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Posts Tagged ‘swimming pool’

“I’ve got my clipboard, text books
Lead me to the station
Yeah, I’m off to the civil war
I’ve got my kit bag, my heavy boots
I’m runnin’ in the rain
Gonna run till my feet are raw…

Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
And I’m a soldier at thirteen
Slip kid, slip kid, realization
There’s no easy way to be free
No easy way to be free

It’s a hard, hard world

I left my doctor’s prescription bungalow behind me
I left the door ajar
I left my vacuum flask
Full of hot tea and sugar
Left the keys right in my car

Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
Only half way up the tree
Slip kid, slip kid, I’m a relation
I’m a soldier at sixty-three
No easy way to be free

Slip kid, slip kid

Keep away old man, you won’t fool me
You and your history won’t rule me
You might have been a fighter, but admit you failed
I’m not affected by your blackmail
You won’t blackmail me

I’ve got my clipboard, text books
Lead me to the station
Yeah, I’m off to the civil war
I’ve got my kit bag, my heavy boots
I’m runnin’ in the rain
Gonna run till my feet are raw

Slip kid, slip kid, slip out of trouble
Slip over here and set me free
Slip kid, slip kid, second generation
You’re slid’ down the hill like me

No easy way to be free…”

~ Slip Kid by the Who

I have purchased a home DNA kit and I have spit into the spit kit as instructed and returned it via US Post Office to Californ-I-AY.  In two to three weeks I will know how much I am of each piece of what I am.  I will know genetic markers for predispositions to disease, and I will be able to provide Boo’s doctors with important genealogical information they all say they wish they had.  It also will be able identify blood relationships if they are 1st cousin or closer.

I’m thinking who do they have DNA on?  Then I realized:  Famous dead people and criminals, and the handful of people like me who have done this DNA test.  I seriously doubt Laura Ingalls Wilder and me, born 102 years apart, are first cousins.  But I could, sadly, be Jeffrey Dahmer’s cousin.   Or Snooki’s, which is almost as bad.

Pandora’s Box, I know.  I know.

Going to see Boo this morning at my mom’s house; Andy is driving him up.  My mom’s next door neighbor said we could use their pool so it should be awesome.  Beautiful day.  I’m drinking coffee and playing records on my new little turntable M bought me the other day as a surprise.

I listened to Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #2  (I always liked the “Rach 3” better, but #2 was Gina’s favorite and so I listen to it a lot).  I can be with her when I listen to it.  It’s been almost ten years since she killed herself and I have yet to find anyone who looks so forward to the Philadelphia Orchestra coming to SPAC as me.  Maybe my friend Dimma is close.

Under the stars with wine and cheese on a soft lawn with quiet folks and a gentle breeze to the warmed-up evening.  A half-circle half-outdoor amphitheater.  Inside is great too.  Gina and I once finagled front row seats to an Itzhak Perlman (the famous Israeli violinist)  performance.  He has polio and must sit for his performances, which brought him even closer to us.  My God I tell you it was like being wrapped up in something so wonderful we could hardly breathe.

Oh Gina.  Maybe I’m related to YOU!  Do they have your DNA?  Do they take some when you die?   I tried to watch a layman’s cartoon lesson on DNA strands and chromosomes etc. but I don’t even have the foundation of basic knowledge on which to build any understanding of it all.  Obviously I skipped chemistry and physics in favor of a creative writing class.

10 HOURS WENT BY

…and it is late evening.  Oh how Boo loved swimming in the pool today!  He was a happy, playful, lovey boy and we had a wonderful visit.  I will leave you with some pictures:

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“…there is love, there is peace in this world…”

~ Guster

Jonah had lots of fun swimming the other day in a pool whose owners had kindly offered us its use while they went away for the weekend.  He wanted to swim sans suit, so we let him.  It was wonderful; he laughed and played.  What should be common is rare and precious.  Here are some pics, and more I took recently, capturing beauty…breathing it…internalizing the warmth of the sun, the smiles of my son… 

I love to take photos and wish I was 1/100th as good as my cousin D.

he loves to swim along the bottom of the pool

~~~ he is a creature of water ~~~

…which was fun to take pictures of too…

I loved these flowers M delivered to my work, surprising me because I have been so sad – they are even more beautiful now that all the lilies have opened their eyes…

I love this plaque my sweet friend D gave me – my favorite thing to see each day when I wake up.

And I love how many of the trains we see have gorgeous graffiti:

And of course I adore Match Game & Richard Dawson, my campy 70s escape-love.

(Here he’s even promoting my profession).

Every time I get knocked down, I get back up again, damnit.  So far I’m doing it, whatever this is that I’m doing. 

Thank you all for your collective conscious loving energies, prayers, and encouragement.
I am literally powered by it all.  I keep going because you push me gently along…so thank you.

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Dennisport, MA

Our Cape Cod vacation 2010 has come and gone with all its lovely weather, salted ocean breezes, not one single smashed window, and a safe trip home.

Everything in between was chaos, sunburn, exhaustion, two major Jonah meltdowns, the ocean, swim pool, hot dog stands, and as much quiet time as we could get away with.

Meltdown #1 took place before we were even halfway there, at a rest stop, eating McD’s among the tables full of weary, road-worn travelers.  We could tell Jonah was getting agitated and we could almost visibly see the gears in his head trying to keep it together. Andy said to me, “you realize he’s about to have a freak-out and –” before he could utter another word Jonah launched himself at Andy, ripping his glasses off and throwing them skidding across the floor, one lens popping out completely.  Then the scratching, the screaming, the kicking.  Andy held him and wrestled him, wailing and crying, outside as quickly as possible while I avoided the gaze of the staring masses and hunted down scattered twisted pieces of my husband’s eye-wear.

Not an auspicious beginning.

We only stay at the Cape for three nights because it is all we can stand.  I spent most of the vacation fantasizing of Maria Von Trapp entering stage-left, singing of schnitzel with noodles, eager to care for my cherub so I can crouch on the beach and create pictures from shells, stones, and seaweed – all while gulping coffee, lullaby-ed by the waves, smiling into the sunshine.   I celebrated a birthday while I was there, making a wish to help transform my deliciously selfish fantasy into reality, but to no avail.  How do you solve a problem like (the distressing lack of) Maria?

You play pass the Jonah, that’s how.  So one morning I let Andy sleep in while I made breakfast and took Jonah down to walk the jetty — one of his favorite beach activities – ignoring the judgmental senior citizen couples screaming at me with their stares:  how can you let that poor little boy run barefoot on those treacherous rocks?

– and the next day Andy took Jonah for an early-morning trip to the playground so I could make some pictures in the sand after all.

But in between the brief periods of sun-lemon lit beach silence or a cushion-y extra hour’s sleep, Jonah challenged every inch of our patience.  He stomped around the room.  He shouted poopy in the potty! out the screen door overlooking the pool.  He begged repeatedly for wants:  cookie?  cookie? cookie? cookie? cookie? cookie? He was nearly always too loud.  He repeatedly refused undesired activities:  no brush teeth?!  no brush teeth?!  no brush teeth?!  no brush teeth?!  no brush teeth?!  no brush teeth?! He made endless demands. Entreaties. Complaints. Random booming declarations.  He asked for cheeseburger and ate one bite.  He asked for park and then declared all done after 5 minutes.  He requested swim pool and lasted another 5 minutes before begging for ocean.

But Jonah adores the ocean – and it very nearly made all the trouble worth it.

Like childbirth labor, by August next year the meltdowns, yelling, endless repeated phrases, rapidly vacillating requests (ocean?  pool?  hot dog?  car ride?) and screechy whining will have faded into a blurry hypnogogic memory of vague pain.  We’ll embrace optimism – it’ll be better this year – and try again.

We did have gorgeous weather. 80-85 degrees every day with ocean breezes, blue sky, and a lame hurricane that limped in, wheezing its 30mph winds, half a day after we’d left for home.

I admit I’d have loved to walk leisurely with Andy down the beach or, dare I dream, go out to an actual sit-down dinner while someone watched Jonah.  But all in all I have to say we did well.  Jonah swam in the pool, in the hot-tub, in the ocean, in the other pool, in the bath.  He leaped across the jetties like a deer, and he never once tried to scope out strangers’ coolers or throw sand at hapless unsteady infants.

He did, however, swat.  He even says the word “swat” while he is swatting, every time, as if we’re too obtuse to comprehend his actions unless he verbalizes them as well.  This is something new.  All vacation long when he didn’t want to do something (or didn’t get to do what he wanted), he both vocalized and pantomimed swat.   We said “no swat” angrily and gave him the evil eye, at which point he switched into contrite-boy-mode, asking “huck?  huck?”  “okay?  okay?”  ad infinitum.  “No, it’s not okay,” we told him, so he reverted to “swat,” again cocking his hand for a hit at whomever he was nearest.  This would necessitate quiet time, leading to more fun frustration and further swatting.

“Second verse? Same as the first!”

~ Herman’s Hermits

On the ride home the swat-and-huck routine became infuriatingly surreal.  swat and hug and hug and swat, the entire way.  Since we were in the front of the car and he in the back, we couldn’t really hug him; a touch on his knee with an outstretched, contorted arm had to suffice.  When he began to weep and panic, Andy and I would alternate who “hugged” him, all the while searching for distractions to pass the time without incident.  We fiddled with the radio, shoveled goldfish crackers and potato chips into our child, and prayed he wouldn’t break anyone’s glasses at the next rest stop.  We wished the miles away and behind us, driving with a time bomb in the backseat likely to explode at any moment if we didn’t high-tail it home – and fast.

It was as if, driving home, we expected to find someone waiting for us (Maria Von Trapp again?), ready to babysit so we could finally sleep, rest, and have a vacation from our vacation.  Not so.  But we made it through, assuredly deserving of matching cheesy t-shirts:  We Survived the 2010 Cape Cod Swat Team!!!


Bring it on, September.  We’re ready.

Jonah returns to school Wednesday, and there is no pretense of apathy about it; if you listen closely, you might even hear the angels in heaven chorusing good tidings of comfort and joy.

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