Bowling Alone

McKibbin and I have a long history of reading together in coffee shops. It's a habit we must have started with our college textbooks. Sitting quietly for hours. Talking in spurts of conversation about our books.

My memory of reading Robert Putnam’s text Bowling Alone is framed by coffee shops and the company of my future husband. Putnam's text documents the demise of civic engagement, the eroded relationships people form with neighbors and communities. It’s a book McKibbin can, rightfully, claim to have read because I'd smack him in the arm rather constantly and say, "...listen to this..."

And it's one of those rare books that shifted around the contents of my life. It called out a sense of isolation I had never put a name to. A loneliness I later thought of as my four-walls syndrome. Before this book, caring extended only as far as the four walls of my apartment or house. Sure, I belonged to letter-head organizations and partook in the occasional letter writing campaign. Rarely, though, did any of those letterheads ask me to show up to a meeting let alone talk to anybody.

So Bowling Alone shifted my center of gravity. Last night isn't my only example, though it's a good one. I've had the pleasure of working with a group of 8-10 neighbors in hopes of expanding the greenspace at Naomi’s school.

Last night we capitalized on the steady stream of foot traffic through the school building for Parent-Teacher conferences to showcase our conceptual design plans. I could talk (or blog) your ear off about the merits of the greenspace project...and at some point I'm sure I will...but my Bowling Alone point is that I felt tied to something. And feeling tied to something keeps me from feeling alone or growing cynical.

I considered the people I've worked with. The Summer Family Festival we organized, the Playground Movie Series that rolled out last fall. Even our Saturday breakfast meetings with orange juice and coffee and kids playing upstairs. The random occasion where we'll bump into each other at the grocery store or post office. The easy joking around we'll do while waiting in line. When I lived by the four-walls philosophy those sorts of things either didn't happen or the conversations didn't include me.

There's no global conclusion I've got for this blog post. Just a good moment I wanted to mark from my walk home last night. The cold night air stinging against my goofy smile. A smile that ate up my whole face.

Weekend Highlights

Last weekend I had the lovely occasion to travel to Chicago. And I made a short-list of my favorite features from the trip.

1. Hands-down the most comfortable hotel bed I’ve ever slept in. I tried to dream up some way of taking it with me as a carry-on.
2. Indulging in a 2 ½ day-long coffee date equivalent with Ms. C.
3. The Evolving Planet exhibit at the Field Museum.
4. A delightful pizza and beverage excursion with T and his entourage. My smiling muscles ached for hours afterward.
5. Listening to a series of free audio-tours of Chicago’s history and architecture that McKibbin downloaded onto my MP3 player.
6. Wading knee-deep into the text of The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver.
7. Upon realizing I would be home in time to tuck her into bed on Sunday night my daughter said, “I’m so excited I could cry!”

The Better Story

Naomi is on a Rising Stars team which meets twice a week after-school. Rising Stars is a program that tasks kids with creative problem-solving. Last night after team practice Naomi and I cruised over to the grocery store and had the following conversation.

Me: So how was Rising Stars today?
Naomi: GREAT!!!
Me: Yeh? What are you guys up to?
Naomi: We’re doing a news-show with commercials and everything. I really want to do a throw back in time so I can be Shirley Temple.
Me: For a commercial?
Naomi: No, in the news-show. You know, a story about who Shirley Temple was and how she died.
Me: Hon, I think Shirley Temple is still alive.
Naomi: So?
Me: Well, news stories are generally non-fiction.
Naomi: I have to think up someone who’s already dead?
Me: You could always do a "Where Is She Now" story about Shirley Temple. But, if you want to talk about somebody’s death: yes that person should be dead.
Naomi: Like Elvis.
Me: Yes, Elvis is dead.
Naomi: Then maybe we could do a story about how the aliens came down from their spaceship and killed Elvis.
Me: -------
Naomi: Yep, that could work.
Me: Is that how Elvis died?
Naomi: No, mom, he died from drugs just like Michael Jackson. Lied to his doctor, got the drugs, and died from them. I just thought the space alien angle was, you know, more interesting.

Talent Show

After weeks of early morning rehearsals Naomi took center-stage at Prescott Elementary School's Talent Show last Friday. Ms. Sundiah, a teacher from the Before-and-After school program, had spent weeks teaching and rehearsing with Naomi a traditional East Indian dance.

Friday night was the big show and it was one of those moments I felt a little awe-struck. Naomi was both poised and focused. She was gracious in accepting a top prize from the judges and the compliments from her peers. As the auditorium emptied she sought out other Talent Show performers to tell them "good job" or "that was sooooo funny!"

I was pleased just to sit back to watch Naomi and, when it came time to go, hold her coat.

My Funny Valentine

Nine years ago McKibbin and I were waiting on the coffee to brew. Standing there in robes and slippers I told my (then) boyfriend that Valentine’s Day isn’t really my deal. I’m not much for cards, I elaborated, candies and the whole pre-packaged sense of “romance” which is always heavy on the consumer goods....ehn...it's not really for me.

I was surprised to find my boyfriend was not at all relieved. I drank some coffee before verifying, nope, he wasn’t breathing any easier after my anti-Valentine's Day proclaimation. Turns out he rather enjoys Valentine’s Day. Not the pre-packaged variety…but making the occasion to be with someone he loved was right up his alley. Who knew? Ah-hem...not me.

It’s a kitchen conversation that has plagued us for nine, seriously, nine years. Every year we botch the whole Valentine's Day deal. One of us resolving to buy a card or make dinner reservations as a special surprise for the other. One of us showing up late and empty handed.

The roles switch but the story stays the same. Throw Naomi into that mix and the debacle multiplies exponentially. Babysitters get involved, or it's our kid who becomes the unrequited card-giver.

At this point McK and I giggle at the mere mention of Valentine’s Day. For two rather capable people who, obviously, adore each other we manage to fumble this occasion every time. I’ve grown fond of our lack of coordination. What my twenty-something slippered self couldn’t see was that I could just save my pre-coffee-breath. McK and I couldn’t pull off a pre-packaged anything. Thankfully, that was just never in the cards.
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Quote of My Day: Valentine's Day (the movie) is like a 75-year-old director licking you in the face. (Vanessa Farquharson)
Personal Soundtrack: Polaroids (Shawn Colvin)
Currently Reading: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson
Lunch Concoction: White Beans, Rice, Fresh Tomatoes & Garlic-Tahihni-Parsley sauce

Th!nk Tank

"That's the deal. People in politics like to talk a lot, but they don't like to answer specific questions." ~Naomi, aged 7.

Distant Voices From Other Rooms

I ordered a cappuccino today. For years this hasn't been a habit of mine. Not since my early twenties when I landed a summer au pair job outside of Edinburgh.

All summer I'd meet another au pair, Anne-Marie, for cappuccino at least once a week. She was Dutch, I was an American, so as foreigners our employers had set us up.

That first Saturday we met by the Walter Scott Monument. After a pleasant hello she grabbed me by both shoulders. Leaned in to kiss the air next to my cheek, and suddenly stopped to ask "How many kisses you give in America? Two? In Brittan it's two, in Holland we kiss three times."

Needless to say we were fast friends. Traveled to the coast, ambled around castles, sketched the crowded city skyline, ate biscotti and ice cream. We'd go to libraries and museums. Arranged playdates for the the children we were minding. Sported guide books and walking tours, tipped the street performers, darted around narrow streets. She introduced me to both Janis Ian and cappuccino that summer. And always opted for the front row seat atop the top flight of a double-decker red bus.

I've never spoken of that summer without a giggling description of my friend Anne-Marie from Amsterdam. We never exchanged addresses, never exchanged letters. Just packed our bags at the close of that summer, got our passports and traveled off from each other. It's that way when you're twenty-something. It was for me anyway. Letting go lightly.

But I thought of her this morning. In the thick of a Midwestern winter I wondered if she was similarly married and feeling less bold in her thirties? I wished her well, mentally kissed the air next to her cheek three times, and ordered myself a cappuccino.

The Weeklong Cold

Our household spent the whole week with a late-winter bug. It's the kind of cold that moves in and stays a while. So I laid in bed last night, creating a list of my favorite things and least favorite things when I'm sick.

Favorite Things When I'm Sick:

1. Hot Pudding
2. Sad Movies
3. Plush Kleenex
4. Socks & Slippers
5. Juice of All Varieties
6. Clean Sheets
7. Fleece Everything
8. Hot Showers
9. Fresh Air Once In A While
10. A Foot Massage
11. Naps With Cats
12. Spearmint Smelling Lotion
13. To-Go Food (Preferably Delivered To My Front Door)
14. Super-Power Prescription Decongestants

Least Favorite Things:

1. My Car Sporting A Mysterious Warning Light of Some Kind
2. Taking My First Calc Test Of The Term
3. Compulsively Worrying About House/Work/School Duties I've Shirked
4. Nightly Snowfall
5. Morning Routine Of Scooping The Walk/Scraping The Car
6. Saline Nasal Spray (ew)
7. Wet Mittens
8. Cold Toes
9. Waking Up With A Sneeze

Proper Lens

"Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you as by the way your mind looks at what happens." ~ Kahlil Gibran

Spellin' It Out

N: Some of the kids in my grade are interested in girlfriend-boyfriend type things.

Me: Really, what do you think of that?

N: I think it's embarrassing and there's a lot of crying involved.

Me: Well...

N:...like this boy, Gabe, he comes up to girls at recess and tells them they're his girlfriend. Later he breaks up with them and all the girls cry.

Me: Really?

N: Yeh. Except my friend, Aleeah. She didn't cry. She told Gabe, "Look, you never asked me and I never said I was your girlfriend in the first place. So alls I ever said is we were friends but, you know what? Now that you're being so mean to me? Being friends just isn't my thing. You know, friends? The only thing we were to begin with? Yeh, that relationship has ended. It's over, Gabe. O-V-E-R."

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Reminder: Naomi, Gabe, & Aleeah are all in the Second Grade.

Filed Separately

The McK household is knee deep in our transition to digital. All of our media files (movies, music, etc.) are being downloaded to my husband's computer. McK recently purchased a Home Theater Personal Computer (HTPC) which has swallowed up several weeks of his existence.

I'm not flush with details about this HTPC black box that sits on the shelf under our television. Though I have been briefed on how to both turn it on and also operate its remote control. McK assures me I'll be glad we have it. I trust that will prove true. So much so that last week I handed over all of my cd jewel cases to be ripped onto McK's hard drive.

Prior to handing over this stack of cds and nearly ten years into couplehood McK and I had never mixed our cd collection. In fact neither of us could list the other's favorite albums or artists.

This sounds weirder than it is. In a world of high quality car stereos, ipods, and the epic saga of conflicting work-schedules McK and I just don't commonly listen to music together. There is also the glaringly obvious fact that our musical tastes are polar opposites of each other.

So I handed him this stack of cds thinking this was, sort of, a big moment. A sign of relative maturity and stability between us. An appreciation of our differences and how we can co-exist. Then I realized our music collections would occupy separate files on the same hard drive. We wouldn't want to get carried away with all of this togetherness.
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Reading With N: The Higher Power of Lucky by Susan Patron
Looking Forward To: Dinosaurs & Disasters (this Saturday)
Recent Family Undertaking: Updating/Applying for Passports
Quote of My Day: "You can't be a 'geek' and have fake boobs. You just can't, sorry." (Thanks, Hubbard)
Undecided Whether I'll Commit to Watching or Not: Caprica
Currently Transfixed By This Poem