Hidden In France

Is it over yet?

May I safely come out from under my rock?  Can I finally wear this t-shirt?

 

I managed the holiday season with only one (absolutely epic) meltdown. Hurray.

So 2010, huh?  

I heard something on NPR this afternoon, describing the post 9/11 decade in very unflattering terms.  I wanted to agree: the facts were there and I don't need to enumerate them here.  Let's face it: the decade sucked.

But the truth is... (can i say this in public? could be controversial.) these have been the best ten years of my life.  

This was the decade infertility lost.  This was the decade I realized my husband, the one I had been fighting for ten years, was actually a wonderful, loving, delicious man. This was the decade of cemented friendships (maybe because I finally understood how to be a friend.  This was the decade when I gained a sister.  This was the decade I learned to control my anger, and then realized it was no longer controlling me.  This was the decade of dreaming up, designing and building my dream house and garden.  

This was the decade I discovered writing.  Oh!  and this was the decade they invented this little thing called blogging.

I'm ready for the next decade. I'm excited.  What about you?

The grinchette

This might be the first year I am able to make good on my threat/promise not to celebrate Christmas.  

 

There are no decorations in my house, no tree, no lights, no candles with the scent of artificial cinnamon, no frantic wrapping of gifts, no expectations, no participating in mass hysteria and mass consumption.  

also: no fun.

I have not been reading your blogs.  I'm sorry.  Self-preservation.

 

Well, a little fun quand même.  Last week-end I went solo to the beach, yes the beach. It was hot and the ocean was flat as a pancake.  There were gorgeous people in bathing suits and roller skates  on the boardwalk and the only hint that Christmas might be near was that some were wearing santa's hats.  

It felt good, that winter sun on my skin and that beautiful light. I sat in the sand and ate a delicious curry-chicken tartine from Le Pain Quotidien and watched shirtless men pay volleyball.  Elsewhere in the country there was a blizzard, planes were not landing.  In london people were stuck overnight in a train, in a tunnel, under the sea.  In afganistan children were being bombed.  

 

Maybe I should get over it already and rejoice in all the tra-la-la, the fa-la-la and the Ho-ho-ho, but this is the first year i am NOT clinically depressed around the issue of Christmas so believe me when I tell you boycotting Christmas is worth it.  

 

Don't call children services on me.  My kids care about Christmas much less than I do, especially after 8 nights of hannukah.  There have been plenty of parties and families gatherings and they get to enjoy decorations and the smell of fake cinnamon at friends' houses.

 

Oh, and on Christmas day we're leaving for San Diego.  It will be even sunnier and more gorgeous there.  I have been monitoring myself for signs of that terrible Christmas blues: so far there are none. I think I'll be okay.

Please click on each picture for well-deserved credit.

I rebel!

I cannot WAIT for school to end, for winter break to start (even though i'll probably regret it immediately, breaks do come with their own sets of problems.) 

It's just that I can't make another peanut butter sandwich at 6:30 in the morning. Sorry, no can't do. I can't witness another morning of my poor boy dragging himself into his car and to school before it's even 7 am - before it's even light outside.  I can't watch him study until his shoulders are so tense he looks about to break.  Junior year is hard indeed.  If adults had to work from seven a.m. to late into the night almost without pause day after day and even on the week-ends, they would rebel.  They would start a revolution, overthrow their government. Unions have been invented precisely against that kind of treatment.  I think this is why a lot of teenagers fall off the wagon at that age.  They do it for a while, then pause for a minute and say, you want me to do what? 

And me, ME!  I'm exhausted from worrying about him, praising him, lecturing him, motivating him, coaxing him, lying to him about how sexy college will be. 

I need a break from having a teen-age son in school, that's what I need.  Come! On!  He's only a baby.  He's got a terrible cold and had to muscle through another week of tests, essays and finals.  No 17 year old should be made to read half the Crucible AND write a report about it the next day.  

I'm exhausted from worrying about him, praising him, lecturing him, motivating him, coaxing him, lying to him about how sexy college will be. I'm sorry, but screw college.  This is too much for a mom to bear.

It's Rhhhhanukah!

There is so much we're doing this week-end it's ridiculous.  It's Hannukah, it's raining, ants have invaded my house right on cue, I have 30 people coming over for lunch tomorrow for an impromptu party, my kid's friends are coming over for a band practice (sound of very loud rock grinding through my brain all afternoon) but I could not say no because i asked him to take care of his brother tonight instead of going out because, thanks Adonai, my husband is taking me to a play tonight, something we never do.  

Breath.

Another breath.

I need a break from the cleaning, baking, wrapping and end-of the year mishegas.  

So here for the enthralling work of artist Sarah Zambiasi.  It's so rich, so full of whimsy and soul. I'm feeling nourished and replenished just looking at it.

 

 
 

 

Have a great week-end.  Pffff... Those of you who celebrate just one holiday don't know how easy you have it.

Southern California rain

It's pouring rain out today and i feel melancholic in a delicious way.  The delicious part comes from the knowledge that Southern California rain is so rare and special... and guaranteed not to last more than a few days.  (Courage Isa. Elle va partir avant d'être vraiment arrivée, cette pluie.)

 

Rain in my Proust's Madeleine, it plunges me back into my teenager years of stare out the window till your eyes bleed boredom.  Rain for me is about looking out the window and daydreaming that you will one day get the hell out of this stinkin' joint. (Heuseusement que tu étais là, Fred.)

 

When it rains, I remember the feeling of staring at a sky the color of lead and at that drizzle, that horrific Parisian drizzle, and wondering when my life would start, if ever.

 

Southern California rain, to me, is going back in time to my wild dreams of a place of freedom, sunshine and Prince Charming and realizing suddenly that wait a minute, that dream did come true!

 

Oops.  Didn't mean to get overly poetic on yor arse.

These paintings.. what can I say.. Goosebumps! I'm in love.  I had way too much fun hopscotching (is that a word?) around Flikr yesterday.  That's where I discovered Cat Collier paintings and fantastic collages. You can buy her prints and some originals on Etsy.

Edible Robert Pattinson

What else to give to the woman who has everything on her Birthday?

 

 My ten year old made this on photoshop because I'm hopeless at it.

I told him what I wanted and he said okay, no questions asked, which usually means he is very embarrassed.  I hope the process of creating this garish thing is not going to mess him up for life.

My morning walks

I've been making exercise a priority the last few months.  Exercise-Lite, lets not get carried away.  I've been walking for an hour every morning before I set down to write.  Because I have no patience for music I subscribe to great podcasts, This American Life, Book Talk, Radio Lab and lately The Moth.  Just terrific story telling takes me away from whatever small problem my brain likes to wrap itself around and squeeze, and puts me in the right space for writing.

Today, along with my ipod, which I listen to not with cool little earphones since my ear canals are either atrophied or ultra sensitive, but with ugly-ass head phones  like the retarded brother in There is Something About Mary, I took my camera and tried to capture some of the flora.  I look a bit deranged on those walks I'm sure, especially as I laugh out loud, or even cry listening to the stories.

Here it is, imagine the soundtrack to be the slightly nasally voice of Ira Glass as i give you a short lesson in botany.

Yellow trees.  Those are actually a chinese pistache trees (no relation to the nut)

  black tree

 red tree

green trees

 
so southern California trees

Someone didn't realize how big those would get trees

And finally: Do you see what I see or is it just my dirty mind tree.   (stop staring now)

Drool!

Did you see the pictures of the house and studio of blogger A Fanciful Twist?  What thrill!  I'm showing here some of my favorites, but if you want to see them all and read about them you must go here.  To buy Vanessa Valencia's work you must go here.  

  

 

 

 
 

 

 

Okay, now I will roll my tongue back into my mouth and try to get some work done.