Thursday, February 25, 2010

Updated Video






The fb link obviously didn't work. Here then, are the 2 youtube parts.
(me in a dress happens at the end of part 2)

Ethan has a touch of pneumonia though, so I am off to watch him while mom gets the medicine.

Ciao!

Monday, February 22, 2010

Expanded Edition

Here, without further ado, is the expanded version of the 30th Wedding Anniversary slide show complete with embarrassing pictures of everyone (especially of me wearing a dress).

Peace,

Thursday, February 18, 2010

A Pox on All Your Houses

I'm smack dab in the middle

So, I thought I would be able to avoid this bug the babies have had, and, it turns out I was wrong.

I've had this ringing headache all week and I haven't been feeling great but no vomiting, no grossness. Until last night.

Hello sleeplessly wandering to the toilet all night.

G'bye sleep.

According to Katie Pitchers and Catchers report for Spring Training today. I am too bleary-eyed out of it to actually notice but once I get some gingerale in me I'll be happy as can be. Bring it on Red Sox Season. I am ready for you.

***

In a funny and strange turn of events a woman who was my teacher in Pudding Hill a pre-school here in Marshfield came into the shop this morning and I asked her if she had been my teacher back in 1983. She said "Well, I had a Tana once."

Well, there is only ONE Tana.

So we walked down memory lane for a bit and I printed out for her a photo quality copy of the school pic and all was well in the world.

Even, hopefully by the end of the day, me.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Invite Me In

Matthew reminded me of this poem at our dinner last night. I thought it was a good time to share it with the world. For me, specifically, on account of the sick babies. And for me as well because of all of the other stuff. It's an oldie but a goodie.

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living
I want to know what you ache for

and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.


It doesn't interest me how old you are

I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool
for love
for your dreams
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon.

I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow
if you have been opened by life's betrayals
or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it

or fade it

or fix it.


I want to know if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your
fingers and toes
without cautioning us to
be careful be realistic
to remember the limitations of being human.



It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself.
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithful
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty

even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand on the edge of the lake

and shout to the silver of the full moon,
"Yes!"

It doesn't interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.

I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know

or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the center of the fire
and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you
from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone
with yourself and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

Monday, February 15, 2010

30th Wedding Video

This is the slide show I put together for dear old mom and dad.

Peace and Love,

Tana

Containing Stories about Vomit. Not for the Weak of Heart

Me and my dad


Kiah came down with the same thing Ethan had and I woke up to her throwing up in her own bed last night around 3 am.

These poor kids and their sickness.

Personality differences come out strong in these moments, too. Already at 3 years old they have distinctly different ways of dealing with things. When Ethan threw up I got him into the bathroom as quick as I could and then I had to go pull the sheets off my bed before the stomach juices soaked in. So I sat him on the step stool, in front of the toilet and told him if he had to throw up again to just aim in the toilet. He sat there, mostly dazed and mostly quiet and only slightly whimpering.

Sekiah, oh my god.

I heard her sit up in her own bed but it wasn't until I heard her garbled coughing crying that I sprang up and scooped her out of her sheets and headed to the toilet. The thing with kids is, once they start throwing up, it's already too late to do anything about it. So we are trickling puke all the way to the toilet and when we get there I try and sit her down on my knee and sort of aim her towards the toilet but she keeps turning into my body trying to cling on to me. Only she is still covered with vomit so this is the least helpful thing.

So then my mom is up and she takes Kiah and I go to get the sheets off the bed, side-stepping the trail-o-vomit. I rummage around in the pajama drawer and do you think I can find even one pair of new pjs for the child? I finally find a shirt but it is short sleeves and this is February for chrissakes and where are all the pjs?

I go downstairs to where my mom now is and I start the washer machine only I make the exact same mistake I made two nights ago when Ethan got sick and I start the machine filling up with water before I even check to see if it is empty. Which, of course, it is not. (Who leaves clothes in the washer machine all night? Shouldn't those be in the dryer already?) So I'm rewashing and vomit-washing and the baby is still crying.

Poor thing.

She will not stand on her own. She will not be left alone. you cannot sit Sekiah on a step stool and tell her you will be right back, dazed or not the child wants somebody to hold her. And you know, I can't say I blame her.

Anyway, that was my morning. It was a good thing I went to bed at 7:30 last night. Tana was a tired girl.


The 30th anniversary dinner was a success though, despite the unrelated sickness later in the night. Mom cried her eyes out and watched the slide show I made for them about 500 times before we left the house. I will be working on an expanded edition, partly to save my own sanity, since I am sure mom will be playing this non-stop all week. Later today I'll post the youtube link, for those of you who are interested.

Happy 30th Mom and Pop!

****

On Friday night we all went over to Pat's new house and had dinner. Pizza and wings and it was a very nice time. The boys stayed on and played drinking games for the opening of the Olympics. Pat made a nice little fire in the fire place only when we returned from picking up the pizza the whole house was filled with smoke.

"What happened?" Pat asked. To which a whole lot of finger pointing and hilarity ensued.


video
Ethan pushes Sekiah around the kitchen wicked fast.

****

Saturday night was dancing at the aptly renamed Love Machine.

Hegman and I hung out before hand in Cleveland Circle where we went, for the first time, to her favorite local bar. And in no time flat we had the worst seats in the house and I accidentally insulted the bartender by talking smack about the Yankees that resulted in a fight about the Nazi's. Swear to god. And that was just the beginning of the night!

You just can't take me anywhere.

We wound up going to a TOTAL dive bar across the street called Mary Ann's, which, they tell me, really fills up after 11pm when all the college boys go there to get shitfaced. At any rate of the 7 people there, 6 of them were us. The place was dead. But there were 5 bouncers on staff and a bartender so I had to assume the place got hopping later in the night.

It was Hegman, her roommate and his girlfriend, her friend Christina and her friend Chloe, and me, the oldest apple in the bunch. We played what Meghan called Pop a Shot but which was really called Fever Ball or something gross, which is a basketball game. You shoot rubbery basketballs at a basket with a chain net and whoever gets the most baskets in a minute is the winner. I obviously won with relative ease (Which here means "came in second.").

The dancing part of the night was good too. Zee showed up and the whole gay city seemed to have gone to the Tegan and Sara (no h) show. There was a lot of 'Hey you's" and 'How's it going?" And Andrea came and I was really glad to see her. She always smells well. Lorn had rented a room in the HoJo across the street and we were tempted to stay but we had people we had to get home and none of our own comfy clothes (Sorry Lorn).



So it was.

Happy post-Valentine's day you people out there.
Here's a little something to go out on. A high note, I hope


“Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence”
-Van Gogh

and

from The Gift
by Hafiz of Shiraz

Even after all this time
the sun never says
to the earth,
"You owe me."

Look what happens
with a love like that -
it lights the whole sky.

Given to me as always, by the lovely Katie C.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

Bota Box and Busted Thumb

Me as a bean, age 4


Firstly, I should never have stayed up until 2 in the morning playing Mario Brothers for the Wii.

The fact that I did, is going to cramp my style for today.
I am supposed to rally and go to Club so Gay tonight.

Not to mention making it through the rest of the day here at work, for instance.

I blame Corinne. And Johnny. And the pursuit of 99 Mario lives (and then 99 Luigi lives, and then 99 Toadstool lives). And I blame Bota Box for being so palatable (as boxed wines go). And I blame Danielle and Jessie for keeping me in front of the fire while the wind tormented and raged outside the cottage door. And I blame Reality Television, beacuse why not. Anyone would drink more wine who had to suffer Bad Girl's Academy or whatever that AW-ful show was called.

But ultimately, it's a Thursday and it's shaping up to be one hell of a black Thursday at that. Tomorrow Jesse cuts my hair which has taken to curling out over my left ear like it does when it gets this long and that (let me be the first to tell you) is quite annoying.

Neil's blog turned 9 today. Or yesterday, I'm not quite sure. From the sounds of it he isn't going to be blogging much longer. Which is fine, I suppose, but sad. I just bought Bad Omens as a book on tape (or in my case, book on ipod) which I listen to at the gym and it's quite thick and very funny in a biblical tongue-in-cheek sort of way. I am really getting used to working out while mentally 'reading.'

Plans to renovate my mom's house are under way. I pester EVERYONE in my family about this daily because what I want more than anything else in the world right now is a big bathtub all my own. Something I can bubble in and get a real deep soak in. Red wine. A good book. scented candles maybe (why not).

One thing at a time.

I thought this poem was a sweet one today.
It's about where I am these days.

Forgetfulness.

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion,
the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an M as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.


-Billy Collins
***

That bit at the end about the famous battle followed by the moon and that love poem you knew by heart. His relationship had some big battles but what he remembers is what he forgot.

i feel like that a lot.

Peace out.
(Nap time.)

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

G & T's

My mom makes the second best pulled pork in the whole world. This is seriously good.

I'm taking my lunch at my desk, today, instead of going home as I usually do these days to visit with the babies. I've got a lot to do and a lot to get done and not one thing in the whole pile of things I have to do is something that I WANT to do. Welcome to adulthood, right?

Here is the short list of what annoys me today:

-Plumbers
-Expensive black markers that run dry WAY too quickly
-The fact that it is 27 degrees out
-The upcoming snowstorm
-The fact that I listened to the last of my books on tape today and either have to buy another or (gasp) start listening to songs (egad!)

Here is the short list of things that make me happy, today:

-Mom's pulled pork sandwich
-the fact that I am going to have the largest gin and tonic they make at the restaurant where my mother wants to have her 30th wedding anniversary party this Sunday night that she and I are going to scope out at 4:30pm today
and
-that I am getting out of work at 4:30pm today!

I want to commence with the not-working!
(and make with the drinking)

But alas.

After drinks with mom I am meeting up with Matthew for our weekly debriefing session which I think it is fair to say, I desperately need.

I'll leave you with a picture, cropped from an old kodak square frame picture, of the happy couple.


(Yes, that really is my dad.)

Cheers.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Who Dat?

Way to go Saints!

I just watched the aptly renamed "Rachel Maddeaux Sheaux" filmed live in New Orleans last Friday before big game happened. My mom was rooting for Payton, can you believe it? I made my buffalo chicken dip and sipped a few Sam Coastal Wheat's. Danielle and Callie stayed for the opening quarter but left early, it had been a long weekend for them, moving house and staying up late and everything that goes with that.

Corinne and I sat on the little couch and rooted for the Saints, and nibble calzones and joked about how we are going to wear the Dumb and Dumber tuxedos to Pat's wedding in October.


The cottage that Danielle and Brian moved into is unbelievably gorgeous. It's small, in the way that New England cottages built circa 1950 are small, with cheesy pine paneling and uneven floors and that almost musty shut-up-all-winter smell that was only dissipated by the overwhelming amount of candles we lit, and the view is to die for. It is right, smack, on the ocean. Saturday night we had a sleep-over. Johnny and the babies and Katie and me and Corinne stopped by with Tae but they did not stay. And, of course, Danielle and baby Callie. Brian slipped in past midnight when I was already very much asleep.

And so, I had breakfast with my babies and the sunrise over the Atlantic in early February with the wind a muted howl and the waves green and frothy and crashing right outside the back door.
Katie had gotten us all fresh bagels from 'Gunther Tooties' and I sipped foul tasting Folger's Crystal coffee because let's face it, they just moved in and that's all there was, and I journaled and mused and missed some things an awful lot.

When the universe wants you to get the message boy does it speak up.

****

This morning marks another Monday. A reset period maybe? God, the timing of it all just makes me want to cry. And laugh. And go a little bit batty sometimes. I took bailey to Petco for some tennis balls and a new toy. I picked a rugged tugger-toy with a hidden squeaker that took him all of 10 seconds to destroy. Like, mangle-destroyed. Like, flap so hard against his own head he could concuss himself destroyed. He was a happy puppy. Then we went to the beach.

And now I am off to ink some pages, as usual, and maybe letter some pages. And who know what else.

Happy Monday.
Way to go, Saints.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Morale Boost

I was reading in this month's issue of Runner's World a tiny blurb of an article about a woman who just turned 34 who ran her first marathon in 8 hours and 11 minutes. She said "My time was horrible but I have no regrets. The experience was life-changing. I'm proof that you can accomplish any goal you set for yourself." She also lost 108 pounds which means the moral of this story is: if she can do it, so can I!

And so we enter the final stages of Prepping-for-the-Boston-Marathon.

I won't have a number and so I will have to run it bandit. But so what? Plenty of people run it bandit every year and what's one more, rather slow, probably terrified newbie in the grand scheme of things?

I have resolved to run at least 5 races this year. I am all signed up for the Ras na hEirann out of Somerville which commemorates my very first race ever (last year). I'd say it's a piddly little 5k but the truth is 3.2 miles is still hard for me. I hold out very little hope that it will ever get better. I have another few races on the back burner I'd like to do as well so we will see.

In other news the deadline for the Xeric award admission for this year is March 31st and the book will be ready to go out and be judged by then. I dread to think what will happen if I am turned down (again) but I am determined to complete this process too! Here's to a year of finishing goals and completing projects and just generally getting things done.

To that end here's a page from early in the book.



If I am going to run (or waddle, or crawl) to the finish line 26.2 miles away from Hopkinton MA. I had better make my way to the gym.

Peace out cub scouts.