Monday, May 30, 2016

Weekending with Team WestEnders

So...Memorial Day...pools, picnics, parades, am I right? Um...not so much for Team WestEnders. First, we had another soccer extravaganza to work around--this time, Riley's team's season-ender in Greensboro. On Day 1, Husband took the first game, since it involved a 9:30 start time, for which the coach wanted them to arrive at 8:30...and an hour-and-a-quarter commute. Since he's a much more...pleasant and alert...morning person, it actually was in everyone's best interests for Dad to escort our U14 player to his match. Around midday, I took to the road to meet them before the second shift, to switch off and allow Husband the afternoon at home. Thus I was able to spend a lovely couple of hours in the sunshine, watching my defender run around with his squad in what turned out to be a handy 4-2 victory to cap the day.

Day 2, however, threatened to be a bit...dicey...with the weather forecast threatening the possibility of quite a bit of precipitation, due to fallout from Tropical Storm Bonnie. Husband offered to--literally--take one for the team, stating reasonably, "It doesn't make much sense for two of us to be out in showers and thunderstorms....and I'm far more likely to stand in the rain and watch a game than you are, right?" Oh, sooooo true, dear. And thank you! Extra props, too, because it was even his birthday, and he still chose to do the Soccer Duties, rather than lie around eating Cheetos and watching ESPN all day. (Not that, you know, he actually would stoop to consuming artificial-cheese-dust-covered puffs...and he does love standing on the sidelines cheering during the kids' sporting events....so yeah, in all honesty he wasn't at all put out by the "sacrifice" : )

Oddly enough, it POURED in Chapel Hill, all morning, but stayed completely dry, just an hour west where they were holding the Wrangler/McDonald's Tournament. (Yeah, don't as me why it was sponsored by jeans...and poor quality fast food. These things do NOT seem to fit with athletics at all, but I'm not a marketer, so what do I know?) Arsenal didn't fare as well on Sunday, racking up a 1-0 loss and a 0-0 tie in shortened contests (which the organizers had decided to do, just in case the skies suddenly opened up...but they never did...eh, meteorology--whattya gonna do?). But Riley greatly enjoyed spending one last hurrah with his teammates, before they all go their separate ways--as some will be moving up to a higher age group, and others will be split among the two different levels of the league, depending on which one they opted to try out for in 2016-17.

Given the busyness of the regular weekend Saturday and Sunday, we found ourselves verrrry thankfully looking forward to that special element that comes with a holiday: Bonus Vacation Monday. A whole, free 24-hours to do absolutely NOTHING, yeah? Well....sort of...at least until Derek spoke the fateful words that I've come to expect every couple of months: "Mom, when can we go shoe shopping?" Siiiighhhhhh. Is it that time again already? At least we've got it down to a science by now--drive to the outlet center about a half-hour away, make a beeline straight for Nike and Under Armour (conveniently across from each other), pull out credit card, try not to think about the number as you sign the "Accept Outrageous Total" screen.

This time, we did have one slight detour to add to our trip; a stop at Columbia Outdoor Wear for a...bucket hat...as Derek so adorably calls it. Let me explain: you see, the Sophomore Posse like to roam around in the Carolina North Forest, adjacent to our neighborhood. Frankly, I'm not entirely sure what they do in there, besides stroll next to the creek...and apparently there's been some talk of "fishing"...whatever that might mean to these suburban boys. Anyway, last time Derek returned from hours spent tromping among the woodsy paths, the nape of his neck was bright red. I admonished him--as I've done repeatedly--that he needs to be more aware of applying sunblock. His slightly huffy reply was, "Hey, I was wearing a HAT!"

I glared at him and, in a tone of "Are you freakin' KIDDING me with this?" retorted, "You're aware that a baseball cap only covers your face, right? With an expression of "Oops...hoped to slip that one right by her" he sheepishly admitted, "Yeah...I know." I continued, "What you need is something with a brim all the way around, like a safari-type." He brightened considerably, "I'd wear one of those, if I had one!" So that's why we browsed the Columbia store, searching for an acceptable Indiana Jones- meets-teenager style of headgear. With that crucial mission accomplished, we could focus on our main objective, the footwear replacement plan.

Each kid required two pairs, this time (GULP!) so I let them loose in the aisles and got out of their way, until it was time to do the...painful paying portion...of our errand. At this point, I don't even need to give them the "stay away from anything over x-dollars" speech; they know it by heart. There was one amusing moment, however, when Derek earnestly asked, "Okay, Mom, so I'm gonna pick out one nice pair, and one K-Mart Special, right?" (Yes, we were still in the Nike emporium, by the way...frighteningly close to the $150 Lebrons that he knows darn well not even to think of mentioning...so NOT your discount bargain basement. And that brings up another question: the child's never, to my knowledge, been near a K-Mart....how the HECK does he even know what one IS? Their reputation for cheap merchandise precedes them? That is so unfortunate for a brand...)

I understood what he meant, but I shook my head and laughed anyway, prompting him to clarify, "Like, one pair that I'd use for school, and another for just goofing around, but that I wouldn't want to wear everywhere."(Oh, I get it, son....it's just that your "channeling an adolescent girl" moments are so few and far between that they still take me by surprise. Never in a million years would have guessed that you cared which shoes people spotted on your feet...or that some sneakers were "cooler" than others for guys. Anyway, carry on...)

And with that, luckily we were done--and without too much damage to the bank account, I'm happy to report. It was time to head home...but did I forget to mention that Derek was our chauffeur on this fine excursion? I tell ya, that boy still needs supervised practice hours by the dozens, so we've begun grabbing at any excuse for him to get his butt in the driver's seat. In this case, he had to maneuver on a narrow, shoulder-less, windy, hilly road--that he'd never driven before--for 20 minutes or so, followed by a couple of exits on Route 40. To his credit, he quickly figured out that NC 86 required his full attention and both hands tightly gripping the wheel in order for him to maintain control. And I sat very calmly on the passenger's side, a picture of serenity and confidence--no, really, he did fine, so it was mostly non-nerve-wracking...as much as possible, at least, when you're placing your life in the hands of a 16-year old newbie with fewer than 20 hours of experience under his belt...ooh, best not to think of that...forget I said anything...

I bring this up because the final adventure of our day involved Derek gaining some new insight and a valuable lesson...in how to fill up the gas tank. That's right, Husband's car was very low on fuel, and son had never performed this task before, so he got the full "swipe payment card, enter zip code, insert nozzle, select grade, set handle to automatically stay on, replace nozzle on pump, print receipt, close gas cap"...tutorial.  Whole. New. Worlds, I tell ya. Soon he'll be ready for the open road...well...it'll probably still be quite a while, but I feel like I did my part to help out the cause...at least for today.

And so, here we are...at the "rest, relax and refresh" portion of our 3-day respite. Tomorrow, it's back to school and work and...whatnot...but for a few hours, we are livin' la vida loca! Or, I mean...LOUNGING...yeah, that's more like it...aaaaahhhhh....

Thursday, May 26, 2016

New Age Healing? Bring It On!

If you've been with me for a while, you might recall that last year I was hit by a severe bout of...big honkin' pain in my left hand. It turned out to have an actual medical condition associated with it, which was Thumb Arthritis. Now, I KNOW it sounds like I'm making that up, because ...really? How could that be an actual thing? But I assure you that I did not learn this on WebMD; fully-educated, certified, licensed doctor-type people diagnosed it. The good news/bad news of the situation could be summed up thusly: it was confined to only that one area, rather than affecting my entire body like osteoarthritis typically does...but as I mentioned previously, it huuuurrrrrt like a...son of a gun.

The only..."traditional treatment"...the medical field offered me was to try a month of what I referred to as "i-squared"...ice and (large doses of) Ibuprofen, which made--let's see, how shall I put this--not one freakin' bit of difference. When I reported back in just as much agony as I'd started with, I felt I had no choice but to agree to the next step, which was a Cortisone Shot of Desperation. Besides the immediate effect of causing me to nearly faint (this has happened with both cortisone injections I've received, adding to my...reluctance...to resort to this tactic) the anti-inflammatory properties did last...for about a year.

Aaannnnd, here we are, with the discomfort having returned...and even increased...to the point that I Can't. Stand. It. Anymore...again. However, it's impossible to stress how much I'm NOT interested in another needle. And the only other option mentioned to me was surgery--so yeeeaaah, that's not gonna happen unless absolutely necessary. What, then, to do next? Well, I happen to live in an environment positively teeming with alternative practitioners of all kinds--acupuncturists, massage therapists, naturopaths, herbalists; you name it, and you can probably find it around here. So I did some Googling, (of course) and found a few folks who sounded promising, in that they all spoke of using holistic methods to care for the whole person. This included such components as identifying the underlying causes of outward symptoms, and dealing with problems in such a way that balance is restored to the entire body system...and...so on.

Sign me right the heck up! Seriously, though, I chose someone who attended a 4-year medical school and obtained a degree in naturopathic medicine. She also has a Master's in environmental studies, which she says gives her insight into how the world around us impacts our well-being. So far, LOVE it. I just went for the first consultation, which involves an hour-long...in-depth conversation, basically. This was not your standard "paper gown" examination, however; it involved her reviewing the online intake form I'd filled out prior to the appointment...line by line and in extraordinary detail. She wanted to know what I eat, how I sleep, how I spend my free time, my health concerns, any remedies or techniques I've already tried, my commitment level to addressing the issue...in addition to all the usual "medical stuff" that doctors generally ask when they meet you.

It was honestly exhausting...and yet reassuring at the same time. She took copious notes (on the computer) and devised an initial plan to get the ball rolling. Updated blood work, to test...a whole bunch of stuff I didn't really catch. Iron was in there, and...maybe cholesterol...Vitamin D...um, she mentioned something about thyroid function...that's all I can dredge up from memory. She also instructed me to keep a food diary for a few days--which I utterly HATE doing, and I told her that, but I'll suck it up because that's just how much I want to feel better, damn it.

And she gave me (well "recommended that I purchase") two supplements to start taking right away: a fish oil one (not having quite as strong a philosophical problem with creatures who swim, rather than roam on land, I consented to this); and a pain relief tablet with turmeric in it (the only word on the label I recognized). Furthermore, she stated that she'll be changing the vitamins and minerals I already use, as my go-to brands--based solely on cost, truthfully--apparently don't cut it in terms of purity or reliability of ingredients. (Oops...who knew?)

When we reconvene in a week, we'll discuss the labs, the nutrition log (and by the way, does anyone else feel like this might be somewhat of a...flawed measure? For me, anyway, having to track what I put in my mouth...makes me automatically think more about my choices...thereby skewing the sample. Or am I just thinking too much, as usual? Ahem...putting down the pretzels and marshmallow fluff...picking up carrots...sigh...), and any changes that may have occurred since kicking off the new regimen. She also mentioned a phrase that struck dread to my very core...Elimination Diet. (Aaaahhhhhh! Okay, I'm fine now...at least until I actually have to, you know, DO it...) It's something I've considered in the past, but dismissed as impossible to manage on your own. Perhaps with the guidance and support of a professional, it won't be the nightmare I'm anticipating...fingers crossed...

Overall, I have to say that I am optimistic in the early going. After a solid month of being in pretty constant pain with little to no variation in the intensity, my hand and wrist seemed noticeably less achy and swollen today. With ONE DAY'S doses of the turmeric....voodoo...crystal healing...witch doctor medicine (as Husband so supportively describes it--not a believer, that one, in case you were wondering...). I know what some of you are thinking, "placebo effect", blah blah blah. All I can tell you is that I'm not wincing and ouch-ing every time I pick something up, for the first time in quite a while. It's a start...and I'll take it! Time for my next pill...and to add that Hershey's miniature dark chocolate bar to my Diet Diary...doh!

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Tourney Time

Team WestEnders...and Team Arsenal (Riley)...and Team USA Bronze (Derek) are heading into the soccer homestretch, with two tournament weekends bookending the league's tryouts for next year's squads. First up: a return to the Seaside Classic for the U16s--3 matches in Wilmington, North Carolina (near the beach, as the clever title suggests).

Last year, Husband and Derek attended this one, as it conflicted with some makeup games that had been tacked onto the end of Riley's team's schedule at the last minute, due to rainouts during the regular season. Of special note to today's tale: when they returned from their weekend at the shore in 2015, both travelers wryly reported that the hotel room booked by the team manager--located in one of the so-called "approved venues" that you're required to patronize, according to the tournament organizers, mind you--was...um..."not up to your standards, Mom" as Derek so succinctly stated.

So this year, Derek's entire cheering section (okay, let's be honest, here: his supportive parents...and the younger brother who was dragged along arbitrarily) were available to accompany him on his eastbound journey. Husband and player set off Friday night, in order to sleep at the hotel--near the fields, to facilitate a quick and easy jaunt to the first game. Riley and I planned to make the drive on Saturday and join them sometime in the afternoon, well before the second contest at 6 p.m.

As it turned out, I'm kind of glad I missed the first round....as the summary from Husband described the conditions of the field they'd been assigned to as..."a quagmire". He went on to relate how the players had been forced to repeatedly pull their cleats out of the muck to even attempt running...passes died in puddles, a few feet after being sent...and balls that bounced sent up a spray of mud and water when they landed. In short, it sounded atrocious--and Derek's team was pummeled, score-wise, as well. Thus we discovered ourselves facing an extremely tired...and somewhat grumpy....young man (who seemed determined to recover by lying on the bed and binge-watching SportsCenter. Eh, seems perfectly reasonable to me...)

However, in a stroke of amazing luck, not only had it stopped raining by 3:00-ish, when Riley and I rolled in...but the sun broke through and burned away the clouds...leaving us with a stunning window of  "it's 80 degrees and the beach is calling me". Therefore Husband, Riley and I left the lethargic teen and hightailed it to the ocean for at least a brief sand-and-surf respite. As we drove around searching for a public parking spot, I was astonished at the number of people occupying the shoreline...and even IN the water. In May. And NOT just small children who have no thermostat and are impervious to the cold, either--dozens of people of all ages romping in the waves. It was a wee bit chilly for me to completely submerge myself...but I did get in up to my knees, just to bond with the sea...or whatever.

I could have happily gone home right then, but...oh, right: another soccer game. This time, the groups seemed evenly-matched, and Derek's team played tough, but they still lost. Oh well...at least there's DINNER to cheer up an athlete who just endured a disheartening day of defeat. Husband Googled, and found a locally-owned-and-operated joint called Islands Fresh Mex Grill, where you pick your burrito, or taco, or what have you, and tell the employees everything you want them to throw on it. (Yeah, kind of like Chipotle...but without the...food-borne illness factor...) Y-U-M...

Then...sadly...we had no choice but to head back to the hotel. Oh, did I forget to mention (or, you know, "try to block out from memory") the...icky...establishment that had been reserved for us? Let's just say that Husband and Derek deemed it "worse than last year". Okay, because this is ME, let's go a little further, shall we? The whole room felt...damp. I refused to walk on the carpet without shoes because it grossed me out. The air conditioner made a completely obnoxious, ear-splitting rattling sound when it ran. The beds managed to be A) hard; B) lumpy; C) rickety to the point that they sometimes clanked when you sat or moved on them. (And if all that weren't bad enough, they were doubles, which we've already figured out aren't big enough for us to actually share with each other--we may not be particularly large people...but we do like our space.)

Suffice it to say that except for dozing off a couple of times, I didn't sleep at all on Saturday night. Right...whoo hoo--let's get up and do this thing again! Derek only had one more match on the agenda, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, they shortened it to only 20-minute halves rather than the usual 40. So it was a relatively quick and painless morning...and a nice 2-0 victory to end the tournament on a high note. Then there was nothing left to do but trek back to Chapel Hill...after a quick stop at the facilities to allow our mud-covered soccer guy to change into something a little less...filthy...and smelly.

So, this was definitely a mixed bag, in terms of weekend getaway. On the down side: a couple of games in not-fun terrain, with not-favorable results...and a decidedly less-than-stellar hospitality site. On the other hand, in the plus column: an unexpected gift of superb beach weather for a few hours...a delicious dining experience...and one last win for U16 Bronze before they go their separate ways. Now we're back home, where we can luxuriate in our own beds and rest up...oh cr...ud...tomorrow's MONDAY, isn't it? Work, and school, and tryouts, and...yikes--GOOD NIGHT, ALL!

Thursday, May 19, 2016

Tribute to a Teacher

In high school I was fortunate enough to be taught by many excellent educators over the years. But there were a handful that—even at the time, as a smart-aleck, know-it-all teenager—I recognized as being something rare and special. These were people that I remember thinking to myself, “They’re so smart and so talented that they could probably be doing anything they want with their lives….yet they’re choosing to spend their time with US.” Sure, that might suggest they had a wee bit of…masochism…inherent in their personalities, but undoubtedly they brought passion and dedication to the classroom, so much so that they even got through to the toughest of audiences: angst-ridden adolescents.

One of these individuals was Mr. Miller, who imparted to me his seemingly vast knowledge of Psychology and AP U.S. History. Well, let me tell you, that was 30 years ago, and I still have a couple of papers tucked away from good old Psych. You see, Mr. Miller wouldn’t just grade your test or your reflection paragraph and give it back with a big red number at the top for you to immediately shove into your binder (or the garbage can) and forget. Rather, you might find the page covered with personal commentsreactions to what you’d written, or questions about your thoughts, or even continuations of conversations you’d begun during class time and not had a chance to finish before the bell rang. I found myself looking forward to getting my assignments back and perusing the notes…and I probably absorbed nearly as much from those constructive extra exchanges as I did from the textbook (which also couldn’t have been remotely as entertaining)!

And then…there was AP History. For some unknown--yet definitely cruel and unusual--reason, that particular subject was scheduled for the unholy hour of 8 a.m. On the first day of the school year, our merry little band (of drowsy, grumpy young adults) tromped out to Mr. Miller’s portable, to be met by his unfailingly cheerful countenance. I’ll never forget it: he sat on his desk (not “at”, actually “on top of”) and addressed us informally. He welcomed us to class and introduced himself by telling us that it was fine with him if we called him Tony.

As we sat there, most likely gaping in shock at a respected elder (ish) making such a preposterous announcement, he continued, unperturbed, “It’s far too early for this, so here’s what we’re going to do. Everyone contribute a dollar, and we’ll buy a hot pot. The first person to arrive each day will go inside the main building and fill it up with water. Bring a mug and whatever you like to drink—coffee, tea, hot chocolate—and that’s how we’ll start our mornings.” And then, as we continued to struggle to process the fact that a teacher—an authority figure—would treat us this way (you know…like mature, reasonable human beings, instead of the idiot high schoolers we actually were), he couldn’t seem to help adding, with a twinkle in his eye that we would come to recognize and expect, “Anyway, the rules say that I’m not allowed to eat or drink in here unless you are, so that’s how we’ll take care of it.”

And just like that, he set the tone for one of the most rigorous, yet enjoyable academic experiences of my life. We absolutely needed our caffeine, because he had a whole boatload of stuff to teach us--the intensity of which was belied by his easygoing manner and ready smile.

That, to me, is Tony—Mr. Miller—in a nutshell: under his pleasant exterior, he was TOUGH…but he never failed to make it FUN…and somehow, without you even catching on, he made you a better student along the way. Not to mention helping sow and nurture the seeds of curiosity for someone who to this day considers herself an avid “lifelong learner”. And for that, I will be eternally grateful

Mr. Miller’s headed off to a well-earned retirement when this school year concludes. From a former student—and fan—I want to thank him from the bottom of my heart.  To quote Tolkien, “Not all those who wander are lost”, and I hope wherever his life’s journey takes him next comes with joy, wonder…and always, a nice, hot beverage!

Sunday, May 15, 2016

A tiring topic...

Tomorrow marks a very noteworthy event in the lives of Team WestEnders: Husband's and my 18th wedding anniversary. And while remaining committed to someone for this long is quite an accomplishment and worthy of celebration, blah blah blah...it's also not without its...challenges. For example, I recently began spending my nights in the guest room. No, no, don't worry--it's not due to the presence of dramatic conflict or upheaval in our relationship...weeeellll...yeah...actually, it kind of IS. Okay, let me explain: you see, Husband has always been what you might call a...not exactly "snorer"...the best I can describe it is...let's say "loud breather".

I know, it doesn't sound that bad, but trust me, when you're lying a foot away, and he's imitating some kind of, I don't know...long-distance runner, panting at the finish line of a demanding race...it tends to disrupt one's attempts at peaceful slumber...or at least MINE. Now, I'm sure this...deep respiration...is a fantastic skill for, say, meditating--but somehow in our otherwise silent room I just cannot force myself to tune it out. So I lie there, gritting my teeth, seething with frustration and escalating stress...until I finally give up, grab my pillow and huff out of there to seek quieter pastures...um "sleeping quarters".

And then, if this weren't trouble enough, before his mother's surgery he was feeling understandably anxious...which led to a certain amount of restlessness during the wee hours...causing him to flop around frequently as he changed positions...and thus shaking the entire bedframe. So basically, I was sharing space with a snuffling...grizzly bear-type creature, whose nocturnal cacophony and seismic rumblings combined to make our...cave...unlivable.

After a couple of weeks of this, when I had resigned myself to possibly being forever self-banished to the dungeon...right, "spare room", Husband finally asked what was going on. I proceeded to enlighten him regarding his nighttime behavior, which resulted in a puzzled expression and the question, "Didn't you used to be able to just poke me, and I'd turn over and quiet down?" (Ah, yes, the Good Old Days...how fondly I remember them...)

"Yeah...about that..." I replied, "You appear to have developed a resistance to my previously successful...Hibernation Management Techniques." (The added "Thanks for that, by the way," was unspoken, but totally implied...) Possessing that standard male problem-solving gene, he continued to brainstorm, "How about earplugs?" Demonstrating the female figure-it-out trait, I answered, "Tried several pairs. Those that are comfortable enough to actually wear, don't drown you out at ALL...and those that do mask the noise are too painful for me to use."

Therefore, temporarily stymied by this apparently-unsolvable dilemma, he moved on to something he actually could address: the nightly earthquakes. Again, being of the Y-Chromosome Club, he happily dug out tools to tighten the bolts on the wooden bedframe, and also moved the mattresses just a smidge further apart--so theoretically, motion won't transfer as easily from one to the other. (Clarification, in case you're confused: we have Twin mattresses, each being crafted of organic latex in personalized layers that we chose to match our individual preferences for firmness level--kind of like Sleep Number, but all-natural materials. Then they're shoved together to make a King-size. But the two halves are outfitted separately as well, because we have wildly different temperature needs...I know, we're soooo complicated, right? Ah, marriage...)

Furthermore, he also promised to try to roll over more...gently? Less violently? (Believe me, either one would be appreciated...) I expressed skepticism that he could actually control this, while conked out, but he informed me that he usually wakes up when he shifts. (See? He even shakes himself into consciousness, so I'm not crazy! Or...super-sensitive...or whatever...) So he thinks he should be able to mindfully avoid setting off the tidal waves we've been experiencing.

Yep, Operation Serene Snoozing has commenced...aaannnnnd we'll see how it goes. And that, folks, is today's tale of marital compromise...and the lesson of how sometimes it's necessary on even the smallest of issues. (Wait, on second thought, getting enough rest is actually a critical element for a happy life...as it directly relates to someone--ME--not becoming a sleep-deprived, grouchy pain-in-the-patootie.) Now, what do I want to commemorate 18 years of togetherness? Oh, that's easy: A NICE, LOOOOONG NAP! (zzzzzz......)

Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Color my world (preferably with sparkles...)

This past Christmas, a coworker gifted all of us at the office with coloring books made for adults, designed by a friend of hers, and filled with uplifting inspirational sayings in gorgeous artistic formats. At the time I remember being immediately struck by how stunning it was, and what a clever idea…but I also wondered if I’d ever actually, you know…sit down and apply myself to any of the pages. I mean, I felt a little bit silly even considering it—even though coloring is something I absolutely loved to do as a child, who has time for it when they’re all grown up and busy with…responsibilities…and chores…and whatnot?  

However…perhaps it was the spirit of the holiday season, but I did purchase a box of crayons…just in case I got motivated to…unleash my inner youngster….or some such nonsense. And, well, I am a girl, so I just had to go with the Mermaid Shimmer option, because really, how could you NOT? And then…my lovely tools of colorful expression sat on a shelf…pristine and untouched…for months.
Meanwhile, it seems that this whole concept of “adult coloring books” went and became a bona fide craze, dude! Suddenly they’re everywhere, and being touted as the next big thing in, I don’t know…stress management? Meditation through Crayola? Making pretty pictures…for those with zero artistic talent?

Whatever the case may be, I found a valid excuse to give it a try when my mother-in-law had surgery recently. I wanted to send her some get-well cards, and it struck me that it would be the perfect opportunity to include a…semi-hand-crafted motivational message…as an extra personal touch. Also, of course, I’d get to spend a few minutes ignoring my household tasks…I mean “designing a page that I’d carefully selected for the recipient—with her unique qualities in mind.”

Riiiiight…okay, confession: I chose a message based on the simplicity of the layout--because let’s face it, it was already 11:30, I should have been calling it a night, and I wanted to do a good job and end up with something nice…but it couldn’t take hours and hours. So I cracked open my brand new crayons—and seriously, is there anything better than a fresh box, with the points all perfect and the possibilities wide open? Before the inevitable occurs: the popular shades (your bright, crisp Primaries and Secondaries) get used repeatedly, and worn down, while their…less appealing cousins (Tan…boring! Muddy orange…ick!) remain unappreciated and virtually untouched? Or is that just me? Am I going all…nerd-nostalgic…on y’all? (Sorry…where was I?)

Yeah…I pulled out my white sheet of untapped potential…and started scribbling all over that sucker. Hahahahahaha! Whew, just kidding! Now, I don’t recall what kind of…color…er…I used to be in my misspent youth, but as a big kid, I remain vigilant so that I stay strictly within the lines. Moreover, I do my best to evenly cover all of the blank space, with neat, precise strokes. You know what this means, right? OH MY GOSH MY CONTROL-FREAK TENDENCIES EVEN SPILL OVER INTO A CHILD’S RECREATIONAL ACTIVITY, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

Well...that was certainly an eye-opening bit of self-revelation, let me tell ya. But wait, it gets worse—I even found myself making sure that I put aside the colors I’d already chosen, so that I wouldn’t repeat. Oh, and I tried to plan the pattern so the hues that ended up next to each other didn’t clash. Sigh…at least I can state with great conviction that I did, indeed, find it to be a peaceful, rewarding exercise, (even with the…compulsive organization… factored in….) and seeing the finished product brought immense satisfaction.

So I can now send my good wishes off into the Universe (or, you know, “South Carolina”) and hope that they bring a smile to my mother-in-law when she opens the envelope. Maybe she’ll even hang it on her refrigerator—won’t that be a funny conversation when neighbors come by to check on her? “Oh, how sweet! Did your grandsons make that for you?” “Um…no…it’s from their mother. Noooo, she’s not undergoing art therapy as part of a mental health program…she’s just…expanding her horizons, or something…”


In fact, I enjoyed the experience so much, I’m going to tackle a more intricate design next time. Oooh…it might just require more than my 16 Mermaid Shimmer roster…and also more than 10 minutes before bedtime. So if a one-of-a-kind, made-for-you creation shows up in your mailbox, you’ll know it’s from yours truly. Feel free to display it in your kitchen…and tell visitors whatever you want about your goofy friend from Chapel Hill! (I’ll be too Zen to mind….while still coloring inside the lines, mind you…)

Sunday, May 8, 2016

A lovely day in Mayberry...um "Chapelboro"

It's no secret that my first plan, once I'd made up my mind that it was high time for Team WestEnders to get the heck out of Dodge--um "Maryland"--involved trekking cross-country to relocate on the other coast, in California. When that proved to be...unpopular (with my family)...and unsanctioned (by Husband's employer)...the adult members of our squad rallied to formulate Plan B. Selecting North Carolina was easy, based on some of the criteria that were important to us: abundant natural beauty, including proximity to both mountainous terrain and coastal environs; as well as a wide variety of outdoor activities...and the temperate weather in which to properly enjoy them.

Narrowing down the particular section that we preferred within the region wasn't all that difficult, either. We were leaving an area that provided excellent education, fabulous cultural offerings, and just...lots of stuff to do...which meant that we would settle for nothing less from our new surroundings. This brought us to Chapel Hill, built around the venerable UNC, home to arguably the best school district in the state, and all-around charming with its adorable small-town atmosphere--while at the same time being within a short distance of the additional, extensive dining, sports, theater, and entertainment options in nearby Durham and the capital city of Raleigh.

From there, it was "simply" a matter of house-hunting, and finding both the home and the neighborhood that felt like the right fit for our family. And whattya know...we ended up in a tree-filled development, bordering a patch of land criss-crossed by miles of paths open to walkers, runners, and bikers (the Carolina North Forest, owned by UNC), and inhabited by many families with kids the same ages as ours. Now, when we moved in, we knew we were 3 miles from the university (and what that meant in terms of exposure to both the academic and...extra-curricular...lifestyles). But what we weren't yet aware of was the fact that another tiny little 'burb lay directly between us and Chapel Hill. However, we soon discovered the unique character of Carrboro--or "Hippietown" as Derek insists on calling it.

Not that my Generation Z child (Hold on--I looked that up so I'd know what term to use, but is that really a thing? Sounds fishy to me...eh, we'll go with it, 'cuz the Internet NEVER fibs, right?) would know a hippie from a hipster, mind you, but he means it in a "peace, love, creativity" kind of way, not as a put-down. And I've gotta say...he's not wrong. Case in point, these signs have popped up in most of the windows overlooking the central thoroughfare, as a result of--and protest against--the reviled HB2 law (Biting my tongue to curtail hotheaded rant expressing my thoughts on the subject...) Ahhh, Carrboro. This just kind of sums up the vibe: inclusive, friendly, accepting.

And to further explain its appeal, you've got Weaver Street Market (a local co-op)...one-of-a-kind boutiques...independent salons...an impressive year-round farmer's market...funky restaurants and coffee cafes....natural practitioners of the whole gamut of non-traditional medical therapies...multiple bicycle shops...small night clubs...and not one, but TWO stores selling actual vinyl albums. Are you getting the idea that I L-O-V-E this quirky place? One of the things I like best is that on any given day--but particularly on gorgeous Spring afternoons such as we enjoyed this weekend--there are swarms of folks out-and-about...strolling, shopping, noshing, exercising, people-watching, and what have you.

So, one day recently when I was engaged in a similar endeavor, I happened to catch sight of a mural that I hadn't noticed before, between two buildings. This reminded me that, up and down the main streets of both Chapel Hill and Carrboro, there are a plethora of decorated walls--which you really can't appreciate unless you're on foot rather than driving by at 30 mph. Thus I decided that for my Saturday workout this week I would undertake a self-guided Art Tour, and photograph some of the colorful expressions. Aaaannnnd...(dah dah dah DAH) here are a few of my favorites:

First, the one that started it all for me, on the Jade Palace restaurant. I hadn't taken the time to read all the detail previously, which I learned describes the signs of the Chinese zodiac. Pretty cool...
Then there's the Mellow Mushroom, which although it's technically a chain eatery, still bears some amazing pictures to jazz up its exterior. The one below is super-easy to miss, in an alley near UNC's entrance. However, it's also close to where I go to get my hair cut, so I stumbled across it when meandering from my parking spot to the salon one day. I think it must be updated regularly as well, because it has Black Lives Matter and Je Suis Charlie represented among the many drawings that make up the collage effect.

This one is just iconic--everyone who lives here or visits the city probably has the same picture...but it's gorgeous, nonetheless. (And slightly unexpected, as it faces away from the hubbub of Franklin Street. Thus if you don't know to also explore the parallel Rosemary, you might miss it. So, consider yourself fully informed...you're welcome...)



We love this one, because it makes you look twice when you first encounter it...and then laugh out loud because it's so clever and unexpected. The entire thing is of course a painting...of two kids filling in a color-by-numbers painting...and it continues around the front of the structure as well. It makes me smile every time I pass it...



 And finally, back to Carrboro for a silly, amusing end to our journey. Not possessing even an ounce of artistic talent myself, I'm in awe of the people who envisioned and realized these special projects, and I'm grateful for the beauty and whimsy they lend to our little corner of the world. And after an hour and a half of wandering around in the sunshine, I'm also thankful for the aforementioned java joints...where I can feel invited  to "come as you are"...and slake my thirst with a locally-roasted iced coffee. Mmmmm....peace...out!

Thursday, May 5, 2016

T-G-I (Almost) F!

One consequence of Team WestEnders moving to North Carolina was that we ended up being more or less midway between Husband's parents and my family (or, much more colorfully, "smack dab in the middle" as my mother would have phrased it). This has turned out to be helpful, as my in-laws have experienced some health issues in recent years, and therefore it falls on their only child—yep, you can guess who—to go down to the other Carolina and whip them back into shape…I mean “tend to their needs while they recover”.

This time it was his mom's turn in the rotation; her doctor decided--based on her failing energy, among other symptoms--that the time had come for her to have open heart surgery to replace a deteriorating mitral valve. Thus Husband packed up and headed south for an extended episode of…Camp Caregiving. I tell ya, considering the promise of countless super-fun hours spent in the hospital, providing company for his mother during her multi-day stay, on top of the colossal task of keeping his father in line…not to mention herding their two aging pet cats…I’m beginning to think I got off easy, taking on the Single Parent role for a week and a half.

Speaking of which, we held quite the Strategy Pow Wow before Husband vamoosed, to brainstorm ways in which I could, I don’t know…clone myself? Apparate kids to activities? Chuck it all and tell everyone they were grounded for the week, so I didn’t have to deal with the logistics? That last one honestly sounded most appealing—but resigned myself to going with Plan B: on Tuesday, when they both needed to be somewhere local (but at the exact same time) drop Derek off first, then whisk Riley over to join up with his team already in progress. Then remain with Riley until his session ends, and head back to pick Derek up late.

Wednesday would be much easier, as only Derek had a scheduled workout. Thursday, however, was the bugaboo, with Riley nearby, but Derek at a distant stadium. So I had no choice but to make an Executive Decision, that Riley would attend his training, and Derek would miss his (which should be fine, as he would have gotten to 2 out of 3. This represents a fantastic batting average…and also a perfectly acceptable Mom Organizational Rating. If I do say so myself…)

With this all figured out…ish…we still had one thunderous black cloud looming over the household: that’s right, I’m talking about DINNER. Now, normally Husband throws together the evening meal (bless his little pea pickin’ heart), but with him gone, the chowhounds—um “beloved sons”—still seem intent on eating every single night. (Dang it!) And with all the soccer-ing and…whatnot…there just isn’t time for nonsense like cooking. So I thought carefully (yeah, for about, oh, 5 minutes) and planned a delightful menu that offered such tasty options as: “sandwiches”….”ramen noodles”…and “frozen chicken patties”. Mmm...yummy... (Hey, the way I look at it, I’m just preparing them for college, right?)

And then, wouldn’t you know it, the whole shebang just went right out the window, thanks to the vagaries of Mother Nature…and some nasty bacteria. You see, on Tuesday it rained hard enough that both practices were canceled. Subsequently, Derek’s coach emailed everyone that he couldn’t hold workouts Wednesday and Thursday due to having been diagnosed with strep throat. And today? More downpours, meaning the fields that were still under water from earlier in the week got even swampier and less playable.


Huh. Well, driving-wise, I’m not complaining, that’s for sure. But the boys did still require feeding…which is why, starting tomorrow, I’m declaring that Mother’s Day…Weekend…has officially begun. What this means, primarily, is that we will be obtaining our suppers via the magic and wonder of takeout, Friday through Sunday nights. In lieu of cards and flowers, I'd say that’s a gift I can truly use (even if it’s my credit card that’s making it happen—whatever!)