The Simple Life, Part Deux

Cutie Pie and I once visited Costa Rica, and we were treated one day to a tour of the farm of a "very important man," a big landowner by the name of Don Pedro. The richest man in all of Costa Rica, mind you. The tour appeared on an official-looking, glossy brochure, which I fervently wish that I had saved. Because it was a totally classic marketing spin job targeted at the American mind. And being the Americans we are, we naturally had visions. Visions of touring a Costa Rican mansion, with manicured lawns and rolling vistas, and meeting some kind of Latin American Honcho and having a spot of tea with him. Turns out Don Pedro may have been the richest man in Costa Rica, but he had very few teeth, very many cows wandering in his front yard, and a rope belt around his waist in addition to his regular belt. Never figured that one out. His "estate" was apparently entirely hand-built by him - house, animal stalls, everything...nailed and tied-together wood planks with tin roofs. No windows - just cut-out holes in the walls. We were served lunch. And let me tell you, it was probably one of the best lunches I have ever eaten. They served homemade bread and cheese, coffee from his own beans and plantains from his own trees. It was delicious. We ate on an open-air porch. With the cows and horses looking on. Our food was served on sweet little china dishes. He and his family let us make conversation with them in our stumbling, ridiculous Spanish. His daughter picked flowers for my hair and made a big speech when she handed them to me. I didn't understand a word, so she could have been calling me a stupid, wretched American, but it sounded really warm and lovely and generous. We loved every minute of it. We ate many great meals in Costa Rica. All were simple. Fish, mixed vegetables, plantains, beer. It was jolting to come home. Everything suddenly seemed so Loud. So Big. So Fast. And so Overdone. The billboards on I-75 were Obnoxious, SCREAMINGINYOURFACE, whereas before my trip, I had barely noticed them. The portions when we went out to eat seemed big enough to feed entire families. What a waste of mediocre food, we thought. That feeling went away after a few days, but I was sad to see it go. It can't be helped - you are a product of your culture and you adapt to whatever your circumstances may be. But I do dream of that simple place now and again. It's the kind of place where you can hear your own thoughts, without someone or something trying to drown them out all the time. I could use more of that.

Buddies and the Brouhaha

Here's something fun to do. Gather up all your best buds and cart yourselves up to the lake for a need-free, demand-less, apple pie-laden brouhaha. Stay up until all hours. For fun, not because one of your kids is throwing up. Watch a show called Intervention together so you can psychoanalyze strangers. When that gets too sad, flip to the Miss Teen USA pageant and psychoanalyze hairdo choices and the mindset of the runners-up as they come to grips with the inevitable fact that their lives are ending. Talk about Everything. With a capital E. Eat Anything. With a capital A. Make sure nutritional value is minimal while fat and carbs are maximal. (I know. It's not a word, but it's descriptive.) Create a new drink. Name it the Lake Runner. Declare it medicinal and healthy because that splash of Pomegranate juice really does outweigh the 8 ounces of rum it's mixed with. Swim around on floats for six hours straight, getting out of the water only to have a snack, a cocktail, or because you fear the pruning may be permanent. Meet a dog and invite her to join your merry band of Beeches. Call her Buddy. Because she is. Until she starts eating your pistachios and smelling like a dog that has been swimming in lake water and chewing on fish heads. Be forgiving. Even when Buddy's family leaves her with you while they go on a boat ride, happily waving at her from afar as if they know quite well that she's a big ole pain in the rear. One of us is meant to be a vet or an old lady with 12 cats, and we love that about her. Learn to play Gin Rummy. Even though strategic thinking is not the easiest kind of thinking to do through a Lake Runner haze. Wave at boys on the lake and pretend that they find you remotely interesting. Sit on a dock under an almost-full moon for hours. And talk. And talk. And talk. There is nothing at all better than this. There is a certain kind of therapy that takes place when you learn that a bunch of people you love and admire are going through the same things you are. Good stuff. Bad stuff. Even the really bad stuff that you wouldn't admit to most people. The book I'm reading at the lake calls it L'ho provato sulla mia pelle, which means in Italian "I have experienced that on my own skin." The author explains that it means- I have also been burned or scarred in this way, and I know exactly what you're going through. Somehow there is nothing more comforting than L'ho provato sulla mia pelle. Being understood... it just makes everything better. And then you get to go home to a little family, who is happy to see you. Who, really and for true, missed your presence. And you feel needed. In a good way. Amazing what a little brouhahaing can do for you.

Remember When

So, while I was on child-vacation I actually did more than redo the playroom. I remembered. Tried it lately? It's fab. I remembered what it was like when I was just ME, and when we were just US. Seeing as how the kiddies make such a dramatic impact on one's life, this was quite a feat in itself and an interesting jolt to the psyche. But FUN! Oh, really fun. Even though I kept looking for where I set down my right arm, we made the most of it. Cutie Pie and I started the week by meeting like undercover agents at a downtown hotel. One of the many great features of this hotel is a spinning-loungey thing on the top of it where smartly dressed young urbanites have drinks and watch the sunset. (Confession: We smiled chummily at the urbanites, while looking dismissively and disdainfully upon the haggard parent-tourists dragging children around up there. I mean, really, the nerve...to bring children to OUR place. Then we giggled at each other, knowing full well that would be us if not for Camp Grandma). We spent an hour or so there, fancy cocktails in hand, spinning around and reminiscing about this or that building, this or that experience. We had 6 years in Atlanta B.C., so we had plenty to talk about. And it was amazing! Hear this, friends: You can actually have a conversation with your beloved without interruption. It's true!! Such a thing exists! And contrary to your worst fears, you actually still have stuff to talk about that does not involve potty training, 529 plans or back-talking. After our sunset spin, we ate our favorite grown-up food - sushi - and finished the night with huge desserts, liquoured-up coffees and jazz music. It was heavenly. I didn't want to leave the next day. Because leaving meant Home, with all its accompanying responsibilities. And home is the best place on earth, right? It's every dream I ever had, come true, and yet...I think there are a couple of people who are missing each other when that Mama and Daddy thing takes over. So, how can we have our chocolate cappuccino cake and eat it too? How can Mama and Daddy co-exist with the undercover agents? It's a compartmentalization vs. integration problem really. At least, that's probably what all those GA. Tech-educated, young urbanites would say. It's a stumper. Let's think about it over another glass of wine and a sunset spin.

Pictures Worth a Thousand

I've been away. I do so love to go away! This time I went to a magical place called: The Beach. They have the best stuff there! Sand, waves, sunshine, birds, shells, crabs, clams, M&Ms, books, stars, outside showers, long walks.... I like this picture of a mess of clams we dug up from the marsh... because when I look at it, I can smell them. It's weird. I also like this picture of baby toes in the sand because when I look at it, I can feel the sand on MY toes. And in my bathing suit. And in my bed sheets. And in my hair. You can never be free from sand at the beach. But it's OK, because it reminds you: I'm at the BEACH! I'm AWAY! And you feel smug and superior to all those poor saps back at home who have no idea what they are missing. I also very much like this picture of the sunset over the salt marsh, which was the view from our back door. Sure, it looks like a boring picture of a daily occurrence that you've seen a million times but when I look at it...I can feel the heat of that sun, which spent all day gathering itself oppressively outside our door. I can hear the tide coming in and feel the wind rushing the sun down: C'mon, it's time to go now! Bye! Bye! I can't see them, but I'm pretty sure a thousand little crabs have rushed out of their holes in unison to wave a one-claw salute to the sun: See ya tomorrow, See ya tomorrow! And behind me in the house, the sliding glass door opens and closes, opens and closes and there is the sound of children running back and forth between the sunset and the loud ocean on the other side of the house. They are tired and bickering and at their wits' ends, but there's "one more thing" (there's always one more thing!) that must be done before crawling into sandy sheets and literally passing out with exhaustion. Maybe a ghost crab hunt out on the beach or one more round of ice cream cones. One more book. And every parent in the house has got his or her mind's eye trained on the hour after this one, when we can go outside with adult beverages, listen to music from "back in the day," look at the stars and talk about what our lives were like before we knew each other and before we knew these strange creatures called Our Children. Yep, pictures are indeed worth a thousand words!

Ivory Soap Floats

Here's something fun to do: Pitch a tent in the woods and drift in and out of sleep all night while looking at a zillion stars and a brighter-than-bright three-quarter moon. Don't worry about large beetles the size of your fist flying into your lantern. Don't worry about wee girls still giggling in the tent at 10 p.m. Don't worry about the woman who saw you completely nekkid ('cause that's what we say in the woods) when you had to run out of the shower to save your youngest child from being dropped headfirst onto the concrete floor by your oldest child. All that's chicken feed compared to the stars! And a kayak ride on a silent lake at dusk with just the moon and some frogs as your witnesses. And a group of grown-up Boy Scouts from Jacksonville asking you to take their picture and then sharing their bountiful assortment of brownies and flag-shaped cookies with your wide-eyed children. And playing Uno until you've laughed yourself silly. And stuffing yourself with beef stroganoff, which tastes amazingly delish when cooked on a camp stove. Yep, that's a really fun thing to do! Welcome, Summer....

Green Girl

Small Fry and I had a date yesterday. Or more accurately, a "benture." We woke up with nothing to do and no agenda, which is so very rare you know. So, we decided to visit the botanical gardens down in Atlanta. I told her we were going to see some Big Bugs, to which she quite rightly and worriedly asked, "Are they nice bugs, Mama?" I felt like a tourist in a strange, yet strangely familiar, city as we drove by all those tall buildings, one in which I once worked. I was reminded of days many moons ago when I would struggle to get to my lowly intern's desk so I could do my minion bidding for a few hours (for less than minimum wage and far less than minimum treatment) before bursting out the front doors to walk the city streets to Piedmont Park, the gardens, the "cool old house" district and other amazing places (my true purpose for showing up at the lowly intern's desk). Fun lunch hours were followed by the dread of trudging back to the Land of the Idiots only to find my hubcaps stolen or some other such delightful thing. But yesterday. Yesterday, I didn't have to go back to any office full of idiots. Small Fry and I had the whole day to ourselves. She was an awesome escort around the gardens, pointing out every Robin Redbreast, every bug, BIG or normal-sized, every fish and tadpole and smelling every flower, herb and pile of manure in her path. She declared the pink roses her favorite (what do you know?), and she insisted on a picture with every scuplture and fountain. The Green Man, which greets you at the entrance to the children's garden, was one such scupture. Green Man is a mythical half-man, half-plant scuplted with face of kudzu. Yesterday, Small Fry was my Green Girl. And our best new discovery? A splash fountain where little kids are actually encouraged to get drenched, fully clothed. I listened to a group of city moms talking about stuff their kids do - one knowledgeable sort was talking to a newly-transplanted Brit about language lessons. It was a bit of a different world down there. When the kids are small, it's such a hassle to go anywhere that you tend to stay close to home, close to your much-loved buds and ensconced in your comfortable little suburban bubble. Traffic must be avoided at all costs you know. And in the meantime, I forget how much I love the city with its foreign accents and bustling activity and granola moms and business suits and dogs in the park and old houses and Southern charm and everything else. I could imagine us living like a little bohemian family in a high rise overlooking the park and going to art shows on the weekends and walking to the market and going to plays. Not that I'm not perfectly happy in my suburban bubble, but it's fun to try on something new now and then. That's what bentures are all about!

Nature and Nurture

Is there anything in this world more magnetizing to a gaggle of children than a creek full of running water? There is something infinitely intriguing and meditative about the combination of mud, rocks, bugs and beyond-freezing mountain water. The mud must be touched. The bugs must be caught and examined. The freezing water must be splashed in. The unseen fish must be lured, because like the classic gambler, we just know the NEXT cast will be the one that reels in the big one. We need more of this! (Mamas too!) It is imperative. Did you know there is even a disorder (of course there is) to describe the poor deprived kids who don't get out enough? I have resolved that NDD will be one disorder my kids will not have to purge in therapy. There are plenty of others they will have to contend with, and therapy is expensive. I have the quality of my nursing home to consider. There is another cool benefit of the mini-vacation. You get to love on someone else's cute kids in addition to remembering how cute your own can be. The little people spend every minute discovering something new and acting like one big, sloppy, happy family. The Brady Bunch I will never have! And no one cares much about schedules or messes or dirty shoes or the food pyramid. It all comes to an end, as good things tend to do, but then you can remember it. And hopefully the little people will remember it too.

Wanderlust

I was recently transported to Heaven on Earth. Yep, time travel is actually possible, despite what Desmond's Physics-professor friend said on Lost last night. All it takes is a single whiff of Limoncello! Who knew?

I was recently reminded of Limoncello by my cousin, somepinkflowers, who wrote about it on her blog. I didn't realize the lovely, lemony libation was available right here, in my very own town, in my very own liquor store down the street. The last time I had it, I was sitting in a cafe on a Roman street with a view of the Colosseum over Cutie Pie's shoulder. The Limoncello was ice-cold (on a sweltering May day), tasty and decadent. When I realized I could have it here in my house (thank you, somepinkflowers), I included it on the menu of my supper club. February's theme, of course, was AMORE, and there is nothing more lover-ly (or cheesy) than a big Italian dinner. My suppermates and I drank lots of Limoncello -- some drank it straight, some mixed it with half-and-half and ice (yummmmmm) -- and I swear, as soon as I smelled it, I could remember with amazing clarity the moment I last drank it. Weird! Long-forgotten sights, smells and feelings were suddenly and oh-so-happily remembered. So, let me tell you about the best lunch ever.

We were in Capri, on the Amalfi coast, and we took a hike. There are many stairs in Capri, as the town is built on the sides of cliffs jutting out of the Mediterranean. I remember shrines to the Virgin Mary built into rock walls. I remember a little Italian girl who peeked at us and smiled. I remember the blue, blue water surrounding us at all times. I remember the sunshine hot on our shoulders. I remember the smell of lemon groves and the sight of bougainvillea everywhere. After a couple of hours, we found the restaurant our innkeeper had recommended. As the lone patrons of the Heaven on Earth cafe, my companions and I chose the best seats in the house -- outside, under a "roof" fashioned of lemon trees. We ate the most spectacular lunch, while gazing out at the sea. It took three or four hours, no lie. That is something I love about the Italians. They take their time. Especially at meals. They don' t know the meaning of turning tables. All of this reminiscing made me want to return to Italy. Tomorrow. Want to come?

Books I need to read when my kids are napping (or grown up)

I love, love, love to read. My favorite feature of a beach vacation I took a couple of years ago was the uninterrupted and seemingly endless hours of reading that I was allowed to do. I finished two books in a week and had started a third. My daughter happily played with her good friend, E, while E's mom and I made like chair ornaments and read. There is nothing so wonderful as being able to read a good book with one's toes submerged in sugary sand and the background noise of crashing waves and squealing seagulls and little children. I especially love to trade books with friends who really read (not just sticky romances or work-related tomes)- and then talk about what we thought! I used to read a lot on airplanes when I traveled for my job. Now it seems like the only pleasure reading I do that does not include Dr. Suess or a Disney princess is on vacation. But it's something to look forward to! Below are some of the books I have in my Palm Pilot - ((sigh)) one day, another sandy beach.

Give It Up!: My Year of Learning to Live Better with Less (Paperback) by Mary Carlomagno
For a year, the author gives up something different each month: alcohol, shopping, newspapers, cell phones, dining out, television, taxis, coffee, chocolate and — for good measure — cursing, elevators and multi-tasking. Living a simple life is very appealing to me.

1000 Places to See Before you Die, Schultz. Hey, everyone needs a goal.

The Dwelling Place (sequel to The Swan House) The Swan House is one of my faves because it's set in my town, it has real southern charm and the characters are deep.

A History of God, Karen Armstrong. I'm fascinated by world religions right now. I'm in a yearlong Bible study in which I will read 75% of the bible by the end of the study. It has been so exciting to see history and my faith intersect, and I wonder about the beliefs of others and how they came about. Now I think the author is an atheist, so I'll be taking the whole thing with a grain of salt.

Mere Christianity, CS Lewis. This is supposed to be another amazing book about faith.

A Brief History of Israel. I can't get enough of learning about this region. The result of 9/11.

Your Money or Your Life. I'm not great at it yet, but I'm always into learning more about separating these two things!

Honeymoon with my Brother. This is a story about a guy who got dumped at the altar and decided to go ahead and take his honeymoon trip. It turns into a great story about adventure, travel and overcoming the bad stuff that happens to us. Saw him on Oprah - great guy.

The Known World, Edward Jones. I can't remember now what this is about...but I noted that it won the Pulitzer Prize.

Winning the Whining Wars, Whitman. I have two girls. Enough said?

1776, David McCullough. I don't usually go for history but when I saw this guy interviewed, I was enthralled with this story of early American history. It's huge. Gotta find the right time and place to tackle it.

The books I read on my S. C. beach vacation: The Swan House, The Mermaid Chair
The book I read during Christmas vacation this year: A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson - this is a GREAT book about a guy who decided to hike the Appalachian Trail. The author is Funny (with a capital F), and he includes amazing information about nature, history and the AT regions.