewell. The worries, along with the bubble, disappear in the distance.

I've sent a lot of worries floating off via bubbles this week. The title of the post is advice from my son. I'm working on taking it.

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BlogFriends '08

Oh yes. We were there.
If you weren't, we may have talked about you.
You're just that special.

A series of photos is omitted from this collection. A baby is involved, one who prefers to remain incognito. His agents demand it. We cooperate without question because we're not like "Alice" on the L Word who signs a non-disclosure agreement and then outs a minor sports figure when it suits her. (Alice, what were you thinking?!)

Imagine, if you will, a large room containing a dozen or so convivial women, when in, astride one of his mothers' hips, struts an adorable six-month-old beautiful bouncing baby boy with a wide toothless grin. The delight was palpable, the infant amazingly compliant and seemingly equally as enamored of being passed from arm to arm and cooed over incessantly. Good times.

On to the photos then. Enjoy?

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Something About Turtles

A vacation looms, albeit a short one. I'm in charge of basic planning.

I've previously planned plenty of pleasing pirts*. I'm usually on top of such things, all over it even. But we depart in two days. Until yesterday, no firm arrangements had been made. How have I been sleeping at night!?

Yet things are falling into place even more tidily than I ever envisioned. Have I been needlessly sweating the details, planning vacations ever-so-carefully without real need? Or is the good luck with which this trip is evolving merely... well... lucky?

Perhaps this episode of vacation planning apathy is indicative of me relaxing and going with the flow instead of attempting to strong-arm the current. I've been working on that. From a distance. Turns out it added a twist to our trip. Like lemon-lime, only more interesting.

We'll head north with my mother in her Crown Vic, freshly serviced, Garmin-equipped, replete with snacks and beverages. Ah yes, the Classic American Family Road Trip! There's nothing quite like it and no one way to describe it. (Do tell, when was the last time you roadtripped with your mother, or both parents for that matter?)

We're going see The Boy perform in Hair, of course. Enhancing the flavor of the trip, the retro-hippie theme if you will, we're staying at "a way cool family-friendly earthy groovy place" where we'll be sleeping in a tipi. I kid you not. A tipi.

My mother, as befits her stature, will sleep in the Big House in a real bed with a private bath. Wendy and I will sleep in a tipi. We'll breath fresh air. We'll see stars. We'll hang by the campfire. We'll all vibe the sixties.

I can hardly wait.








* This made me crazy. I was on a "p" roll, I was rolling with the "p", yo! But I couldn't pull a "p" to plug for the word "trip," so I just spelled it backward. Peace, man.

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Blob* Friends

Picture time.
Better late than never.



* Blob was coined inadvertently by Syd's better half, K, aka The Hot Chick. Her accent begs to be licked like an ice cream cone.

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Phase I: North by Northeast

Among other things, this I have learned: there are many rocks in Connecticut.

Wendy and I were fortunate enough to attend what we hope will be but the first BlogFriends gathering. Face to face with people like us. Some we had previously met. Some were strangers. Most are bloggers. We are parents. We are not. We are women. We are lesbians. We are young. We are old. We are tall. We are short. We are loud. We are quiet. We are bold. We are shy. We are white collar. We are blue collar. We are blonde, gray, brunette and red-headed. We are all colors of the rainbow. And we are everywhere.

That fine Saturday, however, we were in Connecticut, land of the plentiful rock.

SassyFemme and her delightful wife Eagle Eye Fran put forth the invitation: Come to our house, BlogFriends! Eat our food! Make art in our snow-covered yard! Use our toilet paper! Scare our dog into hiding! Revel with us as you enjoy our hospitality!

Oh, those two are brave. Quite.

Here's a random picture of my fierce dog shadow puppet about to maul eb's weenie little snake shadow puppet. She didn't stand a chance.

Months prior, with the emotional commonality of sons in college, Wendy and I were the recipients of what has been deemed a Drunk Dial. No, no. It wasn't Sassy. It was Weese and her Absolutely Amazing Wife. It's no secret they live in Connecticut also. During that phone call, they, too, had extended an invitation for us to visit.

It hadn't just been the wine talking. A plan was hatched, approvals gained. Wendy and I would hie to Connecticut, be guests at Weese and her AAW's suburban estate. Together with them we would attend Sassy and Fran's party. The plan twisted as the timing of my sister's visit overlapped. Perhaps she could come with us!

Because isn't that what everyone does? Plan a visit to a friend's house then invite your family along?

Graciousness abounds. My sister, Sherab Khandro, was welcomed on the adventure.

And what an adventure it was!
I sit here still in awe of the entire experience.
Details will come out along the way as details have a tendency to do.

Right now I am savoring the glow.
I want to bottle this feeling.

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Planes, Trains & Automobiles

Phase I of Suburban Lesbian's Excellent Adventures has ended. If we survive Phase II, I'll be back to tell the tales.

Y'all behave.

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Of Loud Noises On a Rainy Night

I've already learned one important lesson this new year: when the fire alarm sounds, it's not a good idea to pull the pillow over your head and go back to sleep. I think I was supposed to learn that in kindergarten.

Of course one may assume when one is surrounded by good friends that said good friends will insist the sleeping beauty get out of bed and leave the house when alarms emit piercing warning noise. There is danger in being abed when the house is possibly on fire. Or so the cute dykey Fire Marshall reminded said good friends upon her arrival. See, they had abandoned not only me but one other slug-a-bed in the house with the fire alarms blaring at a decibel not usually conducive to sleep yet somehow not fazing we two left behind during the evacuation.

Am I really that grumpy when awoken from a drunken stupor sound sleep in the middle of the night? Evidently I'm bitchy enough for the thought of waking me to strike apathy in the hearts of good friends.

I imagine the discussion:

"Suzanne is asleep upstairs!"
"Shouldn't we wake her?!"
"I tried! She growled at me to leave her alone!"
"Oh. Well then. I guess it's cool to leave her where she lies. "
"Hey look! Here comes the fire truck! I hope the firemen are cute!"

Despite this potentially near-death experience, 2007 is off to a good start. The police came. We were not arrested. The fire department came. There was no fire. I was never in danger and my good friends could have safely left me slumbering during the disruption. But once a real adult arrived on the scene, said good friends selflessly pried me from my comfortable cocoon so I could huddle outside in the rain with the rest of them.

I feel so loved.

Lesson number two? This I didn't retain from kindergarten either: a nap in the sun is good for what ails you. Especially when nothing does.

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One Fine Weekend

We had houseguests.

You all know what that means. The hostesses must ensure their abode is in decent shape to receive visitors. This entails not only neatening and cleaning, but also meal planning and grocery shopping. Thankfully Wendy and I work well together in that regard. We are akin to a finely tuned symphony as we prepare for guests.

Did I mention I broke the dishwasher? Well I did. About two months ago. We haven't bothered to repair it because we are lazy slobs. Really though, how many dirty dishes does a family of two create anyway? Not that many. Handwashing is perfectly adequate. Of course with company coming, I view a broken dishwasher a bit differently. Anyone got a pill to cure lazy slobitude? It was too late to fix it for our most recent company, but Thanksgiving is just around the corner. We're definitely gonna need it then.

Our weekend guests have come and gone. I wasted all sorts of energy worrying about how the visit would unfold. Why? It's what I do. I worry. I'm damned good at it. But it was wasted worry, and oh how I abhor wasting worry. I mean, really. What if I run out? What would I do if I had nothing to worry about? I'd be lost, adrift in a sea of calm. The very idea makes me cringe. I'm not meant to be calm.

These visitors were like cotton candy: a sweet treat that left us wishing for more. I can't make up my mind if they were pink or blue or maybe even green cotton candy. I don't think it matters. I dare you to experience cotton candy and not smile, riding the comfortable wave of silliness that accompanies a high dose of sugar. Yes, that's it: our guests were pure sugar.

What do you get when you mix two California bloggers and two Virginia bloggers with a bowl of gummy eyes left over from Halloween?

Triclops?

Frankly, I don't quite know what to make of these.

Yeah. It was a mighty fine weekend.
Y'all shoulda been here too.

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This Post Brought to You by the Letters "W" and "O"

Before our recent NYC adventure, I'd never stayed at a nearly $300 a night hotel before. At least not having to pay for it myself. I'm a rube, remember? Actually, I've just been a middle class suburban parent for so long, indulgent hotel expenditures never made it into my budget. My list of "Things That Are Grand About One's Children Being Grown Up" is becoming extensive.

Familiar by proxy with how expensive NYC can be, I didn't even twitch as I made our reservation for the W New York, The Tuscany.

The name put me off. It irritates me no end how the current POTUS has tarnished the letter W. The Boy's middle name, over which I'd agonized endlessly so many years ago, begins with W. Wendy's name prominently features the letter. The letter W should be fun, respected and honored, used judiciously to demarcate people and places that live up to the beauty of all a W can be. I'm pleased to report the Hotel W passed the test with flying colors.

Contemporary, clean, cool, staffed by perky young people who never failed to smile and were eager to serve. And the bed! Oh the bed! Oh the sheets. Oh oh oh those soft enveloping silky sheets and blankets. I could die in that bed and be perfectly happy.

Actually I did die. But it was one of those little deaths, not the permanent kind.

I received an email from the hotel a few days after we got home.
The subject line read "How was it for you?"

Obviously the walls don't talk.

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Sporks In New York

The day before we departed for New York City, a package arrived in our mailbox. A present! The two titanium utensils gifted from a lady on a mission to spread Spork Love to the world. Far be it from me to stand in her way.

Our shiny new sporks traveled with us on our weekend adventure, in effect bringing yet another blogging couple, sporks and scout, along for the ride. How cheesy is that? Wonderfully so.

We tried to show those sporks a good time. We didn't have any firm ideas of what we wanted to do while in the city and the sporks didn't express an opinion at all. What I really wanted was an icebreaker, an introduction to the city. I got one.

We met eb and Max at the hotel, dumping our suitcases in their room because we had arrived well before check-in time. Off we went, first to breakfast at Penelope. I ate eggs scrambled with asparagus and feta cheese, along with toast. Sourdough toast and a mimosa toast. (Don't worry. I'm not going spell out every meal. Those eggs were just some damn fine eggs and worthy of mention. Simple! Easy! Make them at home! Go. Now. Cook some. You know you want to.)

Suitably fortified, we then explored. On foot. Via subway. A taxi or two. Don't ask me where. The geographic specifics were too much to absorb. It's a blur. Chelsea. The Village. Times Square. Soho. I was too intent on the atmosphere. Enthralling. I'll connect the dots on the map the next visit.

eb challenged Wendy to a thumb war over some random comment and I, as I often am called to do in such thumb-centric circumstances, stood in as my gal's proxy for the conflict. My thumb kicked eb's thumb from one side of Manhattan to the other. She didn't stand a chance.

Wussy thumbs aside, she's one hell of a pathfinder. She didn't even need a compass. Led around like an absorbent little sheep with her happy head in the clouds, I didn't have to worry about what train went where, crossing against which light, when to transfer or turn left and right. I was free to observe, listen, smell and enjoy. To newcomers, such guidance was a true upgrade from making a cold call.

We walked miles, visited the MoMA, entertained sporks, gawked and clicked, observed a plethora of diverse people and places, laughed, ate fine food washed down with appropriate liquid refreshment, slept well and did it all anew the next day.

Oh and we gossiped. Yes that's right. About you. All of you. Don't you feel special now? You should.

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♪♫ One Night in Bangkok Makes a Hard Man Humble ♪♫

Much in the same way one crazy weekend in New York City will breed more than one blog post. Especially since it involved a tangle of bloggers uniting from three different states. Toss in Max's hilarious niece from a fourth state and two titanium Sporks newly transplanted from the west coast and wow. Just wow. There's a novel in there somewhere.

I'm wiped out. Wiped out like a bug on a windshield. But unlike the bug, I'll recover. Kudos to Elizabeth. Her skills as a travel planner and guide are unsurpassed. As I noticed the first time we met her over a year ago, she's shy and much more demure in person than when she's lurking behind her keyboard. I could be lying but I'm not. Or am I?

For now, I leave you with Bloggers Brunching at Zoë. From the bottom left corner, clockwise: eb and Maxine, me and Wendy, weese and her lovely wife.

There is more.
Oh yes.
Much more.
But first, sleep.
Oh yes.
Sleep.

Ladies, y'all are awesome.

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Gnome Sweet Gnome

At first it may appear Mr. Gnome is picking his nose, but a closer look will reveal he's pantomiming the universal "Shhhhhh... be very very quiet" gesture.

Revel in the silence, y'all.
The babble returns in a week.
Use your time wisely.
We'll be doing the same.

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Sunrise, Sunset

One morning on our New Year's beach trip, we dragged ourselves out of bed to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean. Why? Well why not? I will confess the idea did not appeal to me at first. It's no secret I'm not a morning person. Yet when I peeked out the window early that morning and saw the amazing colors washing over the horizon, I was suddenly inspired. I poked Wendy and said, "Come on! Come on! Hurry up! Hurry up! It's time! We don't want to miss it!"

We all gathered on the dune deck bundled in our coats, sleepy time pants and slippers to drink a mimosa toast to the arrival of the new day. Oh yes, the party started quite early that day.

The Outer Banks of North Carolina is a somewhat narrow strip of land between the Currituck Sound and the Atlantic Ocean. The way I understand it, it's more sandbar than actual land. Along some parts a bit further north, the sound and the ocean almost touch. Where we were staying this time, the sound was not visible.

Later that evening, I captured the sun setting. It's right over the sound even though water is not apparent in this picture. You'll have to take my word for it. You can trust me. It's over there.

These photos are for Mel. She's had over 20 straight days of rain out in her part of the world. Since these photos are less than two weeks old, I thought a reminder that the sun actually does still exist would be uplifting for her. And perhaps you, too?

Cheers!

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These Shoes Were Made for Talking

Hey hey, it's Suzanne's Slippers checking in. My friends call me SS for short. Would you like to be my friend? Come on in. Sit right down. I've got some pics from our New Year's trip to share. Lord help you if you are still on a dial-up.

Aside from being stylish and functional, the Slipper Gods of Good Fortune smile brightly on me. I don't mean to brag but I perform an important role in the process Suzanne calls "rest and relaxation." I'm more inclined to call it complete and utter slothfulness but you won't hear me complain. I've got a good gig.

Yet I didn't spend the whole week propped up! We participated in group activities and pulled our weight. Yo! Alert! I think the keg needs to be re-iced.

Check out the nifty glass sitting between me on the stool. A benefactor brought one for each guest with their names engraved on little silver plates. Sweet! This group has evidently outgrown Solo cups and Sharpies. Who knew?

Man, I don't know what Suzanne is trying to prove here, but she got several other folks to try it too. They were equally as confused but good sports nonetheless. How about you? Stand right up and try it now. It'll be fun, I promise. Snicker.

We also ventured down to the beach. Here's where I will sing the praises of Suzanne's quick and agile grace. Sing! I encouraged her to walk right up to where the waves were breaking. She got us out just before the surf caught my toe. We're a good team, she and I.

I left the coolest track marks on the beach. No lie. My tracks are way cooler than any old sneaker or bare foot or dog or sandal or bird has ever left on the sand. I dare you to disagree.

Here I am all ready to get in the car and go home. We're waving our last goodbyes to the ocean. Until next time, ocean. Keep it real.

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Sleepy Time Pants & Downtime

We'll be driving late into the night because we want to wake up to the waves crashing on the shore.

Yes oh yes. Despite the weirdness of December, our annual year end trek to the Outer Banks is still on. Our sleepy time pants are packed, the car ready to load. The Boy has been dropped off at the airport for his flight to Atlanta. He's got a bit of traveling to do himself and will ring in the New Year in Florida by singing at a friend's wedding. Watching him stroll into the airport, his head bobbing to the tune on his iPod, his suitcase rolling along behind him, tugged at my heart. He's become so independent. What a marvelous visit we had this holiday.

I'm yawning as I type this blog farewell to 2005, but am certain I will perk up once we hit the road.

Safe and happy New Years wishes, folks.

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