Tag Archive: NaBloPoMo

Nov 11 2012

Happy Veterans Day!

Thank you to all who have served this country so that we may have the freedoms many of us take for granted today. From my grandfathers to my uncles, my friends to friends I haven’t made yet–all of you and more!–thank you. I hope you were honored today!

flags over 42nd street - poet in the pantry

Nov 10 2012

Slow Down Saturday: Last Week of Soccer

Last night, The Big Guy arrived home, safe and sound. I didn’ t really expect him to join us at soccer this morning–he had been 12 hours ahead of us for 2 weeks, after all–but he rose and was ready before the rest of us, eager to see the kids’ last games of the season.

On a balmy 45-degree Fall morning with mottled sunshine, we said goodbye to the Saturday routine of Fall. No more 4-hour stints in the cold, sitting around while little ones chase a ball back-and-forth. Soon, the Winter Saturday routine will begin–the one where The Big Guy works at one of the local ski hills for eleven or so weeks consecutively.

soccer sidelines photo booth - poet in the pantry

The kids played their hearts out. My daughter blocked 3 goals as effortlessly as can be, like she was swatting a fly from her freckled nose while she was taking part of higher pursuits… I don’t know, tea with royalty or something. Her team won for the first time this season, a strong way to end it. My son… was very focused on making sure I saw all he was doing. He’s cute, he’s friendly, he’s five, and it’s okay.

While they rake the leaves, I’m thinking already about decorating for Christmas. Even though I generally am a tad irritated at too-early displays, I can’t resist the urge this year–I want to make this space our own, tease out joy and laughter any way that I can. The walls are too white and they’re begging for adornment. For the time being, I will settle for obtaining the other 2 cake platters in the collection at Target, so I now can array a tower of treats.

colorful cake plate tower - poet in the pantry

Tonight will be family movie night–our first in several weeks with the entire family intact. Sleepy heads will nod off in the dark, fighting the inevitable in front of a flickering screen. No need to wake early tomorrow; bedtimes will be fluid. Time is fleeting, but we will enjoy the moments while we have them.

first meyer lemon bloom - poet in the pantry

first bloom on my meyer lemon mini tree

How did you slow down this Saturday?

Nov 09 2012

If You Don’t Like The Weather…

I’ve always lived in Connecticut. In fact, I’ve spent all but 8 months of my life living in the same small city where I was born. Some may consider this limiting, having never really left your hometown that so many were willing to run as quickly and as far as possible from–I call it having roots. I love sharing my city with my kids. And they love re-discovering my city with me.

New Englanders are known for talking about weather. We’re all amateur meteorologists, speculating about what will come from the sky next about as frequently as others may discuss sports games or television. Then again, if you wait five minutes, it’s bound to change anyway. Somehow, even though this has been happening our whole lives, we’re all befuddled together when it happens… and the conversation continues, a vicious cycle from which none of us can manage to break free.

the sky before the storm - poet in the pantry

Last week, we had superstorm Sandy. (I only just learned yesterday that it’s being called superstorm… is this the SuperStar of the weather world?) Wednesday, we had our first snow storm of the season, dumping on rush hour roads and driveways everywhere, before mostly melting Thursday. But only after I shoveled the driveway. Twice. I shouldn’t be surprised, but the timing was pretty lousy, especially for the victims of superstorm Sandy.

Before my husband left for his work trip, we tried getting all our ducks in a row. Somehow, some things got away from us, though. Like the lawn furniture, which I lugged down the stairs and into the garage that Sunday morning, just after dropping him off at 6:15 AM to catch his ride to the airport. Nevermind the fact that I’m not supposed to be doing any heavy lifting–it had to be done before Sandy came through and turned the yard stuff into an arsenal of projectiles.

Then there was the main brakeline busting on my 14-year-old truck this past Sunday, just after the incident at BJ’s. Press brake pedal–no pressure–pull into the first parking lot you find and bawl your eyes out. Proceed to call husband on the other side of the world, who is 12 hours ahead, time zone-wise, and sob nonsense into the phone, despite the fact that he isn’t exactly awake on the other side. Thank goodness for family and their assistance here at home to help me get through that emotional storm!

When the snow storm was announced, however, I just about lost it with Mother Nature’s guessing game. I was in no mood for her moodiness given how the preceding week had been. Before my husband left, I asked about the snow blower, which is currently resting at my father-in-law’s house. I mentioned the vehicles not being ready for winter roads, lacking winter tires (and the Blazer lacking 4-wheel-drive altogether!). I expressed concern about having to shovel the driveway by myself (something else I’m not really supposed to do; darn back injury). My worries were brushed away like crumbs on your lap when you’re downing a greasy fast food burger in your car on your way back to work, late from your lunch break–no time for this. No need to worry. It would be early November: snow would not be a problem.

first snow 2012 - poet in the pantry

8 inches later…

It’s pretty. And evanescent (though hanging on somewhat, since there was another flurry Thursday night during my drive home–and subsequent stop to pick up 50 pounds of ice melt at BJ’s). But by the time the kids are supposed to play their last soccer games on Saturday, it should be gone, and we’ll be back to Fall weather. Until the next freak snow storm.

Stick around a little while… it’s sure to change. At least my husband will be back to face it with me, a team once again.

Nov 04 2012

The Rage Problem

People are always saying that the internet has changed us for the worse. That we’re more violent than ever, more cruel than before, because we don’t see the immediate consequences of our actions–it isn’t real. We have a generation of children who will grow up to be adults who don’t understand how much the things they say and do can hurt other people. After what I experienced today, I would venture that it’s not the internet to blame–and that we’re going through a fall in our civilization already that will only get worse.

Case in point: the kids and I stopped at BJ’s Wholesale Club to get some gas on our way to a child’s birthday party. They have the best prices in town, but you can only fill up with your membership card–it’s an exclusive benefit that you technically pay to get (I’d like to think I’m still saving money after paying the annual fee, but that’s a whole other discussion). There are 8 pumps at this particular station, with hoses long enough to reach either side of the car, so you can pull up to any of them . No biggie. Sometimes there are lines, but the wait is never long.

I pulled up to the far right set of pumps behind someone else who was just starting to gas up, turned the truck off, and started searching my purse for my BJ’s card. Usually it’s right on one end or the other of my cards in the wallet, but today it was being elusive. I searched. I searched. And then the honking started.

Ignoring it at first, I continued on with my search. But as it persisted, I started to get flustered, shouting to myself (because clearly there was no one else I could have been talking to) that I was looking for the card. The honking didn’t let up and, for some reason, I felt I had to explain myself. I opened the door a crack to let the insistent driver behind me know that I was seeking my membership card and to ask them to please be patient.

Instead, the driver, an elderly man with a full head of white hair, opened the door of his bright, red truck, climbed out, and proceeded to throw a litany of profanity at me. Baffled, all I could reply was, “Please, there are children in my car!” He shouted that I should have had my card ready when I pulled up and continued to swear. Everyone was staring, but nobody offered any assistance.

Stunned and shaking, I got back into the driver’s seat, turned the car on, and pulled away from the pumps. I parked my car to the side of them, considering for a minute if this was something that should be reported to the police, or was I blowing it out of proportion?

And that, right there, is the problem. I wrote down his license plate number, but did nothing with it. I continued to shake as I drove down the street. And then the waterworks came as it hit me that I was just verbally assaulted, in front of my children, and nobody cared. They all looked at me, with mixtures of pity and god-knows-what-else on their faces, but not a one defended me. Nobody called out that man for blowing the whole situation out of proportion–since when was it okay to treat another human being in such a manner over having to wait 2 minutes at the gas pump? But apparently it is. And I enabled him by not doing a thing about it. What a horrible example I am for my children.

I sit here an hour and a half after it happened and I’m still shaking. Kindness to our fellow man is gone. Decency is out the window. And we only have ourselves to blame.

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