islaygirl

I'm not the kelp right now.

I'm not doing well with being the kelp. 

Being in San Francisco this week, I don't know. It was just so hard to be in a real city and then have to leave. And with work going in such a weird direction right now, I feel right back where i was last year at this time -- wanting to look at other options and being totally ready to grab the brass ring should it come around again. 

I KNOW it was the right decision not to go to DC last fall. I know it was. The salary wasn't enough for DC, the position was just a bit too low given where I am in my career, the daily distance from the Wee One wasn't acceptable. The economy was about to go into freefall, i never would have been able to sell my house.

Right.

Glad we cleared that up.

So, here we are a year later. I got a much-needed promotion so we've stopped eating ramen and peanut butter, I'm learning some new stuff at work, I got a PMP certification which should help with the job search, the Wee One had a great kindergarten, i threw myself whole-heartedly into being the kelp and accepting that this is where I am, and to just go with it.

And then I went to San Francisco. It could have been any real city, it would have had the same effect. And seeing how well the Wee One did in the city -- it just felt like maybe we could stop being the kelp and join the EAC. 

Why it's fun to take your kid to a place you love.

I love San Francisco for a variety of sentimental reasons. 

It was the first city I lived in where my mailing address was actually the city itself and not a suburb. It was the first place I lived after I moved away from home. (Boarding school was only 20 miles or so from home. Didn't count.) It was my favorite spot for dirty weekends when I was married. I always have good luck shopping there. The walking always cancels out the 700 French meals I manage to have while I'm there. 

But this week, I got to go there with the Wee One, and while we visited all the cool kid things (Exploratorium, Chinatown, cable cars, etc.) what she found fascinating was the best part.

1. Pigeons. The poor harassed pigeons of San Francisco, I apologize. She had to run into every cluster of them she saw. And she was absolutely delighted every single time when they'd scatter and fly away. 

2. Escalators and elevators. We stayed at the St. Francis, in the new building, the one with the exterior glass elevators that make my knees weak just thinking about them. She had been working on her fear of these devices recently, and she was on a million over a few days. The pride on her face when she knew she had vanquished the twin demons of moving staircases and moving boxes was worth the trip alone.

3. Public transportation. Buses - how you get on and off. The little bell pull for the stops. Subways - Tunnels! Why is it dark, what's on top of the tunnel? Trolleys and light rail. How they turn the cable cars around at the end of the line. The BART and how to get through the ticket taker turnstiles. And most importantly, why it's not a good idea to stand up without holding on. (Two bumps on the forehead for that one.)

4. City dogs. Every single dog. 'Look! A dog!' Yes, people seem to have dogs, even in hilly cities. 

It was really fun. I'm still kind of in awe of how much fun we had together. 

Is it gear-ar-delli, or jeer-ar-delli?

We're going to San Francisco next week. Got a super-duper cheap air-hotel package from Orbitz (no endorsement there, they just had the best deal), so we're staying at my favorite hotel and going to play tourist for a few days. 

I've been a planning demon, trying to combine what i want to do (shop and eat) with what the Wee One will want to do (sea lions and Ghirardelli tour). The weather is ~supposed~ to be great; it's a much more fun city if you're not under an umbrella. 

What are your favorite things to do in San Francisco?

Hoping for a day when this isn't necessary.

An Impromptu Farewell Becomes Britain’s Salute

Freak.

So, we all know how I had this epiphany (one of many) post-divorce -- that whenever the marriage would get really scary, i'd go rescue a dog.

It's been almost three years since this revelation, plenty of time to contemplate and learn and grow. Plenty of time to find another way to handle stress or mitigate the emptiness of our modern existence. 

And today, I mindlessly find myself searching the Scottie listings on Petfinder. 

I suppose it's like a former smoker absentmindedly searching for the pack of Marlboro Lights, but really. 

And when there was an adorable Scottie available at a rescue I didn't leap up and go get it, but part of me totally would have. 

I guess it's just disheartening at some level, that as full as my life is, I'm essentially on the internet searching for unconditional love.

Ok, that sounds needlessly melodramatic. But you get where I'm going with this. 

Whirlygig

All of a sudden, we've (I've) gone from 0 o 60. 

Life was very quiet, very quiet. 

And within 48 hours, I feel like I've been thrust into this life that is definitely not mine, but seems to be moving ahead and carrying me with it. 

It's not like I've gone and started an affair or anything, or gotten fired, or promoted, or bought something huge, but Islaygirl the Single Mum has suddenly become Islaygirl the Gay Divorcee. 

In the past three days I've had way too many friends tell me that they'd like to fix me up, and was I interested, and then all the stars aligned for me to join this singles bar that masquerades as a healthclub, and then tonight i was at this event at some posh place and it felt like my life was just skating on ahead of me, like i was being pushed, or borne on some magic carpet.

I know that sounds silly, like hanging out in a different place would make such a difference, but in reality i've been completely devoted to work and the Wee One and just making ends meet, and suddenly the landscape has shifted drastically and there might be room for more. 

Brain dead

I go to all the trouble of re-starting the blog, and then don't write in it. Something like all those empty notebooks in my desk, only virtual.

My memory has been HORRIBLE lately. Reservation for Mother's Day high tea with my daughter? Needs to be done but i haven't done it. Appointment with dermatologist for annual mole check? Ditto. Etc. 

There are a million half-begun tasks rolling around in my head, and only the most insistent of them get done. Which is SO not my M.O. I'm orderly, project-oriented, anal, pragmatic. Except, apparently, when i'm not.

This whole new approach to dealing with the HH has been interesting. Freeing. Like perhaps the last vestiges of the drama and the trauma are fading. And as a result I don't exactly know how to ~be~, it's a lite version of the release I felt after the divorce, i think. Like a loop where i keep hitting the same bump in the road, and wear it down a little bit more every time, but also get thrown off balance every time I hit it, just the same. 

Feeling stressed?

Feeling overwhelmed? Worried about something? Mad that your house isn't worth what it was? That your bills are big? That you can't afford a big summer vacation? 

Well, if you're not, I am. 

Then I read NieNie today. 

Talk about grace under pressure.

Evanston

Today I was talking with a co-worker who happens to be a fellow Northwestern alumna.

We were talking about Evanston and I had this vision of what it felt like, to walk home from the el in the spring. It would be warm in the afternoons, and the exhaust from the rush hour cars on Dempster Street would leave you wearing a gritty film. 

But then you'd cross Hinman, and then you'd pass the Montessori school with its banks of floor-to-ceiling windows. There would be a slight, almost imperceptible rise, probably as much as a result of the hundred-year-old tree roots that cracked and buckled the sidewalk as any actual geography. 

And as you came down the slope, no matter how hot it was, the temperature would drop. Maybe five degrees, maybe ten, but it would cool and there would be a breeze, and you could smell the lake (not always a good thing), and then there would be my house.

I miss my house. And the green lawns, and the walk to the lake, and the big farmhouses, and the Meadow on Northwestern's campus. And the Lakefill and the view of downtown. I miss it. 

How to Raise Your Google Ranking, or Why I No Longer Like the GoGo's

Apparently, it's by posting conversations your six-year-old has about reproductive anatomy. I'll be pulling that post down, now, thankyouverymuch. 

It was a memorable weekend Chez Islay. 

I went to ZooBrew, which was the weirdest evening I've ever spent. The night began with a pre-party at my dear friend's house. She lives in this lovely, warm, homey home in Paradise Valley, and she invited the Wee One to spend the evening with her ADORABLE boys, thus sparing me both the expense of a babysitter and the whining of a Wee One who doesn't want to stay home without me. 

So, her husband is great cook (didn't know that) and we all enjoyed his Pastrami Sliders and then head off to the event in another guest's pink Cadillac (a 1953? Is that possible? I know nothing about cars).

We're wandering around ZooBrew, in the dark, in the wafting stench of zebra, in various states of inebriation, drinking from tiny tasting mugs, and finally the concert starts. 

This year was the GoGo's, and while I'm not a big fan, I grew up in the 80s and like them with a sort of fond nostalgia. So we all start crowding in, and Dear Friend starts wending her way closer and closer to the stage. I'm with her, and another friend, and Man of Pastrami, and we're all holding hands and inching toward Belinda Carlisle's heavily Botox-ed visage. 

We're squashed in, in a sort of 40-year-old way (everyone could still breathe, there was no sense of incipient doom) and all of sudden, in a sort of slow motion, this woman pushes me, hard. She looked really out of it, complete with raccoon eyeliner sliding down her face, so I just stepped a couple of feet away. About two minutes later, Raccoon Girl took hold of most of my hair and pulled. Hard. I bent backwards and sideways and almost fell over. (Three tiny margaritas and assorted beer tastings, mind you.) 

So that herniated disc that had healed so nicely? Sigh. 

Anyway, i turn around, thinking WTH? Keep in mind I'm a few feet away from her by now, and two of my friends are between us, so she really had to make an effort to go for me. This is a concert of mostly middle-aged people on release from everyday life. Leave it to me to find the one very angry, cracked-out woman who had a thing against redheads. 

So I'm kind of stunned (I don't yell at people, let alone pull their hair), and my friends just go ballistic. My Dear Friend pulls Crazy Girl's hair, new friend turns me around and says, "Go! Go! Keep moving!'' and pushes me out of the crowd, and Pastrami Man (who's an attorney when he's not cooking) is pulling Dear Friend off Crazy Girl. 

All of this to the strains of some never-a-hit GoGo's tune. 

I won't even tell you about getting kicked out of the men's room.