Sometimes I am gifted with a back and forth of emails, texts, and messages from people sending comments and thoughts in response to the swoon of the day. It makes me SO happy. One from today was pretty special.
This one came from a dear friend out in California.
“I read your swooning post for today, cheers to earrings and lipstick — as said, it is the little wins. Your comment about your friend saying she felt like she was on a roller coaster these days reminded me of one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite movies, “Parenthood” with Steve Martin. The quote always reminded me that sometimes with life, it’s best to embrace the roller coaster. Here is the quote: Grandma: You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster. Gil: Oh? Grandma: Up, down, up, down. Oh what a ride! Gil: What a great story. Grandma: I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn’t like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.
And with that little gem from across the country, I checked off another win for the day.
Down about not being able to celebrate Easter the way I have done for 52 years…family, large dinners, egg hunts, Armenian egg cracking game, basket searches, hugs, food, church festivities… I was not so swoonie.
Determined to make it feel like an almost real holiday, I tried to prepare as usual. French toast (from mom’s homemade bread), flowers (from the front yard), egg decorating (8 instead of 48), dinner of IKEA Swedish meatballs and veggies (use what you have). We attended church (online) while dressed nicely (from the waist up). Festivities with every family member (via Zoom) and a basket hunt with drawn clues (from the master of exquisite basket hunts) for our co-quarantining kid. A (virtual) Easter basket hunt with our California kids (clues given via text, live video feed, selfies as proof of found objects, and “baskets” magically appearing when they finished…thank you VENMO). Armenian egg cracking game translated to a virtual experience by our game designer kid…18 people all over the country “cracking eggs”…like there was not a pandemic in the world. Sigh, we did the best we could. I went to sleep thinking we are so fortunate that this is our biggest problem…we got this.
Monday… no work. Tuesday…no work. Wednesday…very very little work. Small Business loans do not cover people who own businesses with no employees or payroll (no matter how much work is lost). Note to self: next time be a millionaire, that way the government will give you handouts. Healthcare workers are getting very sick, tired, and missing time with their families. Finding food takes much planning and cost. People need donations for small towns, food banks, the USPS, funerals, medical expenses. Donating again and again, thankful that we can, but wondering when to draw the line as people with limited income for a while. Feeling guilty we are not sick, sad for those who have lost a loved one, and nervous for those alone in hospitals. Sigh. How the hell can one swoon?
Well after some much needed girlfriend therapy this morning… I am following the lead of a brilliant lady, who said… “I am like a rollercoaster up and down and sideways, but I am trying to focus on the little wins for now… sending hugs.”
I felt that virtual hug and I am listening.
Two wins for the day accomplished… I put on lipstick and earrings…the rest will just be icing on the cake. Another note to self: when you set a really really low bar, you can achieve any goal.
Wishing you a win.. or two.. or twelve. Stay well and swoon.
I was part of the “go entertain yourself” generation. Saturday cartoons were over by noon, all day sports weren’t yet a thing (especially for girls) and museum or zoo outings were special occasions. We filled our time figuring out how to fill our time. We arranged our own playdates and planned our own days. We might pack a picnic lunch and walk down to the bay, hiding in reeds pretending we were stuck in quicksand. We might go outside and dig, or swing, or climb the big tree. We might play cars or “peoples” (Fisher Price Little People), there was so much to do.
Winter and rainy days were a different thing. They meant either hanging out with the kids next-door (dinner at the house with the best mom-made meal option) or just spending day with my little brother. Those might turn into a “Let’s Make a Tent Land” day. This involved taking every blanket in the house, all of the sofa cushions, brooms, rope, and books…and building a new reality. Between these items, gravity, parent’s who would just walk through the room and say “you are cleaning this all up”, and luck, we created a maze of twisting and turning tented tunnels. These tunnels lead to the “good room” which was made up of the lightest blankets held up with brooms balanced between couches, and tied to the stair banisters with rope. Creating tent land could take hours. There were structural tests and failures, and hysterical laughter and arguments, as brooms balanced with blankets on top collapsed again…and again. Once we got it right, we would reward ourselves with ritz cracker peanut butter and jelly “sandwiches” while watching tv in our new space (because of course there was a tv in there). It was safe, it was ours, it was glorious. Swoon.
This past fall I designed an invitation package for a gala benefitting a local hospital. They created their very own “tent land” on the hospital parking lot, there was a catering tent, a cocktail and dancing tent, and a tent for the sit-down dinner and auction. It was beyond spectacular. Funds were being raised for hospital’s innovative healthcare, groundbreaking research, and general goodness. Greg and I were invited the cocktail portion…a rare chance to see the menu, program, slideshow, and posters I designed in action. We got all dolled up and arrived to see the huge, beautiful, glowing tents in front of the hospital. It was magical.
Today I read that this very hospital is creating another “tent land” in their parking lot…there is no more room to treat patients inside the hospital, so they will treat them in tents. I am not sure I ever thought we would be living a M.A.S.H episode in my neighborhood, but it has come to that. I look forward to the day when tents are used for celebrating, where healthcare workers are safe, where sick people are treated inside the hospital instead of in the parking lot.
Stay well.
Our “tent lands” looked nothing like this vision of calm and perfection.
Does your family have certain stories that get told and retold? Lore that is based on some bit of fact…but who knows how much is true.
There are a few tales I heard again and again growing up. Some have photographic evidence, which makes them a bit more accountable, but all are dear to me. I fear I repeat them to my kids as much as my parents repeated them to me.
My grandpa Leo arrived from Egypt as a young Armenian itching to become a true American. He and his buddy Percy got off the boat and headed to a photographer to have their pictures taken, as “real New York cowboys”. Then they hopped freight trains headed for San Francisco, so they could drive tourist rickshaws at the 1915 World’s Fair. My grandpa was 23 when he left his family and the “old country”…and somehow the picture survived his entire American journey…and that blows my mind. While traveling across the country (on numerous freight trains), living in a boarding house, traveling back to NY (after Percy gambled away all their money), finding work as a watchmaker (he was not a watchmaker, but he was a bit of an imp and a hard worker), ordering a bride from Turkey (my grandma), designing and building his own home in Yonkers, and raising a family…through all of this…he kept the photograph safe. I lose my phone between rooms of the house. I fret that my 24 year old Californian might be sad he is missing the Easter basket hunt (due to restricted travel…by plane…with extra room seats). Is it possible we missed out on the genes from my grandpa?
My other grandparents owned a liquor store in Queens until Prohibition, when they turned it into a “Malt Shop”. Their home was just a few blocks away, with a basement for entertaining (wink wink). A two family home, my dad and his parents in the top floor apartment, my uncle and his parents in the ground floor apartment…and a communal basement for partying. As I remember the basement it had an amazing red checked floor, a piano, a pool table, a bar with barstools that were about 6 feet high. Behind the bar there were naughty napkins of ladies in bustiers making kissy faces, drink stirrers in the most beautiful opaque plastics, and coasters with advertisements for local hardware stores and beers that no longer exist. There was a back kitchen with a stove from the 30s, it was ivory and mint green, and even at 10, I knew it was something to be cherished. This basement had an energy, much goodness happened there…it was a set designer and Ebay collector’s dream. One story was that my grandpa would play the piano and sing with…Mae West…who we were told was also my dad’s honorary Godmother. No picture proof, but I believe it to this day, it would be a pretty bizarre thing to make up. Swoon.
My in-laws have their own lore. Greg’s dad, one of 17 kids, and mom one of 9 kids, grew up on farms in South Dakota from the depression through the mid 60s, stories that to this New Yorker are beyond belief. His great grandparents lived on the prairie in sod houses and lost loved ones to rattlesnake bites. This is not a Little House book, this was their life.
I think about these stories and wonder, what stories will my kids pass on? My mom grew up babysitting and taking dance classes, my dad had a paper route and paid for college with the money he earned. Maybe that is a story, will they be shocked that we could go to a private college for $7000. a year… all in? Will they talk about how we told them they could be anything they wanted to be and to dream big…because we lived in America? Will they tell stories about how their family dealt with the world changing overnight? About how health care workers were asked to save lives while risking their own? Will they share how they never got to say goodbye to loved ones, or spent months alone making bread and working remotely on the same countertop, or about falling in love with someone at a pandemic Zoom party? What stories will they tell?
Percy (left) and my Grandpa Leo looking very American. Patent for “Muenchner Brand Malt Extract” from 1923.
Last week my husband showed up at dinner dressed in a suit and tie. No reason, he just wanted to make his ladies laugh. On Saturday we had a dress as a rainbow dinner… no reason, we just needed to do something silly. I see social media videos with families dressing in tutus and goofing around, of Irish families teaching their grumpy dad to TikTok (brilliant), screen captures of high school buddies having a their own Brady Bunch opening credit like gathering, pictures of homemade bread and cakes worthy of food channel shows, cross-fit lists crossed off, and hikes that go strait up mountains (both ways). It is so lovely. People are so positive about this insanity!
Last night, dinner was prepared, table was set, computers were ready for a Zoom dinner with my brother’s family… and then some technology difficulties. These difficulties were step one towards a nasty argument between my housemates. It was ridiculous. The final step was that I left the house and boycotted dinner. It felt fabulous.
Social media posts illustrate the quarantine timeline. Week 1 was…”I can not believe this is happening, hunker down and follow rules, set up enough food and supplies, we need to keep everyone happy… we can do this.” Week 2 was…”how do we replenish food, how do I teach 4th grade math while on a conference call, how do we create enough spaces to work, school, and live in one house, we need to keep everyone happy… how are we ever going to do this” Week 3 was…”I am not a teacher, they can fail 3rd grade for all I care, I am sick of cooking, my husband conference calls and paces…all day long, how do I get more wine delivered, we received dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets instead of organic chicken breasts, why can I no longer sleep”… I am pretty sure I can no longer do this.
As we head into week four, all I can say is I am done keeping my loved ones alive for a few days. We are fully stocked. You take care of you and I will take care of me. I started Couch to 5K (and hopefully will not quit tomorrow). I am going to attempt to do a crazy thing… read. I not going to apologize for being human and finding this whole situation very annoying. I will cook when I want to cook and show up to dinner wearing a fancy hat if it so pleases me. Week four will be my week of renewal…filling my soul with goodness… allowing me to finish my first pandemic really strong. Swoon.
When I was little we were asked to write paragraph on what we wanted to be when we grew up. I wanted to be a mom. Why? Kids were fun, I liked to cook and craft…besides, dad came home kind of grumpy most days, mom danced the meatloaf to the dinner table, it seemed pretty clear who had the better situation. As I aged, mom would casually say things like don’t ever be in the situation where you need to ask your husband if you can buy a pair of shoes. Hmmm… maybe there was more to this than I thought.
My business partner and I bought the graphic design firm we worked at in the mid 90s. Knowing that it meant little money and a LOT of long hours… for at least a few years. It was big. After three months of waking up sick to my stomach, I realized I was not nervous for my work day… I was going to be a mom. Surprise!
Jacob was a normal baby… he cried, he slept, he nursed. I was back to work on my home computer the night I got home. I was back in the office within a week. Baby Jacob was an office baby when he wasn’t with Greg or my mom. He nursed in the morning before I left, was walked up to the office to nurse after his nap, and many days stayed with me til my work day was over. My amazing office mates rocked and played with him, we took turns. He slept on my partners legs while he worked or in a Xerox box cozied up with blankets under my desk. It worked… for a bit.
Once able to move around at will, Jacob stayed home, I only got to be a mom from 6:00pm to 8:30am. Great hours for a working mom, but not enough for me. When Olivia the wonder baby came along I was a pretty seasoned juggler. I designed an annual report from 11pm to 6am through the first stages of her labor. Writing down contraction times and listening to my friend’s (a brilliant midwife) advice… don’t go to the hospital until you can not walk with out holding onto a wall. I finished and packed up the annual report, woke Greg, waited for my sister in law (to be) to watch Jacob until his nanny could take over, kissed my little guy goodbye (sobbing)… and we went to meet the brilliant, intense, joyous, crazy, wonderful Olivia. Olivia was about an hour old when she met the intern from my office. A lovely young young man who had no idea going to the recovery room of his boss (and her new baby) was part of the job description. I think it was a good learning experience for him… wear a condom, always. He was horrified. He took the annual report and left. He ran.
Being a working mom with two kids was a bit more difficult. Olivia came to the office daily for feeding. Jacob thankfully was a morning person, so he and I had mommy time with baking and crafts from 5am to 8:30am. I would bring work home each night for after they went to sleep…eventually I worked from home part time…it was what it was.
I soon realized going into work was a bit of a break. I missed mommy and me group activities and some “firsts” I am sure, but it was ok, I had some peace at the office, my brain was kept active. I was straddling the fence. I saw both sides and both situations were super hard and super beautiful.
After my partner and I split I moved my business to a home studio. I was able to be PTA President numerous times and co-run an amazing Girl Scout Troop. I was class mom every. single. year. for both kids (except three times). I was finally the mom I pictured my self being. I also worked 8-14 hour days, 7 days a week. There was no start of the work day, no end of the work day… everyday was never ending. I would also never need to ask my husband if I could buy shoes.
The other day a friend posted that her young daughter something like “EVERYDAY is EVERY DAY!” She is very wise, it is all the same, a never ending day. That is what working from home and being a parent is like. Day after day.
I recently saw the meme below… I could not have identified more. Since my “kids” are grown, working from home can mean waking, walking, working, ordering things online, cooking, watching a show, reading, going to bed…day after day after day. I think I am good at quarantining because I have been doing it for years.
So, world… welcome to the world of stay at home parents, where kids are there 24/7…welcome to the world of working from home where there is no end or beginning…welcome to the world of of quarantine where there is a world outside but you are too busy running a business and a home to see it as often as you would like.
It will all work out… and maybe we will all respect the working parents, the stay at home parents, and the parents who do both… because ALL are awesome.
Growing up being the first to retrieve the mail was a treat. Discovering it on the entryway floor, sorting on my trip to “mail table”. Seeing who got what. There were actual letters (with actual news), vacation postcards, birthday cards (hopefully containing a five dollar bill), and Dad mail (bills). There was also the really good stuff….
Oh how I loved those invitations for the Columbia House monthly clubs. Records were my favorite, but the book ones were ok too…I would circle and rate my top 10 (plus 5 extra) favorite thumbnail images for hours while having my afternoon snack, Gilligan’s Island on the the background, multitasking at its best. Of course I never actually sent an order back…my parents raised us to be savvy of any and all scams at a young age. Sadly, Bazooka Bubble Gum “free prizes” (plus shipping and handling) and X-ray glasses or Sea Monkeys sold on the back of comic books were not deemed wise purchases. Publishers Clearing House envelopes went right in the trash, no visits from Ed McMahon for us.
Sometimes there would be an envelope…score…my reward for writing to a company, declaring my love for their product, and asking for free stickers. I would unpack my stickers from Bubble Yum or Campbell’s soup and put them in my sticker album. Friends would pass on tips of “good” companies who would actually send you stuff. It was all very civil in our sticker collecting world.
I had a book called Free Stuff for Kids, The best of free and up-to-a-dollar things kids can send for by mail! You can Google it… mine was the one with the purple bubble letters. Write the letter, walk to the mailbox, wait, wait, wait, and finally a package, oh the joy. Learning to wait was such a wonderful lesson, the whole process was about being polite, doing something without parental help, waiting, and only sometimes… being rewarded. Along with this book came a new house rule. When one was sending out for free stuff…that person must pay for the stamps…I look back and say, wow, that was good parenting.
My best mail coup ever… playing the mail in lottery for the ability to purchase Rolling Stones concert tickets at MSG. Only voucher holders (picked randomly from letters mailed in) could buy tickets, two tickets for each voucher. I sent in 10 self-addressed stamped envelopes (20 stamps). I received back TWO of them, two out of ten. FOUR tickets to The Stones. Score. My father had NO idea who the Stones were but he loved the return on my bet. Kat, do you know the odds, the odds on getting one back is terrible, the odds on TWO is… chuckle chuckle, back slap, rub. He was so proud, and even more puffed after learning his co-worker had paid for their kid to send in 200 envelopes (400 stamps!!) and did not get one back. Swoon.
I hate one kind of mail…chain letters…they scare me. So bossy, do this or else. I really believed them. I could not afford 10 stamps to ward off every chain letter demon so I would throw them out, super quickly, hoping it was fast enough to not be counted as delivered mail.
I just received two e-chain letters, these were lovely, asking for Quarantine Recipes to be passed on. I don’t really use recipes, I kind of just wing it. My recipe would be do you have chicken, no, ok use shrimp, mix with some good spices and cook til it looks right. Useless.
I adore my chain letter ladies, so I am sending them the recipe below… and also sharing with you.
Recipe for a Day in Quarantine: Combine 1 good night’s rest with some morning smiles and caffeine Add 1 part exercise 1 part work 1 part entertainment 1 part connection with loved ones 1 part self preservation and care 1 part helping others in need 1 part cleaning and organization 1 part being thankful Sprinkle some joy on top Now appreciate the day you created and repeat tomorrow.
Do you rememberDynamite Magazine? Oh my gosh, that either glorious or horrendous day in elementary school when Scholastic books were distributed. Like watching Christmas happen for the rest of the family, pretending you did not want any presents anyway. Scholastic book day illustrated the economic class system… there were some who always got books (they had bagged chips and Twinkies in their lunch), there were some who got a book every once in a while (they rarely had fancy treats in their lunch), and there were the kids who never got books (most of them received free lunch). Sigh. Dynamite was my pop culture bible, hello Welcome Back Kotter “kids” and Mork & Mindy, it was everything. As I grew older and started earning money, I got my pop culture goodness from TV Guide. The Fall and Spring Seasonal issues…perfection. In ninth grade I learned my new bestie had the world’s coolest brother… he saved every single TV Guide, all under his bed, in chronological order. Swoon.
In 1977 my mom took us out of school to see Star Wars at the Ziegfeld Theater. For those not from NYC, the Ziegfeld theater had 1,152 seats, the screen was massive, the words scrolling up on the screen were the height of buildings. It was fine, nice love story, cute hair styles, but meh, I was not into Star Trek, Wars, or any Zones. Give me Jeannie or any Brady any day. Until I met my husband… then my son… then my daughter. Now outnumbered, it was time to watch, learn, and love anything and everything Sci-Fi and fantasy.
Star Wars, Pee Wee Herman, Power Rangers, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Pixar, and Marvel Movies took over all of our entertainment moments. Swords, spells, hypnotic rings, wands, magical talking televisions in wacky cartoon lands, and dark dark worlds with no rules… this was everyday normal to us. Dinner conversation discussing which spaceship was best when escaping a planet, which Hogwarts school would we attend (me Hufflepuff, them Gryffindor), and the best way to ward off dementors. What would our role be in Dumbledore’s Army? So many important conversations. We talked about surviving the Zombie apocalypse (go to Fire Island, Zombies can’t jump, the houses on stilts would save us). We discussed future apocalyptic worlds that were dark with no systems in place… worlds where survival was based on planning, adapting, and creating the new reality. Little did I know, we were in training.
As I sit here, thankful that we are still safe, I am appreciative of my Sci-Fi/Fantasy education. It taught me to listen, to act early, to study information, and to bunker down. That family, friendship, and community are the important things…and that working together is the way to beat out the dark. I still secretly wished that the Marvel team will show up and lend a hand. Iron Man (big time swoon) and the crew swooping in, a few big dramatic moments, then BOOM the world is healed. Sigh.
These bits of entertainment are more than a pastime, they are parables…a few learning moments and happy(ish) endings. Characters with special abilities and powers using their goodness to benefit the masses. May we all learn to recognize our super powers, our magic… and may we all share it. Thank you Pop Culture University, you are appreciated.
My husband is a very decent man. He has never said, you should lose a few pounds, or why isn’t the house clean, he has no issue with apples and peanut butter for dinner. He hugs me after long workouts…when I don’t even want to be in my own skin..let alone touch it. He is supportive of my insane hours at work and my over volunteering. He lives with my crazy. Swoon.
I have fallen in love with three other men, right in front of my husband.
My water broke at 12:05am on my delivery day (my rule follower child). Since there was meconium in the water, labor was induced. Anyone who has had a Pitocin induced labor knows they are hard core. Normal labor has peaks of pain followed by valleys of recovery, my labor peaked and stayed there. Poor Greg, always the good student, he kept telling me don’t worry, it will stop soon… it did not stop. Greg was told to shut his mouth for the rest of the labor and stop telling me what was supposed to happen. The poor guy was quiet for hours, expressing worry through his eyes. Things were not moving along so I agreed to a port in my spine, I might need a c-section. Funny how things change while in labor, things you were sure would not happen, do happen, and my attitude was I only care about having a healthy baby. The anesthesiologist walked in, swoon…he was tall and blonde, he was kind…and he took away all of the pain. I was in love. My husband completely understood, “of course you love him, he is your drug dealer”.
I met the next love of my life after 17 hours of labor and an emergency c-section. Jacob was the second “man” I would ever fall in love with in front of my husband. Greg took it well, he was in love with him too. He even allowed me to bring this new love home. The anesthesiologist had to stay at the hospital, I never laid eyes on him again. Sigh. Love is fleeting.
Yesterday I feel in love with a third man while in my husband’s presence.
I spent the previous two days begging, pleading, writing online reviews, waiting on hold (listening to really bad music) for 8 hours and 43 minutes, trying trying trying to get my scheduled grocery delivery to actually be delivered. We needed food and we read that it is better to avoid stores if you share a home with someone over a certain age— no matter how spectacular, smart, energetic, and in shape they are (mom I know you are reading this). We had a choice, we could avoid stores, or avoid my mom…we choose to avoid stores.
After almost nine hours on hold I spoke with someone who said they would try and get me a shopper. I mentioned that if they succeeded there would be a great tip AND I would give them my place in heaven (if I even have a place). They did. My man Nick and I texted the whole time he shopped (is it ok if it is a three cheese cauliflower pizza instead of only mozzarella? Oh Nick, thank you for asking, sure, do what you can my sweet!). So young and adorable, a beautiful smile with age appropriate facial hair (info I know thanks to his profile pic). He delivered the groceries to the back steps as I watched through the window. Greg right beside me, allowing me to swoon over my new love, knowing we would never meet again.
I left my cutie some extra cash, gloves, hand sanitizer, and a mask… you have to take care of the ones you love.
Seeing pictures of healthcare workers with bruise marks in the shape of masks was a wake up call for me. Bruises from the protective gear they tightly tape to their faces, using the same masks weeks at a time. Other pictures of health care workers wearing garbage bags, because there are not enough medical jumpsuits. Seeing social media posts requesting amateur handyman goggles, because doctors can not get the right eye gear. This in America. America? Healthcare workers sleeping in the basement of their homes, talking to their kids through glass doors, texting goodnight to their spouses…to protect their families from the germs we give them. They are working double and triple shifts, sleeping at the hospitals, just in case they are needed sooner than expected. I am in awe of them. I weep for them.
This morning I saw a picture of a woman in full on gear, unrecognizable except for her bright eyes, it accompanied a text to her daughter…baby, know mommy loves you, I am here helping people who need a lot of help, I love you very much.
I also saw an article (I think in the WP) about the the hard situation parents are in, because they can’t keep their teen and twenty-something kids from going out with friends. They can’t. I weep.
Two examples of humanity.
The doctor’s personal life is on hold, she is away from her family working crazy hours. She will potentially put herself and her family at great risk, to save the life of someone who could not stay home and video chat with friends. How does this make sense?
Swooning 