“Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.”
~ Albert Einstein
What a weekend! I’m still getting over this cold, and therefore still a bit fuzzy in the head, but here’s some news for you: Margot and Wrench, and Drill and Trixie got engaged this weekend.
To one another respectively, not collectively. We’re not that weird a family.
While we’re on the subject, one of my dearest guy friends Flyboy also recently popped the question to his longtime love. Love is clearly in the air. Congratulations everyone! It’s going to be another filled up summer for me, weddings and J.’s graduation, and trips, and life. It may be the winter doldrums (and it certainly could be the fact that it’s a groggy Monday), but I’m anxious for the summer to come. It’s going to be a busy one and I can’t wait because for all I complain, I really love being busy!
“No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee” – John Donne
Life can get a bit overwhelming, darlings, even when you’re a few degrees removed, so please indulge.
Sav lost her brother over the Christmas holiday.
Lizzie is getting divorced.
Marie’s health is still shaky from her pancreatic attacks and other car accident health residue, plus a few family issues, and separation from her own husband for 3 months as he goes through job training. She’s looking at another surgery soon.
Worst of all, one of Margot’s dear friends ended her life Saturday night. We’ve tried to help as best we can, Margot in particular has been feeding people, soothing, and being a true lady of mercy, but she’s hurting too.
Troubles do not play favorites, and no one is immune. Please keep these friends of mine, as well as your own in your thoughts, my dears, and take them time to help a friend out today. We all know someone who’s hurting or needs just a bit of encouragement (and we very well may be that person!), so let’s do a bit extra to take care of one another.
“New Year’s Day – now is the accepted time to make your annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual.” – Mark Twain
Hello and Happy New Year, kittens! I have missed our little chats, and I’m sure I should be sorry for neglecting you, but the truth is, I’m not. Not in the slightest. I spent nearly two weeks in Virginia with all my siblings (for once!), my parents, Marie and her husband (who spent Christmas with us, aren’t I lucky?), and my husband. Marie took pictures, and thank goodness because I never remember to, go check them out. There was shameless amounts of cuddling, lots of games, and way too much food. Perfect.
The boys went shooting, J. and I spent a couple of days helping Dad clear the land (our “estate” is looking more impressive all the time) and playing with the dogs, and the girls baked up a storm. We watched movies, slept late, and dined when we damn well pleased. The Christmas Eve roast was perfect, as were the pies. J. was conscripted for some heavy labor in moving some furniture around for my parents, whose collection of Asian antiques still is Not Quite Right, even after two years of shuffling it all around (to say nothing of that tiny little earthquake a while back), and helping Dad hang the two deer he and Buddy bagged from the rafters of the garage. It was lovely.
On New Year’s Day Gio drove us to D.C. and we had a lovely evening out on the town with Peregrine, who graciously put us up for the night and took us to the airport the next morning. Seeing her always does me good. She’s a city girl extraordinaire who took us to one of José Andrés’ amazing restaurants, who she claimed spiritually “communes with Brussels sprouts,” and as usual, she was right. If ever you get the pleasure of dining there, try them roasted. Trust me.
Now I’m back at home, again husbandless but still happy. You know it’s been a good vacation when going back to work after a day spent in the airports doesn’t seem entirely like drudgery. I have a refrigerator to stock, friends to see, and things to do. My life, for all that I complain about it is very, very good and I’m lucky to have it.
So, here’s to good holidays, good friends, good times, and hopefully a good year in 2012. And here’s to you, ducklings. Better, cleverer, funnier, lovelier minions there never were. Small Dog and Co. wish you all the best. Let’s keep up the adventures in 2012.
“A charming woman is a busy woman.” – Loretta Young (boy, I hope this is true…)
My kittens, my ducklings, my belovedest of beloved possums! I’ so busy these days I could gleefully indulge in a tiny breakdown…but I haven’t the time. Last Friday I helped coordinate a small baby shower for Hennessy, two weekends ago was consumed with preparations for Pieter and Sadie’s wedding, last Saturday was an evening with J.’s family, Trixie and I are throwing Sadie’s bacherlorette party this coming Saturday, there are two birthdays within my godfamily this week, a dermatology appointment, a dentist appointment, and there’s a wedding next week the day before I fly home for Christmas. And somehow, I still need to find time to get the oil changed for the car, finish up place cards for the wedding luncheon, and pack. Woof.
Here’s a sneaky fact about one’s husband going off abroad for grad school that no one tells you: going back to taking care of everything for oneself, without someone to share the chores, is rough. Bone tired, constantly frazzled, get home and all one wants to do is curl up on your sofa and refuse to acknowledge the rest of the evening, rough. But one can’t do that, because one has to shop for brie and baguettes, continue the fight against one’s ancient flat’s march towards decay, and eat every once and a while.
I’m no ingrate, busyness is a boon: it keeps me from being lonely or bored. All I’m saying is, I could stand being a little less busy. Luckily the Christmas vacation looms, wherein I plan on doing very little, in very good company. How are you holding up, darlings?
“When women are depressed, they eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It’s a whole different way of thinking.”
~Elayne Boosler
Shopping for men is rough, kittens, and believe me, I know. Most of my friends growing up were boys, my major was mostly made up of men, I preferred hanging out with J.’s roommates to my own when we were dating, the list goes on. I have two brothers and one sister, two godbrothers and one godsister, three brothers-in-law and two sisters-in-law (not counting respective spouses)… the girls are outnumbered. But that’s okay, because most of the ladies I know are pretty lucky in their male chums, significant others, and family members, so we should dig in and get them cool (fake) presents anyway. Any to add to the list?
For your all American brother-in-law who spends the summer either on the green or at the grill.For the guy friend who almost blew a snyapse when he found out they were making a new Muppets movie.For your British mystery loving in-law.For the guy you met in your major who now teaches English in Korea, even though he studied Medieval French Literature, and is an unrepentant nerd.For your nephews who have never seen it - shame!For you guy pal who thinks he's Don Draper, and who you care about too much to disillusion.For you friend who just got his first Real Job and needs to dress the part.For the slightly wacky but nice gun enthusiast neighbor of your parents.
“Seriously. I had to schedule a breakdown, and then I had to cut it short!” – C.
Minions, I have neglected you. But last Friday the world sort of stopped. I was stressed, I was tired, I was anxious, I was overwhelmed, and I literally worried myself sick. I went home early on Friday and spent some time in bed.
Of course, I had only a limited amount of time to recover from the vapors because I had stuff to do. Saturday I had a wedding (in addition to Venice’s birthday) and errands to run, Sunday was dinner at my godparents’ house (a 4 hour event at least) after which I had to dash home and make appetizers for… Monday after work, Sadie and Pieter had a Honey Do couples shower. Classic me, I made it all the way to GS’s house before I realized I’d forgotten the food in my fridge.
But health, good-humor, and cheerfulness have begun to return, and so, updates. Margot landed a full time teaching job (no small prize in this economy), Marie’s husband also got a job back East, Hambone had her baby boy, my sister-in-law had a dry run for her future lung transplant and got an emergency plan in place (still scary, but less so now), Dad, Venice, and J. all got older, and J. is going to Les Miserables tonight, staring Alfie Boe.
You know, the one who managed to stand out among these guys:
Sent me letters and notes whenever he traveled all throughout my freshman year of university. I got messages on hotel letterhead from the middle east and postcards from Germany. I looked forward to those letters more than I did to buying new books!
Loves his family and has never, ever been hesitant to show it.
Dragged me up Saturday mornings to do chores. I hated it. I’m also planning on making my kids do the same because in retrospect, that’s when he taught me lessons about hard work and finishing jobs.
Unless physically out of the country, he was at every piano recital that I can remember.
Taught me how to drive. He reduced me to terrified tears teaching me how to start a manual on a steep jungle road, but let me tell you, I can now drive anything!
Has answered every question I’ve ever asked and never brushed them off.
Is the best man I know.
When I was three or four, I gave my dad a little trinket and told him, “You’re the best dad I ever had!” He must have chuckled a bit at that, but twenty years later he still has that trinket tucked away in the box with his father’s watch, cufflinks, and medals. And he’s still the best dad I ever had.
[Partial repost from 5/2, the day I learned about bin Laden’s death, but it contains my 9/11 story. Please share yours]
In 2001 my family lived on an American military base on a godforsaken little island in the middle of the Pacific ocean. The joys of government service, n’est pas?
My day began at 4:30am when I and two other kids attended an early morning meeting for teenagers. Only one of us had a driver’s license so we carpooled together to this meeting, back again to catch a bus at 6:30. The island was tiny but the roads were so bad that it took over an hour to get just 30 miles to our school. I got out of school at 2:30pm, then had soccer practice until 5pm, and then back onto the bus for a ride that zigzagged back home and took longer than the initial ride to school did. I stumbled through the doors sometime between 7 and 8pm, did homework, and fell into bed. I was a shockingly well behaved teenager, but in retrospect that might have been because I was consistently exhausted.
September 11, 2001 didn’t start out too differently. That morning I climbed yawning into the car and the three of us drove off to our meeting. As we passed through the gates we noticed far more men in camouflage than usual, but chalked it up to some sort of training exercise and weren’t too alarmed when the heavy bars slid shut behind us.
But when we got to our destination, the youth leader was standing outside her car. Shivering. On a tropical island. The three of us braced for bad news, but even we weren’t prepared to be told that the United States had apparently been attacked.
We weren't let off the base for days. And those of us who didn't have work to distract us watched this, over and over again, for a week.
Remember, we lived on a base and our parents were employed in the military or government of various countries. A million thoughts ran through my head: Are we at war? Will my family be separated? Will they send me and my siblings away? Is it even safe to travel? We have dozens of planes and ships stationed here – are we a target? And then, finally, how will I get home?
It turns out that the base had utterly shut down, we could get off, but they weren’t letting anyone back on. But we had a secret weapon, my Dad’s considerable rank. We called him and he escorted us on base, and when we were stopped at the gates and denied entry, my usually mild mannered father snapped, “This is my daughter and she is coming in.”
That was when the fear really hit me.
10 years later that fear has actually largely dissipated. The world is the way it is. The nature of my father’s profession meant that we were frequent travelers and though the fear of terrorists never stopped me from getting on a plane, it would a lie to say that it never intruded on my travel thoughts and plans. I grew up in government and military circles which has meant that for the past ten years many of the people I knew were at war or at least directly affected by it, and not in ways confined to CNN or BBC news blips.
[end of repost]
When the Pentagon was hit, both my mother and I blanched, even though it had been over a decade wince my father worked there. For the first time in my life my government and society was caught completely off guard and a sense of security was shaken in a way that I have never felt before or sense. I am not special. My life was not the only one changed, and it was certainly not the most affected, I lost no friends or parents. But my generation has been affected in ways that we don’t even recognize sometimes. I still have to practically strip to get on a plane. Most people I am acquainted with have known a military serviceman or woman who has served in the Afghan or Iraq war. Anytime a news agency reports a man-made tragedy, my brain goes first to terrorism. I can’t help but wonder if something as huge and devastating as 9/11 will happen again.
For me personally the people I admire most from that fateful day were the people on United Flight 93 who fought back, because I hope that I too could be as brave as that in those circumstances. But then I realize that there is a chance, however small, that I may be put in that position someday, the world being the way it is now, and I doubt my bravery. There were many acts of bravery that day, and for me that should be the legacy of 9/11: that people, in the face of crippling fear and terror, volunteered to fight back, to run into the flames, to carry neighbors to safety, to put aside retirement or days off and show up to help when they didn’t know what was happening, for civilians to bring water and food for rescuers and the rescued alike, or to stay and bear witness to what no one should ever have to see. That’s what we should “never forget.”
“Well, I suppose the earthquake is over. What is left standing?” – L.M. Montgomery, Emily’s Quest
The earthquake that justifiably freaked out the East Coast a couple of days ago had it’s center only a few miles from my parents’ house. During my check in phone call to see how they all fared, yet another aftershock struck. “Oh dear,” Mum sighed before bellowing, “Everyone out of the house!” right into my ear. We then continued our conversation with everyone in the yard and my sibs rolling their eyes at the inconvenience, teenage style.
My family is notoriously unfazed by natural disasters, because we’ve lived through a great many of them. Earthquakes have featured heavily.
Mum spent a good chunk of her girlhood in Japan and can tell many a tale of the earth heaving beneath her feet – including one rather hilarious account of having to leap from a bathtub and run into the street wearing naught but a towel.
More randomly, an earthquake struck Germany when we were living there.
Then we moved to the Pacific when I was 15, to an island that experiences probably a dozen earthquakes a year (in addition to typhoons, but that’s another blog post). Most were small, a tiny shudder, your bed rocking once beneath you; the earth more or less hiccuping. But about once a year, a large one would strike, wreaking havoc on an already poor, unstable, lonely island and shutting services and communications down for a period of time.
Honestly. Who sleeps through a 7.something quake? Twice!
I cringe to tell you that I slept through two of the most massive earthquakes in that godforsaken rock’s recent history and am therefore unable to report on them. However I did manage to wake up for the third and biggest shaker (thanks mostly to Mum – in the same crisp tone as she used on the phone – ordering me awake and to the doorway). I was still half asleep as we watched the ground go up and down in waves. It felt like half an hour but it was only seconds before the rumbling and the pitching faded.
We found Buddy dangling by his pajama shirt, which had become hooked on the ladder of his top bunk bed, and yelling for help. We all got a chuckle out of his predicament and yanked him down. Minutes later we were all panicking to find that Snicker’s bookcase had collapsed on her bed and her dresser was blocking the door but for an inch – through which we couldn’t see if she was alive, hurt, or worse. Dad mobilized: he shoved his shoulder into the door, dragged the bookcase off – when it turned out that the miraculous had happened and the shelves had fallen to perfectly frame my sister’s little body without touching her, missing her skull by inches. Snickers had slept through it.
This time she made it out of the gym with only one shoe, she’d been in the process of putting the other on when the quake struck. Buddy apparently was the one who ordered his Spanish class under the desks and the out the door when the shuddering was over. Also, their high school partially collapsed, no one seriously hurt. Weirdly enough, it’s nothing we haven’t experienced before. I’m not sure whether that makes us sangfroid in the face of disaster, or just terribly well-adjusted travelers.
and working up through 
).
Small Dog Syndrome 