Where's That Rainbow?

When was the last time you saw a rainbow?

The last time I saw a rainbow was in January, 2001 in Northern California. I was moderately pregnant with my second child and having a lark for a few days. I remember driving through the "Rainbow Tunnel" (ironic?)heading from San Francisco toward Napa when, with jaw dropping joy, the light at the end of the tunnel included a beautiful, groovey, Finian's kind of rainbow. The kind of rainbow you expect on a roadtrip. The kind that makes you turn the music up a little louder and believe just for a moment that you can have glimpses of solitude again.

I haven't seen one since.


In fact, up until then, I hadn't seen a rainbow since I was a kid in Massachusetts. Then, it didn't seem like such an uncommon event to see the arching light reach over the back field of my parents house and touch the tree tops after summer rains.

So, what's going on? Is this an air quality issue? Have they all shot off through that gaping hole(so reminiscent of my kitchen ceiling) in the ozone layer? And if I haven't seen a rainbow in so long--what about my children? To have not witnessed a rainbow after having been on the earth for six years? C'mon! Once and a while you need some proof that there are fantastical, wonderous things in the world.

If anyone knows the answer to this, let me know. 'Cause I'm really wondering and I'm a little worried.

Saturday Shiksa

We started our daughter at Jewish School last weekend, and I have to say, it was surprisingly Jewish.

For starters, there was a whole lot of Hebrew. Somehow, I had it in my mind that Reform Judaism was like the Vatican II version of Mass: all English, no subtitles. Granted, most of my tribal knowledge is a compilation of Fiddler on the Roof and The Ten Commandments.

I am a Saturday shiksa. I was the one pushing for it. "Religious identity is important!", I'd say. "They need to have a sense of who they are," I'd argue. Now I'm like a modern day Rosalind Russell who doesn't know a torah from a tuches.

The closing shot is later that same day, hand in hand with my children strolling through our local craft shop. My daughter exclaims, "Look they've got the Christmas decorations up! I love Christmas! Can I pick out decorations for our wreath?"

Oy.

Passive Aggressive Yoga

Okay, so maybe I was disappointed that Maura wasn't there. Maura my favorite yoga teacher. Solid, stocky, grounded, powerful, practical Maura. On this, my first yoga class in two months, there was a sub. Her name was Nan.

Okay, so I was a little late having streaked half way across the county to get to my sanctuary of serenity. But I entered quietly, respectfully and lay my little purple mat on the floor and joined in.


"Up dog, down dog, chatteranga!" she barked. And she barked fast.

"Let me know if I need to slow down", she said.

"Uh, it's a little fast," I offered.

She didn't mean it.

"I'm looking around the room and I see your faces. I know what it's like to be disappointed in a teacher. You need to get over it! Maura's not here. It's me. It's yoga. I don't teach the same way. Be flexible and relax!"

I was certain it was my face she was talking about. But you see, my face just hangs that way naturally. If I'm not smiling, I just look angry.

So, I crawled into childs pose and cried for five minutes.

I hope Maura's back tomorrow.

The PTA of Ancient Egypt

My four year old son is obsessed with ancient Egypt these days. He recently asked me,
"What's a slave?"
To which I replied,
"A slave is a person who works very hard for no money."
He says,
"You mean like a volunteer?"
Yes, honey, just like that.

Nature Boy

My four year old son loves to build things out of found objects. Today, we took a lovely walk around the yard gathering sticks and acorn caps for a new project. Watching him focused, purposeful and in nature, my maternal heart brimmed with pride and love for the sweet innocence of this beautiful child.

He took his nature collection over to the art table and got busy: coloring , taping, gluing. "What could he be making?" I wondered. A fairy land? Gnomes and elves?

No.

A tank. With treads. And three soldiers packing serious heat.

"BAM! BAM! BAM!"

I'm telling you, they just come out that way.

The Craft Gene

The craft gene lay dormant in my body until the birth of my first child. Now there is a sideboard filled with: glue guns, felt, beads, bead board, markers, crayons, glitter glue, crayons and their remnants, yarn, crochet hooks, knitting needles, glue, glue sticks, popsicle sticks, wallpaper books, fabric remnants, tye dye, spin art, tempura paint, finger paints, watercolors, play dough, clay, home pottery wheel, scissors, scissors with decorative edges, sewing basket, stamps and ink pads, corks, egg cartons, paper bags.

And on occasion, I teach drama to the young people.

Home Schooling

Worth while things we did this summer:

Planted a garden
Harvested a garden
Had a suburban farm stand
Made Egyptian burial masks on paper bags
Built pirate ships out of Chinese food take out containers and chop sticks
Taught the 6 year old how to knit
Made jewelry that you would wear with the 6 year old
Swam out to the raft and jumped off 20 million times
Read six Little House on the Prairie books
Ran around the Met
Taught 6 year old the history of Coco Chanel
Got the 4 year old hooked on Egypt, pirates, knights and pre-industrial age weapons
Spent a week with aging parents in my childhood home
Visited Cape Cod; breathed in, breathed out
Attended Orleans Cardinals baseball games (the best!)
Applauded the staff of the Cape Cod Hospital emergency room
Went to the Duchess County Fair and saw an authentic tractor pull
Visited the NRA petting zoo (pets or meat?)
Went to Central Park and saw a brilliant Two Gents

Now the kids are back in school. I know I won't be learning as much.

Hello, Kitty

A mountainous meowing meringue
Undulating
A latter day Orson Wells
Of feline perfection
Hello, kitty.

Old House Journal

I recently hosted a small party for members of our parent organization. Our 135 year old house is full of "charm": smoke stained walls, crumbling plaster, peeling lead paint. But it has a grandeur, a "shabby chic" allure. It offers us an authentic sense of being, belonging and groundedness from a by-gone time of rootedness and self-reliance. It's not a "take your shoes off" kind of a house, if you know what I mean. (As my friend Margie says, "You can't be sure what you're gonna step on!")

So these suburban woman come in as if on an anthropological expedition.

"This is wild!"

"How long have you lived here?"

And, my personal favorite, on viewing the kitchen with the 1870's stove, the 1970's floor and the gaping hole in the ceiling:

"You haven't done this yet..."

Welcome. Welcome one and all. Please eat some dessert. But, for the love of God, don't take your shoes off. We're gonna be here awhile.

Bathroom Humor

My six year old daughter asked me today if I had remembered to pack her toothbrush among my "toilet treats". And it got me thinking about "toilet treats" and what would the world be like if we replaced our toiletries with "toilet treats"? Do you get a "toilet treat" before or after brushing? Are they special little candies or fancy little bottles lifted from hotel bathrooms? Does Kiehl's carry a special "toilet treat" line?

So, the next time you're in CVS looking for that same old deodorant, pause a moment and ask yourself,
"Is it deodorant I want or am I really after a 'toilet treat' ?"
Because, let's face it, you're worth it.