Worth The Drive

Carter and I spent many too many hours in the car making our way from Baltimore to Hamilton, MA without putting one tire on I-95. Although we avoided the inevitable traffic jams and truck squishing of one particular route we had our fair share of road shut downs and bridge repairs that added hours to our trip.

The worst part of the trip for me was in the state I grew up in, Connecticut. Although the highway had three lanes most of the time and signs instructing drivers every few miles that the right lane is for slow drivers, the middle for travel and the far left for passing, not one, well maybe one car actually paid attention to what is normal highway etiquette. Not in Connecticut — The left lane was completely full, all the time with drivers who were not the fastest, the middle had the slowest and the right lane had the passers. I can bet you the psychology of those drivers in the left was, “do you know how many taxes Ai pay in this state? I own this road. I am going to pass someone because it is my right. Who cares if I should actually be a different lane. I like this one and AI am from Connecticut.”

After eleven hours of driving we finally arrived at my boarding school friend Stori’s house. Stori has a daughter Samantha who is Carter’s age and this is the first time they have ever met. Stori and I have been talking about this happening for a long time, but somehow it never happened, until today.

It took about forty two seconds after meeting and they were off, discussing their shared love of music, Sam even likes Jake Bugg, Carter’s favorite obscure Brit, how crazy their mother’s are and life as an only child. After dinner they walked themselves to get ice cream and came back best of friends. It was like the friend you make when you are three because you realize you both have pink sandals on and therefore must be soul mates, but even better because they are old enough to know if they really like each other.

So Stori and I were quickly dismissed. Now here we sit thrilled that our daughters, who are the same age we we’re when we first became the best of friends, have met and formed an instant bond. This outcome is more than worth the hellish drive and the entitled Connecticut drivers I endured to get here.

Send It Back Without Guilt

Last night I went to a local establishment with four friends to celebrate my friend Sara’s birthday. Celebrating with food is a regular occasion around here. I have to be very careful to remember that someone else’s birthday is not my excuse to go off the rails so I try and stick to my normal eating even at parties, which is not always easy.

My trick to evenings out is that I order two starters and try and withhold from the rest. I must admit I did dip my spoon in the complimentary birthday desserts and they were well worth whatever thousands of calories they had.

But let’s back up and talk about the rest of the meal. I started with a favorite, Burrata, the mozzarella cheese with the cream center, served with yummy tomatoes. It was the perfect summer taste on a hot night. To follow it I ordered the Ahi Tuna with peppers, as did two of my other friends.

After enjoying such a good first course I was completely taken aback when a small hunk of white tuna was placed in front of me. Since I only planned on eating two small starters I wanted every bite to be perfect. I looked at the very over cooked fish, which should have been served dark red and barley warmed on the outside and knew it was wrong. The other two servings to my friends were the same hot mess.

I took a bite and declared it inedible and announced I was sending it back. My much nicer friends were not as inclined until the I summoned the waiter who had not delivered the fish and showed him the bright white flesh. An audible gasp came from the waiter. “This is not right,” he said. Then all the fish went back.

From my vantage point only I could see the chef as she looked at the dishes and threw a towel at the sous who was obviously responsible. It took just a few moments since the cooking time on the dish was supposed to be barley a minute, but some perfect tuna arrived at our table with the apologies of the chef. Following that course the kitchen sent an unordered dessert with their compliments — An apology without making a big deal of it.

I know I am a difficult customer. I am quick to voice my complaint so that an establishment has an opportunity to make me happy right then and there. I also will return and give them more business. What I do the next time is give implicit instructions about how I want my order. So to ensure this same mistake does not happen to me I will tell them that I want my tuna very rare.

I eat lunch every Wednesday at the same place where I play Mah Jongg with my friends. I always order a salad with the most specific instructions on how I want it — extra lettuce, freshly grilled hot chicken, dressing on the side. I am sure the kitchen has a dartboard with my picture on it, but I am saving them many thrown away salads because they get it right if they follow my request. I can’t expect people to be mind readers and know exactly what I want. It is much easier to tell them and be happy than it is to get something disappointing, keep my mouth shut and never return. Yeah, there is little chance I will ever keep my mouth shut, I just hope my friends will still eat with me.

If the Good Die Young I’m Gonna Be Bad

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When my friend Danny passed away I pulled out a photo album from our wedding to get a picture of him. I opened it up and as I flipped through the pages I came upon the one I was thinking of. Strangely the three other pictures on the same page were all of friends of mine who all left this world much too early. My college roommate Lauren who died of breast cancer, my friend Herb who I went to school in France with who had an aneurism and my beach housemate Art who died of AIDS. All those friends went in their thirties. Now Danny with cancer at 59. Somehow it seems like way too many good people dying too young.

I guess that these people had done what they were put on this earth to do fast. At Danny’s service today there was a universal feeling about what a wonderful guy he was and not just because he was gone. He truly was always kind, thoughtful and full of humor to every person. Based on this ratio of the really good people going young I am going to slow down my doing any good works, cause if the good die young I’m going to be bad.

After the emotional roller coaster of this day I went back to my friend David and John’s for the comfort of old friends. We went to a great new restaurant and followed it up with a walking tour of the neighborhood. When we got home we celebrated David’s birthday with some tiny tarts. I broke down and had one bite of the chocolate and one of the lemon curd. I think this counts as my being bad for today, but I’m going to have to find some non-food ways to be bad if I am going to be alive for the next forty years.

The Silver Lining

I spent today in the car driving to Washington DC so I can attend Danny Koch’s memorial service tomorrow. Since I lived in DC for ten years, coming back is like coming home. Add to that I am staying with my friends John and David who I introduced and have been best friends for the last 30 years.

David was out on a trip when I got here but John welcomed me as only a friend who has known me since college could do. We went to meet my sister Janet and her girlfriend Sophie for dinner at a great restaurant called Range. At last I got to meet Sophie. Since I was sick on Christmas day I am the last person in my family to get to know her. I have really been missing out. Even John knew Sophie long before I did since he is friends with Janet. It is funny how the people in my life intersect without my being involved.

After dinner John and I went back to his house and David arrived from the airport. Suddenly I am twenty five years old again. I may have had to make this trip for the saddest of reasons, but the silver lining is I am having a wonderful reunion with so many people I love.

Life is short. We never know when our time is going run out. I am going to use this opportunity to spend time with people who make me happy, make me laugh and make a difference in my world.

Good Lighting is Everything

As I am trying to whittle down my thousands of photos from Africa to a few hundred for a photo book that won’t bore the casual friend who asks about the trip one thing is clear; the lighting is almost the most important factor in determining a great photo from a so-so one. This is not news to me and out in the bush I had limited control over what I could push my camera to do. If only I had taken more lessons on actually how to use the powerful equipment I owned I might have been able to do more, but overall I think I got more than enough great material.

As I age I find that lighting is a crucial element in my everyday life. When I was younger I did not appreciate how great my eyes were. So many times my father would say something positive about my “young” eyes and what they could see. I never had to wear glasses until I was about 45 and then the deadly readers became required.

At first if I had bright enough light I could make due when trying to read tiny writing on a hotel bottle of shampoo, or is that body lotion I am about to put in my hair? Now even a thousand watt bulb does not help me in that situation. Why don’t hotels realize that old farts in the shower are not wearing their reading glasses and at least make the “S” in a 32 point font or bigger?

Today, while playing Mah Jongg in the dark Dover Bar at Hope Valley, yes we play games in a bar when it is closed to drinkers; I was doing my normal multitasking and needle pointing while playing. Since I was already working an 18-mesh canvas, which to you non-stitchers means the tiny little petit point canvas, I had my strongest readers on. The ornament is one of Africa in celebration of our trip and it has a grey mountain as well as a different grey elephant on it. In the dark of the bar I stitched two whole threads of one grey called Heron, on the mountain and then two whole threads of the other grey called Steel Grey on the same mountain.

Only when I went to pull a fifth thread from my bag did I realize that I had used two different colors. I showed my friend Christy the canvas and asked her with her young eyes to see if I in fact had made this error. Even she at first thought it was all right, but did question it. I went to the next room where I could use the power of the sun to examine my work. Yes, I had used two different colors — it was a rookie mistake.

It was then that I pulled out my “Bra Light”, actually a baseball cap light Russ had given me, and clipped it to the ever-steady intersection of the underwires of my bra at the center. Bright light shone on my gaff and I was able to cut away the offending yarn and start over.

Why was I not wearing my bra light in the first place? My eyes are too old, the existing light was too dim, and my Mah Jongg friends needed something good to laugh at. Me with an illuminated cleavage is good fodder for ridicule. Here is what I know, I want good strong light when I have tiny work to do, I want soft gentle light when anyone is taking a picture of me and I want just enough light to recognize my winning Mah Jongg tile as it is being thrown. All that light is not the same; perhaps I am doing too many things all at once.

Reality Bites

I was just in the middle of a great dream during my jet lagged induced nap and I heard a phone ringing. A phone ringing? I had not heard a phone ringing for the last twelve days while in Africa. Where I am? I instinctively reached over to my right and picked up my cell phone and said hello.

“Mom?” It was Carter !!! Oh no it was Carter at camp, where she does not have access to a phone unless something is wrong. “Mom, I’m alright, but I fell and hit my head.” Still feeling drugged up from thirty hours of flying starting in Zambia yesterday through Joberg to Atlanta and finally home today it took me a minute to process what was going on. After talking to Carter a few minutes she passed me on to the camp Doctor who told me she thought Carter did not have a concussion, but they are taking her for an x-ray just to see how they might need to modify her camp activities.

I asked to talk to Carter again since I am now an expert at telephone diagnosis when she falls. This fall did not involve a horse, thank goodness, but just a low ropes course and a group of tires. Carter did not sound confused or disoriented in anyway, but just getting to talk to each other after two and a half weeks of camp induced silence did make her sad for us.

There is nothing worse than being away from home when you are sick of hurt. Mom and Dad are really the best medicine. Two years ago when Carter went to Taiwan during the summer and lived with a family and went to school she got a stomach bug and was sick for a day. Russ and I happened to be in Seattle celebrating our twentieth anniversary and got a call from Carter halfway around the world. Of course she was fine by the next day, but at that moment she just wanted her Mom and there was nothing I could do about it but reassure her that this too shall pass.

Five weeks away from Carter is a long time for me, but she wanted to do these three back-to-back camp sessions so badly and she is at the age where she wants to spend more time away from the family than with the family. So while I had her on the phone in this vulnerable, head injured, I wish my Mom was with me state, I asked her if she wanted me to come and see her Saturday when she had the break in camp sessions. “Could you do that and bring Daddy too?”

“Of course. I’ll call camp tomorrow.”

“Are you allowed to that?” she asks, having been living in the rule following world of camp for the last two and a half weeks.

“Yes.” I reassured her.

No easy re-entry back into real life. Our perfect vacation, really the best trip I have ever been on in my life is over. We got home and the house was fine, only my vegetable garden took a beating from lack of rain, Shay was excited to see us and I got four really happy letters from camp filling me in on Carter’s first session. We unpacked our tiny suit cases and put all our safari wear in the laundry, happy not to half to wear khaki. I went to the grocery store and bought nine different fruits knowing that the scale will be unhappy with me in the morning, but I would not change a thing about our trip. We saw so many amazing animals and birds, met the most fun and interesting people, we ate really good food and now it’s back to reality. It bites.