Da Count-Look Out! Here I Come!

Guess where I'm going tomorrow?  It's on the west coast.  It's got a reputation for being kind of rainy (though I am pretty sure we've had a helluva lot more rain than they have this summer so I am actually hoping to dry out a bit while there.) I'll be there 10 days.  It's where she lives.  She is coming too.  They've met each other before but I haven't met either of them.  We are all very excited.  Wheeeeee!!!!!!!

Mr. Lime and the Limelets tended to refer to my online pals as Freaks in the Box (a term coined by Logo's family).  They think it's a little silly to have "imaginary" friends. I have always countered that no one thought my grandmother's lifelong pen pal from England was imaginary or freaky and they met each other several times (I've known Susie and Logo longer than I've known any other online pals.  It's been almost 10 years).  My family realized there was a very real and deep dimension to the friendship when Susie organized a truly jaw-dropping act of kindness for Calypso's benefit a few months ago (that several of you participated in and for which I am deeply grateful).  Mr. Lime had an airline voucher left from almost a year ago when our church flew him out to Colorado to help move our new youth pastor back East.  The voucher was set to expire and he had no use for it so he said, "I thought maybe you'd like to use it so you could meet your friend in person."  WHEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Susie said, "WHEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!! Let's go to Seattle so you can meet Logo too!"

Logo said, "WHEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Look out Seattle! Here I come!

I hope to be able to put up a few posts here and there along the way but won't promise any particular sort of schedule until I get back....and readjust to East coast time.

Where Lime Is Handed an Award for Not Eating her Young

Remember that bit where Isaac and I bonded over keyboard symbols for breasts?  Yeah.  What I didn't tell you was that yesterday I also made the most awesome dark chocolate mint cupcakes with fudge mint frosting.  They.were.killer.cupcakes.  See, at my office we pull names for office birthdays and the lady whose name I got had her birthday today so it was my job to bring the gift, the card, and the goodies.  I made a double batch so my darling son could have some too.

How did he thank me?

By bursting into my room and my dreams as I was warmly snuggled in between my flannel sheets and favorite wool blanket at 6:30am and declaring breathlessly, "Mom, I was out at the bus stop at the right time and it must have come really early.  I missed it.  Can you drive me to school?"

Regular readers may know this in itself is not a completely unusual occurrence and no consequence I have inflicted upon the boy has quite achieved the desired level of efficacy in diminishing the frequency of this undesirable event.  Mondays and Wednesdays I exact heavier prices for this transgression since it seriously messes up my schedule for getting to work on time.  This morning I wanted to be at work even earlier in order to set up the birthday stuff...as well as stop at the store to get some extra snacks.  In 5 seconds that plan was shot to hell.

I dragged myself out of bed and dressed in long underwear, a tank top, tie dyed tube socks with birkenstock sandals, and my ratty pink bathrobe.  My hair rivaled Medusa's on a bad snake day.  I was aiming to disgrace the kid in front of friends when I dropped him off by demanding a big hug and telling him how much I'd miss him while he was at school (ya know, since no other consequence has been meaningful).  The nails were driven into the coffin of that idea when we arrived at a school seeming to have been evacuated in preparation for the next hurricane.  A maintenance worker shouted to Isaac, "Kid, it's a teacher in-service day.  No school.  Whaddya doing here?"  It would be safe to say I was less than amused.  I wasn't fully awake but as Isaac sheepishly turned back to the car with an apology I thought I saw a look of pity on the maintenance guy's face indicating he was sorry the kid's obviously-in-need-of-rehab mother was so desperate to get rid of him she drove him to an empty school on a day off.

Did I mention Mr. Lime left me with the car that had no gas in it after he said he'd take that one and fill it?  And that our town is still under heavy construction? And that when I got home all the dinner that was available had been eaten?

It's enough to make a girl run to the other side of the continent.

A Sea of Testosterone

I am not exactly what you'd call a girly girl and have not been accused of such by anyone who knows me.  My poor mother thought when she had a daughter that I might be interested in princess-y accoutrements but found out otherwise very shortly after setting up the canopy bed she and my father bought for me as my first "big girl bed" when I was three.  Within a month I had bent and twisted the actual canopy into a mangled mess.  Yes, I was thrilled to receive this bed, but I viewed the canopy not as a lovely decoration, rather as a personal jungle gym from which to swing and flip and dismount the bed.

My lack of extremely overt estrogen driven behavior continues to manifest in such things as disliking shoe and clothing shopping, not even owning make-up, willingness to fly from ziplines, and wearing the ensuing scars with pride.  That said, I am a little concerned about now being the only female still dwelling in Casa de Lime.  The air hangs a bit heavier with erm....masculine aromas.  In my absence, foodstuffs that Diana or Calypso might have helped defend seem to disappear with great rapidity.  The television spends a lot more time on ESPN.  And then there is what passes for jovial conversation...

Mr. Lime: (struggling as he stepped over Isaac in the bean bag chair) You're in my way, doofus.


Isaac:  It's not my fault you're an old man who's lost all his moves.  By the way, you're blocking the TV.  Get out of my way, jerkwad.

Mr. Lime:  I can still take you out, ya little twit.

Isaac: Ha! I'm taller than you and I could take you from this bean bag chair, ya jackwagon.

Mr. Lime: You try and there's going to be two hits.  My hitting you.  You hitting the floor.

Isaac: Ok, I see senility has started too now.  Mom, get him some pudding, will ya?


I rolled my eyes at the taste of post-dinner conversation for the next three years.

Later in the evening when Isaac was supposed to be typing a paper for History class according to the Chicago style of format he had some questions.  I sorted him out then he was typing and started to chuckle.  I asked what was so funny.  He showed me how he could simulate boobs by typing (.)(.).  I informed him he used the wrong format and had to type them like this ( . Y . ). He was completely impressed.

I'm not helping myself any am I?   Ah, but it was a tender mother/son moment.

Friday 55 & Da Count-Near Drowning

FRIDAY 55

*image from deviantart.com

Silent descent
drifting downward
where water's embrace lulls me
in the gentle pull of gravity
until my lungs burn
I beg for air
panic
and reach
for sunlight
to grasp only aquamarine
see the last few bubbles
rising from my lips
escaping to the surface
as I swallow blackness
and the sunless deep
engulfs me

DA COUNT

The 55 is a repost from well over a year ago.  Interesting to note that I wrote it just a month or so before I had any idea just how bad things would get around here.  I wrote it mostly as a fictional piece at that time inspired by the artwork posted with it but there were some rough things going on at that time.  I just never posted about them.  However, after the many hits we all took from May 2010 through June 2011, there were times when I felt like I was drowning.

Now you must understand that, unlike what we see in the movies, someone in imminent danger of drowning does not flail about wildly as they scream for help.  Those who are about to slip under the water for the last time are generally quiet and barely floating in the water just around mouth or nose level.  They don't have any energy left to call out or flail.  Hence, it is crucial that a lifeguard be well trained in recognizing the silent signs of distress and be vigilant about scanning the water for those in need of help.  

This is what leads to my count.  There were days this past year when I felt I might go under, days when I didn't have the energy to ask for help.  There are some specific individuals in my 3-D life and here in Bloggy Land who were looking out for me and who reached out in a myriad of ways when I needed it and helped me find the shore again. I'm not going to go naming names today but just know that I am profoundly grateful.

May the waters always be warm and calm for each of you, but if they grow dark and stormy, I hope I prove to be the kind of friend to you that you've been to me.

Slice of Lime-Where in the World

Looky what I just got in the mail.  Hhhmm, where shall I go???

Some Have Suggested I Have a Problem

Remember when I posted about how sad I was about Borders closing?  Well, I've been there several times since that post.  I can't help myself.  When I drive past and I know I don't have to be anywhere there is a strong magnetic pull and the car turns itself into the parking lot.  I always assume I won't find anything because the pickings have to be getting slim.  And yet. I always come out with an armload of books.

Sometimes I sneak the bags of books into the house and hide them away.  I keep books stacked all over my house so I can put my hands on them whenever I feel the need.  There are full shelves in the den, a "to red" pile in the living room, gift books hidden in my bedroom closet, piles of recent purchases on the dining room table, single books scattered about the house in random places, and still a couple bags from the library's summer used book sale (another dangerous place for me, especially on dollar a bag day).

I decided to gather up the recent Borders finds and see just how many it was*.  Even I was surprised.  In my defense I've already read several of them.

* I found 3 more scattered through the house after I took the picture.

I Remember

I don't want to look at Photoshopped pictures of the towers that once stood now painted in the stars and stripes.

I don't want to look at the spotlights replicating the fallen towers.

And dear God, I do not ever want to look again at photographs or videos of planes crashing into skyscrapers, great, billowing plumes of smoke rising, or steel and glass collapsing.

No, I don't want to look at the twisted, mangled wreckage of the Twin Towers which has become the grave for thousands.

I remember without those images bombarding me on the Internet or the television.  Those memories are seared into my mind's eye.

I can easily enough remember the phone call from my husband telling me to turn on the t.v. and watching in stunned horror as the first tower burned and a plane crashed into the second one.  I remember it all happening in real time as I stood frozen in my living room watching it unfold, thinking it couldn't get any worse....and then the first tower fell....and then the second.

I can remember that being followed by reports of the Pentagon being hit and then reports of a missing and still unaccounted for plane somewhere over my home state of Pennsylvania.

I remember standing transfixed in my living room holding Diana's lunch in my hands because she had forgotten to take it to school and I was on my way to deliver it when my husband called.

I remember wondering if I should take her lunch or bring her home from school because I wondered if one of the two sites in our area that might be considered strategic targets were where that missing plane was headed.

I remember driving in a daze and arriving to a school office that was a flurry of frantic parents and one calm secretary who asked what I wanted to do and I told her, "I don't know."  She said the teachers were under orders to keep the televisions and radios off and proceed as normal but if I wanted to take my daughter I could since so many students have parents who work in Manhattan.  I remember forcing myself to opt for normal and leaving lunch for my daughter....then crying all the way home.

I remember picking Isaac up from kindergarten and letting him play by himself upstairs while I tried to secretly watch news reports until my watching was pierced by a bloodcurdling scream.  He had shoved a bead up his nose.

I remember trying a myriad of ways to get that bead out of his nose and finally telling him we'd have to go to the doctor.  I remember the way he clung to me and cried asking, "Will they have to cut my nose off to get the bead out?"  And I remember gently reassuring him that no such horror would befall him.  I remember being grateful that my attention was redirected to my son's needs and also envious of his innocence because,  as far as he knew, a bead up the nose was the worst thing that could happen that day...though when you are five and scared of your nose being cut off that is a pretty big deal.

I remember my husband coming home and both of us spending time trying to track down news on the whereabouts of all the friends we had who worked in or around the towers.  And I remember the deep sighs of relief upon learning each of them had escaped to safety.

I remember the days that followed when we learned about friends of friends who had not been so fortunate.  I remember being angered that Calypso's 3rd grade teacher, who I adored and respected, had passed out newspapers with pictures of the burning towers to each of her students.

I remembered how Calypso carried around her copy wherever she went for weeks because she said it was important and she needed to.  I remember forcing myself to allow her to work through her own thoughts and feelings about the event in her way, talking with her frequently about her processing of 9/11, and forcing myself NOT to take that newspaper and throw it away so she wouldn't look at it every single day. 

I couldn't stand seeing the images of the moment thousands of hearts stopped beating.  I still can't.  But I remember nonetheless.

Instead of burning buildings and massive devastation I prefer what the designer of the Ground Zero Memorial has given us, an open space cultivating calm amidst the mayhem of the city, a place for peaceful reflection and hopefully some measure of healing.

May those who lost family and friends on that day find peace and healing in their lives.  May all of us work toward peace and healing in a broken world.

Friday 55 & Da Count-Da Noodle

FRIDAY 55

After stupid amounts of tests

that took stupid amounts of time

and cost stupid amounts of money, 

it's official.

My brain works fine.

I'm a frickin genius*

with mild depression,

PTSD,

and just a hint of ADD.

I dunno if I should put that on a  resume

or pour myself a bowl of Alpha-Bits.

DA COUNT

Most readers know I was badly concussed a couple years ago and anyone who has been even a casual reader this year knows Casa de Lime has absorbed quite a number of hits.  Through it all I noticed difficulty with my cognitive abilities and didn't know if it was residual effects of too many hits to the head or the cumulative effect of all the sucker punches our family has taken.  A few weeks ago I was sent for a full day of testing to determine what was going on.  This week the doc pretty much summarized it all by saying I tested out way above average on all but 2 of the cognitive tests but that I'm depressed, have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from this, and he thinks I have Attention Deficit Disorder but not badly enough to warrant treatment (this based on the fact that he gave me the most boring and unstimulating test of the bunch at the end of the day when I was sick of the whole scenario and my results show I didn't attend well to it....yeah, I doubt anyone would have attended well to that particular test and I think it's more a function of requiring something to be actually interesting to hold my focus after several hours of this crap).  So yes, I am grateful my brain doesn't have something horribly wrong with it...though I am not sure how genius it was to spend the absurd amount of money it took to get this information.


*Ok, not a bona fide genius, just of "very superior intelligence" but that phrase took me over 55 words and didn't fit the rhythm.  So sue me, or factor in the margin of error which could throw me into genius range.  Or throw the whole thing in the trash because really, a high IQ and $4 will get me a frou-frou coffee I won't even drink since I hate all coffee.

Slice of Lime-Hate When It Ends

Maryland was good.  

It was relaxing.  

I enjoyed it.  

Then I had to go home. 

I hate when vacation ends.  

This shows my feelings on the issue.

Coming home to chocolate was nice.  It was soothing.

Coming home to find out Isaac had a deer tick (Lyme Disease bearing) on him for over 85 hours, not so much.

Arguing with his doc about whether or not she'd treat him prophylactically after all Calypso has been through, infuriating

Say it with me...

OH HELL NO!*

*We will NOT be waiting for a bull-eye rash which nearly half of all diagnosed patients never display.  We will NOT be relying on blood tests which are notorious for false negative results.  You WILL give my son the necessary antibiotics to prevent him from winding up as sick as his sister was while you sat on your asses and tried to tell me it was all in her head and she just needed a psychiatrist.  Over my dead body!

The Maryland Report

I had a lovely few days at my dad's new place in Maryland.  Here are some odds and ends from my time there.


I rather like the ritual of my dad handing me a glass of Veuve Clicquot upon arrival.  My step-uncle seems to have added the ritual of handing me a mimosa when I walk into his house.

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As always, siting on the beach allows for some fun people watching.  This time there was a group of boys who seemed to be around 10-12 years old.  They were chasing each other in the water and having fun until someone became unhappy and shouted, "Stopping being such a buttcheekface head!"

Buttcheekface Head.  That's my new favorite prepubescent insult.  Jeff and Barry approve.

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Observing someone else's minor drama and having no responsibility to fix it can lend some perspective to the more immediate drama in my own life.  It's helping me stick to my new mantra of "It's not my problem to fix."

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"Watching Gettysburg, eating bad store bought fried chicken and now using the Force to will my wife back home a day early. So far ...nothing."

Mr. Lime overestimates the power of the above pathetic sounding Facebook status to entice me home a day early. 

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Although I was in no hurry to go home it was nice for the Universe to arrange my dad and step-mom to have an argument about a leaky fridge and the skies to open up in a torrential storm to make me more at peace about departure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the last couple of weeks Isaac has taken initiative to search out dessert recipes he can make by himself.  Twice he has baked cookies from scratch.  They came out well.  He even improvised successfully on one when we were missing an ingredient.  When I came home this weekend some of this was sitting on the counter.  I could get used to that sort of ritual too!

I've Got the Power

We went without for 51 hours, which is far less time than many folks in our area who remain without power.  I'm proud to see the way our community is responding with lots of schools and other facilities open for showers, lots of places for drinking and flushing water distribution and hot meals.  I am thinking of the folks in Vermont who are cut off from so much help that they are relying on airdrops of supplies.  It's rather mindboggling to think this storm affected folks from the Carolinas to Canada.  I was cranky about being inconvenienced but really had no room to complain considering how much some folks have lost.  I'm grateful we all are well.

During the storm we had to take Calypso 3 hours away to report for her internship program.  That was a rather "interesting" drive to say the least.  We made it and got her safely settled in and her adventure has begun.

I spoke to my dad in Maryland and he tells me the new house is still standing though part of the beach and a local road were washed away.  My last load of laundry is tumbling around the dryer before I finish packing up for a long weekend away from responsibility.  I'm taking a big stack of cheap books from the closing Border's store so even if the weather is crappy I will be happy.  The men of Casa de Lime can fend for themselves a few days.

Hope everyone has a nice weekend and power, water, and homes are soon restored to order for those who are in chaos.

Now let us dance.