Grown-Ups?

“I’m going to tell you something important. Grown-ups don’t look like grown-ups on the inside either. Outside, they’re big and thoughtless and they always know what they’re doing. Inside, they look just like they always have. Like they did when they were your age. The truth is, there aren’t any grown-ups. Not one, in the whole wide world.” ~ Lettie Hempstock, The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman

It is Mother’s Day. I’ve had a pretty pleasant day of it. I did not get up and run early (mostly because my running partner is out of town). I slept late (for me). I have clean sheets on my bed which makes me really happy. After a lazy morning, that included rain, we wandered over to the mall. I ate the frozen yogurt at Bloomingdales with melba sauce. It is overpriced but it may be worth it. I was introduced to it by my co-workers last week. The plain yogurt is tart and not sweet. The melba sauce is red and maybe raspberry. The combination can’t be beat. And the small is almost too large. It may be the only thing I can afford at Bloomingdales. This was after we had gone down to the bookstore where my son bought me the newest book by Jeff Vandermeer. I had a love/hate relationship with his previous trilogy but came out a solid fan by the end. He was interviewed on NPR on Science Friday about his newest book. How could I resist? When we came home, I convinced my family to play a game of scrabble. I won. Perhaps they let me win. I’d like to think that is not the case.

We do not do Mother’s Day brunch. I think that is weird. Why brunch? I’m unsure. Is it because the rest of the family can’t cook at all so waiting till dinner would be mean? I ended up picking up Greek salads from Costco yesterday and my son and I are eating those tonight. And of course, when you eat Greek salad from Costco you have to watch the movie Coraline. It is the rule. We tried to watch Dirty Dancing once but we couldn’t do it. It just so happens that Coraline was written by Neil Gaiman who is also the author of our current book club book (see above quote).

I really liked this Gaiman written quote because it reminds me of my mother. And me, as well. My mother, is kind of awesome. She was a single mom when we were growing up. One thing that she says to me over and over is that she does not mind getting older but doesn’t understand why she has to dry up and look like a prune. She doesn’t like to tell people how old she really is because she feels like if she does then people discriminate against her.

I feel like her comments on her outward appearance are really saying that she is the same on the inside. The same inside that she has always been. For many years. And, maybe, not very grown-up like. I wrote in the past about when I had given birth and the hospital asked me, “name of mother” and I gave my mom’s name and not my own. Not very grown-up like.

We had a discussion today about people of a certain age, making bad decisions, and how they should know better. But it goes back to this idea, this concept of the grown-up. This concept that somehow because you are older, because your body is bigger that you will do the right thing. That you will know what it is that you are supposed to do.

Mostly I find myself feeling like my mother. Like someone playing the part of a grown-up. Like dress up. At this point in my life, as old as I am, I’m thinking that I may never feel like an actual grown-up. Or maybe that is when you know that you are a grown-up, when you realize that there is no standard. No guidebook. No manual. That most of us are just feeling around in the dark. Thinking that we are woefully inadequate compared to those who are older than us, or our peers. Those who seem to know where they are going. Can navigate life like professionals.

I wonder how different my life would be if I knew what I wanted since mostly, it feels more like being adrift. And this has been both good and bad for me. It has taken me to places that I would not have been otherwise but it has prevented me from making critical decisions. And I have been thinking about this a lot lately. Thinking about making difficult decisions. Because I am at that age. That age when the time ahead is more than likely shorter than the time behind. And this is what is forcing my hand. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to put my sail up and test the wind.

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People

I had a conversation with one of my closest friends this morning. The morning of my 50th birthday. I think about moving back home. I want to be closer to my family. I want to be closer to my people. My closest friends. And in a text of self-pity I happened to say to her that I had no people here. Here in Hawaii where I have lived for close to 15 years or more. And at the time, I kind of felt that. 

That was until the outing to lie under the floating boulder. It is the Honolulu Art Biennial right now. It is the first one, as far as I knorockw. There is art strewn across the city in many locations. On Hawaii Public Radio the other day, they discussed the art that was at the Foster Botanical Garden. They interviewed an artist who had a giant floating boulder at the Garden. His name is Andrew Binkley and his piece is entitled “Stone Cloud”. After I heard the report on the Stone Cloud all I could think about was going to lie down under it. I can’t say why. I just did. Sometimes that is how my brain works. 

I took the day off from work today and planned to go down to the exhibit sometime mid-morning. By myself. That was before my co-workers called me. Okay, they are more than co-workers, they are my friends. And they wanted to take me to lunch. I said that I could not because it is Taco Bell Thursday and that involves a lot of calories so eating lunch out is just not an option. Yes. TB Thursday on my 50th birthday. You got something to say about that? Anyway, my co-workers then told me that they were going to meet me at Foster Botanical Garden. I said sure.  

I met my two co-workers at the floating stone, which, in person does not look real, however photographs very well. Luckily it was floating over a stone pathway so I did not have to lie in the mud to accomplish my goal. And it was when one of my co-workers was taking the picture of me lying under the floating stone, that I realized that I really do have people. And I know that they are my people, these two co-worker friends because they did not flinch about me lying on the ground under the stone. They never asked me why I wanted to do this. They didn’t even question my sanity. And all of those things would have been entirely appropriate. But they did not do them. And why? Because they know me. Because they are my people. And that made me feel good. Good for knowing that I have people. And bad for not admitting it to myself.

 And in the end, that helped me to have a really great birthday. Just knowing that I do have people. Really great, kick ass people. And I would put their picture in my post but it may freak them out. So instead, I will thank them. And instead, I will tell them that I love them. And that they are so my people. And that they really helped make my day very special.

 

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More Questions than Answers

Our son was delivered back to us on Saturday morning. At the Costco parking lot to be exact. It was really good to have him back. As much as I enjoy the freedom when he is with the in laws, I miss him a lot. We scooped his carsick self up from his grandmother and went straight to math tutoring. That was cut short because said son had organized an outing with his classmates at Dave and Buster’s. I was asked by my son to not chaperone, mostly because I have no qualms about yelling at other people’s children, if it is warranted. But the mom yelling fears were unfounded since, all of the kids were really well behaved.

 I joined my significant other who was with two other moms toward the end of the outing. We really wanted to make sure that all the kids were picked up by their parents. We actually ended up waiting with one of the boys for his dad to come. We sat outside of a Starbucks at one of the tables and chatted. And this boy, who, we had never really spent much time with, was completely at ease with us. It was like he had known us forever. I was impressed. The time flew. And while we totally wanted to dig out, it wasn’t a chore to stay there while we waited for his dad. I hope that my own son projects the same confidence and maturity as this boy did.

 We decided to forego the Saturday church service and instead attend the Sunday service that had a choir. We wanted to give it a try. When we walked in we saw Susan, the woman we had met last week. We said hello. That felt nice, to know someone. The singing by the choir was truly beautiful. It was a long service. Longer than Saturday. We talked afterwards and agreed that we kind of liked the Saturday service better (or maybe just me). It was more intimate. The Pastor who provided the sermon on Saturday struck a chord with me. More so than today’s sermon, from a different pastor. I think that we will go back to the smaller Saturday mass. In the informational piece that the church puts out, the Pastor who I particularly like, wrote about the last prayer (otherwise known as Compline – I just learned this). He calls Compline “a wonderful way to contemplate the coming week and marinate in the music and prayers.” I can’t lie. I love that. I am still not all in but I think that this is good for our family. We will continue to attend.

 All of this is tied into a weekend where we spent part of it picking up furniture from my coach/mentor/friend’s apartment. She has lived in Hawaii a very, very long time and she will be moving to Portland in a couple of weeks. If you have ever run the women’s 10K, she is the person with the bullhorn on a ladder or a van, discussing the race and choking up. Some of her stuff is populating my place. She gifted my son a set of bongos and I am questioning whether or not she actually likes me. We have had one goodbye dinner and there will be another. And then she will be gone. She has been a strong presence in my life. I don’t know that anyone will be able to fill the large KC sized void that she will leave behind. And it makes me sad. The leaving always makes me sad.

 And we will continue churching it. For the time being. As we work to fill the holes in our lives. Some holes are bigger than others and clearly unfillable. But we will continue to try to find the best way to stop them up. With bits and rags. Church and hobbies. Touristing and eating. Being together and loving. And we will do it together.

 

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Desperately Seeking Something

Our son is on spring break this week. And I am embracing the selfishness of the week. I do not have to worry about frantic calls from school requesting I bring some forgotten item. I did not go food shopping and I will not be cooking at all this week (I confess to sautéing some mushrooms for my salad but that’s the extent of it). I do not have to wait for the notification regarding what time school pick up is. I am just being. And I love it. And I hate it.

This past weekend we did more things than we have done in the previous six months. We dropped our son off in Kahaluu at around eleven and hit the road at noon. We visited touristy locations and native Hawaiian cultural sites. We hightailed it back into town just in time to attend a 5:30 church service at a local Episcopal parish. This is shocking statement coming from me. I was raised Catholic but when my parents divorced we basically became godless heathens. That may be an exaggeration but my mom was suddenly a single mom who had not worked ever. She had more things to worry about than the upkeep of our Catholicism (not her religion, thank you very much). I had been to the local church we visited in the past for funeral services and it is really pretty. We have both had some death in the family recently which has affected us. I thought it would be something that could not hurt. Us attending was something that could not hurt.

We arrived at church right before the service was set to start. We snuck in and sat in a way back pew. One of the members came down and invited us to sit right in front of the altar where the choir normally sits. Because that’s where everyone else was. And when I say everyone, it was no more than twenty other attendees. I felt a little uncomfortable, in that small space, with people who all knew each other. And I can’t lie, the heavy bible stuff kind of turns me off. But I really liked the sermon. I liked that the bible verse was translated for today. And that the Pastor gave us personal stories. I did not take communion. And yes, I was the only one. I am not there. I may never be there. And I’m okay with that. My significant other, who grew up on the Episcopal church did. He told me that the service was just as he remembered. That the prayer books were the ones that he used as a child. I think that the entire experience was good for him. And maybe good for me.

After the service, a woman in front of us turned around to chat. She told us when the services were with the choir because we had discussed how nice it would be with singing. This woman reminded me of one of my best friend’s moms. She did not look like her but she had the same shape of hair and the same type of glasses. And then she told us that she was from New York (like me). And that her name was Susan, like my mom. And she told us all these things about the parish. And it was nice. We felt connected.

I have definitely not come around when it comes to the whole religion thing. I have some issues with it. But at this point in my life, in our lives, we are searching for something. We are. And I am not saying that religion is going to be the thing for me. I can’t say that I’ve found God. I can’t say that I had a come-to-Jesus moment. It is more like a mid-life/existential crisis looking for a cure. Maybe it is more for the sense of community and belonging than anything. Maybe I will decide that it is not for me. But I think that we will keep going. We may try the mass with the singing. I feel like we may continue going. It helps that I confessed my anti-bible-no communion stance to my church going Aunt and she said that it was okay. And who knows what else we may be trying. This might just be the first thing. Because we are trying to make sense of something that doesn’t seem to have much sense around it. But there are so many questions that we can’t seem to answer. So we will continue seeking. Who knows what we may or may not find.

 

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This is Me

I go through ebbs and flows of television watching. I have to really, really be invested in a show to stick with it. And even then, even if I love it, I might stop watching it. Take Sherlock for example. After the “Sherlocked” episode, which was fantastically great, I felt like there was no way an episode could be better. And I kind of stopped watching it. I love Orange is the New Black but I watch it and then I don’t. I watched the first season of Penny Dreadful which was fine. One of my closest friends told me to keep at it and the second season was fabulous and scary and those witches, I could go on (Ms. Ives, I swoon). But I haven’t started the third season because I am afraid it won’t live up to my expectations. So it goes like this. I watch and I don’t. I’m kind of in a don’t at the moment. 

Then I remembered that I was behind on This is Us. It’s funny because it is a regular TV show and most of the shows I watch are on an online streaming service. But there is something about this show that has dragged me in. And I binge watch it. Crying my way through many episodes. And yes, it is the story and because it is so sweet. But it is the relationships of the characters because they seem genuine. And for me I think that there are two main characters who draw me in and those would be Jack the in the past husband and Kate and for very different reasons. 

Let’s start with Jack. I love Jack. I love that Jack just does things. Completely unbelievable and over the top things. Like renting out their first apartment for one night. I feel like that is not possible. Or the adoption on that day. Just doing it. And I know that we will know Jack’s fate soon. And I don’t think that there are enough tissues in my house for me to watch that episode. And it is a testament to him that he can still be hot with that moustache.  

But really, for me, it is Kate who is the character who I connect with the most. In my past, when I was growing up I was a bit of a chubby kid. I was the kid who hated going to the pediatrician because he would make me get on the scale and tell my mom that I was too heavy. It got to the point where I would refuse to get on the scale. The nurse would try to pick me up and put me on it. I would spread my feet out and not stand on it. I am certain that these visits did nothing to help me with how I felt about myself. Then there was the back to school shopping. I always loved the changing of the seasons in NY. Any season. It didn’t matter. I loved the leaves turning and the air becoming crisp. We would go back to school shopping but this I did not love so much. Every year we had to buy me new clothes because I had outgrown the ones from last year. And not outgrown in a good way, outgrown due to my weight gain.

 And while, now, people may not be able to see that girl. That girl of long ago. I think that there is no real way to leave that behind. That deep inside, part of that girl is always with me. The way you think about yourself. So in the episode at the pool, the episode where Kate is so excited to be there, so not ashamed to be in her bathing suit, just wanting to hang out with the other girls. And they are so mean to her. And they make fun of her and they steal her self-confidence. And I hated them so much. And in that instant I can remember those feelings. Those feelings of self-doubt. Were just there. And I couldn’t remember ever seeing something that was so real. So real to me. And I appreciate that. Seeing that.

 And so today I watched three episodes. I hate to be a spoiler but it was the episode that ended with the ducks. And I was kind of sobbing and my son asked if I was all right. And I was. And I feel like I will keep watching. Because it is sometimes so real. And that is not a bad thing.

 

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Running my Heart Out

It was a long weekend for us. We hosted two Japanese exchange students for the weekend. It seems so short and yet so long. We picked them up on Friday from school with our son. They stayed at our place on Friday and Saturday nights and we returned them to school Sunday afternoon.

Friday evening I was out of the festivities since I had a haircut scheduled. Haircuts with Pamela can not be rescheduled. We actually schedule out an entire year’s worth of haircuts. Cancelling is not an option. Plus, I needed a haircut. LKY, the significant other like no other, took the boys and ours to the UH men’s volleyball game with a bunch of the other host families. There is safety in numbers. Fun was had by all.

Saturday we met the other families at Ala Moana Shopping Center, ate lunch together and then went over to Ala Moana Beach Park for some outdoorness. The kids ended up staying in the water for over two hours. The Japanese students and Hongwanji Mission School kids gravitated into their own groups, mostly due to the communication issues, if I had to guess. My son, despite having been in Japanese language class since kindergarten is unable to say much of anything. Most of his “Japanese” consists of placing odd accents on English words, like “ready”. It is amusing and not that helpful.

On Sunday morning, I left early to go and run the Hawaii Pacific Health Women’s 10K. I love this race. It is all women, which you think is not a big thing, but then it kind of is. An added bonus is that my bootcamp coach, KC, is the race coordinator. She is the one who speaks, with a bullhorn at the start, which I thought was her favorite thing but she admitted on race morning that really she loves riding on the back of a motorcycle during the race. But I think that her second favorite thing must be yelling at people through a bullhorn. At the beginning of the race, KC stands on something high to address the runners. In the past it has been a van but today it was a very tall ladder. And of course, she teared up a little. I like to think that it is because these events are sort of like children and she loves them. And she has put so much of her heart in them. You can feel it when she is talking.

A friend and I did the race together and we both decided that today was the first time we remembered it raining during this race. But rain it did today. My poor running shoes had just dried out from a 5K volunteering stint on Wednesday with the infamous KC. Now they are soaked through again and as I sit here and write this evening, the stank of wet shoes keeps reaching me. It is not pleasant. So it kind of rained a good deal as we stood at the start line this morning, ensuring that everyone was pretty much soaked through. I wear an old pair of glasses when I run and the entire race they were a) wet and b) fogged up. I basically could not see anything the whole time that I ran. The only good thing was that it was not overly humid out while the race was going on.

I ran like I always run. And I am a good runner. I could totally be a better runner if I actually trained and stuff. But I don’t. I managed to finish the course in just under one hour and ended up being 13th in my age group (out of 127) which made me feel pretty darn good about myself. Side note: when we went to pick up our numbers that morning in the dark and the rain. The guy asked my name and I told him. He showed me the sticker on the back of my number with my age division on it and asked if it was correct. I said yes. He asked me if I was sure. I said yes. Then he told me that I in no way looked like I could be the age in my age group, that I did not look that old. It was funny and complimentary. But I was standing in the rain and it was dark. Maybe that helped put an extra spring in my step.

We took our students to Bishop Museum in the morning after my race and to Zippy’s for lunch before dropping them off at school. I can’t lie. I was glad to not have them with me anymore. It is a lot. I think about it from the perspective that I have someone else’s kids who I am responsible for. They did not drown. They were not sunburned. They were well fed. Having strangers in your house, makes you change so much of what goes on there. No parading about in your underwear. No changing clothes or going to the bathroom with doors open. It is nice to be able to feel more relaxed at home.

And now it is the day after and my shoes are still super stinky from being soaked through again. The borrowed sheets are clean. I am peeing with the bathroom door open again. I am happy with my race results. I am sad that another one of my friends is leaving Hawaii, my favorite boot camp instructor and race director extraordinaire. I have come full circle with the leaving. It used to be people left because they were young and here temporarily for jobs or school or the military or on a whim. I remained and now it is because they are older and they are far from their families and their parents are older or sick or dying. Or all of the above. The leaving, it makes me sad in my heart. And it makes me wonder. The small voice questioning staying. Fearing going. All I can say is that getting older is definitely not for the weak. And I hope that I can be strong.

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Jenny Boots

It has been quite the week. Yesterday the school called me. It was one of the two kinds of calls that you never want to receive from the school. The first is the one where they are calling to tell you that your kid did something bad and the second is the one where they are calling to tell you that your kid is hurt. I got the second one. It was raining all afternoon and my son slipped while walking and bumped his head on the concrete. When the woman from the office called, all I heard was head, dizzy, tired and nausea. I left the house with the turtle’s basking light on, forgot my sunglasses and got my son’s birthday wrong at the ER when they asked me. I did not want to go to the ER but……his head. It was definitely bumped. It definitely hit the concrete. He definitely did not lose consciousness.

 We got right in. I suppose that is something that occurs when you are in the ER in the middle of the day. I considered going to our pediatrician but then I thought she might just send us to the ER anyway. The pediatric resident came in and ran through a bunch of tests on my son. She seemed to think that a CAT scan was unwarranted but we had to wait for the attending. Funnily enough, the attending doctor reminded me of the very socially awkward heart surgeon from a few season’s past on Grey’s Anatomy. She was just like that. She launched into this very long description of concussions and brain bleeds. The most unfortunate part of the entire thing was that my 12-year-old son, who was terrified in the car on the way over after googling concussion, was getting kind of freaked out. Then she started telling us that he was low risk, and I thought we were getting out of the woods until she relayed information about a case where a teenager had fallen like my son and experienced issues two days later. Ahem.

 A nurse spoke to us right before we left and told us that it was okay to let him go to sleep contrary to what most people think. It wasn’t the sleeping that we had to worry about apparently but the waking up. I still wonder how that works. When we got home my son ate like there was no tomorrow. He did not really have a headache and seems to not be suffering any ill effects from the head bonk.

 This is all great since we are a headed to a Doctor Who convention in L.A. next week. Last year, my son twisted his ankle the day before we left and he flew out of Hawaii on crutches. This year in preparation, we are in the throes of assembling our cosplay outfits. Last year my son was the Silence but he did not love his costume. I did not dress up. This year, I am going to be the Doctor’s daughter (aka Jenny) and my son is going to be one of the Hath. If you know, you know, if you don’t you don’t. As part of my outfit, I decided to invest in a pair of Doc Marten’s. I haven’t owned a pair in a long time. So I did it. And they came today. And then I put them on. With my shorts. Here in Hawaii. bootsAnd went to pick up my son from school. I was relatively certain he was going to think that I looked completely ridiculous. But when we got out of the car at home, he looked at my feet and said, “are those your Jenny shoes?” No shade. I was appreciative.

 We spent part of the weekend at the swap meet at Aloha Stadium. Not the part that sells crappy tourist stuff but the part that is more like a garage sale. I love it. We were able to get my son a used military jumpsuit for $12. It is ridiculously large but the $5 knee pads will help keep it from dragging on the ground. The most expensive thing was his vest for $25, which he decided to pay for. All we have to do this weekend is work on tailoring the T-rex mask that we got to look more Hath-like. It has been a great family activity for us.

 With the seemingly daily doses of dreadful news, I am looking forward to a weekend of getting away and letting my freak flag fly. Of wearing ridiculous outfits. Of not matching and not caring. Gallifrey One is a place where we are with our people. If you are there, be on the lookout for me, I plan on wearing my Jenny boots every day. And if you miss that, look for the Hath, I’ll be with that guy.

 

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