September 11, 2001

Yesterday was the sixth anniversary of the day our world changed. The world changes so often, and history has marked many days that "changed the world". I'm nearly 46 years old. I remember my parents talking about the day that Pearl Harbor was bombed, or the day President Kennedy was shot. I remember myself how excited we all were when Neil Armstrong first stepped on the surface of the moon. I remember clearly the shock we all felt when terror invaded the Olympic Village in Munich.
But in my lifetime, none of those events compares to September 11, 2001. I remember it clearly. And there it is. The root word - Clear. That's what I remember almost more than anything else that day. I remember the weather. The words "sparkling" and "clear" came into my mind over and over that day even before the terror began. I was then a 39-year-old mother of two boys, ages 11 and 13. At that time they attended our parish school and were in the 6th and 8th grades. School had just started the week before. September 11, 2001 was a Tuesday, and we had settled into the new routine. When I woke up that morning, I was amazed at how beautiful the weather was that day. The heat and humidity of the Philadelphia summer had fallen away overnight, and the fair breezes and a sparkling, crystal clear blue sky was above. Even though the boys were old enough to walk to school by themselves, I decided to stroll along with them that morning to enjoy that amazingly perfect weather. I kept looking at the sky and thinking, "What a beautiful day!" I was so enjoying my morning. The boys were safely installed in their classes by 8:30 a.m., and I talked to a few other mothers and then headed back home for my routine coffee break that I shared in an AOL chat room with other mothers who had also just dropped their kids off at school. I had intended to chat briefly, catch up on the news with my on-line mother's support group, and then set about the business of the day. It must have been around 9:00 a.m. when across the screen I saw another mother's entry appear: "OMG! TURN ON YOUR TV's! THE WTC!" I wasn't very good at chat room acronyms, and I remember thinking, "What is WTC?" I sat there for a minute or so, not wanting to get up and go to the other room to see the t.v., but other mothers began typing panicked remarks about a plane, fire, smoke and horror. I quickly moved to my family room and turned on the t.v. Good Morning America came on the screen, and I heard Charles Gibson's voice and saw the scene of smoke billowing out of a wounded tower. Was that real? Was I really seeing something that had actually happened? And as I stood there, just moments after turning on the t.v., I saw the second plane come in from behind the towers and strike the second tower. A fireball ripped out of the other side of the building, almost a burning cry of pain. I gasped. There was no comment from the Gibson or anyone else for perhaps just a split-second. I'm sure they were asking themselves just what I was asking myself. Did I just see another plane hit the tower? Was that real? There was a brief exchange between Gibson and another person. Gibson was saying that he thought it was as secondary explosion. The other person was saying, No, it was another plane, and his voice was obviously strained and excited. Gibson repeated that he thought it was an explosion. It felt more like denial than what he actually believed. We all wanted to be in denial. No, no. It was part of a single horror. There can't be more to this. The video was replayed, and then came the moment of clarity, clear as the sparkling blue sky behind the smoke and fire. It had indeed been another plane, in fact, large commercial airliner. A second plane. This was no accident. Someone was doing this on purpose.
What I remember most about that day was how quickly everything changed. How amazingly gorgeous the weather was, how wonderful the morning had been, and how quickly everything changed, in just an instant. Clarity. But also uncertainty. To this day, and I think for the rest of my life, I will always remember how clear and beautiful the weather was on September 11, 2001. When I see images from that day, I see bits of amazingly blue, cloudless sky in the background. And every time another gorgeous day occurs, just like today, I remember the horror of the day, the uncertainty that followed, knowing the world had changed but not knowing exactly how life would be from that point on. I now associate those memories with beautiful cloudless skies. And that is what terrorism does, inserts horror into beauty. But what is good and beautiful exists even when it seems overshadowed by evil. So we must work to bring the good and beautiful parts of life to the foreground, to pull the beautiful blue sky from the background each and every day of our lives.

Flushed Away

Today I realized that for me, motherhood pretty much begins and ends with the toilet. In just two days, I will launch the last two monkey-men out of the house for a time. The Princeling leaves tomorrow for his summer job, and the Baby Monkey leaves for a 12-day backpacking trip in New Mexico. That leaves me and Kong home alone for about two weeks. The prospect of being empty-nested, even if only temporarily, has spurred me to clean our nest. It is very near to impossible, for me at least, to keep this house spotless when the men-children are in residence. The best I can hope for it to maintain the place in "a bit of a tip."
But, knowing that they won't be home has me a bit excited. I am cleaning in anticipation that the place will stay clean for a bit. I also have two leaky faucets to contend with, and the plumber has been called. I have to admit that I'm embarrassed to let him see my bathroom and kitchen in a mess, so I spent some time cleaning those two rooms today. The upstairs bathroom has been particularly shameful, so that's where my efforts were focused.
I went upstairs on this lovely summer day and opened windows, letting a sweet breeze pour into the room. The idea was to air out the space, but more than likely, I let loose zillions of harmful bacteria into my unsuspecting community. For an hour I tackled mildew, scrubed soap scum, wiped, and polished. I left the beast, the toilet, for very last.
By the time I turned to the toilet, something came over me. It may have been the fumes of harsh chemical fluids, but I felt a rush of sentiment come over me. We live in an old home which was built in 1915, long before the invention of the master bedroom suite. Our upstairs bathroom is just that -- OUR bathroom. All five of us share it. Four men and me. When Kong and I first bought this house at the tender ages of 23 and 25 (he's older!), the bathroom was a horror. A tile tub area had basketball-sized holes bashed through the walls. These were covered with sheets of plastic taped down with duct tape. A sink hung on the wall and was propped up with 2 x 4 lumber. The whole mess was awash in lavendar paint, including the cunningly painted lavendar 2 x 4's. Oh, and there was a hideous black carpet. I choose to believe it had always been black.
One of our first big projects in our handyman special was to do something with the bathroom. It took a year of scraping to be able to afford a good plumber who replaced every bit of old rusted and leaking pipe with beautiful gleaming copper. I hung heavy vinyl wallpaper over the plywood walls. We cut and cursed and laid out a vinyl floor ourselves. I stayed home from work and installed a fiberglass tub surround, and we had our 1922 bathtub refinished. A new sink and vanity went in and lastly, FINALLY, a brand new toilet was installed.
And nearly as soon as it was installed, I found out I was pregnant. The toilet and I became intimate friends. "Morning sickness" does not do justice in describing what came over me morning, noon, and night for nine months. I did not feel nausea. I did not vomit. I did not upchuck. I PUKED. I SPEWED. And I PUKED AND SPEWED right up until the moment I left for the hospital to deliver that child. I spent many a night lying on the floor next to the toilet, because it was simply the best place to be. And because I spent so much time with my head in the toilet, I decided it may as well be clean. After all, there was no need to make the situation any worse than it had to be. In the brief moments sans nausea, I cleaned the toilet and kept it sparkling.
And today, as I knelt once again before my porcelain friend, I remembered how well it served me, even as my husband turned away from me in my hour of need, my loo was there for me. I abused it during two pregnancies, and it faithfully served. Three Monkey Boys and Kong treat this poor servant with disrespect. And now, as the boys leave for a time, I am cleaning, returning bleached dignity to our faithful friend and servant. I began my adventure in motherhood kneeling before this American Standard, and as I begin my short stint as a childless occupant of this house, I find myself still kneeling there.

Accomplishments

Today I feel a sense of accomplishment. At the end of this day I am finally able to sit in my bedroom, cross-legged with my laptop balanced on my legs as I type a new blog entry. Oh, and while I do that, I've got my iPod in my ears playing sultry vocals by Corinne Bailey Rae. I'm pretty happy in my electronic cocoon.

It's been an interesting day. I tried to get out of bed promptly at 5:30 a.m. I've been diligently trying to do that for weeks. What is actually happening is that I've diligently snapped the snooze button, alarm after alarm, day after day. Late start after late start, I've dragged myself downstairs to work. I can't keep a regular routine. But there has been nothing regular about the household routine for over a month. The Princeling has been finished school since early in May. His first year of college is out of the way, and he's preparing for another summer working as a camp counselor. In between he's taken a month off to rest, and to rest, and to rest some more. He's been lounging in various soft spots around the house, occasionally socializing with friends, and then bringing his friends home to rest and lounge, as well. I haven't minded the company too much. He doesn't emerge from his cage until mid to late morning, and now and then he even makes me coffee. He's a nice enough guy.
The other two teenagers were thankfully about the usual routine of getting up early, scraping sadly out of the house to school, and then returning home with an attitude befitting someone who had been breaking rocks in a quarry all the live-long day. That was until about a week or so ago when the end-of-year school schedules began to kick in.
The bizarre, irregular half-day/full-day/no day schedule of two different high schools has caused chaos. I woke up Middle Monkey one morning thinking that he was late for school, when in fact, he had no business being in school that day. A bunch of other people were taking exams, but not him. Then there was the day that Baby Monkey had a lie-in because seniors were graduating. School was closed. I just couldn't keep track until today.
This was the day. The first full day of summer vacation for everyone. Kong escaped the house by 7:00 a.m. and left me alone with snoring growls coming from the upstairs cages. I went down to my office and began a day's worth of transcription. I think I had all of one hour's uninterrupted work before the baby appeared. He didn't seem to want anything of me, but his presence had me thinking that an interruption was about to come at any moment. It wasn't long before the Princeling came down to see his brother home. "Great," he said. No enthusiasm there. It must have been a reminder that his time at home on the couch was coming to an end. The Middle Monkey didn't come down until much later, grunted as he walked past me on his way to the refrigerator.
The rest of the day was a stream of text message sounds, phone calls, people coming, requests to be driven somewhear, requests to be picked up from somewhere else, requests for money, inquiries about food, girlfriends in the house, girlfriends leaving the house, people wanting to play basketball, and more.
In the midst of this, I managed to go to the big giant office store and finally get myself a wireless card for my dinosaur laptop. I want to be able to escape and hide from them,and for that I need the mobility granted by a wireless connection. I managed to install the card with no problem, make two day's worth of family dinners, go to the Italian market, take Middle Monkey to get a new pair of shoes (black again - it's the only color he wears), and gassed up the van without getting too dizzy watching the numbers whir round and round as the dollars flowed into my fuel tank. I came home, tried again to get some uninterrupted work done, but Kong came home wanting me to do banking as well. Over the phone. Right. Sat on hold, hold, hold, hold. Refused to do it any longer, fought with Kong, and left to pick up Baby Monkey and his girlfriend. There was more working, more feeding, more people, less people, and at the end of the day . . .
My wireless card works, and my iPod is playing Corinne Bailey Rae. I have accomplished something.

Pinelands Paddle

The New Jersey Pinelands is one of my favorite places, and not just because I grew up not so very far away. I love it because of it's contrasts. There are towering cedars and shrubby, bent pines. One of the world's richest aquifers lies just beneath it's dry, sandy surface covered in layers of dry, quick-to-burn pine needles and oak leaves. There's cactus and coyotes -- in New Jersey. There is a full and complete solitude in the most densely populated state in the nation. The New Jersey Pine Barrens are beautiful.
I especially go for the excellent paddling. A few years ago, a friend introduced me to kayaking. It was my idea to paddle along the Batsto River. It was his idea to paddle in a kayak. I loved it so much, that I soon bought my own small kayak. I took my son with me on another trip, and not long after that, I bought him a kayak.
This past weekend, I returned to the Pines with a small group of older boy scouts to paddle the Batsto River from Hampton Furnace to Batsto Lake. We spent the night at Lower Forge, a remote, paddle or hike-in campsite. It was an interesting trip, if not totally peaceful. I mean, I have to be realistic. I was going into the woods with six teenage boys. I knew the din would be less than that caused by the usual 20 or so boys I travel with once a month, but I knew the quiet of the Pines would be disturbed.
And so it was. Just two minutes after we began our downriver trip, one of our new kayakers found himself chest deep in the river with the kayak submerged. He had a good grip on it, so at least it didn't float away down the river. We took a few minutes at this juncture to demonstrate how to exit the river, pump a kayak nearly empty, pull it on shore to flip some water out and pump some more. We did this twice more with two other scouts over the course of the weekend. After all, there's nothing quite like excellent audiovisuals as teaching aids.
Even with the minor mishaps we had a good trip the first day. The boys seemed to enjoy the challenge of the fast moving water, unusually high after recent heavy rains, and the quick succession of hard turns. If there's one major lesson to be learned when paddling a Pine Barrens River, it's how to steer a boat. You don't float these waters! There were a lot of river bank crashes, a lot of thumps into fallen trees, and not-quite smooth turns. But I still enjoyed my time on the water. The woods were blushing with red and pale green of spring buds. Hawks soared, small birds twittered, turtles sunned on logs. It was gorgeous.
We reached our campsite around 3:30 and went about searching for firewood. This is always a challenge at Lower Forge. It's a well used campsite and downed wood is picked clean. Most paddlers carry in firewood in canoes. But kayaks don't afford that kind of available space. Still, with some sharp eyes, we were able to glean enough wood from the forest floor, a forest which still showed signs of a fire not so very long ago. We started a fire, began dinner, and dried out a couple of wet sleeping bags.
And just as I was thinking that the trip was going ever so well, I was reminded that I was camping with boys. The crude sounds of farting and laughter began. I usually let these things go on very briefly. I know that boys will be boys, but I don't think they should stay boys -- 7-year-old boys at that. Some of the more mature boys in our group were as disgusted as I was, and we quickly set the more gaseous offenders straight. As I worked on my home-dehydrated beef stew that I was sharing with my adult companions and our soon-to-be adult Eagle Scout, I looked over to see how our younger campers were making out with food. As expected, a trough of ramen noodles was being prepared. It seems as though the average American boy lives on a diet of sugary cereal and salty ramen noodles. And just as the trough of noodles began to soften, one of the young men realized he had left his utensils at home. This was not a problem, apparently, as he simply dug his river muddied hands into his ramen noodles and slurped through his fingers. By now I was fairly disgusted. You'd think I'd be used to this sort of behavior after 11 years as a scout leader. But, I actually consider it a blessing that I haven't become used to this at all. I gave a brief lecture on the meaning of "Be Prepared", and returned to my stew tending.
Eventually, our meals were completed, including a birthday cake which was transported in via a double-thickness of Zip-Loc bags, topped with a rousing, off-key chorus of "Happy Birthday" (The you-look-like-a-monkey-and-smell-like-one-too version.) After I gave a detailed campfire description of the origins of the Jersey Devil and all of his notorious sightings over the past 250 years, we discussed marauding nighttime raccoons, and decided to hang our food a la bear bag fashion. One scout hung a bag quite high and quite effectively. This bag contained only sugary treats and highly salted ramen noodles, along with two cans of Spam. Our discerning furry visitors that night never bothered this bag at all. The bag full of nutritious food, including bagels, instant oatmeal, various dried meats, fruit, and trail mix was hung at eye level and about six inches from the tree trunk.
I know that I told the scout in charge of this project that the bag needed to be further from the tree trunk, but I didn't follow up on those instructions before I went to bed. Not so very long after I crawled into my tent and zipped up my sleeping bag, I heard the unmistakable sound of chewing coming from the direction of the food bag. I thought to myself, "You should really get out of this tent, put on your shoes, take your flashlight and scare the little beast back into the forest. Then, you should re-hang the bag properly so that in the morning you can have a decent breakfast." The fact of the matter is, my self-reply to that thought was, "The hell with it." I just rolled over and went to sleep.
Later that night I awoke several times. Each time I heard the sound of plastic being chewed, followed by an occasional light thump, and the chatter-giggle of a raccoon who was obviously pleased with his treasure-filled pinata. I was sure that every bit of our food bag had been torn apart and was strewn about the campsite. The following morning I was surprised to learn that the bag was still hanging, and that it had only a small hole chewed in it's base. The little thief had simply made a small opening and reached his arm and hand (Yes, they absolutely have hands.) into the bag and yanked out whatever he could reach. And he reached all four of my longed for cinnamon bagels, tore open the precious jam packets that I had collected from McDonald's and licked them pristine-clean. I was saddened by the loss, but I couldn't help smiling at the thought of the little guy's happiness as he discovered these delights. I am, however, sorry that he profited from my laziness and reinforced his bad behavior. I'm sure he will continue to visit other campers in the future.
And I don't want to forget to mention two wonderful sounds heard that night. The whipporwills of the Pines were calling. I try to stay up and listen as long as possible, but their chanting rhythms always put me to sleep. And I also heard my very favorite sound of all, the hoot of owls. Around 4:00 a.m. I heard one very near. He called out several times, very clearly, Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoooo. I knew that if I listened closely, I'd hear his partner somewhere further off. Sure enough, a faint, slightly different call answered. The pair called to each other for a short time, and then the calling stopped, as the owl flew off silently. Whenever I hear owls calling at night, I consider it a very great gift. It's a lovely, lovely sound.
All in all, I had a very nice trip. It was a bit insane at times as being with the boys can sometimes feel like herding squirrels. But I had the chance to spend a night in one of my very favorite places.

I'm still here!

Yes! I am. Ever since I took a full-time job in October, I haven't quite got my time organized. I remember that I have a blog, but I just don't sit down and write anything. Ahh! But if only you could hear all the ideas for blogs that I have stored in my head!

I'll be back soon! Maybe tonight while 7 or 8 boy scouts camp in my living room before a kayak trip. I'm sure they'll provide me with plenty of writing inspiration.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

That's what they say. And if that's the case, I guess I better start typing away, because I can't post any pictures. At least, I can't post any pictures that I've taken with my expensive digital camera. Why? Because someone stole it. Yep. And that's not the worst part. It was stolen from a cub scout event. I'm a cubmaster. Yeah. I am. Laugh now and get it out of your system. I'd post a photo of me in my uniform, but I don't have a camera. Because during the course of performing my cubmaster (or mistress) duties, someone swiped my camera. We were in a packed room running a Pinewood Derby. (Little wooden cars made by cute little cub scouts and raced down a wooden track.) I was busy running all over the place, doing this for one person, something else for another, then another thing for everyone. I volunteer my butt off for scouts. I camp every month with the older boys, I spend hours at home preparing for cub scout stuff. I stand up in front of the boys and do silly things. I teach them, I play with them, I help their parents by keeping their boys occupied and giving them all something to do together. Only my 16 year old is still in scouts. Everything I do for cub scouts, the thousands of volunteer hours that I give, is for other people's children. And last night, someone in that room thanked me by stealing my camera.
Forgive me if I'm not witty today. It's hard to be funny when you're pissed.

Acceptance

The Princeling has been accepted to a four-year college. Nay! A UNIVERSITY! (A subject for another blog will be how annoyed I am by colleges claiming to be universities, especially as I attended Temple University. But I'll have to save that tirade for another day. And no, Arcadia, no Rowan, you are not universities.) Our young Monkey Prince received his acceptance as a transfer student to Millersville University. He will be studying meterology. I'm very proud, and not just for the obvious reasons. The Monkey Prince has taken control of his own destiny. Kong and I have never even set foot on the Millersville University campus. We haven't even looked at the course catalogue. (We've checked the tuition rates, however.) It has been completely the Princeling's decision to study metereology. He's researched schools, visited Millersville on his own, and completed his own application. He OWNS this, and I'm very proud.
These days parents begin fretting over college applications somewhere about three months into their firstborn's nursery school career. Year after year the anxiety ramps up until it comes to a crescendo in the junior year of high school and then the senior year application frenzy. There are worries over getting into "good" schools. A flurry of campus visits, interviews, second visits, etc. etc. And here we sit, having done nothing at all for our eldest son! There are several reasons why we have been uninvolved, not the least of which is that he's quite capable of doing this for himself.
But one of my main reasons for not going on endless campus tours and poring over college propaganda is that I really don't care what a campus is like. I don't care what the average class size is, and I don't care if my child gets the "college experience". You see, I went to Temple University. It's an inner city school, and I do mean inner city. It's located smack dab in one of the more . . . shall we say, seriously real life areas of Philadelphia. There are no rolling hills or grassy meadows. Instead, you'll hear subways running under Broad Street and will probably have to be on your guard against petty theft perpetrated by the students of the nearby junior high school. I will insert a disclaimer and say that Temple has come a long way since I first walked on campus in 1980, but it's still a big city school.
I chose Temple because I looked at the course catalog. Temple offered the program I wanted, had a great reputation, and was affordable. Those are the things that count. And I was more than satisfied with my college experience. I received an amazing education at one of the most miserable campuses you'd ever want to visit, occasionally sat in overcrowded classes, and never once sat on a grassy knoll in the sunshine. It was one of the best experiences of my life.
The same is true for Millersville and the Princeling. I really don't care if he and the school are a "good fit". Here's my philosophy on choosing a college: It's four short years of what one hopes to be a very long life. Deal with what you have to, and get the education you need. It's not play time, kiddies. The "college experience" often includes partying and binge drinking. Let's not play Animal House while away at school. This is work. And it's hard. So do it.
I may be unusual in my thinking. But there has been no stress in our house over college selection. I've always told my children that if they don't know what they want to do when they graduate from high school, then take time off. Go travel, go work. If you want to stay in school, then go to the local community college and take some classes in different areas. See what sparks your interest. When and if you are serious about earning a degree, then go get it. This philosophy may be simplistic, but it works. Parents have a hard time with this concept. Why? Because we all compete through our children. "Where's you son going to college?" "Oh! Our precious is going to Harvard." It can be tough to follow that with, "My son is going to community college."
I feel strongly about this. Our job as parents is to put honorable people into the world. There is no single correct formula for doing that. And "good" schools do not guarantee a life of honor. After all, George W. Bush is an ivy league graduate.

January 12 of 12

There's a fun thing that a lot of folks do these days, and it's called "12 of 12". The idea is that on the 12th day of each month, you take 12 pictures throughout your day and then share them. So, this is my first attempt at a 12 of 12. Problem is, this was one really dull day for me. Next month, the 12th is a Monday, and that's usually a scout meeting night. There's always lots to see there!

So here we go!
6:00 a.m. and the cat has to be fed. There's a story on my blog from last year, I think November and December of 2005. This cat is "Lily" and she came to live with us after "Clancey", our 20-year-old calico died. Baby Monkey was really attached to Clancey. It's a good story.

This is all you're going to get to see of me at 7:30 a.m. I've been at work for an hour and a half, and usually I roll straight out of bed, go downstairs, feed the cat, and start typing away. I'm a medical transcriptionist, and I work at home. Since I work in a pantry next to my kitchen, surrounded by shelving with jars and jars of yummies that I put up myself, I call this the "Pantroffice". It doesn't roll off the tongue like "Cloffice", but it's the best I could do.

Back to the cat! She's my office-mate. What a life! She lays in that soft basket on top of the warm radiator cover all day.

The Princeling has awakened! Oldest Son has this one last Friday off before starting classes again at the local community collge. It was pretty early for him. Generally, he'll sleep until 11:00 a.m. on days he's off from school. I would have really teased him about his sleeping schedule this morning, but he made me breakfast and turned on an interview with Captain Noah on the Preston and Steve show. (You have to be from Philly and of a certain age to know Captain Noah.) That was quite possibly the funniest interview I've ever heard!


Lunch break. It's convenient to work next to the kitchen. That's a bowl of spaghetti squash with tomatoes and mushrooms and some ricotta salata and chick peas. I'm not a vegetarian, but I enjoy vegetarian food.


A Philly cheesesteak. It's a small one. The Princeling went out and got this one at Lee's Hoagie House. A good cheesesteak is probably my favorite sandwich in the world!


If you really want to aggravate your teenagers, you have to go right into their world. At around 2:30, I was done with work, so I decided to get some exercise and take a walk. I walked down to the high school to meet the kids coming home from school, just like I did when they were wee little things in elementary school. Here's the middle child wondering why I'm taking his picture.


And here comes Baby Monkey a few blocks behind. He's seen the camera and is trying to spin away from me. Actually, he's headed in my direction.


And there he goes! He's 6'3" and he's all leg. He covers a lot of ground when he takes a step. I turned around and followed him home, but I had to scurry and run at times to keep up. He knew it, too! Wouldn't slow down! I ended up beating him to the front door, though. Yay for me! What a workout!


A shiny new South Korean passport for the Middle One. He turned 17 and we had to get him a new passport stamped with his Korean military exemption. There's a Korean travel agency in our area that handles all the paperwork with the South Korean consulate in NYC. We'd been waiting for weeks for this to come back, and today we went to the agency to pick it up. In just a few months, though, he'll be applying for U.S. citizenship.

Sometimes this place feels like a frat house. Around 8:00 p.m. the boys were lounging around watching t.v. Notice that the Christmas tree is still not put away.

The Princeling is using the exercise ball in a less than aerobic manner.


My bonus shot is actually two. I didn't really start anything new for the year, but I did something that I always talk about doing. I cleaned the refrigerator, and here are the before and after shots. How thrilling is that?