Monday, July 30, 2007

All The Lonely People

I think that #1 on my list of "Why Older Kids Are Cool and Babies Are Overrated" is "Listening to Music With Older Kids."

"I love how they use violins and an orchestra and it's still a rock and roll song," Anna observed as we listened to the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby."

"I do too," I said, kind of surprised that this came up on the way home from the grocery store.

"And the song is beautiful but it is also really sad."

"Yes. It's a pretty serious song," I said.

"I like these kinds of Beatles songs better - they sound different than their other songs - do you know what I mean?"

"I do know what you mean. And a lot of people noticed that. The Beatles really grew up and developed and their songs got more complicated and meaningful."

"Well, I like the songs like this better. Can we listen to that song again?" Anna asked as she reached forward to hit "back" on the CD player.

I nodded because I could not talk anymore.

It was easier when she was a baby and I could love her for being sweet and coo over such feats as rolling over and smiling and eating peas. It is much harder to love her when crashes through the house with her moods and her attitudes. There are days that I can't dress right, cook right, remember things right and I just seem to annoy her by my existence. And some days she and I ride down the road listening to music together and have a conversation and I feel the same overwhelming love that I felt when I cradled her in my arms and she nursed herself to sleep. I would do anything for this child who recognizes "Revolver" as a significant moment in rock history and asks me questions and listens to my opinion.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Fields of Dreams


Field corn is taller than my head right now. As I drove through Iowa and Eastern Nebraska I was surrounded by corn for miles and miles and miles. The rolling hills and tall corn give the field the illusion of buoyancy. It was as if I could float on top of the corn. I have often fantasized about surfing over a corn field. But of course I would cut myself on the leaves and crash to the muddy rows between. It cannot hold you up like a lake, but it looks like a lake.

In the middle of the corn fields of Northeast Iowa is one of my favorite spots in the world - Lake Okoboji. I feel a deep pull to the lake - perhaps the moon or gravity, but instead it is as my daughter tells me, geology.

"These are glacier lakes," she told me. "They don't have any mud!"

The kids gleefully played and swam in the clear water. We roasted sweet corn and ate grilled chicken in the park. We jumped off the diving dock about 80 bajillion times. We went to the amusement park. We ate ice cream and watched the sun set.

I told the kids that when I sell my screenplay that we will buy a cabin and live on the lake. The kids laughed and picked out what "cabin" we will own. The cabins are nicer than the house that we live in.

We drove home through the hills with our car seeming to part the waves of corn as if we are a speedboat.

"Can we go back, mom?"

"Absolutely," I say.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Embracing Your Inner Slytherin

Much to Anna's chagrin, she sorts into Slytherin. She has tried a couple of different online "sorting hats" tests and they all put her in Slytherin. This amuses Mary, who sorts into Hufflepuff, a great deal.

And really, knowing what I know about the two of them, I would switch the houses, but I am a Muggle and not a Sorting Hat, so what do I know?

Having her birthday on the day of the Harry Potter book release made the party theme a no brainer. We were in the party goods store shopping for "Hogwarts" stuff - plates and napkins and such when the usual sibling stuff started in.

I was trying to save some money. The paper napkins and plates and cups with the Harry Potter stuff are expensive. So I suggested the solid color plates and napkins in maroon and gold.

"Yeah, that would be good colors for a Gryffindor, mom. But not for a Slytherin!" Mary teased.

"Well, Harry Potter was nearly a Slytherin," I said.

"That's true," Anna said.

"And not all Slytherins are bad," I said.

"All the evil wizards have come from Slytherin, but not everyone from Slytherin is evil," Anna said.

"That's right. It's a math proof. Choices are what make people good or evil - you can use your skills or interests either way. So how about if we just went with a Slytherin House theme?" I asked. "You would need green and what color?"

"Silver," she said.

I handed her a package of silver plates and dark green napkins and I could see the party forming in her head.

"I could dress up like a Slytherin Girl."

"You bet," I said. "That would be easy. Black skirt and tights, I have a shirt you can borrow and we'll get a green tie from Bill."

We got green and silver balloons. At home I pulled some black/silver fabric from my fabric stash and we made a tablecloth. We tied ribbons around plain plastic goblets and put Hogwarts stickers on them for her friends for party favors. We cut veggies, rolled cream cheese tortillas, defrosted shrimp, and made both cauldron cakes and a lightening bolt cake. At 10pm I drove Anna and her friends to the bookstore and they paid for their reserve copies and we hung out until they released the books at 12:01. They squealed when they got out the door with their books and asked me to leave the dome light on in the car so they could read on the way home. They made a tray with the leftovers from the party and holed up in the basement. I have no idea what time they went to bed.

I want so much for my children to be happy. I want them to feel good about who they are and what we do and have memories of their childhood that make them think of that time fondly. Last night - the book release - was a contrived event, and normally I hate those sorts of things and do not believe that they make significant memories. I know that I will remember last night forever. The image that is in my memory is my Slytherin Girl skipping out of the bookstore with her arms linked with her best friends' arms with shopping bags of The Book dangling from their arms. The smiles on their faces were magical.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Summer Reading Program

There are six kids, ages 7 to 16, residing in my house this summer. Five out of six of them are reading (or re-reading) a Harry Potter book. The sixth child is reading a biography about Cal Ripken.

(Remember that Sesame Street song, "Which of these things is not like the other? Come on, can you tell?")

We are swept up in the mania. Wanna start a debate between a 7 and 16 year old? Ask them if Harry is gonna die. Ask them if Snape is good or evil. Ask them if Dumbledore really died. Ask them what color plates you should get for the party if we want Hogwarts colors.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

I Wish I Was in the Land of Cotton

Usually in July we go to my college alumni barbecue and sit in the park for Shakespeare. This year Shakespeare didn't get rave reviews and I had a busy work week and didn't want to leave town, so we stayed in Lincoln. I offered a make up date when I got the postcard from the University for a Southern Barbecue and a showing of "Gone With the Wind." We stuffed ourselves on okra, sweet potatoes, fried green tomatoes, fried chicken, corn muffins, lemon bars and sweet tea.

Then we sat in the front row for four and a half hours.

Anna's "Gone With the Wind" observations:

"This made me feel sorry for the South."

"I love her dress!" (heard multiple times)

"When is she going to figure out that she loves Rhett?"

"Do you think that they ever got back together?"

I was a blubbering mess. The scene that always gets me is the railroad station scene. Scarlett is having a very personal crisis - her friend Melanie is in labor and she wants to have the doctor come - and there's a much bigger crisis going on. Specifically, and it really does matter, is that it is the Civil War. The wagons and trains come and just dump the bodies in the streets in Atlanta because there is no more room in the hospital. The camera is tight on Scarlett as she arrives at the station. She begins to walk between the bodies and call for the doctor. The camera widens slowly and you take in the seriousness of the day. There are bodies everywhere and soon the screen is full and wide full of soldiers laying in the street. The doctor is walking around in the street taking care of men as well as he can under the circumstances and he can't leave to take care of Melanie.

We are at war right now but the bodies are not piled in the street in Atlanta or New York or Omaha. We are removed from the reality of war. We are not going without clothes or food or shelter.

I sat in the front row crying about war and Anna linked her arm through mine and leaned on my shoulder.

"You should just worry about it tomorrow," she suggested.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik

I think that Keith County Nebraska at 7:22pm on a weekday night is the most beautiful place in the world.

I drove my car loaded with kids and dog through Western Nebraska this week and worked in rural offices and dropped my kids off at the city pool at small towns. I ate a grilled chicken salad at McDonalds, Wendys, Amigos and Sonic. I walked my dog next to irrigated corn as tall as my knees in Western Nebrasaka and as tall as my head in Central Nebraska. We played Cows and License Plate and Road Kill Bingo and sang along to the radio. I ate taco dip with a judge in a rural town and won a motion in a telephone hearing. We saw Chimney Rock and the Scottsbluff Monument and Jailhouse and Courthouse Rock and lots of cows and corn and hills.

But Keith County.

We were the only car on the highway as we drove through rolling hills while the sun was lowering in the sky for early evening and it was beautiful - like one of those Terry Redland prints that I hate. The news was over and Mozart played as we silently cruised past wagon wheel ruts and one room school houses made of sod and it felt as if our car were a time capsule and we were hurtling through another time. The grass was a downy chicken - thick brown at the base and then with thin, soft yellow plumes coming up that waved in the breeze. The clouds were making shadows on the grass as they moved.

Indians could ride over the hill on horses following a herd of buffalo and I would not blink.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Goin' to Kansas City

We were going to spend Saturday afternoon by the pool. We specifically picked a hotel with an outdoor pool. Then we were going to head to the 7pm game.

Well. It rained all afternoon, so instead of sunning by the pool we found a sports bar and had some nachos and watched an arena football game. We felt as pathetic and sad as that all sounds.

We did run into George Brett and I leaned on his shoulder and he comforted me. He assured me that the game would be on and that I should finish up my beer, go buy a sweatshirt and pants (since all I packed was tank tops and shorts), and head to the game.



We got some warmer clothes at the Gap sale. We were going to take the shuttle to game so we checked the shuttle schedule and our tickets and that's when we realized that it was 5:30pm, and the game was at 6pm and not 7pm. We raced to the front desk and got directions for a back route to the stadium. We made it to the stadium in time for the National Anthem. I could not believe it. It rained through the first few innings. We were glad to have our KC Royals Cowboy Hats to keep the rain off.



It was a decent game though the Royals lost. I had a couple of beers served by another baseball icon.



Yes, that is who you think it is. It's Pete Rose. Pete Rose is the Miller Lite Beer Man at Kauffman Baseball Stadium.

We went out on Saturday night and had a really good martini in a really loud bar. Then we went back to the hotel and slept until we got up. It was lovely.

We hadn't had enough of baseball stars so we went to the Negro League Baseball Museum at 17th and Vine in Kansas City. I always wanted to go and meet Buck O'Neill, but he died recently. (If you've ever seen an interview with a Negro League player, it very well might have been Buck O'Neill. He had a charming personality and loved to tell stories. He was fundamental in starting the NLBM.) I did have a fun conversation with the guy at the end of the museum at the gift shop. He asked me if I had any questions.

"Yes, I do. Why isn't Buck O'Neill in the Baseball Hall of Fame and how do they count stats when you played in both leagues?"

I held up the line for a good 15 minutes talking the Politics of Cooperstown, which isn't really Cooperstown but those East Coast Sports Writers, I learned. And we had a good lesson in stats and qualifications for the Hall of Fame. Then I paid for my postcards and baseball, and we left.



This is, as the picture says, "The Great Satchel Paige." What a wind up.