I once had a job that didn't require all of my synapses to fire constantly.
I had down time, day dream time, surf the net and email friends time. The job wasn't as creative and I didn't enjoy it as much. But I looked forward to the end of the day so I could go do fun things with friends, volunteer, be creative in my personal life.
Now I have the job of my dreams, and when I get home, I can barely muster the words for a blog post, let alone have a deep conversation or tune on the accordion.
All I want to do is turn on a mediocre TV melodrama, so I can shut my brain down and put out the 'Do Not Disturb' sign.
Phew.
At this point in my life, I expected to have joined all of my sisters - and virtually all of my friends - in the ranks of motherhood. I imagined Mother's Day would be a chance for us to commiserate - and congratulate ourselves.
Instead, it's mostly a day of awe.
I've watched with interest as bearing children changed my sisters profoundly - and positively. I've watched with envy as it deepened their relationship with our mother.
Meanwhile, I'm stuck in daughter mode, and that makes Mother's Day at time for penance.
No one suffered my withering adolescent disdain and harsh criticism more than Mom. I dissected her every move, measuring it against an unrealistic ideal and imagining how I would do better at each step. I was merciless. I'm sure there's a library full of Freudian psychoanalytic babble toe explain my behavior. I only know it was hurtful, and every Mother's Day I wish I could do more to repay her for that pain.
No "I-would-be-nothing-without-you-thanks-for-everything" Mother's Day note seems sufficient. No blog post filled with glowing compliments and public admission of regret will do. My Mom put up with more than she ever deserved from me. Luckily she had other daughters who were more kind. They made her feel loved and appreciated.
Over the years, I like to think I've mended our relationship some, though I'm still too hard on her. But she keeps on taking my calls. She prays for my happiness and comforts my anxious mind. Which brings me back to the awe I feel every Mother's Day, knowing that she keeps on loving me.
Thanks Mom.
Movie Update: I forgot how much fun it is to see a movie in a theater full of people really excited about it. Most of the time I'm at a Saturday matinee with people who've waited until it's nearly out on DVD to finally go. Star Trek was definitely fun. I'm a sucker for prequels that tell the back story - same thing with the Batman/Dark Knight movies. I was also amused at the previews they chose to air before Star Trek. Says a lot about the core audience for a film when they advertise a new Terminator, a Jack Black buddy flick and the sequel to A Night at the Museum. Pretty much betting on the audience to be a bunch of overgrown boys. They were right.
I think I'm gonna pay full price ($12!) to see the new Stark Trek in the theater tonight. I haven't done that in so long, but I'm weirdly excited about this film. I'm hardly a trekkie - though my all-time best Halloween costume was a lady borg from one of the Star Trek spinoffs. Never watched the show, though . . . wasn't interested in any of the next generation stuff. It was all about the original series - Shatner, Nimoy and co - when I was a kid. By the time I arrived on the planet, Star Trek was already in reruns, but man it was new to us every night at 5 in the summertime. I remember Mom having to pry us away from the TV for dinner.
Now I'm reading these intellectual reports about how Star Trek is a metaphor for Utopia and broke all these race barriers and so on. I had no idea. I just thought it was fun watching and from all the buzz, I bet the movie is too. But is it worth paying full price? I'll let you know!
Several months ago I met a man who'd been homeless for more than 10 years. He was so generous in answering my nosy questions about life on the street.
Then he said,"Even if it's just for a day, I wish everyone would put down their keys and their wallet and walk out their door and try being homeless. I really think people would look at us differently if they knew how hard it is to survive on the street."His suggestion made my heart race, and I told him the mere thought of it scared me to death. That's when he offered to be my guide - show me the ropes, so to speak - if I would give it a go. I promised to think about it.And that's how I ended up sleeping in a park downtown on Friday night. A group of advocates - some of them homeless - were staging a "Solidarity Sleep-Out" to call for more funding for emergency shelters. The previous night, two emergency winter shelters had closed for the summer, turning hundreds of people back onto the street with nowhere to turn but the park or the viaduct. My formerly-homeless friend called to remind me of his invitation and I figured a staged sleep-out would be a pretty safe way to make good. There were at least a hundred of us, but I really couldn't tell you how many were homeless and how many were just curious, like me. I mistook one man for a banker on his way home from work. He was wearing black slacks and a well-pressed blue oxford. Turns out he'd just arrived in town to look for work, but he had no money and nowhere to stay. He thought I was in the same predicament, wandering around in my jeans and ball cap with a dazed expression and a sleeping bag crammed in my backpack. I felt like scum admitting to him that I actually had a great job, my own condo and was only sleeping out because I thought it would be fun. Everything he owned was folded carefully in a plastic bag. And he was so cheerful. There was a young woman in her 20s with a one-year old baby asleep in a stroller, but most were men of all races and ages. It was a pretty festive atmosphere - probably because the weather was nice and we had a permit to be in the park so they knew they weren't going to get chased out by the cops.The hooting and hollerin' and laughing and goofing off didn't die down until after 2 a.m. Nobody called out for quiet. Certainly not me, since I could just pack up and go home if I wanted sleep that badly. Besides, I'd already made a scene when people were bedding down on their blankets and cardboard and I pulled out my one-man tent.Lame, I know. A couple of other people had tents, too, and it was supposed to rain. I paid for my comfort with pure shame as people eyed me enviously. They admired my rain fly, offered to help and wondered out loud what a tent like that might sell for. Could I get one at Wal-Mart? I didn't have the heart to tell them it ran several hundred dollars at REI and was a birthday present from a loving and supportive family. As soon as the poles were secure I crawled in and didn't show my red face again until morning. It didn't rain even a single drop, but look what was waiting for us.
I've never seen so many people so chipper at 5:30 a.m. We had permission to sleep in the park, but habits die hard and the homeless know they have to beat the sun if they want to avoid getting nabbed for trespassing. I never knew that being homeless meant getting hardly any sleep. You always see those guys curled up on the curb in big cities forcing people to step over them in broad daylight. Now I know they're just stealing whatever shut-eye they can before they get chased off. There were donuts for breakfast from the Salvation Army, but I was still feeling ashamed about the tent thing and wasn't about to get in line for free food with 20 bucks in my pocket. One by one they took off in search of a place to spend the day. I got in my car and drove home for a shower and a nap feeling very, very grateful.
You can't read the fancy lettering, but they're big bars of exotic chocolate with suggestions for pairing with different types of wine. I was immensely amused by the notion that I was helping stock a bar with "bars" of chocolate. Very punny. The highlight of this week's shower was the amazing cake worthy of that FoodNetwork Reality show I used to be addicted to (back when I had cable):
