Elegy for My Lady: 1992 - 2008

On Friday, my sister called and told me that our family’s dog, Lady, had been put to sleep. Poor Lady had gotten progressively worse and worse as the 4th of July weekend went on, until her seizures returned and . . .

It makes me very sad to even write this, thinking of her shaking and scared . . .

My Dad woke up early Monday morning and saw her. He was very upset as he took her to the Emergency vet for the last time. Over the years, he had been her primary caretaker, and while he always complained how he hated that dog and always tried to give her away to . . . anyone, you know he adored her. He held her in his arms as the doctor gave her the shot. He was totally devastated and since has been slow to get rid of her toys and leashes.

She was the first pet I ever had, even though she technically was my youngest sister’s pet. When I moved out of the house, she sat in my empty room for days – in the place where my bed used to be – waiting for my return.

Whenever Mr. Random and I came over to the house, she would always jump and bark all over the place, she was so excited. She liked to sit next us on the couch or sprawl out by our feet. When we left, she always looked so sad, and I would always give her a treat and a hug as I walked out the door.

I will so miss her when I go home to visit . . .

I’m sure the house is so different, so much quieter, now that all three daughters are gone . . . and the dog. Life goes on. We all get older. People and pets we love can’t stay around forever, no matter how much we wish it not so.

Lady was a wonderful pet and we were lucky to have her in our lives, helping us to be gentler, more responsible human beings to everyone and everything around us. She lived a few days past her 16th birthday and it seems like just yesterday my parents brought this little puppy home to my 8 year old sister.

Goodbye, my Lady . . .

Just One Person . . . A Muppet Tribute

A week and a half (or so) ago was the anniversary of Jim Henson's death. There was a very moving remembrance posted over at Edge of the American West at that time, and I highly recommend you go look at it . . . and bring a hanky.

To have grown up in the late 60s, 70s and 80s, was to be touched by this man's humor and genius. Those of us of a certain generation will always hold his work close to our hearts. I know I do.

The songs I've embedded here are some of my favorites. The first one I sang in choir in elementary school, I think, or was it one of the early Doogie Howser MS/HS years? Whatever . . . I love them all . . .

A Fun Moment From My Childhood

Just to liven things up a bit, let's turn back the clock and revisit one of my fave Sesame Street characters: Roosevelt Franklin.



Bonus: The outdoor shot of the school looks a lot like my alma mater, Doogie Howser MS/HS.

On the Broad Street Line

This morning on the Today Show, there was a feature segment on a kid who started riding on the NYC subway by himself when he was 9 years old. (I think he’s 10 or 11 now – I didn’t have the sound on for the first part.)

When I first saw the topic on the screen, my first thought was “so what?” However, I guess I am one of the few people who thought that because both Ann Curry and some psychologist lady seemed to be berating the kid’s mom for, GASP, letting little precious travel by himself. That kids that age don’t have the developmental skills to handle something like that by themselves. His mom, who was handling this thing so much more calmly than I would have, was trying to make the rational arguments that, um, he seems to be doing fine and how is he supposed to learn how to get along in the world unless he actually gets along in the world. (I think – I was getting ready for work at the time and half-paying attention.)

As you all may or may not remember, I started going to Doogie Howser MS/HS in Philadelphia (the same illustrious alma mater of Justrose) when I was 9 going on 10 and I took the subway AND the bus back and forth to school every day by myself. It was not a random unusual thing – lot of other kids did it and I do believe that the world of the 1980s wasn’t vastly safer than the world of today. I’d even argue that today is safer in a lot of ways. But what once was considered somewhat normal when I grew up is now almost grounds for child endangerment, and I don’t know how I feel about that. It kind of upsets me on a basic level.

See, this is why I’m semi-wary of having kids because the rules seems to always change about what kids should be allowed to do at what age. OK, now it’s fine that little kids are supposed to be able to start writing paragraphs in Kindergarten, but it’s not OK for the same kids to ride their bikes around the block by themselves when they’re eight. I’m so confused.

I remember how competent and independent I felt to be able to go to school by myself. Yes, the Philadelphia subway transportation system was not the most hygienic and there were some weirdoes along the way, but my parents didn’t raise any fools (although the jury may still be out on me . . .) and the majority of people in the world are good and decent and just going on about their business. If we make things uber-scary, then guess what? Kids will grow up thinking relatively normal, harmless things are uber-scary.

I don’t think this has a point. I’m just rambling. But that segment ticked me off and I’m trying to pinpoint why. Maybe because it sort of invalidates and devalues my own childhood experiences? Negates the brief feelings of control and mastery I felt as a child? (Other than in academics, I sure as heck didn’t feel that way anywhere else . . . and I still have problems with it now.)

Anyway . . . as you were . . .

Frailty, Thy Name is Woman

My grandmother has moved to a new independent senior living complex. The good news is that she is no longer in the outer boonies –she is now in the “inner” boonies. It’s still a schlep, but the drive is a half-hour shorter for me and Mr. Random.

This place has better security, it has more activities for the residents and the apartment my grandmother is much larger, more spacious and more light-filled than her old one. In fact, I would argue that it is too large because her furniture now seems tiny and sparse in the big open space of her combo living room/dining area/kitchen and the expanse also gives the illusion that she is smaller and frailer than she truly is.

And seeing that makes me sad. Each time I see her, it’s like she moves a little slower and she’s shrunken a little more. She now walks slowly and gingerly with a cane – this being a woman who used to walk for miles back and forth across Philadelphia dragging her two little granddaughters behind her. I remember her standing strong (not tall, she’s always been kind of short) and being fearless, and now . . . while she still has a lot of spunk in her and her mind is still very sharp, something about her is a bit more tentative and she has to depend on more people to help her do many things that she used to just charge ahead and do herself.

Seeing my grandmother, helping her out when I can, brings me face-to-face with what it means to age and what it means to watch someone you love slowly decline. I am very lucky – my grandmother will turn 90 this year and I will have spent most of my life with her living within a 50 mile radius of me. She has always been in my life, one way or another, and I can’t imagine her not being here - being cranky and crotchety and hating people, while having a heart of gold.

At least I know that we have a good relationship. That I am still close to her. That I am one of the few family members that she relies on and talks to on a regular basis. It means a lot to me and I think it means a lot to her. My only regret is that I don’t have any children of my own yet for her to put her blessing.

When my grandpa died 21 years ago, it hurt. A lot. And it still hurts in some ways, but I’ve moved on and try to do the best I can to honor his memory. But my grandma? Oy! The dread I have! There are some situations where you won’t know how you’ll react until it happens but this is something . . . I don’t want to know right now. Yes, I am trying to be rational and I know that she has lived a full, exciting life and she is tired and has ailments and has already told us that when she goes she doesn’t want any fuss but to just put her “in a Hefty bag by the curb.” (No, seriously! She’s said that several times. She has a wicked sense of humor . . .) I know a lot of things intellectually. I get it. But still . . .

So a cloud hovers heavily on my brain, even though it shouldn’t. Every time I see her I hug her tight and tell her I’m so glad I could be there. What more could we do in this life that would be more important than taking the time to appreciate the moments we have remaining and making the most of those?

Auld Lang Syne – A Random Look Back at the Blog in 2007

I couldn’t resist doing this meme and today I actually have time to do it. You know the rules – slap down the first paragraph of the first post of each month of last year:

January: There was a meme going around for a while where you posted the first sentence that you wrote on your blog each month for the past year. Today seemed a rather appropriate day to do so . . .

(side note: Yup, I did this last year. That month I also went to view Gerald Ford’s casket at the Capitol, played a bit with my new camera, went to the U.S. Holocaust Museum, and queried about using cell phones in restaurants.)

February: Well, actually, I’m not one of those people who bite their nails – mine usually just break off at inopportune times. My nails grow to be long pretty quickly, so unless I am hyper-vigilant about trimming them regularly, they start to get really annoying. I am at a loss to understand those folks who have the big press-on-nails – how can they type? Or rip open a box? They just seem so dainty . . . and I am so not dainty . . .

(side note: That was the month I started getting nervous about a medical problem, went to a Super Bowl party, did some Scribbling Challenges, continued to teach ESL, had my 300^th post, got hooked on Gilmore Girls reruns, saw the Capitals and the Wizards in the same week, played in the snow and first got wind of possible layoffs at the Random Non-profit.)

March: Finally got the results from the doctor yesterday. Mr. Random was right there by my side as the doctor said . . . that the tests showed about what he thought they would, and that I have no reason to worry – things should be OK.

(side note: Big sigh of relief, there were layoffs, did a book meme, found out my sister was going to Iraq, was feeling pretty low.)

April: As promised, here are all of the books that are stacked up by my bed at the moment. Mind you, these are just the books sitting BY MY BED and not in the living room, den, guest room, and elsewhere in the bedroom that are also begging to be read - such as Mr. Random's major stacks.

(side note: Also took my first spinning class, did the Easter thing, dealt with the fallout from the layoffs, had a visit from the Random Mom-in-Law, started on the Shakespeare Project and went to see Edward III, celebrated the 2 year anniversary of the blog, briefly celebrated Poetry Month.)

May: It’s May already! April went by so quickly . . . too quickly. There was a project that I meant to finish last month, which I had not yet started on. I definitely have to finish it this month or else I won’t have certain options available to me in the Fall . . . options that might be able to get me away from the Random Non-Profit sooner, rather than later . . .

(side note: Started visiting my Grandma at her new location in the Boonies of Virginia, saw more Shakespeare plays, got the new vanity for the bathroom, Mr. Random left the Random Non-profit for the Random Publication.)

June: Last Friday night, Mr. Random, my friend J, and I went to see Love’s Labors Lost at the Carter Barron Amphitheater in Northwest DC. The play is this year’s Shakespeare Theater’s “Free for All” performance.

(side note: Got a new iPod, had family issues, ESL subbing, had more angst.)

July: On Saturday, I went to see Tom Stoppard’s play, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead at DC’s Studio Theater. This play fit in very well with our ongoing Shakespeare project, since the main characters are two minor characters in Hamlet who aren’t mentioned often but do have something integral to do with the plot. They are old friends of Hamlet’s who are sent to keep him company and find out why he is behaving so oddly. They play delves quite a bit into the nature of life and death, while giving a backstory of the types of characters who are usually just afterthoughts in plays.

(side note: Also saw Hamlet and the nude Macbeth, Fringe Festival and lots of kvetching.)

August: That’s today’s New Yorker daily calendar cartoon caption and I feel like that’s what the last few days of this blog have been – The blogosphere is a big cocktail party, and the hostess has to pull people aside and say to them, “Would you be a dear and sit with Random Kath? She’s seems a bit cranky lately . . .”

(side note: August was “spend no money” month, took pictures at a comedy open-mike, AC died at the Random Condo, went back to college, very excited but very anxious.)

September: Yup, school has started and I am trying to get into the swing of things. I am still overwhelmed and freaked out, but at the moment it is the usual Random Kath level of overwhelmed and freaked out, so things are semi-normal.

(side note: More open mike pictures, did a 5K, Mr. Random and I had an anniversary.)

October: I have two exams this week so in theory I shouldn’t be writing anything at all until after they are over on Friday afternoon.

(side note: Got a 97 on both exams, did some touristy sightseeing, bought new shoes, saw Michael Clayton, more Random Non-profit angst, my sister came home for R&R, saw another Shakespeare play.)

November: I have a 4 page paper due for my International Relations class this evening and, of course, I put off writing anything until last night. I HAVE been doing research for the past week or so, so I’m not a total slacker, but for some reason I just could not get myself girded to write anything until last night.

(side note: More Shakespeare, Grandmama drama, crashing bookcases, slogging through school.)

December: My word! It’s December already. Here’s my update on stuff so far – I’m going to start with the happier stuff first.

(side note: More layoffs, more angst, letter for a Newborn Girl, memes, ended being optimistic.)

Whew! That one took a while to do. Glad that’s over for this year . . .

Wading in Knee Deep

I am surrounded by piles again.

It happens every so often – I look up and there are piles of papers and magazines and books, all waiting to be sorted and/or read.

Over the weekend, one of the shelves of one of our bookcases collapsed rather suddenly, breaking glass in the pictures frames that sat on one of the shelves and bringing several other shelves down with it. Many books thudding to the floor.

At first Mr. Random thought “Earthquake!” when he heard the noise, being from Southern California and all, but then thought better of it. My first concern was for Random Cat – luckily, she was sitting in another room at the time – and then my concern was for the pictures.

The pictures that sat on the bookcase shelf are family photographs, the kind that are collected over the years and can never be replaced. Pictures of Mr. Random and his family, when his father and both sets of grandparents were still alive. Pictures of his grandmother and grandfather on their wedding day. Pictures of family moments sprinkled from a span of about 30 years. Whew! The frames were broken, but the pictures were intact. Hooray! Hooray!

But after the collapse we looked at the bookcase, and then looked at its partner a few feet away and decided to would be best to take all of the books out of them and eventually get new ones . . . and not cheap Ikea ones either! We just bought those a few years ago, when we bought the condo – you would think they would be able to handle lots of, um, books. So we’ve learned our lesson, no more cheap bookcases. And now we have about roughly 200 or so paperbacks and hardcover books sitting in piles in our living room. Lots of history and politics and law and philosophy. Many, many hours of reading and studying and learning sitting on the floor. I try to quickly walk past those piles – if I pick up a book, I will start to read it again and many hours will pass. Too much to do, but they call out “read me!” I have to persevere . . . I hope one day to be able to have the luxury to sit with them again . . .

So lots of piles. Piles that mock me. Piles that make me proud. There’s something about a house full of books . . . It just feels like home. You can pull one down from the shelf and curl up in a chair and be comfortable. Of course, our chairs and couches aren’t that comfortable which is why I don’t do it much any more. But if they were, say, nice comfy couches and chairs – if we win the lottery some day – my joy would be complete.

I have walked into homes that didn’t have any bookcases around and I immediately feel cold. Like, well, what do you all DO? What do you all read? What do you talk about? You can tell a lot about people by the reading material they have around. Yes, I’m judgmental that way. I guess you can call me a snob.

But when I was little, my parents didn’t have much, but they always had books around. Lots of worn paperbacks. My mom loved to read and always had a book in her hand. My dad always read the paper. Reading was a big thing. Reading is what you did at home. It was a safe thing. A comfort thing. Your day could have sucked royally, but you could come home and lose yourself in a book. A blanket and a book.

So piles of books I have. Piles of magazines and newspapers and stuff printed out to read. In fact, right now I have next to me a copy of the new NEA report on reading, To Read or Not to Read, that I am about to dig into. I have to read it myself to get a sense of what it is saying, whether I really am part of a vanishing breed or not. Right away, the coolest thing about it is this quote from Virginia Woolf at the end. It speaks to me for some reason:

I have sometimes dreamt, at least, that when the Day of Judgment dawns and the great conquerors and lawyers and statesmen come to receive their rewards – their crowns, their laurels, their names carved indelibly upon imperishable marble – the Almighty will turn to Peter and will say, not without a certain envy when he sees us coming with our books under our arms, “Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them here. They have loved reading.”

Virginia Woolf, “How Should One Read a Book?”

Friday Random Song in my Head

This is a song that my Mom said she used to use to quiet me to sleep when I was a baby. It was the only one that would work, she says.

Even today, I still think it is a beautiful and comforting song, especially with Art Garfunkel’s voice . . .

Here’s a little history of the song.

Paul Simon was right: you CAN tell that the third verse was tacked on later. I still love all the verses equally though, and agree that the song probably did need a third verse. It’s also interesting to see the names of everyone who has covered the song – that sounds like a future project, to collect all of the different cover versions of the song!

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Simon and Garfunkel (1970)

When you´re weary, feeling small

When tears are in your eyes, I'll dry them all...all...

I´m on your side, oh, when times get rough

And friends just can´t be found

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

When you´re down and out

When you´re on the street

When evening falls so hard

I will comfort you (ooh)

I´ll take your part, oh, when darkness comes

And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

(brief instrumental interlude)

Sail on silver girl

Sail on by

Your time has come to shine

All your dreams are on their way

See how they shine

Oh, if you need a friend

I´m sailing right behind

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will ease your mind

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will ease your mind

Chomping at the Bit

I’ve had a lot of caffeine today, so I’m pretty hyper. I’ve been trying to wean myself from caffeine entirely, but over the last couple of months I’ve been so stressed out and tired that it’s been “Bring on the Diet Cokes and Diet Dr. Peppers!”

Thanks everyone for the kind words for my announcement – I has helped a bit to put words to paper of what I want to do. And as I told Mommanator in the comments, whenever I AM finally pregnant, I will clearly mark the post as such!

The whole “having a baby” thought was one of the topics holding up my decision. I’m not getting any younger – I’ll be 37 in two months – and if I’m going to do either, I felt like I really couldn’t wait any longer. So if I do get pregnant while I’m in school – and it is a serious possibility – Mr. Random and I decided that we will cross that bridge when we come to it.

Given how important Mr. Random and I think that education is, it behooves me to practice what I preach. I know that whatever child we have will always be surrounded by people who love reading and learning and being involved in the world, and I would hope that that rubs off on them in some way. I know it certainly did with my parents . . .

Both my parents went to college in the evenings while I was a little girl. I remember spending lots of evenings at my grandma’s house while both of them attended class. I remember always seeing big textbooks lying around and I would try to read them (and sometimes draw in them . . . oops!) I remember a few times, if my Grandma couldn’t watch me, my mom would bring me to class with her and have me sitting in a seat next to her, coloring and reading while the professor lectured. I made sure to stay very quiet and stay in my seat (in which my little legs were usually much too short to reach the floor!)

I remember when each of my parents graduated and seeing them wearing black robes and “flat hats.” They worked incredibly hard to get where they are and as I get older I appreciate even more the sacrifices they made to finish their educations. I guess it is partially for them that I try to finish – for them and for my future children.

Most of all, however, I have to finish for ME . . . so I know that I can . . . That’s the part that finally got my fanny in gear after all of these years . . .

Now that thought has to sustain me through the next several years. Do I have the true will to do so? I really hope I do . . .

Random Song in my Head

Cocktails For Two
Words & Music by Arthur Johnston & Sam Coslow
Recorded by Spike Jones and His City Slickers

In some secluded rendezvous
That overlooks the avenue
With someone sharing a delightful chat
Of this and that and cocktails for two.

As we enjoy a cigarette
To some exquisite chansonette
Two hands are sure to slyly meet beneath
A sur-vi-ette with cocktails for two.

Bridge:

My head may go reel - ing,
But my heart will be o-be-dient
With intoxicating kisses for the prin-ci-pal in-gre-dient.

Most any afternoon at five
We'll be so glad to be alive
Then maybe fortune will complete her plan
That all began with cocktails for two.

This morning, while on my way to work, I had this song running through my brain – complete with all of the sound effects (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cocktails_for_Two) that normally accompany it.

OK, it was weird enough that I had this particular song running through my head today. But then I tried to remember why exactly I know this song – particularly the Spike Jones version of the song.

I seem to remember watching a TV show when I was younger (early 80’s?) where people would lip sync to various songs while singing or doing little dance routines or something. I can’t remember if someone was awarded a prize at the end, but I’m thinking it was something like that . . .

Ok, I remembered the name of the show: Puttin’ on the Hits. See, I’m not going bonkers? It DID exist!

http://www.tv.com/puttin-on-the-hits/show/7675/summary.html
http://www.retrojunk.com/details_tvshows/1293-puttin-on-the-hits/
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0346377/plotsummary

If you look, you’ll see that someone is thinking of bringing the show back. Ugh! Although it was rather fun, I admit, to watch when I was 14, I can’t imagine watching it now . . . it would probably be quite painful. However, there does seem to be an appetite for this sort of show now, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it got quite popular again . . .

That was pretty random for today, wasn't it?

Ode to My Grandfather

I just wanted to share this with everyone. It is neither a meme nor a Scribblings Challenge, but a short essay I had to write for an application I submitted this week. You all probably heard this story before, but this time I actually had to make it coherent. With Father's Day coming up, it just seemed to fit . . .

The Topic: Describe an event or individual that has been instrumental in shaping who you are. Tell us why this event/person has been significant in your life. (In less than 500 words)

***********

Grandpa Henry was a big man. Not only big in relation to an adoring granddaughter, but at over six feet tall and roughly 300 pounds, he always made a big impression when he walked into a room with his charisma and booming infectious laugh.

Whenever he was around, I felt special. On both sides of the family, I was one of many grandchildren and tended to get lost in the hustle and bustle at large family gatherings in my hometown of Philadelphia. However, Grandpa would always take time to try to play with me and talk to me. Every so often, he would give my mother money to buy books that she thought that I would enjoy. He was proud of my schoolwork and always encouraged me to do my best.

After my family moved to Virginia in my junior year of high school, I did not get to see him very often. Occasionally, I spoke with him on the phone, but long-distance phone calls were expensive. During this time, unbeknownst to me, Grandpa became sick with an aggressive form of cancer. The last time I spoke to him was during a phone call in February 1987. He sounded very tired, but wanted to hear how I was doing. My high school graduation was coming up and I wanted to make sure he would be there. “You’re coming to my graduation, right Grandpa?” I asked. I did not notice at the time, but now I will never forget, he hesitated a bit before answering. “Of course, Kitty, I will be there.”

My mother received a call on St. Patrick’s Day that Grandpa died in his sleep. He was only 62 years old. I was devastated and sleep-walked through the funeral. I finished the school year but cried bitterly on graduation day because he was not there.

Later, it came out that Grandpa had been functionally illiterate. My grandmother and mother had covered up that fact from everyone for many years. Growing up as an African American in rural Alabama in the 1920s did not afford him the opportunity for a good education. He wanted to make sure that I took advantage of the opportunities that he did not have growing up. As an adult, I realize what a gift he gave me, and I wanted to honor his memory by sharing his gift with others.

A few years ago, I started volunteering with the [local volunteer group] as an English as a Second Language teacher. In my classes are people from all walks of life who are trying to learn to read, write and speak English to secure a better life for themselves and their families. I enjoy teaching these classes and seeing the triumph in students’ eyes when they figure out some difficult grammar or turn of phrase. In my teaching, I hope Grandpa Henry would be proud of me for helping to give others chances that he did not have.

Kvetching Allowed

Philosopher’s Playground has a really good post today about the differences between whining, complaining, bitching and kvetching.

I am trying to analyze which of those I do most here on the blog. I always hope it’s kvetching, but it often does seem to devolve into whining and bitching.

I bitch about the admin guy all of the time – especially to Mr. Random, who in a highly entertaining way can also do a spot-on impersonation of him.

I whine about a lot of things, because I guess deep down I want someone to go “oh, poor Random Kath . . . there, there now.” I mean, in a way it’s human nature to want to have your misery validated. Who wants to think they are paranoid for no reason? Who doesn’t want some love shared their way?

One thing that I do not do a lot is complain. If I see something wrong, I try to fix it myself. If I go to a restaurant and there is a little puddle of schmutz on the table, I’ll just get a napkin and wipe it off myself – I’m used to cleaning up myself and other people – it takes more time to flag down a busy person and make them get a wet towel to wipe off a little spot. I’ve been on the other side in similar situations and no one is perfect, so I try to cut others some slack. If I can’t do it myself, I ask for help – then half the time people take over the task anyway. . .

~ Time passes ~

Oh, I’m back. I went away for a while – not that anyone would have noticed – to participate in Mr. Random’s good-bye party here at the Random Non-profit. I was the one assigned to keep Mr. Random busy until the party, which was pretty easy since he had to show me a few office procedures this morning and that activity took up over an hour. He was very surprised! I took many pictures, however I was not able to immortalize the look on his face when he walked into a room full of people with balloons, confetti and silly string. He received many cool going away gifts and started choking up when he was asked to give a speech. I started crying too . . .

This day has been quite surreal for the both of us, and I don’t think either of us will fully realize that he isn’t working here anymore until a couple of weeks from now. A chapter of his life is ending and a new one is beginning – very scary and exciting stuff!

I guess today is a lame posting day – I’ve been pretty low on sleep – but I’ll try to do better next time . . . But my Question of the Day is this: Of kvetching, whining, bitching and complaining, which of those do you find yourself doing most often?

In the Corner Pocket

Mr. Random and I went to a Super Bowl party at a friend’s house yesterday. I’m definitely NOT a football fan, but Super Bowl parties are not really about the game anyway – the event is just a convenient excuse to get a bunch of people together on a cold winter day and eat a lot of really fattening foods, and drink lots of different beverages and just hang out and chat. It’s a post-Christmas celebration of togetherness and debauchery.

The main draw of this particular Super Bowl party was that the host had a pool table. It’s a very nice pool table too, not one of the cheap kinds, but with real wood with nice carvings and good table felt. I don’t get to play pool very often, but when I do I love it . . . even though I get really frustrated.

When I was a little girl of 6 or 7, my mom’s brother taught me how to play pool. He had a large pool table in the family room of his house and he showed me how to hold the pool stick and hit the cue ball to knock into other little balls. Whenever my family would go to his house, I would always run down to the basement and occupy myself for an hour or two trying to play pool. It was one of the few things I could do by myself, with no one else bothering me, not having to be in the middle of a group of screaming banshee cousins – just me and the pool table.

My uncle now lives far away and I haven’t seen that table in over 20 years. I play pool very rarely now – maybe once a year if I am lucky. I’m not really that good at it, but I do get off some lucky shots once in a while, which makes people think I know what I’m doing. Playing pool is about knowing how to hit the cue ball with enough pressure and at the proper angle to be able to hit another ball to go into the desired pocket. It’s a lot harder than it sounds, though sometimes it seems like it should be supremely easy. A little too much pressure or a little too little pressure and great frustration ensues.

It’s just another one of those puzzles that I love to try to figure out . . . and keeps my mind in the moment and on the task at hand.

Foosball? Now that’s a game I was having problems with – good grief, how many arms are you supposed to have to play that thing?

So, how did your weekends go?