Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Check Mate



For years now Lulu has been collecting rubber bands and keeping them in her food bowl. I just regularly toss them into the trash bin when I am cleaning and refilling her dishes.

Her habit has reached an all time high so I figure she is either totally delusional that the rubber bands are prey or she is trying to help the boys by cleaning up the ammunition from the floor around the house after their games (rubber-band guns are a favorite pass time).

I decided to look up the behavior to make sure I wasn’t causing irreparable psychological damage to the clawless wonder.

It just might be that your cat is trying to find a "safe" place for his favorite things. It often happens that the toy that ends up in the water or food bowl is often a toy that has recently been enjoyed by your cat. In the wild, cats often take their prey back to their "nest" area, and hide it from predators. Indoor cats don't really have a "nest" per se, so they often consider their food and water dishes as the "safest" areas within their "territory".

Maybe that’s where the disapproving looks are coming from. I guess I better learn to leave her business alone or else…or else what?

Google some more.

Your cat may be putting his toys in his food dish as a game. This is even more probable if you constantly remove his toys from the bowl. He has trained you to play this game with him.

Great. Not only am I her servant, I’m a pawn, too.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

You Give Me Fever



I have been wandering around Ithaca in a spring stupor. I screamed out loud the other day when I accidentally scared a turkey hen and she flew out from under a bush right in front of my face. I looked down and there was her egg-filled nest. No wonder she was in a huff.



Then, coming home later that same day I ran into my neighbor who said she had a surprise to show me…a box full of barn kitties she rescued. They were so sweet with little meows that are totally irresistible. I had to get out of there. Fast.



I have been waiting to blog because the unfolding of spring has been so tender I didn’t know where to start. How do you describe the birth of an entire landscape?



Everything was barren and brown and there was literally no color. Then, just when you think maybe winter was such a bad boy it killed everything, you see the cheerful yellow forsythia, waving at you, announcing the season. Everyday, new colors, flowers and buds of green show up. I didn’t really understand the concept of spring bloom until I experienced everything around me going through it.



Also, I don't think I really appreciated the hype and euphoria. I wrote off the music and fussy celebrations as fodder for Martha Stewart and Hallmark. But now, I get it! The eggs…the babies…the flowers…the couples walking hand-in-hand all over campus...



Spring has arrived I am left wondering once again about who could possibly be slipping me drugs.

And, P.S., Mother Nature, I know you’re in on it.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

A Pirate's Life for Me




“Would you pee off the side of a boat?” The Professor sounded serious.

“Who asked?” He doesn’t know the answer to this by now?

“I am trying to decide what kind of boat to buy and my friends said I don’t need a cabin if you’re cool with going in the lake.”

“Please don’t use me as a factor in your decision.” The last thing I want is a reputation as either high maintenance or a party animal. It’s probably too late on both counts.



Cayuga Lake beckons all ages to come play when the weather starts heating up. It’s barely 60 degrees out and already you can see the wind surfers, kayakers, and boaters everywhere--fishing, sailing, waterskiing, wakeboarding, tubing, or just cruising around to any of the fun places to dock--the Farmer’s Market, wineries, restaurants, and Taughannock Park summer concerts.



“But I want you to actually come out on the boat with us.”

The Professor is worried I won’t embrace his new hobby. I don’t know why. I just moved to a place that has sub-zero temperatures and now he questions my support level? Maybe I need a cheerleader uniform.

“Don’t worry. I'll be a part of it.” Wild bass couldn’t keep me away from an opportunity to drag you around the lake by rope.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

That Was Easy



Last week I attended the Entrepreneurship@Cornell Celebration. Besides meeting inspiring, smart entrepreneurs, I got to say hello to many of the faculty, staff, spouses and students that I have met this past year.

As I was working my way through the reception, I was amazed at everyone's stories. Investigative cocktailing revealed they chose Ithaca over Boston, Palo Alto, Washington DC or New York City. The more I uncover people’s reasons for coming or staying, the more impressed I am with the community.

The locals are also interested in how California Girl is holding up.

"So, are you enjoying Ithaca?"

"I love it. I have been pleasantly surprised." I am still afraid I will grow a long, gray braid and stop wearing leather shoes.

"We hear you are staying another year!"

"Yes. One wasn't enough." I need to double check my reaction to winter. I think someone was slipping me drugs.

"How about your kids? How do they like their new school?"

"They are having a blast. And it's a relief to be able to send them to a quality public school without having to worry about fund raising!" What's better than having a mother who's not running around like her hair caught on fire?

Truth be told, the best part of my year so far has been being able to parent the way I want without having to stress out or be the bad guy saying “no” all the time. The choices for after-school enrichment, weekend entertainment and play dates are limited and focused. The influence of the university, nature and small-town sensibilities leave me with a job that makes life with kids a snap. I am not fighting traffic, designer labels, or Chuck E. Cheese.

I was worn out in San Diego with the constant decisions and never-ending requests. Raising kids in a major city takes vigilance, energy and a stomach for managing consumerism in every sense of the word. You can never let your guard down and when you slip, and I always did, you fall into a pit hole of Nordstrom receipts, sushi as a birthright, and iPhones for elementary school kids.

I have nothing against popular culture just like I have nothing against wine, sunshine or shopping. I have just found that is it easier for me to make sure we aren’t living on the stuff when everyone around us can’t be bothered with it.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

No Deed Goes Unpunished



The newspaper clipping “Do-it-yourself foreign aid” was floating around my “to-do” pile for months. Last weekend I finally logged onto kiva.org and lent out some money. The New York Times had directed me to the organization in the article. Why question the NYT? They do their homework.

I lent with the spirit of helping. I certainly do not intend to profit from the loans, but rather pay any interest earned forward and make my loan pile bigger and bigger until I am helping swarms of women set up fruit and vegetable stands in their villages (I purposely chose women wanting to sell fresh produce, forget the evil dudes wanting to sell soda!).

Well, three days later—after my little goody-two-shoes deed, there on the front page of the NY Times this morning: “Many Borrowers of Microloans Now Find the Price Is Too High".

Turns out the loan sharks smelled the blood of potential hefty profits and came swimming over to see what all the fuss was about. I read the article and discovered some of these impoverished people are paying up to 83% in fees and interest.

Can you imagine being such a capitalist f**k that you swoop in on non-profit organizations that are trying to help people by gathering little $25 loans up and handing them out to people who have painstakingly filled out forms and are trying to change their lives in $500 or $1,000 increments? The banks and financial institutions are exploiting the intricate systems and sensitive relationships that took volunteers and non-profit workers over a decade to build.

You know what, I’ll just check the websites of the worst offenders (thanks, NYT, for listing them) and add those banking and finance executives to The List.*

*The List: people that have screwed me, crossed me or otherwise knowingly and/or intentionally taken advantage of an innocent party.

I cannot tell you the details, but I promise you this:

They will be wishing all they had to do was pay 83%!

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Seeds of Love



Who befriends a houseplant? A year ago I would have said nuts smoking too many weeds.

Botanical relationships had never made my top ten. Didn’t people whose confidants were from the flora kingdom lack in their ability to take criticism, make jokes and give small favors? When was the last time a plant made me stop and think?

I remember marveling at a Golden Pothos (Devil’s Ivy) in my son’s speech therapist’s office. Her walls were filled with art, photos and vines that grew so long she tacked them up so you were surrounded with swirling green. It was original, funky and screamed, “I value life and substance over snipping off limbs for superficial reasons!” Good enough for me.

The first thing I did when I got home from NYC was run to each of my potted pets to see if they made it all week without me. They weren’t perfectly happy, but with a little water, pleasant conversation, and some music, they’d perk right back up.

There is scientific evidence to support the theory that plants respond positively to sound. I only talk to my cat because she talks back, but, once you start loving something, you're willing to try anything, right?

“Fern, baby, lookin’ good! A little Springsteen for you?”

I am not completely mad. I only ask rhetorical questions. Fern is from New Jersey.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

The Royal Treatment



When I told my mom we were moving to New York, she had two things to say: “This is karma for me moving away from my mother in 1966” and “Well, I guess it’s Grammy & Grampy’s turn.”

Since my kids are the first and only grandchildren on both sides of the family, they are a precious commodity. Even after a week of stinky feet and “knock-the-warrior off-the-bed” game, it seems the grandparents can’t get enough.

I have to hand it to G & G. I can’t tell you how old they are--even the Professor doesn’t know his mother’s real age—but I can tell you they outlasted two very active boys running around Manhattan for seven days straight. Not many people, no matter how fit, nice, smart, patient, or God-like they are, can do that.

The highlight of the week was the Sea -Air Museum. The boys loved the USS Intrepid aircraft carrier and exploring the military vessels. Anything from World War II captures First Born Prince’s imagination and Charming Baby is so easily impressed, he could just as well have been testing beds at Mattress Barn as he tried out the bunks on the submarine.

I even threw in a zinger at the beginning of the visit: limit the quantity of burgers, French fries and candy! I know this was a tough request, and have probably earned the biggest pain-in-the-ass-of-the-year award, but hey, it’s in my job description.

My kids won’t realize how good they have it until they are too old to appreciate Grandpa springing for admission tickets or Grandma spending hours planning cool things to do.

No, it won’t be until they have kids and are visiting grandparents and look in on them asleep in the guest bed, peaceful, bathed and with the tiniest little bit of Easter chocolate on the corners up their upturned mouths…

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?



I caught a blog post that struck a horrible chord deep inside of me. It was a father blogging about himself and his son. It was totally self-serving, reminding me of all the lessons from my writing teachers. No body wants to hear about Mr. Perfect having a perfect day with his perfect family!

Just as I was comforting myself that my blog isn’t annoying, I remembered what a college student said to me the last time I was singing the praises of blogging. He looked at me and said, “Having a blog is sort of narcissistic, don’t you think?”

I defended bloggers of the world by explaining we are trying to give followers something—information, a laugh, a lesson. I then dragged the poor boy through several Leaving California posts. I made him sit there and listen to me as I read aloud. Just as I was starting to feel sheepish, it was time to board the plane, so I snapped my notebook shut and said, “Well, hope that’s not too narcissistic for you! Have a good flight!”

As I hurried off, wondering if maybe I shouldn’t be trapping young school-age men in airport waiting lounges, he yelled, “Hey! How do I find your blog if I want to read more?”

Ha! Another bites the dust.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Alchemy



I believed in the Easter Bunny until I was eight years old, then my memories get hazy and I am not so sure what I thought was going on with the mysteriously appearing candy and gifts. Everything was rosy…until he stopped visiting.

I was in 11th grade. I remember the year exactly because my high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Schaeffer, overheard me complaining during lab to one of my friends that it was the beginning of the end of childhood as we knew it.

The next day there was a candy-filled egg on my desk with a note written on a 3x5 index card:

Dear Lisa Barnhouse,

I am sorry I accidentally hopped past your house last Sunday. Please accept this Easter treat. You are NEVER too old for the Easter Bunny!

As we were packing up for our trip to Grammy & Grampy's today, I noticed First Born Prince didn’t ask me how the Easter Bunny would know where to find us on Sunday. He isn’t even going to humor me on this one.

I decided to place a phone call when they were in the next room.

“These damn automated answering systems! You would think the Easter Bunny would employ a live operator!” If I curse maybe they will think I don’t know they can hear me.

Press a bunch of numbers.

“Oh, hi. I’m calling about a change of address for basket delivery and egg hunt…Yes, I realize it’s late, I’m sorry…Oh, okay, two, ages 6 and 10...No, no allergies...Manhattan...okay, I’ll e-mail you the address…Thank you!”

“That was close.” Mumble to self as I start typing an e-mail.

I saw FBP eyeing me suspiciously from the kitchen door. He watched me very carefully and when we made eye contact, I gave him a wink and he winked back.

Perhaps if I had studied the Periodic Table of the Elements a little more closely, I might be able to come up with a scientific explanation for the chemical reaction I feel every time I give or receive a tiny sparkle of magic.