Concrete

It seems more summer than summer itself here in Brooklyn--not the firefly nights picnics beach barbecue and smell of fresh mowed lawn summer, but the steaming concrete boiling winds off the expressway open fire hydrant sweaty queues at the ice cream truck brewing but never arriving thunderstorms police siren kind of summer. There's something to be said for summer in the city; it doesn't care about you, it's just doing its own thing.

Oh and I've got a new post. It's alas only NC-17 in spirit.

Intrepid

My daughter, that is.

I just dropped Hedgehog off at her Indian wilderness camp for the day, and it was so hard to remember that she isn't me--I was feeling tremulous "on her behalf" at leaving her with strangers in a strange place in the woods, but then I gave a little count to ten and reminded myself that she is game for almost anything these days, and didn't seem at all concerned about being left. My biggest challenge as a parent has always been this--how to give her both freedom and security, without letting my own hangups (and believe me, I have many) interfere--how to let her go her little way with a sense that I'm there, but not clinging. I know I'm repeating myself here, but I feel a need to say it over and over again--like an incantation to protect Hedgehog from my overprotective, overcontrolling, overwhelming, pestering, questioning, hypervigilant parenting style.

I don't think it's an accident that everything I've enrolled her in this summer--survival skills and wilderness training, self-defense and martial arts--is designed to strengthen her independence and fierce little spirit--I can't always show her these things myself, and I'm not above asking for help with this, the hardest job I've ever had!

Anyway, signing out now from my bootleg blogging session in a parking lot in Saratoga Springs, NY! Hope everyone's well out there!

kisses--

I Had a Pedicure

Such luxury, and my toenails are now painted crimson.

New post at Just a Housewife, my new favorite weird place to hang out.

Classic Girl

Sometimes I just love to have a good cry, and I'll play song after weepy song, beginning with usually something by David Bowie and spiralling downward through all the complaint rock I can think of, all the crap from Joni Mitchell's "Blue," and Liz Phair's "Divorce Song" and "F!@#k and Run," and the Shins and Velvet Revolver (fall to pieces, anyone?) and of course that weeper's anthem, "Down" by London Suede, and Bob Dylan, and who knows what other gloomy tearjerkers, but always ending with Jane's Addiction's "Classic Girl," which, for some reason, is my ultimate weeper. When Sgt. Pepper was working at night and he'd come home to find me clutching a tear-stained "Ritual de lo Habitual," he'd know instantly what had transpired, and suggest that maybe it was time to turn off the stereo. To his credit, although he witnessed this at least several times, he'd never laugh at me, or, at least, not out loud.

I hate to think that this is a girl's-only thing--or that I'm the only one who does it at all--do guys do this too? Or maybe they just take the weepy song journey without the accompanying sobbing? Anyway, if you've never done this, I think it's quite salubrious. I'm even thinking of making a mixed cd...although perhaps one girl's weeper is another's dance party...



p.s. I've finally gotten a post up at Just a Housewife, but the NC-17 warning on that one is possibly just boredom...

Who Am I?

Well, who knows really. But I've decided that I need a new forum for some of my more, er, NC-17 musings. This is what happens to housewives. Just kidding. Anyone who stops by here is certainly welcome to check my other blog, but also more than welcome not to, as it may not be your style. I'm happy to just ramble on to myself on this other one.

Anyway, here it is if you like. I'll have a post up soon. If not, I'll have a post up here too.

xo

For the Love of God, a New Post Please!!! I Can't Look at that F-in' Hill for One More Second!

Okay, I heard ya girly. I'm a' thinkin'. While I'm a' thinkin' check out this beautiful fruit pastry.

The Road to Town

I drove this insanely tall hill a few minutes ago to get to the library to post this picture of the insanely tall hill...it's completely self-referential. Xs and Os to anyone out there today...

Happy Independence Day (and to the rest, Happy Friday)!

I'm upstate now, away from my darling high speed wireless, and am posting outside the tiny local library which gets a signal. It's awkward, however, and I feel even more than my usual furtive feelings when I post at home from the comfort of my couch...so I will just leave you to mull over this peculiar image of Uncle Sam courting Lady Liberty...who knew he was such a randy old devil?

Riddles

I love hearing the sweet sound of Sgt. Pepper reading to Hedgehog at night. I know she's happy and he's happy and I get a nice knitting break. We have an upside-down apartment--bedrooms on the first floor, kitchen, dining, living on the second--and Sarge's voice rumbles up the stairs; I can't hear what he's saying, just the bass of it, and Hedgie's little piping tones.

They just finished "The Hobbit," which Hedgie is raving about. She loves the riddles with which Gollum and Bilbo challenge each other--if you're familiar with the book--if not, they're still wonderful--Hedgie wrote them out and posted them on our fridge:






Just so she wouldn't forget.

Lists

Is it just me, or have folks been going a bit existential of late? LOL, who am I to complain, I love a good reckoning with the great beyond and hereafter as much as the next gal...sort of...

Brian at CSI Seattle has a great post up, all about making one's life list of goals and aspirations small and greater...in fact, as I suddenly remembered, Gig from Gigsville also had a post on her own take on this very interesting topic. Oh, and don't forget Kylie!

So motivated, I went to do my own version of this exercise and found it hard, in a way. I revisited old regrets (dropping out of Rabbinical school), inadequacies (hello? dissertation? where art thou?) and my ever-present fear of death and dying. Between this list and my memoir...oy. But then I decided to cheer up, and also to not call the list "things to do before I die." I mean, are we so sure I'm not going to live forever anyway? But I digress...