The Library

The library is the best hour of my day. It is right next door to Enzo's school. Enzo gets picked up at 2pm and Owen doesn't get out until 3:05 pm , five minutes away. I have to go to the library before I get Enzo in order to sign him up for 2:30 computer time.

After I do that, I go and get him from school and walk over to the library with him. We sit at a table and he does his homework. I read or write. At 2:30 his name is called and he goes on the computer for 25 minutes. He plays "icy towers" because it is his favorite game.We had to take it off of our computer because it was screwing everything up for some reason. It is the perfect compromise.

Fabio used to come home from picking up the boys with his current book in his hand and extol the virtues of the Wanskuck Public Library. I was just glad not to have to rush home from ice skating. My short skate season pass is only good from 12 to 2 M-F. Now I get to the rink at Noon on the dot and skate for an hour, an hour and fifteen minutes, and then head straight for the library.

If I don't sign Enzo up before I meet him, then ALL the 2;30 slots are filled. I am surprised that they let me do that. They run such a tight ship. It is such a nice environment. They have an after school program for kids whose parents work. It is no nonsense and homework first. Enzo is so serious there.

Fabio is NOT taking this back over when he comes home. It restores me. I look forward to it all day. I love the quiet book lined rooms. I love the big Haitian security guard who walks around barking , with good reason and good humor, at all dem disobeying kids. I love the ladies behind the counter with their long grey hair. They look just like you want a librarian to look like,glasses hanging from their necks. Fabio calls them witches. But we both agree that they are "good witches". Only law and order prevails in their library.

Surfaces

My attempts at organization are legendary.I never quite get it right. I will stuff drawers with useless things. Coupons from three years ago,blurry photos of someone else's kid,menus from restaurants that I don't even like,half a deck of playing cards. Every drawer is like that. My house is an internal mess. You would never know it to look at it. It is dusted and vacuumed and looks great on the outside.

I have a plan. While I was cleaning and sorting over at my parents I found a pile of unused boxes and some packing tape. I have dumped the entire contents of every drawer into 12 boxes. I marked them clearly so I know which room they belong to and I have stacked them neatly in the back basement. Everyday I go through a box,one item at a time and I either do one of three things with them. Goodwill. Trash. Keep. It is so liberating.

I have read so many books about organization. I recently got this one out of the library. I was reading it in the car while Fabio and I Christmas shopped. He took a hard left and my coffee spilled all over it. I was the first person to ever borrow this book. We had to buy it!

The irony doesn't end there. While on that shopping trip I bought some 8X10 frames. I wanted to give my family members a really nice photo of my mom and her sisters taken in Olgunquit, Maine in the 1950's for Christmas. I couldn't find the photographs ,but I knew I had just seen them. I had them done in India and had been holding on to them for months. I looked all over the house for days.I finally found them. When I came home from shopping I had put my organization book on top of them, and then put the frames on top of the book. That little sandwich really lit a fire in me.

Goodwill. Trash. Keep. I will hold everything I own up to this mantra. Surfaces. Clean empty surfaces.

Ice Skating and Indian Traffic

Fabio pulled me aside last Saturday morning and said, "Do you want to take the boys ice skating and then get hot chocolate at the Biltmore?" How exciting. We all got dressed and drove downtown. On the way, Fabio (He is back to being Fabio after spending a few weeks in Hawaii)commented how he couldn't wait to bum out the beret wearing poets and tweed jackets at the Biltmore. He used to love to stand outside the fancy restaurants that line Hope Street in Bristol, RI with a screaming baby and fidgety toddler and earnestly contemplate the menu. He'd look at me and say, "Watch this." He made everyone in the window seats freak. My husband knows how to have fun. We have loud kids, and there is always something on their mind that they need to discuss right away.

I am used to skating by myself between 12 and 2 on weekdays. Occasionally 3, at the most 5, people might join me. Weekends? Amateur hour. After about 20 minutes of weekend skating I pulled the boys aside and asked them to find as many similarities as they could between a ride in a rickshaw in India and ice skating on a Saturday in Providence,RI. The list was endless. It was jammed with people. I reckon I could stop there.

You have your high speed fanatics weaving in and out of stalled vehicles at record speeds, just sort of pissed off. You have your inevitable collisions, but everyone just gets up, dusts themselves off, and continues on with their day.

One day after school when we were in India the boys and I went out for cold drinks. We decided to have a little adventure. I had found a flier for a restaurant in my mailbox. I showed it to the rickshaw driver. He had no idea where it was and kept making stops at tea stalls and barber stands asking for help. We finally found it, but it was on the other side of 12 lanes of traffic. He pulled a U-turn and darted and weaved until he made his way.
The boys and I held our breath. We got inside, ordered some Limca and relaxed. Before the cold drinks were served, we witnessed a bang up accident right where we were just dropped off. A motorcycle and moped slammed into each other and the SEVEN people involved went flying. No one was really hurt (I am just guessing this from the scene that followed). They all got up, had a good laugh, re-adjusted their mirrors,and went their separate ways. Two of the passengers were holding parts of one of the bikes as they rode away.

That is EXACTLY what happens on free for all Saturdays at the ice rink. I laugh out loud at the blatant similarities. You have the women in beautiful saris clutching the drivers and you have the women in little ice skating outfits holding on to their instructor, both expecting to eventually tumble. A given.
There are idiots on the cell phone weaving in and out like they are the only ones out there. THEY have places to go that YOU have only heard of. The person they are talking to is very very important. Loud crackly music is playing. It sounds foreign.Then of course there is the way it just works seamlessly for awhile, near misses and continued motion.

I much prefer going at noon on a weekday. The only time I can bring the boys, however, is usually when other people have the great idea to do the same. Weekends are torture. I feel like I have a million uninvited guests in my home.

Old Man Over Seas

My father has decided to stay in India. If last weeks troubles didn't point him towards home nothing will. I miss him a lot. He is a character to say the least. He has always been up for an adventure. He moved to India at the age of 86. How is that for moxie? Who does that sort of thing? I might(I am just saying).

I am glad I was able to bring him there. I am able to picture his cute little room that Jo so tastefully decorated. I can see him reading in the Great Room. (Do you like that Jo?) I know that he is well taken care of and much adored. It is a rule in India you know. You must adore your elders, just like they are gods. He is adorable alright. Still, we miss him.

He and my mother lived next door to us in Providence.,RI for 4 years. Of course I miss them. My husband and I bought a cute little house about 7 years ago right next to Providence College. It is in the greatest neighborhood. When it became apparent that my mother needed more help than my father could offer I felt I was the best suited child for the job. I am a care giver,it is what I do best.

We looked around for a bigger house to move us all into. Nothing thrilled us. My parents crammed into our house for 4 months. One day, my neighborbor popped her head out of her door when I was getting my boys off to school. She said, "Hey Lucy I am going to sell my house. Do you want it?"

"Yesirree Bob". So it came to be that my parents lived next door. It was perfect. Separate yet equal. Long live the Queen and so on. I miss those days. My wonderfully batty mother and my highly strung father. A pair indeed. My parents. I miss them.

Right now I am clearing their house of all their personal belongings. We decided to rent the place. I found my mother's medic alert braclet and I thought my heart was going to break. I burst into tears. Tears that I did not know were there. I was so clinical yesterday. I thought I was cold. The discovery of mom's medic alert braclet made me remember that woman who raised me. For the last years of my mom's life I have been her caretaker. I forgot that she took care of me. She took really good care of me for years.

I remember that bracelet. I remember her always having it on, like some sort of life line. I remember flipping it over on her wrist and reading it. I'd read that she was Catholic, allergic to penicillin,her eyes would be donated, her blood was type OPOS and that she was RH POS. (so am I , however the big joke in my house is that my husband's blood type is "0 Postitive" and I am "B Negative". I tell him it would be funnier if he were "B Positive" ).

About a year before I took a fancy to her medic alert bracelet my mother had written an article for The New Bedford Standard Times. It was about donating your body to Science. The article was "City Woman Donates Her Body to Science". There was a blurry photo of her. The fact that we lived in Fall River didn't fool me. I was so upset. I must have been 8. I said, "Mom.You can't" She said, "If you feel this strongly about it when I die, I won't" I said, "Do you promise?" She said, "I do."

She meant it. Mother knows best.

Things got so muddled at the end. I don't know what happened. Her body was NOT donated. It should have been. My mother graduated summa cum laude from college and died in a sea of confusion. Her mind should have been studied.

Barack Hussein Obama

Barack Hussein Obama is MY President. I am changed.

American Indians on Halloween

Back at home.

We are back home in America. The boys have caught up on their sleep. These are pictures of them at dinner the night we got home. The loves.

I am looking for a job.

I haven't (really) worked in years. I am a little nervous about the idea. Details to follow. As for now, I am going to place a wet rag on my forehead, take a little nap, then wake up and get a free coffee at Starbucks because I voted, you betcha.

"You betcha" has become my absolute favorite catch phrase of this election. However, I did NOT vote for the "you betcha" party, no siree bob.