It's my favorite night, pillows abound and we are watching "About A Boy". I love this movie, Hugh Grant is terrific.
"Fiona: Will, am I a bad mother?
Will: No. No, you're not a bad mother. You're just a barking lunatic."
"Fiona: I mean, he's a special - very, very special boy and he's got a special soul, and I've wounded it.
Will: Oh, please, just shut up. You're wounding my soul."
*lauging*
I was born at Memorial Hospital in Santa Rosa, a catholic hospital, on the 4th of July 1960. Santa Rosa was my birthplace because Memorial was the closest hospital to my family home in Rohnert Park.
In 1948 a Paul Golis, born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, a graduate of Duke Law School came to Santa Rosa, followed by a Maurice Fredericks in 1951 after he graduated from the University of Santa Clara Law School. Golis and Fredericks began representing builders in the Sonoma Valley from Petaluma up through Santa Rosa. They decided the only way to develop the vast county was to draw up a master plan for an entire area at the outset. This was how the City of Rohnert Park was born in 1954. The town I was coming home to as a baby was only 6 years older than me.
Golis had copied the idea of Pennsylvania's Levittown wanting each neighborhood to consist of 250 homes centered on a 10 acre school site and a 5 acre pool-park site. No child would have to walk more than 1/3 mile to school, this became the great joke, as later the city planners would stick the high school so far out of town that kids had to be bused to this single high school "in town".
He believed that a commercial and industrial development would be large enough and diverse enough to support the entire community. What actually happened is most everyones parents commuted to work. There were few jobs in this suburbia town of identical houses, unless you worked for the city mowing the park lawns or tending the two pools. We were the first new town of latch-key kids.
Golis and Fredericks planned for 8 such subdivisions that could make up a city of 30,000 people. With planned pools, parks, and services the city would be a "country club for the working class". This was the founding base to the tiny white-bread, bland commuter city with no downtown, I was brought home to the summer of 1960.
It is said that Rohnert Park was once part of a seed farm started by an Irish man from Dublin in the 1800's, thus causing great suffering with the late afternoon winds. Allergies all year long were the norm. I found it ironic that an irishman would be responsible for me being stuck in a town I was so far apart from I may as well have been a martian trying to create a life on the sun.
All the houses were constructed exactly the same. If you weren't careful you could easily walk into the wrong house thinking it was your own. Golis in his infinate wisdom, thought each set of 250 homes, should come with their own street names to ease the confusion of what part of this small town you were in. Thus the "A" section was born, where all street names started with an A, and the "B" section where all streets started with a B and so on. No, I am not making this up. I think they are up to M now, but I don't keep track of the town I slept in for 18 years.
The problem with a new town is like the new rich, it has no class, no sense of self. Not to mention the city of Santa Rosa disliked newcomers and Rohnert Park topped that list. It was a minor league town surrounded by major league towns - towns with a deep history.
There were no beautiful interesting buildings, no great works of architecture, no aging pieces of art, and few too little of other cultures. No interesting little neighborhoods, with an ethnic market and the hustle and bussle of city life. Since everyone worked outside the home, people rarely left their living rooms.
Except my dad.
He loved to meet people and talk with the neighbors, especially our neighbor Bob. He took pride in the fact that his family was safely tucked away in a boring place, free from the dramas of his own youth. The neighbors loved him, and between his larger than life personality and my mother insisting on ballet lessons, music lessons, top grades, a rich literary library, and travel ...lots of travel... I survived.
I also survived due to the interesting Aunts and Uncles who managed to pop up, at odd times, and turn the house upside down. My favorite visits came with my Aunt Colleen, my dad's oldest redheaded sister. Aunt Margene, the yougest was not far behind. Having them both arrive together was pure bliss. Those were the times they would take my bed - the same bed I sleep in today - the bed I've had since having it passed to me at age three. My dad would set up a cot for me at the foot of the bed, stare at the three redheads, and stop at me "Please try and get some sleep" he would say. My Aunts would laugh that 'like-hell-we-will' laugh. I never wanted them to leave my little room.
All kinds of essentric, electrifingly wonderful relatives stayed in my room on Alta Avenue, and slept in that bed. Sitting on the cot, it was like one great theatrical play unfolding right before my very eyes - and I was related to these people! Add in my parents wonderful friends, all of who spoiled me rotton and there began the life I loved compared to the life I lived. I preferred these adults to my dull, boring neighborhoods and immature school mates.
Luckily for me, my ballet classes were in Petaluma and my ice skating was in Santa Rosa, so I was able to spend hug blocks of time away from Rohnert Park. When I wasn't dancing, I was ice skating and when I wasn't ice skating I was doing homework, and when I wasn't doing homework I was talking on the phone to my best friend (and still my friend today) Laura.
Laura made living in Rohnert Park bearable, and since she lived on the Two Rock Coast Guard base way out at two rock, she felt equally as isolated. We made a good team for creating some happiness and fun in our teenage years and those years before my father died.
This story will continue...
C
http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
The President, checking out three female escorts in a hotel lounge - a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead asked security to approach them with a question.
His security appraoched the women and starting with the blonde said, "That is the President of the United States over there. How much would it cost him to spend some time with you?"
The blonde replied, "Ummmm...wow....the President of what ...?... ummmm ... just $200 ... I think..."
To the brunette security asked the same question. Her reply was "$2200, a fur coat, and I don't want to file taxes this year."
Security then turned to the redhead, who spoke before they could ask, "If Mr. President over there can raise my skirt as high as my taxes, get my panties as low as my wages, get that thing of his as hard as the times, keep it as high as the gas prices, keep me warmer than my apartment, and screw me the way he has the public, then it won't cost him one penney."
A friend just emailed this-
Your weekly horoscope by Kristin Fontana-
"Whatever will be will be. There are times in our lives that no matter how much we attempt to steer the ship, the seas have something else in mind. It is important to respect the ocean and its movement at all times, it is bigger than all of us and so is the universe with all of its abundant energy. This Monday, October 3, a tremendously energetic solar eclipse is occurring in our celestial galaxy. New life is born, doors are opened and life as we once knew it will never be the same.
Look forward to a new day dawning, have respect for the skies and gratitude for the blessings that are eager to be bestowed upon you. And if you are feeling unstable between now and the great change, dig deep and aim high, you will be soaring in no time at all."
Ok, now I am officially creeped out...
C
It's an odd thing when one lets go of ones life and lets it free fall where it may. In some ways its a bit of a hiding game, like hide and go seek in the daylight. I know we are all suppose to have a plan, a rudder to our ship of life. Successful gurus always spout the bilge of life is supported by a set plan.
Maybe during times of light wind sailing in our lives, we can pull up the rudder for a piece and just sail with the tide. Many helms believe that light winds are boring and offer no challenges, but I think it is in still waters and soft winds that the greatest challenges may come. An opportunity to change course with the wind, the tide and let go.
My x boss started the beginnings of his mortgage company this week. We have spoken everyday, just like a year ago. He is such a dear friend and the conversation flows with an ease of a soft piano concerto. My x husband is aligning his business up with my x boss, so I am in essence, surrounded by x's. My girlfriends always tell me that the men from my life never completely let me go.
And somehow, they turn to me to have control over the business mainsheet. As if I come with a magic magnetic compass that seems to find success like it is a small island just at the horizon. As I stare at this horizon, I realize this is not my dream of success, yet I find myself stering this ship of entrepreneurs gently toward their island of dreams. Have I moved so far into this world of my son's, I have somehow lost myself?
It is easy for me to advise loan officers, bankers, brokers and the like. I have been doing it for an untold number of years, all while setting aside my dream of writing the books that float about my head.
Several months back, I pushed myself away from my desk, emailed my clients and said I was done. This journal was up and running, and finally there was a small space in my life for art, and for writing. Interestingly enough, I began to feel better and the ravages of the symptoms of my disease began to ease.
Suddenly like the warmth of the sun on my face I began to feel the joy of being completely in my son's life. No cell phone always ringing, no stressed late night emails and faxes - a serene peace. No cubicle mole existance. No answering to anothers schedule or dictatorship. No schools of small minded gossiping individuals that seem to get in the way of the business at hand. I was set free - free to be a mom.
There is the reality that we live in the 4th most expensive county in the West and an artist can really starve here quite well. There is Brian, who goes through a pair of shoes a month. Now, I am faced with the prospect of building a mortgage company - from scratch. I adore my x boss, and miss him when we are not chatting. It is amazing how attached one can get to daily chats with someone. But a mortgage company? One that involves my x husband?
I sailed far and wide to leave the world I am now so immersed within, somehow the soft movement of the tide and the winds gently pushed me right back where I started. It creates stability for Brian when my x does well, which he can when managed. My x boss has reached out and said "Come along Cath" as he doesn't want the stress without me there to keep him laughing like I always do. What about my ship...?...my tiny little island of dreams?
I raised the rudder that directed my life course, threw up the sails of hope and let the winds of life carry me to a new destination. I find that I have drifted to a business opportunity right back into the career storm I weathered too many times to count.
Would Father Shaw say that this is spirit telling me what I am to do, that in the letting go, I have drifted right where I should be, for reasons I may not see for many years to come? Could this just be a small drop of water in vast sea of what will become Brian's great life ahead?
Or is this the moment to fight like hell, to place all my oars in the water and row like mad toward the island of my dreams? Would I have the strength to row against the current, against the tide - into the winds...?..
"O'er the ocean vast,
Palaces will gleam;
From the distant shore
Mountain tops will soar,
When this night has passed.
Under shady trees
We shall take our ease
Knowing all shall last
Come, sail with me, explore with me
The blue horizon of the sea..."
C
http://journals.aol.com/rapieress/Aweekinthelife/
Two 40ish single girlfriends are sitting on the front porch, doing nothing. The redhead turns to the other and asks, "Do you still get horny for sex all the time?" The other replies, "Oh sure I do." The redhead asks, "What do you do about it?" The other replies, "I suck a lifesaver."
After a few moments, the redhead says, "Wanna drive me to the beach?"
I noticed the latest Washington Mutual commercial today and thought about how they decimated North American Mortgage Company.
North American Mortgage rose up from IMCO Realty Services in 1988. It was the priemier company to work for in Santa Rosa and a beautiful corporate office was constructed on Airway Drive on the outer edge of Santa Rosa. It was a chameleaon in its day, a complex built to inspire the employees within.
Wright Construction still brags about the NAMCO building at http://www.wrightcontracting.com/imco.htm . It came complete with an atrium, a restaurant, a smoking room, gardens, and a mile long walking path. The idea was to create a place where people loved to work and they would work at 110 percent. This was long before the tech boom with their ping pong tables and pets, NAMCO had everyone beat back then.
They belived in employee training and education, and created a state of the art training center and educational benefit program. But the one thing they were famous for was the people they hired. Everyone who was anyone in banking wanted to be a NAMCO employee. It was like the Donald Trump show of mortgage banking.
Ok, I was going to tell a story here, but Sex and the City is on and its the one with the "Are all men freaks?" theme...ugh...dating after you've been with a Mr Big is hell.
And I have to watch this.
Andy Rooney on Women over 40
As I grow in age, I value women who are over 40 most of all. Here are just a few reasons why:
A woman over 40 will not lay next to you in bed and ask, "What are you thinking?" She doesn't care what you think.
If a woman over 40 doesn't want to watch the game, she doesn't sit around whining about it. She does something she wants to do. And, it's usually something more interesting.
A woman over 40 knows herself well enough to be assured in who she is, what she is, what she wants and from whom. Few women past the age of 40 give a damn what you might think about her or what she's doing.
Women over 40 are dignified. They seldom have a screaming match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive restaurant. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you, if they think they can get away with it.
Older women are generous with praise, often undeserved. They know what it's like to be unappreciated.
A woman over 40 has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A younger woman with a man will often ignore even her best friend because she doesn't trust the guy with other women. Women over 40 couldn't care less if you're attracted to her friends because she knows her friends won't betray her.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to a woman over 40. They always know.
A woman over 40 looks good wearing bright red lipstick. This is not true of younger women or drag queens.
Once you get past a wrinkle or two, a woman over 40 is far sexier than her younger counterpart.
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off if you are a jerk if you are acting like one! You don't ever have to wonder where you stand with her.
Yes, we praise women over 40 for a multitude of reasons. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coiffed hot woman of 40+, there is a bald, paunchy relic in yellow pants making a fool of himself with some 18-year-old waitress. Ladies, I apologize.
For all those men who say, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" here's an update for you.
Nowadays 80% of women are against marriage.
Why? Because women realize it's not worth buying an entire pig, just to get a little sausage.
Well said Andy.
C
There once was a girl
with a redheaded curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
And when she was good
she was very, very good
but when she was bad she was better.
My son's team won 26-0. Seems they are on a roll.
From there we went to see the dedication of the new Santa Rosa rugby field in honor of Pete Eiermann "For Pete's Sake". The goal posts are made from telephone poles. A very cool design. They stand like ancient totum poles calling back to a time where men went on crusaides. Staring at them reminded me of the Santa Barbara playoffs, where the last year the campus allowed the ruggers to camp they lit telephone poles on fire for campfires.
It's the first time I have been at a rugby event in 7 years. I didn't stay too long. It isn't my life anymore, and my x's new girlfriend is beginning to like me too much and I worry she will get what is really up with my x (that he is not the man he represents himself to be - and he's done some pretty awful things in his day) and they will break up. I want him to marry this girl and have a nice life, and Brian will have a nice place to go be with his dad.
She hung with me, while rugger after rugger came up to hug me and say hello. Big Jeff, who's shoe was the classic 'shoot the boot' glass, hugged me, stood back and said "Please God tell me you are not back with him!" I said "No, I am not back with him, and by the way behind you, is Katie, his latest girlfriend..."...His face went beat red as he turned around to say hello to her.
It was at this moment where I thought, 'I have to get the hell out of here'. Besides, it was Terry's time with Brian and Boonie the dog, and I have a night off. So with that I ran away as fast as I could to a nice quiet evening...ahhhhhhhhh.....
C
Today, I was thinking about one of my hobbies, movies. I love watching a story unfold before me, transfixed and ready for the ride it is about to take me on. Like that ride at the fair, where two doors open immersing one into complete darkness. I love the movies. There is nothing better than a well-told story.
I was thinking about what my top 10 movies would be and why (hey I cleaned the house today, ok). A difficult list – so many great stories. But these would have to be movies I can watch over and over and never grow tired of them. So...not necessarily in order...
Number 10-
Good Will Hunting.
I admire the fact that Matt Damon and Ben Affleck peddled this movie as a suspense thriller to get it read by Hollywood. I savor two scenes best.
The one where Will (Matt Damon) is in the job interview and says, "Why shouldn't I work for the N.S.A.? That's a tough one, but I'll give it a shot. Say I'm working at N.S.A. Somebody puts a code on my desk, something nobody else can break. So I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And I'm real happy with myself, 'cause I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. Once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels were hiding and fifteen hundred people I never had a problem with get killed. Now the politicians are sayin', "Send in the marines to secure the area" 'cause they don't give a shit. It won't be their kid over there, gettin' shot. Just like it wasn't them when their number was called, 'cause they were pullin' a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some guy from Southie takin' shrapnel in the ass. And he comes home to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job, 'cause he'll work for fifteen cents a day and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile my buddy from Southie realizes the only reason he was over there was so we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course the oil companies used the skirmish to scare up oil prices so they could turn a quick buck. A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain't helping my buddy at two-fifty a gallon. And naturally they're takin' their sweet time bringin' the oil back, and maybe even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who likes to drink martinis and play slalom with the icebergs, and it ain't too long 'til he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic. So my buddy's out of work and he can't afford to drive, so he's got to walk to the job interviews, which sucks 'cause the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic hemorrhoids. And meanwhile he's starvin' 'cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State. So what do I think? I'm holdin' out for somethin' better. Why not just shoot my buddy, take his job and give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? I could be elected president”
The second where Skylar (Minnie Driver) is at the airport casting her eyes about the terminal, hoping Will (Matt Damon) will show up. How many of us have done that? In crowded terminals, train stations, concerts, bars in large cities – looking for that person we want to see with all our heart – but they are never there. They don't show up, and the great fantasy in our head fades into the night, so we go home to sleep, wake up and get on with the living of the rest of our lives. What would life be, if that one person showed up and said what we wished they'd say...?...
Number 9-
The Princess Bride.
"Have fun storming the castle"! ..."As you wish"... "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father: prepare to die" ... "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you" ... "You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die".
So many quotes. I love the dialog ofthis movie. I could watch it a thousand times and still laugh throughout the film as if I am seeing it for the first time. Not to mention how many of us would like the man we date (or love) to just once say "As you wish".
Of course ... he could show up as the Man in Black and we'd never leave the bedroom, but I digress...
Number 8-
Doctor Zhivago.
I first read "The poems of Dr Zhivago" by Boris Pasternak a Russian poet, whose novel Doktor Zhivago (which earned him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958) in 1971 - I was eleven. Pasternak had to decline the honour of the Nobel Prize because the protests in his home country - Russia. The novel was banned in the Soviet Union and Pasternak was expelled from the Union of Soviet Writers. From the moment I read "The Poems of Dr Zhivago", I desperately wanted to see the movie.
"The Wind"
I am no more, but you're alive.
And the wind with plaint and wailing
Sets the woods and villa swaying.
It rocks not only single pines
But all the trees in joint array
And the remote, unbounded skyline -
Like wooden hulls of frigates riding
On the broad surface of the bay.
And this - not out of waywardness,
Nor in a fit of fury blind,
But in life's anguish to seek out
Words to compose your lullaby.
Finally, the movie came to television in 1973, and I was transfixed. I remember staying up until 11:30 pm to see the end (an unheard of bedtime back then). It is one of those stories one never forgets.
Number7 -
Patton.I was 10, my brother 13 and one Friday night we dawned PJ's, made home-made popcorn that filled a large brown grocery bag, put canned drinks on ice in the family car trunk, grabbed our pillows and blankets and were off to the movies....the drive-in movie.
I will never forget sitting in the back seat of our family Impala, looking out over the front bench seat, through the windshield, out to this massive white screen to a still picture of the American Flag. It seemed larger than the Empire State building. Here, the opening monologue begins with George C Scott as General Patton, in front of this massive backdrop of the American flag. Patton states, "Americans have never lost and will never lose a war, for the very thought of losing is hateful to Americans"...
One of the great movie openings of all time. My favorite Barbie doll saw this movie with me as well. She was a redhead. Remember how one had to find just the perfect parking spot at the Drive-in, at the perfect parked angle to the screen, then the perfect speaker, which hung over the window top and rolled to the perfect tight fit to secure the right flow of sound?
Number 6 -
To Kill A Mockingbird.
How I loved Gregory Peck. After my father died, I used to wish that somehow my mother would run into him at her college reunions every year in Los Angeles, they'd marry and Gregory Peck would be my dad.
Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck): "I remember when my daddy gave me that gun. He told me that I should never point it at anything in the house; and that he'd rather I'd shoot at tin cans in the backyard. But he said that sooner or later he supposed the temptation to go after birds would be too much, and that I could shoot all the blue jays I wanted - if I couldhit 'em; butto remember it was a sin to kill a mockingbird. Well, I reckon because mockingbirds don't do anything but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat people's gardens, don't nest in the corncrib, they don't do one thing but just sing their hearts out for us".
I saw the movie before I ever read the book. I saw the movie with my family in our living room - one of those Saturday Night movie Specials on TV. I layed on the floor, belly down with my hands under my chin, holding my head, mezmorized by the film before me. My mom said she was the same kind of girl growing up that Scout was...hated dresses...fought with boys. I wished my older brother was more like Jem.
In 7th grade, the book by Harper Lee was the required reading in my first true english literature class. Mrs Beckwith was the teacher. She was tough, mean and could pick apart your work like a vulture to a carcus. But she seemed to like me, and gave me my first A's in writing, but was forever on my ass about my lazy spelling. "You are going to need a damn good editor Catherine!" she would bark, "but you have a definate style". She'd nod that nod that let us know we did some good work, then she'd make me take one of her 100 word spelling tests as punishment. We can see by my unedited writings here that the lazy spelling still exists.
Number 5-
Erin Brockovich.
As soon as I saw this movie, I purchased it. My favorite scene is where Erin (Julia Roberts) is driving back from Hinkley. It's late at night and she calls her boyfriend to keep her awake. I would do this when I was traveling on the road too. Her boyfriend tells her that her little girl spoke her first word, "Ball". Erin wasn't there to see it, and begines to cry without letting her boyfriend know that she is upset. Julia Roberts plays so well the anguish in her face, of a single mother torn between wanting to be at home raising her children and doing work to put food on the table that keeps her traveling away from them.
I saw this movie when I was traveling on the road for the Royal Bank of Canada. I sobbed during this scene, because I knew all too painfully well what that feels like. My technical career disappeared after 9/11, and Northern California had nothing in the the way of decent paying jobs. The offer to travel and train loan officers fell into my lap. It was good money, and the only thing offered to me at the time.
Torn and miserable, I went to see Father Shaw, the local Priest at Ressurection Parish, whos lectures I had long admired. I cried and cried in his office with a box of kleenex on my lap, asking him how was I ever going to leave my son for weeks at a time. He listened intently, and after a time offered this advise to me. "Catherine, do you see the number of immigrant families in this parish?" "Yes" I replied. "Well", he continued, "Often the family is split up for a time, while one comes here, gets settled, goes to work, and works to bring the rest of the family here. Once the family is here, often the parents must work each two jobs to make it. It is what they do to care for their children and make a better life. Is there no better form of love"? "No" I reply, "and I know this. I once worked in SF with a woman from the Phillipines, who was seperated from her family for 5 years while saving enough money to bring them here". Father Shaw asks, "Then, what do you think you must do? You strike me as a very devoted mother, one who deeply loves her son. Your son is already lucky Catherine".
I sighed. "I will take the job, save the money and continue looking for something else". Then he offered up the best advise. "Take it one trip at a time Catherine - not the whole project. Each trip, just tell yourself this is the last trip, and eventually it will be".
He was unbelievably kind, and his advise carried me through that rough period of my life. He said he would keep in in his prayers and I often felt as if some greater force was carefully watching over me.
Erin Brockovich is like watching a movie of my life, except hers eventually turned around. I am still working on mine...think it will end up as a movie?
I still watch Erin whenever I feel a pity party coming on. - sets me straight again.
Favorite quote...
"Yeah. Yeah, sexy, huh? How 'bout this for a number? Six. That's how old my other daughter is, eight is the age of my son, two is how many times I've been married -- and divorced; sixteen is the number of dollars I have in my bank account. 850-3943. That's my phone number, and with all the numbers I gave you, I'm guessing zero is the number of times you're gonna call it".
Number 4 -
Hoosiers.
I must watch this movie about once every three months or so and it still remains fresh with me. When I first saw this movie about a group of underdogs who become state basketball champions, I wanted a son someday just like David Neidorf's character, Everett Flatch (Schooter's son)
Set in the 1950s, Hoosiers is about a hard-luck, unemployed college basketball coach (Gene Hackman) who gets a chance to coach a small-town Indiana high-school basketball team. Facing resentment from the community and the team itself, Hackman manages to lead them to the state championship with the help of the assistant coach (Dennis Hopper), who happens to be the recovering alcoholic "Shooter".
My Brian is so much like the character "Everett", a basketball player in the film, it often blows my mind. There is nothing better than great sports film.
My favorite quote, "I love you dad", when Everett says this to his dad when his dad is in a detox center and will miss the final game. "When you get out, I am going to buy us a house dad, so you get better..."...sigh...that would be Brian.
Number 3 -
North By Northwest.
Anyone who truly knows meknows I am a huge Alfred Hitchcock fan and all his films fall in my list of top 25 of my favorite movies...except for Psycho. Psycho still freaks me out and I can't watch it. Otherwise, if I watched it again I would never take another shower ... ever ...and I love my showers.
I love the elegance of North By Northwest and Cary Grant's character is most definately a Mr. Big. Maybe this is where I first fell in love with my idea of Mr Big. His drunk driving scene and outcome sure remind me of how much things have changed.
(Eve Kendall) "How do I know you aren't a murderer"?
(Roger Thornhill) "You don't".
(Eve Kendall) "Maybe you're planning to murder me right here, tonight".
(Roger Thornhill) "Shall I"?
(Eve Kendall) "Please do".
My favorite scene is the fabulous filming and editing of the corn field and crop duster. Everytime I look at a corn field I think of this scene, and the Field of Dreams (which was a tough call against Hoosiers). I also still love Eve's red dress that she wears to the auction. Growing up, I always wanted that red dress... well ... and Cary Grant ...on a train...
Number 2 -
Jerry Maguire.
I have been a Cameron Crowe fan ever since his days as a music journalist for the Rolling Stone. Being a fan of Jon Cussack, I instantly took to 'Say Anything'. But who does not love 'Fast Times at Ridgemont High', not only his book, but the movie. There is the movie 'Singles', which always reminds me of my college dating years. There is also 'Almost Famous', 'Vanilla Sky' and 'Elizabethtown'.
Butthe film I am addicted to the most of his vast repertoire is Jerry Maguire which launched Crowe into greater recognition, netting five Oscar nominations, including a win for Cuba Gooding, Jr. for best supporting actor.
What don't I love about this film? Something that may come as a surprise to most is the reason I like it ... my favorite character.
Rod Tidwell.
"Well, boo-fuc*ing-hoo" ... "Show me the money" ... "Bubblicious" ... "I feel for you, man. But a real man wouldn't shoplift the pootie from a single mom" ...
I love his character as the perfect husband and dad. He is passionate about his family and the end where all he wants to do is talk to his wife when he makes it big - lands the 'quan'. This scene always makes me cry...I have never made it through without tears rolling down my face. Maybe because I have never experienced that in my life, unless we are talking about my parents. Their married life is what I once thought I would have...it looked just like that. They say when one visualises something it comes true ...what happened here?
However, Cuba Gooding lights up every scene he is in.
Whenever I date, and am thinking the guy needs to go away, I put in Jerry Maguire, pour myself a glass of wine and watch Cuba Gooding's character in this film. Then I remind myself how far away from Rod Tidwell this guy is, smile, finish my wine and write a dear John, call in a dear John or create something to make him never call me again. Thank you Cameron Crowe for keeping it real.
Number 1 -
Chocolat.
Two words: Johnny Depp
(And he's irish in this ...Real life Johnny: "We close ourselves off and we live in these little worlds that are comfortable and safe. It's routine and boring and filled with fear and guilt and it's no good, you know? It's no good for you.")
Until next time-
C
A young man marrying a redhead asked his father for some marital advice.
The father said, "Just remind her who wears the pants in your family."
The evening arrived, the new husband tossed his pants to his bride and said, "Here put these on." She did, and said "I don't fit into these." "That's right!" he said, "and don't you forget who wears the pants in this family!"
With that she flipped him her panties and said, "Try these on." He looked at them and said, "I can't get into your panties!"
She said, "That's right - and you won't until your attitude changes!"
C
The wind howls like an old dog left alone too long
The trees dance, waving a warning of forces yet to come
The sky has turned away leaving only shadows of gray
The hurricane is coming to sing her fearsome song...
Small drops of rain beat against the ground - becoming strong
Like the beat of a drum, beating a warning of forces yet to come
Shadows fill the house; an eerie silence fills the air
The hurricane is coming to sing her fearsome song...
Outside, the world begins to twist and dance along
Telephone-lines shake, performing a warning of forces yet to come
A blanket and a corner is the only place to be
The hurricane is coming to sing her fearsome song...
C
The origin of red hair is traced back to the Celtic culture. Scotland boasts the most number of redheads at 13%, whereas the US boasts about 4%. Roman historian Tacitus wrote about the "Picts", enemies having red hair and large limbs, a unique character trait of the Picts. One gene, HC12 is found in chromosome 4 is responsible for red hair. All redheads are MC1R variants that derive from European populations; the prevalence of these alleles is highest in the Celtic countries. Red hair is associated with the genetic disease, Brittle Cornea Syndrome and excessive bleeding.
During one of her drug induced idiot moments, citing statistics that less than 5% of the population has red hair, Dr. Laura insists she stands firmly behind her deeply personal belief that redheads are "deviant", saying,
"Let me say this one more time. If you have red hair, it is a biological error. Less than 5% of the population has red hair, and red hair does nothing to contribute to the furthering of the human race. It is therefore deviant and biologically useless". (Uh 'ouch')
Obviously jealous of the 'redhead' factor (probably because a redhead stole away that professor she slept with and posed nude), I would challenge Dr. Laura to dye her hair red and live a little. But then her ignorance in genetics rings through, as redheads really come from a variation of the blonde genetic code. I have always felt Dr Laura obtained her degree from Cracker Jack University. Dr Laura would be a failure as a redhead - or fall in the category of the occasional rare, insane-redhead-drama-queen type that one encounters from time to time, with major regret. MEOW.
To continue, the variences in skin and hair pigmentation is due to different amounts of the chemicals eumelanin and phaeomelanin produced by melanocytes cells. The melanocortin-1 receptor (MC1R) is a regulator of eumelanin and phaeomelanin production in the melanocytes cells. Mutations in this gene are the cause of red har. Studies on Irish and Dutch populations have linked mutations in the MC1R gene to red-hair. It is thought that 'loss-of-function' mutations in the human MC1R gene are known to be COMMON (hello Dr Laura) and have been shown to be associated with red-hair. It is now known that some variants on the MC1R gene may be preferentially associated with hair color rather than skin type. (in ENGLISH, it's like two color tubes fall over into eachother and create a color blend - clear as mud now?)
Studies of people who carry the 'Celtic' gene responsible for red hair have shown that we are more sensitive to temperature than the rest of the population. (No duh to any guy that has dated me and I have asked for his coat in 70 degree weather). Tests showed we suffer greater pain when exposed to cold - and heat - than those without this gene. The findings are the latest in a series of worldwide studies that have shown redheads have unique, and sometimes dangerous, genetic characteristics such as greater vulnerability to skin cancer. This same study found that redheads are more resistant to the effects of lidocaine, a common local anaesthetic.
New research by a team of geneticists at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford traced this 'redhead' gene back to Neanderthals living more than 70,000 years ago. This gene has been found to make redheads more sensitive to ultraviolet light, which is why we burn more easily in the sun, and it predisposes us to skin cancer. It also means we redheads wre here first.
But... this 'redhaired gene' has been linked to a fiery temper (folks, yes this is true), which researchers believe may have helped give redheads the aggression we needed to survive in the harsh northern climates. Yes...I am sure that's it...and it also makes us great in bed.
Until next time-
C
Readers have asked me about information on redheads and what constitutes a "Mr. Big" (in my opinion).
The redhead information can be ongoing, so first I will address the "Mr. Big" question.
Who or what is a "Mr. Big"?
Mr. Big always opens the car door - or any door he is entering with a woman. It is a habit, something he does second nature. He doesn't think whether the woman will like it or not, he just does it. He automatically takes the outside spot walking down the street, and reaches for her hand.
-Note that he reaches first.
He is proud to be with his girl in public and pays attention to her no matter the distraction. Mr. Big doesn't hit on or check out other women. He is out to be with his date. He is good with money, financially responsible and expects that his woman manages her own. He doesn't expect her to pay, but expects that she is spending her money on her children or investments or both. He brings groceries when he comes to her home, and replaces anything he uses. Mr. Big combines romantic gifts with practical ones. He brings paper products, milk and coffee along with gold earrings.
Mr. Big knows how to make women feel beautiful, because he thinks all women are beautiful. His ego is not caught up in how a woman looks, but her mind. He wants her mind to be sexy, smart and sassy, and he wants to absorb everything she says. He hangs on every word of what she says, reading her brain like a Hemingway novel, and laughs his great laugh at her jokes.
However, Mr. Big's woman must have her own life plan, her own dreams, and her own interests outside of his world. He wants to be able to encourage her, admire her and know that when he is traveling or incredibly busy with work, she has something of her own. Mr. Big would rather brag about her amazing talents and brains, than her looks.
Mr. Big wears a suit and drinks the type of drink that doesn't use mix, usually 'over rocks'. He saves beer for when he is casual, which usually involves watching his favorite sport that she understands and does not talk through.
Mr. Big loves his mom, and thinks she is the best. He leaves a separate life from her, but does want the right girl to meet her. Anything his mother needs, he provides, and you better not have issue with this. Do not ever argue against his mother. His mother is kind, and loves him for the successful fair, giving man he is. There is no coming between this bond, and what smart woman would want to?
Although Mr. Big's woman has her own dreams and world, he hopes she has some domestic talent that makes him feel spoiled and the only one she spoils in this way. Well yes, he is a man. He loves being naked and telling stories while she lies in bed watching him. He never leaves after sex, and always makes sure she is taken care of in the morning.
Mr. Big never calls a woman anything derogatory, never says shut up, and never is purposely rude. In an argument, if he thinks he could lose control, he takes a walk. He would never yell in a way to try to make her cry. He is a solver, not a blamer. He is not afraid to say, "I am sorry". He is kind to waiters and waitresses and tips well. He always calls when he says he will call. He speaks the truth and will never say he will call if he isn't going to. TRUTH is everything to Mr. Big.
If he has children, children are his world. He expects his woman to spend time with her children and be very into them. Do not ever ask him to choose over his children.
Mr. Big is well traveled and engaged in the world. He wants to hear his woman's worldly stories and wants her to have many. His woman is not afraid to try new things and enjoys all cultures. He insists that both partners be grown-ups. No big dramas. He wants his time with her to be without complications, easy like a comfortable sweater.
Mr. Big has strong moral and political opinions, and donates time and money to his community. He expects the woman he dates to have the same, but doesn't expect her to be the same. The Mr. Big I have known is republican and I am democrat, but he doesn't care - as long as I vote and support my beliefs. One of his greatest laughs comes from the time I helped volunteer to rebuild a house in a day for a local charity. Iwas so sore after that I slept the entire next 24 hours. Hey! You try and remodel a home in a day - inside AND outside!
How I love Mr. Big. I have only dated and been with two men in my life that fit into "Mr. Big" shoes, neither one is from Sonoma County. My town is too small, too narrow, too white, too much sameness. Mr. Big loves the big city, jazz and cigars and strong after dinner drinks. I loved them both deeply, still do. Every now and then I get an email, or an instant message from one in his far away place, solving some large problem that effects many lives. The other makes trips to Silicon Valley these days. He is such fun...although his smoke of choice is a cigarette, which he smokes like a classic New Yorker - puffing and saying “Fu*kin putz over there…do ya see that?!!?”
Dates with the "Mr. Big" type are remembered for a lifetime. They are fun, full of laughter and intense. His mind is always working and wants to be sure he opens his date up to something new he knows she will like. He enjoys watching her take in something she has never seen or experienced before.
There is no question in my mind that I click with the Mr. Big type. All others pale in comparison, lost in a sea of selfish wants and high matenence demands. I don't like a man making demands of me, telling me how to live my life or what to do with it. Mr. Big accepts me for who I am, faults and all, except he doesn't seem to focus there, only on the endless horizons of possibilities he sees in me. A full interesting life still left uncharted. All believing I should write and tell my great stories.
Thus, here I am...
Ahhhhh cigars though...yum...how I miss them.
Until next time.
C
He didn't like the casserole
And he didn't like my cake.
My biscuits were too hard...
Not like his mother used to make.
I didn't perk the coffee right
He didn't like the stew,
I didn't mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer
I was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and smacked him...
Like his Mother used to do.
The Santa Rosa Jr Pee Wee Stallions (Brian's team) won 14-0 yesterday.
I got sunburned!
Now if my x husband would just quit coaching from the sidelines...or sit farther away. Although... I did look around the sunny stadium, eyeing the cheerleaders smiling and yelling, the parents, the families, the friends all having a great time and said, "I like it that we now have a sport for Brian that you can't coach. This actually is enjoyable". He laughed.
C
Fall is early this year; I can smell it in the soft warm breeze that moves the bangs about my face. The breeze teases my nose with touches of mesquite, dried grasses and falling leaves. It feels more like October than September. Walking, ones shadow falls like a lazy dark friend revealing the distance of the sun's movement away towards winter.
Usually in Sonoma County, summer runs July, August, and September with an Indian summer from September to the week of Halloween. This year has not followed the normal fall weather pattern, thus the grape harvest is late. The grapes do not have enough warmth to sweeten on the vine. Growers are standing around waiting to pick. This is a scary time for wine growers, and the harvest fair celebration is just around the corner, the first weekend of October.
The vegetable gardens are thin and bare, as if in honor of those that suffered in the wake of Katrina. There is no abundance waiting in the bending green branches, summer has ended. These are the last weeks for kids to enjoy the evenings. Soon, daylight savings will have us in total darkness as we prepare our usual evening fare. The weather will turn cold, frost will greet us in the wee hours of the morning, then the rains come.
Halloween costumes hang in the shops beckoning alter egos to come out and play, dress up and eat candy for two weeks. Firewood and rolled logs appear on every shelf reminding us that our heaters will kick on soon. Hybernation begins as we shut ourselves inside our homes and internet chatting comes back to life.
There is a type of quiet that comes with fall, a quiet, which seems to slow the rhythm of the day. It is as if time stops for small moments, takes a deep breath, then continues. Large gusts of wind burst forth - shaking trees of their dying leaves, spreading them about the air like large colorful snowflakes. As suddenly as the wind appears, the gusts subside in mid-wind, hanging leaves in the air like vultures hovering prey, before dropping suddenly like a soft stroke of a paint brush. The landscape takes on the colors of redheads, hues of burnt reds, orange, pumpkin, chestnut and squash. It is our time of year.
Sounds of the whistling winds weave through the trees now replace the sounds of lawnmowers and swimming pools. Bikinis and shorts disappear to the return of leather and soft soothing sweaters. Comfort foods of casseroles, soups and chili spring up from the summer corn-on-the-cob, barbequed chicken and strawberries on sponge cake. Lawn chairs are folded, outdoor place settings boxed for the attic and blankets are folded on the edge of the couch ready for use.
This year's New Year resolutions are long forgotten, vacation photos sit in a top drawer, and hot tea replaces that last glass of red wine. Football cheers fill the living room and next years Super Bowl champions are born. The holidays loom teasingly over the next horizon. The time of the year we are all forced to be around people we may or may not miss, throwing us into tight mingling around too much food and drink, hoping for the best. We wish for Santa to bring us back to that spark of a child's innocence, and this will be the year that our long-held dreams come true.
Fall opens like a soft well-choreographed ballet, dancing lightly about us if we dare to notice. Act one finished, and I am ready to carve pumpkins and give out candy to the neighborhood. How I love this elegant autumn ballet produced by Mother Nature.
Until next time-
C
The "Bell Curve" is a common name of the Gaussian Probability Distribution, because is is shaped like a bell. In a large college class with a fair exam, the marks will roughly follow a Gaussian Probability Distribution. There is theory that social order follows this same Gaussin Distribution as the two opposite extremes are pulled to the more middle norm. Huh...? ... you say?
The social idea along this theory is that society at large will attempt to pull to the norm that which it deems the extreme. Case in point, bring down Bill Gates because he is becomming too rich and powerful and bring up the begger on the corner becuase he is too poor and weak. Bring both extremes to the middle to maintain social norms, thus a social Bell Curve. This social Bell Curve theory has facinated me for some time and I am always interested when I think I see it.
Sometimes you see it in cluster groups of women, who decide to group and exclude other women. It often happens in high school, and then they single out others outside their norm. Unfortunately some do not grow out of this, and it appears over again in different forms throughout adult life.
Today, I waged war against this academic social Bell Curve and it exhausted me.
Now ... we all know too well the battle I have been fighting to get the school system to recognise Brian's needs and figure out what exactly is his learning disability. Brian is wicked smart in some areas; terribly funny sometimes; too serious other times; focused then lost; killer athletic skills when he throws a ball - yet clumsy when running; brave and outgoing - scared and withdrawn. Yes, I know a typical boy...lol...but his reading shows the black hole in his educational universe. His writing scratches along like an old man's whos is riddled with arthritis and booze. Brian's studder when fighting for the words to finish a sentence when his fast acting brain is firing off his latest story. There is his sometimes spacy lost behavior in class and then dead-on target on a one-on-one test.
It stumped even the best of doctors, but I knew it my heart that not all the wheels of the motor in Brian's mind were moving together as a team. I also knew it bothers him, so I had to find the answer. Brian has always believes that I make anything happen.
So, as we all also know, we did find the answer. Part of CAPD (Central Auditory Processing Disability) is the processing delay from the movement of sound to the inner ear, and then the ability to move back it out as movement in motion or with words. For Brian, there is a severe delay in this function, especially if the sounds are at certain pitches. He might not even hear them. Often, he is left to finish work in Study Hall to keep cought up in class. It is not his favorite thing, because he misses out on lunch recess and the games he loves so dear. But on the other hand, he hates being different from the other kids and wants his work turned in with everyone else. The only area this is not a problem is math, and as of tonight I found out he is attempting 7th grade algebra and loving it (GOOD GOD I HATED MATH HOMEWORK - this is God's sick sense of humor you know). I swear I am going to have to find me a math man to have around and do the nasty with in the hope that he will tutor me to answer Brian's math questions.
But back to my Bell Curve problem. The above makes Brian different and difficult for the school administrators (mostly the principal) to handle. Brian is off the Bell Curve, you know, something outside the norm. Study Hall kids are thought to be bad kids. Brian is kind and popular, well-rounded and well-behaved, well-liked by all his teachers - never in trouble. The Principal is convinced Brian must not like school...nope...Brian loves school. I can't have conversations with this man anymore because it makes me want to do that two fingered Stooges thing to his eyes. He can't make Brian fit into his norm no matter how he tries and this does not fit in with his impression of kids. He is an ass of a man. His views have coused me to enter in the verbal boxing ring with him more than once. And let me tell you, today I was minutes from creating my own murder trial.
I pick Brian up from school and he greets me in his usual happy manner. "How was school today?" I ask. "Fine. I am hungry" he answers. I pretty much think we have this same conversation everyday at this time, only the clothes change. As we drive along Brian asks, "Mom, what is suspension?" (Oh no are the teenage-cut-school-smoking problems beginning now?) I calmly answer, "It's when you are kicked out of school for a few days, why?" The car is slowing down (as if on its own) to about 5 miles an hour. "Mr Y (the principal) came to Study Hall today and called some of us up to him one by one and I was one of them". "Ok, why?" I again ask clamly. "Because he says I have been in Study hall twice this month and if I am back again I will be on suspension". I come to a dead stop. "Mom, what exactly does suspension mean again?"
"What????????" (Is that my out loud what or the sound of car tires?)
I make Brian repeat the whole story and answer back, "You mean to tell me that if you are not able to complete your work in class, because it takes you longer and you go to Study Hall to finish, which you always do, you are to be kicked out of school?" "Yes, is that what suspension means?" he asks, his eyes widening. Trying to keep my cool, "Brian let me tell you this, I will never let you be kicked out of school for trying to learn. Now, if you spray paint something, steal, pick a fight, break the school rules, it will get you suspended and heaven help you when you get home then. But for this - no - and I will handle it". "Ok" he mumbles. I can see the worry on his face. "Brian I think you know your mother well enough by now, I will handle this, and you will be fine" He nods, realizing that I am still his favorite nut.
Red steam is coming off my hair as I try to breathe through my nose to stay calm. I drop him off at his afternoon hearing training and remind him not to worry. As soon as Brian is out of sight and sound, I try to phone my x husband so he will calm me down, because I am so redheaded angry that my irish redheaded grandma in her grave is pulling her favorite sweater over her head in fright. He doesn't answer his cell so I allow myself to just drive a bit. Then I realize that the Superintendent and the school district office are right near where I need to go.
I stop at the district office, ask for the superintendant, who is in a meeting. I very calmly leave a note that I would like her to call me about Brians rights under 504 and I think we need to meet to discuss this principal at Brian's school.
They were very nice in the office. I wasn't back in the car driving but 5 minutes when I get the call from the superintendant. I don't think she got out much of a hello before I was off and running to the madder-than-hell- Catherine races. I had to pull the car over. I didn't yell, but I don't think I took one breath, and asked her, "If Brian was in a wheel chair would this principal tell him to just get up and walk if he thought he was in his way"? She conceded that I was not the first parent to call about the Study Hall incident, and she would pull Brian's file. She did know Brian, (hell even me) because back when Brian was in third grade I stood up for the parents of these simular learning different kids at a meeting we had with the school administration. Evvverrryybody there knew who I was after that.
I told her my thoughts about the administrative staff at Brian's school and how much I do love Brian's teacher. She went on to say that the principal is only to talk to the kids in Study Hall who are there for disiplinary reasons, which is not the case for Brian. Brian just needs the extra time. Leaving this work for homework extends Brians night, making them 2 hour nightly marathons. It is better for him to use some day time to finish the last part of a project. She said she would phone this principal and straighten it out, she went on to say the amazing job I am doing with Brian (so I don't sue...lol) and adds Brian's file to her case study meeting for the childrens special achedemic support group on the 21st. Satisfied, we hang up and I return to work only to face my x husband who by this time has received my phone messeges and was worried I killed the man.
At first, he wan't that mad. Then, the more he thought about it the madder he got. Meanwhile, I was calming down and he ws heating up. He starts ranting about how we have been alone on this quest (really I was alone on this quest) for Brian, all the doctors, all the tests, the meetings, the arguments, the searching to find Brian his niche, finally the happiness Brian is in his own skin and finally getting the answers for him about his different mind. And last Friday it all comes together like a great Orchestral crashendo and we have what Brian needs and Brian is the happiest we have seen him since he was a little kid. We had exactly 3 days of this, and along comes the principal. "Yes, those were my thoughts", I tell him. Now he wants to kill the man. Great, he can go to jail then.
But there it was, the Bell Curve. Brian, being different, outside the norm and this principal trying to label him and bring Brian back into the norm. It really does humor me since this is suppose to be a place where minds are opened. These are the times I wish I was a millionere and could help all the kids like Brian whos minds work differently than the norm and get them the tools and support they need.
And encourage them to remain on the upper outside of the social Bell Curve....oh and grow up and marry a redhead...and treat her like a princess...and...
Until next time.
C
PS. Didn't I once say that my imaginery lover had to be great in math?
Today walking into my place from the back, I noticed a women and three children. The children are new to the neighborhood. How do I know this? Because I am all about a whole bunch of kids playing in a neighborhood. I grew up with it, and am all about getting the neighborhood kids to play together.
"Hi, you guys are new around here! I am Catherine!" I shout, "and I live right here", I point to my place. They smile. " I have a 10 year old boy who loves to play, what about you?" The woman says "Yes, they are new here. They are my neice and nephews. They are from Louisiana...and they love to play too".
Then it hits me. Here, on this street in our town are Katrina outcasts. "Ok" I say without changing my expression. "Brian loves to play...send them down" She smiles as the kids look at me trying to figure out what I am all about. She moves in closer, and I lower my voice. "Do they need clothes?" "They need everything", she says, "...but they won't be here long term". "That's ok" I reply, "Send them down. I think I have boy things they can have and neighbors who are very loving and will help them. There is definately a girl next door who will play with the oldest girl there." She smiles "Thank you".
And they walked on. Katrinas winds have blown all the way to Northern California.
C
I just saw the first TV commercial absolutely about me from United Health Care - watch for it and tell me if you catch me driving a car...
...putting on make up...
C
My mother says that everything can change in just a day. I smile and say, "Well mom, it's been one hell of a long damn day then". But yes, I do understand what it is she is trying to convey.
-In a day I finally found the help for Brian I have been searching for 5 years.
-In a day, my x husband stepped forward when I became ill and transformed himself to a supportive, caring father and friend.
-In a day I left a career that was killing me with stress and found my energy again.
-In a day, my Hashimotos eased and I found the ability to exercise, garden and play with Brian. I haven't felt this good in 4 years.
-In a day I made friends with a new circle of women that changed my life.
-In a day Brian achieved confidence and true friendship with a small football organization and found peace and happiness there.
No life is perfect, or without trials and heartache. But there are times where I am able to sit and see clearly how fortunate I am. Saturday night some old friends invited me to bring Brian to the opening game classic of the SRJC Bearcubs, and it was just one of those times. Brian was thrilled, as he wanted to see our neighbor Rob couch his offensive line. Rob plays Arena football for Las Vegas when he is not coaching and going to school to get his masters. I had no expectations of this evening, just to let Brian enjoy the football night.
After paying, we search for some very dear old friends of mine, Frank and Trish. I remember when they began dating in high school, and now their son is a starting offensive lineman at this college we once all attended. Little did I know tonight we would be invited to a huge white tent on the field behind the north goal post and Brian would have a front row seat to a college footabll game from field view. I thought Brian was going to twist right out of his skin.
It was catered, and I began seeing some faces I haven't seen in years. It was just like stepping back in time those college days, except we are just a wee bit older. For Trish and I, it was as if we'd seen eachother yeasterday...its been since Brian went trick or treating at her house and I was married. Frank is still the "mayor" as we used to call him - talking and shaking everyone's hands. Trish and I are laughing and laughing, and Frank gives us this look like he used to - a "girls behave" look. Trish and I share the same birthday - not a chance. How I love them, and it has been too long since I've seen them.
As I sat on the field with my right arm around Brian, memories begin to flood my mind. The track is is where Rich used to come find me running on Tuesday and Thursday nights and he would run with me - long before I understood that he liked me. The aerobics class with the teacher who would make us run the bleachers to our left (for our butts). The football games and the fun parties after. The incredible friends and the 60+ of us that used to hang out and go everywhere together. Looking about the stadium, I could smell our college days in the crisp evening air. I was glad to be there, glad for the moment for Brian. A very special day, he will remember forever.
Brian snaps me out of my college days by pointing out the guy who plays the same position as him on the field. Just then Rob waves to Brian from the sidelines, and now Brian is in heaven, and looks about to see if eveeryone noticed that Rob waved at him. Now he is sure he really is "all that". Trish comes and sits next to me and we give eachother the 20 minute versions of the last 10 years. Trish insists that we get together this month and an old dear friendship is reborn. Frank, (also the x coach from SSU), smiles at the thought of seeing Brian grow up around football. He finds real humor in it since I always used to say my son wouldgrow up to golf - not football.
The Bears win 62 - 0. It could have been more, but I had to get Brian home to bed to prepare for his big game day.
GAMEDAY: Today Brian was able to make his first big tackle. They won 38-0.
Yes mom, all it takes ... is just a day.
C
After 8 years, my biggest dream came true today.
I did not catch it right away, like the delay when you order your special taco without onions at the drive through. You don’t completely trust the outcome, or that anyone heard you correctly, yet you are still eager to eat. You open the wrapper, and if it is correct, a moment of pure glee happens as you realize someone actually heard you and completed your request. so you dive in. You begin your anticipated meal, grateful that your needs were met.
Today we received the results of all the specialized testing Brian received with the Swain Center. It was not like he had been through this 7 times before to a lesser degree in the school system, with results I would not accept, which often left me appearing as an insane bitch.
I will say my x husband is great at handling me when it looks like my redheaded side might kill. This possibly is very true about me, until today.
Brian’s results came back from the Swain Center, results that revealed suspicions I had for many years - that my x husband ignored through years of bitching about my feeling that Brian was brilliant in a different way , an Einstein way. Brian has APD , Auditory Processing Disorder. It has taken 5 years of research and stubbornness to finally obtain the answers I have been so desperately seeking for Brian.
No drugs. I want to personally kill everyone who advised that Brian needed drugs. Yet no one could explain to me why Brian was brilliant in math and struggled with writing. Wouldn’t ADD cause problems in every area? Nothing I previously heard described my Brian, until today.
And today my x husband finally got what I had been saying for all these years...
http://www.nidcd.nih.gov/health/voice/auditory.asp
Now, Brian will get specialized training...
http://www.theswaincenter.com/
Chalk one up for Saint Jude.
C
CANCER