Friday, November 30, 2012

I see dead people...

...or at least my children do...Zelda woke up this morning and told me she had a nice playdate with Johnny Cash. They played the guitar and sang together. When I asked her what they sang, she responded "Flesh and Blood." - Then she asked if Johnny Cash could play at ACL and she could have a playdate with him, Willie Nelson and Patsy Cline. They could all sing "Crazy." I am really excited about this next playdate! WWJD - What would Johnny Cash do?
Then Creed said that sometimes he talks to PopPop. "Mom, I know that PopPop was your Daddy and that he died." "I know that you miss him, but at least you have Nana, your Mommy." "Daddy still has his Mommy, Grandma Beebe is still alive, but his Daddy died." "And now Anthony is dead" "I miss Anthony - he was my friend". "Do you think that I can talk to Anthony?" - Yes, of course, Creed. - "Mommy, please don't die anytime soon. I want you to see my college and my wedding."

Saturday, November 10, 2012

Over-talking on a foggy day to a blind kid...

...sometimes I try too hard to explain things to Zelda. It has to do with thinking she has to "see" things the way that we see them. So, the other day as we drove to school, the fog was as thick as pea soup. Crossing the South 1st Street bridge, we couldn't even see City Hall sitting 100 yds ahead. We talked about fog and how we could feel the tiny delicate bits of moisture in the air but it didn't feel like rain. I tried to compare it to reaching for something and having soft cotton get in the way so that you couldn't quite feel the object - that explanation was too vague and complicated. Creed even said "what are you talking about?" Well, I was trying to relate vision to a tactile experience.  Finally Creed would say, "Zelda we can't see the City Hall from here." And then, "We can't even see the water In the river." Zelda replied, "Oh, I know there is fog. I can see the water because it's under the bridge. And our car is on the bridge. And my seat is in the car." "I am sitting on the water." Touché...

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Always a Yankee...

...but I live in Austin. I have for over 15 years now. Before that it was Washington, DC, before that years in Paris, but I was born and raised in New Jersey. When people in Texas ask me if I am from here, I respond, "I 'live' here, I am 'from' New Jersey." When Evan and I decided to dive into getting pregnant in our we mid forties, we chose a fertility clinic in Morristown, New Jersey. I like to tell people that the Toxotwins were born in Texas but built in a factory in New Jersey. So, I have been thinking a lot about my home state and the surrounding areas after the abominable hurricane sandy hit the east coast last week with so much devastation. I don't want to capitalize her name, for that would just give her more strength and recognition of power. My memories of the Jersey shore are good ones. I can reference my age as I remember my parents taking us to Atlantic City as kids to see the horse dive off of the Steel Pier. My dad hated the ocean, but we went as a family and have the old black & white photos from the late 50's and early 60's to prove it. We had many trips to Island Beach State Park on weekends and high school skip days. We would drove to the shore for dinners with my shellfish eating family to a dive near the beach while I ate a hamburger. There were afternoons at Point Pleasant and Sandy Hook. My friends and I had college weekends in a rented house on stilts in Ocean City. We have those lovely memories, I haven't lost them. It's poetry, past reality. The loss now is without compare for those in New Jersey. They have lost their homes, their possessions, their businesses, their lives. The ones that still have their homes are without food and power. Staten Island is in ruin. Breezy Point in Queens succumbed to fire. My memories are nothing compared to this loss. If you can help, please do...we have friends driving supplies to people, cooking meals, housing the homeless, not sleeping in order to assist those in need. So, my sunny Saturday of a sunburn in the sand seems meaningless, almost guilt ridden that now I can't be there to help...please hold them in your hearts and thoughts.