Category: life

Last night I was reading my new Billy Collins book of poetry in bed trying not to think about the appointment Mark and I would be going to in the morning. I was on my last poem, as my eyes were closing, and here were these amazing lines:

“But tonight, the lion of contentment
has placed a warm, heavy paw on my chest,”

I closed the book and prayed for the lion’s paw. Visualized it on my chest. And slept.

This morning our appointment went so well. The most visible nodule in my lung is still shrinking.

So today, on this rainy Monday, with Zoe and her friend Ben busy in the basement, I am curling up with my lion and stroking the paw so heavy on my chest.

It is beyond lovely.

It may have something to do with my sister’s master storytelling skills, but her kids seem to say more funny things than the average kid. There have been times that Becki calls us with a kid story and we keep it on the answering machine for weeks because it still makes us laugh.

So it isn’t much of a surprise that many of our family jokes/quotes come from one of her kids. Ike. Who also answers to the name “LaRue” and “Smedley.” Some of his quips have become so familiar that I keep them like mantras in my head.

Take for example what he said during a family art auction. Up for bidding was Josie’s portrait of Blackie, Ike’s ill-fated hamster. Ike’s opening bid was an exhuberant “30 dollars!” Becki quashed this with the reasoning that a thirty dollar bid was not in the spirit of a family art auction where bids were to be more like a nickel. Ike’s response was “But I like that picture as much as she likes thirty dollars!” Good economic sense, in my mind. Now, when I shop, I reason with myself, “do you like that as much as you like (insert price here)?”

Ike has his first day of Kindergarten recently. He was supposed to say his name and something interesting about himself. I thought for sure his love of porta-potties would be mentioned. Instead, he introduced himself as Ike Veal. Then said that the interesting thing was that his last name meant, “tortured baby cow.” Now, wouldn’t that make PETA proud?

Then, our favorite. And the one that has been in our family vernacular since hearing it. Frustrated with his sister Ramona who, having 3 years on him, can out-reason him handily; Ike shouted “Ramona, that doesn’t make any sense but you!” I have come to accuse Mark of this repeatedly. Sorry to say, I’ve been at the receiving end of the accusation too–particularly when I am insisting that the van be packed a certain way for our recent camping trip.

Here’s to you, Ike LaRue!

When I was a kid, I spent every day of the summer with my brother and sister. We had ONE friend in the neighborhood and the whole drive-your-kids-for-a-playdate thing had not yet been invented. But, in my rosy recollection, these giants of my youth (and adulthood) were all I needed. Here they are.

Then…And now…

I registered for the Race for the Cure the other day. September 29. I will once again drag my sorry self 3.1 miles while Jane keeps my mind off my misery. (She qualified as my best friend decades ago, but this running thing really has her title cemented.)

Today, in an effort to begin “training” for the Race, I walked over to the track near our house and forced myself to jog. It was basically high noon and I was jogging on a dusty cinder track. I did not enjoy it.

When I finally let myself stop (OK, I am really kind to myself when I am running–wouldn’t want to pull a muscle, you know), I stretched in the shade and thought about how little I like running. How what I really want is to have run.

And, of course, races are always analogous to life–I make my own comparisons that way–so I wondered if this is how I can be about life, sometimes. That I’m not so very focused on living simply because I want to have lived. Want to make it to the next birthday, graduation, milestone. I think so often about how long I’ll stay ahead of this disease that I lose sight of the fact that I’m ahead of it today. Today.

Today I ran a mile. I have run a mile. I did it. Today.

It was nice to have run it. But I think I’ll try to pay more attention while I’m doing it next time.

(This photo is from the Race 2006)

It’s a lovely day and Zoe is wearing red; so I decided to try to take a 5-year-old picture of her. Here are a few of them…

Then we decided that the eight-year-old needed a photo shoot too…

A few YEARS ago now, I told our friend Jamie that I was “on the cusp of complete home organization.” Jamie’s closets would make an organization guru weep tears of joy and his garage cubbies make me salivate. The man knows organization.

I, on the other hand, slipped on and off the cusp, in fits of feng shui (feng-ing it up and shui-ing it to the curb), free-cycling, labeling, and rubbermaid buying. The cusp, it seemed, would be where I every-so-often remained. And no further.

But then, this book came into my life. I got it out from the library for professional reasons that quickly took a personal turn. I found Mark with his nose in it one day and we haven’t stopped talking about it since.

Seems my forays onto the cusp were mere acclimitization hikes. Now’s the time for the summit bid. The eight boxes in the garage gleaned from the kitchen alone (and I’m not even finished purging the cupboards) would attest to the zeal of this convert. There are plenty of the author’s tips that we’re happily ignoring (such as eating off paper plates every night!), but the “brutal purge”? That, I can relate to. The efficiency demands? Mark loves them.

What, you say, might be in those garage boxes? Here’s a sampling:

1. a fondue pot
2. a meat tenderizer
3. a banged up bundt pan (there’s still another one in the cabinet)
4. a coffee maker
5. about 12 cookbooks

The boxes are multiplying by the day.

The garage sale will be in September. Mark has added three laundry baskets of old technical journals to the recycling bin. We have both sent large boxes of clothes to In the Image.

And after the garage sale, the recycling pick-up, and the charity trips, Jamie will need to join us for a summit party.

So, I haven’t posted in a while. That’s because the Veals are here and this is how much fun we’re having…

It’s good to be 36.

In a silly evening a few nights ago, Zoe took the digital camera and giggled her way around the house taking pictures. Below are the results of her photo shoot. I think it is evidence that no matter what age a camera comes into our hands, our first photos always include arty shots of our feet. Wasn’t there a Scarlett Johanssen line in Lost In Translation about this?

You’ll notice the requisite self-portrait and overlit photo of the best friend here too.