The Shoes

Tennis shoes are not a big deal.  They aren’t supposed to be, but we do live in them. They define us.  They tell the world who we are.  Some people wear pumas and to me, this says “I have style and money”.  Adidas say to me, I have style and I work out, but not really.  Nike says, I workout, period, all the time.  Converse Chuck Taylors have always spoken to me, personally. I love them, I live in them, I have six pairs of them.  Converse say to me, I have style but I’m not gonna blow all my money on a pair of shoes. As Isabelle Allende mentions in her novel, Paula, that when you are in your 20’s poverty is fashionable, and sadly, I’ve never grown up, I still like looking poor. Converse are comfortable, like barefoot comfortable.  I am wearing my black ones as I write this. I have two pairs of black, some crazy purple all-stars, brown high-tops and a pair of red ones for special occasions.  When I had my son, I did the most natural thing a Converse-lovin’ mama would do, I bought him a tiny pair of black ones and I put them on him the first chance I got, which turned out to be a disaster.  He had no interest , screaming and yanking them off, discarded to a closet, I later gave them to friends with kids less stubborn than mine.  I tried for years, suggesting different styles, commenting on their coolness and noting those people he admired who wore them.

In his 10^th year of life on earth he decided that he wanted to learn how to play the drums. Specifically, he wanted to take the School of Rock summer camp.  We live for music. Dad is a drummer, we met at the infamous Electric Lounge, spending years attending every live music show we could get to, nightly.  We even worked in bars to get our fix even cheaper. Our ideal date night is to head out, in a cab, sucking down five-hour energy drinks to see one of our local faves from years gone by, The Pocketfishermen or maybe The Hickoids.  Alternatively, you might find us sipping beers or enjoying a bottle of wine while happily dissecting an old album from our youth, ZZ Top, Adam Ant, The Clash or maybe The James Gang.   When Jake reached out expressing his desire to play, well I was ecstatic.  He wanted to play drums, yummy, drummers are my personal weakness.  I always dreamed of playing the drums but instead I married a drummer, close enough.  I could already see it, my son, Jake, a hard-rockin’, tattoed, bad-ass drummer, going on tour with some mid-grade band, barely scrapping by, living at home when he was not touring, eating our groceries, bumming money, wait, well, let’s slow down!  We did not hesitate, but headed directly to the School of Rock, welcomed by tattooed, rock-n-roll, friendly types. I was dreaming, I was delirious and like any good mother, I pulled out the credit card and coughed up the $450 for one week of camp.  Damnit, my son was going to be a rock-n-roll star!  Next stop, fashion, because all great rockers know how to dress and when all else fails, black on black always works.  My credit card was burning.

He announced he wanted cool black t-shirts, done, easy.  Target men’s department has a slew of cool band t-shirts.  Then, he said….wait for it….that he wanted to DESIGN his own converse high-tops. Babe, the sky, the fucking sky, the damned cosmos is the limit, whatever you want my sweet beautiful  son because I know that these hightops and your summer band camp are going to come back ten-fold in tattoos and rock and roll.  You are going to fulfill all my fucking dreams.  Am I confused?  I mean when I was 18, this was my dream and because of my lack of maturity, I am not able to think like a reasonable mother.  Some moms wish for suits and ties, a home in the burbs, a good wife and a couple of kids, the 401K and insurance included. Here, I am gunnin’ for sex, drugs and rock-n-roll, all wrapped up in a summer camp and converse tennis shoes.  I was losing perspective but I wasn’t aware of it yet. 

Back at home we sit down at the mac and get busy, logging into Converse, I am excited, I am panting, I may have stopped breathing.  He begins his process of picking out the high-top, my senses think low might be better but I’m not going to interrupt this awesomeness.  He begins, picking blue, with purple outline, purple and blue paint splatters on the toe-tip, light blue stars, dark blue lining, aqua inner lining, I’m smiling and uh-huhing, what do I know?  I mean this look is total 1980’s and I’m thinking it is coming back, right?  I can see these shoes on David Lee Roth or the drummer from Def Leppard or maybe one of the guys from Duran Duran. Did wear high-tops?  No, but The Bay City Rollers did. My beautiful, artistic son knows what he wants and who am I to point out that this design is wild and crazy and intense and not….exactly…rock-n-roll 2012, maybe a little new wave 1983.  This crazy color combo is surely hip for the youngsters. It never, ever, ever occurred to me that this gorgeous boy, with his golden surfer locks, amazing personality, straight A’s, viper wit, nerdy dungeons and dragon creativity and intense ability to warp the English vernacular to fit his every moment of emotional expression was suffering from a legacy of colorblindness that would simultaneously create the craziest yet mildly unwearable converse ever.

We stared at them for a while, quiet.  “Do you like them?”, I said.  “Yes”, he said.  Well then, let’s do this.  I paid for them.  Another $115 bucks, this rock-n-roll lifestyle was expensive but totally worth it.  A few weeks later they arrived, a delightful smattering of 1983 throwbacks. I would have loved them when I was 17.  I’m sure I even tried to create a pair using powdered dye.  Jake was hesitant.  He had not meant to have a purple outline around the base, he didn’t know that the various blues didn’t match, yes, the aqua inner liner was intentional (whew), but he hadn’t realized there was also an issue with white and off-white canvas clashing.  We tried to toughen them up with some black shoe-strings.

He was hesitant to wear them but he did, every day of camp, and I really thought they were beautiful.  He was the enigmatic cool, recreated cool, one of a kind cool.  But, at the end of the week, the shoes were discarded into the closet, never to be worn again, a constant reminder to me, that for a moment, he almost joined my converse cult. 

Maybe he would have never known if I hadn’t asked him, so sweetly, if he just really grooved on purple.  Maybe if I had never brought up the variating blues, asking him if he had meant to do it, he would have never cared.  He still plays the drums but not with that ecstatic fever I had hoped for and I’m thinking he is going to be a graphic designer or cartoonist, slightly more stable, less drugs for sure.  But there are the shoes, those shoes, winking at me every time I put away his clothes, reminding me that they are a size 9, my size. So, I picked them up and tossed them into my pile of converse.  I’m not getting rid of them, I’m keeping them, a symbol of that brief moment of creativity and imagination when I knew for sure that my son would be a rock-n-roll star, wanted to be one. I’ll figure out the perfect time to wear them.  They aren’t my style, yet.  Later, when I’m 70 or 80 I’ll take a cruise around the block in them, maybe bang on the drums in the garage, or if I’ve landed on bad times and I find myself pushing my belongings in a grocery cart, living in a box, my last act of defiance will be to pull on those damned converse.  Bury me in them, I’ll scream.  And Jake, well, Jake is back to his running shoes and his sweatshorts.  Just a normal kid, with a crazy mom, and that’s o.k.  

Haiku April #1

everyday I change,

today, I'm a skater girl
what will I be next?

Morning Ritual

The sweet sounds of Glenn Miller’s orchestra playing Moonlight Serenade awaken me.  I lift my body from the bed, drinking my water down then stumble into the kitchen for coffee.  I sit.  I wait.  Slowly, soon I begin to tick and hum, I’m ready. I call Ellray, our puppy, “Let’s wake up Jake”.  I hope and wish and dream about him waking easy.  Ellray jumps on the bed, sits on him, licks his neck.  “Wake up wake up wake up wake up”….he barely moves, “one finger cold, two fingers hot”.  This is our system of communication.  I need to know whether he wants hot or cold chocolate. I need to know.  No answer, I head back to the kitchen to pull down the tall vintage glass with the diamond print, grabbing a spoon.  Holding the hershey’s high as I pour the syrup down the sides, filling the bottom.  As I pour the milk into the glass, I begin to clang the spoon around the inside of the glass mixing milk and chocolate. I love the sound, making it louder than it needs to be.  I want him to remember, just like I do, the sounds of morning rituals.  He stumbles in with half his bed wrapped around him, “Toast, bagel, fruit, tortilla, what will it be?”, no answer, “tortilla it is”.  I proceed gayly, humming to myself, having conversations with the dogs, entertaining us all with my silly voices, random thoughts and stupid rhymes.  KUT news in the background.  Meanwhile, I’m stealthfully eying him, like a hostage watching it’s captor.  Checking for signs of life, a flicker of a smile or chuckle.  Soon the sugar kicks in and my son, not this beast, will emerge. 

Laughter, I hear it, a smile at one of the voices I’ve made for the dogs and we are off,  “15 minutes, you’ve got 15 minutes”.  It seems like forever but not for the master of distraction.  “Get dressed, socks, shoes, teeth brushed”. It seems so simple, but it’s not.  There is plenty of time to display the pooping tortilla or pretending he has stolen something and I must find it, or kiss and hug all the dogs or crawl under Dad while he does yoga.  GET DRESSED! 

Packing his lunch, the same thing, fruit, meat, veg, candy, salty snack, clif bar and a fruit twizzle.  Slamming the bottle of water into the lunchbox, I shove it all in his backpack.  GET DRESSED!  Pulling his clothes on, he is momentarily distracted by a pencil sharpener, the minutes are ticking. I change into an acceptable amount of clothing to walk him to school.  BRUSH TEETH!  NOW!  “I DID”, he yells.  We live ½ a block from the school but sometimes we are so late we actually drive .  “LET’S GO”.  I stand by the door with backpack in hand.  I’m freaking out and ready to go as a stand-in for him, just leave him behind. The coffee has kicked in good now and I’m tweaking, I’m flying.  He is kissing each dog good-bye, there are FOUR OF THEM.  He is smiling, we are out the door and now, the mood changes as we walk, no stress, we are on the road.  This is when we squeeze in some fun or important conversations or maybe our schedule for the day. Sometimes he tells me about his most recent superhero he has created, I know I’ll miss these days.  I may tell him a story of when I was young. Today we talk about Lady Rainicorn from Adventure Time. We ponder why she only speaks Japanese and is it real Japanese.  We laugh about how Jake the Dog got a translator for her to talk to Finn but she sounded like an old man.  Then we recap last night’s latest obsession, Heroes, we are junkies.  We cross the busy street, my excuse for still walking him even in 5th grade.  “Have a good day”, I wrap up our conversation quickly and act cool and detached. I’ve learned to no longer expect a hug or a kiss, something I couldn’t have imagined I would be able to do 4 years ago.  As he walks alone, he looks back for a subtle wave and I know it means, “I love you”.  I turn and walk in silence, home, careful to not step on a crack, I don’t want to break my mother’s back.

Kids

"Basically people don't know how kids think, I guess they forget. But when you're a kid it's like you're wearing these binoculars strapped to your eyes and you can't see anything except what's in the dead center of the lenses because you're too scared of everything else or else you don't understand it and people expect you to, so you feel stupid all the time. Mostly a lot of stuff just doesn't get registered" Rule of the Bone, A Novel by Russell Banks.

Wow, I have spent over 6 weeks at home with my son this summer and this quote shot me in the heart. How fucking stupid am I. Of course. It's changing how I react right. . .Now. . .

Can you live with it?

How often in one day do you watch someone else not living up to their own potential. Or are you lucky enough to see everyone just simply maximizing. Is your life like a fucking Nike ad. Congratulations . . .mine's not. I'm pretty sure I'm most definitely not living up to MY potential. But, starting today, I'm going to try very hard. Try to look away as I blunder, stumble and fall, picking myself back up again and slamming through the back door of the parallel life that I've obviously been missing out on. Meanwhile, don't pass judgement on me as I look backwards, waving goodbye to those who have, with the slightest gestures, assisted in keeping me right where I've been. Now, take a deep breath, exhale, step outside of IT and take a good hard look. Are you happy? Could you be doing something more and better that would not only make you more complete and satisfied but could also, in some extremely insignificant way, just niggle a bit of an 1/8th of an inch, the path of destruction that our world is going. What if everyone made themselves just a bit more complete, a bit happier, a bit more driven, what if that just changed the course of everything. Just step back and think about it, then just get up and shoot one big long middle finger at everyone who's fucking with you and feeding you the bullshit that makes you think you can't have more. I think I might.

Parents Out There

If you read this blog and you comment, answer this question . . .Is parenting hard to you? Yes or No. If you say No, then I need to talk to you. Oh my, how parenting is hard. Is it really that bad to consider raising your child under the same context as you might raise, um, say, well, let's just say, a dog. I've actually tried it before. Using the sounds and finger movements that the Dog Whisperer uses on dogs, only on Jake. Making him sit before he can have a snack. Leashing him and walking him. Haha. Just kidding. It's just so much easier with dogs and they definitely don't talk back. Nonetheless, they also don't talk to you in your language, which can be hilarious. When Jake uses my phrases it cracks me up. It's hard though. I'm worn out by my own negativity. Constantly lecturing about how it has got to be. I've been reading this awesome book called The Blessing of a Skinned Knee. It's teaching me about the wisdom of the jewish religion and how you can intertwine it into your relationship with your child. Easier to read than it is to do, I definitely think that I'm on the right path, but every day is a new day. Another wonderful place to visit is a website called Early Parenting. Currently co-blogging authors, Carrie Contey and Bernadette Noll are hashing out parenting issues using Carrie's vast education and Bernadette's wonderful wisdom. I look forward to loads of learning. I'll take it any way I can get it. Meanwhile, instead of blogging, I should go play with that munchkin. Enjoy goofy pics of my easier, furry kids who are just happy with a treat and a quick run. Wait that works for Jake too. The two together are Izzy and Pico crashed after a day at the Pedernales, and the other guy is our new dog Clyde Blue. There is a whole post just about him coming. Love and Peace to all.

The Pack is Back

Life just isn't right without our pack and we have missed Gus so much. Pico de Gallo and Izzy Pretty have been fine on thier own but a couple of girls with no boy only leads to bitchiness. So, we hit Blue Dog Rescue in search of a new family member. We came across this beautiful boy and read his story. It was hard not to want a dog who had just climbed in a car for a roadtrip and seemed to enjoy it, so we set up a meeting. Check out his story at Blue Dog Rescue, just scroll down to Brando. He is everything you see here and more. What a fanstastic fella. We have such high hopes and know that here, in his new home, he will find the companionship he could only hope for. We are trying to decide what his new name will be. He's been Brando and Harry in his past lives, but we want him to start his new life with a solid name that represents the kind of life he will have. This is a pup who will snuggle in bed, run at the pedernales, hang in the yard with his two bitches, Izzy and Pico, guard his new kid, Jake, and have huge stuffed stockings at Christmas. We are so excited. Some names that have bantered around, Hank, Bloo, Bill and Sam. I thinking Hank or Sam are gonna be the big winners. Take a look at his video. We are going to have the most beautiful pack ever.

Date Night

I had a couple of excellent experiences yesterday. First, I spent the day at my son's class. All day. It was huge. There is no way that you can possibly do anything that is cooler than observing the social interactions of your child with his peers. We had a rough week but came out better for it. I veered him away from click behavior and hope to nip that in the bud immediately. We also experienced our first sleepover. My hub and I got to go out on a date and it was amazing. Eating out is something that we love to do. Real date. We went to Sampaio's, which is a Brazilian diner on Burnet Rd. I tried a wonderful Malbec (wine) which I had sworn I wouldn't like. I had one bad Malbec and it turned me off to all of them. Can't remember the name, sorry. We had mussels and fried brie. Creme Brulee for dessert with espresso. Yum. Life can be good . . .and rich . . .and I'm not talking about money. For the holiday, we are headed to the Pedernales for some R&R. These photos are from last year. It's very relaxing and we are on the hunt for fossils for Kinder Science Fair. I think we will have some success. It's fossil heaven.

Revived!

It's been a while since I've posted my thoughts. All this Yogadenada blogging got me thinking. Last night, as I sat awake, long after the boys had gone down, a few questions arose . . .

Whoever happens to be in the know:

1. Who's really in charge here? (Planet Earth, etc.)

2. Is there really alien life form on other planets, are they roaming earth, and more importantly, should we be scared?

3. Is "The Secret" really "The Secret" and if so . . .is everyone really practicing it? Because, if they were . . .wouldn't we all be happy, secure, living in a wonderfully green society filled with world peace and tranquil harmony . . . weath abundant?????

4. What happens when we die? Jake wants to know.

O.K. thanks, and how sad that Kit got bumped off Project Runway (Bravo, Wednesdays). I really liked her.

Redirecting!

For any of those left of you who randomly check this blog. I am now determined to build Yogadenada.blogspot.com. Come check me out. I'm pledging to blog daily, Monday-Friday. Thanks Shannon. For lighting the fire again.

Hit the title of this blog and it will get your there!!!! Save it on your bookmark and change the way you see things!

Gus '07

A few weeks back we put our blessed old soul, Gus, down. Gus had been with us since the first few months that Joel and I had dated. I was out on a job in L.A., Dallas, wherever, and Joel called to tell me that a dog had been following him. It was Gus, who must have seen a pretty good ride in Joel, what with Lucy and Red following him. Those girls were nothing but beautiful. Gus came to us scruffy, skinny and beat up. He barely had any teeth and he had a bad case of heartworms. We were able to miraculously subdue him for a month in order to kill the heartworms and he grew into a beautiful dog with a loving and dear personality. I'll never forget how he followed me around when I was pregnant with Jake. He never let me out of his site. He loved Red dearly and was the only one with her when she died. He tolerated Izzy until he loved her and Izzy never felt anything but utmost adoration for him. He set Miss Pico straight from the moment she showed up, letting her know the hierarchy of the household with a simple and gruff growl. We will always miss you, Gus. You we're our boy. I know you are there with beautiful Red, romping her up for a good run to keep her in shape. You two are waiting for us, while Lucy sheriff's the whole rainbow bridge population.

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've enlightened anyone out there with my witty observations about life, etc.  I am currently feeling the heat of yet another catering season blowing it's steamy breath into my eyes and causing my heart to pace a little quicker.  My bank account hungers for those caterings while my joints roll over and hit the snooze button.  I'm already plotting t-shirts . . ."I survived Catering Season '07"  TACODELI!!  I am looking forward to, to, to, ummmmmm, nothing.  I get more tattoos on my birthday, yippee.  I'm about to enroll in Introduction to WWW Authoring and XHTML, the first website design class at ACC Informal Learning.  Just creating a little backup plan if you know what I mean, hint, hint, wink, wink. These joints ain't gettin' any younger and I'll be damned if I'll be greeting losers at the local Wal-Mart in my 70's.  

Kindergarten is upon me and I have no idea what to do.  I'm terrified.  I can already see Jake graduating, and thank god, apparently he plans to have me live with him forever in order to show him how to make ramen and also tell him how to get to his best friend, Brandon's, house. He mentioned we needed to get beer first.  I have no idea where he got that idea!

Well, I've written more than I expected. Keep on keeping on and don't forget to stretch, breathe and smile, every hour, every minute.

Oh, swimming season is closing in on us. Don't forget to get your dunk on as much as you can in the next few weeks. The title is linked to Austin's pool schedule.

Sorry, I'm no photographer.

Run. Eat. Learn.

So, what I know now is that you have to create something cool in photoshop or illustrator, then create an image and html it into the blog. That is how I will make this blog lovely. And, I have got to get rid of the dots. They are starting to make me crazy. And how about this rain . . . oh my god. I lived in Portland, Oregon. This is much worse. I lived in Colorado. This is not as bad. I yearn for hot summer days and dips in the pool. I don't care what anyone says. Kindergarten starts in 4 weeks. We've got one week left of summer camp and our life as Jewish parents will slowly crawl to an end. Though my hopes are high that we might make frequent visits to the Jewish Community Center, the fact is that we won't. We never go there other than to drop Jake and pick him up and I'd rather spend my money on yoga and Gilbert's Gazelles. Joel has taken up running and it's been awesome. He has run up to 7 miles on one day and frequents 3-4 mile runs regularly. He looks awesome. I keep dreaming of consistent running but have lightly sprained my ankle twice just since I started messing around with it. My ambitions are high but I'm very much still committed to YAAC (yoga at all costs) which has been working out great for me. There are so many things to do and never enough time for all of it. I constantly struggle with time. Time for Jake, time for me, time for love and family, time for the dogs, time for the house. The struggle to balance is impossible and I really don't see where I am supposed to fit in any extracurricular learning. Maybe I should consider ritalin. Atleast I could focus long enough to learn how to sew. My own compelling need to fix this ugly blog will eventually force me to learn some HTML. Here's a tip for anyone who's chasing whatever latest fad diet that exists. One, those diets only work once. If you gain the weight back, they rarely work twice. Two, consider that you may look great just the way you are. Three, consider a lifetime change in diet. My bestest gal and hottie chickie friend, (you guess who you are) told me about her lifetime change years ago and I've done it twice and it always works. Drop wheat out of your life, consider dairy too if you are a huge cheese, ice cream type eater. I'm not. The wheat is my demon. Suddenly I'm not drinking beer, eating bread, flour tortillas, crackers, goldfish, etc. Immediately I drop water weight. It's awesome. Then I lean down, just a bit. Gotta exercise too. Don't forget your supplements if you skip dairy. I promise prettier blog and pictures. I'm lazy about uploading. Happy Raining!

Learning HTML!

Does anyone out there know HTML. I'm trying to teach it to myself. I can't stand not having control of my blog. I keep thinking about starting the web design program at ACC but then I think, this is stupid. I can learn HTML. Nonetheless, I'm very excited because I just changed the fonts on my blog and that is enough to put a smile on my face. Yippee. If you are trying to learn HTML, check out the link on this title. Oooh, just looking at the classes at ACC gets me excited. O.K. must go wake up the Jake.

New Destination

I'm not sure how heinous this is. But, I have moved my blog to wordpress.com. Just like any move, it's in shambles but I'm working on organizing it, and my blogging ambitions are rusty these days. I loved wordpress because of it's awesome templates and the fact that it fused my three blogs into one place, yogadenada, joanna fried poetry and redtruckbetty mamastuff. So, go check it out by hitting the title of this blog. Hope you follow me. I'm going to try to get busy hitting you with all kinds of new and exciting information about yoga and mamacrazies and maybe a bit of new poetry. Take care for now, and so sorry Blogspot. It was sweet while it lasted.

Nananananananana

Today is my birthday. Nananananananana. Gonna have a good time. Yes, today is my birthday and I'm guessing there arn't alot of you out there who actually read this and that's just fine because it's for me anyway, so that is why today, in this blog, I want to say one thing to myself . . .by the time I'm 50, I would like to have something that isn't a blog. Something that is more substantial than a blog. Screenplay, novel, book of poems. I don't care. But it must be something. So, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JOANNA. God, you look great for your age. Congratulations for maintaining a positive attitude all these years and sticking to your guns. I have a new mantra in life. If you hate your job, be happy you have a job. If you hate your belly, be happy you have food to eat. If you are frustrated with your house, be happy you have a house. Life is good, you have the option to change if if you don't like it. You get the picture. O.K. going to do yoga. Just wanted to put the dream on paper, on internet space. Etc.

Yoga, Halloween and Barack Obama

Someday . . .I will blog on my yoga blog, yogadenada. I started it, oh so long ago, and I've only written one entry. The words are swirling around in my head, desperate to get out, finally, they've worn down and found a dark corner to hide in, waiting patiently and speaking up when necessary. No surprise here that I believe that yoga is the number one best exercise ever. There are many styles of yoga, from the sedate, slow-moving Iyengar, to the more aerobic, strength-building hatha flow. I have never practiced Ashtanga, but I get the idea it's an ass-kicker. I am terrified. Nonetheless, yoga is not just about the body, it brings mind, body and spirituality together as one. If you can make yoga a regular practice in your life you will be flexible, strong, mentally healthy and feel a sense of oneness with those around you and the universe. And, if you like the idea of being happy and healthy well into your 90's and 100's, then I say, go out and buy a yoga mat today, sign-up for a few classes and get yogaing. It partners all activities well. O.K. now I'm going to collect my check from the Yoga Foundation.

Halloween! I love Halloween. Ours was fast and furious. Jake was Speed Racer and I was a super-hero that looked more like Billy Jean King gone Glam. I wasn't hot. Leading up to Halloween we hit a pumpkin patch, pics attached by Jake and myself. As in, Jake took the pictures, except for the crazy ones he is the subject of. We did pumpkin painting, pumpkin carving, caramel apples and then wrapped it up with trick or treating. My job is done. Moving on to Birthday (mine), Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's (um, bloody mary's in the backyard). I fucking love the Holidays. I'm not being a smartass. And for once in a long while, I think I'm feeling o.k. and mentally healthy for a change. Big question of the New Year, is Joanna dumb enough to get pregnant one more time? Yes, No, only time will tell. Back to Halloween. Jake was coming down with a cold and pooped out early. I had to take his heavy load of candy. The wierd thing was, he never ate it, didn't ask about it. Joel and I polished it off in two days. Wierd, very wierd, very, very wierd. He's into gum these days. Oops, he just asked about it. I guess I'm running to the store for some candy now.

If you haven't heard about Barack Obama, which I'm sure you have, check him out at the title link to this blog. He offers hope in the face of our nation's problems. Not that a Republican in the office is a problem (ahem), but a dumb-ass republican puppet who is an embarrassment to our country and misrepresents the people, continuouly making press blunders, is just the little whipped flowers on top of the icing on the cake. He's a small problem. A front man. We don't know who the big problem is because we arn't really sure just who's in charge. Barack Obama is (shhhhhh, don't tell anyone) ... Black. Can America diversify? Is America ready for diversity at that level? It would be new and refreshing to have a woman as president and it's unbelievable that a female president is even an issue, though probably not a great idea . . .we are a bit emotional . . ."I'm so pissed at China, they didn't compliment my nice red dress I bought especially for the meeting we had last night, bomb them damnit." I keep thinking Hillary's real reason to get into the presidential office is some evil revenge on Bill that the whole country is going to be forced to witness. Anyone other than a big, white goon in the office at this point would be great. What makes us think that being caucasian makes someone smarter or better informed at making decisions about America. Obama's belief and efforts are in-line with a more progressive way of running our country. He tackles issues of political corruption and his efforts are devoted to breaking this nation's horrible addiction to oil. His campaign title "The Audacity of Hope, Reclaiming the American Dream" is awesome. He's a visionary, and maybe a bit of an idealist, and we all know the country is ripe for a change in direction. Will he run for president? I don't know enough. I'm still trying to figure out who he is. He's young and I'm excited about the whole idea. When I was digging around looking at press on him I found this hilarious t-shirt site. If I didn't think I'd get punched by some asshole right-winger, I'd definitely wear "F*ck Republicans" with the donkey humping the elephant. Too fun. Or the retro-looking "I miss Bill" t-shirt, I have to buy that one. Enjoy our kooky spooky pumpkin pics. Jake and I had a blast taking photos. The last one's a finger. Verrrrrry artsy. I'm sure he meant to do it.

Whirling Words about the World

My latest addiction is Itunes Radio. I know everyone does it and I've done it forever but my awesome iMac, that doesn't serve much of a purpose other than feeding music at my workstation, sends ethereal ambient tunes from Drone Zone on SomaFM, served best chilled, safe with most medications. Since recently I've been spending a lot of time thinking about the mediocrity of the human race in comparison to the cosmos, it seems best to have a soundtrack reminiscent of space. The music actually has a vibration that resonates through my brain and compels a certain meditation. For those who don't know, my son Jake attends a religious school, the JCC-ECP, the Jewish Community Center-Early Childhood Program. It's awesome. It's a really wonderful school and though I am not religious AT ALL, I have no problem with their very beautiful education about God. If I have to align with a religion, I'll take God's chosen. Nonetheless, this is not a diatribe about religion, what I am embarking on here is that my son comes home with many questions and statements about God. "Why does god make the clouds?" was one. I skirted that one with "Do you think God is a man or a woman?". "Woman", my gorgeous, intelligent young son said. Good Boy. You see, I ain't raising no dummy. I also don't spend a lot of time skirting issues by the way. If he asks me about God, I quickly explain that some people believe that God created the world, but Science very clearly explains away (atleast to me) any chances of some ethereal sort creating the world in 7 days. I mean come on. It's pretty obvious that our ancestors are little hairy types and maybe even a few fishies. As a matter of fact, not to be insulting, but I would say that we are really more of a product of de-evolution as opposed to evolution. Once upon a time, there was a planet void of toxins, trash and war. Are we really anything more than a dirty little vermin, slowly killing off this planet like a nasty disease that no antibiotic can kill. All the other planets are pointing and laughing at Earth. Poor guy. He's got those nasty humans and he can't shake them no matter how many earthquakes, monsoons, hurricanes, etc. So sorry. I just had to get that off my chest. I think my mind wanders too much and sometimes, well, we as people just take our lives so seriously that we stop living it. We are so busy working to buy better cloths, houses, cars, jewelry, groceries, upgrading, not re-using, not recycling, not re-planting. Our world is a consumer world and we can't stop churning out more shit, way more than we are extinguishing, wouldn't you say? We are so consumed with the next buy, even me, I'm not placing myself outside of this guilt. I just can't get over consumption. Target, Wal-Mart, Sears, Home Depot. Is this product or trash? I know I rattle on all the time about this, but what are you and me and everyone else doing to make this a better world? A healthier planet? Life has to move outside our inner circle. We have to look at the bigger picture. I get an opportunity to meditate almost daily at the end of my yoga sessions. Recently, in the last year, I've started looking forward to these times and deeply appreciating the moment, I get excited. I used to think it was such a waste of time. Laying there, flat on my back, I sink into the earth and my mind opens to a broad space. I begin to have a sensation of lifting above the earth and being a part of everything. At that point my thoughts become so large (that's the word) that I can't herd them into any one place. I just grasp a greater sense of being and feel both very small yet connected to everything. Mind you, this is not a religious moment, it's a sensation that we are individually very small, but as a race we are great and can do huge things. As a population we can change direction. We can all meditate, for a brief time everyday and float into a bigger space and realize that we are both great and small in our minds. But if we put our minds together we can change the direction of a huge motion of negative energy and swooping wide, we can change the tide. Wanna try?

Real Parenting

O.K., it's 10:10pm and the hub is in the bedroom reading stories to Jake, not Jake's bedroom, our bedroom. It's all the same around here. Jake is drinking milk from a sippy cup and odds are he won't brush his teeth afterwards. Sometimes we do, sometimes we don't. We didn't eat supper until 8:30pm. Jake sat ON the table, not at the table. Me, Joel and Neighbor sat on the couch. We each had some form of alcohol, beer or wine. We watched Southpark.
Jake goes to school at 8:30am, atleast that's the idea. This morning he woke up at 8:15am. He really didn't want to wake up, but I sang a little ditty and blew mouthfarts on him, making rhyming tunes to words like fart and poop. I know it's bad, but hey, it makes him laugh and I laugh too. I managed to get him dressed, teeth brushed and hair hand-combed and out the door by 8:30am. Not sure how, it was a bit like being a drill sergeant. Did he eat breakfast? No! Damnit. Oh, I said "Damnit", I'm sure. "Oh shit!" is a big favorite too. "Oh Shit, I forgot your shoes." "Damnit Izzy, get out of the trash." You know, shit like that. I dropped him off at school, kisses and hugs and kisses and hugs and lots of "I love You". Life is good. I worked my fucking ass off all day but that's another story. I come skating up to the school at 2:40pm, 2:45pm is the last minute pick-up. Racing into the school, I clip a parent with dawdling kiddos, trying to make it before it is embarrassingly late. I waltz in to a wonderful closing of Jake playing outside with his classmates, "Mom, I don't want to leave yet." I breath a sigh of relaxation. "O.K.", I say. We hang out, then dawdle down to the Frog room. We hang out there too long because we simply love Jaqlyn too much, oh if only I could spell her name right. I am shamed by her wonderfully natural way of observation. As she reads over his class report, she asks Jake "What did you say you were sorry to God for Jake?", "I said I was sorry for talking so loud in class," said Jake. Ouch. Why didn't I ask that question. Moving on. We dallied there for awhile then ran off to finish my work day at TACODELIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!! In the car I asked Jake what Dad and I should say we are sorry for to God. I won't get into it too much, but let me just say that it turns out that Jake isn't missing alot around here, as in, he does know exactly what we should feel bad about. O.K. now we know Jake's an observant little booger. We went to Tacodeli where I promptly gave him a chocolate chip cookie and lemonade so that he would let me finish up work. We got home and he did awesome artwork and colored and watched T.V. while I worked even a bit more. Then, YEAH!, we went to the park where he played with Zoe and dreamed of playing soccer and being in kindergarten. When we got home he asked me if boys took ballet. "Why yes," I said, with great delight I might add (Joel's eyes were rolling). I ran to get my New York Ballet workout tape to show him just such types of fellows. He lost interest immediately. Jake just got out of bed and asked to brush his teeth and pee. Then he crawled back into bed with Dad. I'm gonna go take a shower and crawl in next to him. Fuck you Parenting Magazine. We co-sleep, we single sleep, Jake sleeps in his own bed and our bed and sometimes I sleep in his bed alone. I say fart and poop and there is no fucking way that ignoring it is going to make him stop saying it. This kid is way too smart for that. He's already signed his forms for class clown of 3rd grade. Dad's been priming him since birth. This is a real day in the real life of a parent of a 4-year-old. I wish we could be better. We did get broccoli and salad in him for dinner. I'm feeling good about that one. I just can't take the pressure of proper parenting anymore. We are animals, we breed, we raise our brood. I can't keep up with the many new fangled ways of raising kids. Americans who raise thier children by the book, end up with cows. Sure, they travel in herds, but you can't tell one from the other. I'll take my crazy zebra-striped Hyena anyday. He's one of a kind.

Swim like you think yer dyin'!

Can you stop time? Have you ever wanted to? How about for one or two hours a day you just shut the world off and forget that your job sucks, you can't pay your bills, your house is dirty, your ass is too big, whatever. I've got the secret . . . It's called swimming. You know, you've heard of it, right? You did it when you were a kid. No dumbass, not that shit where you put on goggles and a cap and ear plugs and drudge along back in forth in those boring fucking lanes, counting strokes and getting that silly exercise stuff. I'm talking about good old heart-thumpin', chlorine-stinkin', swim-suit losin' swimming. Jumping in with yer knees up to your chest, back-slapping, ass-kicking fun. Actually, I'm not much for jumping, but the other day Jake and I put on our goggles and started exploring the deep end of our neighborhood Brentwood Park pool. Since then, nary a day goes by that we don't make it there for a quick underwater expedition. I have found that for a couple of hours a day I actually forget that I'm miserable in my life, unable to decipher a single bit of it. For a little while, I'm Joanna, the 8-year-old, swimming underwater, blowing bubbles up to the top and sitting on the bottom of the pool. I can remember showing up at the pool at opening time in Tulia, Texas. I'd ride my blue 10-speed the four or five miles to the pool and stay till closing, everyday, all summer long. Flirting with the cute life-guards and eating lunch at the snack bar, I was a brown bean, just like The Jakey now. Who new about skin cancer? I'm sucking at that whole concept even now. I don't think I even wore sunscreen back then. These last few days of Jake's summer I'm showing him the way of the underwater world. Everything beats slower down there, everyone flows. I'm creating this concept of underwater yoga. It's beautiful. So, if you haven't made it out to the pools yet, I think you have one more month. Pull out that moldy old swimsuit, slather on some 50 spf, and get some Vitamin D. The sun isn't all that evil. You'll find us there, looking like racoons in our goggles, popping up for air. Hit the title for a link and find a free pool near you.