At a family reunion in Punta Gorda, Florida, I saw a highway bridge that crosses the Peace River amidst docks and piers. I loved the symmetries and intricacy of the angles.
My son and daughter have grown up. They are 20 now (yep, twins), and launched on their personal trajectories – to what heights and distances, none of us can yet say. I am in awe of the people they have become, so clever and kind, funny and wise. I love spending time with them, and am all too aware that I do so in an extended magic moment, before they settle into the careers and families that will take them farther from my own orbit.
My daughter’s university is a two hour drive away, and a couple times each term I drive up to spend the day with her. We’ve developed a routine: we go out for a meal, we share a long walk and talk on the beach, and then I buy her some groceries. Most recently, we saw this sunset together:
Sunset at East Beach, Santa Barbara, January, 2014.
My son – and daughter, when she is home – enjoy a lot of live music together. Their musical interests are broader and deeper than mine, but we have many overlaps and intersections, and have each shared great finds with the others.
Still can’t decide whether this is a good mom or bad mom anecdote: The first time I took them to a concert, they were 12 or 13, and we went to see one of my favorite bands from the old days, X. The band had recently reformed to do the occasional “oldies” show, and they were as good as ever.
Here is what X were like back when they were not much older than my kids are now.
In the old days, I hated the crowd at X shows – slamming, spitting, too much intrusion of personal space and sharing of bodily fluids for me! But at the new shows the mosh pit was small and friendly, and many of the attendees were clearly there with their kids – or grandkids. So I brought my kids to a show in Orange County. Well, apparently that is where all the nasty fans went to die, or beget new generations. The music was awesome but the room was filled with disgusting drunks (vomiting on themselves without realizing it, that kind of thing). Oops. My kids loved the music but my son still complains that I wouldn’t let him enter the mosh pit, and my daughter still gets grossed out by the smell of beer.
Here is what X looked like last week, when my son and I went to see them at a Whisky-a-Go-Go 50th anniversary celebration:
X at the Whisky on the Sunset Strip, Los Angeles, January, 2014.
We don’t usually attend “oldies” shows – we’d rather hear something new – but we’ll keep going to X shows as long as there are X shows. Don’t know how long that may be – serious health problems in the band – which adds bittersweet to each performance.
When my children were growing up, my most debilitating parental fear was that someday, they would spend time with their mother strictly to fulfill obligations. As is typical with all my free-floating worries, this one consumed much psychic energy for no good reason. At last I might be sort of, kind of, sometimes learning to cease all that worrying. Which leaves me more open to appreciate my moments with my kids right now.
Thanks to the bumper stickers, the politics of this car’s owner are clear. However, at least one of the stickers is unnecessary, telling us what we have already figured out. Can you spot the redundancy?
Sidenote: due to genetics, or birds-of-a-feather tendencies (or both), the person who goes with this car is visiting this neighborwho remains fixed on the U.S. 2012 presidential election.
Leo loves life and he makes the most of every moment. (Leo, teach me how!) When he wants to get petted, there is no ignoring him.
Pet me, please.
Oh yeah. That’s the spot.
I’m leaning my whole body into it.
I leaned too hard and I’m… slipping away. Oops. Don’t worry, I’ll come right back.
Here is a movie of the same session, with his mega-purr on the soundtrack. (More than one morning, he has awakened somebody in the household with that purr.) No need to watch the whole thing. Any ten second interval will give you the idea.
Years ago, a famous therapist pointed out that humans would be much healthier psychologically if we could ask for affection whenever we needed it – if we could mimic the cat who climbs into a lap as needed. I don’t remember the therapist’s name but I remember that observation whenever one of my cats shows up for a dose of affection.
Last night I happened into a supermarket I don’t usually enter, and found myself one step beyond. There, Aisle 8 offers some very special beverages.
What? No New Age snacks?
I wish I could tell you for sure what classifies as a New Age drink. However, I got distracted and forgot to cruise Aisle 8 before I left. Call it a failure of intellectual curiosity if you must.
On the other hand, it may be more fun to speculate about what we might find on Aisle 8:
I’ve known many cats through my life, and although they share important characteristics, each remains unique. I love them all and have been well- and long-trained to understand that cats are the master race!
Arrow (center) is incapable of moving slowly, and most photos of her are blurry.
Luna likes to lounge on a skylight – with difficulty, because the surface is convex. At some point, inevitably, he will relax too much and slide off.
Bop loves to help me with chores such as organizing paperwork.
Bo and Leo hang out together but could not be more different. For Bo, life seems a series of disappointments, while Leo is gratitude incarnate: he purrs when you touch him; he purrs when he eats; he purrs as he walks around.
With people and behavior, I can be an astute and detailed observer; but when it comes to my surroundings, I can be shockingly oblivious. More than once I have looked around in a familiar place and thought something along the lines of Gee, how long has that light fixture been there? “Familiar place” includes the home where I have lived for 10 years.
You probably think I’m joking.
This morning it thus came as no surprise when I walked out of the train station I always use, and discovered an interesting pattern in the juxtaposition of walkways and a bench. I’m reasonably certain they did not install all of this during the last week. Although come to think of it there was some construction there recently. So maybe for once I didn’t traverse the area 100 times without noticing this:
For readers who do not follow U.S. politics (a wise bunch), some background: in November 2012, our most recent presidential campaign concluded. Obama and Biden won re-election. Their opponents were Romney and Ryan.
Every day I walk my dog around the neighborhood, twice. I try to vary our route but over a week we pass the same homes repeatedly. A couple blocks from me is a neighbor I have never seen on any of those walks, but fantasize meeting, to inquire about this obsolete campaign sign, getting weathered and worn on the front lawn:
A sign of defiance?
What I want to ask – but let’s face it, never will – goes like this: Are you aware the election is over? Are you trying to will a different result? Is this a signal of your refusal to accept the outcome? (Insert rant about kneejerk intransigence in the federal government.) Should we call the SWAT team – have you been held hostage in your house for more than 12 months, unable to walk out front to remove the sign?
Please advise.
(This week’s WordPress Photo Challenge wants to see habits.)
Required Writing 