Just a Funny Memory

I was looking through old photos, trying to figure out this stupid Mac (OK, it's user error, but it's my blog and I can get away with blaming it on the computer/software) and iPhoto, when I found this picture of Kevin.  I think we were in Yosemite or Mammoth and waiting for Dad in the store for a few minutes, so I let Kevin sit at the wheel. 

The photo reminded me of a no-school day for Kevin a few years ago.  I must start by saying that this is not a conversation I would have with just anyone.  Kevin has a very good sense of humour.  With that said...

I had promised to take him bowling, but I was really sick.  My exhaustion was at a peak, but I figured I could just sit and cheer him on while I didn't do much myself other than wheeze and blow my nose.  When we went went out to the car in the driveway, I just sat in the front passenger seat, telling Kevin he could drive and handed him the keys.  He got in the driver's seat and just sat there for a minute.  He slowly turned his head toward me and asked, "Are you sure?"  I asked, "You know which pedal makes it go and which makes it stop, right?  You've seen me do it a lot."  He sat silently for another long minute.  Again, he asked very quietly, "Really?  Are you sure?"  I asked, "Can you reach the pedals?"  He slid a little forward on the seat and put his foot to the pedals and answered that yes, he could reach them, but was I really, really sure?  I leaned my head back and pretended to close my eyes and told him, "If you can reach and you think you can do it, I'm ready.  Be sure to buckle up."  He sat quiet for the loooongest time and asked once more, "Are you sure????"  I couldn't take it any more.  I howled with laughter, took the keys and told him, "Are you crazy?  You can't drive!"  He gave the biggest sigh I'd ever heard out of the little guy, and said, "Boy, I'm really glad you weren't going to let me drive.  I don't remember how to get to the bowling alley!"  We laughed for the longest time.

Every now and again, I toss Kevin the keys and ask him, "Are you gonna drive?" and he just cracks up and tells me that I'm evil.  Of course now that he's 15, he's beginning to hound me about when he can get his permit.  The tables have turned.

What a cutie.

Living in the Past

A couple of weeks ago, I was surprised to be looking at a friend's Facebook page and noticed one of her friends, one of my teachers in high school.  I was immediately reminded of something he said and did that was wicked and unprofessional, the target of his action was me.  I sent him a message asking if he was the same (name) that taught at (the last high school I attended), and he confirmed with an immediatly cheery, "Yes that's me.  Were you in one of my classes?"  I responded that yes, I had been in his class.  Then I proceeded to remind him of what he had done, noting that it was not one of my fonder memories of high school.  I tossed in another little 2 cent shot that was not uncalled for or over the top rude, but made my point.  I got an instant apology.

I felt so much better!  How silly to let the nastiness of someone else bug me for quite literally decades, but I did a clapping happy dance after I hit, "Send" and feel SO much better for it!  I was not wicked or rude, just stated the facts.  Wow, it was liberating.

Still, I have to spend less time thinking about the unpleasantries of my early years, the mistakes I've made, and the pain caused by other people and focus more on the happy times.

Yesterday I opened my old cedar chest and started digging through the contents.  There were a lot of things I'd forgotten about.  I found letters from my now deceased mother and in-laws dating back to when I was a newlywed.  I found Christmas cards from friends in middle school with whom I only recently reconnected (and am loving it!).  There is a TON of artwork and school papers from my kids, my own report cards, my silly Roller Gear (the dopey outfit I wore to Bay City Roller concerts that has an unimaginably small waistline), and journals dating back to age 12.  Another wow.  It has been a fun reminder of time long past and, thankfully, a reminder that there was fun and good stuff mixed in with the craziness of my parents at their worst.  It will be another day or two before I've completed the organizing and purging process (time to toss the extra wedding invitations).  For now, I'll enjoy reminiscing but resist the habit of living in the past.

Breaking the Rules

The Mom stuff: Kevin is home safe and sound. He didn't leave anything behind (so he tells me ;-) and has wonderful stories and photos to share about his first trip abroad. As a mom, I laugh at myself that the thing I was most excited about was the fact that he ate soup. My super picky eater that I was sure would come home malnourished ate something I've not been able to get him to eat his entire life. He brought home a "Deutchland" scarf and refrigerator magnet (the one silly thing we all bring each other when we travel) for me, and a couple of beer steins for Dad. He bought himself a Swiss military watch, insisting that it just isn't reasonable to go to Switzerland and NOT come home with a Swiss watch. His buddy came home with $62 dollars worth of Swiss chocolate. Ah, to be 15 again and have such simple priorities. Hahaha. We are just happy to have him home.

The artist stuff: While my son was in Europe, my husband and I decided to play grownup. Among all of the silly fun stuff (including winning $3,200 on slots at the casino - woohoo!) and an adult dinner with our daughter and boyfriend, we also enjoyed a great visit to LACMA. There was an absolutely amazing Renoir collection on view, with a bit of Magritte and Picasso thrown in here and there. I must admit to breaking the cardinal rule about not crapping on other artist's work. I couldn't help it. I'm just going to say it. The work was idiotic garbage. How can someone stick a few carpet cleaners and a vacuum cleaner in acrylic boxes and seriously call it art? I get that there are people who love the stuff that Andy Warhol did like the stacks of cardboard boxes marked "Kellogg." My opinion differs, but I still get it. But this stuff? I asked one of the security guards if he could stand there all day looking at it and go home thinking it was great art, or could he just say it was the crap that it is, and he stammered for a while before giving me the "Well, it evokes conversation so it must be art" blah blah talk. I pointed out that the conversation is about just how nutbag the artist really is in my opinion. It doesn't make the guy an artist. It makes him a nutbag and the guy who bought the crap a fool. I am SOOOO over feeling timid about my work. There are a million people who won't like it for everyone that does, but I doubt seriously that anyone would call me a nutbag for calling it art.

Empty Nesting and Loving It (Briefly)!

I am childless for more than a week! My eldest moved out two years ago May 1st; my "baby" left for Europe for Spring break with his German teacher and a few other high school kids. What an adventure.

This has been a hard couple of weeks. My son challenges me to the point of thanking God daily for chardonnay. Yikes! He's so darned cute, but what a sassy, back-talking, argumentative beast these days. Between fighting to help him learn how to write a decent paper for school (because the teachers just don't DO that any longer) and getting him ready for this trip, I'm utterly exhausted.

They're off! The flight left Los Angeles so that they'll arrive in Frankfurt at 2 a.m. our time. Ouch! They will just keep on going and having fun. They're kids. Ooh, but there is the German teacher and the other dad that went. They'll be crying by dinner time.

I've spent the afternoon calling friends and my daughter. How liberating to have no one to fuss at me for more than a week. I know that tomorrow I'll be back to fretting - is he going to lose his wallet? Will he forget to call me? Will his phone work properly? Will his friend (whom I bribed with $20) take pictures of my son with my son's camera so I have pictures of my son???? Today I'm OK. Am I a wicked mother for doing the "happy dance of ten days of no arguing?!?" I can live with it ;-)

I finished a project!

It is difficult to resist the temptation to criticize my work. I finally finished the pendant for the swap for Cloth Paper Scissors magazine and mailed it yesterday. I am annoyed with myself for having settled on a project for which I just couldn't produce the quality of work that meets my own standard. The frame is one of those do-it-yourself items I purchased as a "let's see how this will look" project. I was just stumped with respect to what to make and decided to use this. The tab on the upper corner detracts and distracts from the piece itself. Clearly, this is a sign that I need to whip out a soldering tool and just learn how to do it right and ditch the shortcut.

As much as I did NOT like the frame, I did enjoy the photo part. The picture of my daughter when she was a toddler has always been a favourite. What a surprise that she gave me the OK to use it! I used Photoshop Elements to reduce and tweak the photo, watercolor pencils and pearlescent liquid acrylic, clear glue and paint. The other side has the photo printed on regular photo paper, scrapbook paper and pearlescent liquid acrylic. I used a fine wire to create the upper jump ring with the curved glass bead. It wasn't fabulous, but I accomplished taking a giant step outside of my comfort zone.

NOW what do I do??? Time to start a new project.

Real life distractions

Yesterday started off just terrific. My husband arranged for my son and a friend to get a private and personal tour of Blizzard, the company that creates the computer game World of Warcraft, among others. The kids were absolutely vibrating with happiness. We went from Blizzard to a tour of the university's fabulous film school, escorted by the dean himself (whose contact was the fantastic guy at Blizzard!) After a long day, I took my son's friend home and headed to our place over the big hill. I was stopped at a red light, giving a subtle "stink eye" to the guy to my left who had been tailgating me for miles. I'm a serious follow-the-road-rules kind of girl and get very grumpy about people who drive dangerously because they are in a hurry to get nowhere. A slow truck I had driven past a few minutes before apparently lost his brakes on the ride down this very large hill (not quite mountain) and absolutely bombed into the cars immediately to my left. He smashed their cars through the intersection, hitting cars in the cross traffic. A total of eight cars were involved in the accident. One victim had to be taken by helicopter to the trauma center in Los Angeles; the other driver (the man I'd been giving the stink eye) was not as seriously injured, but is in the hospital and the cars destroyed. My son and I were terribly shaken, but grateful that all we suffered was rattled nerves, a blown out back window and scuffs from flying debris to one side of the van. A witness to the accident told me she observed it from behind and saw the truck heading toward my vehicle, when he swerved a little left and missed us.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep much last night. When I did, I had terrible dreams, recalling the car I was looking at getting hit at full speed while he was stopped. It was terrifying. To top matters, I had another close call today when a fool pulled in front of my car from a side street and then stopped. I slammed on the brakes of my rental car and swerved to avoid hitting him. I think I'll stay home for the rest of the weekend and lock myself in the studio. I'm safe there.

What a day.

I have cooties

This is a sad, sad day. I have had cooties for a few days now and have finally, totally lost my voice. There is no reason to get in the car with my husband if I can't backseat drive, crying out directions intended to save my life, the car, pedestrians and any squirrels that may be in the street. This is a disaster! Tonight I tried to lay down the law with Kevin about how clean his room must be before he can watch television or have friends to the house, but all I could do was flap my arms and squeak. Then I saw his toy megaphone. What a find! I grabbed it and renewed my attempt at conducting the tidying of his room. Alas, the megaphone has a nifty little feature that alters one's voice to sound robotic. We both started laughing. Well, he laughed while I wheezed and honked. There's really no taking a wheezing, honking robotic-sounding mother seriously, so I've given up. I'm going to have a glass of chardonnay in silence. Sigh.