Cougar City

I am of the “Friends” generation. I wish I could say that is the only reason I know what Courtney Cox is up to these days. But unfortunately I am keenly aware of her current starring role in “Cougar Town.” I don’t watch this new hit show, but I am quickly becoming familiar with the term Cougar.

I first heard it a few years ago from one of my friends in San Francisco. He said something about all the Cougars in Marin County. I thought he might have been referring to women who actually like to attack their dates, but he explained the older woman/younger man hook up. Why call them Cougars? It sounds demeaning. There isn’t a word for all the older men that run around with younger women. Furthermore, people have started calling all ladies over 35 that like to go out Cougars, whether they are on the prowl or not. What's the big deal?

I just got back from my girls' trip to Park City. I met up with six ladies from La Jolla for a long weekend. Our generous friend, Stephanie, hosted us at her fabulous condo (see "Deer Valley" post). I got to experience what life with six sisters would have been like if we had been born to parents that let us ski all day and stay up all night drinking and talking.

We ended up getting invited to a private party at one of the happening clubs in town, so we showed up in full force, decked out in our après ski finest. Most of the women at the bar were over thirty and having loads of fun. There were single women, divorced women and, like our group, married women. Maybe some were looking for a cub, but I honestly think most were just there to listen to live music, dance and hang out with friends.

Then it hit me, a pride of happy felines cutting loose and having a night out bothers some people. Maybe they are intimidated—fearing smart and sexy fauna that can slay anything in their path with a flick of their tail. Maybe they are disgusted—although I am not sure what is wrong with women that like to dress up, go out and buy their own drinks.

I think before naysyaers start slapping labels on things they don’t really understand, they should loosen up and celebrate finally being an age when you are too old to care what people think and still young enough to enjoy it all.

Roar.

Fame...I'm Gonna Live Forever

Scene: Sundance Film Festival, 1995. Two girls, one in colorful ski gear, one in all black, lounging around Stein Erickson Lodge, ordering “another” and enjoying live music. They are giggling, whispering and trying to look inconspicuous.

Dana (clearly an artist type from New York): I don’t want to go to the party tonight.

Lisa (decked out in purple North Face, looking like Suzy Chaffee): You have to! That’s why we’re here. You need to network.

Dana: It’s embarrassing. I think it will be enough to go to the dinner.

Lisa: No, we flew all this way, the producer and director are expecting you. We ARE going!

Dana: I hate you.

Lisa: You’ll thank me in the morning.

The first time Dana and I went to Sundance together was before either of us had children. She was a film editor and when one of her films would show at the festival, she would take me as her guest. I think she invited me mostly because we have fun doing just about anything together, but also because I faithfully watched many cuts of each of her films, I can keep up with her on the slopes, and generally am a pretty good wingman.

We were young and Dana thought it was painful to self promote. This is why artists have agents. I wasn’t her agent, but I cared about her career and it’s not like she was dragging me to medical sales conferences. We went to dinners and parties, and I got to enjoy sitting next to some seriously famous people for good food and fun conversation. I am not sure Diane Lane cared about my advertising job in L.A., or that Timothy Hutton thought my jokes about the 80’s were funny, but I was an honored guest at these events and I enjoyed those trips so much.

Cut to 2010.

Scene: Same two women, looking a little more stylish and definitely more mature in the same lounge at Stein Erickson Lodge. They are laughing and chatting with people in the bar. Dana leans over and whispers in Lisa’s ear.

Dana: Let’s not waste time.

Lisa: Right. (closing eyes to relax and listen to the music)

Dana: Lisa! What’s the mission? (she orders the question)

Lisa, sitting up straight and answering like a solider: Sell script!

Dana: That’s right. (she coos)

Lisa: Can’t we chill out for a little longer? I have wine left in my glass and my legs are still barking.

Dana: No. We need to get going. Let’s go get ready for dinner.

Lisa: I hate you.

Dana: You’ll thank me in the morning.

Dana continues to edit films on occasion, to keep herself close to the industry she is so passionate about, but now she is a writer. She has several really great scripts and is ready to shop them around. I am marveling at how far my coy friend has come. My little wallflower who once needed so much encouragement is now chasing me around town with a cattle prod barking, "What's the mission?!"

Vacation's All I Ever Wanted

When the boys heard I was going on a ski vacation without them they could not understand.

“Without us?” All by yourself? No kids???

“Yes.”

“Who are you going with?” Who could possibly be more fun than us?

“Your friends’ mothers.”

“To Utah?” Somewhere that requires packing and airplanes?

“Yep.”

“Mom! You can ski here. Why do you need to go that far? And leave us?”

So I can have a discussion more serious than who gets to sit next to me on the lift, tell jokes more sophisticated than riffs on bodily functions, and have après ski lounge time that involves more than keeping track of a mountain of ski gear and fetching ice cubes to cool down hot cocoa.

“Because it’s a vacation for me. A break from the day to day job of being a mom.”

They looked sort of surprised that I would need a break.

“I am going to miss you guys SO much! I will call you every night. Okay?”

“What time?”

Before happy hour, that’s for sure.

“Um, let’s see, with the time difference, how about right before your dinner time?”

“Okay. Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Twist the knife! Maybe if I have them clean their rooms before I leave, they can feel enough glee at seeing me go it won’t be too painful, and if I am really lucky they will start to whine and argue, so I can run, instead of skip, into the airport this afternoon.

R.I.P. Lizzie

First Born Prince has (had) two toads as pets. A true romantic, he was sure they were a couple and named them Lizzie and Rambo. I voted for Adrian and Rocky but didn’t win. Lizzie passed away at some point between New Year’s Day and this morning.

We had her boxed up and ready for a midday burial when I glanced over at the coffin and to my disgust, saw that the lid was askew and Lizzie’s body was missing. Lulu was laying on my bed, watching me, eyes at half-mast, looking suspiciously like she had just had a snack. What kind of cat eats already dead prey?

“Boys! Lulu got Lizzie’s body. Please find it! Today!”

Boys scurry around. I instruct them where to look. Thankfully, Lizzie turns up in one piece hidden under my bed. We also found a lost slipper, missing ski sock, two ping pong balls and some type of free snack voucher my older son was excited about.

Poor Lizzie. Not much peace for her at the mercy of a deranged clawless cat who thinks broccoli on the counter top is fair game. I gently tuck her little body into the cotton lined box, hope the ground outside isn’t too frozen and wonder if Rambo will miss her.

Have I mentioned the apples?

I meant to blog about the Cornell Apple Orchards last fall…but if I got around to everything on my To Do list I wouldn’t be trying to sneak in a post in between breakfast and the basketball game. No, I would be at the fireplace screen store, or calling the pest control people (critters in the attic!), attending a yoga class, or planning my spring garden.

The Kindergarten class went to the Orchards in October on a field trip and the reports from Charming Baby were so fabulous that I immediately took him, my older son and my best friend, when she was in town visiting, there. The boys hadn’t had their after-school snack yet, so they delighted the staff (mostly students and volunteers) with their ability to finish a full size apple sample of almost every variety--Cameo, Fuji, Gala, Golden Delicious, Gold Rush, Honeycrisp, Ida Red, Pacific Beauty, Red Delicious, and Rome.

I remember when I told a friend from La Jolla that I was moving to Ithaca, she got a far away look in her eye and said, “Mmmm, upstate New York. It’s worth moving there just for the apples.” I thought maybe she was recalling an afternoon she got really high and all the poor thing could get her hands on was a bag of apples, but, actually, now that I’ve tried the legendary fruit, I see she simply has good taste.

The big old barn where the Cornell Apple Orchards has set up its store is fun to poke around in, too. In addition to apples, pears, figs, and other in-season fruit, they have wool blankets from the Cornell Sheep Program, fresh pressed cider, maple syrup, local honey, apple butters, preserves, books, candles, Orchards clothing and lots more!

http://hort.cals.cornell.edu/cals/hort/about/cornell_orchards.cfm

Puppy Love

One of the dads at my sons’ school walks a puppy to drop-off and pick-up every day. That little dog is so darling—the Golden Retriever, I mean—oblivious to the cold, interested in everything and everyone, tail always wagging. There is also a mom who comes with either one finicky dog or another (she has two) but for some reason does not bring them at the same time. Even though they are wearing sweaters or little coats (always something new and different), they stand there shivering, looking scared and humiliated (the dogs, I mean). The owner yanks on their leash and instructs the school children to keep their distance. The kids wonder why those “puppies” are off limits (no one explains that they are full grown and temperamental).

So all the attention and petting goes to the dad and his furry, happy go-lucky friend. I wondered if the sweetness of his animal was due to breed or gender. The dad told me, “He’s a boy,” immediately giving the dog human characteristics. I asked if they chose a boy because he wanted more testosterone in the house (he has two daughters). He said no, they picked a boy because males tend to be friendlier—females can be loners, preferring to spend time in their own space whereas the males follow you around and given the choice, will sleep at your feet. He is a writer who works from home and wanted the company. How many dogs are named “Buddy?”

I thought about my human boys. Thank God I have the big, hardy, affectionate kind. I wouldn’t know what to do with a petite, fine, or overly sensitive child. I like to yell things like, “Get in the tub! Get out of the tub! Who cares what you wear to bed? Teeth inspection in five minutes!” from a reclined position in MY bath. No, if I had to coddle and fuss I don’t think I would be happy or successful as a parent. I am good at caring for my children as if they were lovable puppies. Lots of easy, short commands and plenty of healthy food, water and exercise. If I had girls, or a fussy breed, I wonder how much frustration and angst I would experience?

Whatever the case, even though I sometimes feel like I am being dragged to my death on a leash, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman

The boys found deer antlers in the yard. At first we were horrified and then reasoned with ourselves that it must be part of the growth process. My 4th grader confirmed our hypothesis after a quick browse on the web. (What did we do before Google? I remember explanations like, “God works in mysterious ways” or the popular redirection, “Go ask your father. He’s not busy.”)

Turns out, the male deer shed their antlers each year after mating season because they don’t “need them” anymore to attract the females or fight off the other males. Hmph. Even in the Wild Kingdom, it’s all about hooking up.

Here I am, trying to grow old gracefully, taking a few lessons from the ladies in Ithaca—let your gray show, spend more time on your brain than your butt, stuff like that. And those damn deer are outside making it all about the sex again!

Well, I guess I am more of a natural woman than I give myself credit for...

Excavation

My last writing teacher gave me the feedback, “Rough up your characters—they are too nice.” My current writing coach says I need to go deeper—no one wants to hear from a hyper-organized, financially secure woman with an adoring husband and two sweet sons. People like that make you want to puke. Did I mention I already have my taxes filed?

I don’t want to make up struggles. I don’t think it’s that hard to keep your act together. You get yourself out of bed in the morning, pour yourself a strong cup of coffee and start hacking away. Then, at night, after your glass (or two) of wine, you climb back into bed and if all are merciful, you fall asleep early enough so you can get up the next day and do it again. Those of us who are truly blessed will have friends and laughter along the way to help us get through without wanting to kill some fool.

I was supposed to be halfway along my “Leaving California” journey this month, but since we decided to stay another year, I am suddenly only one-quarter of the way there. I had big plans for my “midway” blog post, too. Now that I have more time, though, I can get out the shovel, and maybe a few picks, and really start to unearth what is down there.

Nothing worth learning comes easy.

Gifts from Strangers

Every once in a while, someone does something that stops me dead in my tracks. I think about their action, and tuck the priceless gem away, saving it for those days when I need a hit of sunshine.

It can be as simple as someone unexpectedly holding a door open, or surprising me by anonymously feeding my parking meter, saving me from a ticket. I’d like to believe we all inspire each other to take a little extra time, or give an extra bit, because positive energy feeds on itself.

So now, a plug from my blog: I made a donation to help the relief effort in Haiti and it was really easy and it took no time at all:

Text 90999 on your cell, enter the word “Haiti” in the message. $10 will be charged to phone bill and sent to the Red Cross.

Today is Martin Luther King Day. Why not honor his memory by doing something of service for people who really could use the help?

The Things We Do for Love

Ski season is in full swing here in upstate New York. There is cross-country everywhere, including the Cornell Golf Course. For downhill and snowboarding, we go to a little resort called “Greek Peak” only 18 miles away. You can get there in 20 minutes, and the A-Frame Lodge serves wine! Even so, I was completely terrified of chaperoning the elementary school ski club for the first time because of the near freezing temperatures.



Truth is, I have never been sure about the sport. I started out with a father who “taught” me how to ski. No fancy lessons needed! He would just take us to the top of the mountain and holler, “Follow me!” as he whizzed his way down the slopes. It wouldn’t have been that bad except, in order to save money, he would buy me a child’s lift ticket, long after I had turned 12 years old. I was 5’ 9” by 5th grade, so that was tricky to pull off, even for a poker face like me. I only kept at it because my dad loved to ski so much.

Then I remember begging my mom to let me go with the school ski club in junior high school even though I wasn’t crazy about snow. But I was crazy about a certain 8th grader who was going on the trip and that meant I could sit by him for 2 ½ hours each way on the bus. I didn’t care what I had to do in the between time. That day had arguably the worst weather conditions imaginable but I skied, with frozen solid fingers and toes, hoping to impress a boy who only cared about looking at my Spanish tests.



It’s funny what we will endure. I skied with my husband and his friends for years just to prove I could. I really wanted to show them what a value-seeker I was, too, so I would hit the lifts when they opened and ski until the very last run of the day. I would be exhausted and in pain, but if asked to do "just one more," would nod my helmet head, and go.

After I married and had my babies, I took a break. I decided catching up on sleep was more important than trying to keep up with a bunch of guys whose bodies somehow didn't seem to register "cold" or "tired". Until one day, two years ago, toward the end of our vacation, I was alone in the rental house and it was absolutely gorgeous outside and all I could think about was my family having fun, without me, and I couldn’t take it. I threw down my book, drove over to the ski shop, bought myself some ski pants, rented equipment and in less than an hour was swishing down the snowy hills with my favorite boys.



If you can’t beat ‘em…




Join ‘em!

Who, me?

I was just catching up on the newsletters from the elementary school. I saw this paragraph in my Kindergartner’s weekly update:

Fostering Independence
I talked to the class about coming into the room alone in an effort to continue to develop independence. All children know how to get to our classroom and can do it on their own. I am encouraging you to say good-bye to your child at the back/front door of the school and let them come in on their own. Of course, if you need to help carry a heavy snack or talk to me, you are welcome to come to class.

Translation:
Lisa Gal, you are the only parent in the whole class who continues to walk your son into the room each day. While it is nice you are having a love affair with the child, it is not normal behavior. Having you Lord over him while he is trying to get organized for the day isn’t helpful for his growth. If you fear that your strapping four-foot six-year old can’t carry a sack of oranges on his own, you may come pester us on snack day.

I guess Ithaca is going to teach me a lot more than just how to stay warm!

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Making decisions is not my strong suit. Tell me there is only vanilla ice cream and I will oohh and aahh over that dessert like it was the last scoop of sugar on earth. Take me to a 31 Flavors and I will stand there for 20 minutes, completely overwhelmed with the options, and then when I eventually settle on Pralines ‘n Cream, I will look longingly at your Mint Chocolate Chip...

We have been wrestling with whether or not to extend our time here. My husband loves teaching at Cornell and would stay forever. And while the kids and I are having a riot, we miss our friends and family in California. That said, the top schools in San Diego are in a sorry state because of the budget crisis, so there is no rush for us to move back to zero job offers! My husband was willing to stick with our original plan of returning after a year so I wouldn’t freak out and stab him in the middle of the night. Silly man! What would I do with a frozen 250 lb. body?!

In order to comply with the professor’s proper planning protocol, and to be fair to the university that WAS prepared to make us an offer, the pressure was on to make a choice BEFORE the end of winter. We had a very sage friend point out that our decision making process left much to be desired, so after our vacation, we sat down and figured it out. Like two adults! Without emotion and power struggles! It was an act of maturity worthy of a blog post! My husband stopped talking like we were making a commitment for the rest of our natural lives and I started getting excited about the additional time we have here in Ithaca.

“When you set out on your journey to Ithaca, pray that the road is long, full of adventure, full of knowledge.” --Constantine Peter Cavafy

I Believe

We got home at 1:30am after New Year’s Day. All Charming Baby (6 years old) could talk about on the drive home from the airport (one hour from Syracuse in a snow storm) was that he couldn’t wait to see what Santa left for them in Ithaca. They both got letters from the North Pole explaining that their gifts would be dropped off in New York while they were on vacation. Santa managed to find them in Palm Desert and leave stockings for everyone—-mostly hand and toe warmers, lip balm and hand cream. Smart Santa!



My youngest still thinks there is a Santa Claus and it is so sweet. My oldest is either the oddest 10-year-old on the planet or simply wise enough to know not to blow my day of glory. After many late nights in California and a long day of travel, First Born Prince burst into tears when he realized he did not get the air-soft gun he wanted. I told him we would discuss it in the morning and if he was VERY lucky, Santa wouldn’t hold his rude, insensitive behavior against him.



The next day, after lots of sleep, an apology from Charlie delivered loud enough for everyone to hear, and Sam so excited he dressed himself from head to toe to finger tips in snow gear without assistance, we headed to the elementary school so they could test out their new gifts.



It was 14 degrees with a wind chill near zero and they were giggling and sledding and playing like puppies. I realized that if you remove silly adult notions like “it’s too cold to go outside” or “Santa doesn’t exist” from any equation, you end up with loads of unabashed fun.

Indoor Activities

There used to be only one thing that could keep me in bed all day long…ahem…but I have officially added a few more to the list. Swine flu and inclement weather have changed my ways. First, my illness before Thanksgiving left me so drained that I had no choice but to lie there begging for death…or more of the Tylenol with Codeine tablets we had in the medicine cabinet. Now, it is so damn cold outside, I have been under my covers all morning.

As a kid, I was tossed outside with my brother on a regular basis. Every Californian is familiar with the chant, “It’s a gorgeous day! Get out there and enjoy it!” It carries over into adulthood, too. I actually had a friend who wouldn’t go to a matinee on a sunny day because she felt too guilty. I know the feeling. It was next to impossible for any of us to enjoy the indoor activities we liked when it was so beautiful out. Who could focus on making soup, playing the piano, or going to a museum when all we heard were our swim suits, bicycles, or running shoes calling our names? My ideal winter day is curling up by a fire and watching a movie, reading, or playing games, but on the west coast, it was difficult to find enough bad weather days to fit in all the hibernating I like to do.

As the thermometer drops, I will get around to all the things I put off for most of my life because I was preoccupied with “soaking up the sunshine.” I guess some people are more disciplined and can force themselves to stay inside and get things done. But I can honestly say that I left my house a mess and wound up on the beach more often than not. I have a long list that is waiting for me, from organizing photos to finally learning how to use a pottery wheel…but first up is a guilt-free day of catching up with my friends that I owe calls to…that is, if they aren’t too busy to answer the phone.