Center of Attention

I like dogs. Dogs like me. But, no longer being a dog owner, sometimes I forget...


The dog was big. I could tell this even tho & because I could not see past his massive head as he thrust his mouth into my face. The fact that I was standing at the time also gave me a clue as to the dog's size. As a gesture of affection, & as a valiant effort to keep his foot-long tongue from washing me thoroughly, I placed my hands on either side of his head & ruffled up his ears. At this point my hands were about the same distance apart as if I had been gripping a watermelon. He was a golden Labrador Retriever.


Being the most thrilling encounter this dog had had all day (I could only assume by his reaction to my presence), the dog (who we will call Sam) vibrated all over & then nearly knocked me down as it occurred to him that since he & I were now the best of friends, he should share with me his prized possessions.  He bounded away to find them, pushing off of me with his front legs so that I had to brace MY legs firmly to remain standing. Now that Sam's giant head was no longer blocking my view, I discovered his clone was lunging & vibrating behind him - another golden Lab, not quite as large, who we will call Candy. & look!  Underneath, weaving & dodging in between those eight Labrador legs, yet another dog, a Corgi, ran yapping side to side.  Behind all this, I saw my friend Anna, & remembered why I was in this room with all this wildlife in the first place.


Anna was happy to see me, tho her reaction was somewhat more subdued than her dogs', as when she hugged me in greeting she neither vibrated nor attempted to lick my face. It was entertaining to note that the manner of my entrance to the house, hampered by the three dogs jumping & tumbling over each other - the pack essentially blocking the doorway while beating me with their tails & heads - barking & slobbering & hitting me in the legs with chewed up rubber dog bones, did not seem to faze Anna in the least.  She turned down the hallway, basically leaving me to sink or swim in her wake.


After a stumbling entrance into the kitchen, where we stopped briefly, chatting, the dog Sam returned.  In his mouth was a basketball. Yes, a regulation game-sized basketball. I'd love to stop there, because of the image you must have in your mind, but in all fairness, I must continue on to say that the basketball was not inflated. Presumably it had been at one time. Folded up like a giant taco shell, Sam munched on the basketball frantically.  Sam then remembered that he was going to share this drool-covered item with ME, so he came to me with hopeful eyes & thrust it into my leg.  The dog Candy also sported a slobbery rubber bone which did not stop her from sticking her nose into my crotch.  The Corgi carried no toys, as that would have made it difficult for her to continue with her incessant barking.  As I wrestled with Candy to get free of her inquisitive nose, Anna told me I shouldn't throw the dog toys in the house. I assured her that I would try to restrain myself.


Sam had worked up a powerful thirst in all this excitement & wandered off to his bathtub-sized water bowl for some refreshment. In mid gulp, Sam seemed to remember that he was neglecting his guest, & with a mouth full of water, came to push his muzzle against my thigh in apology. As I was wearing shorts, my naked leg was the recipient of the gallon of water that was streaming forgotten from Sam's mouth & was now running down my leg & into my shoe.  Being the gracious guest that I am, it was only this last atrocity that elicited an "EWWW!" from my lips.


At this point Anna decided I needed help, & turned & admonished her dogs, "Sam! No!  Candy! No!".  She reached down & petted the Corgi & turned & made her way into the living room.  The two Lab's seemed little affected by this harsh punishment, & continued chewing their toys & beating their tails against me.  That was good, as the tail beating served to wipe up my wet leg.


Anna gestured to a chair & I wondered about the advisability of lowering myself even closer into the dogs territory. Sure enough, two Labrador heads were immediately deposited into my lap, as well as one flattened basketball. The Corgi realized that she would never be able to make it thru the Labrador guard to reach me, so she turned on Candy, growling & yipping at her. Candy was suddenly infused with a burst of testosterone, & jumped up on the clueless Sam to hump him, until he finally turned & growled to put Candy in her place. Anna called out to me over the din to ask how I had been doing since I had seen her last. I could not help but notice that HER lap was not filled with dog heads. I kept petting both the heads, but I made an effort not to make eye contact with any particular dog, as that seemed to be considered an invitation for the Lab in question to hoist it's forearms & shoulders up onto my lap as well. & you can bet I did not want to become a target for the gender-challenged yet amorous Candy.  I stayed in my chair.


Anna & I proceeded with our visit. I established a fragile compromise with the dogs. 
As long as I made no sudden moves, they would try to contain their enthusiasm for my visit. 
As long as I did not touch their slobbery toys in my lap, they would not constantly leap into FETCH position. 
As long as I did not look them in the eye, they would refrain from leaping onto me. 


In fact, all I had to do to be the center of attention was to exist in my chair. This simple act was enough to cause those two Labs to gaze at me with their undying love & devotion for the rest of my visit. I didn't even have to touch the disgusting basketball! As far as the Corgi - well - she had to make due with Anna, seeing as how my lap capacity of dog heads had been reached for the day.  


My good friend Anna & I had a very long visit. After all, we had not seen each other in over two years.  Besides, I knew what would happen to me when I finally had to get out of my chair...  

July 29th

I got married to a man on this day, 17 years ago. We stood next to a flat waterfall under a tree with the Rocky Mountains on the horizon & said 'I do'. My husband likes to pretend that he was not totally fluent in English at that time & therefore had no idea what he was getting into. As for me, my English was fine, but I can't say that I knew what I was getting into either.


Before we knew it, we had 2 babies. 

Before we knew it, those babies grew into boys. 

Before we know it, those boys will be men.


We have owned 6 different vehicles. We have lived in 6 different homes. We have landscaped 2 yards. We have lived in 3 different countries. We are starting to have more grey hairs than we can count. We are like salt & pepper - totally different, yet standing together just the same.


He is a Frenchman.
He is a father.
He is a son.

He is a chef.
He is a scuba diver.
He is a collector.
He is annoying.
He is the best man I know.

He is my husband.

Happy Anniversary!

I wouldn't change a thing...

Living in the Rainbow

One day our family was riding in the car on a partly rainy day when we saw a rainbow extending out over the ocean & seeming to end right on top of a cargo ship. 

"Wow, " I wondered aloud, "Do you think the people on the ship can feel that they are in the rainbow?  Do you think they can see all the colors on them?"

"Probably not," said my practical husband, "It probably looks to them like the rainbow’s end is somewhere else."


Then he & our older son went off into a conversation about light refraction, etc, but I think my younger son & I were thinking about the lucky pot of gold on the cargo ship. 




I had a thought;  maybe that’s what life is like.  We might be standing at the end of a rainbow & not even realize it.  We might be thinking that the rainbow always looks like it ends somewhere else.  Maybe the lucky pot of gold has been at our feet all this time. 

Maybe it’s all in how we look at it.

From Helen's Christmas Letter, 2011

July 16th

When you tell people you are going to have a baby, they all say, "How wonderful!", or "Congratulations!". They smile & nod. They are soooo happy. You think they are happy FOR you! Actually, they are happy that another unsuspecting yet otherwise normal person is being sucked into parenthood. & they are laughing inside.

It truly is a conspiracy.  Together the parents of the world have created an unspoken pact never to reveal the horrors of parenthood to the uninitiated.  Why?  Because we want them to be 'one of us'!  We don't want to be the only ones who fell for that silly institution called parenthood.  So we smile. & nod.  & say, of all things, "Congratulations!". We don't want them to know the truth - yet.

I was a normal person BEFORE they came along, I tell my boys. & yes, I tell them, their father was normal once too. (That one is a little harder for them to believe, but I do not waiver in my assertion.) It is ALWAYS the children's fault for the way their parents have turned out, I tell them. Seems only fair that they should shoulder some of the blame.


In 1996, on the hottest day of the year (117F!), in Las Vegas, of all places, my oldest son was delivered into the world, plunging his mother & father into parenthood, where the blindfold was immediately ripped from our eyes.  The baby was naked & screaming & clenching it's little fists, apparently not particularly pleased with it's change in surroundings.  The doctors eventually cleaned it up & told us to take it home.  They told me to quit calling him 'it'.  


The baby didn't even come with an instruction manual! Good heavens, I thought - even shampoo comes with instructions.   It seemed somehow criminally negligent for those hospital personnel to send a baby home with just anyone!

Today it's been 16 years since my husband & I joined the ranks of parents.  The proof of that now stands about 5'8" tall.  When I talk to him, I have to look up.  When I look up, I see my husband's unruly thick hair & my own smile smiling back at me.  My son's eyes are his own, tho, blue with yellow rings around the pupils.  His mind is his own as well.  No longer does he look to his mother & father in deciding what to think.


My son is a sailor.  He is a scuba diver.  He thinks about girls.  He plays a little tennis.  He plays a lot of Xbox.  He thinks about girls.  He thinks about his future.  He thinks about girls.  He thinks about how it's a bummer he can't get his Learner's Permit to drive, since he does not live in the US.  He thinks about girls.  He is 16!

All in all, my son proves that the hospital was right in letting him come home with my husband & I. Even without a manual, I think we did a good job. After all, it is ALWAYS the parent's fault for the way their children have turned out, right? Seems only fair that we should take some of the credit...

Here are some excerpts from my Christmas Letters over the years:
2001 -
...My son has, at 5 years old, become a sort of almanac of simple reading, writing & arithmetic trivia. I cannot walk thru a room or make a simple statement without some information being hurled at me. "Mommy! Trrrain & trrrriangle both start with trrrrr!" Or perhaps I tell him to shut the door, I might then be regaled with "Door....door, floor, more, roar - they all sound the same!" Or I will hear him talking to his 3 year old brother, "If I have 2 cookies & you have 2 cookies & I TAKE your cookies I will have 4 cookies!" (& then the little one is crying, being on the subtraction end of this equation)...

2002 -
...The other day my 6 year old, who can now be considered at reader & a writer, asked for a piece of paper.
"I want to write a note to my brother."
Well, good heavens, I said, he's standing right there next to you - why don't you just TELL him what you want to say?
"No, it's a special note!"
He sits at the table & begins his note. His brother sits beside him, eagerly awaiting the magic of the written word, JUST FOR HIM!  I left them there & when I returned they were off playing trains, but the missive of brotherly love remained there on the table:  "You are a butt."...

2003 - 

...My 7 year old is showing a potential interest in the law. He is always making rules, & oddly enough, they are always rules that work only in HIS favor - perhaps he is headed for a career with the IRS! Here follows an example of my son speaking to his little brother while playing cars:
"Here are the rules. We will race 2 cars around this circle. My car will take the inside lane, so HE gets to go faster, & even if you are able to make your car go faster than mine it won't count because MY car is in the fast lane. Now, if your car comes into MY lane to try to get ahead, it won't count, cuz that is not YOUR lane. & if my car breaks down, YOU have to stop so you don't get ahead - & if you DO get ahead while my car is out that won't count either cuz that would be cheating. Also, you are not allowed to make any rules & if I think of any other rules during the race I will tell you..."

2005 -
...He is 9 now. He wears glasses & spikes up his hair with gel so that when his teachers pass him in the hallway & say, "You look sharp today!", it has a double meaning. My son self-defines as a "cool" boy. What do you do at recess, I ask.
"I hang around with my friends, being cool."
Actually, that was last year. This year cool dudes are playing 4-square at recess - a little more labor intensive, being cool in 4th grade! Of course, to be cool, there must be a girlfriend, right?
"I have a girlfriend." he tells me.
Oh really?
"Yes. I have had the same girlfriend for 3 years now."
No kidding? What is the secret to keeping the same girlfriend all this time?
"Well, I don't tell anybody who she is."
Ah...but does SHE know who she is?
"NO! I especially don't tell HER!"...

2008 -
...At 12 years old, my son is a gangster.  I see no signs of machine guns, low brimmed hats or mob connections, but nevertheless, I am informed that in the world of 7th grade you are either a gangster or a nerd.  & apparently gangsters do not spike their hair, as he has done away with the hair gel.  But, I am sad to say, there is definitely something wrong with this boy.  I am told it is just this age group & that in time he will once again be the boy I knew, who was so logical, responsible, etc.  A boy who once would have known that had, say, the questions at the end of Chapter 7 been assigned, this would actually entail READING Chapter 7!  

"But the teacher didn't say we had to READ it!"

Well, let me just interject here - "DUH!"

I then went on to inform him that the answers to the questions at the end of Chapter 7 can, incredible as it may seem, be found IN Chapter 7, now who'd've thought?  What a time saver for those lucky students who have stumbled upon this largely unknown fact!

2009 -

...that sweet boy who used to bonk me on the head with the remote control so I would wake up & "push the button" to make Barney magically appear has morphed into a book-bag slinging, manly-looking 13 year old, with muscles & shoulders & (dare I say it?) under-arm hair!  These days he is fully capable of operating the remote control (if he can FIND it!), but Barney is no longer on the playlist.  Yet I can see the boy lurking beneath the adult façade. His speech consists mostly of slang words: "OWNED!", for "I showed you!" & "DIM!", for "stupid". "DIM!" is the current favorite, which is said at least 200 times a day & is usually employed to describe his brother...

2011 -

...somewhere along the way he acquired a female fan club.  I first observed this phenomenon when I would come to collect my 15 year old from his job teaching sailing at the yacht club, only to find him lolling by the pool, a girl hanging from each arm & three more clinging to his legs, giggling in the pool, while he favored each of them in turn with his dazzling smile. I thought the only thing missing might have been some natives waving giant palm fronds over his head, & then perhaps the group of them bursting into song, like something out of an Elvis Presley Hawaiian movie. When at home, he wanders around the house with his headphones on.  In fact, about the only thing that might cause this teen to come out from under his headphones is when he has a difficult question that only I, as his mother – the fount of all knowledge, can answer. Perplexing & thought provoking questions that have been plaguing mankind for all eternity, such as: “Where is the orange juice?” (in the refrigerator), “Where is the soap?” (in your bathroom), & of course, “Where are my headphones?” (on your head, loser!)...


Happy Birthday, son!  Someone once said that it was too bad that children weren't like pancakes - at least with pancakes you can throw out the first one if you mess it up. I am happy to see that you turned out to be a really great pancake after all...

Vision Quest

Lenscrafters:


"Okay, Ma'am, let me just input your data for your glasses into our system." says Judy, whose name badge says 'Eye-wear Consultant', as she settles in front of her computer.
"All right."
"Spell your name for me."
I spell it.
"Are you still at 4747 56th Avenue?"
"No,"  I ponder.  "What state is that in?"
Judy reads from the screen, "Colorado."
"No, no - we don't really live there, we were just visiting." 
"Alrighty...What is your current address?"
"I don't know - we don't really live here either.  We are staying with some relatives here in Tennessee.  Do you really have to have my address?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Will you take a Georgia address?"
"Yes, Ma'am."  Judy is patient & polite on the surface.  She is a southern girl.
"'Course, we don't really live there, either."  I deliberate.
Judy eyes me as if I am being difficult on purpose.
"Well, it's the closest address I know."  I explain.  "We don't really live ANYWHERE just now."
"Ah."  Judy responds, looking at me as if I might have escaped from an asylum somewhere.  She decides to go on.  "And is this your current cell phone number:  area code 575, 321-"
I am already shaking my head, "No, that was a borrowed cell phone in New Mexico."
"Mexico?"  Judy sighs, as if to say, 'But of course'.
"NEW Mexico.  It's a state.  You know - out west."  It is amazing to me how many people in the States don't seem to know about NEW Mexico.
"And I suppose you don't really live there, either?" says Judy, a trifle more coldly than before.
"True."  I say.  "I do get some mail there, tho.  I just borrowed the phone while I was driving to Colorado."
"Where you don't really live - of course you did.  Do you have a cell phone number that actually works today?  That I could put in the computer?" Judy looks exasperated.
"Sure.  Just let me look up it's number."  I find it & rattle it off.
"& this phone is  - what?  Borrowed?  Stolen?  'Beamed down' from outer space, perhaps?"  Judy is beginning to lose her polite southern veneer.  We haven't even gotten to the part where she inputs the information for my glasses.
"No - I bought this one."  I smile.  "Just so I could have a new number to give you!"  I joke.  Judy is not amused.
"And how will you be paying for your glasses today?"  Judy is all business.
"American Express."
Her fingers are poised over her keyboard.  She glances at me in sheer disbelief that a company like American Express would deem such a shifty character as myself a good credit risk.  "I don't suppose the billing address for this credit card is the Georgia address that you gave me..."
"You're pretty good at this, Judy."
"Dare I ask what address I need to type now?  Or shall I just make one up?"
I sheepishly give her the NEW Mexico address.
"There, is that all you need for now?"  I ask Judy hopefully.  I feel like I've been taking a pop quiz & all of my answers so far have been wrong.  Even in the doctor's office the only thing I got right on the eye chart was 'E'.
"Yes," says Judy.  I detect a relieved note in her voice as well.  "At least that's over."
"Well, for now anyhow..."  I leave it hanging.
Judy looks up at me.  "What do you mean, 'for now'?"
"I'll be back next week for my son's glasses...& I hope YOU will get to be our Eye-wear Consultant.  I sure don't want to have to explain all this over again!"

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail...

Back in the States.  


Ahhhh, the interstate!  A place where you can drive without paying constant attention to potholes & insane taxi drivers.
Ahhhh, the grocery stores! A place where you can buy groceries without taking out a second mortgage.
Ahhhh, the shopping! A place where you can no longer shop anonymously:

In the checkout line at Dick's Sporting Goods the helpful cashier smiles & asks me, "Will you be using a Dick's Rewards Card today?".  She already has her hand out, ready to scan the requested card that I am sure to produce.
"No."  I reply.
She blinks at me, then looks down at her hand as if to verify that, sure enough, I have NOT given her a Dick's Rewards Card.  Some stores would then ask if I WANTED their Rewards Card, but apparently not Dick's.  The cashier sent me a look of pity - OMG! This poor woman has been somehow getting thru life without our Rewards Card!  She then gave my son the once-over, to ensure he was fed, washed & clothed at least.  She reached over & snatched a fresh Dick's Card off of a nearby stack.  She is prepared to right this terrible wrong!
"Name?"  
"Helen-."  I answer automatically.
"Address?"
Time to nip this in the bud.  "Look," I say, "We're just visiting.  We don't live in this country.  I'm paying cash.  Do we really have to do all this?"  I wave my hand in the general direction of her stack of cards. 
"But you need a Dick's Rewards Card to get all of our coupons & specials in the mail!"  She is shocked - how can I not know this!
"Is Dick's really going to mail coupons to me in the Caribbean?" I ask. It occurs to me that in a land where Christmas cards arrive in late February I would probably not receive my coupons before they expired anyhow. Not to mention the fact that I'd have to book an airline ticket to take advantage of all these coupons that I never knew I needed.
"Do you have an address where you are staying?"
"Well, yes, but I really doubt our friends want to get all our junk mail." I hesitated briefly over the phrase 'junk mail', & her quick intake of breath tells me my instinct was right. She takes a step back & blinks at me some more - OMG! Did this woman just call valuable Dick's coupons 'junk mail?'
I smile apologetically for any implied insult to Dick's Sporting Goods.   But never fear - she is tenacious.  Even tho I have rudely insulted her livelihood, her employer & perhaps even her country, she is still prepared to save me from my folly.  She takes a breath & timidly asks:

"Do you have an email address?"

My son turns away to stifle a chuckle as I look at the cashier.  There she is, blinking away, trying (still!) to convert the unenlightened.  Poor thing, I think.  What can I do in the face of such hopeful persistence?  I toss her a bone, capitulating - 

"Yes, I do have an email address."

& just like that, her day is made!  She is perkily scanning things, chattering away about how NOW I will receive ALL Dick's special offers & coupons IN MY EMAIL!  

Back at my friends house, as I opened up my Dick's Sporting Goods bag, what did I find but my very own Dick's Rewards Card nestled cozily at the bottom of the sack.  Well, all I can say to that is Praise the Lord & sing Hallelujah!