The before, the planning, and the decorating. The day of and the doing. The clean up and organize for the next year. I love it all. I am not just talking the biggies…the showstoppers. I am talking my dead father’s birthday which usually coincides with Labor Day. You name it, I want to celebrate it. Fun stuff.
My little man arrived for our time together before school to witness the removal of Halloween. We usually play with Alpha-Bots while he eats his French toast sticks and “dip dip”, today he watched things get packed up. Much chatter ensued, many questions asked. Why are the Halloween decorations in boxes, where are they going…the BASEMENT? THEY GO IN THE BASEMENT? Clearly this was disturbing until his little eyes got very wide...Kat? What is today? My answer of Wednesday was not what he wanted. Kat, what holiday is today? Ahhhh, today was just a day, nothing special, just a regular day. He thought about it. Kat, you are so excited for Valentine’s Day, right?
Actually, not yet…right now I am planning Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I am thrilled to be doing it. But today, today I am just going to enjoy today.
I was just on the phone with my girlfriend discussing the pesky things that make our days long. Then, as we always do, we interrupted ourselves to be grateful. If these minor annoyances were the worst part of our lives… we should probably suck it up.
I told her a story about my grandma Haigoohi (second from left on top row, my mom is the one with the doll). One day, sitting at the breakfast room table my grandma said, Katharine,I am happy today…I woke up breathing. My snarky teenage self thought, hmmm, those are some low goals. Did I even think about her life…that while hiding in a basement during a genocide…waking up to another day was the only goal.
The gift of breathing. Lately it seems that every text, phone call, or post has the potential of being that update. The one with bad news. Cancer, death, surgery, job loss. Daily occurrences…no longer surprising…sigh.
I am thankful to breathe.
PSA: VOTE…if you live in the United States…please vote today. Do you, vote for what betters your life, vote for the right reasons. Vote.
It all started years ago on FB after I listened to a children’s sermon on appreciating the bits of goodness in our lives. A simple concept that is so very hard to do. Be thankful for all the little stuff…and you will feel full. I decided to give it a try. Waking up in a warm quilty. I am thankful. A good cup of coffee. I am thankful. Fire Island house surviving Sandy. I am thankful. Alarm clocks going off then snoozing in unison each morning. I am thankful. A refrigerator full of food, a warm tubby, a smile from a stranger walking their dog. I am thankful.
It is easy to remember to be thankful for the big things, the near misses missed…the recoveries from illness, the promotions at work. But if take the time to notice all of the little things during the very long days that we keep…they add up and remind us how very lucky we are.
Welcome to my thankful series. Each day, one month, big and small, each important. Feel free to join me. I promise it will create some magic in your life. You will feel happier, you will stand taller…even if you are just thankful for the leaf that just fell from the sky, twirling before your eyes to join its friends on the ground.
I am thankful.
My message to the sky after finding our house at Fire Island standing and water free after Sandy. I was, I am, thankful.
Oh oh oh…mornings this time of year, so bright, crisp, clear.
My little guy jumped out of the car and pointed towards the rising sun, pink clouds across the blue sky. LOOK! SUN BEAMS! His mom looked at me and said, who knew he knew the word beams…and right on cue he chimed in, what does beam mean?
Our walk is full of laughing, running, counting, and big hellos to everyone we see. It is peaceful and crazy all at the same time. Today we approached the school and heard FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT…a nasty chant interrupting our bliss. I watched from across the busy street as two boys pushed and shoved each other, the first ring around them urging them to continue…FIGHT FIGHT. The next ring watching in awe. The third ring…two dads, observing in awkward silence.
Anyone who knows me, knows I am not a bystander. Had I not had a 5 year old child and a nine pound dog in my care I would have dodged traffic and gotten right between them. I would have also addressed the “chanting chorus” and the “sit back and watch crew”. Some people love me, some hate me, I am who I am. As we crossed the street the bell rang, the boys shoved each other one last time and moved on. The crowds thinned. The dads laughed nervous laughs, one saying he knew the kids…good kids, ha ha, yuck yuck…then they went their separate ways.
Dads, dudes…you are cute and you are hip, and I love that you are walking your kids to school…but I think you know…you kinda blew a good learning moment.
When we allow our kids to use force instead of words…when we laugh as kids taunt and cheer on aggressive behavior…when we watch others be bystanders…we are creating a community that is not harmonious. The truth is the king of the hill one day is at the bottom of the pile the next, then they do much damage to regain their power, it is an ugly cycle. We do not need to live like that. Allowing this behavior in elementary school means it will continue, and once they are in middle and high school it is almost impossible to reign in.
The summer before our kids went to college I realized the many many ways we had failed them. I was their ATM, keeping track of their money on a sheet of paper then doling out cash as needed. We did their laundry, cause you know, they had so much going on with school and activities. I was their cook, maid, and personal shopper. Flipping out, awake at 3am, making mental lists of all things we needed to teach them…immediately. We had made their lives way to easy by letting it go, time and time again. Had we taught our kids these chores all along, their transition to college would have been easier. Bad Parenting 101.
We live in an amazing community, but we can still do better. Kids are going to be kids. I don’t believe in labeling them good or bad, but lessons learned now will follow them throughout their school career…and life.
As I left drop off I was still a bit sad. Then I saw a dad give his daughter a bear hug while yelling he loved her soooooo much…and my dog pranced home clueless to any drama, smelling some really good smells…and we greeted some super sweet neighbors…and best of all, there, at the end of the block was our little blue house glowing in the most perfect light…there was harmony.
Halloween. The holiday that makes me smile and swoon…and feel sick.
Growing up in Queens it was all things good until it wasn’t. Once trick-or-treating with decorated grocery bags while dressed as a gypsy was in the past…and being a hobo with a pillowcase in one hand and shaving cream in the other was cool…I was done. Never one for destruction, ganging up on people, enjoying an egg in the face, or being covered in menthol shaving cream…I took a break from the holiday for a bit.
Pleasantville is delicious during the fall, and all its wonder is capped off with glorious Halloween festivities. Kids painting storefront windows and doing pumpkin crafts at the farmers market. A ragamuffin parade…the middle school band leading the way to the carnival rides and games. The elementary school parties, middle school costume contest, and high school senior costume breakfast. Trick-or-treaters find their sweets on blocks known for full size candy bars, or the best decorations, or in the insanity of the neighborhood with hundreds of people enjoying sheer chaos.
Costumes were worn 365 days a year in our house, but Halloween was still super special. Discussions began in August, the deadline for a final decision was September. There was a lot of work to be done, we were makers. Our kids were involved along the way, much discussion and criticism on their likes and dislikes. “More glitter please…no hair color…can I have two costumes, an easy one for school and a fancy one for the parades.” So many decisions.
The parade was the stuff Hallmark movies are made of, small town perfection and amazing amounts of fun. The years when the parade was on Halloween were extra special and beyond exhausting. Family and friends arriving from the city to experience suburban goodness…march in the parade then trick-or-treating and ending with an evening of feasting on Chinese food while the kids sorted and swapped candy.
So many wonderful memories, yet as with so many things, my first thoughts go to the negative stuff. Why do I do that?
We are the self reflection generation, and that is awesome…but aching over putting too much eyeliner on our King Tut is a bit ridiculous… especially 17 years later. Thinking it was ok to have our 6 year old daughter dress as a Geisha? Um!?! Telling our kids that 7th grade was too old for trick-or-treating, sigh. Failing to point out the inappropriateness of awarding first place in a school costume contest to a group of girls dressed as the Harlem Globetrotters…why did anyone think a gaggle of white girls wearing afros was ok…and why didn’t I speak up? Watching the hurt when group costumes were “cast” and kids were left out or set aside. Why are middle schoolers so mean to each other…and why am I so hard on myself? All hard life lessons, all forgivable…and each and every one of these memories, should no longer haunting my Halloweens.
There, it’s all out, now I can just love Halloween again. And although I would never let my kid be a Geisha today…she was pretty darn cute…and Elvis and the Geisha, I can not believe that was never a movie.
Years of living…October 11th as remembered on social media. A drawing of Greg and me by our little neighbor, both of us wearing a-line dresses and smiling…Food pics from a Sunday cooking apple pie and chili, creating cozy…A meme of RBG, reminding us that she didn’t leave us, she just passed us the baton…A Playbill from a live reading of Plan 9 from Outer Space seen with my man and a bestie…The delivery of building materials for our major construction project, so naive about the chaos ahead…A reminder that Jacob and I would head out for our drive across the country the next day, forgetting coats and that there are many weather possibilities between New York and California…The start of the Me Too Movement, debated and discussed…Visiting Henri Matisse: The Cut-Outs, and the wall of blue that would inspire our house color choice years later…Pictures of my kids at Comic Con, their first alone date to the city.
being alive
This picture popped up a few days ago, we were babies, 19-24 or so, just before our college graduation. I am top middle, younger then both of my kids are now. At graduation parties we talked about where we would be in ten years, we had it all planned. We had no idea where life would take us, or that our plans…no matter how lovely, would not always match up with reality. All we knew was we were ready to start living.
We did become designers…and private chefs, politicians, homemakers, and more. We discovered who we were and became who we were meant to be. We found partners who were the perfect fit and said goodbye to those that weren’t. We had children who both flourished and struggled. We experienced grief so strong we though we might not make it. We tried new things, we questioned. We have learned that life is not easy, that health is not guaranteed. Nothing is to be taken for granted and happy moments should be cherished. We live each day knowing our plans are only guesses.
This morning I saw two women in their bealive t-shirts. be alive is the slogan of a mental health organization here in our little town…started by a family who lost one of their kids to mental health struggles. As a community we have embraced the family…and the mission. By appreciating bits of goodness in each day, we are keeping him alive, and we are nourishing our own mental health. Someone recently noticed that I am swooning more than usual, I guess that is true. I find the crispness and light in autumn energizing…I am living…and when I choose to live, I swoon.
My brother-in-law is completely delicious. I have a soft spot for him, mostly because he really didn’t know he was even a bit delicious until recently. Kind, smart, talented, cute, he would be kind of annoying if he was also not so gracious. His wife is also pretty spectacular, she is a wise ass, a creative, intelligent, and stylish sort. She can crack me up like no other. Spending time with these two is always a treat, something I missed, I am not sure I knew how much I missed it until the other night.
I like to call myself a New Yorker, but in actuality, I left…I did not stick it out through 9/11, getting kids into high school, or the pandemic. I live in the suburbs, sigh. Ron and Leah stuck it out. True New Yorkers know other New Yorkers…and that is why I got to experience the most perfect Thursday night. Swoon.
I picked up my man from his after school gig of painting sets for a 5/6 grade play. He has the patience of a saint. He goes from wrangling pre-pubescent boys who find paint a fun weapon…to gently teaching a child that in actuality, they are not the only person who counts…to pumping up quiet bits of goodness who need some confidence…all while painting the land of Oz on old cardboard boxes. He did his magic then jumped in the car using wipes to remove paint from his everywhere while I drove.
A perk of having friends in the restaurant business is “soft opening, friends & family nights”. They were the friends, we were their family…dinner out at Great Jones Distilling Co. here we come. A just under two hour drive to a place 35 miles away! No problem, we listened to Judge John Hodgman, piping in with our opinions…we talked about our days, we held hands. The traffic, the skyline, the George Washington Bridge, I could feel myself becoming myself. I love Manhattan. Finding a free parking spot on West 4th a block from Washington Square Park we knew we were in for a magical night.
The park was alive. A warm fall night in Washington Square Park is straight out of the movies. A couple doing tai chi, their red and blue lightsabers making calm deliberate movements of geeky light. The man on the trumpet silhouetted by the fountain lights, entertaining people both ignoring and appreciating him simultaneously. The student shooting take after take of a ghost twirling in the trees, the ghost adjusting their sheet after each shot. The arch, oh that beautiful arch, glowing in glee, happy its people were back. The rollerbladers twisting and grinding and feeling their feels, days of the boom box gone, AirPods create silence. The overwhelming smell of weed. The joy. New York.
Broadway at West 4th, was once hopping, Tower Records, restaurants, vintage clothing stores, flea markets, punks and homeless people galore. Today, it is dark and deserted, unrecognizable. The greed of landlords pushed out the soul and the life…well, except for this new distillery and restaurant. This is not a review, because that is not what this blog is about. My blog is about my feels. I will say, we had the best time. The bartenders put on a show creating magical drinks out of exceptional ingredients. Three different shapes of ice used…the embossed block for the Old Fashioned, the rounded cubes for the Sour Cherry Spritzer, the partially crushed for the Julep in the elegant silver cup. It was choreographed and it was delightful. Every detail taken care of, delicious food, safe atmosphere, good company. Another win for the evening.
Once I got married and had kids I knew I would never think of just myself again. Remembering that there is still a version of me, the part before I split my soul into pieces is so rejuvenating. One night out, back in my city, black overalls, Doc Martens, big hair, and red lipstick…with my guy and my dear people. Walking, eating, drinking, laughing.
“The worst parent award goes to these people” “This must be a really old picture, check out the phone cord and the ratty floors” “That kid is f*cked for life.“
This is my Olivia, she was probably 5 or so. Olivia hears her own drummer and Olivia does Olivia. She wanted to be Pee Wee Herman, not for Halloween…for life. To live in a playhouse with amazingly wacky friends, sing, watch cartoons, scream magic words, and dance. The first doll Olivia asked for was not Barbie, it was Pee Wee. We obliged and I admit, I was kinda proud. She was not a follower, marching to pick up her brother in a floor length purple sequined tutu or dressed like Elmo, she just did her thing. I admire kids who just do themselves and don’t worry about what others think, it is not an easy path, but it is a path built on truth.
The comments above were posted on Pee Wee’s FB page. We had sent in the picture for his “dress like Pee Wee album” and honestly we had no idea how it would explode. Last time I looked, which was many many years ago, it had over 35,000 likes…hates…loves. The comments go from very complimentary to downright ruthless. Messages so mean I was hysterical laughing while also in fear for our lives. These people had decided we were horrific, for letting our kid…be a kid. While waiting for child services to arrive and take us away for unfinished floors and costuming out of season…we read the thread of hate, resisting the urge to respond. The best thing I ever did… was not respond.
I spent many of the past few years feeling the need to respond, to reason, plead, and convert those who did not see the big picture. Not about preferences or likes…about facts. I grew up understanding that people with different opinions could easily live in one house, they could even love each other. My dad a Republican, numbers guy, introvert…my mom a Democrat, artist, extra-extrovert. They respected each other, listened to each other, and read newspapers every day…so even when they didn’t agree on something, they agreed that facts were facts.
People see facts differently these days. Social media created the crazy situation where the people commenting on Olivia’s picture were speaking the truth they saw, so to them it was fact. To be fair, sometimes Greg and I are the worst parents…the rotary phone was old school…the floors were from 1920 (in the process of being replaced). What they got 1 million percent wrong is that my girl was anything but spectacular, there, they crossed the line.
We never know which comment might be the one that crosses the line. This is why I gave up my quest to chat with people with different interpretations of reality. I unfollowed, they unfollowed, somehow we just don’t see each other, and maybe that is the way it is supposed to be. Maybe we should just follow our own paths, and if we find each other again, it will probably be in a place where we are united in good for some reason or another.
This world is not always so kind to those who follow their own paths, to those who love what they love, to those who find joy in things that others do not understand. We need to change that and to embrace the beauty of a little girl in a red bow tie.
Life is good. Actual facts are important. Doing you…is amazing.
You work? Yes, I am a graphic designer. That answer usually leads to an all knowing look which to me has always translated to… oh (smirk) she does art. I have always let it go because people who know me know how hard I work, they know my client list, they know I will work day and night to get it done. The thing that I have never said is yes, I am a designer, a mom, a wife, a volunteer. I wish I had said that…it is all work.
Work. I just went to a retirement party for one of my favorite clients. I will miss him so. He is old school… a gentleman, a hard worker, a team player, an organizational dream, and a master of the English language. He gives me edits over the phone and they go something like this…we need to add a modifier to the noun so that the preposition is valid…clearly those are not his exact words (because they are insane)…he is a teacher, he knows his stuff. Files come from him and I need to unlock no mysteries…they are structured and clean, there is a narrative that I can illustrate. I can do what I do, sit down and design. I grow very fond of my clients. I love to work.
The other day, my son begrudgingly agreed to do a freelance job for me. It is out of my scope, I needed a young brain. I offered to pay him what the client would be paying me. He has a full time pretty intense job, but agreed to help his mom. He said would charge half the amount, because… “it was easy and he had enough money”. Who is this child? What on earth has California done to him? Didn’t he see his parents working multiple jobs to afford the life he was given? Who has enough money? Jeff Bezos, Oprah, Reese Witherspoon…they probably have enough money. A twenty-five-year-old renting an apartment in Los Angeles one year into his first real job…you, my dear, do not have enough money.
Did I learn nothing from the pandemic? I work because I love love love to work. Time with nothing to do is a living hell for me. Maybe my kid gets joy from not working 24/7. Maybe he would rather sit in his backyard with friends than work his ass off to afford a trip to the Star Wars Hotel. Maybe I should work on just sitting back and watching my kids figure out their own lives and what brings them joy. Maybe I should be proud that my kid wanted to help me out…to do me a favor.
Work. During a recent Zoom I noticed how ugly the binders of finished jobs looked behind me, I controlled my urge to turn off the video and re-stage my background mid meeting. 2018-2020, three years of my life, each piece of paper an invoice for a job done. Sheet after sheet representing client interactions, problems solved, brainstorming sessions, and completed projects that hopefully made the the lives of the users easier. I pulled them from the shelf and felt the weight, and I felt proud.
Lately I have been thinking about time…not time as in, it is 10:23…time like in, there was a time when I walked my own kids to school each morning. A time when my husband was one of the few dads who worked from home. A time when Fall meant guessing what the high school musical would be. Scenes from another life.
I think one of the keys to aging gracefully is the ability to realize we are only here for a blip. That as much as things matter at the moment…they really don’t matter in the long run. The ability to appreciate each day is all that counts. Walking with a five year old is window into the life we should all be living. He says things like “let’s run…just because we can”, he is right, we can…so we should. He screams up the block to complete strangers “I think your doggie is SO COOL”, after a pause, they reply thank you, to which he screams “YOU’RE WELCOME”. Smiles all around. He can even break middle schoolers fully embracing their ennui. As we approach on the narrow sidewalks, no room for escape, he screams “I like your backpack”…their icy faces melt for a minute. He is magic.
The magic of embracing each moment for the goodness that is…don’t focus on too far ahead and don’t look back with visions of it being perfect. It wasn’t.
I have tucked away a few bits of magic, near perfect parenting moments. One of them was when my daughter got her period. She called from the nurses office hysterical. “MOM COME GET ME NOW!” I did not ask questions I just got there. When she told me the scoop we decided to cut out of school and ditch work. We had a lovely afternoon just us…a visit to the drug store, a cute haircut, topping it off with an ice cream. One should look and feel good when cramping. Another moment I was just reminded of thanks to a FB memory alert…my son as senior in high school, playing Luther Billis in South Pacific. He was loving life, dog tags, a coconut bra, and some hysterical moments on stage…a rare, near perfect creative experience. It was opening night, there would be 6 performances, then his acting career would most likely be done. I went to him in a quiet moment and said “enjoy it, enjoy every single minute, this kind of goodness does not happen often, take mental snapshots and remember it forever”. My youth group leader gave me the same advice before I walked down the aisle. I am forever grateful.
Doggies and backpacks… compliment them. Dads…embrace how many of them are now around for the day to day goodness. Dog tags, coconut bras, and other special once in a lifetime moments…recognize their beauty and appreciate them while you are living them.
It is so hard to live the moment, to avoid comparing, to just embrace the now.
Swooning 