Seeing Is Believing

I'm on the couch using Dan's laptop. He has these photos on his home screen.

Dan's brother John once gave us the generous Christmas gift of a chartered sunset sailboat ride to take in summer in Camden, Maine.
I always adored my Figgy--and we made sure she
had a lifesaving device to stay afloat if dark waters
ever closed in.

Look at her incredible artwork.

This is Figgy's Sweet Sixteen in Montclair. We hired a pink stretch limo and a driver
for the night. The car took Fig and a handful of her dear friends into NYC to Dylan's Candy Bar and then
to Sephora in Times Square. The limo was lit up inside--cool track lighting, music and cold sodas.
Dan and I stayed home; they were gone a few hours.
I didn't notice until years later that Figgy looked unwell in this photo.
She was battling her inner illness. All I knew was that I was
her mother and she was my daughter and I loved her fiercely and
unconditionally. I would show up as her lifesaving device when dark waters closed in.
So did Dan, so did Auntie, so did Moey, and so did her girlfriends.
But most of all, Figgy showed up for herself. I am forever grateful.

Maine again.

Doing Dishes

As I scrubbed, I held onto the sponge--and the faith that Figgy will find a way to pursue her talent, not lose her way. This is one of her fashion illustrations from last year, but I love it.

I loved doing dishes and scrubbing the grungy stovetop tonight while H. did homework with Punch, first in the breakfast nook and later on the living room couch. When he is doing something for our family, I can cheerfully soldier on. He checked "trick word" spellings [cat, dog, I, like, etc.] with a strong-willed kindergartner and I fought cooked-on grease.

I had the mental space and physical energy to get to the bottom of those dishes, skillets, pots and pans. I had a new sponge, a wintry liquid dish soap from Williams-Sonoma and a will to get it done. It made a huge difference that I didn't have to do the homework battle and then do the dishes, as is often the case when H. is busy working into the evening.

I also felt renewed and energetic, I think, because Figgy has started working four afternoons a week watching a nice young boy on our block. It's about 10 hours total more or less, so we still want her to get another part-time job. [She has walked into 15 stores and eateries in town since Friday to inquire, at our urging.] But I also signed her up for figure drawing at the Montclair Art Museum, a three-hour class on Thursday nights that starts next week. I don't want her to vegetate too much without using her skills.

Now, to bed early and to work tomorrow.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Oatmeal with fresh blueberries and walnuts for breakfast.
2. Salon blowout.
3. Bought a bracelet at Rabbit Rabbit--and a beautiful Seda France holiday candle, 50 percent off. So gorgeous, with notes of fir balsam, fir needle, cedar wood, grapefruit, orange oil....about to take off mantel and bring up to bedroom.
4. Met my friend Anne for lunch and chat. Nice.

Stardust Senior Prom Photo Album

Sis, Fig and Don.

Fig's good friend Ari and her date, Jackson, who is heading to West Point in the fall. 

Olivia, Fig and Ariana.

Olivia, Fig and Ari again.

Five gingers, including Evan, Emma, Fig and Marc.

Figgy, Olivia, Anna, Caroline and Judy.

Figgy and Marc. xoxo. I don't have a crystal ball to see the future--no one does--but I always enjoy seeing their sweet [and sassy] interactions.

Daddy's girl.

Izzy, Fig and our dear friends Michael and Anne. Their gorgeous kids--senior, Ryan, and junior, Emmy--both went to the senior prom tonight, but were at another pre-prom party that M and A went to first.

Figgy and I will likely remember some different things about tonight, and H. will have his own memories....But I hope we all remember how it feels for her--and her friends--to be young and healthy and happy. Of course, we're just watching from the outside. But I pledge to remember the red and white rose wrist corsage that smelled so good when I buried my nose in it, Fig's pleated white gown, Marc's red tie, Figgy's gold purse and the orange powdery stuff on my cheek and arm from the tiger lily I cut from the garden pre-prom to put in a vase.

Here are some photos. I hope I don't swamp you like some crazed chronic vacationer who has you flip through stacks and stacks of shots. Then I'll pop off this laptop b/c a group of them are coming back here after the prom and we've been politely asked to give them some privacy.

TCOY

1. No boot camp today [it's just M-W-F], but house cleaning is definitely a workout. Lifting, pushing, kneeling to clean the kitchen floor.
2. Kept my dr. appt.

Creativity--and New Green Growth--in the Midst of Chaos

"Queen of Coney Island," Figgy's acrylic painting of one of her favorite singers, Lana Del Rey. It will be displayed at Art Walk VI  on Friday, May 17 from 6 to 9 P.M. Fig's work will be with other artists' pieces at St. Luke's Episcopal Church, 73 South Fullerton Avenue, site of Toni's Kitchen--but other artists will be featured all throughout our town.

Our friends Heidi and Michael gave H. some asparagus to plant last year. I just picked this from our garden. Again, creativity amidst chaos. That garden needs weeding, but these slender veggie stalks still stand proud and tall. 

Our house feels like a messy cottage. Fig's art supplies; her sewing machine; unopened mail; piles of winter hats though it hit 70 degrees; an overflowing basket of clean wash; vinyl records and CDs; books; Fig's and my sandals, shoes and sneakers that haven't made it back upstairs after wear. And that's all in our small living room and dining room that you walk right into when you open the front door.

But then I see bursts of our creativity. Fig's paintings. H.'s and my writings. The flowered curtains that pool on the wood floor, the cheerful cotton tablecloth [see photo above] that I bought one blue-sky summer day in Bar Harbor. The painterly tulips, irises and daffs in our garden. The mason jar full of lilacs from our tree. A bunch of slender asparagus stalks for supper. Such is our life. I guess we choose to live this way. I figure as long as nothing is dangerous [broken glass underfoot] or a health risk [I often clean the kitchen well], then it's okay.

Enjoy your day.

Keeper of My Girlhood Dreams

This was the original Dixon Homestead Library in our town. We climbed steep steps to get upstairs. The house was built in the late 1700s by Derick Banta, a Revolutionary soldier. Sarah Dixon willed it to the town in 1929.

Figgy tonight. She is naturally auburnish, especially with summer sun streaks, but.....

As Fig was coloring her hair [L'Oreal Intense Red Copper] upstairs in the bathroom--don't ask, the girl likes experimenting, against my advice that she should embrace her natural shade--applying makeup and generally babbling with one, then two, then three of her school friends, I was on the phone with my childhood friend Lorraine tonight.

Our chat was long overdue. We've been playing phone tag. And suffice it to say that life doesn't always deal us the hand we hope for and expect.

Hey guys, this is one of my closest high school friends on the phone, I said proudly to Olivia, Maggie and Charlene, hoping in my heart that they and Figgy might stay in touch as life marches on--in studded boots and cheetah fur Creepers.

I've been thinking of Lorraine a lot during Fig's senior year of high school. We grew up together. We walked to Uncle Frank's pizza parlor, where Lorraine bought me a slice for my birthday in fifth or sixth grade. Later, we talked jeans, body image, haircuts, boys. We walked to the Yarn Center, a Dumont shop where we learned to crochet vests in the seventies. [The two ladies there also helped me crochet a pair of gray mittens for my good Irish grandfather, whose fingers were crooked and bent.] We laughed tonight over memories of Lorraine's 16th birthday, when I went over to her house for Saturday dinner. Her dad was a kind, hardworking shoemaker, an Italian immigrant, and her mom famously made her own pizza!---and every Saturday night, she broiled steak. I got a backyard lounge chair for my birthday, Lorraine said. And my mother took pictures of us sitting on it that night.

Next week, Moey and I are going to meet Lorraine halfway and have lunch. Should be fun.

Good night. 

TCOY

1. Support group.
2. Walked Puff around block with H.
3. Have been listening on my laptop to the audio version of The Outermost House, one of my favorite books about Cape Cod. Sis gave me the CD version for my birthday!
4. Made applesauce.

Edge of the Earth

H. and Figgy on the Cape [I think] in years gone by.

Dad and Figgy on his birthday....I miss you, Dad. [Punch's baby blanket over shoulder.]

I wish I had the energy to write a beautiful piece about nature on the Cape, but I'm tired, and selfishly eager to take a nice hot bath and read in bed. Those pleasures, like the fresh Cape air that rustles the curtains, are things that nurture me. It has also been nourishing to catch up with Anne and Nikki, talk about fashion, coffee, family, work, life, especially when idly pedaling on a smooth, endless path edged with fences and trees.

Anne, Nik, Sug and I had so much fun today:

• Breakfast @ The Wicked Oyster in Wellfleet. Short stack of blueberry pancakes, fluffy and flawless, with a little silvery pitcher of pure maple syrup. Pretty garden outside.
• Browsing in town--at chocolates, dresses [eating the first does not facilitate wriggling into the second], farmers market [they were making pesto, and I bought a sack of yummy Salty Oats Cookies, baked on the Cape and news to me] outdoor green where the Strawberry Festival would be later in the day.
• Walk over old-time Uncle Tim's Bridge in Wellfleet, looking down @ fiddler crabs, oyster and clam shells, reedy, marshy grass. Across the street, seeing wash hanging in the breeze.
• Tried to mow lawn, which is about 2 feet tall, but Anne and I couldn't get mower started. It seemed to have enough gas, but just in case, we got more tonight to pour into tomorrow and try again. House looks neglected with mile-high lawn.
• Short bike ride in neighborhood with Nik. Sug insisted on coming--she acts on the Cape like she's entitled to go everywhere I go, even into the bathroom, and looks indignant if she's left behind at the house--so I put her in the wicker basket, though I wouldn't do that anywhere else but on an empty, safe road. She could fall out. Also walk in neighborhood with Sug and Nik.
• Bike ride on Cape Cod Rail Trail!!! We pedaled 10.5 miles, from our house on Wonderstrand Way in North Eastham to the Hot Chocolate Sparrow in Orleans and back. We saw bunnies, a little dead yellow and black bird that we carefully moved off the trail, ponds with lily pads. The air felt so good. I had an iced decaf Mocha Sparrow, yum.
• Village Green General Store, North Eastham. I never tire of looking at the vacation essentials they stock: toiletries, donuts, marshmallows, matches, ice cream, magazines, postcards and much, much more. 
• Coast Guard Beach!!!!!!! We went about 8:30 P.M., cramming everything possible into our day. Nik and I stood in the wild and wavy surf, just over a mile away from where Henry Beston's famous Outermost House stood until it was washed out to sea. I love Coast Guard Beach, with its sweeping view from the bluff by the parking lot.

Also: Phone calls with H. and Figgy, who took a special hike on part of the Appalachian Trail in NY. They had a great day, and that meant I could have a light and happy heart, and the freedom to roam far from home.

Good night, sleep tight. The air is so delicious here. The storm windows are up, the screens are open. I want to greedily breathe it in, until my lungs are full, full, full of goodwill and hope.
 
TCOY
All of the above.

To the Sea--and the Roaring Twenties

Figgy dressed for Jazz Age Lawn Party this morning.

Hit the road about 8:50 A.M. in Anne's car, coffee in the cup holders, Nikki in the back with paper and colored pens, Sug on my lap. But first Anne took this photo of dear Figgy, in a glossy, swingy black wig. She was going with awesome Johnny and Dominik to Governors Island for a roaring twenties event. She said it was lots of fun.

Quick Cape hits, as power about to run out as I sit here in Ben & Jerry's parking lot, North Eastham--and, I'm dying to get back to the house to wash my hair:

• Nature!!!! We saw a fox [Nikki saw two], a bunny, a large black crow that looked very Cape Codlike--and a juvenile grey seal at Nauset Beach in Orleans. He [she?] was so chubby and flubby and adorable. The signs said keep away, that the seal was just sunning and resting. But he was so cute.
• The beach. Sweeping panoramic view, surfers bobbing on the waves, vibrant sunset. We are so going back to that beach.
• Dinner @ Stewart's on Route 6. Excellent cod piccata over rice with fresh lima beans....and a strawberry-coconut margarita. And in-house glass case stocked with fine truffles and molded angel chocolates from The Purple Feather in Provincetown. Nice to ooh and aah over. We sampled some.
• The walk. Nikki and I strolled the neighborhood with Sug. 
• The pond. Great Pond. Serene and calming.
• Hot Chocolate Sparrow. Need I say more. This time I bought a nice-sized sack of their dark chocolate chips for baking [$6.95].

Want to scoot home to Dad's Cape Cod house and read and rest. I do feel a bit anchorless without him here. Good night.

TCOY

1. Walk with Nik and Sug.
2. Breathed in ocean air to expand heart and soul.

Thanks to my friend Anne for taking the photo above with her iPhone.

junior prom photos

i will resist the keen yen to feel deflated about how i look in the photos snapped with figgy, sis, h. and doggy.  quiet, quiet, i am still a work in progress, i will tell that voice. notice those photos are absent here. 

montclair high school junior prom last night--live strong, as they like to say at frost valley ymca camp.

young ones, go forth, prosper, be happy and healthy, laugh, see and follow your dreams and live strong. believe in yourself. life is larger, much larger, than a dress and hair, though i see [refer to first paragraph] how those things don't quite stop mattering, either.

p.s. i am on fig's mac to load these photos and the cap key won't work.

fig and sis, her godmother.

fig and olivia, her dear friend since middle school. h. joked
as we took this photo that he had to bribe fig to talk
to olivia in sixth grade. it was a new school for
fig and she didn't know anyone.

the friends again.

with caroline. these two love taking walks.

back view [and h.].

with friends, above and below.

Royal Visit

Sisterlike love, via webcam.

Punch graced us with her energy and zest today. It was good to see her. She loves Fig, and vice versa. Today we made apple crisp, one big pan for our house, one pie plate for Punch to take home. Her beloved Nikki also came over to play, brought by her parents [my friends Anne and Michael], so I got a little play date, too!

Good night.

TCOY

1. Walked Sug around block once.
2. Punch wanted a cupcake and I didn't even buy one for myself! Stunning. But I did treat myself to a glass of whole milk with Chocolate Malt Ovaltine. It was delicious.

Snapshot from Ocean House

Figgy standing on our private deck at the Ocean House Monday morning. I was still in my fuchsia nightgown, or would have asked Michael, who brought our room-service tray, to get a photo of the two of us.

This Moment

Punch, 4, and Figgy, 15, last week.

Figgy helped Punch raid my closet.
She was even wearing my French perfume.
Those are my Tory Burch silver shoes
[snagged on sale at Bergdorf's a couple of years ago].

The beautiful outdoor Easter planter from Bartlett's Greenhouses & Florist in Clifton--
I can bring it back and have it replanted with fresh blooms
 for a small planting fee and flower charge. The
women there are incredibly talented.

Punch in all her glory. I love her so much,
but she does wear me out.
Last Thursday when she visited, she took off her shirt at the dinner table,
screamed at the top of her lungs until H. had to put her in a time-out,
tried to dive off the edge of the tub, and refused to let us detangle her hair after her bath.

This moment. This is it. It's what we have, and we have to use it.

It occurred to me while raking today, channeling Dad, who always did a lot of yard work. He transplanted the irises, grew tomatoes and zucchini in the garden, coaxed furry peaches from a little spindly tree.

The moment is now. This is my time to be healthy and strong, to do and be and accomplish. One day, I trust, I will be old. When Dad was sick, that was the moment to be with him. Now my parents are gone, but I am still young. I have time to do things. Dad must have felt that way after his mother died, I thought as I raked up muddy leaves to reveal grassy ground around the Easter-chick-yellow forsythias [Dad had those, too]. He must have poured a lot of his energy into taking care of things. My grandmother died in December 1972. Dad was four months shy of 50. How strange, just my age. He seemed so much older.

TCOY

1. Walked two loops at Edgemont Park.
2. Raked for about 45 minutes--want yard to look good for Easter, when Sis + Don come for dinner. [BTW, we have so many mounds of leaves because after the tree fell on our house last March, we lived at the condo for 8 months and weren't here for fall raking.]
3. Once around the block with Sug.
4. Shampooed.
5. Private Benjamin. That's going to be my new code word for therapy--we've been going as a family, and as a couple. It's hard, but definitely counts toward taking care of yourself. From now on, though, all I'm sayin' is Private Benjamin.
6. Pear--it counts if it's in a pear crisp, right?
7. Stared down Entenmann's soft mini cinnamon donuts and sprinkled holiday Pop'ems [donut holes] in Shop Rite. Can't say it wasn't hard. They're on an end cap, right near the registers, perfect for impulse junk food lovers. Picked the boxes up, put them down, reminded myself I already had a dark Kit Kat bar today. This is a step, b/c that wouldn't have stopped me before.
8. Bought lots of fresh veggies--pepper, pencil-thin asparagus, a bunch of sweet carrots. Now if only I eat them.
9. Washed three denim skirts. Was down to baggy skirts and that doesn't work for me. If it's fitted, you kind of feel what you eat. Too loose, and you don't. Plus it looks sloppy on me.
10. Made chocolate almond biscotti. 

A Fig's-Eye View of Florida

Some photos via Figgy's camera, which she said I could share :)

Head in the Clouds: View from US Airways plane to Fort Lauderdale.

Winging It

To Have and to Hold: Lauren and Patrick after cutting the cake.

Man from Uncle: Figgy and her Uncle Mike, H.'s brother.

The Birds: Flocking by the Marriott Residence Inn.

Good night, sweet dreams. [Have a terrible cold and about to pop a NyQuil LiquiCap.]

A View of the World through Figgy's Eyes, Age 15

A look down our hill, everything fresh and pretty. 

She's growing up, for sure. This year's Christmas list, written in black pen on white paper,
included Juicy Couture perfume (or other good perfume).
I sniffed the Juicy but went for the Chanel. She loves it.
I knew she would, because I have it, and she has stolen some spritzes.

Taking a Chance, again.

My actual flower birthday cake, on H.'s grandma's crystal plate.

Figgy has so much of what I don't, including talent for art and photography. I never got beyond drawing the same lady every time since I started in about fifth grade, with a broad smile, top bun, feathery bangs, pretty necklace, dangling earrings, V-neck top, skirt, belt and fishnet stockings [because the diamond design is fun to sketch]. And I've never had much passion for photography. I admire Figgy.

Good night.

All photos by Figgy Hurley.

Back-to-the-Land Beauty

Let the sun shine and the gardens grow--
beauty companies are into feeding our skin
with fruit and veggie extracts now.
 [Please ignore the fact that this is a photo of a matchbook.
Smoking is bad for your skin.]  

Went into NYC today for an intimate little press lunch at TLCommunications on Broadway and 21st.  Elie Foster, marketing director for the "YES to" line of skin and hair products, was in town from San Francisco to announce the launch of five new products [targeting hands, body or face] that will be available on the company's website February 7. We got to sniff and touch and try them, and they smelled fresh and lovely.

We writers and editors had to sign a form on the way in saying that we would not report on these five products on the internet prior to their release. That was a first for me, but I'm glad the rules were clear, or else I would have blogged about them here. Two of them [in the Yes to Tomatoes line] seem like great innovations for teen girls, one of whom lives under my roof. In fact, she wanted it as soon as she saw it on the table. It is pretty cool.

Orange Extract

I loved the carrot-colored details--Elie's business card, the napkins, the bouquets of  fat orange roses in mason jars on the table. Most of all, my heart warmed at the sight of a towering, tiered platter of demure beauties from Georgetown Cupcake, which TLCommunications also represents. Based in DC, the bakery has a delightful website: http://www.georgetowncupcake.com/. The cupcake flavor was Carrot [with notes of cinnamon and apple], in slimming dark pleated paper wrap skirts--I mean wrappers--with nice caps of vanilla cream cheese frosting and dainty, fashionable fondant carrots on top. Oh, and also found it charming that the Yes to Carrots sample products we took home were in farmy mason jars with fake paper grass inside. Very homespun and clever.

Feeding the Masses

You've probably seen the "Yes to" line. In addition to http://www.yestocarrots.com/, the tubes, pumps and jars are in Target, Walgreens, Duane Reade, Ulta and on http://www.soap.com/, and are making their way into Whole Foods. They're priced affordably and contain organic fruit and vegetable ingredients such as fruit juice and flower/leaf/stem extracts. I like that the company makes Yes to Baby Carrots, gentle products for babies and toddlers.

And I admire that a portion of all product sales goes to the Yes To Carrots Seed Fund, a nonprofit that gives grants to schools nationwide to grow gardens and promote sustainable agriculture. In poorer L.A. areas, it's a way for kids to teach their parents about healthy eating, too, said Elie as we sat around a table.

Time to go wash my face with Yes to Blueberries Age Refresh Soothing Daily Cleanser. Maybe apply a dab of Overnight Hydrating Cream, too. The blueberry samples were in my bag. Would have been a perfect outing if I could only figure out the damn Muni Meters--this is the second time in a row that I got a parking ticket. Ouch. Those meter maids don't fool around. Good night.

P.S. Subliminal seduction? I bought a bag of organic baby carrots @ Stop & Shop tonight.

Photo by Figgy: One of the old matchbooks H. collected in the 1970s. Figgy really loved that one, and so did her friends. The flip side has a rainbow and the words 7up, STRIKE ON BACK COVER and UNCOLA LAND.

Twin Furballs

Greg's and Meg's dog, Bailey, left, and our Sugar Maureen in Vermont.

I'm too tired to write much. I was busy supervising day 2 of our belongings moving back from storage. [H. supervised day 1.] The second truckload arrived at 14 Nassau today. Then I spent hours sorting through files here at the condo and throwing stuff out.

I have to say, it feels good to do all this. I was dreading it, but it feels positive and right.

My pal Sug was with me all day, patiently watching me clean out the basement, mow through piles of paper. She is in exhausted position now, too. But in Vermont on Saturday, she happily followed Bailey on a two-hour jaunt over the mountains and through the woods. She was also proudly modeling her monogrammed Lands' End winter coat from the Mernin family. Link: http://www.landsend.com/pp/DogSquallJacket~213057_-1.html?bcc=y&action=order_more&sku_0=::ADB&CM_MERCH=search-_-dog&origin=search. Long live the Bichon. Good night.


Photo by Figgy.

Growing Pains

Photo by Figgy Hurley.

Some things are just too personal to share, even though it's tempting, with this nice white screen before me--it feels so good to transfer emotions from heart and mind to computer keyboard. 

Suffice it to say that I've been finding motherhood hard these days--because my teen is not as forthcoming with what she needs as when she was a little girl, but I still feel I should be able to provide it. To be there for her. To understand.

It's very hard to stand by and watch....to trust and observe and believe and encourage.....when someone wants to push you away.

I worry and I fret and I pray. Today, I sat on the couch and cried. And then I called Moey, and later, Sis. I went to boot camp. I picked Figgy up from her friend H.'s house. She had fun there. That made me happy. Her grades are good. That makes me proud. But other things, changing things, make me anxious and worried.

I have a friend who belonged to a prayer group of moms who prayed for their kids. I didn't really get it at the time. Now I do. Teens have quite a road to maneuver, and it's complicated whether they're in the car or on the shoulder, rising high on a bridge or going through a tunnel, driving or sitting in the passenger seat looking out the window. The bumps can be big; the road can be rocky. Everyone cannot be trusted, and they have to learn that. They have to trust themselves above all, and they have to learn that, too.

Today I talked briefly to Dad about it, on my three-hour visit. He said it's always been typical for teens to pull away from their parents. I said Figgy hasn't been talking to us too much. She never talked too much, he said matter-of-factly. I guess you're right, except when she was little, I said. Or with her friends, I should have added.

Sweet dreams. Good night. I'm going off with happy thoughts of my Sis saying my prayers with me on my twin bed with the aqua bedspread in our room on Bedford Road. Big sister and little sister; I used to recite them to her. I know exactly how it went every night.

Dear God, please bless Mommy and Daddy and Grandpa and Grandpa 

aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, the whole world, God--

and if you do, I'll thank you very, very much.

[Why didn't I mention my siblings Sis, J. and Will? That ain't right--and there I was reciting the prayer night after night to Sis. How odd.]

Later, my bedtime mantra evolved into a hybrid version of a prayer we learned with Sister Agnes at St. Mary's in our first grade catechism.

Oh angel of God, my guardian dear

to whom God's love commits me here

Ever this day be at my side

To light and guard, to rule and guide. Amen.

And when I'm praying for someone else, I just change the handy-dandy pronoun in the first line from my to his or her. How funny that I was six when I learned that prayer but it has stood me in good stead for my entire life. I was so young--but old enough to know that I sure as shooting wanted an angel by my side to guide me. If I recall correctly, I think there was also a picture of a lovely angel, and that probably pulled me in, too.


Here's to the power and beauty of celestial beings.

Another Saturday Night

 All orange and dark, like a Halloween night
 [or Lindt Excellence Intense Orange dark chocolate bar
from the grocery store, yum]. Photo by my Figgy.

H. is working @ a party, Sug is collapsed in a heap of fur on the ottoman after our long walk and Figgy is over at her friend M.'s in Montclair. She had me drop her off almost a block away at 9 o'clock so she could sneak up and scare her girlfriends. I was worried about her safety--I'm always worried about her safety--but know I have to trust that all is fine. [What if someone not good leapt out at her from the bushes?] She had on a red sequined hairband with devil horns, the striped Halloween socks Sis got her @ Target and some glittery eye shadow. We also made a quick stop at Party City, her last-minute hunt for vampire fangs.

Somehow, I saw my younger self in her quite clearly tonight. I can remember loving to go hang around at my friend Irene's house, loving to stir up a little mischief.

I'm in a morbid mood tonight, but by now, you're kind enough to know about my moods and still be my friend. Thank you. But I figure Halloween Eve is a fitting time to feel morbid. It feels weird to be here and not at home, where we would always have a glowing jack-o'-lantern on the front steps on Oct. 30. Back home, there's still a porta-toilet on our lawn, giant bald spots where the dumpster was, and no hope of us getting tulip bulbs in the ground for weeks. And we are moving back on November 12. I just texted H. at his party and told him to get a pumpkin so he could carve it, as he always does with Figgy. Good idea! he texted back. [When we were dating, it really warmed my heart when I saw he had one in the window of his studio apt on Third Street in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It seemed so old-fashioned and fun.]

Not much else to say, except am about to try some Allegro Coffee Company organic Whole Trade Drinking Chocolate [nutritionist Caryn once recommended drinking chocolate to me], sort through some laundry and piles and and and....go to Joe's Halloween yoga class in the morning, before Mass and a visit to Dad and probably couch shopping with H.

Boo. Grrrrrr. Beware slinking black cats. Happy Halloween.

If You're Happy and You Know It, Show Your Teeth

No lipstick on her teeth. 

Figgy got her braces off today! It was a big day; she couldn't wait.

She's a high school sophomore now, and started going to the orthodontist in seventh grade. Her teeth look beautiful. I had to get used to seeing her without the heavy metal; she looks different. Not that she wasn't beautiful before. She's just a different kind of beautiful.

The ceremony at Dr. Gold's office on Lorraine Avenue was very sweet. Figgy had popped out of the chair in the private office when I arrived [it was a 2-hour appointment and she went to school after lunch] but Dr. Gold said No, you can't leave yet. While we waited, I noticed what looked like an ice cream flavor list on the tray near the chair--mocha, chocolate mint, an impressive selection. I thought maybe they were ordering a sundae with sticky toffee to help her celebrate. Turns out they were flavors for the cement, so they could fit her for a retainer. Amazing. [Kids today don't know how lucky they are--pharmacists can doctor meds to taste like bubblegum or grape, and the orthdontist can offer an array of cement flavors. My dentist chair time as a kid was a nightmare!]

Dr. Gold had Fig come over into the open office, with four reclining patient chairs. [On schoolday afternoons, all seats are taken by young people in jeans, their iPods temporarily unplugged.] Martha, the lovely lady who runs the office, stepped out from behind the front desk to join him.

Everyone, I have an announcement to make, Dr. Gold said. Figgy got her braces off today. The women working chairside put down their tools. He presented her with a special Orthodontic Diploma "for a lifetime of happy smiles," her first photo sans metal [snapped at the office] and a flat packet of Orville Redenbacher's SmartPop! microwave popcorn, because now, of course, Figgy has popcorn chomping freedom.

Looking poised, pleased and pretty, Figgy stood there in her floral skirt, black tights and suede boots while everyone sang "If You're Happy and You Know It, Show Your Teeth." Then we all applauded.  It was a happy moment. It also brought back memories of the times I brought Fig to appts there in that open room with Punch in tow, enchanting everyone from her baby carrier seat--and of the afternoon I took Figgy in a storm and the power went off midway through but came back on again.

Another rite of passage--happy I was there. Then we went to lunch at Raymond's on Church Street in Montclair and had a lovely meal together. [Figgy had awesome macaroni & cheese made with Grafton Cheddar. She shared a few spoonfuls. Yum.]

Tonight, Figgy opened her mouth wide and bit into a big green Granny Smith apple, with joy. She loves apples. Wish I did too, but my taste runs more to that imagined ice cream sundae with sticky toffee. Apples are too virtuous, unless sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and baked in golden butter pastry--or perhaps dunked in caramel and covered with candy. But I guess you might say that's turning a pure apple into a poison apple.

Sigh. Good night. Sweet dreams.

Photo, I think from Fashion's Night Out, by Figgy. She downloaded a number of photos I can select from--the folder on her Mac desktop is called mom's blog.

Keys to Adventure, Lost & Found

Sunrise [from our condo balcony] snapped by Figgy 
on a school morning this fall. 

It's uncanny, but sometimes H. and I have come this close to losing some pretty important things. I just drove from Clifton to Montclair Sunday [hell night with Punch] for a pumpkin glow event at Van Dyk Manor, which drew hundreds of people. It wasn't until I was driving back to the condo that I realized I had put my Lilly Pulitzer wallet on the roof of the car, when I was getting Punch into her car seat. But there it was, still on my roof, even after two hours parked at the pumpkin glow and a three-point turn on North Mountain Avenue.

Other ridiculously lucky near misses:

1. Cape May honesty. H. and I went to a Victorian bed and breakfast in Cape May for a few days. Close to departure, we meandered past the parking lot [across from the hotel, no guards], and I noticed our keys, hanging out of the hatchback on our little blue Honda Civic. Anyone could have taken them out and driven away with our car. We didn't realize they were missing. In our defense, we were young back then.
2. Cross-country scare. We drove across America in that same tiny car for two weeks the summer before we married. H. was writing 60-Second Novels along the way on his old Remington typewriter. [I flew back to work after we reached California, but H. drove back, writing more stories as he went.] In Cleveland, he set up his typewriter to do novels at a street festival. After we got into the car that night, he realized his wallet was gone. He wasn't sure if he had placed it on the roof of the car before we drove off, or if he had been pickpocketed. It had contained some cash that people paid him for the stories, plus some of our money for the trip. A trucker later found it on the side of the highway, and called H.'s Mom, up in Maine. The cash was gone, but the gold-hearted trucker mailed the wallet back. Poor Mary was worried--these were the days before cell phones. And my Sis was worried too, since she was staying at my apartment at the shore, and heard Mary leave a nervous message on my answering machine about a trucker finding H.'s wallet. 
3. Cape Cod luck. I have a very, very special set of keys to the North Eastham house--a set Dad gave me. His small red pocket knife hangs from the ring, and the bronze keys have little hand-written stickers on them, on which he had neatly written "FRONT DOOR" and "INSIDE DOOR." The stickers remain, but the ink is worn away after years and years of being carried in my pocket, backpack or beach bag--on the bike path, at Nauset Light Beach, on the ferry to Nantucket or at Great Pond. One trip, I had attached a spare car key to this set. And we drove all the way home, 300 miles, me telling H. how bad I felt that I lost those special keys. They make me feel like Dad is watching out for me when I unlock the door on Wonderstrand Way. Again, Lady Luck was on our side--when we arrived home with Figgy in the dark five hours later [after driving routes 6, 195 and 95, the Tappan Zee and the Parkway, with a couple of stops for food, caffeine, fuel and bathroom breaks], there were the keys, dangling from the trunk lock. I felt so relieved. They are one of my most precious treasures--keys to happy memories and refreshing breaks. Keys to the house my parents built.
4. A jewel in the snow. One of my favorite stories is one Dad tells about sledding in the Bronx when he was about 12. In the snow, he found a gold school ring with a red stone, from St. Catharine's Academy. I couldn't imagine what St. Catharine's Academy was, he says. I had never heard of it. But after college, when he met a pretty brunette in the carpool to Lederle Labs in Pearl River, NY, he found out. My mother and her close friends had attended the girls' school when it was in Washington Heights. I have the ring now. It has the year 1942 on it. Since my mother was born in August 1924, she would have been 18 at that time. Now I'm confused. Have to ask Dad tomorrow if this ring was Mom's, or the one he found. I know for sure that she had a golden basketball charm from St. Catharine's, b/c she played on the team. In any case, the ruby ring Dad found buried in the soft drifts was a very big clue to his future. 

Feeling fortunate--and like I want to start wearing this ring, as a reminder of all that was and all that can be. Of connections made and lucky days. Good night.

Per my faithful Wikipedia: St. Catharine High School is an all-girls, private Roman Catholic high school in the Bronx, New York. The Sisters of Mercy, founded by Mother Catherine McAuley in Dublin, Ireland, opened an Academy in the Washington Heights section of New York City in September 1889. At that time, the first Academy resembled the large estates which surrounded it. Toward the end of the century as registration increased, the Sisters erected a new building across the street at 539 West 152nd Street. In 1900 the University of the State of New York granted a Regents charter to the school.

Beauty & Pain

I don't know who this woman is, but she kindly let Figgy take her photo, no questions asked, on Fashion's Night Out in New York. I guess no questions asked when you are 15 and wielding a camera? I do like her style.

There's a fellow who often mans the desk by the front door while I'm in the business center scrambling on a dreary deadline. He does the overnight shift. [Isn't that called the graveyard shift? Now that is one depressing term.]

Tonight he had tears in his eyes when I was passing by to say goodnight at 1:20 A.M. One of my kids is missing. He can't find his 15-year-old son. He didn't stop home after school today. Figgy is 15, too. I remember one day last year when we didn't know where she was. It was scary. I was less scared than other people involved, but it was still scary. 

I trust that the fellow will find his son. He seems like a good person, so I have to believe with all my heart that nothing bad will happen. [The boy lives with his mother--and I think his Dad recently got married.] If only all of life worked that way, that if we're good people, nothing bad would befall us. The fellow and I speculated that maybe his son is with a friend, or a girl. Maybe he fell asleep at someone's house. Neither one of us wanted to imagine anything worse. I remember my mother lying awake in her bed till I got home safely. 

This is his middle child of three. May he be safe and sound. May he know that his Daddy is crying, saying he can't stay and man the desk, can't sit and do his job, if the boy does not turn up. I offered to help him out--I would even have sat there for him--but I think he was going to call in one of the other guards. He was even dialing the local ER on his cell to make sure his boy wasn't there.

Go home, boy. Go home. Or at the very least, call your mother.