another college tour (m)

We tour another college.  A ton of people are here.  We break into three groups.  Do we want the Latin American-sounding man with the very thick accent?  The Low Talker student?  Or the vivacious girl from Atlanta whose chest looked like it had been branded with a butterfly-shaped livestock tool.

We go with the butterfly-girl.  At least I can hear and understand her.  I just won't look at her.

I've been to this school before, when Sam was visiting colleges.  It's a beautiful New England college with a fine reputation.  I know the school fairly well, and decide I don't really need to pay attention.  I focus instead on the other parents.

A blonde woman in tight white jeans and thong underwear is walking beside her bored-looking daughter who keeps twirling a piece of her hair and casting wistful glances at the football game down the hill.  The mother is in her early 40's.  She is wearing a too-tight and too-short tee shirt which keeps riding up, exposing a part of her tanned abdomen. 

If I were that thin, would I ever dress like that?  For a college tour? I decide not.

Next is Schlumpy, one of the Eight Dwarfs.  Pants too big, Keds, dumpy sweater, permed hair.

If I were that clueless, would I ever dress like that?  I decide not.

Then there's the Toni Twins.  Mother and daughter.  Same outfits.  Jeans, LL Bean fisherman shirt, matching Longchamp bags. 

If I had a daughter, would we dress alike?  I decide not.

I'm having so much fun, analyzing the parents, that the tour is over before I know it.

i bite the bit (m)

Lyn raved and raved about her Fitbit.  Even my level-headed friend Susan agreed it sounded great.  I bought the Fitbit thinking it would, I don't know, help me lose weight.

The Fitbit arrives two days after I order it on Amazon. com.  I know Lyn thinks Apple products are the greatest inventions in the world, but Amazon has changed my life.  I can shop without leaving the comfort of my home and get the product fast.  Oh, and that One Click feature is the best.  So easy.

Fitbit arrives and I follow the instructions.  I plug it into my computer, follow the step by step instructions, input my height and weight (I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one in the family was around) and then it told me to press and release the button on the device.  I do this and nothing happens.  A message blinks on the screen.  "Try again."  I do and nothing happens.  Same message again.  I try four times.  Then I go into the instruction manual online and try to figure out what happened.

The Fitbit was supposed to show a five-digit number for me to input into the computer.  There was no number.  I stop the program and exit.

I re-start the program but, halfway through, it says that the program is running.  It isn't.

Lyn tells me to shut down the computer.  I do that and re-start.  I'm in the same loop.

I decide it's too nice a day to waste with this nonsense.  I should be outside. As I get ready to leave my house, I go to retrieve my car keys in the glass bowl on the kitchen counter.  There, right there all along, is my old Timex pedometer.  I clip it to my underwear and head out down the field and walk 3 miles on the high school jogging track which is padded.  A beautiful sunny day, a long walk. Perfect. I check my pedometer.  It's working beautifully.  Tells me miles, steps and calories.

I get back up to my home office and the Fitbit is still telling me to Try Again.

I pack it up in a box and tell Amazon I'm sending it back.

Next time, I won't be so quick to bite the bait.

my baby's home (lyn)

I’m sound asleep when my phone rings at 7.   “Hi, are you up?”  It’s Alexander.  Of course I’m not up.  “Last night was so much fun,” he begins.  “I didn’t go to sleep all last night so I wouldn’t oversleep for the 9:05 bus home.  I figure I’ll just sleep on the bus.”  

I go out and buy his favorite foods.  Mozzarella. Lobster meat.  Pita bread.  Cereal.  Blueberries and raspberries.  Shrimp.  Even carrot cake from Lloyd’s.  My refrigerator hasn’t been this full since summer.

I’m in Agata when my phone rings.  “Hi, my bus just got in.  I should be home soon.”  It’s been seven weeks since I dropped Alexander off at school.  This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him.  

Tonight is the beginning of Yom Kippur.  I plan on fasting through sundown tomorrow and would like it if Alexander does the same.  I hope that some Judaism has rubbed off after seven years of Hebrew School and a Bar Mitzvah.

I ask Alexander if he’s going to see any friends today.    “I might see Daniel if he’s around this afternoon, but I know he’ll be with his family tonight for Passover.”  Reminds me of the time my nephew Michael was in college and almost fasted instead of going to a Seder.

Around 2:30, there is a knock at the door.  It feels so good to put my arms around my son and hold him close.  Alexander’s hair has grown and he seems taller.  He looks so handsome and happy.  College is good for him.

After some catching up, Alexander opens his computer, turns on some music and asks, "How come the internet is so slow?"  A few minutes later he wants to know how old his mattress is.  He learned in his psych class that a mattress should be tossed after ten years; his mattress is older than ten.  

I make lobster salad while Alexander runs over to his doctor’s for a flu shot.  He comes back and I’m in my bedroom doing something on the computer.  He yells out, “Hey, where’s lunch?  I thought we were eating together?”  “I’ll be there in a sec.  Just grab some pita bread and make yourself a sandwich,” I say.   He replies, “This is not the kind of service one expects when one returns from college.”

It’s so good to have my baby home.  I seriously missed him more than I knew.

may I borrow your dog? (m)

I'm getting desperate.  It's getting more and more difficult to lose weight.  I lost 4 lbs the week before Romania, gained 5 during that week and lost 4 during the past week.  Three weeks and I'm up a pound. 

I decide to walk more.  I could use some companionship but here are the specs:

-no talking.  I hate to talk while I'm walking for exercise.
-can't go too fast.  The knees aren't up for that.
-must go where I want to go.  No debates about the best route, etc.

Can you imagine laying down those criteria to a friend?

I call my neighbor, S, the former cheerleader.

Me:  Hi...it's M.  How are you?
S: Hey!!!  I'm great!!! How are YOU??
Me: Good, listen, may I borrow U for a walk tomorrow?
S: I'm sorry, I didn't hear you.  My husband was rustling something in the background.
Me: I want to take U for a walk tomorrow.  Are you around to let her out?
S: (now she knows she heard me the first time..): Ah, ah, yes.  Yes.  For a walk?
Me: Yes.  A walk.  I don't want to go alone and it helps my knees if I can hold onto the leash and have it pull at the other end.
S: (stunned).  Oh. Ah, sure.  Ah, what time?
Me: 8:15 okay?
S: Ah, okay.

Harrison overhears the whole thing.  He looks at me and says, "Did you just ask our neighbor to borrow her dog for a walk?" 

Yes, I did.

"Aren't you a little embarrassed?"

Nope.

8:15 the next morning, S arrives at my house in her Mercedes SUV.  The dog is in the front seat, jumping out of her fur trying to get out.

S rolls down the window, laughing.  "You know, you didn't even ask if I wanted to come for a walk, too!"

She gives me the dog and the leash and makes me promise to invite her to join us next time.

We'll see.  It's an exclusive club.  We'll have to think about it.

dinner at ithaka-- the restaurant, not the town (lyn)

No, we didn’t choose this restaurant for its name.  Zelia recommended it and because tonight we are celebrating her birthday, this is where we go.  It’s a small group, just me, Zelia, Shari and Janice. 

We meet at a quiet Greek restaurant on the east side.  It’s a perfect place for good food and good conversation, and we have much of both.  The mood is more somber than usual, as much of the night’s conversation is on Shari’s friend (J) whom we all know.  But we also share stories about our kids and our lives, and reflect on our faiths and mortality.  I feel lucky to be in the company of such interesting, smart and dynamic women.  Each is accomplished and each brings spirit and humor to the many topics we discuss, even the more serious ones.

The Branzino I have for a main course is outstanding.  But the night is made special by what’s around the table, not on it.

steve jobs (lyn)

I get home from theater tonight and there is a message from Zelia.  “Where are you?  Where are you?  Where are you?  Call me.  Call me.  Call me.” I do.  “So, what do you think,” she asks when I call her back.  “About what?”  “Steve Jobs,” she says.  “What about Steve Jobs,” I ask.”  “He died.”

Of course this was expected.  But still, hearing the words is unsettling and sad.  Obama said it well. His office issued a press release that read in part, “And there may be no greater tribute to Steve's success than the fact that much of the world learned of his passing on a device he invented.”  Steve Jobs was an innovator and a visionary who, maybe better than anyone else in history, combined business brilliance with creative genius.  He defied conventional marketing wisdom. He didn’t do a lot of research to find out what consumers thought.  He anticipated their needs and then built the products he intuitively knew consumers wanted.

I am a huge Apple fan. In my small two-person household, we have two MacBook pros, two iPads, one iPhone (that will soon change to two), one Apple TV (I am considering another), and numerous iterations of iTouches, iPods, and Nano’s.  Apple products, aesthetics and customer service are the best in the industry.  When a friend buys a new computer and it is not a Mac, or a new phone that is not an iPhone, I am personally (and of course unreasonably) disappointed. 

But with all that Mr. Jobs has accomplished, when I hear his name, I immediately think of two things:  Genius, and the fact that he initially (and for a few years after) denied paternity of his first-born daughter, Lisa.

Steve had an on-again-off again girlfriend in high school.  She got pregnant and had a baby in 1978, just two years after Jobs founded Apple with Steve Wozniak.  While Apple was beginning to take off, Jobs’ baby daughter and mother were living on welfare.  For many years, Mr. Jobs refused to acknowledge Lisa, even swearing in court documents that he was “sterile and infertile.”  Later, he reversed his position and did acknowledge his daughter.  She even lived with him for a while.  So perhaps he made up for his initial behavior.  But still. 

I am a single mother, so I am more sensitive than most about Mr. Job’s initial reaction toward his first-born.  Mr. Jobs was only 23 when his daughter Lisa was born.  Alexander’s father (E) was only 29 when his first child was born.  Both Mr. Jobs and E were not ready to be fathers, and both found themselves in that position quite unexpectedly.  And while E. (my son’s dad) may not win prizes for being the most involved father, he has never denied paternity, and he has always generously supported our son.

I don’t think there is anyone whose creative and business genius I admire as much as Mr. Jobs.  But at the same time, for me, his name will always be tainted by his youthful denial of his child.   

ice monitor (m)

The regional championships were held at our rink this past week.  Somehow, I got volunteered for a 4 hour shift as "ice monitor."  The job sounded simple enough.  You are given a clip board with skaters' names on it.  The skaters approach you at the scheduled time and you check off their names and let them on the ice.  My husband had the shift before me: 6:00 a.m. until 11 a.m. 

"I'll train you," he says. 

What's to train? I wonder.  Zippy the Monkey can do this job.

Well, not unless Zippy has strong knees.  The gate to get on the ice is 100 years old and is heavy and gets stuck--both opening and closing the door.

"You have to put your knee into it," my husband explains. 

Great. 4 hours, 25 skaters per hour.  One hundred bangs on the knees.  No possibility of Workman's Compensation.

As I sit there, I have plenty of time to look around.  I see two women, both coaches, with whom I've discussed weight.  One woman told me she once weighed 292 lbs, went down to 213 and appears to be somewhere around 240 now.  She is wearing black tights, a long black sweater and a scarf around her neck.  I recognize the this-is-as-slimming-an-outfit-I-can-find look. 

The other, a blonde woman named Susie, also appears to be heavier than when I saw her in August at the summer competition.  She's the one who noticed my weight loss from the prior year and told me bluntly,  "I used to look at you and think this woman just doesn't care how she looks."  That hurt.

Well now, Susie-Q has packed on a few pounds and is bigger than I am.  I wasn't sure at first, but when she gushed about my new blue jacket (from Paris, a placed called Pret Pour Partir) she said she wanted one and asked if she could try mine on.  I let her....it was smaller on her than on me.

I know monitoring other people's weight wasn't in the job description, but it was a gratifying side benefit of the job for me.